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Make Believe	By : WhiskeyMeteor Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Slash - Male/Male > Andrew/Spike(William) > Andrew/Spike(William) Views: 2560 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Make Believe
- 1
Title: Make Believe
Author: Whiskey Meteor
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Spike spends some quality time with Andrew�s oven mitts. Andrew watches.
Disclaimer: Everything BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon.
Notes: Set some time in season 7, around the time when the funnel cake was kicking Andrew�s ass.

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Spike hid in the shadows, out of sight. He was lurking, waiting for the right moment to pounce on his prey. The victim was beautiful, enticing, and warm...
Spike�s stomach growled loudly, giving him away.
Andrew swiveled around from his place by the stove, pointing an accusing oven mitt covered finger at the vampire. "Don�t even *think* about stealing my cake," he warned.
Spike frowned and glanced from Andrew to the cake, his intended victim, sitting on a metal cooling rack on the counter. "I wasn�t thinkin� about stealin� it," Spike muttered. It was true. He hadn�t been thinking about stealing it. He�d been thinking about *eating* it.
After pulling the oven mitts off of hinds nds and placing them on the top of the stove, Andrew turned back to glare at Spike, "I�m going back to the front room to finish watching my movie now," he said. "The cake will be cool in half an hour, and when I come back to ice it, it better still be here." Andrew gave Spike a final glare before turning on his heel and marching out of the kitchen.
When he was alone, Spike snorted. Who did Andrew think he was, threatening the big bad? ~Well, okay,~ Spike thought, ~Former big bad.... but still.~ He crossed the kitchen in a few easy strides and reached for the cooling cake. "Just �cause a bloke�s got a soul, doesn�t mean he- ow!" Spike hissed and pulled his hands away, the cake having burned his fingers. "Right," he glared at the cake, "Now it�s personal." He reached over and grabbed one of the oven mitts off the top of the oven. Holding the mitt in his hand, Spike reached back towards the cake... and then stopped. The oven mitt was still warm from sitting on top of the stove... His victim forgotten, Spike cocked his head to the side curiously and slipped the oven mitt onto his hand. He drew in a sudden, unneeded breath. The fabric around his hand was warm, but not from having sat on the top of the oven. It was Andrew�s warmth, the heat from his body, and it shimmered around Spike�s hand like he�d dipped it into a hot bath. He shivered with pleasure, and after casting a furtive glance around the kitchen to ensure he was still alone, Spike raised his oven mitt covered hand and stroked it over his face. He sighed. How long had it been since he�d pressed his cool face against the warmth of a living body? Too long. Granted, this wasn�t a *real* living body. But as the saying goes, beggars can�t be choosers. After another furtive glance around the room, the vampire snatched the other mitt off the stove. He turned on his heel and disappeared swiftly downstairs, making sure to pull the door closed behind him.

* * * * *

Hearing the downstairs door close heavily, Andrew sighed and rose from the couch. He stalked into the kitchen, certain that he would find his cake either gone or ruined, but... The cake sat undisturbed on the counter where Andrew had left it. He frowned curiously. He�d been listening for the door to close, and Spike had been in the kitchen for almost a whole five minutes, plenty of time to make some kind of mischief. But the cake finefine. Andrew cocked his head to the side- what had Spike been doing? Crossing silently to the downstairs door, he pressed his ear up against it and listened curiously. Hearing nothing, he glanced around the kitchen to ensure that he was alone, and then cracked the door open as quietly as he could.

* * * * *

Spike sat down on his cot, and pressed his oven mitt clad hands to his chest. His skin was separated from the seductive warmth only by the thin cloth of his tee shirt, and yet he longed for closer contact. He was a vampire, cool both figuratively and literally, and the sensation of warmth on his skin was a rare treat and certainly cause for... excitement. ~You are a sad, sad man,~ he thought, ~Gettin� off on warm oven mitts- Freud�d have a field day with you.~ Spike shrugged, chalking his apparent weakness up to �the soul�, and told himself to indulge. ~Besides,~ he thought, breaking into a wicked smile, ~You didn�t eat Andrew�s cake. The *least* you can do is defile his precious oven mitts.~ He hastily peeled off his shirt and tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor.

* * * * *

Andrew nudged the door open, and crept inside, kneeling down on the top landing and looking around the basement silently. He spied the vampire, sitting on his cot, *shirtless* and... Andrew narrowed his eyes. Spike was wearing the oven mitts. He was wearing the oven mitts, and sitting, shirtless, on his cot. He appeared to be deep in thought. Andrew bit his lip, and couched closer to the floor, lest the vampire should see him. Andrew�s spidey sense was tingling. Something interesting was going to happen He could just feel it.

* * * * *

Spike closed his eyes, stretched his neck from one side to the other, and then pressed his oven mitted hands up against his chest. He gasped, pleasantly shocked by the juxtaposition of the soft warmth against the cool hardness of his naked chest. Tentatively he stroked himself, running quilted material against smooth skin, smiling devilishly as nipples were teased into hard sensitive nubs. Letting one hand stay playing across his chest, Spike let the other wander down, rubbing against the fabric of his jeans and building heat with friction. Delicious friction, warm and soft over the growing hardness at his groin. Eyes still pressed closed, and lips parted, panting unnecessarily, he popped open the top button on his jeans, and slowly zipped down the fly.

