A Part of This Complete Breakfast
by  James Walkswithwind and the Mad Poetess

Pancakes. He was making pancakes -- that was the plan, anyhow. Mix, eggs,
milk, bowl, griddle. So why weren't the pancakes getting made?

"Don't *move*," came the growl behind him.

"If I don't move," he said, not that he was going to *ever* move again if he
didn't get told he could, in that voice, but he had to at least put up a
pretense of arguing, after all, "the milk will spoil."

The milk disappeared from the counter and he heard the fridge door opening and
closing. "That was one."

"One?"

"You get three. Third time you fuck around like that, I'm gonna go watch the
football game."

Xander hesitated, before grinning. He didn't say anything, or even snicker,
but he knew Spike wouldn't really go watch the game. Not for more than five
minutes, just to make Xander *think* he'd gone to watch the game. But rules were
rules, and games weren't any fun unless you played them right. Unless you
weren't playing, then the rules were "break the rules".

But he'd save up his next two for something better than laughing, now. 
Instead, he stood still and resisted the urge to wriggle his butt. His naked
butt. As in 'everything waving in the breeze'. Waving, if he moved. Which,
yeah, pancakes, griddle, hot butter, he knew, he knew. It wasn't *his* fault he
had a lover who liked to walk into the kitchen at random moments, sneak up
behind him, yank his pants down, and growl 'Don't move' in his ear. It was just
one of the many crosses he had to bear in life. Or, ah, bare, as the case might
be.

Xander braced his arms on the countertop, and waited for Spike to proceed with
whatever it was that had entered into his twisted little mind this time. Not
that it took a lot of imagination to imagine what Spike was imagining... but
Spike *could* be very imaginative. Xander wondered if it would count towards
number two, if he asked what the game actually was today.

He heard Spike moving away from him, and resisted the reflexive glance back,
to see what his insane lover was up to. Which made him wonder if Spike was "up
to" anything, yet. If Spike was still in his usual sleepwear -- nothing. The
thought entertained him enough that he didn't actually look, as Spike moved back
up behind him. He felt his buttocks tensing, as he waited. He felt a hand
briefly touch his left buttcheek, and his muscles jumped again.

"Spike?"

SMACK!

He heard the sound a split second before the line of heat shot across his ass.
He had to suck in a breath, before he could manage to give in to the grin that
was spreading across his face.

"Was that two?" Xander asked after a second, meaning his having broken silence
to say Spike's name.

"No, that was one. Cripes, if you can't count properly, I'll have to give you
that one over again." There was another crack, this one fast enough that pain
and sound came at the same time, though Xander chose to concentrate on his butt,
instead of his ears. At least until Spike actually said something meaningful.

Then there was nothing, except the cool air on the slightly heated skin where
Spike had hit him. Xander waited -- surely that wasn't all? -- then he realized
what Spike was waiting for. "Er, two?" he counted the slaps.

There was an exasperated sigh. "No, cripes, Xan, I just said - I'd have to
start *over*." And there was a slap hard, fast, accompanying the last word. 
Xander flinched that time, from twinges of pain and the unexpected contact. Not
wholly unexpected, but--

SMACK!

Xander sighed, and let his head fall, a bit. He had to bite his lip against a
laugh when Spike said "*That* was two!" Except, by Spike's counting, it was
three. Unless he'd started over *again*.

"Okay. I think I've got it now."

"No, you're gonna get it, now." Smack! Slap! Smack!

Xander couldn't help wriggling just a little from that last one, but he
figured Spike was probably too busy enjoying the sight of the magic color-change
Xanderbutt to care. "That was either three, or six. Depending."

"Now, it can't be both, Xander. Which one do *you* think it was?"

Xander thought it was the one where Spike took any excuse he could find to
drive Xander crazy. Maybe he should do an average? But math had never been his
strongest class, as Spike was doing a good job of pointing out at the moment. On
the other hand, which answer would get him more spanking?

"One." There was a hard smack on his butt, the hardest one yet. Xander took a
deep breath. "One," he said again. If they kept this up, he was going to last
exactly three more seconds before he started begging Spike to fuck him. And
that would be...what were the rules, again?

There was a pained sigh from behind him. "You obviously have a learning
disability, and far be it from me to take advantage of your mental
incapacitation..."

"My what?"

