Things That Never Happened In The Basement

Title: Things That Never Happened In The Basement

Pairing: Spike/Xander

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not making profit from this. Joss is God.

Summary: Five drabbles. Totally unrelated.

The rhythmic vibration of the washing machine against his front kept him from needing to touch himself as the hot hard length of the boy behind him thrusts in and out of his arse, repeatedly.

How they got from arguing over leaky pipes and dirty clothes to rutting like animals is quite beyond him at the moment. He doesn’t care though as he feels his balls tighten, the moment almost upon him.

Just as he’s about to erupt, a door opens at the top of the stairs, a woman’s voice yells down, “Xander, don’t forget to add the fabric softener!”

~*~

The bed springs squeak in protest as the rickety sofa bed lurches with his movements. The sheets are damp and somewhat scratchy against his knees as he thrusts again and again.

Tight, wet, oh-my-god-so-bloody-hot and pulsing flesh encases his aching rod as he pushes himself ever deeper into the writhing body below him.

Sweat trickles down a tan back. He licks at it, tasting life and sunshine and things he will never have.

Moving, rolling, falling to the floor and under the bed as the boy’s bit of fluff makes her way down the stairs.

~*~

Ropes around his wrists, cutting, burning his flesh as he tries futily to escape. Xander’s turn to pick the game tonight. Should have known it’d be back to this. The chair feels even more uncomfortable when he’s naked.

Soft lights in the dark room, a tanned, toned body slowly revealed as the layers of clothes - too many layers for California - are removed.

Heat. Hot, wet, glorious suction on his cock and suddenly, the chair doesn’t seem so uncomfortable anymore. The burn of the ropes is a pleasant accompaniment to the pleasure he’s receiving.

Close. So close. Ah…. Yesssss.

~*~

Blood scent in the air. Injured on patrol again most likely, that or his old man’s on a bender. Light touches, gentle hands. Clothing removed and wounds bare.

Soft licks with a wet tongue. Laving. Cleaning. Arousing.

Probing fingers and soft kisses. Whispers of assurance. Worn, pliant body beneath him just waiting to be plundered.

Gasping, groaning as he’s slowly sheathed in velvety heat. Fangs lower and eyes bleed yellow as the demon takes over. The taste of human blood on his tongue again after far too long and he’s growling his satisfaction as he plunges deep. Cock and fangs.

~*~

Heavy footfalls and a drunken stumble. Boys’ father must be home. Feet on the stairs and a muffled giggle; just the boy then.

A sloppy kiss on the cheek and an arm around the shoulders. Girls must have left him on his own again. More’s the pity. But it works for you.

A sympathetic ear and he’s telling you all his secrets. Comfort turns to seduction and before too long you have him right where you want him - naked, bound and helpless. You lick your lips and grin at their naivety.

How quickly they forget that you’re still evil.

~*~