Authors: skuzzbopper (Spike's point of view) and amyww (Xander's point of view)
Part: 1/1 (One-shot)
Warnings: Smut, and Zombie Stalkers
Summary: Jack O'Toole is back. And he's not Trick-or-Treating.
Disclaimer: These characters are not ours, and we make no money off of them or this story.
Author's Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Also, amyww wrote the smut. In my mind that makes this fic mostly hers. Go to her journal and tell her how awesome she is. Especially since this is her first fic.
Xander: Why is it that I've come face-to-face with vampires, demons, the most hideous creatures hell ever spit out, and I'm still afraid of a little bully like Jack O'Toole?
Cordelia: Because, unlike all those other creatures that you've come face-to-face with, Jack actually noticed you were there.
"Yeah, don’t I know it."
Sighing softly with his distaste, Spike pulled the Trick or Treat bowl into his lap anyway and dug out a… Blue Tootsie Pop? No. He tossed it back in the bowl. Orange Tootsie Pop? No. Fun Sized Milky Way? Fine. He ripped open the chocolate and popped it into his mouth, gnashing into it with relish. "What’s with the Tootsie Pops?"
"They’re cheap." The young Harris replied, flicking through the channels. "And they’re not for you. Candy is for children who have the decency to come to my door in costume and beg for it. Undead Billy Idol Impersonators don’t count. Especially not when they, you know, never leave."
"Like you haven’t been at this shite all week. Tubby."
"Oh, just—" He broke off, looking up as a knock on the door interrupted whatever fuck-off he was going to shoot his way. Good. This wasn’t exactly how he’d longed to spend Halloween, but since Willie’s was closed and there was no slayage to be had, slasher flicks with Harris was the last step up from drinking alone in his crypt. And he’d done that three nights in a row already. At least at Harris’ the beer was free and the conversation was amusing. Not to mention the… well. Whatever it was. The static in the air. The scent that came off the boy when he sat too close, or said just the wrong thing in just the right way. There was something about Harris that made dark things want to slither into his lap and corrupt him in all those fun, naughty ways good boys don’t know about. Spike included.
He may despise the boy’s personality, but that’s what ball-gags are for.
Sweeping the bowl out of his lap, Xander pushed off the couch and headed for the door, where he welcomed the trick o’ treaters with his trademark dopey grin. There were three of them—a Ghostface, a blonde witch, and a boy in what appeared to be a gorilla suit. With a little bit of a smirk, Spike watched him lean over to converse with the kids (here’s hoping they speak moron) and cocked his head to the side to get a good look at the way those sweats stretched too-tight over his arse. Oh yes. Harris may’ve gained weight, but it certainly looked good on him.
Bloody Fuck, that’s one sweet... treat. His mind finished, and he found himself snickering as he turned his gaze back to the telly and saw big-breasted girls in thigh-high dresses, running around and screaming their idiot heads off. Sorority Row, the reboot. Finally, something with gore. And breasts. That’s exactly what he needs. Gore and Breasts. The duo that never fails—at least when it comes to keeping his mind off cock.
The couch dipped beside him. He smelled melting chocolate.
Beside him, Xander sucked on a mini Hershey bar. "The slutty Asian’s about to bite it, right?"
You smell phenomenal… "Yeah n’a minute." Sighing softly, Spike dragged himself off the couch and headed for the door. "Goin’ for a smoke. Be back in a tick."
He had to get out of that apartment before he did something that would make the chip fire.
Sauntering out of the complex with his cigarette between his fingers, he took a long drag and let it out, watching the smoke curl into the cool night air. His eyes closed and he dropped back against the concrete wall of the building, licking his lips and trying to rid his mind of the scent—Harris and Chocolate. Who knew something could trump Breasts and Gore?
He breathed in slowly, sniffing the air. Something wasn’t right.
It smelled like… decaying flesh.
He opened his eyes again and scanned the courtyard. And immediately he knew what it was.
A one-armed man lounged back against the decorative tree in the middle of the courtyard, cigarette locked between his lips, eyes gazing upward at the building. His skin was sallow. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t even blinking.
Just staring upward. Like he was waiting for someone to poke their head out a window.
Intrigued, Spike strode toward the thing and took a good hard look on the way. Alright-looking. Dressed like bad news. Slightly vacant expression and the stench of decaying flesh… Zombie. Had to be.
"Alright, mate?" He tried, standing beside the dead-man-walking and following his gaze to—
"Lookin’ for sommat?"
