Fur, Feathers and Fangs
What's In A Name?
"God, Spike! Every time you folded I got even more sure you were gonna lose Seven of Nine to that Makrash demon! Then BAM! Three killer hands in a row and you wiped the table with the lot of them!"
Spike added an extra touch of swagger to his stride and then something in that babble of praise snagged his attention.
"Seven of who?"
Xander's hand slipped into his pocket and emerged with a tiny blue pointed Siamese.
"There were nine kittens in that pot last week, and, well, catsuit! It's not like you didn't already know I'm a geek!"
The unmistakeable scent arrived minutes before Spike. By the time he entered the bedroom Xander was drooling.
"Two large orders of hot and spicy chicken wings with extra sauce, as requested."
Xander crowed with delight, tore open the bag and was soon covered in more than his fair share of sticky red goo.
The cleanup took a while, all tongues and teeth, no hot wet towels, but finally the couple were replete.
For five minutes.
"So... What's on the menu for dessert?"
A sachet of sauce flopped into Xander's lap.
"Super Hot 'n' Spicy blowjobs, Pet. Just like last time."
It Just Keeps Getting Better
The sex once he was turned was simply amazing. Which is not to say that alive it hadn't been great. But he'd always known deep down that Spike was holding back, determined not to traumatise or damage him too much.
But boy, once mortal fears and fragilities were gone, sex with Spike had nearly blown his mind! Suddenly each stroke and touch, every blow and bite and grip, was delivered with such force it made him scream.
His vocal pleas were regularly reduced to animalistic growls, but he knew that Spike always understood.
Neither of them could ever get enough.