Random AIM fic for Entre
entrenous88 talked about her love of younger!Xander/older!man crack!fic and even
though I can write nothing right now, it pinged.
NC-17. This contains potentially very squicky subjects (younger boy/older men). If it's not your thing, cool. If it is ... feedback makes me happy.
I want it to be human!au, because that makes me happier and the Giles's have
just moved to Sunnydale. They are fabulously wealthy and just-this-side-of-callus
They happen to see one of their employees, a tony Harris, having a spat with his fifteen year old son, Xander. It's a frightening row about money and how worthless Xander is, so Spike steps up and says fine, if he's so worthless -- let me make it worth your while because he is pretty and Spike is used to getting what he wants and right now what he wants is Xander. Just cause.
Xander is rather shell-shocked by this because his father agrees and demands lots of money. He doesn't seem to react at all when Spike takes him by the arm, pulling him away from his father's reach
Spike looks him over, not unkindly, but very much an assessment that weighs both pros and cons to taking a new boy into the family. Then he offers Tony three thousand dollars for Xander's legal guardianship to be transfered to his father.
Tony is starting to stutter now, because he isn't really expecting this. Spike is crass and rude, normally, and right now he's acting suave and very much the little lordling that is going to get his way. So he says, "Three thousand?"
Spike looks down his nose, which is impressive since Spike is shorter than both Xander and his father, and says, "The price just dropped, mate. Two thousand. How much is it worth to get this boy out of your hair?"
His phrasing is deliberate, but he doesn't think Xander's in any kind of position to under stand the subtle reassurance. He's just standing there, staring, looking as if the world is crumbling underneath him like sandcastles destroyed by rising tide. He doesn't even object when Spike puts his arm around him, just as reassurance that's all. If anything, he leans closer to Spike which convinces him that this is exactly the right thing to do. Tony Harris has no idea how to appreciate a boy as beautiful as this one and Spike -- and his father -- very much will.
Tony is turning pale, now, spluttering about lawyers and fees and all kinds of things. Spike just shrugs. "I want his legal papers, Mr. Harris, and be certain that you will not stop me from getting them. I'll have my father contact you. In the mean time, I'm taking Xander with me to ensure that he is well-fed for the night."
Tony, predictably, makes noises about the police. Spike dismisses that with a single comment about Tony really wanting to take on the Giles Family Lawyer.
Xander winces at the audible capitals and looks very young.
Tony also flinches and says, "Fine, three thousand and you don't even have to give him back when you get bored with him."
The implications of that are clear as a bell, Xander practically shriveling inside his own skin -- but he doesn't pull out of Spike's protective hold. He just cuddles closer, his face flaming and his body ...
Mentally, Spike grins and congratulates himself on a perfect find. The rest of him, however, is furious at Mr. Harris' actions and intends to make very certain that he gathers evidence of abuse -- something Spike is absolutely certain has occurred -- is provable as contingency.
Sulking, but beaten, Tony finally makes a sneering comment at Xander and then stomps off. Spike waits about thirty seconds before guiding Xander into a chair. "Wait here," he says gently. "Back in just a moment."
He finds the whiskey decanter is father leaves in strategic places around the office -- Rupert Giles is famous for his indulgence when it comes to efficient and successful employees -- and pours Xander at least three fingers worth of alcohol. The boy gags when he drinks it, red spots immediately burning in his cheeks and his eyes going glassy by the third and final swallow.
It's a little soon, but ... Spike's never been particularly patient. Sitting down next to Xander, Spike wraps his arm around the boy's waist and encourages him to lean on Spike's shoulder. "Better now, pet?" he asks. "Can't say you're losing much with that wanker. Mum any better?"
Xander shakes his head. "He ... for only ... " The words clearly aren't an answer to Spike's question, but after a few seconds, Xander shakes his whole body a little. "Um. No. I mean, she doesn't, um, try to sell me, or anything, but she's ..."
Probably as much of a drunken sot as her husband is, Spike surmises. Xander's swaying lightly even as he leans, and he doesn't make a sound when Spike begins rubbing his belly in what is ostensibly a soothing motion. Spike, again mentally, grins. Perfect. "Well, it's not like you'll never see them again. Not unless you want to, pet. Dad'll sort everything out, don't worry. Get you cleaned up and fed, all the things a Da is supposed to do for you."
Xander hiccups a little as he breathes and, releasing his belly, Spike pours and feeds another few fingers of whiskey to him. This time, when he strokes the boy's stomach it's not ostensibly anything -- it's a caress, with highly sexual overtones that are confirmed when Spike cups between Xander's legs.
Xander doesn't flinch. He moans.
Oh yes, Spike thinks as he continues murmuring and gentling him. Dad was going to love this new edition.
When Xander's breathing starts to even out, Spike carefully palms his cell phone out of his pocket. "Dad," he says, quietly enough that he won't disturb Xander. He knows that the slightest bit of reality is going to jolt Xander into remembering just why being drunk with someone who is basically his new owner is a very bad thing. But right now Xander is warm and pliant, breathing softly against Spike's shoulder, and curling closer to him like he's been as affection-starved as Spike suspects.
"William?" Only his father gets away with calling Spike 'Will'. "I thought you were coming home an hour ago."
"Sorry, Dad, but something came up. Can you send over the limo?"
Rupert Giles isn't a man who asks questions without first doing a little bit of research, first. Spike can hear him accessing the computer, probably doing all kinds of checks that Spike can't manage on his own -- computers are things to curse at, not value. He's more of a people person, something his father fully understands and is quite happy to make use of. "Of course. I'll be waiting in the dining room," he says after a long series of clicks and clacks. "Shall I have anything prepared?"
"Warm clothes an' that fuzzy blanket mom left. Some supper might be good too -- something filling. He's a bit on the too-thin side."
"Of course. William ... are you certain about this?"
Spike shifts a little, smiling as Xander curls up against his chest, one arm clinging to Spike like he's a fantasy Xander's terrified will disappear when he wakes. "Definitely. You'll see when we arrive."
"Very well. An hour, then."
Spike clicks off and waits another twenty minutes before gently shaking the boy. "Xander? Xander, come on, wake up." Bleary, blood-shot eyes blink up at him, pupils hugely dilated. Xander's not processing anything at all, Spike knows. "Come on, pet. Up you go, that's right. Lean on me, now."
Xander is surprisingly heavy as he leans against Spike, far heavier than his lanky, underfed frame suggests -- it's reassuring. Tony is an unmitigated bastard who no doubt smacks his son around, but Spike really doesn't want to put up with someone all that neglected. It makes them too grateful, and annoyingly eager. Spike -- and his father -- prefer to awe and woo, not already have their battles half fought and a different kind of war looming on the horizon.
"Gotta," the boy murmurs as they head out the door. "Home. Gotta ... go home."
"We are going home, Xander," Spike tells him kindly.
"Home?" Xander head lifts, blinking as he takes in the limo and the crappy little bike Xander had rode over to the building. "Home's there," he points.
"Of course, pet. Come on, in you go. Need a bit of coffee," laced, of course; Spike wants him tipsy, not outright drunk, "and something to eat. You are hungry, aren't you?"
It's easier than Spike expects to get Xander into the car, particularly after Wesley -- an old family retainer and well versed in his employer's habits -- slides the ratty, banged up bike into the drunk of the limo. Inside, Spike lifts an arm without a verbal request, pleased when Xander immediately grafts himself back to Spike's side. Spike immediately places his hand over the boy's groin. He isn't stroking, just holding it there as they wind their way through the streets, allowing his heat and pressure to affect the boy.
Dad is waiting for them when they arrive. He smiles at them, the picture of the kindly old Englishman who does everything too properly and speaks too correctly, holding out a thick sweater Spike recognizes as his own -- one far too big and used as something to lounge around in when he's not going out. Clever, Spike thinks as the two of them encourage Xander to put the sweater on.
"Something to drink?" Dad asks, leading them not into the dining room but the family room. There are several tureens of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Spike raises an eyebrow at his father, over Xander's head; Dad just quirks a quick smile. Ah. Dad's done more research, then.
Xander's eyes flit over the room, taking in the understated elegance of squashy, comfortable chairs, an entertainment center high-tech enough to grace Steve Jobs' home, and the low lighting. Spike doesn't think he really sees any of this, just registering Money and starting to remember that he has none and doesn't belong here.
Fixing that is simple enough.
"Coffee?" he asks, knowing Dad will understand what else he's supposed to put in the drink. When Dad nods, Spike takes Xander's hand and leads him towards the sofa.
"Oh! Um. Maybe I should l-l-leave?" The stutter is completely endearing, as is the growing panic behind bruise-dark eyes. He doesn't struggle when Spike pushes him into the sofa's embrace, though. "Home. It's late, and I should go home. Mom will -- " his voice catches.
Spike sits beside him, sliding one arm around his waist again, the other hand cupping between the boy's legs and rubbing lightly. "Easy now, pet. Have some supper, okay? You look hungry and Dad's cooked up a whole spread for us."
Well, Fred's done most of the cooking, but Xander can learn about that later. Right now the goal is to not overwhelm Xander. "Um?" he says, staring cross-eyed at the food. "Th-that looks g-g-g-g-good."
"Here you are." Dad looks so thoroughly genial that Spike has to bite his lip to stop laughing. He passes over the mug to Xander, watching approvingly as Xander takes an immediate swallow. "Hello, Xander. I'm Rupert Giles, Spike's father. I was wondering if you could perhaps help explain your bizarre version of footie to me? I understand there's a playoff game tonight ... "
Xander rouses a little at that. Under the gentle manipulations of both Giles men he begins to eat, discussing football versus soccer -- which he is surprisingly well versed in, to Spike's appreciation -- and the importance of tonight's wild-card game. He doesn't ever grow as animated as a normal fifteen year old boy should be in the face of such flattering attention, but it's enough that Spike relaxes a little.
The entire game, all four quarters, Spike's hand never leaves Xander's groin. The boy's cock is hard and aching by half time and there's a hunted quality to his eyes -- but every time he thinks about asking, or shifting away, he is distracted away from doing either. By the end of the third quarter he is trying not to pant or thrust into Spike's palm, miserably embarrassed and confused as to why no one mentioned the near hand-job he is receiving.
Dad is so good at this, Spike thinks, pleased, and reassured that Dad does appreciate his choice. They'd been on the look out, of course, but this is a true treasure. Spike trails a finger nail down the seam of Xander's zipper, right over Xander's ball sac, mentally grinning when Xander finally gave up and moaned slightly.
Spike hums under his breath, a light sound that matches Xander's moan, normalizing it. The boy is truly panting now and doesn't really notice when Dad sits next to him, gently nudging him to lean more closely against Spike.
"I've spoken with Tony," Dad says. His attention is seemingly focused on the game. "We can expedite this unpleasant business within a few days, I think. Charles Gunn, our lawyer, is very good."
Spike makes eyes at his father. This is too soon! But Xander isn't reacting to Rupert's words, he's limply rocking into Spike's hand, like he's unable to stop himself but he really doesn't want to. Spike solves that problem by forcing Xander's torso away from the sofa long enough that Dad can thread his arm around the boy's waist as well. Xander is firmly squashed between them, now, his legs splayed against and almost over their thighs. It's obscene, really, but Spike loves it. Xander looks so young like this, barely able to understand all the messages his body is sending to his brain, face flushed with red and a bare beginning of sweat as he lets Spike unzip his trousers and begin truly playing with his cock.
"I think," Dad says in that authoritative way of his, "that you've been a very brave boy, Xander. And a very good boy. You've wanted to be a good boy, haven't you? Of course you have. A good boy for your father. But it's going to be different now, pet, because I am the kind of father who appreciates good boys. You don't have to always succeed, because you're very young, aren't you? Just a little boy. So it's time someone takes care of you. Gives you a nice room, and tutors, fine clothes. You'd like that, wouldn't you? There's a boy."