"Fuck off." The zombie growled, dropping his cig to the ground and continuing his vigil. Obviously not the talkative type.
Which was fine. Spike didn’t need him to be.
With a heavy, low growl, the vampire grabbed the zombie by the shirt and threw him back against the tree, hard. "Now you listen ‘ere, ye fuckin’ maggot feast—There’s nothin’ t’see here. So ye’ve got five seconds to get yer arse outta this zip-code, ‘fore I cremate ye with my Zippo."
"You don’t scare me, blood breath." The undead man snapped, pushing Spike back with unnatural strength. For a moment he looked like he might make another move. But then…
They both looked up at the same time. Xander was there, pale as a ghost, peering down at the two of them with eyes wide as plates.
Without another word, the zombie took off, darting out of the complex. Leaving Spike absolutely mystified.
"Wh—Who… Who was that?" Harris called down to him, as if he was afraid he might know the answer.
"No one. Trick o’ treater." He covered, looking back over his shoulder at the street, before heading back inside.
Xander shook his head as he pulled back into the apartment. Years of chasing and being chased through the streets and cemeteries of Sunnydale had honed his back-of-head identification skills. Plus, he knew a tool when he saw one. Jack O’Toole. Back like the Ghost of Halloween Past. Guess Oz only got part of him. What did it take to kill that guy?
He got two more beers out of the fridge as Spike sauntered back in and dug through the candy bowl, still rejecting the Tootsiepops, and pulled out a fun-sized Three Musketeers. Spiked held up the tiny silver package and quirked an eyebrow.
"No caramel," Xander explained. "A poor man’s MilkyWay in my opinion." Beers opened, he joined Spike at the candy bowl.
"I defer to your obvious expertise," Spike said, poking Xander in the softest part of his stomach.
"Hey, fat jokes equal no beer for the gate-crasher." Xander held up the open bottles and pulled bent away from the poke. As he twisted away, Spike’s finger traced a curving path down his stomach, dipping below the edge of his t-shirt and ending at Xander’s hip. Xander shuddered slightly.
"Ticklish?" Spike asked, hand still extended, half-smile on his face.
Xander tugged his t-shirt down and took a long pull off the bottle. His throat was dry. California was very dry this time of year. Allergies. Santa Ana’s. Made people a little crazy. Spike made him crazy. Why was Spike here anyway? With his...his...poking fingers and quirking eyebrows and his cool...coolness?
A particularly loud scream from the TV broke what approximated a train of thought, and Xander came back to himself to meet Spike’s blue eyes staring at him.
"You okay, mate? You went away there for a second."
Xander scoffed as he made his way over to the couch and flopped down like he hadn’t a care in the world.. "Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?" His shirt slid up as he slid down, cool leather like a hand against his skin. Quickly he tucked the shirt in his pants. "Don’t you think it’s dry tonight? Windy?" He took a sip of his beer as Spike sank gracefully down onto the other end of the couch. Stupid Spike coolness. Well Xander could be cool, too. He’d found his cool ages ago. Found his cool with Jack O’Toole. Speaking of which. Whom? It couldn’t have been O’Toole, right? He was dead. Again. Years ago. Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask.
"So, Fangless, who were you talking to out there? Looked kinda…" Dead… "... old for a Trick-or-Treater."
Shifting on the leather, Spike turned his head to the boy and examined his face. He looked… Well, obviously tense. But worse—like he knew something. And it was scaring the fuck out of him.
"Well, you know." He murmured, hands locking together as the itch to touch that little bit of skin still exposed became too hot to control. He shouldn’t’ve poked his stomach. Now he knew how it felt to touch him, to steal a touch. Deliciously good, and all too brief. "Kids these days. They all wanna be that… one-armed zombie… from that movie, you know."
"Uh-huh." Nodding slowly, Harris shifted in his seat, looking a little green. "What movie?"
"You know—the one with that one-armed zombie man. With the, um. Knife."
"One-armed zombie man with a knife."
His tone was skeptical. Fine. He had every right to be skeptical, since the movie didn’t exist. What Spike wanted to know was why he was so keen on Zombie Boy. "Well, he may have been a little older…"
"Did he say what he wanted?" Xander suddenly asked, his voice a little strained, his whole body reading tense.
