More Pandora, still a WIP
Jun. 5th, 2003 11:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
estepheiaI present you with... breakfast porn. Well, actually that's a complete and utter lie, because I'm eeevil, a tease, leading you on. Meaning the REAL smut will happen in part 5, but I'm happily working towards it.:-) Enjoy.
Living with Proteus
PAIRING: Spike/Xander
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: vague S7, set post-'Him'
SUMMARY: set in the Pandoraverse, directly after Alatheia's Gift, i.e. post-shag. Spike and Xander are happy together but have an uncanny tendency to look the gift horse in the mouth. Tsk. Unbeta'd schmoop (because![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mahaliem said I should bring it on).
Many thanks tolordshiva and ladycat777.
Parts 1 & 2
Part 3
“This is your idea of a Saturday night out?” Spike asks incredulously, breaking the long, gloomy silence that has lasted the whole twenty minutes it took them to drive here.
“This is my idea of fun, yeah. I come here every week, because furniture is such a turn on.”
Beds. Dozens of them.
They’re standing in the bedroom department of the large windowless furniture store. About now, Xander realizes that this is a phenomenally bad idea. They’re two guys looking at beds. Okay, Spike is keeping his distance, his face a blank mask, but they’re still two guys looking at double beds. Eeep.
Spike doesn’t look like a customer, not even remotely. It’s not the clothes and the hair, more his almost metaphysical indifference. He’s there in the flesh but not in spirit – a bit like the Dalai Lama, except at the other end of the moral spectrum.
“Pick one,” Xander says, suddenly in a hurry to get out of here.
Spike shrugs and points at the nearest bed. It’s too small and it certainly doesn’t look sturdy enough for the things Xander has in mind.
Xander blinks at the bed. “I want to tap into a hundred years worth of kink and this is what you want me to buy? I’m deeply disappointed.”
Spike tilts his head, giving Xander an inscrutable stare that’s quite chilling in its remoteness. What Spike is searching for, Xander can’t tell. He tries not to squirm and stomps on the nervous impulse to burst into inane babble. His heart is beating way too fast and his palms are sweaty.
“Kink.” Spike echoes, eyes narrowing in speculation.
“Yeah, you know, the whole falling asleep and waking up together deal? Pushes my buttons. Big kink of mine. You actually need a bed for it, though.”
Spike contemplates this, his face a mask of concentration as if he’s trying to add things up, his eyes never leaving Xander’s face. The ghost of a smile appears, faltering and uncertain.
“I’m a bit of an octopus myself,” Xander adds and flaps his arms in an imitation of tentacles.
Spike nods at that, as if to say, ‘it’ll do’, or ‘good enough’ and then an unexpected grin curls his lips, wicked and sensual. Vintage Spike. He closes in on Xander in one liquid, graceful move, until he’s almost touching him. Now they very much look like they’re together. Xander swallows but doesn’t move away. He can be stubborn like the best of them. He stood up to a troll once, heck, he can stand up to this.
“You wanna tap into some kink?” Spike leans even closer. “Tap into this,” he murmurs into Xander’s ear, cool breath ghosting over hot skin, his crotch almost but not quite touching Xander’s hip. “Fuck me.”
“Now?” Xander squeaks. All the blood in his body seems to rush to his cock – at least that would explain the sudden absence of coherent thought in his brain.
“No, tomorrow,” Spike snaps. “Of course now, you nit.”
“You’re nuts.” But Xander’s practiced eye is already roaming the store, searching for a secluded spot. Why does Spike have to pick the most embarrassing and inappropriate moment to finally show some initiative? Because he’s Spike, that’s why. Well, it could be worse. Spike could have come on to him in front of Buffy. That would have been disturbing.
Spike leers and steps back, slipping seamlessly into his old evil swagger, heads for a sturdy looking double bed and shouts loud enough for everybody to hear: “This one looks good. The manacles could go here and here,” he grips one of the brass bedposts and slides his fist up and down in a pumping motion. Lucky bedpost.
“Spike!” Xander guffaws, a slightly hysterical note creeping into his voice. God, it’s hot in here. No wait, it’s the stares of at least a dozen other customers, grilling him. Trust Spike to turn an embarrassing situation into a truly mortifying one. “He’s kidding.” Xander affects a goofy grin, while glaring at Spike.
