Fanfic -- BTVS
I feel like testing the obscenity rules on reznet. As always, see the
disclaimers, ratings, etc. Ooh, and if I'm in trouble for this, just
give me a warning, and I'll stop until I get home, okay?
Summary: Morning sex in the kitchen.
Author's Notes: I got bored and started thinking up challenges for myself. One is, The Kitchen Sink. In other words, I have no idea what this is. Humorously ending PWP.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon is God. All things come from God. Ergo, they belong to Joss Whedon, and not me. QED. (Ignore the heresy here, I had philosophy today.)
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Kitchen Sink Sex
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
“Guess again, Luv.”
He groaned, melting back into the cool body behind him. He could feel his lover grin against his neck, firm hands covering his cock and thumbing his nipples.
“God, you're insatiable,” he breathed, turning his head to claim a kiss.
“One of us is,” the vampire admitted cheerily. “Not complainin', are you?”
“Hell no!” he moaned, twisting fully round and canting his hips forward. He was rewarded with a rush of pleasure as his hardening cock rubbed against Spike's, the friction between their chests making his nipples ache.
Spike hissed, grabbing his ass and slipping a blunt finger between his cheeks to test. He shoved back eagerly, knowing it would slip in and hoping it would visit awhile. A wicked tongue insinuated itself behind his ear and he was lost, trying to push into every touch all at once. A second finger joined the first, twisting carefully inside him, and he wanted to scream his readiness.
“Easy, Xander,” the blond muttered hoarsely, and he tried to comply.
The loss of the fingers in him made him keen softly, then he was being lifted up and balanced precariously against the cold lip of the sink. He threw his legs around his mate, hands scrabbling for balance, and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Now, Will! Nownownownownow!”
A near-silent snort of laughter, and the thick glide of his lover's cock was pressing into him. He gasped, unable to force himself down, as the slow thrust in scraped over his prostate. His vampire paused, nuzzling his neck, and he whined.
“What do you want, Luv?”
The husky voice sent shiver through his cock, stroking it like one of the hands that were holding his hips.
“Fuck me, Spike. Fuck me until I can't sit down, hard and fast, make me feel it, Bleachboy, make me ache for a week,” he begged.
“Well, since you ask so nicely...”
The hands adjusted their grip and he found himself lifted easily, almost fully off the delicious prick in him, then slammed back down. He tossed his head back and groaned, the harsh tempo his mate set jouncing him up and down and setting off wild explosions inside him with every thrust. He'd have bruises by late afernoon, not only the shifting patterns that never had time to heal, where Spike had squeezed him a little too tight - though it always felt perfect at the time - but a whole new set; probably a weird line across his ass where the edge of the counter hit him, and possibly something on his back from where the tap dug in.
And it was too hot for him to regret it. He was burning, sanity lost in the heat and lust and pounding rhythm of sex, a sucking mouth nibbling on one tight nipple and a demanding cock taking his ass. Dimly, he could hear himself babbling. It was probably something about more, and harder, and oh-yes-right-there-right-there-right-there, and that was fine because Spike was growling almost constantly now, that special rumble that meant he was trying to crawl as deep inside as he could, and he could feel the sharp tension drawing down, all the warning he'd get, and godgodgodgodgod--
“Yes!”
His mate roared, jamming into him as they stiffened, the gush of cum pulsing in his ass as they came one right after the other. He moaned, slowly toppling into arms that were just a little too unsteady to hold him. They slid to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, panting for breath. No matter how many times they danced the horizontal mambo, as Willow had put it in a vodka-fuelled fit of the giggles, neither one of them could get over the shock of it, the all-powerful explosion between them when they came.
A gentle kiss was pressed to his shoulder. He blinked muzzily, the rest of the room shifting into focus. In front of them the sturdy (and testing that sturdiness was an ongoing process) kitchen table gleamed, the heavy wood polished to a golden sheen. The mid-morning sun sifted through the thin drapes, illuminating dust motes that drifted like tiny spirits. Here and there a cat-hair sawed lazily through the air; taking in Mr Cuddles, their neighbour's spoiled white beauty, for a weekend had left them with enough fur to last a lifetime. Three weeks later, they were still finding it in the underwear drawer, and Xander shuddered to think how it had gotten in there.
