Chocolatey Goodness

Part 8: Pillow-Talking

rated NC-17

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Seven o'clock on a Monday night, and they had at least an hour before the twilight would be dark enough for Spike to venture outside, Xander once again in tow. This time for the usual demon hunting (and hopefully they'd actually find some this time?), but also a little training for Xander in how to use a helm-axe without chopping off his own foot. That, and a quick trip to the Food Mart, since they were out of cookies, and if there was one thing besides sex that made this dank, depressing basement actually livable, it was double chocolate chunk.

But with an hour to kill... Spike was sitting, fully clothed except for his boots and coat, legs outstretched, in the center of the still folded-out bed, leaning back against the upholstery. Xander, on the other hand, was wearing about half that amount of clothing, since his jeans and boxers were around his ankles, and he was draped face down over Spike's lap. Just the sort of scene you'd want your mother to walk in on.

Wherein you try to decide whether you should first introduce her to the guy who's been living in her basement off and on since December, or inform her that he's a vampire, which are, by the way, real, or try to explain why he's doing kinky things to her son...or just convince her that she should go have another cocktail and forget she'd ever come down the stairs. Um, he's English, Mom. It's a cultural exchange program. Which was why the door was firmly locked and bolted from the inside.

Spike, however, wasn't actually doing much in the way of kinky things to Mrs. Harris' boy, at the moment, aside from the obvious intent of the tableaux in the first place. He was tapping his slim fingers distractedly on Xander's bare back, just beneath the shirttail that he'd shoved up and out of his way a few minutes ago.

"So...what exactly is my motivation here, s'wat I want to know," Spike asked, in a blatant attempt to annoy the living shit out of Xander.

"Moti-va-tion?' Xander parodied. "Who the hell're you, Marlon Brando? This ain't method acting. It's just...fun. Matter of fact, once again, it was your idea."

Spike gave him a brief smack on the ass for that one. "Brando? Not in 'The Godfather,' I'm not. Maybe in 'On the Waterfront.' Anyway, I don't think I hallucinated somebody saying, 'About that thing you wanted to do, before you decided to snack on me last night...' " Spike's American accent was not improving.

"Yeah, I'm the pervert, Mister 'Somebody Needs To Be Punished..' So what's this crap about motivation?"

Spike leaned forward, resting his elbow on Xander's back. "Can I guess that while your ex may have a large and varied bag of tricks at her disposal, she's not all that bloody creative when it comes to the individual acts? The idea's to set the scene, Daft One. The question of the hour is, why do you need to be punished?"

Oh. "Well...I thought this was about getting you to admit you wouldn't kill me, chip or no chip?" Xander offered, dredging up the actual conversation from a memory overlaid with the feeling of his own blood flowing into Spike's mouth... Spike impaling himself on Xander's cock...What was the question, again?

"Oh yeah." A half-hearted spank on his left ass-cheek, then Spike stopped and just rested his hand there.

"Nah...would've said it anyway, sooner or later. You're such an insecure little rentboy, gotta keep you from drownin' in your own lack of ego."

"Gee, thanks, Dr. Freud."

"Met him, once. Swore I had some sorta issues with my mother. Couldn't convince him it was all about the big poncy twit of a father figure who took off an' left me to take care of me invalid sister. Lover. Mum. Whatever." Spike made little motions on Xander's ass, like he was writing something. Probably a treatise on how to make your lover bang his head against the mattress until his brains fall out, all from delayed gratification.

"You...are so fulla shit, Spike. You never met Freud, and you're stalling just to piss me off."

"Yeah, maybe. But the question is, what nasty little things have you done in your goody-goody white-hatted life, to deserve getting your arse beat?" Spike punctuated this with an eye-watering goose to the opposite cheek.

"And ow, and... fine. Let's see... I... served Buffy cursed beer and turned her into Cro-Magnon Slayer. That was just before you blew back into town from L.A. I think."

Spike snorted, and appeared to be choking on his own tongue. "The Slayer wandering around town in a fur bikini, lookin' for a mate? I'm seeing her meeting up with Fred Flintstone, somehow, and nine months later... Oh, that's priceless. You don't get punished for that one, you get chocolate. Later. "

"Well... she was underage. And so was I..."