What was Harris doin’ fucking around with a zombie? Even the one-armed variety was dangerous shite, and damned difficult to rekill. And Harris was not exactly the world’s greatest slayer. So if a zombie had enough sense left in its bloody pea-sized brain to fucking recognize the rather useless Scoobie…
"No." He sighed, stretching out on the couch a little, allowing his leg to brush the boy’s and his arm to drop to the cushions behind his shoulders. "Didn’t say."
"Oh." The kid drooped back against his arm, freezing as he felt it there but staying anyway. "Because, you know, normally trick o’ treaters say ‘Trick or Treat’, and that’s the signal that they want candy. Not a beat-down."
"H’was starin’ up at yer window."
"… Oh." And there he was. Sitting ramrod straight again, refusing to look at him.
"S’not polite to stare at people’s windows. Should’ve given ‘im worse than he got, ‘f’ye ask me. Would’ve, too."
"What’re ye thankin’ me for?" He dropped a hand to Harris’ shoulder, squeezing it… Protectively? No. Affectionately? Of course not. "S’just a trick o’ treater."
"Ch’yeah. Okay." Xander sighed, but dropped back against his waiting arm, offering warmth and that delicious scent instead of answers. And for right now, Spike was fine with that.
For right now. Because he could smell that putrid scent of decay in the building. And that meant answers were on their way.
Xander dropped his head back against the couch. And Spike’s arm. It wasn’t warm but it was comforting and he’d freak out about that later, thank you very much. He was just so tired of things trying to kill him—and of course O'Toole was there to kill him. Why else would he show up? So he’d take Spike’s lies in the spirit they were offered, though it was hard to tell what exactly Spike was offering - protection? Friendship? (More?) Whatever it was, he’d take it. It was his apartment, only his now, his alone, and no one would know.
Footsteps and giggles in in the hall and then a knock. He sighed and started to get up. Spike held him down gently with a hand on his shoulder.
"S’ok. I got it." He stood up, a wicked look in his eye. "I’ll show those raggedy beggars a real Halloween costume." With a shake of his head, he shifted into full game face, wicked look still in his eyes. He grabbed the candy bowl off of the table.
Despite himself, Xander laughed at the sight of the Big Bad in all his glory holding a bowl of candy. He slid down the couch, so his head was pillowed by arm and stretched out with a sigh. There was a reason he’d bought a couch with room to stretch out.
Xander closed his eyes as Spike yanked open the door with a vampiric roar and opened them instantly as the dog-whistle high shrieks pierced his ears. He caught a flash of pink fairy winks and saw the disapproving looks a very unhappy father was giving Spike. Spike quickly turned back to Xander, eyes wide with confusion. Apparently Xander’s shaking with silent giggles didn’t provide the quite the guidance Spike was looking for if his death glare was anything to go buy.
"Hey!" the dad at the door started to ask, "what’s the..." Spike whirled around and shoved the entire bowl at the man. "Here." The man took an involuntary step back and Spike took the opportunity to slam the door.
Xander burst out laughing. The sight of Spike stalking towards him with obvious murderous intent only set him off more. He laughed so hard tears came to his eyes.
"You think that’s funny?" Spike asked quietly. From outside the door came the faint sounds of screams as the father coaxed his daughter back down the hallway. Xander could only sob with laughter as he pointed towards the door.
The smirk Spike struggled to contain was Xander’s only warning as Spike leaped over the coffee table, a promise of pain in his eyes. "Ticklish?" he asked.
"No!" Xander laughed as Spike landed on him, pinning Xander to the couch as he tickled Xander’s ribs unmercifully.
Laugh at me? Spike thought. I’ll show him. An unlifetime of torture had also made him the most-skilled tickler this side of the Pond.
Between the laughing and tickling, Xander could hardly catch his breath. He twisted against the thighs clamped around his hips and grabbed at Spike’s wrists, trying to stop them. His fingers circled the blond vampire’s wrists easily. Xander always forgot how small Spike was compared to him. His attitude alone added 6 inches and 50 pounds.
Small size notwithstanding, Xander couldn’t get away. No matter how much he twisted and turned, Spike stuck to him like a cowboy on a bronco. And wasn’t that a disturbing thought? The weight and strength of the vampire felt really good against him. A little too good, he thought as he felt the denim-clad thighs sliding against his. If he didn’t want Spike to get the wrong idea, it would be best to end this very, very soon.
At a particularly well-placed finger to the ribs, he laughed helplessly. He looked up through the strands of hair spilling across his eyes. Staring at Spike’s laughing face, he remembered that he always forgot how very blue Spike’s eyes were.