"You're an idiot."

"Why didn't you just say so? Of course I'm an idiot; you're spanking my brains
out."

Spike smacked him again. "I always knew that was where you kept 'em. Well,
since you're incapable of counting, I s'pose I'll have to just pick a number and
go with it. Say a nice round hundred?"

Xander swallowed. Tried very hard to answer. "Masimawoogle." He tightened
his grip on the kitchen counter. The pancake batter supplies where still sitting
there, waiting for breakfast. But breakfast was gonna be for lunch, today.

There were two, sudden smacks in rapid succession. Xander had to inhale
before he could say "Five. Um, seven. Eight?" He tried to count, for a couple
of seconds he really tried. Then Spike spanked him again, softer, and his
fingers lingered on Xander's butt for a second. "One?"

"Maybe we should try something simpler. You know that song, the one with the
farmer and his dog?" Spike said.

"Murplethurp?"

"No, the dog's name was Bingo, far as I recall." Spike started singing,
purposely off-key, and Xander had to decide whether he could divert enough blood
from the lower half of his body to manage a giggle at the thought of Spike
singing something Xander used to sing in kindergarten. When Spike hit the first
'B' and smacked his butt even harder than before, Xander's brain decided for
him, by going on strike. 'Here, just take all the oxygen you need,' it said to
his manly parts.

He had to gasp for air in order to keep his hands in place, and his legs
not-buckling, and his butt in more or less the same position so Spike could keep
spanking him. Otherwise his manly parts were screaming "closer! there's a cock
back there somewhere and it needs to be fucking us!" Which was good, exactly
what he wanted, as well, except that would mean an end to the spanking. Er, so
to speak.

"Sp--" was as far as he got in saying god knew what, before the next slap on
his butt cut him off. Then it was all about being able to breathe at all, as
Spike finished off his song and just started smacking away in a steady rhythm, a
little faster than before. If he had the air to say it or the brains to frame
the exclamation, Xander might have told Spike that he was likely to get brain
damage from this spanking after all, even though he didn't keep them in his ass.
Most of the time, anyway. He'd either die of oxygen deprivation, or his cock
would explode. In the not-good way.

"Sp--" he managed again, and Spike responded -- or interrupted -- by slapping
him again, hard. "Uhn!" Xander discovered that his head was almost lowered to
the kitchen counter, and suddenly resting it there seemed like an excellent
idea. It wasn't comfortable, but it meant he didn't have to think about
anything other than the fact that now his butt was sticking out, towards Spike,
so in case Spike had been having *any* difficulty whatsoever in finding it, he
would no longer. "Spiiiike!" he finally breathed, and there was a pause.

"Oh. Thought you were trying to say 'spank me again'. Yes?"

"Uh..." He was trying to say something. What was it?

"Oh. Spank me again, *please*. Well, since you're so polite about it and
all..."

Three more swats, and he was making a noise that only dogs and vampires could
hear. "Spike!" he heard himself squeak when his voice came back down into
human-range.

"Can't do maths, and you're not real good with the English, either, are you,
love?" Spike's voice was low and rough in his ear, not nearly as amused as
Xander knew he was trying to sound. What he could hear of it over his own
panting, anyway.

Xander spread his feet a bit, ostensibly for better balance, but really
because if *he* was going to be this aroused, then by golly so was Spike. 
Aroused and teased with the fact that all he was doing was standing there. He
moved a bit, trying to get comfortable.

"Xan..." he heard from behind him. Who said vampires didn't need to breathe?

"Hmmm?" Xander opened his mouth, but nothing useful came out, except his
tongue. That lolled out a bit, which would make Spike laugh and call him
puppy-boy if he could see Xander's face. Good thing all Spike could see was his
ass, huh? Which was flexing itself without any direct orders from Xander. Maybe
Spike could read ass-language? He ought to be able to, given how much time he
spent looking at it. Staring at it, and playing with it. Spanking it, like
he'd stopped doing for some reason.

"Was that a hundred?" Xander asked, disappointed to find his brain starting to
function, again.

"Er? No! Course not." Then Spike slapped him, once. He seemed a little
distracted, though, because his aim was slightly off.

"One," Xander counted, helpfully. And wriggled his butt.

"That wasn't one," Spike said, not sounding too sure of his facts. He smacked
Xander again, a couple of times, lightly.

