A Moment in Unison, a spander ficlet

[thatotherperv]

Once upon a time, I saw this gorgeous spander wingkink manip, and I literally couldn’t sleep until I’d written something for it. my first spander and first wingkink, and I am, honestly, super proud of how it came out.

Title: A Moment in Unison
Author: Mel (btvslover82)
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, wing!kink
Summary: Xander’s been having the strangest dreams….
Disclaimer: Joss could only hint at anything this fun. I just ran with it. and I am, alas, still poor. don’t sue me.
Feedback: please!
This fic was inspired by a manip by mwrgana, which is under the cut, and she beta’d it to boot! Thanks babe.

A/N: Props must also be given to incasink and sexymermaid for giving me the gift of wingkink…it never would have occurred to me as an erotic thing without inca’s Belief and sexy’s Star Man and Wings. whew! Hot spangely stuff, all. And though it came after I’d already seen the light, I must confess that virtualpersonal is doing a bangup job with her spander fic, Senator’s Downfall. </pimp>



**Arguably worksafe image under the cut: no danglies but it’s clearly manlove (really really hot manlove, if you ask me)**



The title came from the famous Anais Nin quote:
The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.




Image by mwrgana




Xander wondered sometimes if the whole thing was borne of late-night indigestion, leftover pizza from work gone bad in his gut.

Only, sexier. Sexy indigestion. Mind-numbing, bafflingly-odd, hot-smutty indigestion.

Ok, so it wasn’t indigestion. But he was grasping at straws here to retain his sanity.

If he was losing his mind, at least he was losing it in a pretty place. There were worse fates, he supposed, than sitting on a rocky shore, enjoying the dramatic pulse of the vast velvet ocean as it crashed into the land. No hell-dimension could be this picturesque, could it? The sky glowed pink to the west out over the water, while above, it was already a deep midnight blue. There were few clouds and no smog here to amplify the rose-gold tone of the setting sun, so the sunset was contained to an intense yellow-orange disk and the soft colorful ripples it left behind in the sky.

Xander closed his eyes and breathed in the clean, ocean-salty air that blew as a cool breeze on his face.

No, definitely not a hell dimension.

A figure was picking its way down the beach towards him. It was this way every night, right on cue. The movements were graceful, and the pale skin of the man was a stark contrast to the rapidly falling night so that he seemed to glow. As he drew closer, Xander could see them, the things that made him suspicious that this was all the result of a crazy mushroom mix-up at work—someone had inadvertently switched out toppings for hallucinogens.

Because—Xander could see that the figure was Spike, and he could see that Spike…had wings.

So this couldn’t be an ordinary dream, right? Especially with what he knew, knew, was coming next.

You could tell, even from this distance, that Spike’s wings were nebulous things, even for a dream-state. Not solid. Mutable, like the rising tide, constantly shimmering and shifting shape before his eyes.

They were hypnotizing. They were the most beautiful thing that Xander had ever seen.

Spike must have known it, just as Spike was always aware of his physical assets, because as he came to a halt in front of Xander, the—vampire? angel? apparition?—preened them like the vain and cocky bastard that Xander knew that he was.

Still, fair enough, because Xander couldn’t take his eyes off them as they expanded up and outward, fluffing as though Spike were shaking the kinks out.

“You know, Xander,” Spike rumbled in the sex-voice he always used in Xander’s dreams, “This fantasy of yours is a touch predictable, mate. White Hat through and through—not enough that I’m neutered, you have to make me into a soddin’ celestial being just so’s you can feel right about takin’ my cock.” Xander was pulled into those blue eyes, the same deep color as the sky above, and Spike’s face was cool and sardonic, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. “Even your wet dreams are morally rigid.”

Xander licked his lips and swallowed, letting the taunt go—besides what would he say? Guilty as charged, this was bizarre—as he was distracted once again by Spike’s wings. The undefined edges were coalescing into sweeping, elegant lines, and Xander could make out the faint details of individual feathers as one wing curled around Spike’s body to insinuate itself at Xander’s shoulderblade.

At its contact with his skin, Xander shivered. It was as cool as Spike was, and water-soft, touching him but not as it reeled him in closer to the ropey muscle of Spike’s torso.

Spike’s wings were not feather-soft, fluffy, innocent things. They slunk, slithered, skulked, so that even as an angel there was something serpentine and sinister about him.

Spike’s hand cupped the back of Xander’s neck and drew him in closer for a forceful kiss, both wings wrapping him up in a cocoon of crackling, shimmering energy. Xander shuddered from the jolt from the wings and the human teeth sinking into his lip and the unfettered contact of their erections, because they were naked now, or always had been, something that made sense in a dream and nowhere else.

