Author: Bear mirasol
Disclaimer: Didn’t happen anywhere else but my mind, and I can’t tape those yet so I’m still not making any money from this.
Even the sweat is too hot to be bothered to slide off Xander’s body as he lays there, sticking to the sheets in spite of the air conditioning being cranked up way past eleven and the doors out to the balcony being wide open.
Also? Not much with the clothes for either of them… and still he’s too damned hot.
He’s also too damned horny and his traitorous dick won’t let him just chill.
Xander groans as he looks over to the frustratingly room-temperatured vamp lying next to him. What’s the good in being room temperature when the room’s temperature is a thousand times hotter than the Sahara? What’s the good of said naked vamp caressing his own dick and making with the hot little gasps as his hand skims over the head each time the foreskin slips back?
That’s so unfair, and more than just a side order of frustrating. Couldn’t Spike be a helpful boyfriend for once and go climb in the icebox?
Spike’s head falls to the side and he gazes at Xander through heavy lids. Xander can tell what’s coming… besides the glaringly obvious, that is, as Spike’s hand works its own particular brand of magic.
Fuck, yes! Xander wants to be buried face down into the bed, wants to feel Spike lying along him, touching him everywhere, inside and out. Connecting, sharing.
“Think mini-Xan’s saying something else…” Spike lets go of his own dick and rolls lazily over, hand squeezing around Xander’s half-hearted attempt, eliciting a groan that doesn’t, you know, actually say leave go, evil fiend.
There’s a brief thought that flitters in saying it could be because his brain has melted away thanks to all the various types of bad hotness. Bad hot heat. Bad hot vampire boyfriend. Bad hot vampire boyfriend’s hot dick.
“Mini-Xan has a mind of his own and I’m not responsible for him. Shoo!” Xander’s jaw clenches as he tries to bat away Spike’s hand and finds that his own hand seems to be of the one-tracked and dirty variety as well. Fingers lace and Xander tenses, his eye narrows to a slit as their hands move up and down together.
Spike’s hand twists, Xander lets out the breath he’s been holding and his brain slips back into place. He lets his hand drop back onto his stomach, far too over-heated to even make the effort to let it slip back down onto the sheets.
“And ever so modest with it…”
“No. I’m hot. H. O. T. Hot.”
Spike’s tongue flicks into Xander’s ear, sliding in and out and making Xander shiver before Spike whispers. “I.”
A lick along Xander’s jaw line, and Xander wants that tongue to lap up all the salty sweat that’s lying inches deep on him. “Know.”
Way too much effort in this heat for Xander to whimper as Spike suddenly disappears from the bed, running from the room. Yay. Fantastic. He’s going to melt away; nobody will miss him until they come to check on him and find a pile of randomly Xander-shaped goo on the sheets. At least he has the energy to let his eyelid fall closed, even if he is too hot and too uncomfortable to sleep.
A hand brushes away the hair that sticks to his forehead. A cool hand. Xander opens his eye and smiles as that hand spreads the coolness as it moves to cup the back of his head and raise him slightly for a kiss. Cold, cold lips make him moan with happiness and as his own fall slightly apart, Xander feels tiny drops of cold water drip into his mouth. Spike’s tongue runs along the seam of Xander’s lips, unsticking them, pushing them further apart.
Then Spike pulls back and he pointedly ignores Xander’s frown and sharp “hey” as he scoops up a handful of crushed ice from the bowl he brought to the bed, bringing his hand up to his mouth. The lines on Xander’s forehead fade quickly as lips meet again, and tongues share the wetness and the beautiful coldness. Xander drinks in the pure taste of the icy cold liquid as Spike’s equally chilled hand does totally impure things lower down his body.
Xander falls back down onto the bed and does his best impression of hot and wanton, which just so happens still to be overheated and wanting. Time to pull out the big guns, he thinks, and so he makes with the puppy dog eye, while he pouts.
