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Education (1: continuing education)
by
Pet


He'd learned a lot, since he'd started hanging out with Oz. Really hanging out, not just encountering him at some random Scooby meeting that Oz happened to be a part of. Him and Oz, in the van or in the bandhouse, and sometimes Devon was there, and he was learning a lot. Like for instance that the little filter at the end of a faucet could be used, in a pinch, for a pipe-screen if you happened to be out of them and the bong was broken and you were too lazy and stoned and happy to make a run to the headshop. That E to D to A was a really easy chord progression that sounded good even when it was played by him. That a credit card could be used as a guitar pick. That cold pizza was the breakfast food of the gods.

That there was a spot between his shoulder blades that, when kissed, made him gasp and curl into the touch like a cat. That Oz tasted like sunshine and Devon smelled like rain. That there were things he could do *Me! I can do that!* to make another man beg to be turned inside out and put back together again, spent and sated. That his mouth was good for more than sarcasm and babble. That he was beautiful.

He tried to keep all this new, sweet knowledge in his mind as he stared across the six inches *infinite distance* at his heart's desire. Oz knew, Devon knew, they'd laughed a little at his stuttered confession, and kissed him, and sent him away, smiling, curled into each others' arms, and he'd almost run back to them. Almost. But he'd taken a deep breath, and squared his shoulders *I can do this* and walked through the heavy, sticky heat of a Sunnydale evening to his house, and what he knew waited there. And it was, he was, and he could feel the tension thrumming through his muscles as he eased down the steps into his basement, and saw Spike sitting *lounging really, with all that grace and energy sprawled careless* on his couch, sipping at blood in a mug, flipping through channels. A sharp glance up at his entrance, and no word spoken, and attention back to the little TV. And, daring greatly, Xander allowed one finger to trail along a cool pale arm as he passed behind.

A heatbeat, less, and he was up against the wall SLAM! And maybe this wasn't such a great idea, because chip or no chip Spike looked PISSED and was almost snarling up into his eyes. Six inches *infinite distance* from his face, and Xander had enough time to think hysterically that Spike really WAS shorter than him, as if that made a bit of fucking difference right now.

"What the FUCK are you playin' at?" Ah, there it was. Silk and leather voice, growl down below, and gameface. A quick shake made him realize he was staring like a complete loon.

"Er..." and all the words were gone, his rehearsed little speech *Spike, you up for a shag? No, that won't do...Spike, I have something to tell you...ugh, too girly. Spike, I've been thinking about you a lot recently...* fled his brain like it had somewhere much better to be, and he was left gaping. "Um...not? Not playing?" *Smooth, Harris. Way to calm the growling vampire who has you pinned to the wall.*

A slight release in the pressure on his shoulders then, and he breathed, and Spike's eyes darkened, and for a split second he hoped, and then Spike let him go and stalked back to the couch. Leaving Xander against the wall, aware for the first time of the cool concrete on his sweating back.

"'m not your werewolf or your little singer, so hands fucking off, right?" And there was the gasping thing again. *Dammit, brain! You've been processing speech for, what, sixteen years now? Get on with it!*

"Er...what? I mean, you KNOW? Knew?"

"Can smell 'em all over you. Have for weeks now. Good on you, pet, but sharing's not my thing. As NUMMY a treat as you might be." Sneering now, sprawled back on the couch, completely indifferent to Xander, except...

"Spike? Your hands are shaking." *Thank you, brain. He'll just kill me now, and this whole ridiculous situation will end...wait, no, chip. Maybe...*

The vampire scowled down at his hands, which were holding the remote again and definitely trembling.

"Are not." He stopped them, punched at a button and stared at the television. Teletubbies. Ech.

"Were." Xander finally moved away from the wall, moving into the room, towards the couch. *Hey! I'm prowling! Didn't know I could do that...*

Spike looked at him, finally, maybe a little wariness there.

"Whelp? What are you doing?" Inching back against the couch as Xander moved closer.

Xander found a reasonably credible growl of his own.

"Getting what I want." And smiling, and moving even closer, to stand pressing Spike's legs against the couch *Nowhere else to go. MY vampire* and leaning down, and

Oh. Cool mouth under his own, and the taste...like nothing he'd imagined. And the shocked blue eyes staring into his own *pretty eyes*, and hands pushing on him *SHIT!* and then resting on his chest, then holding onto his shirt, and

Oh. Tongues. Playing just a bit with each other, tasting and touching, then pulling away, and there it was, pushing into his mouth, and the hand that was on his shoulder curling up to cradle the back of his head, slim fingers twisting into his hair, and suddenly he was sprawled across Spike's lap and Spike's tongue was just fucking his mouth, and his own frantic hands were wrapped in ice-pale hair, scrabbling at buttons, needing to touch skin...

