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Entry tags:
S/X slash
TITLE: Philia's Touch
PAIRING: Spike/Xander
RATING: NC-17
GENRE: PWP – Slash - angst and fluff served with gratuitous smut
SUMMARY: Set about 10 days after ‘Aurora’s Light’
SERIES: ‘Pandoraverse’ Part 4 - Part 1: Pandora's Closet
SPOILERS: Set S7, some time after "Him"
DEDICATION: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladycat777, my lovely S/X beta, and for eliade
Thanks tolordshiva
***
It soon dawns on Xander that Spike will never say ‘no.’ Xander can walk into the apartment, toss his keys on the counter, bend Spike over the back-rest of the sofa or spread-eagle him against the front door, yank down his pants and take him without saying a single word – he’ll find Spike ready and slicked and just as silent. If Xander says “kneel,” Spike will comply; if Xander says “suck me,” Spike will open his mouth and a century’s worth of skill and experience will bend to Xander’s every whim.
It’s exhilarating, a roller-coaster ride of power and lust. The knowledge that Spike hungers for him is like a never-ending plunge, mixing vertigo with drunken bliss and just a tiny twinge of panic. Sometimes, during work, Xander has to lock himself into the men’s restroom to jerk off, because his mind and body can’t stop wanting Spike.
In the evenings, when he pulls into the condo’s parking lot, hands restlessly drumming on the steering wheel, Xander already feels himself hardening. By the time he urgently pushes his key into the lock all he can think about is pushing into Spike. It’s stupid, it’s hot and it’s probably wrong, but that first long thrust when he buries himself balls-deep in Spike’s ass, that wordless moment when urgency turns into blissful amazement, beats everything that’s ever happened to Xander before.
Tonight they’re in the kitchen, where Xander caught Spike making tea. The boiling kettle is vibrating noisily, but at least it’s no longer whistling since Spike managed to yank off the lid at the last minute. Spike’s hands are gripping the edge of the sink, his pants pushed down to his bare ankles. Xander on the other hand hasn’t even managed to take his jacket or shoes off.
“I needed that,” Xander groans, once the first breathlessness has passed. His hands are resting lightly on Spike’s hips. He pulls out a bit, then slides back in, eliciting a grunt of pleasure from Spike. He sets up an easy rhythm, hard but not too fast.
“Work was brutal, today.”
They never stay silent for long. Not just because they groan and grunt and talk dirty, although there’s some of that as well, but because a few days ago they found themselves talking - about Xander’s day, about Spike’s. Nothing profound, just every day stuff, and now they drag the act out for as long as they can, while Xander lazily thrusts into the hard male body beneath him. Inevitably, their breath hitches and their voices become strained. Sentences break off mid-way, suddenly meaningless, and words of three or more syllables turn into tongue-twisters. In the end everything boils down to Spike gasping simple things like “hold me” and “please” and Xander silently bringing them both to completion. They never talk much afterwards, because that’s what friends do—and they’re not. Sometimes, though, they watch television together and Spike no longer sleeps in the closet.
But right now they’re still talking…
“Brutal, huh? That stupid architect give you trouble again?”
“Yup. In today’s installment of the never-ending aggravation, Mr. I-have-a-degree-from-college-and-you-don’t told us to scrap three days of work because we lesser beings are quote obviously unable to even hold blueprints up the right way, unquote.” Without losing his rhythm, Xander pushes Spike’s button down shirt upwards until it hangs round his shoulders like a scarf, then bends down to lick the bare spine before him. One arm snakes round Spike’s waist to grip him tight. “How was your day?”
“Not so brutal. I—oh God, do that again!” Spike inhales and tries to push backward and forward. Xander grins and slows down until the steady pumping of his hand and hips turn into a languid rocking. Spike shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Read a book,” he confesses, unable to concentrate enough to come up with a decent lie.
Startled, Xander stops moving altogether. Swallows the mocking ‘you read, Spike?’
