Buffy the Vampire Slayer and these characters (Spike and Xander) don't belong to me, and are making me no money. I'm only using them for sick, twisted fantasies. Don't archive or distribute this story without asking me first. Don't read if you aren't over 18 or the age of majority in your area. I appreciate any feedback as long as it's positive or constructive criticism. This has some bloodplay, so don't try this at home! And Happy Thanksgiving!
Xander carefully set the cranberry sauce on the table. His parents' concept of Thanksgiving was tv dinners and lots of wild turkey. Now that he was a man, nearly married and with a place of his own, he wanted to do things differently.
So he went out and bought turkey and trimmings from the closest resturant.
"Change is good," he mumbled to himself.
All the girls were out...doing girl stuff, which he didn't complain about since, for weeks now, Buffy had been all frosty and Willow had been all scary. Maybe they were out gleefully slaughtering a pack of vampires, just like the good old days.
A knock at the door interrupted his placement of the gravy. It wasn't like Anya to knock on the door. Oh well. Xander flung the door open.
"Come inside to the Xander Harris Turke...no! no! Wait! Uncome!"
Spike strode inside, swaggering his usual smug swagger, leather duster trailing behind him.
"Rules don't work that way, mate. Invited me in for your turkey jerkoff, didn't ya?"
Xander glared, arms wrapped around his waist, trying to remember where he'd put all the spare crosses. Spike used to be an enemy of the gang, but had somehow wormed his way into their ranks. What made Buffy tolerate him?
Maybe it was the chiseled cheekbones, or compact, muscular body, pecs flexing when he pulled his tight shirts off, or his piercing blue eyes breathtakingly contrasted with bleach-blonde hair, or his toned ass cheeks pressing together when he...no, couldn't be that. Xander pushed the thoughts from his mind.
"Don't..."
Not listening, Spike slithered out of his duster, coat laid carefully onto the couch.
"Got any blood for a hungry beastie?"
Following Spike into the kitchen, he opened his mouth to bark at Spike for bending over to look in the refrigerator. The lecture died in his throat as he stared at the shifting, undead buttocks, tight and round, trapped in the tightest denim. He could practically see the material riding up Spike's cool, dark crack.
"Like what ya see? A little gape for gobble-gobble Day?"
Spike wagged his ass a few more times. Blushing, Xander shook his head. He hadn't been gaping. Or staring. Not even peeking.
"You're sick. And in Buffy-lust. Why do you care if I was...n't staring at your Bleach Boy Backside or not?"
Spike swirled around, shutting the fridge door with his foot as he swallowed a small piece of pie.
"See, I don't. Care about you. Ever. But Buffy's so bloody complicated. And you're...not."
The clink of an opening belt rang in Xander's ears, Spike slowly walked towards him, wearing that searing, precise stare that penetrated him to the core.
Xander stepped back, bumping against the edge of the table, trying not to think of the long tube of pale flesh bobbing as Spike lowered his pants to the ground. Trying not to think of the half-hard lump in his boxers at the sight of that uncut monster.
Resuming the eye contact, Spike smiled an almost feral smile, slapping his length with a confident hand.
"Like what ya see? Huh? Yeah, bigger than nancy-boy Angel, Angelus, whatever moniker he may go by. Course, you already know that."
Xander felt like the walls were closing in, as his most shameful secret had been uncovered. He hated Deadboy, but Angelus cornered him...
"so gentle, wasn't he?"
Suddenly Spike was behind him, kissing words into his ear, running his fingers down Xander's spine, chilling him even through the pullover sweater.
"That's his nastiest trick. Makes you want to be taken. Felt dirty after, huh?"
Trembling from the memories, he let Spike hold him from behind, Spike quickly yanking the pullover over his head, grinding his dagger-sharp erection against Xander's slacks-covered butt.
"Commando Boy, now he was different. All warm and loving, knew your body in and out. Thrust slow and efficient. But when he woke up, who'd he leave you for each time?"
Xander whispered as Spike suckled his neck, tore his t-shirt in half.
"B-Buffy."
A quick hand squeezed his prick, and Xander gasped, the rush of blood giving him a full-tent boner, his reflexive attempt to get away sliding Spike's spear between his clothed cheeks.
