Twelve Hours 6
Spike pulled him up with a hard yank, hands gripping his shirt more than his shoulders, so fast that Xander went from kneeling to balancing on the balls of his feet in a dizzying flash. Of course Xander stumbled along in his flip–flops, coming up so fast with his pants down around his ankles, and his head swimming from the rapid movement. But Spike seemed to find all of that charming, if someone went by the way he laughed and then growled and then dove for Xander.
There was some fumbling and kicking over of crates and clutter before Spike got them where he wanted to be. He ripped off Xander´s Hawaiian print outer shirt, and while Xander stood blinking, turned him around and then thrust out Xander´s arms for him. "Hold on to that, pet," he advised, wrapping Xander´s hands around a waist–high bar attached to some kind of metal storage box.
Xander leaned forward so he could do as he was told, making sure he had a tight hold on the bar, and then arched his back. For a second he had a picture of himself in his mind´s eye, pants pooled on the ground, ass raised in the air, t–shirt the only thing actually on his body, and he had a ghost of an idea that he shouldn´t want this. But then he felt a hand stroke up the curve of his ass, and the image was gone. He hummed under his breath and spread his legs.
Spike take a quick breath before biting out, "Oh. Fuck." A beat passed before Spike was pressed up behind him, already starting to rub against him, the way Xander had against the other man who...demon, it had been a demon.
It didn´t matter.
Spike grunted just as he rubbed against him in a really, really right way. "Oh," Xander said in surprise. It wasn´t what he expected, but he´d take what he could get, so he pushed his hips back, trying to direct the movement without much success.
"Bloody hell, forgot that we´d need something," Spike muttered. "Can´t just...should´ve taken you somewhere else for this part."
Xander swallowed. "Probably...he had some."
"He..." Spike stilled, his fingers spread to cover Xander´s hips.
"When he...in the club..." Xander hoped Spike could fill in the rest.
Spike made a sort of tsk–ing sound, a cluck of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Well, look who´s gotten all resourceful? Can´t imagine you looting bodies after fights, but it´s a different thing, isn´t it, when you want something so badly?"
Xander said nothing, just gripped the metal bar harder, feeling the paint chip off in his hands. He didn´t turn when he heard Spike rummaging around in the direction of where the sounds of the fight had come.
"Right you are," Spike murmured as he took his place again behind Xander. "Makes me think better of him, almost, that he wasn´t going to –– well. That doesn´t matter now."
And it really, really didn´t matter, because Xander shivered at the snick of the cap flipping back, the dull thick sound of the squirt, all of it what felt like centuries before Spike was easing in a slick finger.
He´d always imagined this was the get–it–over–with part, the obligatory slick and stretch, but it turned out he´d been wrong. Or he´d been wrong where Spike was concerned, because Spike kept on with it, way after the point of it feeling weird changed over to feeling all kinds of good, way after the point at which Xander heard himself make little sounds as he moved back to take more of it in, way beyond the point at which Xander whimpered until one finger became two fingers became three.
"Okay then," Spike said, and his voice, low and thrilling, vibrated through Xander. "Here we go."
