He heard Spike move, then, "Mind if I just watch?"

Xander slid the popsicle down his chest until it hit the tips of Spike's fingers where they splayed on his belly. "Yes. I mind." He held up the popsicle, which had melted on its journey to tiny grape slivers that even now did their best to slide off the stick. "No watching. More popsicle."

"What about licking?" Spike did something obscene with his tongue.

"Muhg," Xander said. The licking stopped.

"Was that a 'yes' muhg, or a 'get away from me you fiend' muhg?"

Xander glared. "If you don't start applying popsicles to my body in preparation for having sex, I'm going to lock you in the fridge." Which, actually, would work as well as the freezer, for subsequent Xander-cooling. And Spike might actually *fit*... No. This was a bad idea. It had to be. Right?

Spike shook his head, though he was already moving away, towards the freezer. "Nah. You wouldn't. Least you wouldn't lock it. I'd be cooler than you, and you wouldn't get to enjoy it."

"Shut up." The universal euphemism for 'you're right, and I hate you.' "Blue raspberry."

"Why d'you care - not like you're tasting 'em." Spike returned with a paper-wrapped popsicle, however, and ripped the wrapper off with his teeth, to reveal a bright electric blue.

"I wanna see your lips turn blue."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "You're saying... I should eat this...make my mouth cold...then make you go 'eep' again?"

"See, this is why I like you. It's your grasp of the duh." Xander sighed. "I'm *hot*," he whined. Watching Spike hold a popsicle was doing *nothing* for his incipient meltdown.

"I could hold you in front of the freezer, I suppose," Spike said, frowning. "Would be hard to fuck you, though."

There was something to be said for the power of Xander's imagination - and his firsthand knowledge of Spike's ingenuity when it came to finding new places and ways to have sex. It actually distracted Xander for the heat for about ten seconds, to figure out whether he could possibly clear out the shelves of the fridge, crawl in *himself*, and get fucked.

But no, not with a non-removable vegetable crisper. "You'll be sorry when I melt, and you have nobody left to whap your brain back into place when it gets stuck on slow," Xander threatened.

Spike blinked, and looked confused. "I'm *trying* to cool you down, so I can fuck you. Er -- here." He pushed the popsicle underneath Xander's cock, above his balls.

Xander yelped, started to leap off the table, then Spike removed the popsicle. Before he could tell Spike just how exactly he was going to kill him -- next winter -- he realized his cock felt good. Not happy, good. But - not hot good.

Spike then put the popsicle in his mouth, and Xander blinked - and stared. Spike was sucking on the popsicle like he was having sex with it. Those soft, wicked lips that always stayed far, far too red for somebody with no circulation, wrapped tightly around the blue spear of ice, and Spike's eyes slowly narrowed to slits. The way they did sometimes when his lips were wrapped around Xander's cock, and Xander would reach down and trail his fingers in Spike's hair, grabbing scrunched curls and holding on for dear life.

It was like watching Spike have sex with somebody *else*, and Xander had a momentary urge to haul off and sock that popsicle right on the chin. Instead, Xander opened his legs a bit, and gave Spike that look that said 'hello, naked here.'

Spike raised an eyebrow, and the popsicle slid out of his mouth slowly. Then he lowered it, and brushed it up and down the length of Xander's cock. Which made Xander blink. Since when was his cock being a length? He was too hot and miserable to have an erection. So he'd thought.

Made him wonder if it *would* turn him on to see Spike fucking somebody else. With his permission. In front of him. While he watched, and didn't touch. For at least thirty seconds anyway. Again, with the urge to punch somebody, except this time it was some-imaginary-body, which was probably still saner than wanting to deck an icy-pop. But his cock was still hard. Harder, maybe, but that was something he could spend time denying when he had the brainpower to devote to it. When there wasn't a rapidly melting popsicle coming back for another pass.

