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"Fuck me."

Not the first words Spike had expected out of Xander's mouth the next time he saw him, but seeing as the words went straight to his prick, who was he to complain?

"What?" really not going to argue, but clarification couldn't hurt, just in case he'd misheard a death threat or something.

"Fuck me," Xander was already stripping off his shirt, t-shirt, undoing his belt, shedding clothes while walking from the door of the crypt to where Spike sat in the threadbare armchair.

Spike had been expecting something a little more accusatory, wounded perhaps. More along the lines of 'What the hell is the big idea! Making a pact with the crazy demon-robot with a plan to kill us all and repopulate the world with Frankenstein mutants?!' so he wasn't going to turn down an eager warm body clambering onto his lap and unbuttoning his flies.

"Are you alright, pet?"

All he got was a grunt of assent and a set of blunt teeth fastening to his neck. His eyes rolled back and his hands wandered over the smooth hot skin of the boy's torso, sliding down to the loosened waistband of his trousers and under the most hideous Looney-Toons boxer shorts he'd ever seen.

He pulled Xander harder against him, groaning in pleasure at the contact and the fizzing bolts of electricity shooting along his nerves, centred where that mouth was still on his throat. He was more than happy at this sudden turn of events. Thought it would take at least a couple more green nights exchanging conversations filled with amiable nonsense and little moments of unresolved sexual tension, before this stage was reached: whatever the promise of their last evening smoking Giles' pot.

Xander pulled back, hands braced on the chair either side of Spike's head, keeping his hips rocking gently, "Don't want to be stoned, not for this."

"Fine by me."

Then they were kissing, hard and hungry, lying on top of the stone bier, the blanket laid over it cushioning it barely enough. Xander was naked, eager. All heated clumsy hands and awkward limbs.

Spike kicked his jeans off, "You haven't done this before have you."

"I've done lots of things, been the creature feature, the soldier, the heart, and the victim of monsters, fucked like a Viking."

Spike paused in confusion, "What?"

"Fuck me."

Old packet of slick found conveniently deep in the pockets of his duster. Who knew how old, since the last time had been… Who cared. He leant over the boy, "Where did you get this bruise?"

Deep dark bruise on his thigh, like it would go down to the bone.

"Lemur."

"Huh?" Spike couldn't remember the last time sex had been so full of non-sequiturs.

"The thigh-bone."

"That's a femur, you berk."

"Wouldn't it be weird if you had lemurs instead of femurs? Flexible though I expect."

Boy was flexible. All curled up, knees over Spike's shoulders. Have to be careful, still got the chip. They both stilled and breathed cautiously.

"Fuck me."

Who was he to refuse a demand put so prettily like that? So he did. Cautious, careful, slow, until it was too tempting to stay in control. Faster, harder. Boy cried out, had to hurt a bit, first time right? But enough pleasure to fool the chip? Luckily. Pleasure enough Spike's side too.

Urgent hands and more pleas, "Fuck me, fuck me".

"Jesus! I thought I was doing that already."

"No, my name's Xander."

"Funny."

He shifted their position, drew sweet curses from that smart mouth, with the just-right angle and the perfect tempo with his hips. Learned his lessons so well, now he could teach them.

Is that what a Sire is?

Spike blinked, lost his rhythm. Had the boy spoken? His head thrown back, eyes closed, biting his lower lip between gasps, surely not. Sire. The word made Spike's teeth itch, his features contort, eyes burn. He snarled.

Spike longed to bite, taste the scalding blood that was warming him everywhere they were touching. He pushed Xander down harder onto the thin blanket on the cold stone, leaned down and licked the pulse point in his neck instead, pressed his lips to it.

Xander didn't flinch, just arched to meet the renewed pace. A whine of need from his throat, and short nails digging into Spike's arm, legs tight around Spike's sides, trembling and taut.

Knowing he wouldn't last much longer, Spike wrapped his hand tight around the boy's hard cock, stroked him swiftly in time with their thrusts.

The boy came with a cry and Spike followed with the always inappropriate prayer.

Ah. Fuck. God. Yes.

Xander looked at him and smiled, flushed face, wet lips, he ran a shuddering finger-tip over the scar in Spike's eyebrow.

"She remembers giving you this."

"She's dead," he'd never told any of them about his first Slayer kill, had the watcher?

"No she's outside. Don't worry, she's not hunting you today, just me and the others," Xander rolled away, stood up and started to dress.

Spike sat up and pulled the blanket around himself, "If something is hunting you, you can stay here. I'll keep you safe."

Xander shook his head sadly, "Not from her."

"Human?"

"Once."

"Weren't we all once."

Xander smiled quickly, hand on the door, "Thanks by the way. I never reached Willow and Tara, or Buffy's mom. And thanks for sticking with English too."

"Don't understand a word you've said tonight. Are you sure you're not stoned?" Spike shook his head bewildered, and looked around for a cigarette.

Xander laughed, "Sticks and stones will break my bones, but ripping my heart out will kill me. Do you really want to be a Watcher?"

"What the hell are you- Jesus!" Spike looked up to see a gaping hole in Xander's chest, blood soaking his clothes.

He stumbled, tripping on the blanket in his haste to reach his boy. A bald man with glasses and a platter of cheese stood in his path as he righted himself.

"Get out of my way!" he stopped short, "Oh, bloody buggering hell."

Spike slumped in the threadbare armchair, fully clothed and sticky. Should have know it was too good to be true.

"Fucking cheese dreams."

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