Title: Sticky Fags

Author: Meg

Pairing: Spike/Xander

Rating: R

Summary: Fluff. Sticky things. Naughty touching. Very little redeeming value.

Feedback: Makes me do somersaults or a variation thereof.

Disclaimer: Characters property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui, Fox, and all kinds of people with more money than me. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N 1: Yes. I know that's not a word. You'll see when you get there.

A/N 2: Enormous thanks to the beta-team. Mightbeme, Zyre, Sofy, and especially Bonster for putting up with me when my brain ran far ahead of my fingers.

Sticky Fags
by Meg

"Shit." What was that his father always said about a creek and paddle? On a normal day, Xander kept the less appropriate parts of his internal babble securely contained behind a steel-plated door with an industrial strength padlock. Of course, both failed him now.

"Everything alright in there, pet?"

Xander stared at the sticky, orange ice cream mess congealing in the freezer. No. Things had taken a wrong turn at Alright and stranded him without provisions in Fuck Me Sideways jungle. Maybe he could still fix it. Maybe it wasn't really as bad as it looked. Maybe...

Strings of sweet, syrupy goodness clung to his fingertips like confectionary stalactites when he pulled his hand away.

Yeah, and maybe Spike would kill him outright instead of doing the customary maim and torture bit.

"Xan?" Torture could be good right?

"Yep. Fine. Great even. Never been better." And that wasn't at all shady. Shit. Good padlock, nice padlock. Xander not only blamed Manchester United for the fact his living room had become the last stop before coffee table hell, but also for the near-psychotic state their matches stirred in Spike. All things considered, he still felt momentarily inclined to bow before the altar of soccer adulation. If it kept Spike distracted, even for a few minutes, he might get out of this without losing any appendages.

"Give up already?" The hell? Give up on...what?

"Huh?"

"Dinner. Not ten minutes ago, when I turned on the telly you scowled and said, 'I'm gonna make dinner' then stomped off with a wild hair up your arse."

"Oh, that."

"So?"

"I think I'll order some pizza." Carryout. Although it meant leaving Spike here, alone with the evidence, he thought it well worth the risk. And even if Curious Vampire poked around and found the ruins hidden behind the freezer door, pizza and a fresh carton went pretty damn far in the way of apology.

"Knew it. Should've put some money down." Quick-E-Mart or Big Foot? Could he chance Wallyworld? Cheaper, yes. Busy, hell yes. Spike would definitely get suspicious if it took an hour to pick up pizza.

"Cause gambling's good for your health, right?"

Xander peered around the corner in time to see a commercial flash on the screen. Spike knocked back the last of his beer and started to stand. Shitshitshit. Xander flung open the fridge door and snagged a fresh bottle off the top shelf, determined not to have his sparkling new plan foiled by a thirsty vampire. When he turned back around, Spike stood in the doorway, head tilted, eyes narrowed, nose working overtime. Shit.

"Allow me." The words rolled around the lump in Xander's throat and came out almost intelligible.

"What's with you tonight?" Spike sniffed the air again, frown tugging his brows together in a furrow. Must smell like fear. Or anxiety. Or maybe just fear. Why was he dating a guy with extra-scent-sory perception again?

"Nothing. Why would anything be with me? Or anybody for that matter? I guess you're with me though." That earned him a hard look and raised brow. "And right about now you're probably wishing you weren't. Had a little too much coffee today, and we both know caffeine makes me
crazy-hyper-cool. Not to be confused with crazy-sexy-cool." Over Spike's shoulder, Xander saw the announcers bickering around an instant replay boxed off in the corner of the screen and breathed a sigh of relief. "And hey, game!" He pushed through the doorway, stamping down the little lusty flare that shot through him when their bare forearms inadvertently brushed. Sex later. Save ass now.

Spike mumbled something under his breath about innards and Juan Valdez then slumped back into the him-shaped dent on the couch. Xander ran for his life. Okay, speed-walked. Jacket, keys, wallet, shoes...Check. He felt a tiny eddy of hope swirling in his stomach, at least until he heard Spike's voice rise above the din of manic cheering. Probably indigestion.

"Where you off to then?"

"Uh...pizza." Xander clutched the door knob and twisted, cursing aloud when it slipped between his fingers. If he could just get the damn thing open... "Pizza, remember? Roundish thing with meat and various cheeses?"

"Funny, that. I seem to remember this...Oh that's right, you have to actually order one before you can pick it up." He said it with a lazy, mellow tone, in complete contrast to the steely blue gaze Xander struggled to avoid.

Shit.

"Uhhh..."

"Well?" The game raged on in the background, temporarily forgotten in favor of more immediate blood-letting opportunities. Spike smirked *the* smirk. The one that turned Xander's knees the consistency of Dickensian gruel, the one that made him want to kiss and punch him at the same
time, the one that usually meant naughty touching was, if not in the immediate future, then soon to follow.

"Uhhh..." Think, think, think. Xander flipped through his excuse rolodex and came up empty. Great. Think, dammit. But then Spike's face hovered in his periphery and reason fled down its oft beaten path making way for the grand lust poobah. So close.

"I think my pet's been naughty." Spike circled, all coiled muscle and sex, not touching him, but also never further than a hand's breadth away. "Hmmm?" It was more purr than question, and Spike slapped on stern-face to cover a tiny smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Xander gave the carpet a good long stare, knowing that when he looked up, it would only be worse. He also knew avoiding eye contact was an exercise in futility. "Tell me," Spike whispered, sweetly seductive and nearly sensible, "Be easier on the both of us." This time he smiled Cheshire-wide and Xander kept expecting to see yellow down caught between his teeth. "But that's the thing, isn't it love?" Pink flash of tongue, moist lips shaped around words he'd heard countless times. "You don't want it easy."