It was a not-so-slow cycle. Popsicle to mouth, all the melty drips sucked off, then popsicle to cock and balls, and everything made cold and blue and sticky. Then back to mouth, and Xander couldn't not stare, and there was probably something weird about it - kinky, at least, in ways he was sure he ought to pretend he didn't know anything about, in polite company. But he probably couldn't tell polite company that his popsicle wielding kinky boyfriend was a vampire. So - what problem was that.

The problem was that the popsicle was making his cock cold - which was making him not so hard, but the popsicle sucking was making him hard, but then he got hot again. Apparently Spike's real plan was to torture him.

"You're evil," he pointed out, as the popsicle, much thinner now, traced a line up the underside of his cock. He managed to say it without his voice shaking, too.

Spike looked at him like he was worried about heatstroke again. "Uh.... yeah?"

"And your lips are blue."

"Yeees," Spike said, leadingly. As though they weren't blue just because Xander had *asked* him to make them blue. Which he had. But - Xander's brain had melted, so he was excused from thinking.

"Can you put them on my cock and see how--" and suddenly he didn't have to finish his sentence.

It was a good thing, too, because Spike's cold mouth on his cock made it very, very hard. To think. Blue lips, sucking at him. Cool tongue rasping over his skin like a soft wet living thing with a mind of its own. Tiny sliver of popsicle ice being rubbed slowly over the space behind his balls. Think? Who? What? Could you get coldstroke?

Xander moaned, and decided he was glad Spike hadn't gone away when Xander had told him too. His cock was happy, too, at least until the cold mouth started warming up. Xander waited as long as he could, then he thumped Spike lightly on the head and whimpered. "Hot."

Spike looked up at him, eyes wide open now, and grinned around his cock, and yes, he *did* look hot, and yes, Xander could hear the 'Thank you' gag coming a mile away, and he whapped Spike again, in advance. Or in prevention. Then there was nothing around his cock but hot sticky air, and vampire speed was zooming to the freezer and back before Xander could even work up a good reason to complain.

Orange popsicle, this time, and Spike's mouth on it again. There had to be a law against torturing your boyfriend when the heat index was over a hundred. Yet another good reason to wait til winter for his revenge. Then Spike bent down, and Xander prepared for the cycle to start again - except it didn't. This time, those torturing lips traveled somewhere else entirely. Xander shivered as Spike sucked one of his balls into that wonderful cool mouth.

He gasped again, a happy, don't ever let this end gasp. But it did, and his back was sticking to the table. He started to whine again, wanting to stand up for just a second, then there was something very, very, very cold right where nothing cold had ever been before.

And god, it felt good. He shivered, and suddenly - for a brief moment - he was cool, all over. Then the cold became very much more intimate with his body than popsicles were ever supposed to be, and Xander yelped. He didn't move -- because it felt good, because it was cold, and parts of his body were beginning to admit they might actually speak to him again.

"Unnngh..." he said conversationally. To those parts. Or possibly to Spike.

Spike looked up at him, and he could swear there was actual concern on that face, existing simultaneously with evilsexygrin, because Spike was impossible in more senses of the word than Xander could count on a day when his counting functions *hadn't* melted away or possibly been left stuck to the naugahyde couch like most of the skin on his ass. Probably.

"Okay?" Spike asked, and the popsicle was still and cold and good.

"Mur-wuh," Xander said, distinctly. He realized he didn't actually know what he meant by any of it, nor did he know if he wanted to succumb to the last remaining brain cell which said 'isn't this a little weird?' and ask Spike to back off, or if he wanted to show that last remaining brain cell that, weird or not, it was *cold*. He suspected that one brain cell was going to die or be converted by Spike, sooner or later, so he didn't bother.

"You know, I speak four...well, five..er..six--- a lot of demon languages, plus I can get my face slapped in Latin, French, and Inuit -- don't ask -- and I don't think I ever heard that word before. What's it mean?"

"Shut up."

"Really? What language?"

