FIC: Xander Harris versus Destiny (6/?) (S/X, Mature)
Title: Xander Harris versus Destiny (6/?)
Authors: cordelianne, reremouse, savoytruffle
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Obscenely large hotel bathroom, bewildered bellboy, unanswered questions
Summary: Xander's got places to be, things to do. Giles wishes Xander had given the Council a heads up. Spike figures, what the hell, the pay's good and it's not like he's got other plans at the moment.
THANK YOU: And a special thank you to katekat1010 for making two fabulous movie posters for this fic!! You will find one below the cut. Both can be seen here.
Previous parts here.
In Dallas, Xander decides to forgo the swimsuit.
So does Spike.
They also forgo the pool.
And the hot tub.
Why bother when the Whirlpool in Spike’s suite is more than big enough for two?
Deep, too.
If Spike actually had to breathe, he’d probably have drowned five minutes ago when Xander was shoving down on his chest trying to get just the right angle - by the time he found it, Spike’s face was at least three inches below the surface.
But those just weren’t the inches Xander was concerned with at that moment.
Or this one.
Speaking of deep…
“Oh god, yeah…fuck…that’s it…”
What with the way Spike’s lying back in the tub and the way Xander’s straddling his hips and all the shoving, Xander’s not sure where Spike’s getting his leverage from, but he’s really getting it good.
Xander’s getting it good.
“Oh, jesus, how are you-? Fuck, why haven’t we-?”
Xander doesn’t bother to finish either question. He’s not even sure if Spike can hear him from under the water and, anyway, who the fuck cares?
He’s so close.
He can feel the finger-shaped bruises forming on his hips and it only makes him hotter. Then the pressure leaves one hip and there’s a hand wrapped around his dick and forget close, he’s right over the edge.
They both are.
Spike may be the one coming up from the water, but Xander’s the one coming up for breath.
He leans back against the opposite end of the tub. Their legs tangle in the middle.
After a minute and a little more oxygen, Xander remembers his question.
“Damn,” he says, “why weren’t we doing this back in Farmington again?” Or El Paso? Or Odessa? Or Lubbock?
Spike shrugs. “You’re a git?” he suggests.
Xander rolls his eyes. “Very nice, Spike. See if I towel you off when we get out of here.”
Spike raises an eyebrow. “Because you’re a git who finally had the knackers to steal a car with air conditioning?”
“That’s your nice answer?”
Spike shrugs again.
“And I didn’t steal the car,” Xander continues. “She traded me.”
“She traded you that death trap for her Lexus?”
“I think it was her husband’s Lexus. Came with a sweet pair of sunglasses. But, hey, community property. And besides, it’s not my fault he’s a ‘lying, cheating, good-for-nothing piece of shit.’”
“S’pose not,” Spike says.
The water’s getting cold. Xander climbs out of the tub and Spike follows.
Xander towels himself off quickly.
With Spike, he takes his time.
He starts with Spike’s hair and works his way to his shoulders.
“It’s probably because you didn’t have one of these in Farmington,” he says, gesturing around him at the bathroom roughly the size of his entire accommodation at the Motel 6.
“Did so,” Spike says.
“Shit, how’d I miss that?”
“Didn’t bother to come in and look around.”
“Maybe I am a git,” Xander admits. “Won’t make that mistake again.”
“See that you don’t.”
Xander finishes with Spike’s back and move around to the front.
“Doesn’t this compromise your mission?” he asks, somewhere around Spike’s left thigh.
Spike snorts. “Doesn’t it compromise yours?”
Xander decides to change the subject.
With a blowjob.
As soon as he hears the knock on the door, Spike knows he’s made a mistake.
Harris wouldn’t bother to knock. Not now.
You’d think shagging a bloke would make him easier to keep track of.
Little bastard.
In retrospect, he never should have let Xander out of the room before sunset.
So what if he’d been out of fags?
Now he’s out of fags and Harris.
Spike grumbles to the empty suite about the injustice of it all as he levers himself off the couch and pulls on his jeans, not bothering with the button.
Or a shirt.
He answers the door with a glare.
It takes the bellboy standing in the hall a few seconds to find his words.
“Package for you, sir.”
He thrusts a carton of Marlboro Reds in the general direction of Spike’s bare chest.
Spike takes them, shuts the door in the boy’s face.
He looks down at the carton.