While he speaks, Spike tugs and strokes Xander's cock, smearing his palm with the growing mess of precome on the tip. Dad, meanwhile, is swaying imperceptibly, rocking Xander just a little while he speaks, the football game with its tinny cheers white noise in the background.
"We'll take care of you, Xander," Dad tells him. "Your new brother and I will take very good care of you, because you're a good boy. A sweet boy. And you taste... " Dad leans forward, unable to stop himself from kissing the boy's ear. Xander jerks at the sensation, but doesn't object. "You taste delicious, Xander. It feels good, what your brother is doing, doesn't it? You're being so good for us, wonderfully obedient. That's it, now, pet."
Spike can feel the tremors before Xander's breathing starts to hitch and adds his own voice. "That's right, precious," he croons, seductive to Dad's more fatherly expectancy. "You've been so good for me, pet. Do you want to, Xander? Want to be a good boy for me? I can tell you how, pretty. Shall I? Do you want to know?"
Xander's whimpering with now, little breathy whines from the back of his throat, his eyes half closed as he lets his body be played with. He does manage to nod, though, hips jerking more purposefully as he's given a chance to gain more approval.
"I knew you would, pet," Spike tells him, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I want you to come for me, Xander. Can you do that for me? For your new Dad and your new brother? Will you be a good boy for us?"
Xander opens his mouth like he's about to speak, gasps, and as Spike quickens his rhythm to something a man can actually get off on -- arches back like a bow and comes with an aching little cry.
He sobs a little as he spills himself over Spike's hand. Dad and Spike both react immediately, crooning reassurances and approval while Xander is cleaned up and fed more alcohol -- unlaced, this time -- so that he's kept pliant and dazed.
He blinks up at them, smiling shyly whenever he's told that he was a good boy. The back of his eyes are wary, though, full of confused calculation; it's expected. Only very young children are so easy to manipulate without any real distrust, but their tastes have never run to true pedophilia. Boys not quite of age, not truly men yet are what interest them, not actual children, a distinction that keeps them morally content. But Xander's confusion and distrust are muted from the orgasm and the alcohol and he doesn't object as he's bundled up into what Dad says will be his own room, once it's made up and decorated to Xander's specifications.
Xander doesn't even see the toys already inside, eyes focused on the bed exclusively. Spike helps over to the mattress -- Xander's legs aren't working properly -- removing shoes and socks and jeans, but leaving the sweater and stained boxers still on. Then he tucks Xander under the covers, enjoying the way he blinks so sweetly as Spike smooths his mother's blanket over Xander's body, petting his hair and explaining the emotional significance.
Xander yawns midway through the production, eyes starting to droop. "There's a good boy," Dad says from the doorway. "Go to sleep, now, Xander. We'll be right across the hallway if you need."
Spike brings breakfast in the morning, setting it down on the night stand before seating himself on the bed. Xander looks far younger like this, half-curled under Spike’s mother’s blanket, a hint of pink-flushed cheek visible under the thatch of dark hair. Just the little boy Dad so enjoys calling him. Spike enjoys it too, of course, but since he’s inherited none of his father’s great height it becomes awkward when the boy in question is a good few inches the taller.
Almost absently, Spike reaches out to caress the lump of blanket that is Xander’s shoulder, drawing the backs of his fingers up to brush against whatever sleep-warm skin is visible. Xander starts, dazed brown eyes opening wandering over the room in a distracted fashion until—
He can move far faster than Spike’s expected.
“Hey, whoa, there,” Spike says, hands up as he slowly backs away from the bed. Xander hasn’t left the confines of the sheets, yet, but from the way his gaze darts back and forth Spike knows it’s only a matter of time before the boy truly bolts. “Not gonna hurt you, pet. Now, then, want some breakfast? S’very important in the Giles household, you know. Dad likes to do business over breakfast, check in on everyone.” As he babbles he can see the moment Xander starts to remember, both the events of yesterday and the hangover that’s hammering away at the back of his eyes. “Course, he likes to have breakfast at around seven and since we didn’t want to wake you, you’ve missed that. Now come on, back over here, pet. Eat your breakkie and then we’ll figure out what we’re doing today, hm? There we go, that’s a good pet. Come on, now.”
It wasn’t unlike coaxing a nervous, abused animal, Xander responding to the combination of endearment and command as easily as he had the night before. He’s not thinking things through, yet, Spike knows; the way his eyes seem to circle as he nervously slides closer is a dead give away. He’s probably still drunk, actually—Spike would lay big money on Tony Harris’ son never touching a drop of alcohol before last night.
“So ... not a dream. Yesterday, I mean. With the ... selling.” Xander’s back on the right side of the bed, now warily eyeing the tray piled high with eggs and toast, bacon and a muffin, plus orange juice and a mug of hot tea—neither Giles enjoys coffee and will not have it in their house. Xander picks up a piece of toast like it’s going to bolt under his fingers. “My dad sold me. To you.”
“Actually, pet, Tony didn’t sell you—we’re gonna take that three thousand he thinks he’s getting and more out of his beer-soaked hide.” Certain Xander isn’t going to bolt—or kick him—Spike sits back down on the bed, hand on Xander’s thigh. “We talked to your mom last night, and Dad’s made a bunch of phone calls already. We won’t have a full answer for a few more hours, but things’ll work out all right. They usually do.”
The toast is nibbled for a few bites—and then vanishes with the fervor of a teenaged boy who has been on meager rations for far too long. The eggs are practically inhaled, bacon savored as an obvious favorite for afters. Xander’s focusing entirely on the food, as he should be, so it’s a surprise when he swallows everything and says, “The benefits of being rich, huh? I always knew money really did buy happiness.”
A bit of hardness, underneath all that nervous eager-to-please desperation. Good; Spike doesn’t like his toys to be pushovers, and Dad has requirements about the intelligence level of their playthings. They’ve done beautiful and brainless, of course—who hasn’t? But the ones that are more than an occasional fixture in their beds are as intelligent as they are pretty. “Not usually, pet, but it does afford us the skills of a damned good lawyer.” One that has his own private investigator on permanent retainer—and leash, actually, but Xander doesn’t need to know how all in the family Gunn and Lindsey are yet. He’ll meet them soon enough. “Pet ... here, come on, precious, sit up a bit.”
Xander complies, cagey but still not objecting to the nicknames being so casually tossed his way. “What, no choking on the three-thousand count sheets? Yeah, sorry, manners were never big at the Harris house. I am toilet-trained, though, and am usually known to dress my very own self.”
Spike smiles, reaching forward to wipe away a crumb from the bottom of Xander’s lip. His hand ends up on the top of Xander’s thigh, thumb swiping up and down rhythmically. “Hardly, pet. Just wanted to let you know that we’ve contacted your mum.” The use of ‘mum’ instead of ‘Jessica’ is deliberate; he wonders if Xander will pick it up. “She’s why this is going to go so smoothly. She’s all for us adopting you until you’re sixteen.” Actually, she’s all for anything that gets her son out of Tony’s household and perhaps maybe taking her with him, but Xander doesn’t need to know that yet, either. Jessica will be well compensated for allowing the legal proceedings to go through without any hitches for Gunn to flatten, and all Xander will know is that his mum is happy and healthy and is certain her son will be, too.
Xander accepts that information, ducking his head as he thinks it through. “She’s divorcing him?”
“Subpoena will be filed tomorrow.”
Xander’s teeth are very even and very white behind oddly-stretched out lips. He’s biting the lower one, absently gnawing on it. “Is he going to contest?”
Spike’s hand slips down a little, enjoying the stronger heat radiating against his skin. His hands area always so cold. “Shouldn’t. If he does, though, we can take care of it quick enough.”
Nodding, Xander reaches for the final piece of bacon and toys with it absently. Subconsciously—at least, Spike thinks it is—this thighs widen, allowing Spike’s hand to slip down even a bit further. Good boy, Spike thinks but does not say. That’s a little too much too soon—
The quiet knock Spike’s been expecting sends Xander jumping half out of his skin, face flushing bright red as he starts inching backwards. Spike just applies a little more pressure, scooting up enough that he’s half-shielding Xander with his body. “He’s awake, Dad,” he calls, favoring Xander with a wry smile. The boy is downright adorable when he blushes.
Dad is dressed in a suit and tie when he walks in, a sure sign that it’s time to go to court. “Good morning, boys. Have you had breakfast?”
Xander doesn’t nod, so Spike does it for him. “Ate everything, Dad. Won’t have that leftover problem anymore, that’s for sure.”
“Really, Spike, must you be so thoroughly crass?” The long-suffering tone is designed to ease Xander into the more familial aspect of his new family—among other things. Dad doesn’t let digs go by, particularly easy ones like that. “I’ve got a meeting down at the court house this morning that’ll probably take hours. No, Xander, it’s not to do with you, please relax. I was just apologizing because I’d rather that I be shopping with you.”
“Shopping?” Xander’s eyes immediately flit to the ratty sneakers with the sole half-off, dawning hope like the sun coming from behind a cloud—and then abruptly shutters again. “Like, for leather restraints? Maybe a couple r-rings?”
“Actually, I was thinking pants without holes in them,” Dad replies without missing a beat, “and shirts that fit you properly. Your mother has told me that your wardrobe is... less than optimal, for a growing boy like yourself, and has given me a rather long list of things I should purchase for you. Unless you don’t want a... good lord, an x-bag?”
Spike chuckles, switching his hold to around Xander’s waist as he leans back against the bed. So Xander isn’t as blind to what’s going on as he seems, but isn’t objecting to any of it. Fascinating. Spike’s not sure they’ve ever had one this quick on the uptake. “Xbox, Dad, the new game-consol? Right, never mind. Dad doesn’t get video games,” he tells Xander in an overly dramatic aside. “Thinks they’re a total waste of time. But don’t worry, pet. We’ve got a ton of places to hit, and Best Buy is near the top of the list. Need a tv in here, don’t you? Phone, maybe a better clock than this office-room thing you’ve got going on here. Some posters on the walls... ”
Xander’s eyes regain their sunrise hopefulness as Spike describes all the places he’s going to take Xander. “Really? I mean, um. I can’t pay for any of it.”
Both Giles men snort at the same time, surprising a laugh out of the boy. Spike pinches the bit of hip he’s got a hand on, smirking at Xander. “Prat. You’re a Giles, now. Not gonna spoil you too rotten, but certain things are necessarily. Got a look to maintain as rich, snobby bastards, after all.”
“Besides,” Dad adds. “You’ll need some kind of reward after I introduce you to your private tutor.”
Xander groans, half-falling to the side so that he’s leaning on Spike. “I thought rich people didn’t care about school!” he says petulantly.
Dad snorts again, fussily checking his cufflinks so he doesn’t laugh in Xander’s face. “Xander Giles, I expect you, like Spike, to attend university and return with very high marks. That means a private tutor to determine your skill level and what your interests are, something that will take place, young man. No son of mine is allowed to languish without discovering what his potential is—and if nothing else, there’s the business to run after I’m gone.”
“Oh, please, don’t go into Giles and Son—er, Sons—again,” Spike whines, mimicking Xander’s slump so he’s half-curled around the boy. Xander looks completely relaxed, but Spike can feel the tension in his body; obviously, the boy is a decent actor. Not that that’s a surprise, with Tony for a father. “Go, get to bloody court. I’m taking my little brother shopping on your Am Ex an’ there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I’d shudder, but I can’t in this suit.” Briskly approaching, Dad leans forward to brush a kiss on Xander’s forehead, tapping his cheek fondly. “There’s a cellphone downstairs waiting for you, pet. It’s got all the important numbers already plugged in. We’ll get you your own later, of course, but for now... ” Dad looks earnest, caressing the cheek he’d tapped. “Just in case you get separated, all right?”
“He’s fif-bloody-teen, Dad, not a five year old!”
