nasty shrew
NC-17 Spike/Xander
Xander's known Spike three days when he quits his job as a courier to go on tour with the band.
Warnings for drug use
See Disclaimer of Ownership here
Chapter One
"Once more with feeling lads," Spike said into the microphone, flash of a smile and quiet laughter, an old joke between the band members that Xander didn't understand. He shifted in his seat, tried to look like less of an outsider, less of a loser sitting on the fringe of something bigger than him. Failed.
Decided to play up the loser thing and flashed a dorky grin at one of the girlfriends sitting on the trendy couches scattered around him. Her lips, ruby red and shining, pulled back into a tight smile with distain in her eyes as she turned her attention back to her man standing on the other side of the glass - finger's sliding across the guitar like it was an extension of his arm.
"Hi," the girl to his left said, perky Californian accent, candy floss bottle blonde hair, leopard print skirt and frosted pink nails. Xander wondered if she was even aware she was a walking stereotype, "My name is Buffy," she added, holding out her hand. Even her name fit the mental profile.
"Xander," he said, shaking it. He wondered if he should add his second name, because that was polite, but she didn't offer her name and maybe it was in the Groupie Code to leave last names at home and he'd offend her ... but nobody had told him about the Groupie Code so it wasn't fair to expect anything of him - he was a courier! Not a groupie. Well - he was an ex-courier as of yesterday, so he was technically unemployed which meant groupie wouldn't be an unfair qualification considering he was sleeping with a lead singer. Which lead to the question, could you put 'groupie' on your reseme?
Xander considered he may be overthinking things.
"How long have you known our lead singer?" she asked, jerking him out of his momentary lapse into 'Am I Inadequate?' Panic Mode.
"Three days," he replied, realising that is sounded so very stupid when he said the time they'd known each other aloud. Three days. Three days ago he'd met the man who had declared his undying love and asked Xander to come with him on tour on the condition that he never wore clothes for more than six hours at a time. And Xander had said yes.
"What am I to you?" he gasped, lips on his throat, on his chest, moving up and down, hot wet heat and glorious friction but the words still came.
"You're sunshine and earth," whispered words against his skin, low rasp of warm leather on his skin.
"Earth - I'm dirt to you?" he laughed, choked, screamed - he wasn't sure, he just knew words were there that he couldn't breathe.
"Not dirt," Spike said, inhaling deeply, looking up with eyes like the ocean in a thunder storm - powerful, cruel and magnificent all at once and Xander wanted it all at once. "Not listening to me - you're like earth. Life. Best fuck I've had in years," Spike continues, grinning now, teeth like a cat and skin like carved wax. "What am I to you?" he asked, mocking, teasing as his fingers traced lazy circles at the nape of Xander's neck, hot breath by his ear now.
"You're ..." Xander's breath hitched when Spike's hands moved lower, "You're magnesium," he said finally, "Blinding, beautiful ..." no more words, only moans and clenching in his stomachheartcock who fucking knew because everywhere was heat.
"Magnesium, eh?" Spike contemplated, infuriatingly calm, "Good, pet - always did want to die young," and Xander's had enough of all this talking and pulls Spike's mouth to his.
"He's known you for three days and he asked you to come on tour with him?" she said incredulously, laughing - though not unkindly. "That is so Spike,"
"How can you ask me that? You barely know me!" Xander said, voice rising to unmanly levels of squeakage that he would be embarrassed about later.
"Feel like I do," Spike replied cheerfully.
"But ... I have a job and friends and ..."
"Fuck 'em. You said you hate your job, said your friends wouldn't even notice if you left," Spike interrupted, eyebrow lifting when Xander tried to splutter an argument. He let his legs fall open and rested his head on his arm. He looked perfect, inhuman. But Xander knew better. He'd seen the yellow stains of nicotine on Spike's fingers, on his teeth. Had touched the scar on his eyebrow. Had tasted the salty tang of Spike's sweat and heard him scream obscenities at the ceiling, sullying satin sheets.
Wanted more.
"Think about it, tell me yes later. We have more fun things to do at the moment,"
"Spike seems kind of impulsive," Xander shrugged, running a hand through his hair, trying to squash the wave of doubt in his chest. The worry, the questions, the knowledge that he was running towards the edge of a cliff with no intention of slowing down.
"He is," the girl confirmed, fond roll of her eyes and Xander suddenly saw the girl she must have been once, with honey brown hair and soft brushes of pink across her cheeks. "But it's usually with drink, drugs - he's terrible like that, you know? Already wired enough without the help of illegal substances. But I haven't seen him have a drink since he came in - you must be a really good fuck," she said, cracking his image, snapped into the woman before him - kind but mistrustful. Warmth in her eyes, but a cold way about her.
"Yeah - I must be," Xander sighed, wanting to laugh when he glanced down at his horribly mismatched jeans and ugly orange shirt, the scuffed sneakers that he should have thrown out years ago. He wondered if there was a shop nearby where he could buy something else - something a little less heinous. He'd never cared before but it was impossible not to. Sitting behind glass, watching a man who wanted him, pouring his soul into a microphone with eyes shut, body thrumming with energy.
Least Xander could do was look presentable.
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