"Twenty?" Xander guessed. Spike made a little groaning sound, like maybe his
own math skills were deteriorating rapidly. Or maybe it was just his knowledge
of anatomy, because the next light smack wasn't exactly on his butt. Which was
utterly unfair, because if Spike *wanted* his knees to buckle, all he had to do
was moan 'Xan' in Xander's ear again, and he'd be gone.

Like he was doing right now, and Xander was forcibly reminded of the fact that
at some point he'd lifted his head, just enough that when he closed his eyes he
felt a hard smack on his forehead -- not the fun kind, either.

"Spiiiike," he tried again, and wriggled, spread his feet a bit more, and
tried to think of the English words for 'fuck me, dammit!' He had to stop and
breathe, then Spike was spanking him again like he'd found his calling -- one,
two, three, four, on and on like it was going out of style.

If Spike was trying to distract him from...something, it was working. Xander
could only concentrate on the fire that Spike was setting on his skin, and the
sounds of the slapping in his ears. Even his breathing, he assumed, had been
taken over by the part of him that controlled these things when he was sleeping
or running for his life, or other activities that he wasn't quite doing at the
moment.

If he relaxed, just a little, he could maybe rub up against the counter. But
that would be cheating. Why exactly did he care, again? He scooted towards the
counter, trying to feel around for something smoother than a brass handle.

"Stop that!" There was a hard, no-nonsense, smack on his butt.

"Why?" he whined. Didn't care how much he whined, because he could feel the
wood on the tip of his cock and he *really* just wanted--

"There's still football on the telly."

Xander laughed, a short explosive breath. "Like you could walk that far."

"Could if I--" Spike's reply was cut off sharply, after the floor creaked
once, followed by a shuffle, then Spike's hand showed up on the countertop.
"Right, maybe not," he said in a dizzy voice.

While Xander was trying to summon up the energy to laugh again, Spike's hand
was disappearing, and reappearing with a not-quite-so-sharp whap on his left
buttchee, then another on his right one. Xander heard Spike take a deep breath,
like he was preparing to lay in again, and managed to shout out "Spike!" before
the barrage re-started.

Not that Spike was listening to him, not that it didn't take a few reflexive
slaps for the sound to filter through Spike's ears to his brain. "Bloody hell;
what?"

Which was long enough later that he'd forgotten what he'd wanted. There were
only two things he could think of. The first was 'spank me' -- which was already
happening, if not right *now* because Spike had stopped to ask him silly
questions like "what are you trying to ask me?" The other thing was "fuck me"
which he didn't think he had to actually ask for, given the way Spike's hands
were shaking every time he paused between smacks to rest them on Xander's back. 
What was *keeping* him, anyhow?

He felt a hand smack his butt, then a finger ran up the untouched skin between
his buttcheeks. "Ohgodohgod," and he fell forward against the counter.

"That what you wanted?" came the question, and Xander just moaned
incoherently, which was yespleasefuckmenow language for 'duh', or maybe the
other way around.

Spike was either smart enough not to laugh at him, or maybe he was as nearly
as far gone as Xander, because there was none of that smarmy chuckling that
usually came after such an answer. There was just Spike's other hand fumbling
around on the counter in front of Xander. After an eternity or two point five
seconds of that, Xander slid one arm forward and grabbed Spike's hand. 
"What...are you *doing*," he hissed.

"Tryin' to find..."

"My ass? It's right *there*." Xander guided Spike's hand back where it
belonged, and tried to get him to feel what he'd been too busy to notice
earlier-- the fact that Xander had been lubed and ready since before he even
stumbled down to the kitchen this morning.

"Need something!" Spike hissed, and Xander decided that his wasn't the only
brain out of working order. He reached back, found Spike's very nice erect
cock, and held it steady while he slammed himself backwards.

There was a loud, hard groan, and for a second they stood there without
moving. Xander closed his eyes briefly, feeling the stretch inside and the
burning, outside.

"Fuck, you cheated," was ground out next to his ear. Xander grinned.

"You're predictable," he countered, and moved forward a little. Spike grabbed
his hips and slammed them together again. "Murg," Xander managed. It meant
something like 'I never get through making breakfast on mornings after one of us
almost gets his head bitten off by a demon." When *both* of them almost got
their heads bitten off, they never even made it out of bed.