One wing was stroking seductively up and down Xander’s back, and Spike had wandering hands. He palmed Xander’s ass cheek with one, while the other plucked and teased at his nipple. Spike’s fingers were teasing into the crevice that parted his cheeks, and Spike was murmuring dirty hot words against Xander’s ear. Xander was shaky and weak-kneed. For Spike. In his dreams.

And then he cried out and his legs collapsed altogether, because Spike’s wing had curled even tighter around him and the feathery tip twined its way between their bodies until it found his cock. His aching, throbbing erection that was now enjoying the full benefit of that light electrical sizzle of the blessed—oh god please yes—appendages, while Spike’s happy human fingers were working themselves into his hole. The tip of Spike’s wing was doing a startlingly convincing impression of a hand, what with the curling and the grasping…and then Spike’s fingers curled into the magic spot inside.

Xander should have, by all counts, come on the spot. In fact, he felt the involuntary, prolonged spasm of his pelvis and the loss of all his faculties, but he didn’t shoot and he didn’t lose his erection. It seemed that dream-sex with an angel gifted Xander with strange dreamy multiple orgasms.

This might explain why he ended up here every night. Jesus, could you blame him?

Spike growled, and his wings flashed red for an instant. It always made Xander feel owned, that growl, and yup—still hard. Hard, harder, hardest, and Spike was pushing him to his knees, and what do you know, not hardest, because Spike won that contest.

The tide had come up far enough that Xander was kneeling in a swirling mass of shallow seawater, and Spike was looking down at him through the tunnel of his enfolded wings. Spike moaned and rolled his head back when Xander sucked the thick cock into his mouth. Xander was fairly certain the dream was accurate there—after all, sharing the basement with an exhibitionist vampire had revealed a thing or two. Spike was naked more than Xander—well, enough for Xander—ok, not nearly often enough for Xander to find satisfying, but he’d never admit it.

And Xander knew this was a dream, because Spike always loved the way he gave head even though he had no experience—lost his cool and muttered obscene things. His wings were fluttering a little as they encased him—straining at the shoulder joints with quick, jerky movements. And incandescent color was flashing and rippling over them like Mr. Bubble water on a sunny day.

Spike gasped and gripped Xander’s hair—even in his dreams, he needed a haircut—and ground himself against Xander’s lips, but it didn’t hurt, because this was just a dream. Then Spike withdrew and dropped to his own knees with a splash, and he was wrapped around Xander like a vine, pushing his tongue into Xander’s mouth against his groan. Spike’s hands were everywhere, everywhere good, and he was sucking on Xander’s neck, which gave his heart a jolt, because—yeah, dream here, and chipped, but still, vampire. He assumed. Didn’t know, actually, since Spike never went into gameface here on the beach.

But it felt so damn good, even with the danger, and Spike had his back arched at such an angle that he was helpless to stop it anyway. Xander could see nothing other than their bodies and the water rushing back and forth against their knees, because Spike’s wings were blocking out the world and Xander could swear that they were sparkling. They sparkled.

Spike never really talked when they were here, beyond a few cursory taunts and his filthy-hot exclamations, so when he turned Xander around and propped his upper body against the rocks in front of them, it was in silence. Which was good, because Xander couldn’t imagine anything coming out of Spike’s mouth other than invective, and that wouldn’t fit here. Because Spike’s hands were firm here, and even a little rough, but never cruel. It was always about pleasure, and never about humiliation.

That part came after Xander woke up.

But right now, Spike kneeled behind him, running firm, reverent touches over his back, and tilting Xander’s hips upward. His long elegant fingers worked themselves into Xander’s entrance, and they were slick and cool without the practicalities of popping open a tube, because it was a dream. God it was a really, really good dream and Xander could hardly keep his eyes open as he pushed himself back onto Spike’s fingers, moaning. He could hear Spike hiss, and then the dream got better because Spike was slick and sliding into him, filling him up just right.

And Spike didn’t stay kneeling upright like the porn stars did, the way he would expect Spike to take him—hard and rough and with as little contact as possible. No, because in these dreams sex was a full-contact sport, Boys and Girls, and Spike molded his body against Xander’s back. They fit together like a jigsaw, like fine craftsmanship. And Spike’s thrusts were so agonizingly slow and so deep, and tender, and

Truthfully…honestly…

It felt like making love.

