![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyAs promised, a little ficlet for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nashmaveric It’s kinda sorta Spander. Just squinch your eyes at it and look sideways! Happy Birthday! *beams*
“Spike, Spike, oh god…”
Smooth skin slid across his back, slick and light and hands that could crush bone gently gripped his hips, pulled him up and into the stroke and he moaned and corkscrewed back, trying to get as much in as he could.
It hurt, enough to make him want to cry out stop, and then it changed—it was right, and hot. He pictured Spike watching himself fuck him and it made him even harder. He groaned low and desperate, the sound seeming to bounce all around him, amplified and echoed by Spike.
A cool cheek rubbed against his neck like a cat; the chill velvety skin against his heat felt wonderful. Lips whispered against his ear, “You feel good, good, pet. So hot inside, so hot, burning me…”
Spike’s hands on him were performing miracles, making him fly, leeching the burning heat from him. “Oh god, Spike fuck me, fuck me!” Spike’s hand on his dick was nothing like his own, smooth where calluses would be, silky where rough skin from healed cuts and abrasions would mar his palms and wonderfully cool instead of the sticky heat his own hands would have. The contrast of hot and chill made him shiver, the delicious sensation sent chills through him —he pushed into the tight fist wrapped around his aching dick and Spike encouraged him. “Go on pet, make yourself come, I can feel it, ah—I feel you.…”
Lips, cold lips worked against the back of his neck, his spine, taking the heat, changing it into ecstasy. His dick jerked, heat flooded his body faster than Spike could take it and he shook as thrill after thrill filled him and at the back of his brain an explosion started. It roared through him, tightening his muscles and sent the explosion behind his dick, out, out …Spike growled, bit down low on his shoulder blade and came deep inside him and it was cool, cool, filling him, spreading through his body, his limbs, “oh god, so good Spike, so cool, touch me, hold me!”
He woke sweating in the hot dry desert air, his bedroll shoved under his neck and his jeans wet with come.
“Damn it! Damn it!” Xander woke up in the back of the truck. Shade from the blanket he’d spread over the truck bed not doing a damn thing to cool it. Sweat ran off of him in rivers. He was going to boil from the inside out if he didn’t get some water in him. He sat up and pulled the tacky jeans away from his skin and grimaced.
He shimmied further back into the truck bed, pulled down his jeans, pulled out a fresh pair from his pack and using water from the cooler, wiped himself off as best he could. There was a town an hour up the road, he thought. He’d look up that way for a motel. Right now, he’d kill for a shower and in no way was that a figure of speech. He yanked on the fresh pair and pulled his boots out from under his pack, slipped them on and hopped out of the truck.
Spike. Fucking Spike was haunting him. He heard his voice in his head —and he was just as sarcastic dead as he was alive. He’d catch the edge of that stupid coat he wore flipping around a corner just out of his sight, and at night… Xander groaned long and loud...at night it was even worse.
From California to Canada and back, Spike dogged his steps every single minute of the journey. Why in the hell was the bleached menace kicking his ass worse in his dreams than he had in real life?
Xander dropped his head and pulled at the eye patch, rubbing along the edge of the material. . ‘Course, what he was doing wasn’t exactly *kicking* his ass…and no eff-ing way was he going to admit for one second it felt….
Anyway, he was back and headed to L.A. Maybe he was crazy but he felt the answer might be in L.A. with Angel. Considering Deadboy was the CEO of Hell Ink, he might just be able to explain why Spike was fu—bothering him every single damn stinking night since he died. And stop it. ‘Cause that’s what he wanted. Yeah. To stop this thing.
‘Remember, smile at the Vamp—do not stake the Vamp. Buffy would be angry…’Xander hopped in the truck, gears grinding and metal complaining as he eased it back onto the road. He practiced smiling in the rear-view mirror.
nashmaveric It’s kinda sorta Spander. Just squinch your eyes at it and look sideways! Happy Birthday! *beams*“Spike, Spike, oh god…”
Smooth skin slid across his back, slick and light and hands that could crush bone gently gripped his hips, pulled him up and into the stroke and he moaned and corkscrewed back, trying to get as much in as he could.