"Yes. No..." Xander paused and drew a deep breath. He dealt with Spike best when he had his wits about him, but the events of the last half hour led him to believe they'd escaped to Carnival and left him to manage on his own. "Look, I can explain."

Spike tsked him and leant in further, lips almost brushing his ear. "You know better than that, don't you? After all this time..." Miraculously, Xander held his tongue. Babbled excuses worked exactly never. For as many as Spike himself made, he accepted none. "Tell me."

Eyes downcast again, he weighed the options carefully. If he confessed now, the pleasure promised by those soft, rumbling words would give way to irritation, anger, or worst of all, silence. No, best let things run their course. Besides, if Spike ended up half as mad as Xander thought
he would, this might be the last oasis before he hit the dry, dusty land of anti-sex. You'd never think to look at him, but Spike could be downright sadistic. Okay, so you would think that. But as a rule people figured his vampire had both the restraint and attention span of a four-year-old hopped up on Sweet Tarts and Mountain Dew.

Not so.

He realized then, that Angel had been right. Once Spike set his mind on something, he was relentless. Bad for Xander. Well, bad for him at the moment. Unbelievably good for him under different circumstances. Usually these involved screaming and black-outs. Only in that good way.

He felt a gentle tug at his waist and looked up to find Spike, smug and smiling, with a finger hooked through one of his belt loops, steering him towards the couch. A heartier tug tumbled them both onto the cushions in a tangle of limbs. This part he knew. Lips fastened to his neck, hands tugged at his shirt, fingertips against his spine with pressure that bordered on painful. He also knew why.

Distraction.

More often than not, Xander used the same techniques to inspire honesty in his even less forthcoming counterpart. Sex untied tongues the way few things could, and testosterone won out over logic and self-preservation every time. Part of being male probably, and since he knew for a fact other guys suffered the same affliction, he didn't think of it as a failing. An Achilles heel maybe, but everyone had those.

Spike slipped questing hands beneath his boxers and dug his nails in there, making Xander gasp. So maybe his heel was bigger.

"Tell me." Teeth closed around his earlobe and Xander fought to keep the full-body shudder under control. Only his hips disobeyed, grinding against Spike's even as he shook his head resolutely. Anyone who considered the vampire housebroken had never been on the receiving end of this smile. It was by turns predatory and possessive, designed to give Xander shivers atop his shudders and raise the little hairs along his nape.

Fingers more nimble than they had call to be slid around his body and flicked open the top button of his jeans. Spike took his time, skin brushing against the now rigid column of flesh at his groin with soft, teasing motions while Xander concentrated hard enough on not whimpering he tasted blood.

"Last chance, pet." Breath on his ear as Spike nuzzled it made him squirm and rub his already sensitive cock against three layers of cloth and another erection. Xander felt common sense slip away, heady clouds thick with desire rolling in to take its place. Even if he wanted to answer, his tongue lay too heavy in his mouth to maneuver. All he could do was raise his hips when Spike tugged at his waistband again and moan when cool fingertips traced the cleft of his ass.

He started, as he always did, when the first blow fell. Harsh fleshy thwacks and a blossom of pain he still couldn't believe the chip allowed. Spike held the rhythm steady and slow, punctuating each strike with snarled words, his voice rough with lust rather than anger.

"Tell me."

Xander buried his face against a hard shoulder and waited. He felt the skin heat on his pleasantly abused backside, the sting subsiding until all that remained was burn. Fingers of Spike's free hand flared and flattened against Xander's hipbone with bruising force, holding him in place. Eventually, the smacks slowed and strong arms wrapped around Xander's waist until all motion ceased but the frenzied roll and thrust of hips. Still he waited. His teeth and tongue working wetly at a pale throat, and sharp fingers willing him ever closer. Beneath him, Spike's chest rose and fell with quick panted breaths, something that only happened when he was on the brink. The thought sent another kind of flame singing on his nerve endings and Xander felt his balls draw up against his body, ready to spill. Apparently it was enough to remind Spike why they were there, because as soon as he felt the first tightening of orgasm, a hand closed firmly on his erection.

"Spike..." Pleading, whining, anything.none of it was above him now and he was too far gone to remember what he wasn't saying in the first place.

"Tell me." Smiling, Spike murmured the words into Xander's hair affectionately, as if he knew the delicious friction had melted what remained of his will. Frustrated little whimpers aside, Xander knew he'd put up enough of a fight that he wouldn't feel inadequate in the morning, so he nudged his chin between the cushions and breathed the offense out on a sigh.

When Spike went rigid, Xander flinched reflexively.

"You what?" The grip around the base of his cock tightened and Xander felt his erection begin to wilt.

"You say that like I did it on purpose." Spike glared at him then released his hold on Xander's tender bits and gave him a perfunctory shove.

He thought he saw a tremor in Spike's lower lip, but he'd chalk it up to a trick of light if asked publicly. "Matters sod all either way now doesn't it?"

"Spike, I didn't mean to..." He rolled into a kneeling position on the floor and set his boxers and jeans to rights, watching as Spike clenched and released his fist around a poor defenseless throw pillow. "Spike?"

"Don't. Just...don't. Thanks to you, I've got a run to make. If you're lucky there will be something large and nasty to kill between here and there."

"Spike..."

"Leave off." And then Spike was off the couch, heading for his duster and the door. He paused for a second on the threshold and threw a withering glare back over his shoulder. "A whole carton, pet. 200 fags marinated in Dreamsicle. How the hell did they melt in the freezer anyway? 30 quid, from my own pocket...It'll take a week just to think up a suitable reward. Don't wait up."

The door slammed shut in his wake, and all Xander could think of to say was, "Shit."

END