"You’re pretty when you laugh," Spike said.
Oooh-kay. So beyond time to end this. Spike went for the infallible knee-grab tickle and Xander bucked up against Spike, lifting him off the couch. Xander bit his lip against the groan that wanted to come out at the contact.
"Spike, please!" Xander half-laughed. "You win!"
"And even prettier when you beg." Spike said. Xander’s eyes widened as the vamp leaned forward and pressed hard against Xander in an almost (almost) involuntary reaction. He felt cool hands slide up his body, up and under the shirt, stop, covering his nipples. Okay, maybe the wrong idea was exactly what he wanted to Spike to get. Or maybe it was the right idea. Or something.
Xander looked down at his chest, at the shirt rucked up and the hands rising and falling with his every breath. He followed the arms up to Spike’s face. As he met Spike’s glance, the hands on his nipples- Spike’s hands! - twitched a bit. Spike tilted his head, the quirk of his lips both a question and an offer.
What the hell, Xander thought. It was his apartment and his life and if he took what Spike was offering, whatever it was, no one would know.
Please, what? Spike’s mind churned, moving at a thousand miles an hour and in every possible direction. Okay, no. Not every possible direction. Just two. Please get the fuck off me? Or Please get me the fuck off?
Beneath him, Harris was all but begging. His body was, anyway. Every nerve that twitched, twitched for him. Every breath, every rise and fall of his chest, was meant to brush their bodies together. Even his sweet mortal heart pounded just a little harder than it ever had, as if the organ was trying to feel his fingertips through its skin and bone cage.
But all his mouth could say was "Please."
"Please, Spike." He whispered again, like he was afraid to say it—but stubbornly set on saying it anyway. His tongue slid over his lower lip, quick and sly, and Spike wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt to hold himself back.
Black nails skimming up beneath that too thin cotton, he traced the strong lines of the boy’s collarbone—the sexiest part of the mortal anatomy for a vampire. "Please what, Xander?" He purred, his own unneeded breath hitching at the feel of his pulse. The way it leapt, racing so giddily in those thick blue veins… Calling to him. Rushing through his ears, drowning every other sound and warming him like hot whisky. He had to stop listening, or he’d lose his mind and go for a bite. So he let his fingers spider back down his chest, dragging slowly through his coarse dark hair and letting one hand rest over his heart as the other journeyed lower.
"Please—" He started, then gasped, his lovely neck tilting back as he shifted just the wrong—right—way and rubbed his hardness up against Spike’s thigh. For the second time in as many minutes, the vampire took a breath he didn’t need. It was massive. Fuck, the boy was only half-hard, and he could feel through those sweats that he was just…
"Bloody Fuck," He heard himself hiss through his teeth, dragging his knee up between his legs to feel that erection press insistent against him. Christ, yes. He wanted that. And he was going to have it, every way he could—
Loud and sharp, a knock at the door snapped him from his haze, and immediately his instincts forced his gameface to the surface, this time for real.
There he was. Back again. Looking for Xander.
"What…?" Sitting up in alarm at the sudden change, Harris looked from him to the door, and immediately he paled. Like he knew exactly what was out there.
Probably because he did.
"Stay here." He growled, pushing off of that hot, pliant body, intent on ending this once and for all. What the fuck does a zombie want with Harris, of all people? Sure, they tended to be bent toward their own little vendettas, but generally they weren’t obsessive. They preferred doing the things they couldn’t do when they could feel pain. Causing trouble, making spectacular scenes, dragging their friends and families from the grave to join the fun.
What would a zombie want with a mortal boy?
Steeling himself for an attack, Spike squared his shoulders and pulled open the door, dodging the one-armed man’s first move by mere inches. He was lunging through the door with a sharp branch, probably intent on staking him. But he’d dealt with far worse than an undead goon with a bit of tree. He dodged, grabbing the zombie’s wrist and turning it backward, dragging the piece of wood out of his grip with preternatural strength. The zombie didn’t even flinch. But he did kick Spike off his feet, throwing them both to the ground to begin a useless wrestling match that neither would win, since neither were much affected by choke-holds, and both had strength beyond that of mortal men.
"Spike--!" Xander called to him, jumping off the couch and diving in like an idiot, just like he always did. His hands reached the undead creature, and immediately it kicked away from Spike and dragged Xander to the floor by the collar of his t-shirt.