“You hush. I did the same thing with you when you were that age.”
Spike rolls his eyes, suffering through the same forehead kiss and cheek-caress. “He really did,” he tells Xander as Dad picks up his brief case and waves goodbye. “He’s an overprotective git, Dad. Now, come on. Shower, jerk off, and then we’re heading to the mall.”
Xander manages not to fall on his face when he stumbles, whirling around to stare at Spike. “Uh? You—I mean, you just—with the—” He grinds to a halt, shaking his head quickly. “Um, the closest mall is—”
“—at least an hour away, yeah, I know. So go get showered and dressed, so we can get out of here already!”
Blinking, Xander nods distractedly as he heads towards the adjoining bathroom. He must have gotten up sometime during the night, Spike surmises, laying fully on his back as he listens to the hiss of the shower turned on. The walls are fairly thick in the Giles home, but he’s so quiet that even his own breathing is barely noticeable: it happens after almost ten minutes of what can only be called luxuriating. The sharp gasp of air that has nothing to do with the water temperature changing, a rhythmic slap just slightly audible over the water, ignorable if one isn’t listening for the distinctive sounds. Spike smirks at the ceiling as he listens to his new baby brother obediently jerk off in the shower. He considers opening his pants and giving the boy a show when he comes out—but nah, save that for later when Xander’s more accustomed to what he’s been bought for.
Given the falsetto groan—harsh, for all its high pitch—as Xander comes, Spike pretty sure it won’t be a problem.
Spike listens as the electric razor is activated and teeth are brushed at least twice. He hears Xander dry his body and his hair, probably making the inky strands stand up straight from wet and effort. What he doesn’t hear is Xander opening the door, not until there’s been at least five minutes of foot-shifting silence.
Finally, the door cracks open enough to release a mushroom of jasmine-scented steam. “Um. S-Spike? I forgot to bring my clothes in here.”
Spike doesn’t bother moving from his comfortable spot. “Wearing yesterday’s clothes, pet? Not on. There’s stuff you can borrow in the closet here. And before you ask, no, it probably won’t fit right since it’s stuff bought with somebody my size in mind. We do have a selection of boxers, though, so you don’t chafe the goodies.”
“Uh. Great. That’s really thoughtful of you. Um... could you maybe, um, give them to me?”
That prompts Spike to lift his head the tiniest amount, raising an eyebrow at Xander. “I’m your brother, pet,” he teases. “Not your servant. Go an’ get ’em your own self.”
Mentally counting, Spike registers Xander’s blush at three and his deep breath at seven—and by ten, he’s walking through the bedroom toward the dresser, clutching the towel so tightly around him that it leaves not a thing to the imagination. Spike pointedly says nothing—though he’s clearly watching—as Xander tears open the fresh pack of boxers and scrambles into them underneath the towel. He’s blushing down his belly as he fumbles through a shirt and jean combination from clothes hanging in the closet. It’s sad when he finally tugs the thin jumper over his torso, hiding the pretty view.
“Gotta wear these,” Spike says quietly, kicking over Xander’s old sneakers. “You don’t look half bad in those, so I think it’s shoes first. Ready?”
Silent, Xander nods. He’s trying to be silent as they walk down the stairs and outside, but his eyes are wide as they take in the house—it is done up proper, built to exact specifications for a year before they moved—and gradually, a word at a time, the babble starts. By the time they’re in the mall, it’s a torrent of words, observations and thoughts and pop-culture references Spike only understands 80% of that trail along behind them like puppies. Spike doesn’t mind it after the first few moments—Xander’s sarcastic and funny, particularly when he’s people watching, and his tastes are similar enough to Spike’s own that before long they’re in a spirited discussion about the new Nine Inch Nails album and why it isn’t nearly as good as any of the earlier ones, and what kind of music and dvds are already in the house so they know what not to repurchase.
The shoes are easy, as are the electronic goodies they both drool over. Xander twitches a little every time Spike pulls out his credit card, but it’s subtle enough that no one starts giving Spike the Sugar Daddy eye—he’s had it before, but that’s back in England. In the States, no one notices anything out of the ordinary, he’s discovered, not even if its being shoved into their faces. Makes living as they prefer much easier. Spike lets Xander’s whims drive their agenda, encouraging even the most casual of “maybe we can... ”, but after a while it’s clear that Xander’s stalling and Spike makes an executive decision.
They go to Areopostal. It’s perfectly hideous, but Spike knows they have to cover all the basics and for normal jeans, dockers, and shirts its at least not as bad as the poseurs over at the Gap. “This is just the basics,” he tells Xander while loading up both their arms with different sizes and styles. He ignores it when Xander tries to tell him what his size actually is, watching only for the shuddery face Xander makes when he really doesn’t like whatever Spike’s picked. Those reactions are silently catered to. “We’ll hit Hot Topic later, and save the fancy stuff for when the tailor comes over. Not sure you’re really an Armani type of boy. Think Versace might be a better look for you, but Francois will decide when he comes over.”
Xander blushes to the roots of his hair—as opposed to just looking mildly flushed the way he has been since they started looking at clothes—shifting awkwardly as several girls start listening to their conversation, the magical words Armani and Versace drawing them like magnets. Spike chuckles, taking pity on the boy and herding him into the dressing rooms.
Xander stammers a little when Spike closes the door with both of them inside the small room, but doesn’t actually produce any coherent words. His breathing is accelerated, though, and shudders a little on each exhale, fingers fumbling as he strips to his boxers and tries on the first pair of jeans—the size he claims he is.
Spike snorts the moment he sees the too-baggy dockers sag around Xander’s arse. “No way, pet. Far too lose. Try the ones two sizes smaller in the waist and longer in the leg, all right?”
“Two? Come on, Spike, I’m not that starved.”
“No, but you’re a growing boy about to have another growth-spurt to take care of those puppy hands and feet of yours, which means you’ll be a bean pole for a bit. We’ll get you more when you fill out again.” Spike lets Xander get the pants on—which fit as well as he’s guessed—before sidling up behind him and smoothing his hands down Xander’s hips. “There now,” he croons. “These fit you much better.”
His hands come forward, cupping Xander’s groin and rearranging him under the zipper. Against him, Xander jerks, head going back as two more spots burn bright in his cheeks. Spike leans closer, letting Xander rest against him while stroking over the boy’s cock until it starts to twitch and swell up to meet his fingers. Spike’s mouth is right by Xander’s ear. “Look good this way, pet. Do you like it? Like the way they fit you, cupping you just so in the front,” his hands slide around to squeeze Xander’s buttocks, “and in the back?”
The boy makes the best noises as he tries to regain his breathing. “Cameras,” he squeaks.
Spike just grins, nipping the tantalizingly close earlobe. “Not in this store, pet.” But he steps back, allowing Xander to calm down a little before having him try on a few shirts to find the proper size, then the styles Xander looks best in. Once he’s got at least five of shirts and pants, they start hitting other stores. Spike is careful to keep Xander’s blush fiery, leading comments and the occasional fondle in the dressing room never letting him fully relax—until, suddenly, he does. Oh, he’s still blushing, ducking his head and squirming under Spike’s double-edged comments—but he’s not tense anymore, relaxing into this new situation with the grace of a man many years older. It’s the kind of stop fighting and enjoy it mentality Spike’s used to his advantage before, but seeing it here is surprising.
Then again, he thinks as they pass a specialty liquor store and Xander shudders a little, maybe it’s not surprising at all.
They break for lunch, Xander’s babble resuming as he grows accustomed to the new realities and refuels. It’s clearly a defense tactic, but Spike doesn’t see any of the empty-eyed Stepford in Xander so perhaps it’s not merely just a tactic. That lets Spike match him nearly word for word as they finish up their shopping and Spike rings for Wesley to pick them up. Their bags have already been delivered to the limo, of course, so they don’t have to carry everything with them. Spike helps Xander inside with a hand on his back—still discussing why Doom is overrated—and then sidles up close. There’s tons of room in the square, leather-padded interior, but Xander doesn’t even blink as he’s held against Spike’s body, fingers flicking rhythmically over his hip the way one absently pets a cat.
“You look much better in these, pet,” Spike tells him. Wesley’s already buzzed back to explain there’s a traffic jam they’re stuck in, and Spike’s bored. Oh, he’s got tons of music, dvds, and books in the assorted bags in the trunk, but those are normal toys. Spike would much rather play with his new one. “Like a proper boy.”
“As opposed to an improper one?” Xander’s half-asleep, energy dwindling as they inch along the highway, crumbled cellophane wrapper still caught up in his fingers. He’d been totally surprised when instead of Spike chastising him for being hungry, he’d simply shown Xander the cooler with its stock of sandwiches, drinks, and other goodies. “I’ve always been a real boy, Mister Jimminy Cricket, sir.”
Spike removes the trash, tickling Xander’s palm as he does so. “Yes, but now you look like one. It feels better, too, doesn’t it, pet? Warm and snug around you. You look good, Xander. Now me, I’m always gorgeous,” Spike says, “but they were watching you, pet. I know you saw it.”
Xander blushes again—he’d managed to stop for a whole forty five minutes—shifting so that he’s resting against Spike’s chest. “Uh, I think they were staring at all the p-platinum you were flashing. And probably... ”
His fingers move up Xander’s arm, over his chest, to continue lightly tickling against Xander’s belly. “Probably?” Spike encourages. He abandons the tickling in favor of more outright stroking, letting the edge of his hand brush against the boy’s groin with each pass. “Probably staring at what, pet?”
“Th-the way you t-t-t—” Xander takes a deep, shaky breath, losing it into a gasp when Spike blatantly cups between his legs—not stroking anymore, just holding. “Never mind.”
Spike kisses Xander’s cheek. “So, how’s your first day as the newest and youngest Giles, hm?”
It takes a few moments for Xander to respond, Spike guessing that his gaze is locked on the hand cupped possessively around his groin. “Uh. Um, fun, I g-guess? I mean, being spoiled is always fun, and we aren’t going to get in trouble for spending all the money, are we? I mean, you bought me an lcd tv!”
“Well, yeah. Otherwise it takes up too much room.” So light as to be almost imperceptible, Spike begins to rub his thumb along the side of Xander’s cock. “And please, pet. You’re a Giles. This is just a drop in the bucket.” Spike presses his thumbnail through the thin dockers, fairly certain that he’s positioned it right below the head.
Xander gasps sharply, twitching in Spike’s hold. “Um! I mean... it isn’t of-ficial, though, is it? Me a G-G-Giles.”
“End of the week, pet.” A dark spot is forming on Xander’s brand new dockers. He can sense Xander’s need to squirm, unhappy with ‘ruining’ the clothes, so Spike distracts him by nibbling on Xander’s temptingly close earlobe again. “Now, then. Got anything you want to do, tonight? We could stay home, watch movies with Dad. That’s always fun; if you think I’m sarcastic, you should hear Dad when he’s really going. Could call your friends, too, let ’em know you’re all right. Your mum, if you want.”
Xander’s cock is now a thickened tube down his right thigh, his hips twitching uncontrollably as Spike strokes him. He’s having trouble taking a proper breath, sucking in oxygen before forcefully expelling it again. “I—um. C-can I call Willow? She worries if I don’t check in.”
So someone actually knows what goes on in the Harris household? Surprising. Still stroking the boy through his pants, Spike extracts the cell phone in the pocket of Xander’s knew coat and holds it out. “Call her, then.”
He can’t help himself from chuckling at the squeak of horror, even as Xander bucks up into Spike’s touch. “Yes, now. No reason to wait, is there? School’s out, by now.”
Xander settles against him slowly, grumbling under his breath. “You’re evil,” he accesses, grabbing the phone and dialing it even as he squirms. His voice is just a touch breathless as he speaks, but only a touch especially the moment this Willow picks up. The conversation is confusing to follow, full of references Spike has no context for, but Xander repeatedly assures her that he’s okay and he’ll explain it all as soon as he gets a chance. Willow—shrill, despite an unusually deep voice for a girl—lectures him fiercely about not leaving her to worry like that and missing school. Xander promises to make it up to her.