Spike laughed again. "Still are, jailbait. Yeah. You and your Woodpecker. Who turned you on to that stuff, anyway? Thought hard cider was a purely English vice. Not that I'm complainin'."

"No, you wouldn't, since you drank it, you...bad houseguest. Giles...let me have a sip of his, once, and I was hooked. So, no punishment for fake ID and turning a drunk, devolved Slayer loose on the world?"

"Nope. Try again." Spike had evil in his voice, and it was all Xander could do not to twist around and kick the vampire. Not that he could've untangled his feet from his jeans, anyway.

"Um...told Buffy that Willow said to kick Angel's ass, when what she really said was that she was gonna try to do the soul-restoring spell again?"

"Ooh, that was petty and jealous. Nice one. But you actually did me a favor there. She was too busy kickin' his arse to worry about whether she really should've let me an' Dru take off. Plus it got rid of Soul-Free Psycho Boy, as you called 'im, which at least made me happy. Sorry again. No can do."

"Spiiiiike..."

Five stinging slaps on his ass shut him up nicely, which was the point of it all. "Play nice, little boy. Or I'll take my talented hands an' go home."

"You live here, asshole. Grrrr... Okay, I've got one. I made out with Willow when I was still dating Cordy and she was still dating Oz. And they caught us."

"Ahh, teen lust," Spike purred. "Yeah, that might be worth a decent hiding, if I gave a damn about the Prom Princess or the wolf. Mostly, the thought of you and Red playin' tongue-scrummage just gets me a bit cold and bothered."

Xander was actually aware of that, since he could feel the pressure of Spike's sudden hardness against his stomach...

"Pervert. There was no... okay, very little, tongue. Anyway, it was all your fault. You left us alone in that damn warehouse while you were off drinking hot cocoa with Joyce... Me with a Courtesy-Of-Spike concussion and not in my right mind in the first place. Cordy almost died, you know. Fell on a piece of rebar. All your fault."

"Yeah, you're right. That's terrible," Spike answered in heartfelt tones of sudden remorse. Bastard was up to something... "It was all my fault. Gave my poor little Xander a big lump on the head an' everything. Guess I oughtta pay the penalty..."

Xander twisted his head around. "Oh no you don't, you....big cheater. I won, fair and square."

Spike sniffed. "Yeah, like Scrabble's any decent way to figure out who gets spanked. Anyway, I would've won if you hadn't screwed me on that last turn."

"I don't care if you do have a cousin married to one-- if 'Frolox' isn't in the Scrabble dictionary, it's not a word. Bite me."

"Don't tempt me," Spike growled, pinching Xander's butt again. "There's a nice big target right in front of me."

"I do not have a big ass, and the point is, it's not your turn, so..."

"So tell me something really dirty an' disgusting you did, so I can justify whaling on your not-big-arse."

Xander grumbled, and growled, and pulled stitches out of the blanket, while Spike waited, apparently ready to sit there all day, if necessary.

Oh... there was one. Not a subject he'd really meant to bring up under these circumstances, but it might just get Spike pissed off enough to let loose...

"Okay, here's a bedtime story for you--you owe me an interesting one for this. I made time with your girlfriend. How's that for a dirty little secret?" Not too smug there, are we, spell-boy?

Spike choked, and sounded like he wasn't sure if he should be laughing or crying. "You made time... what, with Harmony? As a vamp ? Where was I, and who's got the film rights? What the hell were you on?'

Xander shook his head. "Not Harmony. Drusilla."

Spike was quiet. Then... "Come again? I didn't think you ever even met Dru."

"You mean, aside from when she and her coffee klatsch were vandalizing the school library and killing a good friend of mine? Or when I pulled Giles out of your creepy old haunted mansion after Angel nearly tortured him to death?"

"Can't argue with you about Dru baggin' the other Slayer, but Rupes was nowhere near death. Made sure of that m'self, actually. Anyway..." and a positively vicious goose this time, "what about you and Dru?"

