Title: Comfort Food, Hero-Style
Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com. If you spot a typo, please feel free to tell me in comments. I want you to!
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Warnings/Squicks: Peeing. *g*
Summary: Xander is still a hero. Futurefic.
Notes: Written for tabaqui, who requested "Crème Brûlée and green grapes and...black cherry kool-aid." It's another peek into the Captains of Industry'verse.
Xander's palms itched like crazy, but Spike seemed to have a sixth sense tuned to imminent attempted scratching, and every time Xander tried to rub his bandaged hands against the bedclothes, the corner of the bedside cabinet, or even his nose, Spike was there before he could make contact.
"They're driving me crazy, Spike. I can't do anything!" He knew he was starting to whine but couldn't seem to stop it. "And I have to pee again!"
"And whose fault is that, hey? You're going through so much black cherry kool-aid, it's a bloody miracle you aren't peeing purple."
With ruthless efficiency, Spike jerked back the blanket and levered Xander out of bed, checking the bandage at his shoulder and the one on his hip with clinical care before herding him into the bathroom.
Once in front of the toilet, Xander counted the tiles on the wall while Spike pulled his cock out of his pyjama fly and aimed it.
"C'mon, luv, I promise I've got my eyes closed. It's not like I want to watch you take a slash."
Xander fidgeted on the spot and tried to will away the burn of embarrassment and the pressure in his bladder. After five seconds of complete silence, Spike sighed and gave Xander's cock an encouraging squeeze.
"I swear, Xan, if you make me sing again, I'm going to spend the rest of the day singing that Barney song that makes you wake up screaming."
If asked, Xander would deny it was sheer terror that unlocked his bladder, but there was no getting away from the fact that Barney singing 'Peanut Butter' really did give him horrific nightmares. He gave a quiet sigh of relief as the pressure eased, and thought he heard Spike give one too. Freaky vampire.
Freaky, horny vampire.
"Spike! Remember when you told me that more than three shakes is a wank? You're not shaking it any more."
"Yeah, well." Spike's nimble fingers tucked Xander back into his pyjamas and gave a last lingering stroke. "You've got your itch, I've got mine, and as mine is your fault, what with you being the sodding hero type and all, I'll take my jollies where I can, thank you very much. Now, back into bed with you, so I can get back to the kitchen. I can't believe you expected me to make crème brûlée from scratch, you big poof. You should be bloody grateful Rebecca knew about that gourmet shop down on Jackson that does it in a box."
Muttering about egg yolks and vanilla pods and 'stupid whipping cream that gets everywhere', Spike herded Xander back into the bedroom and under the blanket.
"Right. Think you can stay out of trouble for a few minutes while I go and cl… check on the custard? Do you want anything else while I'm out there? Should I peel you a few grapes or squeeze you some orange juice by hand? Doc says you're not getting enough vitamin C in your diet; we'll have to see about that."
Spike left the room still muttering, this time about vitamins and websites and dietary specialists, and while the thought of being subjected to a regulated diet made Xander cringe, the sentiments behind the 'threats' made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He barely noticed his burns still itched.
After a supper of perfectly caramelized crème brûlée and a shared pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice served over crushed ice, Xander lay down to sleep with Spike curled tightly around him.
On the edge of sleep, it occurred to him to wonder just how bad a disaster Spike's first attempt at cooking the dessert must have been for him to give in and ask Rebecca for help. He only hoped she'd thought to call their cleaning service too, to move their next visit up from Wednesday.