sinandcinnamon | itty bitty spander kissing ficlet

Oh hey there. So the other day I was thinking and remembered writing this little bit of comment goodness, and realized that I was pretty sure I'd never actually posted it in my journal. And sure enough, I hadn't. Boo, me! Anyhow, here (with a teeny bit of polishing) is a wee bit of kissing I wrote for

margarks way back in October of last year. Enjoy!

They didn't kiss; that was the rule.

Well, that was the rule until the semantics of figuring out where to draw the line started interfering with blowjobs, and then the rule was that they didn't kiss on the mouth. That lasted for a long time, Spike's lips gliding whisper-soft over Xander's shoulders and neck, Spike yielding his own body to the biting urgency of Xander's mouth.

Months since they'd fallen into this unforseen thing between them, and they didn't talk, they didn't kiss: unspoken rules as unbending as stone. But it was getting harder. Xander got injured, sometimes, fighting all the evil that the Hellmouth drew, and on those nights, Spike would hold him down, brushing kisses around the pain, kisses that felt too tender, too fragile to exist. There were nights when their hunger for each other would not be sated, when sleep was sacrificed for long, lurid hours of devouring each other until their pants and cries took on sounds they should not, broken syllables that might have been words, might have been names, moaned phonemes that they both pretended not to hear. Because the rule was they didn't talk.

Couldn't talk, really, because trying to put this into words, trying to make it something rational and calm and well-defined was impossible; trying to do so could only end in disaster, and they had enough of that in their lives already. So they shaped silent words in each other's ears, hair, anywhere they could press their lips and keep those words hidden. Their mouths were always pressed to skin, addictive contact that skirted closer and closer to the one place they were forbidden, so that they rubbed their faces like cats while they fucked, cheek to cheek, mouth to cheek, closer... the corners of their lips daring to overlap, stolen kisses there that didn't count.

Xander's mouth was the first to break contact, gliding into place over Spike's so closely that he could almost feel it, so close that the heat of his skin and the whisper of his breath were like kisses in themselves. They both trembled at the proximity, yearning and afraid, exercising the entirety of their restraint in staying just so.

"Spike," Xander said, and the name was so hoarse and broken falling from his lips, but it felt like rain, felt like succor. His mouth opened again, but either words or courage had deserted him, and he just licked his lips and closed them again, eyes burning with something Spike couldn't decipher. He'd broken the rules, and now neither of them knew what to happen next.

Spike closed his eyes, whispered, "Xander," and closed the distance between them, taking Xander in a deep and passionate kiss, claiming his mouth with all the pent-up emotions they'd been so careful not to show, sending all the stone between and around them tumbling down, irreparable. Xander opened immediately, eagerly, moaning into it and pulling Spike closer, the taste of him sweeter for the waiting.

They had never really been big on obeying the rules anyway.