"Guess you're stuck with blokes who wanna boink Buffy. Tough luck Xanax."
Spike grabbed the bowl of cranberry sauce, smearing a red-stained thumb across Xander's juicy nipples, pinching the sweet nubs into pain.
Stepping away, he dipped his turgid hardness into the sauce, dropping the bowl to the carpet as he stroked his sticky member. Foreskin receded, the elongated, throbbing penis stood straight out, clear droplets glued to the red clumps.
"Suck it."
Xander wanted to say no, knew Spike couldn't hurt him, but the sight brought back every feeling he tried to deny with Cordelia, and now Anya. The truth he felt when he saw an aroused man, knowing the arousal was for him, his to control.
Dropping to his knees, sweaty palms pressed against Spike's milky-white hips, Xander took the head into his mouth, pre-cum and sauce mixed into a sugary saltiness. Dipping into the slit, he then shifted his head, tonguing cranberry out of the remnants of foreskin.
Spike grunted, moaned, gritting through layers of teeth as Xander massaged his own heavy shaft, unbuckling and unzipping her trousers.
Slowly removing Spike's pulsating meat from his throat, Xander used his left hand to scratch his own sensitive, drooling penis tip, his right pulling and tugging at the low-hanging, cool-to-the-touch balls slapping against his chin. Curiosity led him to briefly suckle them, too big to fit in his mouth at the same time. Like fleshy ice cubes.
Suddenly, he realized the girls could be back at any minute. Both hands moved to grope Spike's massive, muscled buttocks, he ran his nose against the black pubes, tongue rubbing the underside. In a one-two move, three fingers shoved into Spike's anal canal as he suckled the sensitive underside. Spike, never the most patient man, screamed as he impaled Xander's throat, shooting load after load.
Xander groggily pulled himself up to a standing position, still hard.
"Need some help with that?"
Spike's grip alone was enough to almost send him over the edge, until he noticed Spike had his fingers squeezing the very base, preventing him from finishing.
Spike pushed a steak knife into his hand, continuing to massage Xander's aching, engorged erection.
Eyes bulging, Xander tried to shove the knife away.
"I'm not into that! No, not the Harris boy!"
Spike leaned in, shifting to his monster face, yellow eyes and a growling mouth Xander shamefully found sexy.
"You sucked me off, so now I get to suck. It's only fair."
As much as he hated himself for it, or imagined himself cutting open a vein, Xander had always wondered what the sensation was like. That he was the one making the incision disgusted and excited him.
"Alright. Alright. I hate you."
Concentrating, whispering a prayer, he sliced a small cut in his left arm. Spike lunged at the smell, teeth and tongue cleansing and draining him dry. the raw heat, Spike's cheeks temporarily warm and soft as they scratched against his wrist, the sweet, hazy lull coursing through Xander's entire body...
Semen sprayed onto Spike's hand, against his powerful, lean thighs as he continued feasting from Xander's arm.
His eyes rolled back in his head several times, peaceful darkness calling before Xander finally managed to grab Spike by his peroxided hair, tearing him off the mark. Softly, purring even, Spike licked the wound a final time.
"Good-tasting blood, kid. Nice texture. Oi, you do this on my legs? Sloppy git."
Spike cleaned his thighs with a napkin, wiping his flagging penis while he was there.
Xander lazily pulled his own pants up, too busy trying not to think about what he just done. Spike squeezed his arm.
"Hey, cheer up. I know what'll do the trick."
Turning around, Spike slapped his rock-hard ass, running his fingers down the ample cheeks until Xander made an approving sigh.
"Thought you'd like that. Good luck cleaning this place up."
He patted Xander's flat stomach, pinched a nipple for good measure, then gave him a peck on the lips, licking away a droplet of his own sperm. Holding Xander's head forcefully, he locked their mouths together, Xander reluctantly tasting his own blood, suckling Spike's tongue, biting back a whine when Spike pulled away.
"Now don't go spreading yourself around."
The appreciative hand ran down Xander's bare backside.
"Cause I'll be back for that come Christmastime."