Title: Friction Burns
Pairing: Spike/Xander of Buffy
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Notes: More baby!vamp!Xander, past and present.
Reading His Bumps
A week after his turning, Xander got curious. He spent untold hours exploring his new face. Fingers traced each ridge and bump, investigating foreign hollows, learning every patch of roughened skin and wrinkled brow.
And then he turned his curiosity toward his teeth, biting into everything to trace the jagged tears. Another week of that and Spike went out to hunt down dental moulds. Soon they had a new exotic toy beside their bed.
Xander poked and prodded them, pinched them on his skin, insisted Spike sit open-mouthed and gamefaced while comparisons were made between porcelain and plaster.
As Ye Sow…
Xander got a perverse sense of fun from dispensing rough justice. Oh, he had no qualms about feeding off the innocent and righteous souls, but hunting down the criminals, the rapists, thugs and murderers, made the final strike much more fulfilling.
Spike agreed. He loved to watch his boy inflicting punishment. Sometimes they'd track their quarry for a week or more, just so they could learn their target's favourite tricks.
Once tricks were learned, and haunts and habits memorised, they'd move in for the kill and make it lingering and painful. Spike's childe was an artist, whatever tools he used.
Sometimes it took hours for Xander's voice to return, even when provided with an after-romp snack. He'd whimper, scream and beg; wordless howls and shrieks for more, raining from his mouth as Spike fucked him through the floor. Or the bed, or the wall or the window or the door. Really, any semi-solid surface seemed to do.
Spike loved to hear Xander's voice grow hoarse, then crack and break, reducing his sweet boy to mewls and animalistic growls. He never grew tired of drawing out the pleasure until the croaking stopped and Xander used his teeth to make his point.