It hurt, enough to make him want to cry out stop, and then it changed—it was right, and hot. He pictured Spike watching himself fuck him and it made him even harder. He groaned low and desperate, the sound seeming to bounce all around him, amplified and echoed by Spike.
A cool cheek rubbed against his neck like a cat; the chill velvety skin against his heat felt wonderful. Lips whispered against his ear, “You feel good, good, pet. So hot inside, so hot, burning me…”
Spike’s hands on him were performing miracles, making him fly, leeching the burning heat from him. “Oh god, Spike fuck me, fuck me!” Spike’s hand on his dick was nothing like his own, smooth where calluses would be, silky where rough skin from healed cuts and abrasions would mar his palms and wonderfully cool instead of the sticky heat his own hands would have. The contrast of hot and chill made him shiver, the delicious sensation sent chills through him —he pushed into the tight fist wrapped around his aching dick and Spike encouraged him. “Go on pet, make yourself come, I can feel it, ah—I feel you.…”
Lips, cold lips worked against the back of his neck, his spine, taking the heat, changing it into ecstasy. His dick jerked, heat flooded his body faster than Spike could take it and he shook as thrill after thrill filled him and at the back of his brain an explosion started. It roared through him, tightening his muscles and sent the explosion behind his dick, out, out …Spike growled, bit down low on his shoulder blade and came deep inside him and it was cool, cool, filling him, spreading through his body, his limbs, “oh god, so good Spike, so cool, touch me, hold me!”
He woke sweating in the hot dry desert air, his bedroll shoved under his neck and his jeans wet with come.
“Damn it! Damn it!” Xander woke up in the back of the truck. Shade from the blanket he’d spread over the truck bed not doing a damn thing to cool it. Sweat ran off of him in rivers. He was going to boil from the inside out if he didn’t get some water in him. He sat up and pulled the tacky jeans away from his skin and grimaced.
He shimmied further back into the truck bed, pulled down his jeans, pulled out a fresh pair from his pack and using water from the cooler, wiped himself off as best he could. There was a town an hour up the road, he thought. He’d look up that way for a motel. Right now, he’d kill for a shower and in no way was that a figure of speech. He yanked on the fresh pair and pulled his boots out from under his pack, slipped them on and hopped out of the truck.
Spike. Fucking Spike was haunting him. He heard his voice in his head —and he was just as sarcastic dead as he was alive. He’d catch the edge of that stupid coat he wore flipping around a corner just out of his sight, and at night… Xander groaned long and loud...at night it was even worse.
From California to Canada and back, Spike dogged his steps every single minute of the journey. Why in the hell was the bleached menace kicking his ass worse in his dreams than he had in real life?
Xander dropped his head and pulled at the eye patch, rubbing along the edge of the material. . ‘Course, what he was doing wasn’t exactly *kicking* his ass…and no eff-ing way was he going to admit for one second it felt….
Anyway, he was back and headed to L.A. Maybe he was crazy but he felt the answer might be in L.A. with Angel. Considering Deadboy was the CEO of Hell Ink, he might just be able to explain why Spike was fu—bothering him every single damn stinking night since he died. And stop it. ‘Cause that’s what he wanted. Yeah. To stop this thing.
‘Remember, smile at the Vamp—do not stake the Vamp. Buffy would be angry…’Xander hopped in the truck, gears grinding and metal complaining as he eased it back onto the road. He practiced smiling in the rear-view mirror.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
8/14/05 03:05 am (UTC)Darn that echo effect in the desert! :-D
And stop it. ‘Cause that’s what he wanted. Yeah. To stop this thing.
Riiiiiiiiiight. Love this hon!
(no subject)
8/14/05 03:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/14/05 03:09 am (UTC)That's so damn cool!
:)
*bounce*
He practiced smiling in the rear-view mirror..
Love.
It!!!
(no subject)
8/14/05 03:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/14/05 04:14 am (UTC)Riley!
:)
*smooch*
(no subject)
8/14/05 04:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/14/05 04:34 am (UTC)Well, yeah.
That's cool.
:)
(no subject)
8/14/05 10:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
8/14/05 02:14 pm (UTC)