"I'm predictable?" Spike started pulling out, and for a terrifying moment
Xander thought he *wasn't* gonna be predictable-- that maybe he'd gotten hold of
some kind of Willpower-of-the-Gods spell, and was gonna go head off and watch
football after all. Then Spike pushed into him again, with a little growl. "Next
time I'm gonna..."

What, wait until Xander had actually *made* the pancakes, for once? Spread the
maple syrup on him and lick it off *after* breakfast? Xander grasped the
countertop tighter. Licking. Syrup. Slam, as Spike bumped him up against the
drawer fronts again.

"Gonna...what?" he managed, though he had no idea how. "Fuck me, then spank?" 
And how on earth was English coming out of his brain, much less his mouth?

There was a growl from behind him, and Spike pulled out. Xander barely had
time to open his mouth to whine about it, when Spike slammed back in. This time
*Xander* growled, and he felt Spike wriggle, in response. Pressed up against
him, fully sheathed in Xander's body, and he wriggled like he was begging for
more syrup.

Xander was fairly sure any blood left that wasn't in his cock was currently
running out his ears-- which no doubt explained why Spike had bent his head
close and was sucking at Xander's earlobe like a Dustbuster in overdrive. Xander
had at least one alternate suggestion as to what he could be doing with that
amazing vacuum power of his, but athletic as Spike might be, he was physically
incapable of fucking Xander and sucking him off at the same time.

Didn't mean they hadn't had fun trying. Xander had even considering getting
Spike split into two halves -- but he was afraid of the halves he'd end up with. 
Vamp Spike was no biggie -- once he remembered why he'd been separated, he'd
toss off the chance to kill and rampage, to have more sex. It was wimpy Spike
that would take too much convincing, that made it not worth the trouble looking
up spells.

Neither of whom were having any trouble, right at the moment, making Xander
feel like *he* was split in two, again. Xander groaned as Spike pushed in,
pulled out, leaned forward and slid in, varying his speed and force and the way
his hands slipped around on Xander' stomach without actually *touching* his
cock.

He considered calling Spike a prick-teasing bastard, since the English in him
seemed to be temporarily accessible, despite the presence of the Englishman in
him, or perhaps because of it. But really, if Spike touched him now, he might
burn his fingers or something, and the last thing he needed was a pissy vampire
jumping up and down and... wait, what was the downside, again? "Slartibartfast?"
he spat out. Oh well, so much for English.

"Right," Spike responded, and his hands moved. Onto Xander's hips. Xander
moaned in frustration, and Spike whispered in his ear "Yeah, like that, do you?"

Xander thought about strangling him. Reaching back and hitting him with the
spatula. Except when he leaned back to take his weight off his hands, he felt
Spike push into him again, all the way, and he forgot what he'd been doing.
Being fucked. That's what he'd been doing. Xander let his head fall back onto
Spike's shoulder.

A hand touched him, brushing across his stomach, then up his chest. He
groaned, trying to tell his own hand to go push that hand back *down*. He
whimpered when his hand ignored him. The other hand, on the other hand,
responded by finding one of his nipples -- Xander thought it was the left one,
but he'd pretty much lost all sense of direction by now-- and tracing around it
in ever-decreasing circles, until finally Spike was pinching it, hard.

Xander considered biting him, but he couldn't quite move his neck far enough
to reach Spike's arm. How obliging of Spike to let go, after a few
excruciatingly pleasurable seconds, and reach his hand up to brush across
Xander's lips. To Xander's credit, he waited until Spike had once more driven
himself in, rather than biting him in mid-thrust, which might just make his
knees buckle as much as Xander's were doing.

When he did bite down, clamping onto the finger that was teasing his mouth, he
felt Spike stiffen and jerk behind him. Jerked out, then jerked in, then Spike
was losing all control of his body. Xander worried the fingertip between his
teeth, licking the pad and nibbling the skin, and Spike sounded like he was
being strangled. Or fucked, himself, and somebody had forgotten to tell Spike
that vampires didn't breathe and shouldn't have had brain cells enough to inhale
for vocalizing when having this much fun.

Spike's free hand was digging into Xander's hip, and Spike was very definitely
losing control. Slamming into Xander's ass and crying out like he wanted to
wake the undead -- Xander suddenly had sense to think how this could be fair. 
*He* was the one who got spanked. Shouldn't he get to come, first?