“Kinda cool, but I’m still ho-oo-oo-t…” Yes, he can do whiny brat with the best of them – after all, he’s known Dawn for years so he’s learnt from the master.
“Want me to cool you down?” Spike drops some ice onto Xander’s chest, and Xander is sure he feels the skin cool and contract even as the crystals melt away.
Xander raises his head, and sees more ice falling down, this time right onto a nipple. Cold fingers tease the bud, making it rise and pucker, and Xander bites down on his lip as the white-hot need shoots straight down to his groin. The other nipple aches a little, lonely at the attention its twin is receiving, until ice is slathered around it. One ice cold thumb gently but absently rubs across the tender nub as Spike’s mouth sucks away the coldness from the first; then moves over to the other, licking and sucking it hot again.
Both of Spike’s hands plunge back into the bowl; cold water and colder ice drip onto Xander’s stomach, and his back arches up as an instant reaction to the not unwelcome shock. Icy hands hold his waist, keeping Xander raised as Spike’s tongue follows down along the tiny rivers, lapping at the pools of water.
Xander is feeling hotter than hell and colder than carbonite, and he’s not so sure the shivers running all over him are from the ice that Spike is liberally coating him in. He’s heavy and just so ready he doesn’t give a shit about proving any points – all he wants is an ice-cold mouth wrapped around his red-hot erection. Heating him up and cooling him down, all in one glorious action.
Then Spike lets go of him and Xander drops back to the still-warm, sweat-sticky sheets. Xander waits, but all Spike does is swish the melting ice around in the bowl with one hand, eyes closed and lost in the feeling as he strokes himself with the other hand. Times like this, Xander wonders just whatever alternative universe he woke up in one day that let him think he and Spike would be fine together.
He doesn’t have a problem with them both being guys, except for the fact that they were both guys. None of that confusing double-talk with another man, any hidden meanings or booby traps for the unwary – how can there be when you don’t, you know, talk?
But the flipside of that coin? Xander coughs and Spike’s eyes flick open, but he still carries on swishing and stroking even as he stares.
“Bastard. You’re an ice-cold dick.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not…” Spike shrugs, and a cruel smile begins to twist his lip. “But I think this definitely is.”
Spike’s hand lifts clear of the bowl and reveals just what he’d been cooling down amongst the crushed ice. Xander’s favourite, beautifully etched, delightfully curved just right for him, and now cold.
Blissfully, wonderfully cold as Spike rolls him over with one hand, and trails the glass from the base of Xander's neck, down his spine and rests it for a moment in the small dip just above his ass. The glass is more than chilled, but the fireworks that follow the path of cold dampness burn away everything inside, until there is nothing left of Xander but shaking, shivering need.
Warm fingers inside of him work him looser, careful not to hit that spot. Then they're gone, and he's clamping down around coldness that hits him sharp and sudden. A few seconds of coldness, then warmer and bigger, hearing Spike's balls slap against him. Xander is empty once more, before the coldness returns, twisting and driving him closer and closer to that point still out of reach.
Hot and cold in quick succession.
Too quick to let him get comfortable with the rhythm and if Xander thought his brain had melted before he couldn't describe what was happening to it now.
"Please. Please, touch me. God!" Xander is desperate to find an end to this torture, and can't stop himself writhing mindlessly, pulling at the sheet bunched into his fists and thrusting erratically backwards.
"Nah. Not God. Just Spike." The dildo isn't as cold now, but it's obviously still as hard as Spike pushes it back in, and twists it as he rolls Xander over again.
He can't focus, and the room seems like it's filled with tiny silver fishes for a moment before a freezing, ice filled mouth closes around him. Someone screams, someone swears over and over again and Xander can't honestly say that it isn't just him.
When the white light fades, when Xander is edging back towards compos and considering leaving mentis alone for a while longer, he revels for a second in the weight crushing him into the mattress.
Just one second though.
"Spike. Get off me. You're too hot."
"Compliments, compliments... What's the magic word?"
"Spike. Get the FUCK off me. Now."