And Xander mostly shied away from that topic in his mind, because that was the craziest part about this whole thing. Crazier than the wings and the beach and the fact that he was dreaming about fucking Spike at all. It was a part of the dream that he would rather not examine too closely, because that way lay madness.

And it was just. too. good.

Spike bit at the skin between Xander’s shoulderblades, taking big hunks of flesh carefully between his teeth, and it made Xander shudder. Spike groaned and upped the tempo, the thrusts still slow, but they had a rhythm now and the momentum was enough to push Xander forward against the rocks in time. The rocks bit into the skin of his arms and chest, but didn’t hurt that much and Xander knew there will be no marks, no bruises. It was a dream—no consequences. In theory.

Xander could hear Spike’s wings rustling above them, and he wished he could see them, but this position was so good, the angle, and this way he could pretend that it’s just Spike. The real Spike. And Xander didn’t think about that one too hard either. But sometimes in the dreams, Spike took him on his back so that he could watch his wings move, and it was unexpectedly and totally hot. When Spike became excited, his wings were more active, changeable, shifting through shape and color combinations fluidly and flapping around them restlessly. Like his own personal psychedelic light show.

Spike was thrusting hard and fast now, moaning things like “Oh God, luv,” and “so good!” and Xander agreed wholeheartedly. Then Spike’s hand wrapped around Xander’s cock in the saltwater that was ebbing and flowing around them and it squeezed and pumped him and he was getting close again. Spike’s mouth played with ragged breath over his ear, chewing and sucking on his earlobe, and the wings above them were churning the air so hard that Xander swore they were going to take off, straight upwards like a helicopter.

“God yeah, Xan…love you, pet,” Spike groaned above him as he stiffened and came, wings going silent as they strained motionless over his head. Then Xander released too, with the same mind-numbing intensity as always, as much from the shock of the words as the hand pulling him off.

~*~*~*~

Xander woke with a jolt, sticky with sweat. And…sticky…elsewhere. He tried to ignore the indignity of the fact that he was regularly jizzing in his sleep like he hadn’t done since he was fourteen.

Because right now? he was busy freaking out about the last part of the dream. He wiped at his face desperately, clearing away some of the grime. That had never happened before, and he was way wigged that any part of his subconscious wanted Spike to say…that…to him. The dreams had been getting more and more emotionally intense, but…

He rubbed at his eyes. Fuck.

Fuck.

Wasn’t it bad enough before, when it was just hot, rutting sex? With an angel in the form of his arch-enemy? Jesus.

Xander didn’t want to sit up. As it was, he could feel those preternatural eyes on him in the dark of the basement, and he knew Spike could hear his heart pounding.

Because when the universe crapped on Xander Harris, it crapped on him good. Not enough that he was having sex dreams about Spike, but Spike had to be present and accounted for.

Stupid Giles.

But Xander really needed to clean himself up. He was disgusting. Really, his sheets were gross too, soaked through with sweat, but they’d have to wait until morning.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge and looking at the carpet between his feet, unwilling to look up yet at the blond tied to his barcalounger.

“Been havin’ the sex dreams about me again, eh Harris?” Spike’s voice rang out in the stuffy heat of the basement, loud and clear and obnoxious as ever.

Xander didn’t know how much Spike actually knew. He was sure Spike could smell his arousal and hear his elevated heart rate, and the vampire was always awake when Xander jolted out of sleep, but unless the Watcher’s Diaries were wrong, he had no mind-reading capability, so probably…

Unless Xander was moaning Spike’s name in his sleep. He really preferred not to think about that.

So he pretended that particular jibe was bullshit and bluffing. It was not unlikely, and it was easier that way, true or not. But Xander wondered if the hitch in his heartbeat when Spike taunted him gave him away. Probably. Because Xander Harris, was the universe’s latrine.

“Bite me, Bleach Boy,” he grumbled finally, standing up.

“Would that I could, mate,” Spike rejoined cheerily. In the strip of light coming from the bathroom, Xander could see that Spike’s gaze was heavy-lidded and smug, so maybe he did know. But no, Spike looked like that all the time. Always looked like sex on a stick. That’s why this was all his stupid hottie-McHotterson fault.

Xander swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth.

“Good thing for me you’re impotent then, huh?” Xander retorted.

Oh God, had he just said that? He’d meant…Gah! Retreat! Retreat! Xander padded quickly across the cement floor towards the safety of a lockable bathroom door.

Spike’s throaty, mocking laughter followed him, echoing out even after he slammed it safely behind him.


The end (or was it?)

as it turns out, not the end...here's the sequel