Stumbling to his feet, Spike moved fast, trying to get to the two before this fucking decaying piece of shit killed his Scoobie—
—Then froze mid-step as he realized—
The zombie was not trying to kill him.
Pinning him to the floor by the shoulder, the undead fucker was kissing Xander like he wanted to wrap his cold, slimy tongue around his tonsils.
What. The. Fuck?!
Struggling hard, the boy finally managed to break his mouth away to yell. "Jack—I—Oh Fuck!"
Pushing back up, the zombie offered Xander a grin that was almost lazy, but too insane to pull it off. "God, I’ve wan’ed t’do that since—"
With a harsh, animalistic growl, Spike grabbed the back of the thing’s shirt and yanked him from the floor, throwing him against the nearest wall, where he landed with a crunch that probably dented the plaster. "Get the fuck away from ‘im, ye walkin’ piece of meat!"
Xander took Spike’s outstretched hand only to find himself, shoved behind Spike while Spike kept his hand on Xander’s hip. It was a very possessive hand, and as Xander peered over Spike’s shoulder to see what happened next he felt very much like he was posing for the cover of a romance novel staring Sunnydale’s only Alexander LaVelle Harris as The Girl.
"‘Ander! I need you!" Jacked wailed, laboriously standing up.
"I don’t bloody well think so!" Spike launched himself at the pathetic zombie.
Xander closed his eyes. This could only happen to him. And only in Sunnydale would two undead, men-type creatures be fighting over him. Xander watched the uneven battle for a second, a part of him enjoying seeing Spike beat the crap out of Jack, another part waiting for the opening he knew from experience would come.
"Xander!" Jack cried from the floor. "I don’ ‘anna hurt you!" He reached out his one hand, imploring, as Spike threw him face down on the ground.
"Well, I want to hurt you," Spike replied, grabbing the thing’s head, putting a knee in its back and wrenching.
"Don’t!" Jack yelled desperately. " Xander! ‘Oo were right! I’m scared! Scared to die for good."
Spike stilled, loosened his grip on Jack. That fear he knew. Fear of that final death drove the undead, the half-dead and the once-dead as much as mortals feared that first death through which he and this Jack had already passed. The thought of… of a permanent end, of going to dust, no longer existing… it was so claustrophobic that it made every other horror seem tame by the sheer fact that it wasn’t the all-ending stillness of going back to death forever.
Jack shook his head, as much to deny death as to free himself from Spike’s grasp. "But you’re not scared. You’re not. You weren’t scared of me, or the bomb, or dying. You said you liked the quiet." His speech was clearer, as was the desperation in his voice. "You’re just so brave, Xander. And so...so...." He wrenched his head around to stare at Xander, "So beautiful."
What the… Spike’s grip went lax, and he dropped the undead man to the floor in shock. What the fuck was he talking about? A bomb? He turned to Harris, confusion written all over his face, and found him looking just as confused.
"What?" Brave? Beautiful? Xander didn’t know which one was more unbelievable. Though thinking back on Spike and what Jack had interrupted (and there had been something to interrupt, right?) it seemed Xander was quite attractive to the undead set. But brave? That evening with Jack O’Toole and his undead gang was more than just another near-death experience. Apocalypses were always so grand, so anonymous. With Jack, it was personal. He had set his sights on Xander. Of all the things that gave Xander nightmares - and they were legion - Katie, Jack’s knife, pressed up against his neck, was the one that lingered during the day.
"Harris," Spike began, the heel of his Doc digging into the zombie’s back forcefully. "What the fuck is goin’ on here?"
"I—it’s a long story." Running a hand through his black waves, Xander stepped back, resting his shoulders against the wall. "It was this one night back in high school—"
"From the moment I saw you, I knew—" Jack pleaded, trying to squirm his way out from under Spike’s foot. "There was somethin’ about you, man! An’ you—you knew it too! You didn’t fear me! Even when I had Katie to your throat you didn’t fear me! I—I should’ve seen it, the way you just kept crackin’ jokes, like it was nothin’—"
"Katie?" Spike asked, confused and appalled.
"I thought I had no fear, man. But all I had was a big fuckin’ knife. You had no fear. You were the one—"
"Jack—Jack—Stop! Okay?" With a sigh, Xander dropped to a crouch and tried to meet the zombie’s eyes. "I was scared shitless, okay? Nobody sane wants to die. I just… If I’d run away and let you blow up the school, with my friends in it… I’d rather go with ‘em than watch ‘em go up in smoke. You know?"