Tensing, Spike straightens slightly. Swallows an insolent ‘you should try it too.’
“What did you read?” Xander asks neutrally as he starts moving again, sliding in and out at a languid pace, determined to make this last.
“The Wasteland,” Spike finally answers.
“Is that one of my graphic novels?” Xander asks with a frown, as the title triggers images of Mad Max and post-nuclear deserts. “Alan Moore, right?”
“Not quite,” Spike hedges, but after a pause he adds. “S’poetry.”
That’s just too much. “What? Rhymes and cryptic word Smorgasbord? ‘Thus quoth the raven?’ You’re kidding,” Xander chortles.
“Better than Batman and that Electra chit romping through Metropolis,” Spike snaps, suddenly angry. Here he is, a vampire, for God’s sake, braced against an IKEA sink, pants down and is being fucked by a half-wit American geek who doesn’t know his arse from his elbow when it comes to English literature. There comes a point when irony cuts like a knife.
“Daredevil,” Xander corrects him. “Batman is DC, Daredevil and Electra are Marvel. And if you’re talking Batman it’s Gotham City not Metrop--”
“Who the fuck cares?” Spike cuts him off with more than a hint of venom.
Gloomy silence. The only audible sound is the clamor of the rumbling kettle. Then Xander swallows and voices what both are thinking: “We’re arguing.”
“So what? We do that all the time.” Spike retorts, suddenly sober and very wary.
“No we don’t.” It’s true. In front of the others they always bicker, growl and yap, snapping at each other like dogs - albeit of the same pack. Never here, though, when they’re alone. Never when they’re rutting, frotting or sucking each other off. Always too worried a false word might shoot this weird-hot truce straight to hell.
“Yeah, we do. That’s the baseline,” Spike mutters sullenly. Xander secretly calls this the Spike-is-so-full-of-bullshit voice.
“You’re saying this is just a freak ten day high, and now that we’ve come down we go back to the old ‘I hate your guts and you hate mine’ tune?”
Christ, do they really have to go through this in mid-fuck? “Something like that. Had to happen sooner or later, right?”
“No.” Xander shakes his head, surprised at his own vehemence. The sudden movement spills down his body to where they are joined, causing enough friction to cause both men to shudder. Xander’s grip on Spike’s hips tightens. With the relationship pile-ups in their wake the chances of this thing coming up roses are marginal, so maybe Spike is right and they’re destined to go kablooey sooner rather than later. Whatever. Right now Xander knows only one thing for certain: he can argue with Spike till the cows come home, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s exactly where he wants to be.
“No?”
“I hate reruns.”
Some of the tension in Spike dissipates. “Except for the good stuff.”
“Yup. Some things…” Xander slowly pulls Spike’s ass towards him again, burying himself deeply inside the vampire. Again that breathless amazement. He runs his callused hands over the smooth ripples of Spike’s ribs and abs, groping and teasing. “Some things you just can’t get enough of.”
Spike sighs. “Yeah? Like what?”
A long lick. “Vanilla ice cream.”
A snort. “Passions.”
Dramatic pause, except for their panting and the slapping sounds of two rutting bodies. “Star Trek.”
“You’ve… got to be.. kidding.”
“Nope. You better… believe it.” The tremors of Xander’s chuckle leave them both breathless. And then they have other things to concentrate on.
“God, this is good,” Spike hisses at one time, when Xander’s fist speeds up its rhythm on his cock. “Oh fuck!”
“Hunhhhh.” Is all Xander manages to get out.
An hour later they’re soaking in hot water, crammed into a bathtub that’s way too small for two grown men, bickering and arguing, but both looking very much like the cat that’s gotten the canary.
THE END
AN: Philia was the Greek personification of friendship.