And Spike pulled back. Still holding his hair, still inches away, but serious now. Staring into his eyes. Intense. Xander felt a little shiver run through him *this is what you want, remember? This is what you've been wanting for so long* and stared right back.

"This what you're looking for, pet? Speak now or," smirk, "forever hold your peace."

"Yeah..." he breathed, and pulled that smirking face back down, and his last coherent thought *tastes so GOOD* went screaming off into the night, and he just started processing sensation. Cool hands under his shirt, skimming up to pull it over his head. Pretty face smiling at his rumpled hair and dazed eyes. Soft mouth on his throat *shiver* on his collarbone, licking the hollow beneath. Hard thighs under his own, shifting *THERE* to rub their lengths together. Straddling Spike's lap now, heavy and boneless, muscles moving against his own. Whispers against his skin, telling him of his saltysweetbittersmooth taste and his softness and his beauty. *Spike thinks I'm beautiful* The strain in his neck when he threw his head back, uncontrolled, as those hands finally found their way into the back of his jeans, grabbed and PULLED him forward. Awkward snatch-tug-haul to get the vampire out of his own shirt, *mmmm, skin*, then falling forward to lick and mouth and suck every inch he could reach. Back to the mouth, then, setting up a suck-thrust rhythm that scorched down to his hips, moved them, rocked them back and forth in time.

Groans now. His? Spike's? Couldn't tell. Spike was laughing at him, though, could see the crinkled eyes and the quirky smile, and he stopped for a moment, listened to himself "Jeans off jeans off get 'em off getemoffgetemoff" and he smiled too. Naked soon after. Hands everywhere, brushing his thigh, cradling his balls, stroking that little strip of skin below them, then brushing THERE and *I'm gonna give myself whiplash soon* and Spike looking so intent, intense again. Fingers in his mouth now. He sucked on them, staring into eyes that were almost all pupil, all black, still rocking against Spike's cock *bigger than I thought and not so cold* letting his own hands slide down that rippled stomach *Devon would KILL for these abs* and fingers brush, so gently, against the satin-smooth tip. Spike sucked in a breath *habit? I know he doesn't need to 'less he's talking or smoking* and let it out slowly as Xander's hand came sliding around his erection. Slick with sweat and his own pre-come, and surely Spike's fingers were wet enough now? The vampire pulled them out of his mouth with a 'pop', reached down again, pushed in *you know I've been doing this for weeks, Spike, just get on with it!* and found slickness already there. Still there.

Froze. Xander froze with him. He could hear the Teletubbies singing in the background, hear a child getting called in for dinner somewhere on the street. Could feel the heat of the summer air on his back, a trickle of sweat down his spine, the coolness of Spike under him, the warmth of Spike's cock in his hand. See the anger on those smooth perfect features, there so clearly, then shaken off. The fingers moved. Time moved again. IN, now, and pushing at that place he loved, and he moaned, and lost the rhythm in his fist, hand stuttering now, grabbing too hard, he knew. And Spike growled, and batted his hand away. Lifing him up *so fucking strong! Holy shit, I'm fucking a vampire!* so he could reach under and guide, and he was sinking down, gravity and Spike pulling him now, and he'd never been so grateful to Newton *OK, that didn't even make any sense to ME* and then Spike was pushing against his hole and again and again and in. Holding him still, for just a minute, as he gasped and shuddered and jerked against this invasion, pulling on the vampire's shoulders, looking for something, more, less, please stop, please don't...

Moving, now, too soon, and he knew it was punishment for that slipperiness, but didn't care. He was cradled in the curve of Spike's hips, knees on either side pushing against the back of the couch, and Spike was bucking up into him, HARD *fucking a vampire, yes, I know* and a hand on his own cock now, pulling because he could tell Spike was not going to last long, from the growls and moans he was hearing, and neither was Xander, because Spike kept hitting his prostate and biting at his shoulder and his chest and his lips and it was all just too fucking sexy to be borne for long, and Xander could feel it, feel the tension coiling through his thighs and the back of his neck, and *holy shit* and *oh Jesus* and he could hear himself wailing as he came and clamped down with all the muscles in his body and Spike HOWLED and they were frozen again.

Little rocking motions all that was left. He could feel his chest sliding just a little against Spike, feel the arms wrapped around his back and a hand sliding up to stroke his neck, feel the smooth white hair under his cheek where his head had dropped, and Spike's mouth just resting in the hollow beneath his throat. Stickiness on his stomach and thighs, and his breath still catching under his breastbone, and a long, shuddering sigh. And the mouth moved, and he could tell that Spike was smiling.

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