“I’ve, uh, got a private tutor.”
“Really?” Willow pings through emotions so quickly Spike is getting mental whiplash. “Oh, Xander, that’s great! I knew you didn’t really want to be a slacker forever.”
Xander doesn’t laugh, though his body trembles like he wants to. “Nope, no slacking in the Xand man’s future. So, everything okay? What’d you do in school today?”
Her babbling—lord, she’s worse than Xander—fills the rest of the ride. Oh, Spike could interrupt the call if he wants to but it’s interesting to hear this side of his new baby brother. He picks up little things, like how a friend has recently moved away and Willow has been worried about Xander’s mental health, and that there’s more to it than simply losing a friend on Xander’s side. About the teachers Xander doesn’t like, the subjects he’s not so good at, and all the things normal fifteen year old boys are supposed to think about.
It’s so enthralling that Spike forgets to do more than hold Xander as they finally break free of the traffic jam and finally make it home.
“Okay, Wills, I’m back. Yes, really. Shopping. The next time you see me, I will be spiffy enough that even Cody will stop mocking me for being a rag-bin reject. Honest. Willow, I had girls looking at me in the mall. Yes, I know, skipping school to go to the mall is bad, but there’s a reason. No, I can’t tell you yet. Oh, hey, come on, Wills, no pouty face over the phone! You know I can’t resist that! No, don’t come over tonight. I’m, uh. Not really at home. No, it’s a good thing. Really and truly. A really good thing.”
Wesley brings the bags inside, taking them upstairs to put away. Spike leads Xander into the family room by the hand, tugging him back into nearly the same position as they finally reach the sofa. It takes another few minutes to finally click the phone off, but by then Xander is bright-eyed and smiling so Spike counts it as a gain. He flips on the television. “Dad’ll be back in a few hours, probably.”
“Didn’t he say he’d be gone just the morning?”
“Yeah, but he’s at court. The day a trial starts on time is the day I start wondering if the sky’s gonna turn bright fuschia.” Spike finds a movie with enough explosions and leaves it there. Xander fidgets a little as the movie plays, making the occasional comment but mostly just... squirming. Rocking his body against Spike’s as he tries to get comfortable. He’s not trying to bother Spike, keeping the movement as unobtrusive as possible.
Safely above him where Xander can’t see, Spike smiles. Casually, Spike takes a full ten minutes before his hand is again cupping Xander’s cock, thighs helpfully widening in welcome. Xander settles after that, actually getting into the movie and trading mocking comments with Spike. Dad finds them like that, seating himself on Xander’s other side and draping Xander’s legs over his lap.
“Did you both have a good day today?” he asks as the movie bleeds into the evening news. “Wesley tells me there’s over a thousand dollars of merchandise upstairs, and that doesn’t include the new television.”
Xander immediately flushes, going very still. Spike rolls his eyes at Dad, shifting enough that he can smooth his palm down more firmly. “Expecting more, were you?”
“Oh, yes. I know what you’re like when you shop, William, and you do enjoying spoiling people.” Dad grins down at Xander, who’s still tense like he’s about to bolt. “Relax, Xander, please. I’m not at all upset. Okay?” Dad rubs his thumb over Xander’s lower lip, leaning forward to kiss his forehead again. “Relax, please. You are very welcome here, young Xander, and I want you to feel comfortable. And speaking of, I’m certain you’re hungry. You’re a growing boy and I know from experience when I say those are always hungry.”
Xander grins, ducking his head shyly as Dad heads into the kitchen. “Um. It really is okay, right?” he asks Spike as the sound of pots and pans clanging together rises above the local reporters talking about nothing. “That we s-spent so much m-m-money?”
Spike kisses the top of Xander’s head. “Pet, this is the first time we’re shopping together, and Dad knows it. We’ve a lot more things to buy over the next few weeks, as you settle in and start realizing what it is you’ve needed and forgot. This was just the first round of damages and we didn’t spend near as much as a Dad was expecting—trust me, little brother, you’ll know when Dad’s really pissed off and this isn’t it. Okay, pet?”
Xander nods, relaxing back into Spike’s body. “It’s just all weird. I’m allowed to be at least a little wigged out, right?”
Chuckling, Spike wraps his other arm around Xander’s waist, rubbing his belly. “Sure are, pet. Been a very good boy about all of this, really. A very grown up little boy, not making a fuss or anything.”
The blush sends a wave of heat through Spike’s shirt and he can’t help but use the belly-scritching hand to brush against Xander’s darkly flushed face. It’s fiery against the backs of his fingers and Spike doesn’t move for a moment, reveling in the boy he’s chosen. Then he runs a thumb down Xander’s lower lip, exactly like Dad did—and is utterly unsurprised when Xander’s tongue flickers out to touch it for just a moment.
“Dinner,” Dad calls after a moment. Fred is around, Spike’s sure, but Dad does enjoy cooking so it’s not surprising when he sees him wearing a Kiss the Cook apron and bearing a steaming plate to the table. Spike again leads Xander by the hand, seating him in the proper chair before Xander can ask which of the eight possibilities he should pick.
Dinner is simple—baked chicken, vegetables, a salad, and a loaf of bread. Spike fills up first his plate and then Xander’s, pointedly scooping another few vegetables onto the plate before handing it back to the boy.
“It’s very important you eat those,” Dad says when Xander makes a face at all the green on his plate. “We Giles men take our vitamins and make sure we’re regular without the help of those horrid over the counter products.” Dad grins with both younger men make faces and ewww noises. “Go on, Xander. Eat them all, please.”
Xander nods, eating them without more fuss. He clearly is not happy about it, but a stern look from Dad melts most of his visible disgust and he finishes his plate quickly, even asking for seconds—which Spike again fills for him, rather than letting Xander do it himself. Dinner is a quiet affair, Dad slowly introducing Xander to the Giles business, peppered with family anecdotes and the occasional asides with Spike designed to distract and reassure the boy. By the desert course Xander is swaying at the table, trying to keep his eyes from falling shut.
Spike and Dad stare at each other for a moment. After a moment, Spike rises. “I’m gonna clean up. Pet, why don’t you go show Dad some of the things you’ve bought? Pet? Xander.” He doesn’t say the name loudly, not wanting to startle Xander out of his half-doze. Cupping Xander’s cheek, Spike runs his thumb over Xander’s lower-lip again until Xander’s eyes focus. “Sleepy, love? Come on. Go show Dad what we’ve bought, and then we’ll put you to bed. Go on now, love. Go with Dad.”
Spike watches them go up the stairs, smiles, and starts washing. If he hurries, he won’t miss much.
The school is bustling with children, currents of them swirling around Spike like he's a rock that's been tossed into a busy stream, completely with dirty glares and appreciative once-overs. Spike ignores all of them, searching for that familiar dark head, ducked down with unconscious shyness, next to a tiny girl with hair so luxuriously red that Spike wants to run his hands through it the way Xander does, without fear of reprisal or shame.
He finds them talking to a boy decked out in glam enough that some of Spike's friends from private school would be jealous, if they could ever admit to being jealous of an American. The boy is taking quickly, words light and frivolous while sharp eyes study Xander's clothing. Spike's boy is nervous under the attention, gaze shifting this way and that as he tries not to wriggle.
Spike is ten feet away when he's spotted, and the dawning sunshine smile that appears on Xander's face is beautiful.
Spike tosses a casual arm around Xander's shoulder, grinning at the boy's friends. "'Lo," he says, attitude firmly in place as he looks over Willow -- he's met her a few times before, the girl easily charmed by Spike's obvious caring for her friend -- a little blonde girl who's wearing a frowny-face at him, and the glam boy who's studying Spike's clothes with a sneer. "I'm Spike, Xander's brother?"
"Hi, Spike!" Willow greets, immediately taking over as hostess. She's as eager as Xander is, though a bit better grounded than his boy. She's near to bouncing as she introduces the blonde as Buffy, who relaxes a little with Willow's obvious approval; the boy is revealed to be Cody, who Xander has mentioned before as someone he ... doesn't get along with very well.
Seeing him now, Spike suspects it's more that Xander wants Cody and Cody wants nothing to do with the rag-bag Xander used to be. Now that he's dressed nearly as well as Cody himself is, if in slightly less obviously fashionista wear, he's on the market -- and given the way Xander's pushing up against Spike, eager enough that he's practically wagging his tail, he's probably been less than amenable to the increased attention.
Spike's smile is frosty. "Hello, all. Don't mind if I steal Xan away for a bit, do you? It's all cleared with the principal," he adds when Willow's brows crease into a frown. "Dad wants to see him, that's all."
"Dad?" Buffy's got her arms crossed in front of her chest, unusually aggressive in a girl that pretty. "Um, as in your dad, right?"
Xander doesn't flinch or wince, but Spike can feel the way the boy grows colder, eyes suddenly tight above a too-bright smile. Spike tightens his arm just the tiniest amount as he says, "No, our Dad. C'mon, pet."
"E-everything's okay, right?" The stutter isn't unexpected but it makes Spike burn to take the boy into his lap, cuddling him and kissing him until he's a warm, willing puddle again. "With D-Dad?"
Spike gives him a genuine grin, using his looped arm to provide a manly, one-armed hug. "Yup. Just Dad being an overprotective git as usual. Go on, say good bye to your friends."
Willow hugs him, whispering something short into his ear that makes Xander flash a lovely smile at her. Buffy doesn't hug him but she waves and loses a bit of her uncertainty in the face of Xander's obvious eagerness -- "Free pass on algebra, whoohoo!". Cody looks like he wants to hug Xander the way Willow is, bodies pressed close and tight the way childhood friends always hug, but Xander neatly sidesteps his arm, sliding back under Spike's. "Later," he calls.
Spike doesn't let go of Xander as they walk through the emptying halls, teachers shooing recalcitrant students into their respective classes. "Things going all right?" he asks, only partly to make conversation. Xander's situation isn't exactly the hot gossip, but some people know and are making Xander's life miserable because of it -- mostly in the ways little twits like Cody are, assuming that now Xander's flashing a bit of bling that he's the perfect friend.
Spike's never tolerated idiots like that and he's pleased to see Xander isn't, either. Oh, it's an attractive offer -- popularity counts. But Xander's bond with Willow is strong and he'd never leave her behind. Loyalty is a big part of Xander, one reason why his father's actions hurt him so much. And why Tony is utterly unable to deal with Xander's black hatred of him: a man like Tony can never understand just how badly he's betrayed his only child.
"It's been okay," Xander says as they head outside. The air is fresh and clean today, and they both squint a little in the sunlight. "Cody's been doing the eye-thing that you do to me, but it's more funny than anything. Cody, of Cody and Co, quarterback and ruler of the school, is making eyes at me, Xander Giles."
"And are you making eyes back?"
They slide into the limo, Xander waiting to see where Spike seats himself before curling up next to him. "Uh, no. Willow would never forgive me, for one thing."
Spike smiles down at the impish grin on Xander's face. "Just Willow you're worried about?" His hands wander of Xander's body, making certain to rub at his belly through shirt and denims. "No one else?"
Xander's eyes are already going hazy with pleasure, head dropping to one side as he shifts, giving Spike more access. "Cody can't afford me," he says, but it's not cynicism in his voice, or even the kind of blunt acceptance of a professional peddler. Mostly, it's lust in his voice, and eager appreciation for the way Spike cups him through his pants. "Oh, god. Um. Are we really going to Dad's?"
"We are really going to Dad's," Spike confirms, tugging the zipper down to stroke Xander through his boxers. "Got some papers for you to sign and then we're off to L.A."
