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Cleaning Up

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"Just so you know, this is entirely your fault."

"Yes, love," Spike agreed easily as he applied shampoo for a third time to a particularly resistant patch of goo in Xander's hair.

"You could have warned me," Xander grumbled. He splashed absently in the tub while Spike did all the work. His punishment, Xander had called it, as if Spike really minded having Xander naked and pliant in his hands. He lathered Xander's hair for a third time, rubbing his thumbs over Xander's skull in a semi-massage and enjoying the way Xander practically purred for him. Considering the current situation, his opinion of Iglya demons was going up.

"Really, what kind of self-respecting-oh yeah, right there-demon spits goo like that. Gross. It's just wrong and if you stop that I'll never forgive you. Oh gods…"

Spike barely held back a laugh as Xander did his own impression of goo. He slid his hands down the back of Xander's head, digging his thumbs in just at the top of his neck. If he wanted, or if they were in a position more conducive to fucking, he would have let his hands go lower. Two more thumb length's down was that spot that made Xander moan like there was no tomorrow, and if he went a bit lower, rubbed the exact center of his shoulders right over the spine then Xander would let him do literally whatever he wanted as long as he kept massaging there.

It was good to know what kind of power he had over his lover.

Not that Xander didn't have Spike wrapped around his little finger, and they both knew it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd killed a human, or the last time he'd drank blood from something living that wasn't Xander. If he wanted, Xander could rule the world - all he had to do was ask Spike for it and he'd have it, wrapped up nice and pretty with a little bow on top. But Xander wouldn't ask for that because he was too much of a bloody white hat, and for all that Spike could do for him, he wouldn't ask, not unless he really needed it.

It was nice to know his heart was in good hands.