So, neither of these are scientifically classified as drabbles, as they don't fit the hundred word definition. Whatever, I say. Whatever. I'm going to open up the Pick-Me-Up Fest to ficlets as well. Because more Spander is more Spander.Disclaimer
: Neither Spike nor Xander belong to me. I make no profit off of them.
Title: Punk Duck Machine
Written For: Written For: Skuzzy's Spander Pick-Me-Up! Drabble Fest
1) In the fifth grade, Jesse and Xander discovered a way to permanently, and legally, skip gym: music class. The school allowed gym and music to be held at the same time, and any student who was musically inclined could fill out a nice pink form and get immediate, total absolution from dodgeball and running laps. Awesome. All you had to do was pick an instrument. And since Jesse's parents could afford it and Xander's (well, Xander) could not, Jesse got a brand new, gleaming chick magnet-- a guitar-- and Xander was stuck with whatever they had in the spare closet.
2) The oboe was long and oddly shaped, not really a flute, sort of like a sax without the, uh, sax. It was old, too. No one had cleaned it since at least the eighties. But when he picked it up and tried a note-- any note, he wasn't choosy-- the sound that came was loud and strong and kind of like a duck serenade. Jesse thought it was weird-sounding until he figured out how to play the familiar hook from “London Calling”. That's when he started calling it his “Punk Duck Machine”. Or PDM, for short.
3) Xander didn't really care about the oboe for a really long time. Jesse thought it was funny, and sometimes he would ask Xander if he could learn something-or-other so that he could hear the way it sounded coming out of the PDM. And Xander invariably would, playing out the first notes he could pick out before dropping the thing on Jesse's bed, giggling along with him. Everything sounded better through it, or more hilarious as the case may be. He never played it at home, always left it at Jesse's, and was always thankful that Jesse never asked why.
4) The day Jesse kissed him, he was trying to play something... something stupid, something by the Beatles, he couldn't remember what. But it didn't really matter, because the song was never there. He managed one note before Jesse laid a hand on his shoulder and made him turn his head, and there it was. Not his first kiss, but the first kiss to ever wake him up, turn him on, make him feel like he never wanted to stop. He remembers dropping the oboe to the blanket on the floor. Not much else, except the hand in his pants.
5) Spike found his oboe one day, stuffed in his closet, and after a night of slaying, running, and getting himself covered in goop, it was possibly the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen. God, all of a sudden, memories hit him like a brick to the back of the head. He took it out of its case and found it in need of a clean, but he grinned and dropped into bed, closing his eyes and playing the first notes of “London Calling”. Quirking an eyebrow, Spike stared for a while. Then dropped to the bed beside him.
Title: Erogie Leaves
Written For: Skuzzy's Spander Pick-Me-Up! Drabble Fest
“I bloody well despise you, Harris. Just fer yer fuckin' bad luck.”
“Yeah, I kinda despise me too.”
Tromping into Xander's apartment, the two of them immediately slammed the door and shucked off every article of clothing they had on, cursing and groaning as they freed themselves from the most unimaginable torment either of them had ever experienced. With a groan of relief, Xander stretched, his sweaty, nude form reaching for the ceiling. “God-Fucking-Damn
Yeah...” Spike gasped, falling lax against the cool, cool wall behind him, shaky palms sliding down his own thighs. “Fuck, Harris-- Red Erogie Leaves
“Yeah, well, how was I supposed to know they weren't just regular leaves? And, I mean, c'mon, it's not like I wanted
the fucking Burpie thing to toss us into a pile of them like ragdolls--”
“Burgelie. If ye hadn't called it 'Burpie', maybe it wouldn't've.”
“Jesus,” Xander hissed, his hands stroking over his own collarbone, fingernails dragging light little scratches over the skin on their own volition. He was hot-- like twenty degrees hotter than normal-- and his skin was red and sweat-slick and it felt so good to touch
-- “What does--”
“--Turns ye on.” Spike gasped, cutting him off, his legs parting a little as he slumped back against the wall, burgeoning erection framed between his hands as they prepared touch. “Heats ye up, makes ye want te burn yer clothes and fuck everything in sight. Overheats yer body if ye don't get off within the hour.”
“Awesome.” Xander gasped, only half sarcastic as he let his head fall back against the door. His cock felt like it was about to explode. “Where was this shit when I was in high school?” One hand wrapped around its base, and he made a sound-- a whine-- losing his breath.
“Jus-- Just don't look at me, an' I won't look at you, and we'll be fine.” Spike sighed, blissful as he began tugging himself off, eyes slowly blinking open to reveal...
… Oh, fuck
, what a sight.
He stared, his hand quickening to move in time with Harris', and he knew he was in trouble when the boy's eyes slid open and met his, pupils blowing wide and dark as if this was the best drug on the planet, and he was overdosing, and he didn't care.
A red leaf peeked out from his nest of dark curls.
“You've got a...” He reached out, closing in on Harris, plucking the leaf from his hair and letting it flutter to the floor.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
“That probably wasn't the best idea, was it?” Spike heard himself ask, throaty and slightly unhinged.
“Do me.” Xander growled breathlessly, pushing Spike back toward the bedroom.