"Valentine's Day, nineteen ninety-eight."

Spike rested both elbows on Xander's back. 'I'm listenin'. Gave Dru a five thousand quid necklace, Angelus gives her a still-warm human heart, guess who got laid that night? Not the bloke in the wheelchair. Didn't know I was in competition with you, too."

Xander propped himself up on his elbows as well. "Not exactly competition. Gave Cordelia a necklace too, just in time for her to dump me 'cause I was too much of a geek-boy for her to keep her rep as Queen Bitch of Sunnydale High."

"My sympathies, but I'm not seein' where this has anything to do with Dru so far."

"Getting there. Got pissed, decided to get even. I roped Amy Madison --y'know, Amy-currently-Willow's-pet-rat?-- into doing a love spell for me. On the necklace, which I'd got back from Cordy."

"So at least somebody got a leg over that night, which is nice, but it still doesn't explain this thing about you an' Dru. You're beginnin' to frustrate me..." A warning growl.

So, if I frustrate you, you'll what, smack me? Which I'm trying to get you to do anyway?

"Nobody got a leg over, if that means what I think it does. Except Psycho-Boy, apparently. The spell backfired, and instead of Cordy being in love with me, it was every woman in Sunnydale. Buffy, Willow, Amy...ulp...Joyce...everybody except Cordelia. Which includes your girl. Angel yanks me out a window, and here comes Drusilla to my rescue, in all her loony glory, tellin' me my face is a poem, and asking how I feel about eternal life... She did beat the crap out of Angelus, though, which was fun to watch..."

Silence from Spike, as the weight of his elbows was lifted off, and his fingers drummed on Xander's back again. Then a little snicker. A bigger one. Spike laughing and snorting and just generally losing it. Which was always nice to hear, but who exactly was frustrating who, here?

"Oh... God, I can just see it. Our Dru, kickin' the bastard's arse, Girl Power an' all. For once, instead of swannin' around as if 'is very farts smelled like Obsession for Vampires."

That image had even Xander trying to inhale his own esophagus. "That's...very...descriptive..." Giggle.

"Yeah, well, can't fault her for taste. On either count, I s'pose. If he hadn't been such a shit-for-brains bastard when he showed back up, that is. And if you hadn't been real jailbait at the time. Naughty Dru."

"Oh, fine. Go spank Dru, then." Grumpy, grumpy, Spike's just trying to piss you off...don't give him the satisfaction...

All right. Fine. It was time for the last-ditch effort. He'd had a clue this would happen, anyway, so on his way home from work, he'd stopped at the Spencer Gifts in the mall. For a little insurance. Either it would count as something naughty enough to get Spike going, or he'd at least get even with the vampire for being such an annoying little shit.

"Look, if you're gonna cock-tease all night, could you at least give me that Hershey bar on the table? Might as well have somethin' to do while you decide whether you can work up the motivation to come through on your side of the deal."

"Yeah, s'pose..." Spike's hands disappeared from Xander's back, as the vampire leaned over to the bedside table and retrieved the paper-and-foil-wrapped bar from where it leaned against the lamp-base. "No, on second thought, who says you deserve chocolate? You can't even come up with a single piece of decent naughtiness. You lack creativity. I think I get the chocolate."

"Jerk," Xander muttered, smiling into the blanket as Spike tore open the wrapper. Crinkled the foil. Sniffed. Smacked him loudly and painfully on the ass.

"Oi! Soap? You would've let me eat bloody soap thinkin' it was chocolate? Not to mention you thought I was stupid enough not to smell it first. What kind of sick, twisted bastard are you? "

Xander smirked like Spike on speed. "A bad one. Really bad. Especially since I had to eat the real Hershey bar and re-wrap the soap so you wouldn't get suspicious... I'd say naughty, even. I obviously need to be taught a lesson."

Spike laughed delightedly as he brought his hand down again. "See, now. You're learning. One of us'll corrupt the other, yet."

Xander, chewing on the blanket, half laughing, half concentrating on the delicious feel of a cool hand crisply smacking his ass to a nice toasty warmth, was rather hoping to remain the corruptee.