Yesterday I remembered (*blush*) and finally felt a weak kick from the muse, so I got to writing. I managed six today. The others will appear eventually, and then I might ask for more. ;)
Author: darkhavens
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
First, the Spike/Xander:
Title: Fingers First
Rating: NC-17
Words: 231
Notes: Written for
entrenous88, who chose #004 - First.There's a finger up his ass. Spike's finger. Spike's finger in Xander's ass. No matter how he thought about it, it just felt weird. Weird and wrong and maybe he wasn't as gay as he'd thought he was, and he was going to tell Spike that he couldn't…
Oh. Oh, holy sweet, wet suction, Batman!
All thoughts of calling a halt to this final, irreversible step into total and utter gayness are swept away by the feeling of Spike's mouth on him, and now Xander can't say a word because Spike's mouth is full. Full and hot and slipslidesucking and…
The finger that's been wiggling in his ass slips away, only to return with a friend, and oh, that burns. Xander's going to tell Spike that he has to stop and not - not - not… Oh, gods, and now there's swallowing.
The burning stretch slowly fades but Xander doesn't give a damn. He can't feel anything past that throat closing tight tight tight around the crown of his cock. And then Spike's fingers hit something deep inside and the world goes nova on his ass - in his ass - around his cock, behind his eyes, along the length of his spine. Spike keeps swallowing through his orgasm.
"F-f-fuck!"
Spike pulls off and licks a final smear of come from the tip of Xander's cock.
"Thought you'd never ask, love."
Title: Cake Later
Rating: R
Words: 398
Notes: Written for
sunnyd_lite, who chose #006 - Alley. This isn't quite the bowling alley you asked for, but hope it's a suitable substitute. *g*)After two years of badgering and prying and almost-but-not-quite getting up the nerve to ask Angel if he knew, Xander gave up trying to find out when Spike's birthday was.
He made one up instead.
When Spike came home that night - I've still got my own place, so don't go thinking I'm all dependent on you, I'm just here for the amenities - it was to a candlelit apartment, a small heap of presents and a cake. He was speechless for almost five seconds.
"Have you gone daft?"
Xander slunk sexily across the room towards Spike - he'd been practicing that slink for weeks.
"Happy birthday, Spike."
Spike looked wary.
"Are you drunk?"
Xander sighed, cocked out his left hip and slid his thumbs into the loops of his - Willow, they're too tight! - jeans, fingers framing his groin, Spike-style.
"You were never going to tell me when your birthday was so I made an executive decision. From now on, today is your birthday."
He took a final step forward, and the backs of his hands - thumbs still tucked into his belt loops - bumped up against Spike's hips.
"Happy birthday, Spike."
They kissed.
Xander only drew back when he felt Spike's fingers tugging urgently at his fly.
"Whoa there, tiger. You have to open your presents first."
"I'm trying to!" Spike growled and made another grab for Xander's zipper tab. Xander danced backwards.
"No! Presents and cake first and then…"
The hint of a blush on Xander's cheeks intrigued Spike enough to stop him demanding the right to strip his 'present' then and there.
"And then?"
"And then, um…" Xander swallowed hard. "Then I thought we could go down to the alley behind the Bronze. The one where I wouldn't let you - that time."
Spike's eyes flickered rapidly between yellow and blue, and Xander watched, hypnotised.
"You mean the time I-" Spike reached out and dragged a finger up the length of Xander's already swollen cock. "-pinned you to the wall and told how I was going to fuck you right there where anyone could wander past and see you begging for it? That time?"
He took Xander's flush-faced whine as an affirmative, and the resulting grin had lots of pointy teeth.
"We'll do the cake and presents thing later, when we get back. Right now all I want to do is you."
Title: Xander's New Disease
Rating: R
Words: 342
Notes: Written for
zandra_x, who chose #019 - Isolation.Xander's got something infectious, and this time it won't go away with a simple banishment of vengeful native spirits. He should probably remember what he's got, he knows the doctor's told him several times already, but the drugs here are good and almost everything - from feeling the top of his head blow off with the first bleat of his alarm early this morning - is one big blur. He's too stoned to care.
When the door of his isolation room swings silently open and a bleached blond head pokes through, Xander is still too stoned to care. Or to wonder why his neme- nemem- menesi- Spike is here.
"Hey, Spike!"
Spike slides into the room and pushes the door closed behind him, and then stands there looking cool, like he always visits his enemies in hospital after hours.
"What the bloody hell did you do this time, Harris? Piss off the god of some tropical paradise?"
"Nah." Xander giggles and watches Spike drop into the chair beside his bed, swinging his feet onto the bed at Xander's hip. "Joe's wife's cousin came up from Panama for Easter break and we - exchanged bodily fluids. It's like a kissing disease, only not."
"Right."
A cigarette appears out of nowhere and Xander points a finger at the smoke detector. It disappears back where it came from.
"So, she a demon then, this Panama bint? Or did you decide to try your own species just this once?"
More giggles erupt as Xander fiddles with Spike's laces.
"He was human, and hot!"
Deep inside Xander's brain, a solitary undrugged cell starts screaming at him to shut the hell up. He ignores it, too amused by Spike's unguarded shock.
"He had gorgeous dark eyes and lips designed to suck cock. He was good at it too."
That last unaffected brain cell explodes in a mini wave of embarrassment-fear-denial. Xander doesn't notice.
"Well now." Spike's boots are removed from the bed and replaced with Spike's elbows. Spike's chin is propped on Spike's folded hands. "Keep talking, pet."
Title: Slow Burner
Rating: PG-13
Words: 448
Notes: Written for
altyronsmaker, who chose #059 - Candle.When Xander gets to the crypt for their semi-regular movie night, he begins to wonder if he hasn't got the date wrong. Spike is nowhere to be seen - in the lower level, he surmises - and every flat surface is covered in unlit candles.
