It's short, it's careless, it's weird. It's sex in a shower! Buy it for your kids today.
"See, I love that you think we have a relationship. That's cute. You're a cute vampire. And when I say cute, I mean of course lifeless and horrifying."
Spike, well-settled on the couch for his four-thousandth consecutive hour of low-end cable and having long since scraped the bottom of the barrel with reruns of The Andy Griffith Show, didn't even turn his head to view the soggy bath towel Xander held out accusingly at him. "Never said we had a relationship."
"You didn't have to. You're doing the whole towels-in-the-tub, use-my-razor, wear-my-shirts routine. And I won't stand for those," he flailed with his towel for a word, "those clichés and girlish intimacies."
"Sit down then." Bored, affected tone; one languid arm stretched over the back of the couch; a beer bottle resting like an erect cock against his thigh, between lazy fingers, not that Xander had such a thought, not at all. "Pull up a lap."
"What?" He couldn't follow simple sentences, and now Spike was studying him.
"You do realize you're naked?" he inquired.
Xander looked down at himself, nearly yelped. "Anger!" he cried. "Anger clouded my mind!"
"I'm going back to the bathroom now. To shower." He pulled his shoulders up, striving for that extra, imaginary inch of dignity the Harris genes had deprived him of. "And don't even think about following me."
Spike merely stared at him, but there was no merely. He was an artist of staring, could match gazes like a mimic and slam your eyelids open like doors--you couldn't be stared at and fail to stare back and recognize that a real presence lived inside that miracle of taxidermy, something sharp and dark that had painted a thousand walls red with blood and licked you with its tongue. It made Xander's own blood drum in his ears, turned him hot and heavy with want, made him forget what he'd been saying.
In a tangled state of mind, wet towel clutched in front of him, he returned awkwardly to take his shower. He'd left the water running to heat up, and it was steamy now. Ten seconds under the spray and he was steamy too, hands going right to his balls and his dick. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth and let the water splash against him down below in that frustrating, tantalizing way, sizzling tiny darts of heat that weren't quite forceful enough to bring him where he needed to be, but no problem, no worries, he could get himself there with no help.
Which was what he was doing when the shower curtain rustled. "What did I tell you?" he asked, smacking Spike with the question. But it was a token rebuff, more of a mumble, really.
"Told me not to think about following." Spike's arms slid around him, a twining crawl like ivy that ended with big, spread hands covering Xander's own. "I didn't think. Just did."
A gruff barking sound rubbed across Xander's ear, close enough to make him arch and gasp. And Spike's hands had performed a magic trick and were under Xander's now. Xander wove their fingers together and directed Spike to touch him where he needed to be touched.
"Please," he said, and let go his extra inch of dignity, slumping his shoulders so that he could fit back against Spike's body, head resting on his shoulder. He was already so close. "Oh god."
He guided Spike's right hand, forcing it to curl around him and slide again and again from root to crown until he was gasping. "Oh god," he said again, breath cutting out, "oh god--"
Hardness pressed against his ass, thick and heavy like something raised in anger, but Spike's touch was no rougher than Xander needed it to be, tightening just right to play his hot spots until he couldn't pretend that he was doing the driving. As everything got faster and sweeter, his hand clutched the back of Spike's hand, rode it, Spike dragging him up and down his dick, Xander's hand like a crab shell fused to a busy, sliding crab, except in a way that wasn't as disturbing as that image. His hand loved Spike's hand.
"You care if I wear your shirts?" Spike murmured in his ear.
"How 'bout I wear you?"
There weren't words to answer that, so he came instead. Even before he'd finished, Spike had turned him in the slippery stall, out of the spray, and was pushing fingers inside him. Xander rested his forehead against the shower tiles and spread and pushed back, relaxed all over. His jaw was relaxed now too and that made him realize how tight with pointless temper it had been before; he was going to get TMJ before he was thirty if he didn't chill the fuck out. And what better way to chill out than to let a vampire fuck you in the ass? Nothing came to mind.
When Spike's fingers left him, Xander rippled his muscles from shoulders to thighs. "I hate when you stop," he complained.
"If I could shoot jizz from my fingers, I wouldn't." There was a tearing noise and a diligent pause and then it was Spike's turn to complain. "Hate these bloody things."
"Tough. A tidy ass is a happy ass--ow! Plus, lube good. Ohhh."
His body was lifted right up off the tub floor for a moment as Spike settled himself, and then he came to rest again on the balls of his feet. He flattened his feet slowly, sinking back, letting go of the wall and trusting Spike to hold him up. It didn't matter that he was a meaty, weighty man. To a vampire he was a curling lightness, a wet feather clinging to skin. At least that's how he felt as Spike adjusted him and worked him over. I am the world's biggest sex toy, Xander thought in appreciation as he was lifted to his toes again.
After a minute Spike leaned him back against the wall and started driving in good, and Xander lowered a hand and stroked himself, just to keep in the game. It was weirdly hot, the limbo of bottoming, feeling Spike get more rabid and greedy as the friction built, while he lazed half-hard and let it happen. It made him hyper-aware of Spike: hands fanned on Xander's hip and shoulder blade, cock rubbing deep inside. And the sounds he was making, scratches of air that corresponded with extra fierce pressure from his fingers, a rhythm of violence, as if he were incredibly upset with Xander and choking off words. Those sounds made the hairs on Xander's neck rise; he couldn't see Spike's face, didn't know how worked up he really was. Not so much with the emotions anyway--it was clear how worked up he was dick-wise. He communicated clearly with that, jabbing faster and harder, corkscrewing in now, playing all the angles, the way he did when he was trying to hurry orgasm along, drive it out of himself.
"God," Spike said suddenly, and the word shot through Xander, jackknifing his own dick back up. The other man's tone was urgent and ringing and desperate. "Xander." That's all he said, but he was frantic now, pushing and pushing, trying to reach something. One arm came around Xander, banding his chest to pull him back. It was a textbook vampire hold, and Xander let his head fall back on Spike's shoulder, baring his neck for a bite they couldn't share. It seemed cruel, but Spike nuzzled him and game faced, then his mouth latched to Xander's pulse and he groaned, low and sustained, working the flesh with a frustration so raw and naked that it made Xander ache for him. He felt Spike shudder as he came and moved one hand to cover Spike's where it rested against his own hip, pulling the vampire around himself, closer, like a blanket.
Then somewhere above them his mother began doing dishes and the water in the shower went cold.