Xander growled at him.

Spike grinned. "Oh? Why the hell didn't you say so?" He moved the popsicle, just a little.

Xander's mouth had dropped open, probably so he could say something like 'stop being a jerk and fuck me.' But parts of his body were taking over more and more of his attention. For instance, there was a spot on his leg which was telling him that there was a Spike pressed along the inside of it, and he could, if he wanted, wrap his leg *around* Spike.

This was normally a good thing, when they were having sex, so Xander wrapped his leg around Spike's waist. This pushed him a little closer, which made the popsicle slide in farther and made Xander yelp again. Probably because it was cold, Xander told himself. Cold, where no cold had ever gone before, and..."Uuuuurga!"

His eyes were rolling into his skull. That meant he couldn't see Spike's expression -- smug, turned on, most likely both.

There was cold, and there were hands, which weren't quite cold, but not warm, and god, like he cared anymore and they were sliding up and down his legs, tickling the skin of his inner thigh, and where did Spike get that many hands, if one of them was holding the popsicle? Had he invited somebody else in here to touch Xander while Spike fucked him with a popsicle? Did Xander care about that either, at this point? Or was Spike just using that vampire super-speed thing to *seem* like he had more hands than Ollie the Octopus?

And why was Xander thinking about it, instead of letting his brain shut down completely and let Xander do useful things like scream and moan and make Spike unable to do anything but fuck him? Even if he already was? He tried again with the mouth-opening thing, and got as far as panting real loud before giving that up for lost.

Not entirely lost, he discovered a second later, when very wonderful deliciously cold lips were pressed against his and he could taste raspberry and sugar and Spike and the fact that Spike's not-cold body was pressed over him didn't really matter anymore.

It was kind of like drinking a raspberry slushy that could kiss, which was something Xander really thought would be worth marketing -- he'd head down to the 7-11 a hell of a lot more if they had those. Especially if they could also do that thing Spike was doing with his hips, that made his not-cold cock rub against Xander's not-cold-anymore-cock in a not at all cold but definitely amazing way. Probably that was a little advanced for the current state of slushee technology.

"Muh," he said, rather than 'go buy me a slushee.' He said it in three pieces, in between three or four or possibly nine kisses.

Spike just nodded, understanding that it meant 'more,' no doubt because *he* wanted more, and Xander wasn't shoving him across the room so anything that wasn't expressly 'wait, try it this way' usually meant 'more.' More, in this instance, meant more Spike's cold blue lips -- after a fresh application of popsicle -- and more Spike's hands on Xander's hips, and more Spike's cock up against Xander's, and more popsicle...well, just more.

Somewhere in there it occurred to Xander that the *other* popsicle must be melted right now, and right after that it occurred to him that Spike must know that, since there wasn't a popsicle stick in an inconvenient place right now, and then Spike slid a hand up and touched the slushee-lips-popsicle to Xander's nipple and Xander forgot how to multiply four by seven. That particular braincell -- which he'd thought had melted anyway but apparently not -- just spontaneously combusted, and if he lived long enough to hit 28 he'd probably be in trouble. Not that he cared.

Especially when popsicle was followed by slushee-lips sucking where the popsicle had just been, leaving Xander to bury sticky fingers in Spike's hair and realize that yes, he *did* have the energy to buck his hips up against Spike's. How neat. He tried it again, and was pleased to discover that his body didn't hate him for moving.

He was contemplating a third time, when something cold was pressed into the Spike's-cock-Xander's-cock ensemble. His gasp was swallowed by Spike's mouth, and a cold hand was holding the three eerily-compatible lengths together, and rubbing.

"Spiiiiiike!" he shouted, surprised he was able to form that many consonants.

"Mmmmph?" Apparently he was doing a better job than Spike, who mumbled and murphled into his mouth and narrowed his eyes to pleased, possibly braindead, slits.