Xander wiggles, working the jeans down until they're tangled around his knees, trapping him. He doesn't seem to notice, though, widening his thighs as much as the denim allows as Spike teases him to an erection. "Papers? L.A.?" His breathing is just the slightest bit elevated, cheeks flushed into two little spots of heat that Spike has to lean forward to taste. Xander whimpers at the sucking kisses. "You make it so easy," he says, voice soft and lust-rough. "It shouldn't be so easy."
Spike ignores that to slips his fingers between the y-fronts and gently run his fingertips over Xander's sac. "Yes, papers for you to sign, an' yes, L.A. Got us a show tonight, and it's a few hours down. Don't worry about clothes, neither. We'll finish up your fitting at the office, have it pressed and ready for us by the time we're in L.A."
Xander shudders, trying to open his eyes enough to look at Spike. "I -- " His voice cracks, eyes rolling up as the base of his cock is rubbed the way the a puppy is rubbed behind the ears. "C-can I -- to you?"
Spike spreads more kisses down the length of Xander's jaw and his neck, enjoying the burr of stubble against his lips. "Can you what to me, pet. Talk? Been talking to the point of babbling, lately -- an' that's not a criticism, so don't tense up on me."
Xander laughs a little, a shivery sound that makes him seem like all of six years old. "O-okay. Um. I want ... "
Eyes dark as pitch slew to the left and down, focusing on the join hidden by Spike's leather duster and the black jeans Xander's taken to wearing in emulation. There's hunger there, both to explore things only the Giles' have shown him, and to prove himself. To make himself worthy of the attentions he so eagerly craves.
Spike tears the boxers in his eagerness to curl his hand around Xander's cock, thumb rubbing over the glans. "Oh, you perfect boy," Spike tells him, kissing his temple almost fatherly. "Want to touch your older brother, pet? Want to make him feel good?"
The limo doesn't sway as they move, but Spike can still feel the acceleration and deceleration. He can't time it, but he does use it as much as he can, squeezing or massaging in counterpoint to whichever way Xander's body is rocking. He pinches the head of Xander's cock, enjoying the jerking gasp Xander makes, mouth wet and wide.
"Yes! I -- I mean -- I c-could touch?" Xander's left hand, fisted against his thigh, unclenches and begins finger-walking towards Spike. The skin is damp from sweat and they tremble just a little when they make contact with Spike’s leg. It's adorable, and erotic as all hell --
But Spike's not sure he wants Xander to touch him quite yet. Oh, that's the goal -- an eager little boy who knows the best ways to make his dad and brother feel good. Spike's enjoying this pliant bundle of hormones and nerves, though, and doesn't want to give up that feeling yet.
Then again ... if he keeps Xander too much in the passive role the boy will grow confused -- and eventually resentful. Right, then.
Spike hums against Xander's neck, rubbing his mouth there. Xander doesn't need to shave often, yet, but give him a few years and he'll have a five o'clock shadow before noon. The Giles men are on the smoother side and Spike knows he's damned near waifish. He enjoys a boy who can look like a man.
"Okay, pet," he says when Xander grows more anxious, afraid that he's being denied. "Gonna try something a bit different. Take off your shoes and pants."
Xander blinks, but he's learned that obedience is rewarded and in seconds he's naked from the waist down.
Spike pushes his shoulders against the seat, lifting his hips up. "Unzip me, pet, and get me out."
Xander nods, expression utterly serious as he tries not to panic. His fingers fumble with the tiny head of the zipper before finally grasping it and tugging it down -- too quickly, at first, then smoothing out after the raucous rip sound it makes. He's flushed and breathing hard, his own erection forgotten in the face of doing this.
Once the jeans are unzipped and opened, Xander fishes inside and gently eases Spike into the cooler air. "I d-don't know how you go commando," he says. His eyes are very wide as he reverently touches Spike, caressing the shaft in wonder. "Doesn't it hurt? Especially since you where your jeans so t-tight."
Spike chuckles, thrusting into Xander's palm lightly. "It can be uncomfortable, particularly when my little brother wants to have a go," he teases. "But you get used to it. Now, love, this might be a bit on the tricky side but I know you can do it. Okay?" Xander nods, predictably eager and aching to be seen as worthy. "Want you to sit on my lap. Can you do that?"
Xander nods, so willing that he's up half standing before the logistics of the situation hit him. He hesitates, biting his lip. "Um. I'm not really s-sure ..."
Spike chuckles, tugging on Xander's cock the way other men might ruffle the boy's hair. "It's okay. It's going to be tricky, love, but you can do this. I want you to sit between my legs for now, okay? Keep your legs together and sit down slowly. I'm gonna hold onto you, love, so you aren't going to fall."
He's going to do something else, too, but he wants it to be a surprise. Confused but so willing, Xander steps between Spike's legs, torso pitched forward under the low ceiling. Pressing his legs together with a word, he grips the seat ledge as he slowly lowers himself onto Spike's lap. Spike has a hand on Xander's hip, guiding him, the other holding his own very hard cock.
Which slides up the grove of Xander's arse, over the perineum to brush firmly against Xander's balls.
Xander makes a sounds that's something between a hiccup and a moan, trembling as his balls are pushed, first one than the other. "This all right, pet?" Spike asks. "Feeling me against you? I know this is new, so if you aren't ready -- "
"No!" Xander jerks, pushing himself down further on Spike's cock. "N-no, it's good. B-but maybe we could, um. Change positions? I think I'm gonna fall."
He sounds so ashamed, like he's let Spike down in some important way. Spike responds by kissing Xander's shoulder right through the shirt. "Of course, pet. Here, stand up a bit for me."
Xander rises and moves over to the other bench of seats -- although not before Spike sees glistening precome traced against the boy's arse. He shudders, definitely pleased with this position. There are pillows and blankets under one seat; Spike removes them and spreads them out on the floor while Xander squirms anxiously. The moment Spike lies down on his side, Xander moves like a flash, spooning against Spike and lifting his leg until Spike's cock lays over his inner thigh and then closing it with a choked off moan.
Spike feels like moaning himself. "Very good, pet. This is much better." And it is. Now Spike can kiss and suck on the back of Xander's neck, toying with Xander's cock and balls while he works his cock against the groove of Xander's arse, perineum and balls.
"It's o-okay?" Xander queries. He still worries every time he's praised by his new family, something that's both annoying and endearing at the same time. Right now, though, it's useful.
Spike cranes up enough to suckle right over Xander's pulse, biting lightly. "It's perfect, pet. You're perfect, an' brilliant for thinking of things your older brother couldn't."
He slid his hand -- chilled in the air conditioning, making Xander twitch -- up Xander's naked arse, over his thigh to reach up under his shirt to rub and toy with his nipples. "Ready, love?" he asks, pinching lightly to Xander's soft moans, eeked out between clenched teeth. "Gonna go nice and slow at first."
Xander nods, the faintest of whispers as he says, "Please." Spike has to reward that with another pinch to Xander's nipples, rolling his hips fluidly. His cock scrapes against Xander's thighs and groin, heat almost as intense as being inside another person adding to the friction. Spike moans, murmuring at how good Xander's being as he slowly makes the rolling motion an actual thrust.
"Such a brilliant little boy," Spike croons, knowing the slight hitch to his own breathing will make Xander more excited. Sure enough, when he finally touches Xander's cock it's curved up until it's nearly flat against his belly, dripping steadily onto Xander's belly and the floor. He whimpers, a tightly controlled sound he's been trying to hide, when Spike grasps him and begins stroking. "Coming up with this all on your own. Feels so good, Xan. You're making me feel so good."
He can feel his own precome wetting Xander's skin and the sparse curls he's going to have to get rid of, later, slicking the path so Spike can start thrusting harder, faster. Xander makes another sound he dearly wants to muffle, hips starting to jerk into a random pattern, trying to find Spike's rhythm.
"Good boy," Spike says, releasing Xander's cock to guide his hips appropriately. "See? Picking that up all on your own." Later, Xander's going to accuse them -- particularly Spike -- of being patronizing. Right now, though, Xander's desperate for the praise and attention and whimpers with each verbal rendition of either. "Making me feel so good, pet. Do you like this? Like the way it feels?
Xander nods. He's not very talkative during sex, a kink both Spike and his father enjoy in their partners, so they're working on him. Slowly, of course; Spike lets him get away with nodding, enjoying the heavy panting and noises he can't seem to swallow, the anxious way he rocks back into Spike's hips. It's intensely erotic and Spike is very glad he jerked off twice before picking his brother up from school -- he'd have come already, otherwise.
When he's sufficiently excited, though, and Xander is start to make the anxious little mewling sounds that means he's close, Spike fondles Xander's cock and pinches the base a little. "Xander," Spike says, allowing a hint disappointment to color his voice. "You didn't answer me."
Xander exhales explosively. "C-can't a guy go n-nonverbal during s-sex?"
Spike just barely manages to swallow back his laugh, biting Xander's shoulder in retaliation. "Nope. Have to know if you don't like it, don't I? Don't want to do anything my little brother doesn't enjoy."
"Oh!" Xander moans, rhythm vanishing and seconds from coming. Spike pinches again, earning himself a despairing cry. "B-bastard. Yes, I l-like it. It feels ... weird, b-but good." His voice lowers, almost introspective as he sounds out the feelings overwhelming him. "Like it doesn't h-have to be me. I'm just a b-body. But it is m-me, and you hold me s-so close ..."
Spike hums, licking Xander's now-red neck to soothe it. "Not just a body, love. You’re my brother, pet, and making me feel so good. Nice an' tight around my cock, and mm, your sac is heavy and warm against the head. Slippery an' warm."
Xander nods, moaning again. "F-feels like you're... f-fucking me."
Spike has approximately three seconds to warn Xander that he's ready, gripping that warm, pliable body tightly as he thrusts four, five times in quick succession and then comes all over Xander's inner thighs and balls.
Xander cries out when Spike does, hips thrusting uselessly with Spike's hands holding the base of his cock. "Please," he says, hips making circles. "Please, Spike."
His cock is softening slowly, squishy with come still warm all around him. Xander is wiggling with eagerness and almost Spike thinks he can get hard and come again, like a girl with multiple orgasms. But he can't, so he gently disengages from Xander's body, sitting up.
Xander makes a move to join him, but Spike shushes him and begins stroking the boy’s cock. It's too soft to be anything but a tease. Xander whines, knowing how much his brother likes to torment him -- the way all good older brother's should -- and then gasps when Spike uses his other hand to rub at Xander's perineum. That it happens to rub Spike's come into Xander's skin is ... bonus.
Jerking and almost flailing, Xander doesn't resist when he's rolled onto his back, immediately lifting his legs. Spike croons something wordless as he strokes and rubs, working his come into wrinkled sac, and perineum, and brushing back almost until he reaches Xander's entrance --
Xander goes rigid, coming in thick ropes over his own t-shirt. Spike milks him, working his cock and stimulating his prostate through Xander's perineum -- sod what people guess at, Spike knows damned well what rubbing there does -- until Xander's moaning from the almost-pain of being empty.
"There," Spike tells him, running his still-wet hands over Xander's naked thighs while the boy pants like a freight engine. "You were wonderful, love, making me come as hard as I did. A lovely little boy."
Dazed from his orgasm, Xander mumbles something unintelligible as he arches up into Spike's touch. "Mm," he hums. "Good." Still very much mentally absent, Xander pushes himself up on shakey arms, crawling into Spike's lap to sprawl against him, still panting. "W-was that good?" he asks, looking up at Spike from underneath the fringe of his bangs.
Spike chuckles, positioning Xander so he doesn't rub come-stained fabric against the leather, and holding him loosely. "We fishing now, love? That was amazing, little one. Told you so, and I'll keep telling you so."
Xander makes a soft noise and cuddles close. Spike lets him stay until they're nearly at the office. He likes how incredibly Xander is, not just accepting the casual touches but needing them, and almost pathetically grateful just to have a hand on his back, or a touch to the shoulder. Spike indulges him as much as he thinks will help maintain the dependence.
