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Away From the Numbers

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Spike's never had a first time with someone that started this way.

With every other person he's fucked, it's started with a whirlwind of motion and passion, shoving and biting and tearing at clothes until they're lying panting and reeling afterward.

Sure, he's had his share of slow and teasing, or deliberate and disciplined somewhere along the way with this or that lover. But someone who watches while he strokes himself to a finish on the first go, that's definitely new.

Xander must have swung by the kitchen when they first returned to the house and Spike rushed ahead to the bedroom. Because he's gotten a tall glass of water at some point, and now he takes a swig as he watches, throat working as he tilts his head back to swallow.

As soon as Spike's sure he has Xander's full attention again, he thumbs open the first button on his jeans, giving Xander his best mischievous look and touching his tongue to the back of his teeth in an open come-hither smile.

"Good start," Xander says evenly. But for all that he's still calm, there's a kind of coiled excitement in Xander as he waits to see how Spike will really get the show going. It's in the way he watches, the iris in his eye blown wide and dark, in the set of that lovely mouth of his, lips moist and parted slightly, in his posture, muscles slightly tensed at the ready for whatever comes next.

"Wait till you see what I've planned for a follow-up." Spike gets his fly all the way open, flicking the buttons one by one, and starts to shimmy his jeans down his hips. Of course he's not wearing pants, so when he moves the fabric lower his freed erection arches back to touch his belly.

"That's enough. Stop there."

"You filthy sod," Spike says, delighted to let the denim bunch mid-thigh. "Not going to let me pull them all the way off, eh?"

Xander doesn't answer, just takes another drink of water. But he's absolutely unabashed as he regards Spike's cock with keen interest, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah, okay." Spike gives his hips a playful little roll before he rests his lower half against the bed and raises his back a bit to yank his t-shirt over his head.

"No," Xander interrupts. "Don't."

"Ah, fuck," Spike bites out as he freezes. It's all he can do not to take himself in hand and pull fast and hard to the finish right there.

"You can push it up, but leave it on," Xander instructs. "I want to see it on you."

"Thought I was supposed to show you how I like it," Spike counters. It's probably an open secret right about now, though, that Xander telling him what's what is exactly what Spike likes.

"Well, yeah. But I'm guessing you want to make sure I like it too, right?" He's let the glass rest on a side table, and now he draws his index finger along the condensation dotting the outside of it as he flashes a grin at Spike.

So Spike leaves the soft cotton clinging to his chest, letting the palm of his hand skitter over it across his stomach. When Xander shifts ever so slightly, Spike strokes his fingers back upward, making sure to tweak the fabric along his path as he makes a pass over his right nipple. He plucks at it a few times before treating the other to the same.

In a few moments more he's flicking both of his nipples with his thumbs, stuttered breaths accompanying the quickened fluttering of his eyelashes. At last he can't resist any longer and shoves the fabric higher up and mostly out of the way, working the tender skin harder as he feels his hips jerk up involuntarily.

"That's good." In the dim lighting of the room, Xander's mostly in shadow, but Spike can easily spot him licking his lips as he keeps his attention on Spike's every twitch and shiver. "That's really good, Spike. Keep going."

"Like what you see so far?" Spike asks. He gets his feet planted on the mattress and lifts his hips slightly while he drags a thumb along his bared skin to where the fabric has slipped down over his left nipple. He gasps when he pinches himself hard right through the t-shirt.

"Best show I've seen in a while," Xander says frankly. And then a second later in what Spike considers a personal triumph, Xander leans forward, shifting his weight as he murmurs, "Well, would you look at that? There it goes."

It's that flush heating Spike's skin again: it's been buzzing along his nerves at a low hum for some time now. But at Xander's praise he can feel it spread like wildfire from his cheeks down his throat, over his collarbone, fanning out along his chest.

A few moments more, and Spike can't keep his hands off his cock any longer. So he leaves off stroking his chest, snaking his right hand down to curl around his prick. He can't help the little grunt that escapes when he finds his rhythm, fingers in a tight ring sliding down, drawing up and over the head, easing down again.

"Get your other hand in on this," Xander tells him. The words come at an even pace but there's a rough edge in his voice. "And don't just stroke until you get yourself off, baby; show me everything you're doing."

Spike curses as he briefly gets himself tangled when he moves and the duvet decides to move with him. But he's not letting that stop him from following what Xander wants him to do, especially not if Xander's going to use those sorts of words in that gorgeous rough tone. So he vents his frustration in a huff even as he scrambles to stretch himself at more of an angle on the bed, to make sure Xander's really catching every bit of this from where he's seated.

Finally he's shifted to a better position. He strokes his cock twice more before slipping his other hand lower to cup his balls and hold them up like they're on the display. It's a bit of a contortion while contending with the slide of the bedclothes under him. But it's well worth it when he hears Xander's breathing pick up even further.

For a short while there's nothing to be heard but the small sounds of effort escaping Spike's lips and the slick smack of his hand stroking flesh. Then he hears the words, "Spread your legs a little more."

It's not an easy job, because with his jeans still at his thighs he's hobbled from spreading as far as he'd really like. But Spike struggles to achieve the results as best he can, twisting atop the covers, and soon enough he's got himself on proper display.

Another few minutes pass, and though Spike tries to keep focused on Xander's reactions, he can't help but get a little lost in the act, the drops of slippery pre-come easing the way of his strokes, his nipples even more peaked and sensitive the longer his prick remains hard. He groans as he lets his head tip back (he's squirmed down enough that he's well away from the pillows at the head of the bed at this point) and works his hips up.

"How about you show me what else you can do with that mouth of yours?" Xander says suddenly. Spike can imagine how hazy he must look when he turns his head with some effort to pant and try and pay attention. "Fingers," Xander says low. "Slide them in and out of your lips. Show me how good you are at sucking."

Spike doesn't even try to stop his full out moan when he hears that. Truth be told, he almost smacks himself in the face with his left hand in his rush to comply and whimpers gratefully when he finally starts in sucking his index and middle finger at once.

"Sweet holy fuck, that's a pretty sight," Xander praises him.

A few moments later and Spike's worked out the point and counter point: hips thrusting as he jerks his erection into his tight fist, fingers shoving past his eager lips as he makes his mouth tight around them to get them nice and wet. "How long could you keep this up, just like this?"

Spike makes a pitiful sound around his fingers. He could keep on for hours, but it's already torture to him holding back, especially because he wants Xander next to him and taking him rough for the next round.

"Sshh, you won't have to stretch it out. I won't make it too hard on you this time, okay?" Xander croons, and Spike goes right ahead and makes another pathetic mewling noise through the slurping.

"Speed up," Xander adds in a voice that's begun to go hoarse. Spike does, drawing his teeth against his fingers as he gets them going faster, in and out, matching the speed of his hand on his cock.

"Oh god, I've got to," he chokes out at last. He gasps as he draws his hand away from his mouth to reach down and stroke his balls that have gone tight and high against him. Too bad he's in no shape to finger himself properly, out of control as he feels right now. But he can get his fingertips to stroke clumsily against that sensitive opening, so he does, hitching breaths turning into small cries he couldn't hold back if he wanted. He's pulling his prick almost too hard now, the edge of pain mixing in with the pleasure.

"So good. You're doing such a good job, baby. That's right, let me see you," Xander tells him. "Show me."

And that's all Spike needs before he lets out a desperate sob, thrusts his hips, and comes.