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A Night Out On The Town

"Happy Valentine's Day, Spike!" Xander grinned and practically vibrated with excitement.

"Xan? I know that somewhere inside that corkscrew mind of yours there's a reason we're standing here on some idiot's fenced-in lawn. So how's about you tell me what it is sometime soon, eh? Before I throw you down and bugger you senseless behind those trees."

The excitement in the air cranked up a notch. Or three.

"You guessed it! The tree in the middle of the line was planted where the wall used to stand." Spike looked blank. "2122 North Clark Street, Chicago? The Saint Valentine's Day Massacre!"



Say It With Flowers

Xander arched upwards, straining against specially strengthened chains.

"S-Spike! Sire!"

His tormentor flashed a feral grin and selected a fresh white rose, dragging the delicate petals along the length of his bound and purpling cock.

"My beautiful baby boy. I love it when you scream for me."

Spike wrapped his hand around the end of the long, slim stem, ignoring the new holes gouged into his palm.

"Scream for me again."

His arm raised and fell repeatedly, vicious thorns tearing into trembling, bloodied flesh. He didn't stop until the rose was red. Then he selected another.

Xander whimpered.

"Love you."



How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways - Thirteen In Iowa...

"Happy Valentine's Day, Sire. I have a gift for you."

"This is a list, Xan."

"Yes, Sire."

"Of addresses."

"Yes, Sire."

"Thirteen in Iowa, eight in Nebraska, a couple in Missouri and one in Illinois."

"Yes, Sire."

"And...?"

"I told you there was more on the net than porn and crackpot theories. I started out with a name and a vague idea of where to look. I've been scouring genealogy sites for months."

"Get to the point, luv."

"That's every living relative I could find of Riley Finn."

"Xan?"

"He owes you, Sire. I think you should collect."

"Oh, love..."



Chocolate By Candlelight

Pale fingers painted deft, erotic patterns on taut skin, using as paint a blend of melted chocolate and blood. A nearby candle offered up occasional pools of wax, making the canvases hiss with pain and pleasure.

Sire and childe took turns etching their love into each other's flesh, carving runes of worship down to bone.

"Blood of my blood." The crimson liquid eased the Sire's way inside.

"Flesh of my flesh." The childe's body cleaved unto its master.

"Bone of my bones." Pelvises crashed together in frantic urgency.

Their voices broke as pleasure built and crested.

"Happy Valentine's Day, luv."