“I’m kidding,” Spike affirms with a bashful smile that could charm a nun out of her knickers. When he walks back to Xander the predator act is gone. Spike surprises Xander by grabbing his hand. Walking backwards, holding his gaze, Spike drags him towards the bed he’s chosen.
Xander can almost physically sense the shift in perspective among their onlookers – going from ‘sick perverts’ to ‘aww, how romantic.’ Funnily enough, his own feelings go the same way, which is stupid, since this is just an act. A bit of play-acting for their rapt audience. Spike’s rapid mood swings are making Xander dizzy. And this particular one is making him horny.
He doesn’t pull back his hand, because – Christ - Spike would definitely take it the wrong way, but inwardly Xander can’t help doing a swift Leporello, mentally going through a long list of friends, work-buddies and family, wondering what the odds are that they turn up in droves to buy a new lamp only to find him holding hands with a guy. Ho boy!
“I’ll stake you for this,” he whispers, a smile plastered across his flushed face that’s only half fake. “Slowly.”
“That’s the general idea,” Spike tells him, eyes dark under heavy lashes.
“You do know you’ve just beaten Anya’s world record in public embarrassment?” Xander’s fingers take on a life of their own, tightening their grip on Spike’s hand.
“Yeah?” is Spike’s interested reply. “Good.”
“The restroom is over there,” Xander points out.
“Then what are we waiting for?” Spike starts to drag him off.
“Could you possibly be more obvious about this?” Xander cranes his neck, checking for onlookers. Sure enough, they still have an audience.
“If that’s what you want…”
“Spike!”
Spike does a half-arsed impression of innocence: raised eyebrows, flutter of lashes, pout.
“Spike, restroom. Now. I’ll just…um… pay for this and then I’ll… um…. come. Oh, and try to look sick.”
Spike chuckles and heads for the restroom. Xander whips out his wallet, grabs the nearest salesperson, thrusts his credit card and ID at him, points at the bed, hurriedly tells him to get everything ready for signature, grimaces, mumbles something about stomach cramps and that they shouldn’t have eaten the shrimp, then rushes off towards the restroom.
TBC (probably on Saturday, unless Ladycat wants her birthday smut earlier, in which case I'll try to get it out tonight or tomorrow)
BTW, I've decided to archive the stories as a proper series, but I need a title that fits all the stories. Does anyone have a good suggestion?
Living with Proteus
PAIRING: Spike/Xander
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: vague S7, set post-'Him'
SUMMARY: set in the Pandoraverse, directly after Alatheia's Gift, i.e. post-shag. Spike and Xander are happy together but have an uncanny tendency to look the gift horse in the mouth. Tsk. Unbeta'd schmoop (because
mahaliem said I should bring it on).Many thanks to
lordshiva and ladycat777.Parts 1 & 2
Part 3
“This is your idea of a Saturday night out?” Spike asks incredulously, breaking the long, gloomy silence that has lasted the whole twenty minutes it took them to drive here.
“This is my idea of fun, yeah. I come here every week, because furniture is such a turn on.”
Beds. Dozens of them.
They’re standing in the bedroom department of the large windowless furniture store. About now, Xander realizes that this is a phenomenally bad idea. They’re two guys looking at beds. Okay, Spike is keeping his distance, his face a blank mask, but they’re still two guys looking at double beds. Eeep.
Spike doesn’t look like a customer, not even remotely. It’s not the clothes and the hair, more his almost metaphysical indifference. He’s there in the flesh but not in spirit – a bit like the Dalai Lama, except at the other end of the moral spectrum.
“Pick one,” Xander says, suddenly in a hurry to get out of here.
Spike shrugs and points at the nearest bed. It’s too small and it certainly doesn’t look sturdy enough for the things Xander has in mind.
Xander blinks at the bed. “I want to tap into a hundred years worth of kink and this is what you want me to buy? I’m deeply disappointed.”
Spike tilts his head, giving Xander an inscrutable stare that’s quite chilling in its remoteness. What Spike is searching for, Xander can’t tell. He tries not to squirm and stomps on the nervous impulse to burst into inane babble. His heart is beating way too fast and his palms are sweaty.
“Kink.” Spike echoes, eyes narrowing in speculation.
“Yeah, you know, the whole falling asleep and waking up together deal? Pushes my buttons. Big kink of mine. You actually need a bed for it, though.”