* * * * *

Andrew�s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. He was quite certain that oven mitts weren�t intended to be used the way Spike was using them.... and yet.... Andrew cocked his head to the side wistfully, wondering if it was bad to be jealous of a pair of oven mitts.

* * * * *

Spike�s unneeded breath was coming in shallow gasps, due to the friction of warm quilted cloth rubbing roughly against cool, hard cock. With each shallow pant he breathed in the myriad of tantalizing scents that clung to the oven mitts on his hands. There was vanilla and something sweet and spicy that he couldn�t quite place, and threading it all together was something warm and human, and undeny Any Andrew. He spread the scent across his skin, over his chest, and from the base to the weeping tip of his dick. With every unneeded breath he took, Andrew�s scent grew stronger until it hung so thick in his nostrils that he could almost taste it. He stroked his length languidly, the friction of cloth on skin becoming almost painful, and let Andrew�s aroma wash over him. His mind slipped away into a pleasure place, and the hands on his body became Andrew�s. Warm and soft, touching and teasing in all the right places, making his hips buck up to thrust hungrily into a hot, tight fist.

* * * * *

Andrew stared, slack jawed, at the vampire on the cot. The scene was almost comical. Spike, body pale and fluid like a ghost, with his back arched and his head thrown back, lips parted and panting for unneeded breath, thrusting madly into an oven mitt covered fist. The vampire gave a low growl borne of pleasure and, once again Andrew felt a pang of jealousy towards the oven mitts. The look of ecstasy on Spike�s face was like a tease to Andrew; begging him to join in, to be part of that pleasure. He gulped and closed his eyes, and tentatively reached down to free himself from his pants. Andrew bit his lip to silence a moan as he grasped his cock firmly in his hand, cool from resting on the floor. Cool, he imagined easily, as a certain vampire�s hand might be. Prying his eyes open, he gazed down at Spike, mirroring his movements and thrusting into his hand in time with the vampire in the basement below him, all the while biting his lip to keep silent.

* * * * *

Spike felt himself drawing close to release and, rolling his head to the side he breathed in deep breaths, letting Andrew�s scent wash over him again. It seemed stronger and different somehow, mingled with fear, and arousal.... Spike stilled his hand for a moment, listening, poised like a cat catching the scent of its prey. Blood. He smelled blood. Andrew�s blood, and it was fresh and near and carried with it the same delicious perfume of fear and excitement- and that could only mean that Spike wasn�t alone in the basement. Eyes still pressed closed, the vampire smiled wickedly and lifted his head to cast a blind gaze on where he sensed the boy was hiding. Andrew wanted a show? Well, he was gonna get one. For fear that he would rub himself raw before he came, Spike released his cock and shrugged the oven mitt off. Still playing the other mitt covered hand over his chest, he reclaimed his length with the bare hand, gently slicking the cool liquid leaking from the tip down to the base, soothing the chafed skin. Inhaling deeply, he could taste Andrew�s excitement. It was intoxicating.

* * * * *

Andrew could barely contain himself. Although the vampire�s eyes were closed, he was looking straight at him. Andrew heaved shaky breaths, stroking himself earnestly, tracing a circle around the tip with his thumb and then sliding his grip back down to the base. The original coolness of his hand had been lost, exchanged for the warmth of prec fri friction, and he�d given up mirroring the other man�s movements to focus on simply watching his face. Even though Spike�s eyes were closed, Andrew felt he was watching, and the feeling that he was included somehow in that look of sardonic delight on the vampires face, pushed him over the edge. He bit hard into his lip to keep himself from crying out, knowing that he�d already broken the skin, but not caring in the least. And then he came, shuddering and choking back an enraptured scream.

* * * * *

Spike�s back arched and his hips bucked forward to meet the now frantic strokes of his hand. He was imagining Andrew watching him, desperate to meet his stare as he came, wondering how his face would twist in the ecstasy of release- Spike growled again, low in his throat, and it rose and spilled from between his lips as his cold seed spilled out over his hand and onto the basement floor. After a moment, panting until he�d regained his composure, Spike smiled smugly. Stroking himself lazily, he opened his eyes.

Andrew was gone.

The landing where Spike knew the boy had been hiding was dark and empty. He stilled his hand somewhat disappointedly, and frowned. Then rising from his cot, tucking himself back into his jeans, and dropping the other oven mitt beside the its mate on the floor, he crept silently up the stairs and paused on the landing to press his ear up against the door. He could hear Andrew�s breathing, deep and ragged, on the other side. He raised his hand to rest on the door knob, ready to open the door and... and... ~And what?~ he asked himself... ~Bite him? Drag him back downstairs with you? ...Apologize for knicking his oven mitts?~ After deliberating for a long moment, Spike turned and sat with his bare back leaning on the door. He had no feelings for the boy besides mild irritation and a bit of blood lust, so there was nothing that needed to be said. It looked like Andrew was going to pretend that nothing had happened, and Spike was fine with that. He�d wait until the boy left the kitchen, and then he�d return the oven mitts.
...And then he�d steal the cake.

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The end.
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Make Believe