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Here's Your Heinken	By : mcee Category: > Spike(William)/Xander > Spike(William)/Xander Views: 2396 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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He's late he's late he's not here it's been twenty minutes he doesn't take my threats seriously the little shit we could leave without him like I told him we would that'd teach him a lesson it would but I can't do it and he knows it I wish I hadn't slept next to him last night the little shit he knows better he shouldn't have I shouldn't have how long can I keep doing this that little shit--

"Xander?"

"Ugh." I grind my head against the hard surface behind me and try to put a stop to the alarmingly psychotic train of thought blasting through my brain. I swallow hard, eyes closed. "What."

"Doesn't quite feel like I have your full attention," he comments casually, and I thank the lord there isn't a trace of resentment in his voice.

I sigh and look down at him, feeling like hell. "I'm sorry, Oz, man. Maybe we shouldn't..." I begin to move, but he clamps both hands on my hips and leans me against the wall again. I'm too tired to fight it, and besides his mouth on my dick feels really, really good. I close my eyes again, and try to let the tension drain out of my shoulders.

Oz gives the best sympathy blowjobs. You wouldn't think so just by looking at him, but the bastard knows how to give head.

So much so that after a moment I actually forget - albeit temporarily - about my rockstar problems and the fact that I wish it was somebody else's mouth on me, and give in to the telltale sizzling taking root in my gut. Ooh yeah. Right there. Fuck. Harder. I lean in over him with a grunt and reach out to prop my hand against the opposite wall. Thank god for minuscule bus layouts. My free hand goes to his head, tangling in the chemically-abused jet black hair with very little gentleness. That's not what it's about.

Oz was already in here when I climbed in fifteen minutes ago, and I could tell by his discreet yet unmistakable expression that I looked like shit - more than usual. Shoving Spike into the pool had put a little colour back in my cheeks, but the moment had since passed, and I was left with a festering little resentment toward the cruel, unkind world in general. Proof of that was that everyone else, crew and other band members alike, had fled to the second bus upon seeing me and the black cloud that was surely hovering over my head as I made my way out of the hotel lobby. Yeah, get away from me. Fuckers.

But Oz, with his characteristic calm, had simply observed me as I'd barked random nastiness at our driver and sulked past him and into the tiny room at the back of the bus, which Spike and/or I usually used as a napping area. Being the cunning little dude he was, he'd immediately recognised the mood as well as the reason behind it, and had quietly followed me in, closing the door behind us. A faint protest (utterly lacking in conviction) later, I had my pants open and a studded tongue lapping expertly at a decidedly frustrated, permanently semi-hard cock. Goddammit.

And he's this close to getting the deed done, now, when the door to the room swings open and Spike squeezes by us with a mere look over his shoulder.

"Don't mind me, looks like you've got a good rhythm going."

I spit something back at him, and he just flops on the bed, throwing his carry-on on the dresser, going for the subtler I'm-here-look-at-me way of bothering me. Oz sits back on his heels, looking at Spike, then at me, clearly wondering if he should go on.

"Son of a bitch." With gritted teeth I fumble for the lock of the tiny 'facility' next to me and stumble backward into it, dragging Oz with me.

Bastard doesn't get to watch.

Moments later I come in Oz's mouth, swearing as I do so. I feel bad for Oz; I'm a lousy lay when I'm pissed. But he just gets up and smiles at me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He's wearing one of our older shirts, black with faded letters spelling out "COMEHITHER - FALL '08", and I find it in me to smirk at the picture we make.

"So this is rock n' roll, huh?" I ask breathlessly, amused.

"Yeah. Wanna go do some cocaine?"

"Ha ha." I shove at his shoulder, hard, and he squeezes past me and gets out, chuckling.

I zip up and wash up, peering grudgingly at my reflection. The bus' engine is running. I can't stay in here forever. Well I could, but I'm getting distinctly claustrophobic. Gah. I kick open the thin wood-panelled door and get out, lingering for a moment to look at Spike.

He's standing by the bed, his back to me, pulling his shirt over his head and grabbing a new one from his bag, hair still mussed and humid from the pool. His leather pants fall nicely on his scrawny legs, and hug his ass like a second skin. But he doesn't notice me, and I bite back another curse before joining Oz in front.

Fucking oblivious. Why do I bother.

* * *

He comes out about an hour and a half later, just when the rest of us have settled into a comfortable on-the-road atmosphere, with Oz noodling on an unplugged electric and me going over some tour manager type stuff at the tiny table. I hear the squeak of the door and his skinny hip brushes past me on his way to the couch. He flops down bonelessly next to Oz and throws a limp arm around his bandmate's neck. Oz keeps on playing, watching us.

"So Dayton, huh?" Spike asks, bored, lifting his butt off the couch to retrieve his pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

I punch numbers in my litcalccalculator, jotting down merch sale totals in my little grid. "Yup. Dayton. Then Cleveland."

He whines. "Cleveland? Weren't we in Cleveland a few months ago?"

"Cincinnati." Jot, calculate, jot. Yup. Keeping myself busy. Being the bigger man and not letting emotions mar our everyday banter. La la la.

"Oh. Right. We stayed in that hotel Judy G croaked in."

Of course he remembers the morbid detail. Better than remembering who he banged at said hotel, I guess.

"Yup. Vernon Manor. They would appreciate if we didn't grace them with our illustrious presence again, by the way."

"Hey, not my fault the bedspreads were so flammable."

I shake my head and look down at my paperwork again to hide the fond smile betraying my cool, somewhat stand-offish exterior.

Here we go again.
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