PAIRING: Spike/Xander
RATING: NC-17
GENRE: PWP – Slash - angst and fluff served with gratuitous smut
SUMMARY: Set about 10 days after ‘Aurora’s Light’
SERIES: ‘Pandoraverse’ Part 4 - Part 1: Pandora's Closet
SPOILERS: Set S7, some time after "Him"
DEDICATION: for
ladycat777, my lovely S/X beta, and for eliadeThanks to
lordshiva***
It soon dawns on Xander that Spike will never say ‘no.’ Xander can walk into the apartment, toss his keys on the counter, bend Spike over the back-rest of the sofa or spread-eagle him against the front door, yank down his pants and take him without saying a single word – he’ll find Spike ready and slicked and just as silent. If Xander says “kneel,” Spike will comply; if Xander says “suck me,” Spike will open his mouth and a century’s worth of skill and experience will bend to Xander’s every whim.
It’s exhilarating, a roller-coaster ride of power and lust. The knowledge that Spike hungers for him is like a never-ending plunge, mixing vertigo with drunken bliss and just a tiny twinge of panic. Sometimes, during work, Xander has to lock himself into the men’s restroom to jerk off, because his mind and body can’t stop wanting Spike.
In the evenings, when he pulls into the condo’s parking lot, hands restlessly drumming on the steering wheel, Xander already feels himself hardening. By the time he urgently pushes his key into the lock all he can think about is pushing into Spike. It’s stupid, it’s hot and it’s probably wrong, but that first long thrust when he buries himself balls-deep in Spike’s ass, that wordless moment when urgency turns into blissful amazement, beats everything that’s ever happened to Xander before.
Tonight they’re in the kitchen, where Xander caught Spike making tea. The boiling kettle is vibrating noisily, but at least it’s no longer whistling since Spike managed to yank off the lid at the last minute. Spike’s hands are gripping the edge of the sink, his pants pushed down to his bare ankles. Xander on the other hand hasn’t even managed to take his jacket or shoes off.
“I needed that,” Xander groans, once the first breathlessness has passed. His hands are resting lightly on Spike’s hips. He pulls out a bit, then slides back in, eliciting a grunt of pleasure from Spike. He sets up an easy rhythm, hard but not too fast.
“Work was brutal, today.”
They never stay silent for long. Not just because they groan and grunt and talk dirty, although there’s some of that as well, but because a few days ago they found themselves talking - about Xander’s day, about Spike’s. Nothing profound, just every day stuff, and now they drag the act out for as long as they can, while Xander lazily thrusts into the hard male body beneath him. Inevitably, their breath hitches and their voices become strained. Sentences break off mid-way, suddenly meaningless, and words of three or more syllables turn into tongue-twisters. In the end everything boils down to Spike gasping simple things like “hold me” and “please” and Xander silently bringing them both to completion. They never talk much afterwards, because that’s what friends do—and they’re not. Sometimes, though, they watch television together and Spike no longer sleeps in the closet.
But right now they’re still talking…
“Brutal, huh? That stupid architect give you trouble again?”
“Yup. In today’s installment of the never-ending aggravation, Mr. I-have-a-degree-from-college-and-you-don’t told us to scrap three days of work because we lesser beings are quote obviously unable to even hold blueprints up the right way, unquote.” Without losing his rhythm, Xander pushes Spike’s button down shirt upwards until it hangs round his shoulders like a scarf, then bends down to lick the bare spine before him. One arm snakes round Spike’s waist to grip him tight. “How was your day?”
“Not so brutal. I—oh God, do that again!” Spike inhales and tries to push backward and forward. Xander grins and slows down until the steady pumping of his hand and hips turn into a languid rocking. Spike shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Read a book,” he confesses, unable to concentrate enough to come up with a decent lie.
Startled, Xander stops moving altogether. Swallows the mocking ‘you read, Spike?’
Tensing, Spike straightens slightly. Swallows an insolent ‘you should try it too.’
“What did you read?” Xander asks neutrally as he starts moving again, sliding in and out at a languid pace, determined to make this last.
“The Wasteland,” Spike finally answers.
“Is that one of my graphic novels?” Xander asks with a frown, as the title triggers images of Mad Max and post-nuclear deserts. “Alan Moore, right?”
