Fringe Benefits
"I believe this is what they call a Mexican standoff." Xander glared at Spike. Spike glared right back.
"Bit racist, don't you think?"
"What?" Right. Soul. Spike's changed, blah blah blah.
"Well, you know, the implication that somehow people from Mexico are less able to resolve conflicts. Just seems a bit unfair, that's all."
"Spike, I think I liked you better before the soul. In fact, I know I did."
"Fair enough, though I can't see why that would be."
The reasonableness, that was the worst thing. Or maybe it was the calm, low tone of voice, as if Spike thought he was talking to a child. Or maybe the worst thing was the whole situation, complete with the no-staking order from Buffy.
"Look, Spike, I already told you the last time you stayed here that if you're going to use the microwave to heat up your blood, you need to clean up any spills." Xander tried for the same low, reasonable inflection Spike was using, but couldn't quite manage it.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
"Could you stop? With the apologies, with the nice-nice? Because you're beginning to give me the creeps here. No, not beginning. You are giving me the creeps. And strangely, more so than you did when all you wanted to do was kill me."
Spike just tilted his head. Man, he hated it when Spike did that. Not that were many things he approved of Spike doing. Actually, when he thought about it, the last thing Xander remembered thinking might have been a good Spike idea was the whole self-staking business. Yellow crayon or no, he still hadn't quite forgiven Willow for convincing him that keeping Spike alive was a good thing. Or at least less "ooky" than letting him commit Spike-uku in the basement.
"Listen, as long as you're here, the rules are simple: no leaving bloodstains in the kitchen, no sneaking out to kill people, and no sex with women I care about."
"What about sex with you?"
Okay. Doubletake. No, make that tripletake. Possibly the rare quadrupletake. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Alrighty then. Should I chalk this one down to, oh, I don't know--total insanity?"
"No, it's just that you're keeping me here, against your will, and I'm trying to make things right."
"Let me get this straight: you're pimping yourself for room and board?"
"You make it seem like something sordid, and that's not the case."
"Okay, then. You're offering me a sympathy fuck." Nope. Still wasn't making sense. Worse still was how damned earnest Spike looked, like he'd be mortally wounded if Xander didn't take him up on the offer. Which was more than enough reason to not do it.
"Well, it was good enough for Buffy and Anya, don't see as how you're so far above them."
Right, breathing. Slow, calm. In. Out. In. Out. Anything to keep from staking the annoying vampire offering him... well, offering him something he hadn't had in a while. And really, there was no reason the idea should sound so appealing, but...
"Things. Not good for me," Xander muttered.
"What's that, then?"
"Nothing. Just talking to myself, as tends to happen when the only other option is, say, talking to a CRAZY person."
"You knew I was crazy when you took me in, so I don't see what the big shocker is there."
Reasonable again. And, much as he hated to admit it, in possession of a point. Not much of one, mind you, but enough of one to just barely get under the skin.
"Fine. So I knew you were nuts. Like that's a big shock. And you think this would make me willing to screw you because why?"
"Thought you might be lonely is all. Anya off finding herself, you here in this large apartment with nothing better to do than complain about my housekeeping. It's obvious that you're frustrated."
That was a much larger point. A point that could, like the Great Wall of China, be seen from space.
"Okay, so we'll fuck. But no kissing." Hell, he had to get something from the arrangement, didn't he?
"Why not? You ashamed of shagging me?"
"Yes, but more to the point, you've got blood-breath."
"They do make mouthwash, you know."
"Yes, and I spend my hard-earned money on it, which means that I get to decide who in my house uses it, and that who's not you."
"Well, fair's fair. So, you want to go to the bedroom, or just get things over with?"
"'If it were done when tis done, then twere well It were done quickly'." Spike cocked a brow at him--the sexy, scarred one, the bastard. "What? You think I can't know my Shakespeare? I went to school. Have my slightly singed diploma to prove it, even."
The head tilted again, but Spike was going down on his knees in front of Xander, which somehow made the whole thing less annoying and more... arousing. Seductive. Like when Anya'd--right. Spike.
Spike, who had managed to somehow work Xander's pants down to Xander's knees while Xander had been busy trying to figure out just the right word for the whole head tilt effect.
First thought through his head was that Spike's mouth was nowhere near as cold as he'd somehow expected it to be, not that he'd expended that much in the way of brainpower on the subject. There was no second thought. Things felt too good for there to be a second thought.
Slow, soft, gentle pressure of lukewarm lips around his cock turned to a harder, more insistent suction. A slim, supple tongue played with the sensitive skin just below the head, and cool hands stroked his hips and balls. Xander threw back his head and mouthed a silent prayer of thanks for Spike's complete lack of a need to come up for air. A couple of seconds later, he mouthed another one for the lack of a gag reflex as his hips jerked and he came into something other than his own hand for the first time in months.
"Better?"
Xander blinked at the sound of Spike's voice. "Somewhat, yeah."
"So, I'm forgiven for the mess I made in the microwave?"
They were back to staring at each other, but the tension had gone out of it. Xander grinned at Spike. "Sure, until next time."
Given Spike's style of housekeeping, he figured he wouldn't have too long to wait.