There’s a message scrawled across it in permanent marker.
See you in Ponca City, it says.
Authors: cordelianne, reremouse, savoytruffle
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Obscenely large hotel bathroom, bewildered bellboy, unanswered questions
Summary: Xander's got places to be, things to do. Giles wishes Xander had given the Council a heads up. Spike figures, what the hell, the pay's good and it's not like he's got other plans at the moment.
THANK YOU: And a special thank you to katekat1010 for making two fabulous movie posters for this fic!! You will find one below the cut. Both can be seen here.
Previous parts here.
In Dallas, Xander decides to forgo the swimsuit.
So does Spike.
They also forgo the pool.
And the hot tub.
Why bother when the Whirlpool in Spike’s suite is more than big enough for two?
Deep, too.
If Spike actually had to breathe, he’d probably have drowned five minutes ago when Xander was shoving down on his chest trying to get just the right angle - by the time he found it, Spike’s face was at least three inches below the surface.
But those just weren’t the inches Xander was concerned with at that moment.
Or this one.
Speaking of deep…
“Oh god, yeah…fuck…that’s it…”
What with the way Spike’s lying back in the tub and the way Xander’s straddling his hips and all the shoving, Xander’s not sure where Spike’s getting his leverage from, but he’s really getting it good.
Xander’s getting it good.
“Oh, jesus, how are you-? Fuck, why haven’t we-?”
Xander doesn’t bother to finish either question. He’s not even sure if Spike can hear him from under the water and, anyway, who the fuck cares?
He’s so close.
He can feel the finger-shaped bruises forming on his hips and it only makes him hotter. Then the pressure leaves one hip and there’s a hand wrapped around his dick and forget close, he’s right over the edge.
They both are.
Spike may be the one coming up from the water, but Xander’s the one coming up for breath.
He leans back against the opposite end of the tub. Their legs tangle in the middle.
After a minute and a little more oxygen, Xander remembers his question.
“Damn,” he says, “why weren’t we doing this back in Farmington again?” Or El Paso? Or Odessa? Or Lubbock?
Spike shrugs. “You’re a git?” he suggests.
Xander rolls his eyes. “Very nice, Spike. See if I towel you off when we get out of here.”
Spike raises an eyebrow. “Because you’re a git who finally had the knackers to steal a car with air conditioning?”
“That’s your nice answer?”
Spike shrugs again.
“And I didn’t steal the car,” Xander continues. “She traded me.”
“She traded you that death trap for her Lexus?”
“I think it was her husband’s Lexus. Came with a sweet pair of sunglasses. But, hey, community property. And besides, it’s not my fault he’s a ‘lying, cheating, good-for-nothing piece of shit.’”
“S’pose not,” Spike says.
The water’s getting cold. Xander climbs out of the tub and Spike follows.
Xander towels himself off quickly.
With Spike, he takes his time.
He starts with Spike’s hair and works his way to his shoulders.
“It’s probably because you didn’t have one of these in Farmington,” he says, gesturing around him at the bathroom roughly the size of his entire accommodation at the Motel 6.
“Did so,” Spike says.
“Shit, how’d I miss that?”
“Didn’t bother to come in and look around.”
“Maybe I am a git,” Xander admits. “Won’t make that mistake again.”
“See that you don’t.”
Xander finishes with Spike’s back and move around to the front.
“Doesn’t this compromise your mission?” he asks, somewhere around Spike’s left thigh.
Spike snorts. “Doesn’t it compromise yours?”
Xander decides to change the subject.
With a blowjob.
As soon as he hears the knock on the door, Spike knows he’s made a mistake.
Harris wouldn’t bother to knock. Not now.
You’d think shagging a bloke would make him easier to keep track of.
Little bastard.
In retrospect, he never should have let Xander out of the room before sunset.
So what if he’d been out of fags?
Now he’s out of fags and Harris.
Spike grumbles to the empty suite about the injustice of it all as he levers himself off the couch and pulls on his jeans, not bothering with the button.
Or a shirt.
He answers the door with a glare.
It takes the bellboy standing in the hall a few seconds to find his words.
“Package for you, sir.”
He thrusts a carton of Marlboro Reds in the general direction of Spike’s bare chest.
Spike takes them, shuts the door in the boy’s face.
He looks down at the carton.
There’s a message scrawled across it in permanent marker.
See you in Ponca City, it says.