Xander slid the *other* leg around Spike's waist, and pressed them -- and the popsicle, which really should have a name, considering how intimately it was being invited to share their relationship -- closer together. "Guhhhhh," he added for good measure.

"Guuuhhh," Spike replied, nodding his head in a brief moment in between kisses. Things were growing warm, now -- mouths and hands and body parts everywhere -- but Xander didn't care. There were still two parts of him which were cold, and those two parts were in charge.

Xander tried bucking against Spike again, and felt the kitchen table creak and shift. He didn't stop moving, because Spike was the one with vampiric strength and reflexes, and it was his job to prevent lethal accidents to their sex-life. Spike bucked back against him, rubbing their hips together, rubbing their lips together, smearing the whole of them into one happy, sweet, sticky pile of movement.

If Xander could taste with his skin -- and he wasn't sure he couldn't, at this point -- he'd say this was raspberry slushy flavored sex. At the very least, it was the next best thing to having sex *in* a slushee, and he really shouldn't think things like that because a) Spike would want to do it, and b) *he* would want to do it and c) they'd never be able to set foot in 7-11 again. Someday he'd have to buy a slushee machine so they could do it in private.

Suddenly Spike slammed down on him again, as though someone had slid a popsicle in *his* ass -- which, good idea if there were any left -- and began rubbing against Xander like he was about to come. Xander held on, knowing that if he rode it out, Spike's thrusting would probably send him off into orgasm-land, as well.

Spike moved faster, and faster still, and just when Xander thought he was going to come or possibly slip off the table, Spike did slide down. And down and down and mouth where Spike's cock had been rubbing, sucking on *it* like it was a popsicle. And there went Xander. He shouted, and the world became sensations of cold, and hot, and Spike. He came, hard, and he felt the table tilting, or it might just have been his brain.

Probably was his brain, because when he was breathing and being licked and his eyes were open, he was still lying on the kitchen table and the table was still upright. He blinked lazily at Spike, then glanced down the length of his body to where Spike now crouched between his legs. "Uh. You?"

Spike looked up from the licking of the happy floppy Xander parts. "Yeah? Me Spike. You sticky."

Xander shook his head. "No, you with the..." He had the feeling Spike was currently licking up the braincells for complete sentences and the rest of the multiplication tables. "Sticky?" he finally said, and pointed off the edge of the table towards where Spike's not yet happy not yet floppy parts should be hiding.

Spike grinned. "Missed that, did you?"

"Can you do it again?"

The grin got wider. "Can. But have to get dressed, first."

Xander stared at his boyfriend, trying to figure out exactly *how* that made any sense, even in Spike-logic. He listened to his brain clunk in circles until finally realizing that it was useless. "Huh?"

"Need to buy more popsicles."

Oh. That made sense. Except that would mean Spike had to leave. And then Xander would get all -- awww, fuck. Xander was already getting all. He moaned sadly.

"What?" Spike stood up. "Don't *have* to get dressed. Could go get more popsicles naked, I suppose."

Xander moaned again.

Spike frowned. "I didn't break you, did I? Damn, I knew I should've grabbed a pillow or something. Tabletop's too damn hard."

"Spiiiike..."

"What?"

"I'm *h-o-t*."

Spike blinked. "Er -- am I allowed to be touching you? Because I think I'm stuck to bits of you...." He pressed one hand against Xander's hip which was, indeed, sticky.

"I'm *hot*," Xander whined again. Because he was. Post-orgasmic bliss had vanished into the same mind-numbing, kill-me-now-and-let-me-go-to-hell-where-it's-cool, heat. Maybe if he took his skin off? He realized Spike wasn't saying anything, and he moved his head just slightly enough he could glare at his boyfriend, if it proved necessary. "What?"

"I--" Spike was staring down, away from Xander's eyes, and looking uncomfortable. Huh. Maybe he was hot, now, too.