Nightlight candles in their own little holders. Skinny, foot tall prongs of pale tallow. Beeswax columns, thicker through than Xander's wrist. And every size and shape in between. There's even a ball formed out of rainbow streaks of wax with three stubby little wicks pointing skyward, previously untouched by flame.
Definitely the wrong day.
Xander's hand is on the door, partway through his swift and hopefully unobtrusive exit, when the trapdoor flies open and Spike appears like a Jack-in-the-Box, a shirtless, wild haired, weirdly apprehensive Jack-in-the-Box.
"You're early."
Xander's nods frantically and tugs the door open.
"Yeah, I, uh, thought I must… Huh?"
And now they're both frozen in awkward tableaux, shifty-eyed and half a second from fleeing for the hills.
Silent seconds stretch out for hours, until Spike breaks and shifts into his usual 'defiant' mode.
"Well, are you coming or going? Make up your mind, quick, before I catch a chill."
Before he can even think about it, Willow's years of training kick in and Xander quickly shuts the door. And then blinks.
"Oh, yeah, right, Spike. Good one. Have you got a date later tonight, or what? Don't expect me to leave the movies here again, not after the last time. I had to buy that one you used to kill the Roknar. You couldn't use a knife?"
Spike shrugs and digs into his pocket for his Zippo, then begins to light the candles.
Xander watches, enrapt, as flame gold light gilds the tight curves and angles of Spike's torso and back. A vague suspicion kicks in.
"So… A date?"
And then Spike is right up in his space, one hand slipping the lighter into his front right pocket in a way that pulls the denim down indecently low.
Xander can't think past the fact that Spike has obviously forgotten to fasten the top two buttons of his fly, and he's three curly hairs away from flashing Xander with…
"Oh."
It's more a surprised exhalation than a vocalisation, but Spike grins and leers and curls his tongue behind his teeth and answers anyway.
"Yeah. I was starting to wonder if Red was pulling my leg with all that 'He likes you, he really, really likes you!' crap."
There's a weird moment there when Xander tries to inhale, exhale and talk all at the same time and ends up almost swallowing his tongue, and then Spike's mouth is on his.
"Oh!"
And then the John/Rodney
Title: The Family That Plays Together...
Rating: G
Words: 417
Notes: Written for
tabaqui, who chose #059 - Halloween.They're standing on Jeannie's doorstep when Rodney finally notices the Halloween decorations. His swift backwards movement is forestalled by John's hand at the base of his spine.
"John, we have to get out of here. She'll make us wear embarrassing costumes and take the boys out begging for candy. The last time, she made me-"
The sight of the door opening cuts off whatever panicked statement Rodney was about to make. John tries to reassure him with a smile and the gentle stroke of thumb across spine, but he can still see incipient panic in Rodney's eyes.
"John. It's great to see you again. Did you have much trouble getting him here?"
And before Rodney can escape or John can answer, Jeannie's hands are on his arms, tugging him in for a hug, a kiss and a sharp smack on the back of his head.
"Hey!"
"Don't you 'hey' me, mister. You're the one who hasn't shown his face around here for going on three years. Do you even remember your nephews' names?"
He's brushed to one side before he can take a breath to answer that of course he knows the names of the brats who keep writing, begging him for tales of sixth grade nukes and secret CIA plots, and thank you, John, for that. But by the time he's actually managed to inhale, Jeannie's wrapped her arms around John and she's whispering something Rodney can't quite make out, but scares him nonetheless because it makes John laugh and hug her even harder. She shoots a wicked, gloating glance at him before she pulls away.
"The boys are in the kitchen icing cookies, so let's take your bags upstairs before they hear us. Take five minutes to regroup before the horde descends. They've been looking forward to seeing you for weeks."
Whirlwind Jeannie drags them both in her wake as she sails up the stairs and down the hall to the door at the far end.
"I considered making Michael share with Darren, just so I could give you separate rooms." She winked. "But I'm not that evil. Just keep the sex noises down to a dull roar and the boys will never hear you over their own wall of sound."
Executing a body check on Rodney that any pro ball player would be proud of, Jeannie turns a toothsome grin on John and continues.
"The costumes you asked for are hanging in the closet. I can hardly wait to see Rodney as Princess Leia."
Title: Light Show
Rating: R
Words: 282
Notes: Written for
jarrn, who chose #089 - Found.It's one in the morning and Radek, for once alone in the main lab, is double-checking repairs to the sensor and security feeds when he engages a set that previously weren't online. He tells himself it's his duty to check them out.
Curiosity is an insatiable beast.
At first, he doesn't recognise exactly what he's seeing - the image on the screen is strangely neon bright. Then a large, red-yellow mass in the middle of the frame pulls apart and coalesces into two discrete shapes. Male shapes. And Radek realises he's watching thermal imagery.
He's intrigued by this latest discovery and the possibilities inherent in the shiny new toy, but then he sees the hair, sharply silhouetted against the other man's groin, and realisation dawns.
He's watching Colonel Sheppard give someone a blowjob.
An impressive blowjob, he silently amends, as he watches that hair - that bright, glowy face - sink ever lower towards the even brighter heat source of the other man's groin.
He's halfway to pondering the identity of the other - lucky bastard - man when the hands provide the only clue he needs. They're moving constantly - petting, clutching, fluttering madly to accompany the voice that Radek almost thinks he hears. He resists the urge to cover his ears.
Reluctantly he closes down the thermal feed and makes a note - in Czech - of where the room is. He's wavering between jealousy that Rodney is getting his needs met by someone as pretty - and as surreptitiously smart - as the Colonel, and glee at having something to hold over the tyrant's head.
He's making plans before he's reached the lab door. He's never been the jealous type.
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