Spike contemplates this, his face a mask of concentration as if he’s trying to add things up, his eyes never leaving Xander’s face. The ghost of a smile appears, faltering and uncertain.
“I’m a bit of an octopus myself,” Xander adds and flaps his arms in an imitation of tentacles.
Spike nods at that, as if to say, ‘it’ll do’, or ‘good enough’ and then an unexpected grin curls his lips, wicked and sensual. Vintage Spike. He closes in on Xander in one liquid, graceful move, until he’s almost touching him. Now they very much look like they’re together. Xander swallows but doesn’t move away. He can be stubborn like the best of them. He stood up to a troll once, heck, he can stand up to this.
“You wanna tap into some kink?” Spike leans even closer. “Tap into this,” he murmurs into Xander’s ear, cool breath ghosting over hot skin, his crotch almost but not quite touching Xander’s hip. “Fuck me.”
“Now?” Xander squeaks. All the blood in his body seems to rush to his cock – at least that would explain the sudden absence of coherent thought in his brain.
“No, tomorrow,” Spike snaps. “Of course now, you nit.”
“You’re nuts.” But Xander’s practiced eye is already roaming the store, searching for a secluded spot. Why does Spike have to pick the most embarrassing and inappropriate moment to finally show some initiative? Because he’s Spike, that’s why. Well, it could be worse. Spike could have come on to him in front of Buffy. That would have been disturbing.
Spike leers and steps back, slipping seamlessly into his old evil swagger, heads for a sturdy looking double bed and shouts loud enough for everybody to hear: “This one looks good. The manacles could go here and here,” he grips one of the brass bedposts and slides his fist up and down in a pumping motion. Lucky bedpost.
“Spike!” Xander guffaws, a slightly hysterical note creeping into his voice. God, it’s hot in here. No wait, it’s the stares of at least a dozen other customers, grilling him. Trust Spike to turn an embarrassing situation into a truly mortifying one. “He’s kidding.” Xander affects a goofy grin, while glaring at Spike.
“I’m kidding,” Spike affirms with a bashful smile that could charm a nun out of her knickers. When he walks back to Xander the predator act is gone. Spike surprises Xander by grabbing his hand. Walking backwards, holding his gaze, Spike drags him towards the bed he’s chosen.
Xander can almost physically sense the shift in perspective among their onlookers – going from ‘sick perverts’ to ‘aww, how romantic.’ Funnily enough, his own feelings go the same way, which is stupid, since this is just an act. A bit of play-acting for their rapt audience. Spike’s rapid mood swings are making Xander dizzy. And this particular one is making him horny.
He doesn’t pull back his hand, because – Christ - Spike would definitely take it the wrong way, but inwardly Xander can’t help doing a swift Leporello, mentally going through a long list of friends, work-buddies and family, wondering what the odds are that they turn up in droves to buy a new lamp only to find him holding hands with a guy. Ho boy!
“I’ll stake you for this,” he whispers, a smile plastered across his flushed face that’s only half fake. “Slowly.”
“That’s the general idea,” Spike tells him, eyes dark under heavy lashes.
“You do know you’ve just beaten Anya’s world record in public embarrassment?” Xander’s fingers take on a life of their own, tightening their grip on Spike’s hand.
“Yeah?” is Spike’s interested reply. “Good.”
“The restroom is over there,” Xander points out.
“Then what are we waiting for?” Spike starts to drag him off.
“Could you possibly be more obvious about this?” Xander cranes his neck, checking for onlookers. Sure enough, they still have an audience.
“If that’s what you want…”
“Spike!”
Spike does a half-arsed impression of innocence: raised eyebrows, flutter of lashes, pout.
“Spike, restroom. Now. I’ll just…um… pay for this and then I’ll… um…. come. Oh, and try to look sick.”
Spike chuckles and heads for the restroom. Xander whips out his wallet, grabs the nearest salesperson, thrusts his credit card and ID at him, points at the bed, hurriedly tells him to get everything ready for signature, grimaces, mumbles something about stomach cramps and that they shouldn’t have eaten the shrimp, then rushes off towards the restroom.
TBC (probably on Saturday, unless Ladycat wants her birthday smut earlier, in which case I'll try to get it out tonight or tomorrow)
BTW, I've decided to archive the stories as a proper series, but I need a title that fits all the stories. Does anyone have a good suggestion?