"You what? Have a popsicle hidden somewhere that you forgot to tell me about? You want to try that thing where I stuff you in the freezer, after all?" Xander blinked at his even-more-uncomfortable-looking vampire, and had a tiny stupid moment of Oh-yeah-I'm-the-guy-that-moved-two-hours-away-from-friends-and-family-for-*you* insecurity. "You realized this is all a terrible mistake, you came over to dump me, and when you saw me all hot and miserable you decided a final pity-fuck was in order?"

Spike's eyes widened. "Do what, now?"

Xander inclined his head. "Ok, so, evil. You don't do pity. Point taken. You saw me naked and couldn't resist."

"Well, that much is true."

"And now you're gonna sneak off for popsicles and never come back?" Xander was mostly kidding, but he managed to put enough lip-quiver into it that he thought maybe Spike couldn't be sure of that.

"No! I -- Aww, hell." Spike shut his mouth and looked about as uncomfortable as a vampire could look without actually being on fire. Which given the current temperature, probably wasn't that hard for him to imagine.

"What?"

"I--" Spike looked around quickly, then blurted out, "I hate your flat."

Xander blinked. Was tempted to crane his head around, looking at his flat, to see if it had morphed into something new and different and worse than the apartment he'd been staying in for two months now. "Uh, Spike? I hate it, too. But normally I just yell at it. I don't come over and fuck myself with a popsicle then look guilty."

He could see Spike's eyes drift as he said 'fuck myself', but he waited patiently until he had Spike's attention again.

Spike shook his head, briefly, then said, "Yeah. That's part of it, too."

"Still not really making sense, here. So - you hate my place. I hate my place. We both like popsicles in ways man was not meant to know. Why the sad face?"

"I'm not-- I mean." Spike shrugged his shoulders, then said in a rush, "Iwantedtonkowifyouwouldmoveinwithme."

Xander blinked. "You wanted to know if I'd go live in a tree?" Then human hearing caught up with vampiric superspeed mumbling. "You want me to--"

"Yeah, treehouse. What d'you think?" Spike said quickly. "Nice, up there with a cool breeze blowing through the windows..."

"Right up next to the big bright sun, with a million little sharp boyfriend-slaying implements of death around to make sure I get plenty of undisturbed rest, and did you just ask me to move in with you?"

Spike nodded. He looked like he half-expected Xander to shove him out the front door and tell him never to return.

"Spike, you're a moron." Xander sat up, and began wondering if he wanted to pack, or just burn the place down and make Spike steal money to buy him all new stuff. Or -- living in Angel's hotel, maybe *Angel* would bankroll it. Not because he liked Xander, but because it would keep Spike happy? OK, more likely Xander's brain was still a puddle in the living room.

He realized Spike was still waiting for an answer -- and he was still looking like he really *didn't* know the answer. Xander stopped, and kissed him.

"Muh?"

"Yeah, muh. Duh."

Spike blinked at him, somewhat suspiciously. "Was that a yes?"

"Of course it was a-- " Xander paused a moment, as pre-brain-melting conversation worked its way back into his memory. Like questions Spike wouldn't answer about why he was here and not out busting ghosts tonight. He glared suspiciously right back at Spike. "Spike, did you come over here in the first place to ask me to move in with you?"

"No! Yes. Maybe." Spike would probably have his hands in his pockets and be looking at the floor, if he were wearing any pockets. "No." He almost sounded firm that time.

"No?" Xander pushed him away. Hot. Sticky. Confused.

"Came over to take you out to dinner, *then* ask if you'd move in with me."

Xander reached out to pull him close again. "Oh." Then pushed him away. "Jerk!"

"Um. I did break you, didn't I."

"No! You came over to take me to dinner and ask me to move in with you and I'm still *here*? You let me be all hot and sweaty and dying instead of taking me away from all this?"

Spike pointed, helplessly. "You were naked!"

There really wasn't anything he could say to that. Except, "Go pack my stuff."

the end