Then the stubborn not-touching-him hand closed on his cock. He jerked forward
and then back, and wondered if they were supposed to be having a screaming
contest, or if that was just an added bonus. He'd thrown off Spike's rhythm,
jerked back while Spike was slamming forward, which produced a very nice smack
against his still-stinging ass, but stopped the movement for a second, as Spike
adjusted to Xander's body's sudden decision to participate, and started moving
again.

Except he wasn't moving his hand, just holding Xander's cock tight within the
firm fist, almost jerking but not quite. Which would do it, pretty soon, unless
Spike got any ideas about pinching him off, at which point Xander would just
have to kill him and finish the job himself.

Xander began moving his hips again, less concerned with how it made Spike's
cock thrust deeper inside him than he was with how it made his cock slide, just
a little, inside the fist of Spike's hand. Couldn't tell if Spike was adjusting
his grip to stop him or help him because it really didn't matter anymore. Xander
was moving without caring what Spike was doing, except that it was Spike inside
him and Spike encasing him and Spike leaning down against and pressing something
sharp into his shoulder.

Xander screamed and felt himself coming, knees buckling and thighs tensing as
he tried to shove himself forward and drive himself backward and not move as
those teeth sank deeply into his body. With what senses he had left that weren't
busy dealing with every fuse in his body blowing at once, he could feel Spike's
body stiffening, the hand on his cock pinching almost painfully hard, the one on
his hip digging in with no almost about the pain, the imprint of four
Spike-fingers and a thumb pressing clear to the bone, it felt like.

Then he was losing his balance, about to slip to the floor, and that hand was
gone from his poor soon-to-bruise hip and being held firmly around his waist,
holding him up. Holding them both up.

Spike's mouth was far too close to Xander's ear when he roared, even muffled
by the flesh of Xander's shoulder, but at this point, Xander didn't care if
Spike screamed straight into his skull, as long as he didn't get dropped on the
floor while Spike was doing his last little out-of-control thrust. That was a
good excuse for the ringing in his ears, at any rate, since otherwise it was
ringing in his brain somewhere and that would mean he really was too dizzy to
stand. Or blink. He felt his arms give out and he fell forward, again, only to
find himself falling slowly.

When he managed to blink he found himself sitting on the cold linoleum floor
in a tangle with a equally-confusedly-blinking vampire. His face was flowing
back to human, and his gold eyes were flashing behind the slow blinks. He looked
adorable, so Xander pushed himself forward a few inches, and kissed him.

"Er..." was Spike's response, or it felt like 'er' when Spike said it into
Xander's mouth. It tasted like maple syrup, though, and Xander's own blood. So
at least *Spike* had gotten his favorite breakfast treat.

Xander rested his head against Spike's, just breathing, undoubtedly dripping
sweat all over him, although how anybody would be able to tell the difference
between human sweat and vampire sweat, if Spike decided to whine about it, he
had no idea. Taste test, maybe?

"Thawasnice," Spike murmured.

"Murg," Xander replied, wrapping one arm around Spike and holding him close,
thinking this would be a lovely spot for a quick nap. Spike could always warm
his butt up, again, after the floor bled all the heat out....

"You two are *so* cleaning the kitchen before I step foot in there. *And*
paying for everyone to have breakfast at Waffle House. And -- are you listening
to me?"

Xander closed his eyes. She wasn't really annoyed -- or surprised, or
anywhere near as disgusted as she was trying to sound. Spike murmled something
that sounded like "I'll kill her later," or possibly "my foot's falling asleep,"
and hugged Xander closer.

"Oh great, you're not gonna move for *hours* now," Buffy said petulantly.
"*And* you let the pancake batter go bad." Despite her big statements about not
setting foot in the kitchen, she did take a few steps in, looking down at them
with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "Bet you ate all the cinnamon
bread, too." She turned around and called out into the living room. "Looks like
it's toaster waffles for breakfast today, guys."

"Again?" came the resounding chorus, and Xander didn't really have the energy
to lift his head and yell at them to shut up, he was trying to sleep.

"I thought we were going to Waffle House?" Willow asked, walking up to the
doorway. "Eew." She wrinkled her nose. "Should we hose 'em down?"