As they decelerate from the highway, Spike gently nudges Xander more awake. "Pants back on, love. We're almost there."
Nodding, Xander glances down at his shirt. "I look like I've just come my balls inside out," he complains.
"Shirt's in the back compartment," Spike tells him with a grin. He watches as Xander puts on a clean shirt and socks, pulling his jeans back on -- wait. "Missing something, aren't you?"
Xander blushes, reaching down to tie his shoes. "Um. What would I be missing?"
Spike leans forward to slide his fingers under the waist of Xander's jeans, rubbing his arse. "Thought you weren't fond of commando."
Xander's redder than a good California sunset, now, staring resolutely at Spike's knees. "Well, y-you do it," he says, a hint of belligerence mixing with an equally slight hint of a grin. "A-and, um. Won't it be easier if th-there's nothing to rip?"
Spike abruptly moves forward, pressing his lips to Xander. The boy starts, clearly not expecting that, but obediently holds still while his mouth is opened, Spike's tongue slipping inside. He's breathless when Spike pulls back, eyes huge in his face. "You," Spike says seriously, "are absolutely perfect."
Xander moans, breathing hard. His cock is hardening again, obvious with Spike's arm across his lap, and the look in those too-wide eyes is as much pleasure as it is wonder.
The car sliding to a stop prevents Spike from doing something they'll both enjoy, and he sighs. "C'mon, little brother. Lets go say hi to Dad."
Inside, everyone smiles and greets them as Misters Giles. Xander doesn't like the attention, but with Spike's arm around his waist he's no where to run. He's a surprisingly shy thing, the mask of bravado his friends are used to vanishing under Spike's attentions.
"Off to see your father, boys?" Mary, a matronly-looking lady with horn-rim glasses and an intellect that can separate fools from their cash at fifty paces, smiles at the two of them as they pass by her office.
"Yup," Spike says, hanging onto Xander's belt-loop while the younger boy squirms uncomfortably. "Is he in?"
"And waiting for you. It's good to meet you, Xander, come stop by. Your father says you've got some skill at business. I'd be happy to teach you."
There's a hint of shark in her grin, teeth gleaming behind the grandmotherly exterior. It's not a facade, precisely, since she really is a grandmother and is highly generous and loving to her family. To the Giles family as well. It's everyone else who needs to watch out.
Xander shivers as he's pulled away, still stammering. "Um?"
Spike laughs. "Take her up on it, pet. Mary's the best." Mary's interest in Xander is both surprising and gratifying: she's generous to her employers, but she doesn't waste her time with charity cases. He'll have to make certain Xander knows that, since the boy is still smarting over a failed examination with his tutor -- at least, that's how he sees it. His family has a very different interpretation but have yet to convince him of that.
Spike barely knocks before pushing the door open. "Hey, Dad." He saunters inside, pulling Xander along and plopping him down in Dad's lap.
Xander gives Spike a glare, but Dad -- still spitting out orders into the phone -- wraps an arm around Xander's waist and cuddles closer to his warmth. Another few seconds and Xander relaxes, leaning back into Dad's hold.
They look beautiful like that. There's little resemblance -- not surprising -- but Dad is so much taller that he can pull off the Norman Rockwell look without even trying.
Dad's face gets darker and darker as he speaks, but after quickly checking on Spike -- who's sitting, feet propped up on the desk, idly toying with Dad's letter-opener -- Xander stops looking nervous. Another few seconds and Xander's putting his arms around Dad, head tucked underneath Dad's chin, offering himself up as something to pet and play with like a puppy trying to soothe its master.
Dad takes him up on it, too, fitfully stroking Xander's hair and back, rubbing his hip until that hand probably has friction burns from skin against denim. Xander wriggles more deeply into Dad's lap, cocking his hip out for easier reach.
Eventually, Dad looking like a thundercloud from a good London storm, he hangs up with a quiet curse. Spike doesn't stop playing with the letter opener and Xander's practically purring as Dad uses both hands to stroke him now, rubbing back and belly. Sighing, he kisses Xander's forehead. "Thank you, love. That's exactly what I needed to stop myself from verbally strangling that wanker."
"Trick, then?" Spike asks.
"That's Mister Trick, and unfortunately yes. I do hate that silly little bastard, but he's useful." Dad leans back in the chair, pulling Xander more comfortably against him. "Now, then. Did you have a good day at school, Xander?"
Xander nods shyly. "It was okay."
Dad waits a few seconds and then chuckles. "You're worse than Spike was, when he was this age. Do I need to buy an extractor, to pull more information out?"
Xander blushes, smiling a little as he shakes his head. "No. It was just ... okay."
"All right then." Dad isn't really interested in Xander's school day, although his schooling he's very invested in. The difference is probably too much for Xander, though, so Dad abandons that topic to start rubbing Xander's arse. "I hope the ride over here wasn't too boring, was it?"
Dad likes hearing about other people's sexual encounters. It's one of the reason the threesome of him and Spike with a boy can work so well: Spike gets to have the sex, and Dad gets to hear about it. Not that Spike's going to be able to hog this little morsel away from Dad for long.
"Nope, not boring at all. Our Xander is quite the bright little lad," Spike says, grinning at Dad. "Figured out a new position all by himself."
Xander sits upright, staring from Spike to Dad and back again, stammering and blushing. Dad just cups his head to push it back against his shoulder. "Hush, Xander. Let your brother tell his story." Turning back to Spike, he says, "Oh?"
"Yup. Never tried slick-legging in the limo before, but our little Xander figured out a way for it to work. Got us lying down, nice as you please." Spike doesn't go into too many details, knowing that'll do more than just embarrass Xander. "He's quite inventive," he finishes.
Dad's just the littlest bit flushed after Spike's rendition and the way Xander's wiggling tells Spike that Dad is hard. Dad's got his hands on Xander's hips, holding him firmly over Dad's lap, which makes it easy for every squirming motion to rub over his cock -- something Xander's well aware of too, the way he's starting to pant.
"That's wonderful, Xander," Dad tells him, curling an arm around his stomach. "I'm so proud of you for -- Spike!" Both Spike and Xander freeze at the sharp tone of Dad's voice. Xander, however, is trembling just a little since Dad's hand is right over his cock. "Spike, this boy is still hard. I thought you let him come."
Spike looks offended. "Of course I did! Wanna go see the stained shirt left in the limo?" The shirt Wesley is discreetly preserving for Dad for later, of course. "He's fifteen, Dad. He's a walking hard-on. Surely you remember what's that like, don't you?"
Dad gives him a dirty look before tugging on Xander's cock through his jeans. "No pants? Xander, and here I thought that was one way you weren't going to emulate your brother. Then again... " Dad unzips him, running a finger down Xander's cock. He smiles very slightly when Xander gasps and wriggles in reaction. "It has its advantages. Now, then, love, I want you to turn around and face me. You'll never be able to handle a fitting like this."
Xander blinks out of his arousal, looking at Spike and then twisting around to Dad. "Um? Aren't you ..."
"Not that old, Xander. Now, come on. Oh, and slip your pants off first, please."
Xander looks utterly shell shocked, same as he did the last time he and Dad played, but obediently stands and strips -- removing his shirt again, too. When he straddles Dad's lap -- Dad having shoved his own pants down to expose his hard, heavily veined cock -- he blushes. "Got dirty, last time."
"And we certainly wouldn't want that." Dad's eyes are fixed on Xander's nipples -- interesting. Spike hadn't realized Xander had picked up on Dad's little fetish before. Or maybe he really just doesn't want to get his clothes dirty again. It's possible. Xander squirms again, gasping when his cock brushes against Dad's.
"Now, this is certainly not going to happen often, pet," Dad tells him, curling his hand around both their erections. "But since today is a special occasion, I think a little celebration is all right. Do you know what to do, love?"
Flushed, Xander looks down -- sees their cocks pressed together in Dad's fist and jerks his head to one side, staring at the floor and breathing shallowly. Dad smiles at him reassuringly, cupping Xander's cheek. "It's all right, love. I want you to rock up into me, all right? It's called frottage. There, that's right, love, good boy. I knew you'd catch on fast."
Xander's got his legs hanging out the back of Dad's executive chair. Spike knows how uncomfortable that position is, but Xander isn't complaining as he uses what little leverage he has to rub up against Dad's cock, bouncing just a little bit.
He's making little grunting noises with each thrust, hands gripping the armrests. His head is back, dark hair shimmering as the light glances off of it, skin starting to dot with sweat again. He's putting real effort into it, actively trying to please Dad -- just like in the car, Spike realizes.
Standing, he comes up behind Xander, fitting himself between the desk and the chair, giving Xander something to press his back against. "There, love," he croons while Dad echoes him. "See how good you're making Dad feel?" The moment Xander focuses his eyes, Dad clenches his teeth, his head back a little as he tries to watch Xander and let his eyes roll back at the same time. It's a trick that's solely Dad's and Spike knows that it's not faked so much as deliberately encouraged. It works, Xander groaning a little and thrusting faster.
"D-does it, Dad? Make you feel good?" Xander's hand finds Spike's, gripping it tightly. "I-I want to m-make you feel good. L-like -- "
Dad moans, cutting Xander's final sentence -- so easy to discern -- off. "Oh, yes, love," Dad says. The tip of his cock is pearly with need, the veins very blue against Xander's darker flush. "You're doing very well, making me feel very good."
Xander tries to smile while bouncing and rubbing himself, red-faced with effort and strain. Spike presses even closer, forcing Xander more fully against Dad's pelvis. Sliding his arms underneath Xander's, he begins to pinch and roll his nipples again, the flesh growing immediately hard. Dad moans, eyes locked on Spike's teasing fingers. "Oh, yes," Dad pants. "That's so good, pet, you look so pretty like that. You -- oh!"
At the last second, Dad grabs his own cock and aims at at Xander's chest. He pulses four times, essence left to drip down Xander's chest like obscene raindrops. Xander groans as he's come on, jerking even as Spike shushes him, telling him to wait, just a few minutes more ...
When Dad finally stops panting, he nods at Spike. Xander's far too gone to be aware of his surroundings, so he jerks in surprise when Spike reaches down to grasp his cock. Spike's knuckles rub against Dad's belly as he strokes only a few times, murmuring yes, it's alright, go ahead --
Xander comes hard, Spike helpfully angling him so that he spreads even more fluid over his own chest.
"There, that's a good boy," Dad says as Xander pants, slowly coming down. "Such a good boy, brave and obedient for your brother and me. There's a love ..." He rubs over Xander's chest, working the fluid into lightly tanned skin. "There, that's better, isn't it? Good boy."
Xander whines as Spike squeezes his cock, forcing a few extra drops to bead on the tip. He blinks up at Spike, confused at the pain -- which makes him look utterly adorable, since all Spike can see in those fuzzy black eyes is absolute trust and complacence. "Shh, love," Spike says, mentally grinning when Xander relaxes a little. "Just want to make sure it's all out."
Dad touches the sensitive tip, massaging those few pearly drops into Xander's glans. "It's really too bad that you've no foreskin," he comments idly while Xander tries very hard not to thrash; he's trembling with effort, the poor thing. Dad knows, of course, eyes flickering up to Spike rubbing both their come into Xander's chest, making certain to liberally anoint Xander's nipples. "Perhaps a piercing. But, that's for later, love. Here, turn around now."
While Dad is fairly chipper after orgasm, Xander's just had two very mind-blowing ones, the second where he's done most of the work: he's exhausted, his eyes unfocused as he obediently turns around on Dad's lap -- is turned, more like, both Dad and Spike helping -- and tries not to fall back against Dad's chest. He looks like a child kept up far past his bedtime, too tired to even be cranky.