Spike’s jaw hit the floor.
Xander had faced down a zombie? With a bomb?
Why wasn’t that in Giles’ Watcher Diaries?
"You were gonna die with them. For them. Rather than save yer own skin." Jack sounded awed, looking at Xander with a mixture of love and idolization Spike had often seen in the eyes of a supplicant fledge. "God, I was so… So angry that night. A fuckin’ werewolf came outta nowhere, ripped my arm off, and I stumbled outta that school thinkin’ up ways to gouge yer eyes out… But then I realized. I couldn’t. Because you saved me too. Even though I was tryin’ t’ kill you. You knew I wasn’t gonna make it out in thirty seconds. You saved me."
"You saved yourself, Jack." Xander sighed, one hand reaching out to smooth over the zombie’s hair. He was trembling, pale, but he had this look on his face that made him seem… so calm. So collected.
"You made me save myself." Jack breathed out, as though he needed the exhale. "Please, Xander. Please. I know you feel this too. I love you, just—"
That’s just IT! Spike’s mind growled. He yanked his lighter from his pocket and flicked it open, dropping it to the living corpse and watching as it burst into flames. Within fifteen seconds, the whole of Jack the Zombie Stalker was consumed in fire, and in another ten seconds it was nothing but ash.
Xander did not look shocked.
"Unholy creatures." Spike explained dryly. "Fire affects them like sunlight affects vamps."
"I’ll keep that in mind. Next time something undead and horny comes a’knockin’."
Scoffing a bit, the other undead, horny creature stared down at the ashes left on the floor and thought about all the things he didn’t know. This mortal boy who’d managed to survive growing up on the Hellmouth with a quick tongue and remarkably little fear. This dark-eyed brunette with nothing but good in him, where all the bad in his life should’ve eaten it away. This human who had a scent that drove the demon in him insane, and ramped his libido up to a constant state of need.
"Do I get to knock?" He heard himself ask, his eyes shifting to the suddenly completely intriguing Xander Harris, who was rising back to his feet. Their gazes met, and locked into place with a near-audible click, and immediately the boy grinned an easy, beautiful grin.
"Door’s wide open."
Grinning back, wider than he had in a very long time, Spike moved to accept that invitation, stepping over the ashes to fist a hand into Xander’s shirt, pulling him back toward the couch where this all started. Behind them the TV screamed, yet another scary movie to promote the night’s holiday. But as he pushed Xander to the couch and stood above him, assessing the man he’d officially become fascinated with, he’d forgotten Halloween altogether. He clasped the brunette’s face in his hands, leaning in and taking his mouth like he’d always wanted to—slow and easy, tasting everything and letting the heat of it soak into his bones until he felt alive again. Fuck, it felt good. And Xander was hungry for it, willing to let him explore, but only if he got what he wanted too. His hands pulled Spike’s belt loose, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down a little until he could shove his touch inside.
Fuck, it felt good to be with somebody who wanted it just as bad as he did.
With a soft, demanding growl, Spike dropped to straddle Harris’ thighs, his knees digging into the couch as those hands gripped his ass and pulled him so tight against him that he could feel every twitch of his cock through those sweats.
Xander pulled Spike down for a kiss. Though the press of Spike’s cock against his was driving him crazy, he needed more of that mouth. Chocolate and beer and traces of cigarette smoke, Xander found them all. What he couldn’t find was skin. His hands felt bereft. He may have whimpered as he struggled to get through Spike’s clothing. He grabbed and the back of the shirt and pulled Spike upright, groaning at the added pressure against his dick.
"Why do you wear so many shirts?" he whined. In a manly, sexy way.
Vamp strength has so many uses, Xander mused as Spike ripped the offending garments off faster than the eye could follow.
"Better?" Spike asked, leaning back down and reveling in the feel of Xander’s hands as they slid up over his stomach and stopped covering the nipples, an echo of where they had been before the interruption. Spike stopped his dive back into Xander’s mouth in response to the gentle pressure against his chest. Xander’s expression was serious, the eye contact intense.
"You set a man on fire for me."
"Well, yeah." Spike frowned. " A crazy stalker zombie, more specifically." Spike shifted a away just a hair. "S’at okay?" He held as breath as Xander seemingly pondered the question. Spike tried very hard not to rock against the hardness between his legs. That would be unfair.
