PART 24 - The Sounds of Silence
Jerking off without making a sound was a skill Xander
hadn't practiced for a long time. It was something you picked up in summer camp
(his parents only ever sent him once) and perfected when you were forced to
share your room with a bunch of cousins who'd take any opportunity to sneer or
make fun of you.
Xander could vividly recall the summer holiday of
1997, the vacation before Buffy had come to Sunnydale. Uncle Rory and his
entire family had invaded the Harris home like locusts, while their own home
was being rebuilt and renovated after one of Aunt Becky's Sunday roasts had set
the kitchen on fire.
During the Summer of 97 wanking had been one of few
pleasures in Xander's life. What else was there to do? Willow had been away on holiday
with her parents. The customary Harris barbecues regularly erupted into drunken
arguments (Xander's father and Uncle Rory did not get along very well). Xander
had been recruited to help with the renovations but despite the fact that Uncle
Rory's insurance had paid for the damage (unaware that Aunt Becky had been
pretty drunk when causing the fire), Xander was only paid a few perfunctory
dollars.
1997 had been the last of a number of boring summers.
He and Jesse had often discussed the physical attributes of Tracy Lords and
Pamela Anderson and how high school bitch Cordelia Chase made both women look
positively attainable by comparison.
*I wonder what Spike did that summer?*
The thought popped into Xander's head out of nowhere. But imagining Spike with
Drusilla, romping around somewhere in Europe, killing, maiming and 'shagging' -
well that was just the wrong image.
He brought his thoughts back on track.
...Naked Spike, in the bathtub, his blonde hair all
wet and unruly, without all that gel, Spike pouring water over his finely
chiselled chest...
*Now, that's a nice visual!*
Xander forced his breathing to stay regular. His
erection had refused to disappear on its own, and after spending a restless
quarter of an hour listening to Anya's breathing and the faint sounds from the
other side of the door (footsteps, the ping of the microwave, running water and
finally music so faint, it was unidentifiable) he had finally decided to get in
touch with himself - like the olden days.
Well not quite as in old times. He was fantasizing
about a man this time, not about big tits. Although... he still liked blond
hair. *Oh yeah, very much!*
Carefully avoiding tell-tale vibrations or sounds he
was slowly stroking his shaft. Holding it between thumb and two fingers he only
moved his index and middle finger to caress the tip of his cock ever so slowly.
It was strange - if he had been alone, no way would
he have been able to restrain himself, to take things slowly and to stay so
quiet. Only the fear of being caught red-handed enabled him to keep his body in
check like that.
Which was strange, because if Anya caught him playing
with his dick, she'd probably help him 'get a nice orgasm' quickly. Why, then,
was he worried about being found out? Because this fantasy was so not about
her!
He felt a little bit guilty but also rather
exhilarated. *Guess who's got a dirty little secret.*
This was like one of those stupid juvenile things,
where you had to prove your courage by shoplifting (Xander would have ended up
in a police precinct if Jesse hadn't kicked the shopkeeper's chin and caused
him to let go of Xander's collar), or by igniting fireworks in other people's
mailboxes (Jesse's idea). You knew what you were doing was wrong, but you
couldn't stop, because it made you feel so much more alive.
When Xander and Willow had met Buffy and had been
drawn into the fight against evil, there had been no need for bad secrets.
Keeping Buffy's calling under wraps and facing mortal danger on a regular basis
had left him with little opportunity to be... bad. And enough feeling-alive-ness (and near death experiences) to
last him, well, his whole life. But, still…
His right hand continued with its torturously slow strokes.
Meanwhile his left crept underneath his pyjama top to caress his already
hardened nipples.
What if he just got up? Spike was within reach,
almost. All Xander had to do was quietly sneak out of bed, tiptoe out of the
room and continue where they had left off earlier. It was still hard to believe
how good Spike's hard cock had felt next to his, and Spike's finger in that
intimate place...
Xander suppressed a gasp. He could feel increasing
moisture underneath his fingertips, the pre-come making his caress more
velvety. *Oh yeah, Spike's cock, he wanted it right there!*
He realized his thoughts were drifting and tried to
focus on that breathtaking What-if.
...What if he got out of bed and climbed into the tub
with Spike? Naked Spike, in the bathtub, all wet and slippery from all that
foam. Water sloshing out on the floor, oops, who cares? Unnecessary detail,
concentrate...
His left hand abandoned his nipples to travel south
over his belly, bypassing a tissue, lying ready for later use, gliding past his
cock to his inner thighs. So slowly and lightly, that even he couldn't hear the
chafing sounds of skin sliding over skin.
...concentrate on important details. On the hardness
of the Englishman's cock, how pale it is, on Spike's proud grin, and boy has he
reason to, cause it's so beautiful and feels so good...
He bit his lip to keep himself from moaning Spike's
name out loud. Only two nights ago, the thought of yanking off thinking about
the vampire had horrified him. Now the image of Spike was welcome, even
summoned on purpose.
...Spike would be pleased to see him, no doubt, yes,
he'd touch him, want him. He'd grip Xander's manhood and he'd lick its head,
dipping the tip of his tongue into the sensitive slit...
His breath sounded horribly loud in his own ears. Did
he just gasp? He halted, listening. There was the sound of rustling sheets and
suddenly a warm leg and hip touched his. Anya! Snuggling closer. He laid rigid,
counted till twenty, then he slowly inched away from her and resumed his ministrations.
Xander cupped his balls, rolling them gently between
his fingers, before dipping further south, as far as he could reach.
...Spike licking Xander's whole length, from tip to
base, his wonderful agile incredible tongue exploring him intimately...
He spread his legs wider, imagining Spike coaxing
them apart with cool hands. *Can't do that in the tub* a part of his
mind piped in, the part that always complained about continuity errors in
television series. Xander didn't care that his fantasy was beginning to get a
bit fuzzy around the edges when he could almost feel the tip of Spike's shaft
straining to slide into him...
...Oh yes...
His breathing was getting rugged.
...I want you to fuck me, Spike...
Thinking the words he'd never say out loud, even if
they were the truth...
- "Xander Lavelle Harris, if I hear you say that
bad ugly word one more time I will wash out your mouth with soap and I will ask
your father to give you a proper belting!" - *Get out of my head, Mum!*
-
...he came with a shudder and an almost inaudible
sigh.
He lay quiet for several minutes, waiting for his
racing heartbeat to slow to a comfortable trot. He used the tissue to wipe his
hand and abdomen clean, crumpled it into a tiny ball and hid it under his
pillow - making a mental note to get rid of the evidence first thing in the
morning.
Then, almost guiltily, he turned around and cuddled
up to Anya. He was somewhat relieved to discover that spooning her still felt
good and right. Several disjointed questions jumbled around in his head, like
whether this could really be judged as cheating, and what Anya would say if she
knew, and how Spike felt about him, and whether that mattered. But Xander was
so tired, before he knew it he was fast asleep, smiling.