Dad points to a sheaf of papers, stroking Xander's sides and flanks as Spike retrieves them and a pen. "There, love, can you sign these for me? Your brother will show you where. Yes, I know how tired you are, my brave lad, but just a little longer. Alfred doesn't need you awake for the fitting, so you can sleep as soon as you’re done. Right now you need to sign."
Xander's fingers look large against the slim black pen, fumbling the smooth curves as he wavers and tries to stay upright. Spike glares at Dad -- the petting isn't helping! -- who smirks right back at him. Rolling his eyes, Spike flips to the right places, placing the tip of the pen on the right line when Xander just stares, uncomprehending.
"Um." He's signing, face screwed up as he tries to remember the date. "What'm I s-s-signing?" he asks. He starts when Spike taps the little day calendar Dad has on his desk, then obediently copies it down. He does the same when Spike moves to the next line and then the next.
He's already so beautifully trained, Spike thinks, almost beaming with pride. He's curious, intelligent, cognizant, when his brother and father aren't making him come until his balls turn inside out, and he trusts them.
"Just some legal documents," Dad says.
There's one heart-stopping moment when Xander sheds the sleepy affection like a second skin, sharp eyes reading the header on the page and skimming through the legalese babble around the 'I, ________' that Xander's dutifully signing to. Spike knows Xander knows what's going on. He can see it, a light dimming behind his eyes, that rich mocha color turning brittle with upset --
And then Dad tweaks a nipple, reminding Xander that he is naked, sitting on Dad's lap , while Spike runs a soothing hand through Xander's shaggy hair.
It's not much, really, but Xander goes back to signing where Spike tells him too, that cold brittleness in the back of his eyes warmed with affection from this family. His new family, now legal in every sense of the word.
When the final line has been signed, Spike marks a date as witness, folds it up and seals the envelope. As big as Xander is, he looks forlorn and small on Dad's lap, so Spike hops up onto the table and pulls Xander' to him so he's balanced on Dad's lap and Spike's chest. Together, the two of them pet and cosset him, shushing him whenever he tries to talk, massaging his neck and temples, blowing on his nipples and cock -- not to arouse him, just to short out his thinking enough that he relaxes back into the half-doze of a boy who's shagged out -- at least for the moment, anyway.
Xander complies with an occasional sigh and, after a bit, a goofy smile. "Hi," he says when the minutes have lengthened, the plush office very quiet around them, like a mahogany and silk cocoon.
Both older Giles men smile, and Dad watches on, fondly, as Xander is thoroughly kissed by his older brother. "It's so good to have the family all together."
Somehow, Spike thinks they're going to miss the boy's fitting.
Spike knows what's coming long before the door rattles. He can hear it, across the way and down the hall, soft sounds and muffled, gasping cries. He's heard those cries before, of course, and usually loves provoking more of them; but not when there's an edge of pain, like the a hint of a blade flashing. Not when there's nothing good there.
But for all Spike's become very comfortable these last few weeks, there are some lines he knows he can't cross just yet. It's not that he's different and unfamiliar -- even though he's bloody certain that he's no longer truly unfamiliar -- it's that for all his little brother gives himself over with a sweet look and a hint of nervousness, Xander isn't a trusting lad. Not truly. Not with the secrets he still keeps, and all the shadowed memories he doesn't ever mention.
Dad seems to think that because he gives his body so freely that they're making progress. Spike knows better; Xander's never thought of that as his.
He lies there, staring at the faint tape marks just barely visible on the ceiling -- yes, the pictures he'd tried to put up there had been a bad idea, but Dad didn't have to laugh quite so much when they'd fallen on his head -- and waits. He's pretty sure, or at least hopeful, that even if Xander doesn't trust them yet, he knows that he can. So he lies there, listening to broken moans that have none of the swirling, chocolate-rich depths of Xander's pleasure, and hopes they'll end soon. Even if it means Xander just goes back to sleep... Spike knows he's not a nice person, not really, but he's not that cruel, either. He’ll take anything that eases Xander’s fear, even if it has nothing to do with him.
When the moans finally die away into ragged, painful breathing, Spike doesn't relax. Not until the floor creaks, and the light underneath his door shifts, and the doorknob rattles sharply against the metal lock. He shifts onto his side, better able to see the door, and waits. And waits.
He starts glancing at the clock, the tiny green numerals at the bottom left flashing as seconds turn to minutes. Xander hasn't left yet -- Spike can practically feel his heat through wood and an additional fifteen feet of room -- but he's not coming in, either. Just resting his hand on the doorknob, palm probably sweaty from fears, his face flushed, hair damp and scrubbed into untameable tufts ...
The door doesn't creak as it opens, just slides smoothly inward as if it's on a track. Spike doesn't know when Xander turned off the hall light, but there's only a hint of pale moonlight to outline Xander's form as he cautiously creeps into the room. Spike knows his eyes are probably glinting with reflected light -- it explains the stuttered hitch of breath, or perhaps that's a swallowed sob -- but Xander doesn't give any indication he knows that Spike is awake. Just creeps his way into the room, door smoothly gliding shut behind him, until he can sit along the side of the bed.
He's not close enough to touch. Spike's arms aren't that long, but it's near enough that Spike can smell sweat tanged with fear and desperation. It's metalic, and frightening coming from a boy that's usually sunshine and green, growing grass.
But Xander isn't touching him, or acknowledging him in anyway. Just sitting and breathing, leaning his head back so it makes the mattress dip, Spike's foot sliding closer to messy, sweat-mussed locks.
It's not often that Spike's caught without anything to do. He's got options, of course: touch Xander, or speak to him, or even just go to sleep with his toes just brushing the top of Xander's head. But he wants to do the right thing, not just any old decision, and he has no idea what that is. It's an uncomfortable feeling.
"Is..." Xander's words are so soft that, for a moment, Spike thinks he's dreaming them. "I'm sorry."
A hush Spike hasn't noticed falls away, the muffling darkness of pre-dawn light suddenly not as confining and compressing as it had been moments before. Spike almost misses the way his lungs can't extend fully. "For what?" he murmurs, voice as soft as his brother's.
"D-didn't want to wake you up."
Spike smiles, knowing Xander can't see him, and wiggles his toes. He catches some of Xander's hair between them, as he'd know it would, and he tugs and twists gently. It's as close as he's going to touch without permission; Xander still smells of mineral-laced fear, making Spike's nose wrinkle.
"Didn't," he sighs. "Couldn't sleep." It's a lie, but it's one Spike knows how to work -- he and Dad trade for it all the time -- and anyway, it's more important because it's an opening.
Or at least it's intended as an opening. Instead of pouring out his woes, Xander makes a chuckling sound that reminds Spike of little kids who cry so hard they can't stop laughing. It has the same bubbling, broken quality to it. "Liar," Xander says, as full of school-yard teasing as a boy sitting on the floor beside his brother's bed can be.
"Not nice," Spike returns, "accusin' me of lying."
Bantering is the last thing Spike expects, but Xander responds to it by grinning -- his teeth, and silvery tracks along his face glow -- and finally turning to face him. "Oh, like it's so unfamiliar."
"Oi! I am far to important -- which means wealthy, love -- to be accused of lying. In my case, it's artfully rearranging the truth." He's trying to reference a conversation the two of them had not three days before, about the differences between 'crazy' and 'eccentric' and how Xander could now claim to be the latter. It's supposed to make Xander grin, but like most of Spike's supposed to’s tonight, it does the opposite.
Xander loses animation so fast that Spike's sitting up and leaning over in a flash, cupping his palm around Xander's cheek. "Hey, now. C'mere."
"No, I -- "
"Don't argue." It's Dad's voice, but Xander responds better to him than to Dad most days. Dad knows that, but since Spike is perfectly willing to reissue the orders, he doesn't mind yet. "You're bloody freezing, and you know I hate being cold, so come get inhere."
Xander makes a mulish face -- the first normal expression Spike's seen yet -- but he obediently clambers into bed with Spike, allowing Spike to move his larger, heavier body however he likes.
How he likes is to get Xander on his back, legs slightly elevated so that Spike can worm his way underneath, arms behind Xander's head. It's not comfortable for him, but it's probably the most reassuring he can get with Xander -- the boy likes to be touched. The more, the better.
Xander's tensed up and miserable, his lower lip chewed to striated pieces as Spike watches him. He's expecting to be forced, Spike understands. To have his words and dreams pulled from him, the way he controls so little else in his life. But Spike doesn't want to take the bad dreams from Xander -- and this scares him more than a bit -- he wants to be given them.
So he rests his cheek against Xander's, occasionally kissing the conveniently close earlobe, and just relaxes. He's heavy, but he knows Xander appreciates the weight and the constriction, so he lets himself go completely while Xander trembles beneath him. The trembling gets worse the longer Spike says nothing, but Spike understands that. Understands it completely and just lies there, breathing, his heart beating much slower than the quick patter of Xander's.
He can't see the clock like this so he doesn't know how long they stay like that, but he comes out of a doze when Xander finally sighs and starts truly realxing. "Sorry," he repeats.
"Yes, terribly fashed to have you crawl into bed with me," Spike teases, nipping Xander's earlobe. It's not sexual, not really, although Spike is more than content if it goes that direction. Xander's sexual education is growing in leaps and bounds -- the boy comes on command now, and can harden with a glance -- but for some reason Spike doesn't really want to sully this. It's too ... intimate. Even for two boys who've done everything but actual penetration.
Xander's arms creep up around Spike's sternum, pressing against him lightly, as if he's unsure of his welcome. That makes no sense to Spike -- he thought he'd made it clear that all touching from Xander is good -- but when he doesn't object, the weight gradually grows firmer and heavier until Xander's holding so hard Spike's going to have trouble breathing, soon, Xander's face pressed hard to the crook of his neck.
Spike rolls, pulling Xander with him until he's on his back, Xander burrowing against him.
That seems to be the permission Xander needs, because suddenly he's shivering and shaking and trying to crawl into Spike's body. There are tears and sweat leaking down his neck, but Spike doesn't mention that. Just holds as tightly as he's held, wondering what on earth has set Xander off like this -- until he feels lips on the point of his chin.
It's not like there weren't lips before -- if a face is mashed against you, you get nose and eyebrows and lips in pretty much equal measure. But these are soft and petal-delicate, and very intentional. As is the sweep of Xander's tongue, rasping against the skin he'd just kissed.
Spike shocks the hell out of both of them when he sits up and pushes Xander a scant three inches away.
Expressions pass by too quickly to be read, but the disgruntled annoyance Xander wears at the end is easy enough to tag. "What, it's okay only when I get used?"
He's trying to be cutting and cruel, but his voice is shaking and his eyes can't stop moving. Spike leans forward and presses his mouth to Xander's, swallowing any of the bitter words he might still produce. Xander moans into the kiss, melting again, but Spike doesn't let him cuddle the way he -- they both -- want.
"Pet, you want to forget an' I'll help you do that," Spike tells him, ghosting his mouth up to kiss the memory of tears from the corner of his eyes. "But first you've got to calm down, yeah? I’m not gonna hurt you. Don't want you to think half-way through that I'm forcing you."
Xander's protests die when he finally hears what Spike's told him. He backs up, eyes clear for the first time as he studies Spike's face in the darkness. "That's, um. A weird thing to say?"
Spike shrugs. "Yeah. But it's not wrong, is it?"
Xander starts to shake his head, then freezes, looking guilty. "So... one of the boys before me?"
It's not like they keep it a secret, but Spike still has to control a flinch. He hates it when Xander references the 'boys' in the past, not because he's ashamed of anything he or they do, but because Xander is ... well, Xander. And that makes it different in ways Spike doesn't understand.
He thinks Dad does, oddly. He's seen the way Dad looks at them.
"No," he says, forcefully enough that Xander winces. "No," he repeats, gentler. "Not one of the other boys. Um. Me, actually."