Xander’s hands started making gentle circles on Spike’s chest. With an evil grin, he pinched both nipples hard the slid his around Spike’s back and pulled him down tightly as he thrust up against him. Spike groaned at the onslaught and stretched out full-length on top of Xander, thigh hard up against his cock. Xander shifted a bit underneath Spike so he could returning the favor.
"Okay?" Spike repeated.
Xander’s smile was infectious. He slid his hands under the waistband of Spike’s jeans and grabbed two handfuls of silken skin and hard muscle and pulled Spike rhythmically against him. "Child of the Hellmouth here. Violence is practically foreplay."
"Bloody hell," Spike groaned at the strong, steady rhythm Xander set up. With one hand he expertly opened his jeans. He rested the other by Xander’s shoulder and grabbed the boy’s hair and yanked his head back, kissing him desperately. God, he was so close already.
Xander thrust his hips up, lifting both of them up enough that he could slide both of their pants down just enough. "Fuck, Spike!" he yelled as their cocks slid against each other and felt the smooth skin of Spike’s stomach. "Oh, God."
Now Spike was the one who needed to feel more skin. Wanted the heat and the sun stored up in that golden skin. Despite his century of experience, he was rapidly losing control of the situation. Apparently a spot of the old ultra-violence really did do it for Harris. He was casting no stones at that. As a matter of fact, he was right on board. He grabbed at the hem of Xander’s t-shirt, pulling up with a bit more force than was absolutely necessary. Xander half-laughed at the urgency, half-groaned at the feel of Spike on his body.
Spike stopped with Xander’s head free but arms still bound by the cloth and stretched over his head. He learned his head down right at Xander’s ear. "You laughin’ at me again, Harris?" he growled, nipping at earlobe. He felt the boy shiver all the way down.
Spike pulled the tshirt down more firmly behind Xander’s head, trapping his arms behind his head. "Laughing at me and using the Lord’s name in a situation I’m not sure He would approve of? Tsk. Tsk." Spike nipped at Xander’s throat and pinched his nipple at the same time. "Don’t move unless I say so."
Xander surged off the bed, almost dislodging the Vampire. "Oh fuck, oh, fuck, Spike...so close." His hips rocked involuntarily into Spike’s body.
"Not quite vanilla, eh, Pet? I said don’t move." Spike punctuated his admonitions with nips and bites as he moved down Xander’s body, stopping with his mouth right over but not touching Xander’s cock. Xander quivered with the effort of remaining still, panting harshly, eyes dark and wide and locked on Spike’s. Spike smiled. "Good boy."
Xander whimpered and his cock, harder than he ever remembered it being, pulsed as Spike’s breath caressed it, but he didn’t move. Didn’t thrust up the scant half inch it would take to slide into Spike’s mouth.
Spike licked his lips at the sight, his mouth suddenly dry. He tilted his head up, met Xander’s eyes. Heat flared between them. "Well," he said seriously, "I think that deserves a reward." He sunk his mouth down on Xander’s cock, slowly, to a chorus of curses and praise from Xander.
Spike licked, sucked and deep throated his prize until Xander was half mad, twisting and pulling at the shirt trapping his arms above his head. With a roar, he grabbed one sleeve and tore the shirt off and slammed his hands down onto Spike’s shoulders. "Spike," he gasped. "I can’t..." Grabbing the sides of Spike’s head gently but desperate, Xander shoved into the vampire’s mouth and came hard, harder, almost blacking out as Spike just kept sucking and sucking. With a last gasp and shudder, he collapsed back bonelessly on the welcome embrace of the couch. Spike slid up him and kissed him hard, pulling hard and fast on his own cock, once, twice until he came with a yell. Then he dropped down onto Xander, riding up and down on the harsh human breathing.
"Bloody hell, Xan."
Xander laughed weakly. "Best. Halloween. Ever."
Spike slid half off the boy, squeezing between him and the back of the couch. His hand traced lazy patterns though the hair and cum on Xander’s chest and the dark, damp tangle between his legs. Grinning, he lifted up and snapped the elastic of the sweatpants that bound Xander’s thighs together. "Wait until we get these pants completely off, pet. You’ll be so grateful, you’ll think it’s Thanksgiving."
Xander pulled Spike down and kissed him hard, getting all traces of his own orgasm out of Spike’s mouth. "Well, if that’s the case, then I can’t wait until Christmas."