Title : Rainy Morning Rituals (1/1)
Author : i_luv_trees
Rating : R, (S/X, of course)
Feedback : Please, my first public post about my boys and I need petting. (Or at least some good drugs ;)
Word Count : A little over 900 words.
Summary : Just a little ficlet that popped out yesterday while I was sitting outside after a spring shower. Xander’s POV, no actual sex, but lots of in bed naked-ness and thinking of past sex.
Disclaimer : I own none of them, wish I did, and wish Joss had went to HBO or Showtime with them.
Beta’d by the wonderful Mistress_Tien, but I tinkered (a lot), so any mistakes are all me and none of her.
Xander climbs slowly up out of sleep, smile coming to his face as his ears pick up the sounds of rain. Soft, glorious, meaning-no-work rain, hitting the roof in a gentle patter, with a steady drip-drip from the gutter providing a slightly faster counter beat to it. No thunder rumbling, no lightening seeping around the edges of the blackout shades and making flashes against his closed eyelids, just the sweet, sweet smell of a springtime rain. Although how rain has a smell is still one of life’s little mysteries to him. After all, it’s just water, plain smell-less water that somehow acquires a delicious scent just by falling from the sky. A comfort-smell that relaxes you no matter how stressed life on the Hellmouth makes you, one sniff and you feel the tension rolling off your shoulders like a peel coming off an orange, leaving it plump and full and new.
Letting his eyelids fall open, his smile getting not bigger but deeper as he pushes forward slightly, placing the barest of kisses to the nape of the neck where his nose was pressing moments ago. Soft baby-curls snag at his morning stubble with just the slightest of tugs when he pulls back, letting the deep smile reclaim his lips, as he slowly starts the first morning ritual of separating them into two different bodies. Beginning with his hand, pulling it back toward himself, letting his fingertips caress the soft skin layered over hard muscle, dipping into the smallish, round indention then dancing along the thin trail of soft, tickly hairs below it. Regretfully just brushing the edge of stiffer curls that he has seen glowing honey blonde in flickering candlelight, before sliding the fingers all the way over and off a jutting hipbone, moving faster now before his arm or wrist is clamped tightly to the ribs he only just grazes.
Wiggling his other hand carefully from under their pillow and bracing himself with it, he slides his foot from between the two slimmer, delicate ones surrounding it. (And he knows if he ever, ever slips and mentions the word ‘delicate’ out loud in connection with any part of his lover he will have to endure at least a whole day’s worth of pouting before said pouter goes and rips off some demon heads to prove his manly manhood.) Now pulling his knees away from the sexy hollows of their bony counterparts, and just when did ‘bony knees’ become a sexy body part for him? Maybe when he discovered how sensitive they were to the little nibbles he gave them when they were pulled up beside his jaw, small love-bites coaxing that extra little whimper of sound out, the one that almost pushed him over the edge-every-single
-time he caused it.
Finally easing his tanned chest away from the contrastingly pale back, one nipple brushing lightly against a slightly protruding knob of the spine, making him suck in a quick, desperate breath and he almost, almost, groans out loud as his morning erection slips out from between the rounded globes it was snuggled so contentedly into. He’d probably withstand a fair amount of torture before admitting that the curve where back and hips flowed together and then became the top of that ass was his favorite part of the vampire’s body. Well, maybe at least some ‘threats’ of torture before he gives up the fact that when he’s flat on his back and being ridden like a fucking hobby horse with his hands gripping that spot so hard he leaves finger-shaped bruises, it makes him come so hard he usually sees nothing but white light for long, lovely moments. (Later when he sees the marks he always makes ‘sorry’ noises over them before being reassured that his marking is just proof of the irresistibility of his lover. Irresistible- ness apparently not big on the humility.) Coming to his feet and giving one more look at his lover lying so still and quiet on the light blue sheets, so damn tranquil that he hates to not be sharing it at that very instant, five dollar words notwithstanding, he continues to the next part of his morning ritual.
Cursing heatedly in his head over having to leave his lover to take care of the needs of his human body, the pissing, and teeth brushing, and shaving, and all the rituals that have to be done every day and had been done for years without a single thought. But now, after everything’s finally taken care of, now he can come out of the bathroom and pause at the foot of the bed, can see his lover is huddling into the warm spot he left in the bed and it’s almost worth the aggravation of having to leave just to be able to come back.
Because the best part of rainy mornings with their non-smelling rain drifting in the windows and creating of soft, laze-inducing music is the last part of the morning ritual. When he slips back into the bed and feels those strong arms gathering him close, and he sees those soft blue eyes beginning to heat and spark. Hears all the sweet words whispering between, from him to me to you, doesn’t matter. The very last part of the ritual that makes up for any and all of the rest. The part where he gets to do that slow sliding against Spike’s body all over again.