Xander blinks at him a few times, lips moving before sound finally eeks out. "You?"
Spike shrugs, the shirt moving oddly since Xander's weight still rests on half of it. "Was younger than you are, but ... yeah. It was before I was living with Dad."
None of them have ever talked about Spike’s past -- other than amusing anecdotes and the like -- and not at all about Spike's mother. There's a reason for it, though Spike isn't interested in going into details. He will, if it'll help Xand; but it's not something he relishes.
"I don't ..." Xander's losing his own fear into the cluelessness he sports like a shield. "How? B-before Dad?"
Spike gently cups Xander's face, forcing the younger boy to look at him. "Didn't have a picturesque childhood, love, not until Dad took me in. Not until Dad found out I was alive really -- the problem with getting doxies knocked up, you understand."
Xander nods, brow wrinkled as he thinks. Spike knows the boy won't care about Dad spending time with hookers -- female hookers, at that. But that there's a time when Spike wasn't the calm, confident older brother, the one who takes care of Xander and doesn't need to be taken care of, well ... that bothers him.
"So ... you had nightmares?" Xander reasons. It's something he can grab onto, cling to as familiar.
Spike chuckles, leaning forward to kiss him again. "Yeah, love. I had nightmares. Crawled into the wrong bed afterwards, too." Spike doesn't mention that it was that 'crawling' that actually alerted Dad to his son's existence -- that was a much longer story Spike wasn't telling without Dad there. Or at least Dad's permission.
"So ... ?" Xander looks utterly adorable like this, a big black labrador puppy that has no idea which way is the right direction but desperately wants that word of praise.
"So," Spike says, "means I understand. You want to talk, we can talk. You want to forget, we can do that too. But not if you're gonna freak out half way through, yeah?"
"But how would I know?" There's a familiar hint of artlessness that means Xander's teasing him, or at least trying to. "I can't predict the future."
Spike makes a growling noise and leans forward to bite Xander's lower lip. He's content now that the boy is genuinely teasing him -- if poorly -- since it means that Xander isn't quite the lostling that showed up ten minutes before.
It's better when Xander moans at the bite, eyes fluttering closed.
"There, now." Spike tugs Xander towards him and then back onto the bed. "What'd Dad and I tell you about wearing clothes to sleep, hm? Makes it more difficult to do this." Spike cups between Xander's legs, rubbing the heel of his hand against a hardening cock. "Off, love. Take them off for me."
Xander skins out of his shirt eagerly, eyes bright and trusting as they look up at Spike's face. He's as desperate for this as he was desperately afraid not so long ago -- and Spike knows, clearly, that is not the best thing to do. The best is to talk, to draw out the nightmares Spike's fairly certain he already knows the scripts to. But he still wants to be given that, and he doesn't want to force Xander to do anything he doesn't want, so he leans forward to trail kisses down a broad, smooth chest while Xander wiggles out of his pants while trying not to dislodge him.
"Please," Xander whispers.
"Please what, little one?" Spike asks, flicking at Xander's nipple with his tongue. "Your choice tonight. What do you want to do?"
Xander's eyes flash down to Spike's cock -- he's already naked, of course -- and licks his lips.
Spike almost comes damned near then.
"Could -- c-could you, um. In the limo? The way you ... "
They've done lots of things in the limo, but Spike still knows what he means. "Hm," he says, idly stroking the boy's stomach, and tugging at his cock. He understands Xander wants to feel covered and protected, but he's not entirely certain being passive is a good thing. Spike knows how easy it was for him to fall into that, especially when he was frightened ...
"Anything else?" he asks, smiling apologetically.
Xander rolls his eyes, but doesn't object. He's learned in infancy that his wants and desires weren't to be catered to -- but he also knows that Spike and Dad will never hurt him, only make him feel good, so he doesn't mind it so much. "I could ..." his eyes flicker downwards again.
Spike gets it, then, and snickers. He forgets, sometimes, that receiving doesn’t mean passive, particularly not for a boy who throws himself into things as much as Xander does. "Right, fine," he says even as he digs up a bottle of slick from underneath his pillow and hands it and his forefingers to Xander. The boy doesn't lube him up so much as massage him, a trick he hasn't been trained to but is welcome all the same. He's trembling in anticipation and if the metalic-smell of upset hasn't totally faded, the scent of Xander's musk is fast overriding it.
Xander's breathing in short, fast little gasps as he lifts his legs, welcoming Spike's touch before Spike's ready to give it. Spike chuckles, stealing another kiss even as his fingers find smooth balls, and smooth, touchable skin directly behind them. He rubs, mimicking the same rhythm his tongue uses as he presses it into Xander's mouth.
"You are a treasure," Spike murmurs, because no matter how much he hates it, no matter how often he fights and denies it, he really is a romantic at heart. And Xander is warm and pliant and entirely willing, even with sweat still sour on his neck, which somehow makes Spike want this even more.
"Hold them," Spike murmurs, chuckling when fingers brush against his belly, tickling slightly, on their way to gripping behind Xander's knees. Xander's trembling, now, his cock a painful shade of red as Spike runs lube-slick fingers all over the insides of Xander's thigh, paying close attention to perineum, balls, and the sensitive skin just immediately below.
Xander starts moaning by the second pass-through, the sound getting higher and more desperate when Spike circles around the entrance to his body, massaging the soft tissue there.
Dad's already been here, and Spike's certainly touched him a whole lot, but Spike’s never been the one to gently ease a forefinger inside a tight, grasping inferno, Xander already whimpering, head tossing as Spike explores him. Spike feels a little like whimpering himself, because Xander is beautiful like this, open and willing and wanting so badly -- wanting him so badly.
It only occurs to Spike right then that Dad's only two more doors down the hall and if Xander wanted, he could've gone there. He should have gone, actually. He didn't, though. He came to Spike, crawled into his big brother's bed like he knew it was already okay -- which it is -- and it's Spike he's clearly wanted to be touched by ever since he had the nightmare.
It makes Spike's cock throb with need.
"Breathe," he cautions, even though it's him that's having trouble. Or, okay, possibly both of them but Spike doesn't want Xander to know how much this affects him. He likes being the cool older brother, the protector to this trembling mess of dark hair and dark skin and submissive need, but he's pretty sure that Xander's going to figure it out at some point. And ... that could be okay, he thinks. But later. After he's made Xander come just from fingers up inside his body -- two, now, and moving easily enough that Spike suspects the boy of 'practicing' on his own with the toys Dad places subtly around the house -- and then come again from the feel of Spike's body over him, Spike's cock rubbing up against him.
Spike wants that almost as much as he's pretty sure Xander does.
"C'mon," he pants. He wants to croon the word, but it's more of a croak pressed into Xander's collarbone. "Can you take more, love?" His fingers find Xander's prostate unerringly, rubbing hard and fast just so he can see Xander jerk underneath him. "Do you want more?"
Xander nods like his head is no longer attached by bone and tendon and hot-pumping blood and instead of permission, it's a warning. The internal needle that gauges Xander's comfort-levels is in the red already, heading towards complete melt-down, and like this Xander will agree to anything so long as it makes Spike feel good. It's a quality that Spike loves, not just because of the trust and desire it shows in Xander, but because it makes him feel smugly happy that he gets to know this body below him, gets to fine-tune it as carefully as a master mechanic, playing it the way he plays the piano. But knowing Xander as well as he does means Spike knows that he can hurt Xander, with Xander's enthusiastic permission and participation, without ever meaning to.
So he keeps the fingers at two, moving them faster and harder, driving them against Xander's prostate until Xander's keening, a thrashing, sweaty mess on the bed. Spike's got a hand pressed to his shoulder, the frantic patter of his heart tattooing a design against Spike's palm, and really a last ditch effort to keep Xander from working himself right off the bed. He'll be sore tomorrow, Spike knows, muscles still unused to the kind of wild sex Spike and Dad always draw out of him. But a good kind of sore, and hopefully a physical exhaustion so complete that he won't remember the dreams -- memories, of course they're memories, twisted up now that he's got something to lose -- just what Spike does to help him forget them.
"Come," he murmurs against sweat-streaked skin, curling his fingers down tight. "Come on, Xan. I want to see you come for me."
Xander whimpers, bucking and blindly straining towards Spike's body and voice until he finally cries out sharply, voice totally falsetto as he covers his belly with transluscent come.
Spike gives him about thirty seconds to stop shaking so much, to let each breath stop sounding like it's a sob -- but no more. Scooping up Xander's remains, Spike coats his cock with it even as he rolls Xander onto his belly.
"Shh," he breaths, kissing sweaty hair and the curve of Xander's ear. "Close your legs, love, tight just like we did before."
Xander's muscles are still shaking in reaction and afterglow, but after a first fumbling try, Spike has a slick, tight tunnel of skin to slide against. It's messy, his weight on his hands so he can fuck between Xander's thighs or between his cheeks -- never inside, not tonight -- while simultaneously keeping his legs heavy against Xander's, his weight against the boy's chest as often as he can.
"Yes," Spike pants. He's never quiet during sex, since dirty talk or reassurances turn him on as much as his partner, but he can't speak now. He can just thrust, riding against Xander's thighs and arse, heavy and hot and weighted against him. "Christ, yes."
Xander moans in agreement, arching back and shifting in a way that tells Spike the boy is hard again. He chuckles: "Ah, to be fifteen again."
Squirming, Xander's blush is audible as he finds the best way to hold his body for their combined needs. "It's, um, annoying."
"Nah, it's lovely," Spike returns, knowing compliments to Xander's physical appearance will make him blush even harder. He leans down, cock threatening to slip out from between Xander's arse, so he can press his cheek against Xander's, glorying in the heat there. "Means I get to make you feel good, little one."
Whimpering, Xander's thighs twitch with the need to spread, to thrust himself hard against the mattress. Spike chuckles again, nipping Xander's shoulder before sliding down to a better position. He starts thrusting again, hard and sure and fast, fucking against Xander since he can't fuck in Xander. The boy is mindless below him now, each rocking motion adding to the muscle soreness he'll feel tomorrow and the promise of bliss that waits for both of them.
"Ready, little one?" Spike asks. His cock is screaming for release, balls pulled up tight to his body but he wants Xander to come first. To reassure the boy that as much pleasure Spike gets out of this, that it's for Xander. That it's because of Xander. "Come, baby. Want to feel you shuddering underneath me."
Xander makes a noise that's half-croak, half-aching cry, coming so quickly after Spike's words that it's practically on command. Spike rides through the shudders for five seconds, ten, fifteen -- and then loses it himself, spilling over Xander's arse and back and collapsing against him.
As the minutes tick by, Xander doesn't complain about Spike's weight, or that he's got wet come growing cold on his front and back. He just lies there, breathing slowing down while his body grows totally lax and still and ...
Spike has to chuckle. The boy is fast asleep underneath him, too exhausted to even complain about how hard it is to breathe with Spike on top of him.
Rolling off carefully -- come turns gluey when it's pressed between too bodies like that -- Spike gropes around for the rag that's never too far from his bed and uses it to clean them up. Xander never stirs as he's moved, although he shivers a little when Spike has to move away from him. Sweet, Spike thinks, tossing the rag away as he settles back onto the bed.
Xander immediately rolls closer to him, arms around his waist, head on Spike's shoulder, his breath warm and wet as it mists against Spike's chest. It's a damned wonderful feeling. There'll be conversations tomorrow, and a bit of worrying to be done by Dad since it's clear that Xander isn't as well as they've been hoping -- but right then, Spike can't feel anything but glowing happiness.
Xander came to him, for reassurance and sex, sweetly giving as Spike imposed his desires on him. And Xander is still here, sleeping peacefully like all it right with the world now that Spike's there to protect him.
It's a damned good feeling. The orgasm doesn't hurt, of course, but as Spike drifts off, he's not really thinking about how hard he just came. He's thinking about who and why and mine.
T B C
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