Sex, Death, Horror, and Zambian Chickens
Xander folded the newspaper, then
folded his hands over his stomach, tilting his head. "So, Spike. In
theory, what would you do if I came home to catch you having sex with a
"Wake up," Spike answered immediately.
"What if you really were having sex with a chicken?"
"Been desperate, mate, but not that desperate. And haven't we already discussed the bloke who had sex with a chicken?"
"That's the other guy who had sex with chickens. And we don't know for sure that he had sex with chickens at all. He just chopped his dick off because he thought it was a chicken. Or so he claims."
There was a thoughtful pause.
And two winces.
"So, chickens. What would you do?"
Spike shrugged. "Dunno. Depends, don't it?"
"Yeah. Would you be randy enough to join in or would I be tossing off to the telly that night?"
"Are you asking me if I'd get off on watching you boff a chicken?"
"That really went where I didn't expect it to."
"So would you?"
"Would I what?" Xander stared back at Spike, then muttered to himself, reviewing the conversation in his mind from start to finish. "Uh, I'd laugh at you and make a few bad choking the chicken jokes, but yeah, you'd get sex again pretty soon."
"Then I'd finish up with the chicken, mate. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? And I've shagged worse."
"Yeah, there was this -" Spike looked at Xander, then down at Xander's hand, which was clamped over his lips, and began sucking on the palm.
"Don't - don't tell me what else your dick has been in. I like it in my mouth way too much for that, okay?" A moan escaped him as Spike nipped a sensitive bit of flesh at the center of Xander's palm, and he let his hand fall to Spike's neck, rubbing there. "Okay?"
"Fair enough, pet." Spike's hands wandered up Xander's thighs, tugging him down to straddle Spike's lap and chair. "Care to tell me what all that was about then?"
"Oh. This - uhh, first? Don't stop what you're doing to my neck. Second? Don't tell me what you're doing to my neck because I can feel those ridges buddy and- ahhh. Okay, just make sure you remember how to do that trick again." Xander felt Spike growl against his throat and sucked in a quick breath. "Right! Chicken! Sex! Story! This guy in
Spike made a querying mumble.
Spike lifted his head in spite of Xander's futile attempts to keep him sealed against his neck. "I said 'top or bottom'?"
"You are very strange, Spike. And yet, you still turn me on."
Spike only smirked, and flicked Xander's fly open with his thumb, licking his lips. "You sure it's not the chicken?"
"At this point?" Xander shuddered and gripped Spike's hair. "I'm gonna say no. Okay, and I do not know if he was topping or bottoming with the chicken."
"What kinda bedtime story is this without all the good details?"
"A really fucking short one, I hope! Kinda wanting to make our own details here, Spike!"
Spike snorted in a way that Xander hoped meant go on because if he didn't finish that story and finish it quickly-
An expert flick of Spike's wrist scattered all of Xander's thoughts like a flock of - well, chickens. "He's having sex with the chicken, and his wife comes in - and catches him - and he hangs himself because he's so embarrassed and - god Spike!" Xander bucked helplessly into that twisting, blurring hand the world going white and fluffy around him as he floated in a serene if sadly brief afterglow, coming to himself with his lips pressed up against Spike's throat and Spike's hand rubbing circles on his back.
And oh. Yeah. Spike was talking. "Huh?"
"I said what happened to the chicken?"
"Oh. They killed it." Xander panted.
"No point missing dinner, I suppose," Spike said pensively, snugging Xander closer to him.