“Have I mentioned how much I love you lately?” he asked easily.
“Mmm. You could say it again.”
He grinned.
“I think the fact that I just let you fuck me in the kitchen up against the counter says it loud and clear,” he pointed out. A smoky chuckle drifted in from behind him.
“Was your fault, Luv. Standing there, not even skivvies on, looking all delicious and shaggable... Couldn't resist a nummy bite like you, now could I?” came the vaguely wheedling reply. He snickered at the old joke.
“And I wouldn't want you to.” Slightly surprised at the sap, though he supposed he should be used to the things that came out of his mouth by now, he leaned back and kissed a stubbled cheek. “Of course, you nearly had me in the sink, Spike. You're going to pay for that.”
“I am, am I?”
“Mmm-hmm. There are silk scarves and maybe even a blindfold or two in your future, Buster,” he threatened cheerfully.
“Two?”
“Nah, you're right. One, and you'll be wearing it.”
“We'll see, Luv.”
“The only thing you could possibly do to redeem yourself...”
Spike pressed a kiss to his mouth, cutting off the hint before he had time to get going. Blue eyes were smug when he pulled back, and he raised an eyebrow.
“The coffee's made and hot, and the scoobies aren't expecting us 'til after dusk.”
He considered that for a moment.
“I have the greatest boyfriend in the world!”
Spike preened.
“And don't you forget it.”
He sniggered, climbing gingerly to his feet. It wasn't so much the sex in the kitchen sink that had tensed him up, but combined with the night before - ooh, yeah, definitely the night before - and sundry less interesting strains, mostly involving heavy duty constructing and fighting off things that go bump in the night (in bad ways)... He'd been less stiff.
“Take me back to bed, Captain Peroxide?”
“Anytime you ask, Luv.”
Smiling, they sauntered into their bedroom. Behind them, pretty streams of cum slowly hardened onto the counter, trying to promise hours of difficulty in cleaning. And they didn't even care.
This was fun to write. Also, I now sort-of want to try kitchen sex (except without a fawcet poking me in the back).
Summary: Morning sex in the kitchen.
Author's Notes: I got bored and started thinking up challenges for myself. One is, The Kitchen Sink. In other words, I have no idea what this is. Humorously ending PWP.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon is God. All things come from God. Ergo, they belong to Joss Whedon, and not me. QED. (Ignore the heresy here, I had philosophy today.)
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Kitchen Sink Sex
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
“Guess again, Luv.”
He groaned, melting back into the cool body behind him. He could feel his lover grin against his neck, firm hands covering his cock and thumbing his nipples.
“God, you're insatiable,” he breathed, turning his head to claim a kiss.
“One of us is,” the vampire admitted cheerily. “Not complainin', are you?”
“Hell no!” he moaned, twisting fully round and canting his hips forward. He was rewarded with a rush of pleasure as his hardening cock rubbed against Spike's, the friction between their chests making his nipples ache.
Spike hissed, grabbing his ass and slipping a blunt finger between his cheeks to test. He shoved back eagerly, knowing it would slip in and hoping it would visit awhile. A wicked tongue insinuated itself behind his ear and he was lost, trying to push into every touch all at once. A second finger joined the first, twisting carefully inside him, and he wanted to scream his readiness.
“Easy, Xander,” the blond muttered hoarsely, and he tried to comply.
The loss of the fingers in him made him keen softly, then he was being lifted up and balanced precariously against the cold lip of the sink. He threw his legs around his mate, hands scrabbling for balance, and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Now, Will! Nownownownownow!”
A near-silent snort of laughter, and the thick glide of his lover's cock was pressing into him. He gasped, unable to force himself down, as the slow thrust in scraped over his prostate. His vampire paused, nuzzling his neck, and he whined.
“What do you want, Luv?”
The husky voice sent shiver through his cock, stroking it like one of the hands that were holding his hips.
“Fuck me, Spike. Fuck me until I can't sit down, hard and fast, make me feel it, Bleachboy, make me ache for a week,” he begged.
