Spike stumbled into the mansion courtyard, rubbery knees dropping him three steps at a time in stumbled cadence that left him in a heap at the bottom until he found a wall sturdy enough to crawl his way upright against. "Sodding Slayer. Buggering bloody Daddy." A sneer curled Spike's lips as he crossed the hated atrium on two feet.

*Two feet. Take that, you poncy pillock! Take more than that to get rid of me!* He kicked at the fountain, missed, and staggered back a step until he regained his balance, twisted and focused on the poorly boarded up door to the mansion's living room where firelight flickered. "Yeah, you," he said, weaving unsteadily in the direction of the light, moth to flame. "Think I'm afraid of you?"

He could just barely make out the dark head, bent over some poofy book to read in the firelight that gleamed off of sleek bare skin. Spike snorted. *Poof must've had the stick in his arse replaced with a new more flirty model.* He hadn't been wandering the halls naked when Spike had been there.

He took a deep slug from the whiskey bottle still clutched in one fist, then dashed it to the ground, bracing both hands on the boards and squinting through with a sneer for Angel - until the dark head lifted to reveal smooth, sharp planes, and dark eyes that flickered a feral green.

Spike struggled to remember through his drunken fog why this was important as the young man stood and paced toward him, golden, half-hard, and predatory - head down and oh, wasn't that a pretty sight.

But wasn't it s'posed to be the other way around and -

Spike looked in confusion at the thin air in the doorway he was leaning on, then up into Xander's face as he reached the doorway, arms hanging with deceptive relaxation at his sides.

"Come in, Spike," Xander said, and Spike flopped gracelessly onto the cold flagstones, face first.

Xander paced slowly back and forth from the fireplace to the atrium, flicking glances at the stripped and crumpled figure chained to the wall, willing Spike to wake.

Weeks, months where the burning itch turned to a boiling ache, constant, insistent, impossible to think around.

His dick bobbed at every step, hard with slick dripping down the sides that tickled over balls and thighs - left him gleaming slickly in the flickering firelight. He stroked himself with indrawn breath, unable to not touch with Spike so...close....

Scent of smoke, leather, and cheap whiskey followed him everywhere he went in the mansion, and it was driving him-

"Fuck this."

He'd been waiting weeks, months, and now Spike came back too drunk to fuck?

"Fuck that, too."

With a growl, Xander threw himself to his knees over Spike's prone form, jerking his legs out straight and wrapping one slicked hand around Spike's cock and stroking, rocking his hips against the air with need for it in him.

Now.

Spike was on fire.

Not literally.

And bloody good job that too, because he didn't want to move.

"Fucking hell, Dru. God, yeah pet, just like that. Uhhh." Spike flexed his hands on the chains. *Chains? Dru luv, you shouldn't have!* He chuckled, bracing his feet, and bucking up with that little twist that always did make her squeal except-

That was a very deep squeal. In fact, it sounded more like a groan.

A very masculine groan.

Spike's hips dropped and his eyes popped open to meet eyes half closed and glowing eerie green in the mansion firelight behind a mussed screen of mink-brown hair. Undulating in the flickering light as he rode Spike's cock with single-minded concentration, the boy arched his neck back to reveal the silver of a scar on his throat. Vamp bit. Spike squinted, forcing neurons into sluggish compliance as memory filtered in. Sunnydale. Plus a week before the full moon. Meant..."Puppy boy?"

Feral eyes narrowed and Spike found himself with sharp teeth on his neck, and it'd be bloody embarrassing if it didn't make him feel so sodding good - just enough drink left in him for some pleasant fuzz, and really wouldn't be the first time he'd woke up to man or beast riding him like a bleeding pony.

Except that he didn't remember the boy being this quiet.

Or this aggressive.

Spike gave it a mental shrug, grasped the chains more tightly, and thrust them both off the floor, banging a rattling groan up from the boy's throat, making him clamp down so tightly over Spike his eyes rolled back in his head. *Bloody hell. A bloke would think he hasn't had any since I left.*

Feverish heat, just like he remembered - or would've remembered if he wasn't piss drunk, but oh sodding yeah it was comin' back to him. With a grunt and a clatter of chains, Spike rolled over, pinning that warm and wriggly body beneath him and sinking balls-deep into clinging, slick heat. Grasping handfuls of soft sable hair and fastening his lips over that scar, licking, tracing, sucking until he could feel the pulse banging up against his tongue the way the boy was banging up against him, legs hitched up high around his ribs and clutching.

He felt the boy's abs clench when he dragged his chained wrist between them, grasping swollen flesh, stripping him hard and fast because fuck yeah, it was all coming back to him. *Knew there was something else good waitin' for me in Sunnydale.* "Like that, do you?"

"Shut up!" The growled words sank into Spike's belly, into his balls and only made him harder, made him jerk the slicked flesh faster.

"You givin' me orders, boy?"

The boy snarled in answer with a buck and twist and clench that had Spike seeing white, ripping his orgasm from him like a three years turned fuckin' fledge.

Then he found himself flipped back onto his spine again - heavy, warm, erect weight still rubbing against him, clutching around him before his dick could even think about going soft, if his dick could think. And after all these years, Spike had come to the conclusion that it had to.

Led him around often enough, didn't it?

"God, round two already? You're a randy little thing, aren't you?"

This time, the boy didn't even look at him when he spoke, face scrunched up in an intense expression of concentrated bliss. "Shut up, Spike."

The hangover had come and gone, and with it, the dawn that suffused the mansion with less gloom than usual.

And Spike must have passed out again some time, because he found himself waking to daylight, belly itching with dried - Spike sniffed at his fingers after giving his belly a scratch - human semen.

He was also still chained to the wall, and pushed himself up onto his elbows for a better view of the mansion's great room.

The boy - Xander, Spike's brain supplied at last, no longer dulled by the alcohol - was sitting by the fireplace again, this time, dressed, washed, combed, and calm.

And that wasn't a trick of the bloody light. "Morning, pet."

Xander looked up at Spike's voice, sliding his book into a worn back pack and stood up, ruffling a hand through his hair. Calm, but still quiet - and in daylight that made Spike's skin crawl.

But Xander only looked, then quickly drained a bottle of juice, tucked it into his backpack, and headed for the door.

"Hey!" Spike called, sitting up so quickly the chains yanked him back onto his arse, uncomfortably bare against the cold stone. He rattled the chains impatiently when Xander only kept staring at him. "Gonna unchain me before you go?"

Xander stopped in the door way and smiled - wide, mirthless, and unpleasant. "No. See you after school, Spike."

"What? Fuck you! Come back here! You can't leave me chained up like a sodding dog!"

Only laughter, high pitched and hysterical, answered him from the Atrium.