Time To Implement The 12 Step Program





Shh. Concentrating here." And Spike was, his tongue falling into a heady rhythm of dip, circle, flicker, circle, and plunge that was rapidly driving Xander mad as he wriggled his hips back desperately for more, hands fisting in the blankets.

"Not-not that I'm complaining!"

"Mmhmm," Spike hummed, wringing a whine out of Xander, and chuckling to himself, fingers flexing on Xander's hips tight enough to leave bruises as he blew a careful stream of air over the ring of puckered flesh he'd been tormenting.

"I ha-had syphilis once. Did you ever have syphilis, Spike?"

Spike's mouth, his humming, his breath, and his wicked tongue all disappeared abruptly. "I beg your sodding pardon! Harris, is this your idea of naughty bedroom talk?
Because if it is, we need to have us a little conversation, you and I."

Xander extended a shaky finger to the flickering television.
"Left it on. There's a news story coming up that syphilis is on the rise in England. And we're in England. And I'm. . . okay, I am still on the rise. Uhh."

Spike slowly raised an eyebrow. Leaned down to look at Xander's cock, purple and leaking without so much as a touch, and then up to his face with an expression of utter disbelief. "Harris, did you stop a perfectly good rimming to inform me that syphilis is on the rise in England?"

Xander blinked. Several times, and dropped his forehead to the bed, groaning. "I have officially gone insane. My brain has dribbled out my cock, your fault, by the way."

"May I continue?" Spike grasped one cheek, thumb absently tracing the crease. "I can stop, you know."

"No stopping! Continuing good!
Jesus, yes. Please do. No! Hold on a minute! Half a minute! Twelve seconds!" Xander babbled, pawing through the blankets and pillows.

"Are you out of your bleeding
mind? Are you ill? Are you daft? Are you-"

Xander finally located the remote, clicking off the


"Americans watch too much TV anyway."







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