“Well, since you ask so nicely...”
The hands adjusted their grip and he found himself lifted easily, almost fully off the delicious prick in him, then slammed back down. He tossed his head back and groaned, the harsh tempo his mate set jouncing him up and down and setting off wild explosions inside him with every thrust. He'd have bruises by late afernoon, not only the shifting patterns that never had time to heal, where Spike had squeezed him a little too tight - though it always felt perfect at the time - but a whole new set; probably a weird line across his ass where the edge of the counter hit him, and possibly something on his back from where the tap dug in.
And it was too hot for him to regret it. He was burning, sanity lost in the heat and lust and pounding rhythm of sex, a sucking mouth nibbling on one tight nipple and a demanding cock taking his ass. Dimly, he could hear himself babbling. It was probably something about more, and harder, and oh-yes-right-there-right-there-right-there, and that was fine because Spike was growling almost constantly now, that special rumble that meant he was trying to crawl as deep inside as he could, and he could feel the sharp tension drawing down, all the warning he'd get, and godgodgodgodgod--
“Yes!”
His mate roared, jamming into him as they stiffened, the gush of cum pulsing in his ass as they came one right after the other. He moaned, slowly toppling into arms that were just a little too unsteady to hold him. They slid to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, panting for breath. No matter how many times they danced the horizontal mambo, as Willow had put it in a vodka-fuelled fit of the giggles, neither one of them could get over the shock of it, the all-powerful explosion between them when they came.
A gentle kiss was pressed to his shoulder. He blinked muzzily, the rest of the room shifting into focus. In front of them the sturdy (and testing that sturdiness was an ongoing process) kitchen table gleamed, the heavy wood polished to a golden sheen. The mid-morning sun sifted through the thin drapes, illuminating dust motes that drifted like tiny spirits. Here and there a cat-hair sawed lazily through the air; taking in Mr Cuddles, their neighbour's spoiled white beauty, for a weekend had left them with enough fur to last a lifetime. Three weeks later, they were still finding it in the underwear drawer, and Xander shuddered to think how it had gotten in there.
“Have I mentioned how much I love you lately?” he asked easily.
“Mmm. You could say it again.”
He grinned.
“I think the fact that I just let you fuck me in the kitchen up against the counter says it loud and clear,” he pointed out. A smoky chuckle drifted in from behind him.
“Was your fault, Luv. Standing there, not even skivvies on, looking all delicious and shaggable... Couldn't resist a nummy bite like you, now could I?” came the vaguely wheedling reply. He snickered at the old joke.
“And I wouldn't want you to.” Slightly surprised at the sap, though he supposed he should be used to the things that came out of his mouth by now, he leaned back and kissed a stubbled cheek. “Of course, you nearly had me in the sink, Spike. You're going to pay for that.”
“I am, am I?”
“Mmm-hmm. There are silk scarves and maybe even a blindfold or two in your future, Buster,” he threatened cheerfully.
“Two?”
“Nah, you're right. One, and you'll be wearing it.”
“We'll see, Luv.”
“The only thing you could possibly do to redeem yourself...”
Spike pressed a kiss to his mouth, cutting off the hint before he had time to get going. Blue eyes were smug when he pulled back, and he raised an eyebrow.
“The coffee's made and hot, and the scoobies aren't expecting us 'til after dusk.”
He considered that for a moment.
“I have the greatest boyfriend in the world!”
Spike preened.
“And don't you forget it.”
He sniggered, climbing gingerly to his feet. It wasn't so much the sex in the kitchen sink that had tensed him up, but combined with the night before - ooh, yeah, definitely the night before - and sundry less interesting strains, mostly involving heavy duty constructing and fighting off things that go bump in the night (in bad ways)... He'd been less stiff.
“Take me back to bed, Captain Peroxide?”
“Anytime you ask, Luv.”
Smiling, they sauntered into their bedroom. Behind them, pretty streams of cum slowly hardened onto the counter, trying to promise hours of difficulty in cleaning. And they didn't even care.
This was fun to write. Also, I now sort-of want to try kitchen sex (except without a fawcet poking me in the back).