“Not quite,” Spike hedges, but after a pause he adds. “S’poetry.”
That’s just too much. “What? Rhymes and cryptic word Smorgasbord? ‘Thus quoth the raven?’ You’re kidding,” Xander chortles.
“Better than Batman and that Electra chit romping through Metropolis,” Spike snaps, suddenly angry. Here he is, a vampire, for God’s sake, braced against an IKEA sink, pants down and is being fucked by a half-wit American geek who doesn’t know his arse from his elbow when it comes to English literature. There comes a point when irony cuts like a knife.
“Daredevil,” Xander corrects him. “Batman is DC, Daredevil and Electra are Marvel. And if you’re talking Batman it’s Gotham City not Metrop--”
“Who the fuck cares?” Spike cuts him off with more than a hint of venom.
Gloomy silence. The only audible sound is the clamor of the rumbling kettle. Then Xander swallows and voices what both are thinking: “We’re arguing.”
“So what? We do that all the time.” Spike retorts, suddenly sober and very wary.
“No we don’t.” It’s true. In front of the others they always bicker, growl and yap, snapping at each other like dogs - albeit of the same pack. Never here, though, when they’re alone. Never when they’re rutting, frotting or sucking each other off. Always too worried a false word might shoot this weird-hot truce straight to hell.
“Yeah, we do. That’s the baseline,” Spike mutters sullenly. Xander secretly calls this the Spike-is-so-full-of-bullshit voice.
“You’re saying this is just a freak ten day high, and now that we’ve come down we go back to the old ‘I hate your guts and you hate mine’ tune?”
Christ, do they really have to go through this in mid-fuck? “Something like that. Had to happen sooner or later, right?”
“No.” Xander shakes his head, surprised at his own vehemence. The sudden movement spills down his body to where they are joined, causing enough friction to cause both men to shudder. Xander’s grip on Spike’s hips tightens. With the relationship pile-ups in their wake the chances of this thing coming up roses are marginal, so maybe Spike is right and they’re destined to go kablooey sooner rather than later. Whatever. Right now Xander knows only one thing for certain: he can argue with Spike till the cows come home, that doesn’t change the fact that he’s exactly where he wants to be.
“No?”
“I hate reruns.”
Some of the tension in Spike dissipates. “Except for the good stuff.”
“Yup. Some things…” Xander slowly pulls Spike’s ass towards him again, burying himself deeply inside the vampire. Again that breathless amazement. He runs his callused hands over the smooth ripples of Spike’s ribs and abs, groping and teasing. “Some things you just can’t get enough of.”
Spike sighs. “Yeah? Like what?”
A long lick. “Vanilla ice cream.”
A snort. “Passions.”
Dramatic pause, except for their panting and the slapping sounds of two rutting bodies. “Star Trek.”
“You’ve… got to be.. kidding.”
“Nope. You better… believe it.” The tremors of Xander’s chuckle leave them both breathless. And then they have other things to concentrate on.
“God, this is good,” Spike hisses at one time, when Xander’s fist speeds up its rhythm on his cock. “Oh fuck!”
“Hunhhhh.” Is all Xander manages to get out.
An hour later they’re soaking in hot water, crammed into a bathtub that’s way too small for two grown men, bickering and arguing, but both looking very much like the cat that’s gotten the canary.
THE END
AN: Philia was the Greek personification of friendship.
no subject
Plus you reference Alan Moore.
Plus it's HOT. Xander leaning over and licking Spike's spine?????? Gah.
My favourite line?
There comes a point when irony cuts like a knife.
My only question:
He runs his callous hands over the smooth ripples of Spike’s ribs and abs
Do you mean callused? Even though callous hands gives another take on the scene ... but not one I think you meant.
no subject
Thanks for your detailed feedback. I totally love it if people quote their favourite line. And I'm glad the optimism shines through without drifting into heavy-handed schmoop. :-D
Thanks again for your eagle-eye, Circe.
*rushes off to edit.*