"I think we should chuck them into the hallway," Buffy replied.

"With or without their clothing?" That was from Giles, and Xander wondered if
everyone was in the kitchen, now, and if he should be asking them how long
they'd been standing there. Not long, because there hadn't been any applause.

"I don't think Spike has any, does he? There's a big pile on the floor outside
their room..." Dawn called from the distance. "Which means I missed Spike
streaking to the kitchen yet *again*, thank you." Xander wondered just how late
everybody had slept, if no one had noticed and raised the Spike-streaking alarm,
like they usually did.

"I think we should lock 'em in the basement, in separate rooms. This is the
third time they've broken the no-sex-in-the-kitchen rule, and if Graham and I
can't do it, I don't see why they should be allowed to." Riley sounded huffy,
then there was an oof! as Buffy jabbed an elbow into his stomach.

"I don't think you need to be pushing for enforcement of house rules, buddy,
considering you left 'Out Of Uniform' in the VCR for like, the third time. Which
breaks both the 'No porn where Dawn might see it,' and the 'Be kind, rewind'
rules," she informed him.

"Who was watching it with me?" Riley countered, and there was
suspicious-sounding silence from Buffy.

"Can I come out of my room yet?" Dawn yelled.

There were four or five "No!"s yelled back. Xander smirked, and felt someone
hit him on the top of the head.

"Ow!"

Spike growled, but didn't raise his head or open his eyes. Some protector.

"The VCR rules are one thing," Riley whined. "It's not like Dawn hasn't seen
half those movies anyway; she knows how to jimmy the lock on the video
cabinet--"

"Do *not*!" came from Dawn's room.

"--but this is the *kitchen*. Somebody's gotta do something about these two,
or we'll never be able to eat in this house."

Xander lifted his head from Spike's shoulder. "You could always spank us..."

He found five pair of eyes staring at him, with five almost identical
expressions of sincere lack of taking-him-up-on-his-offer. Then Riley smiled. 
"Actually, that sounds like a good idea." Everyone turned to glare at *him*,
though Spike was grinning in anticipation. "I can think of *just* the person to
do it, too," Riley continued.

Xander was suddenly quite sure he did not want to know. Riley was smiling,
looking quite evil, which - after being shagged regularly by Spike - was
normally a turn-on for him. This just made him want to go 'eep' and hide in the
cupboards. Spike's grin was fading, too, as if he'd figured out who Riley meant.
"Don't tell me," Xander hissed.

"I'll rub lotion on you, after," Spike whispered. Well, that was something, at
least. Wait, why would he need it?

"Uh..."

"Big hands. Spanks hard."

"Say you mean Cordelia. Please say you mean Cordelia." Spike just looked at
him. Xander squeaked. "Wesley? He has nice hands. I mean, big hands. I mean
-- what if we take everybody to breakfast?"

"You already are," Buffy pointed out.

"For a week?" Xander added.

"Someplace nice?" Willow countered.

"I want Eggs Benedict!" Dawn yelled.

Xander let his head fall back down on Spike's shoulder. "Are you *sure* we
shouldn't move back into our own apartment?"

"Not as much fun to have sex in the kitchen, if nobody's gonna catch you,"
Spike pointed out. Oh yeah. There was that. "'Sides which, you wanna give up
your showers with Rupert? Or Willow? Or Graham? Or--"

"Spike?"

There was a pause. "Yes?"

"Wanna go get breakfast?"

Another pause. Then, "Sure. Do we have to get dressed?"

Five voices yelled "YES!" Dawn was the single dissenting vote, but, as she
often pointed out, nobody ever listened to her anyway.

Xander sighed, sounding like it was the bane of his world to be saddled with
people who demanded he wear clothes in public. He gave Spike a squeeze, waited
for said-squeeze to look up at him. "I win."

Spike gave him a dumb-founded look.

Xander waited, then, when it was clear Spike had used up all his brain cells
earlier, said, "You bet me that the next time this happened, they'd stop us
while you were still spanking me. I said we'd make it all the way -- you owe me
a chocolate bar."

"That's it! I'm calling Angel," Buffy said.

"Lotion. Lots of lotion," Spike whispered.

Xander put his head back down on Spike's shoulder and wondered if they could
finally get Waffle House to deliver, this time.