Rating: R to NC17
Disclaimer: Cannon? What cannon? Realism? That's an art thing, to do with paintings or something, right? Gratuitous exploitation of characters who aren't mine? Oh yeah, got that covered.
Summary: This is a completely unbeta'd plot bunny written for nothing but the giggle factor.
It had taken Spike a good five minutes to figure out what the damn scent that’d been driving him mad was. When he finally did there was only one real thought; Harris was one randy sod. The whelp was currently half hidden behind the pommel horse in the training room, purportedly cleaning an axe that had borne the brunt of a Slayer with a broken nail and a demon covered in slime, but mostly eyeing said Slayer whenever she wasn’t looking and thinking those lustful thoughts of his loud enough Spike could just about hear them across the room.
To be the fair the bloke hadn’t gotten his leg over since his demon had flown the coop. Feeling charitable, he decided to keep his mouth shut, just in time for a round house kick to the ribs. Serves him right for not paying attention when he was sparring.
He was feeling far less charitable when he was laid up next to the witches on the stairs to the upper level of the magic box, trying very hard not to bleed on the watcher’s precious floor. Sodding Borlox demon and its bloody retractable spines. How was he supposed to know some of the females developed them as well? Never seen it happen before, had he?
Then Harris had come waltzing in without a thought between his Dumbo ears. Goofy took one look at the two witches sitting beside him whispering all sorts of things they thought Spike couldn’t hear and suddenly the boy was pumping that scent out like it’s going out of sodding fashion. You would have thought the Whelp would show a bit of restraint when a fellow… well not really a fellow Scooby – what about comrade? Bloke who hangs out occasionally for the blood and the dosh?- a fellow whatever is clearly in pain. But no, there he goes, stinking to high heaven.
And it was obvious the recent bloodshed and general violence had tightened his jeans just a touch too much for comfort and he was only just noticing it now, because there’s no way in hell anything else had caused it.
When it happened again on patrol and Spike began seriously considering buying the boy a porn magazine or something. Because was the boy really lusting over a Maroi? Granted he understood the appeal, if you ignored the fatal spit and the tail and the fact that they look a bit like a bird from the waist down… from the waist up they were all pretty well stacked. Huh, maybe Harris wasn't as far off the mark with that one as he’d thought. But still, you’d think the boy learnt his lesson about messing around with the demon ladies. Never seems to end well for him.
Next time, Spike was sprawled on the Watcher’s couch under the guise of helping the old man out with some research project or another – he hadn’t really paid much attention past the promise of Miss Piggy-to-go. He didn’t even know why Harris was there; boy didn’t seem to be researching, or doing anything that could even be misconstrued as helpful. He was just sitting there, munching on some mostly-synthetic sponge concoction he’d pulled from god knows where. Shifting to get a better look at the monstrosity the boy was currently shoving into his mouth, Spike was suddenly hit with the damn smell again. This time it took him a moment, before his eyes flicked from where Rupert is currently bent over, elbow deep in the box of books beside the couch, to Harris and back again. Boy looked innocent enough, staring off into dead space. Tilting his head to imagine the angle he realised that the kid was one wily poof – heavy on the poof. From where he was sitting the brunet had a clear view of the entire couch, including the dear old Watcher’s arse.
“Bloody hell, you need to get yourself a girl, mate.” He shook his head as the scent stayed, but was mixed with the cinnamon spice of embarrassment.
He had turned it into a game; like Jeopardy but more amusing since no else knew he was playing. Lusting after every man and his dog. That would be “Who is Xander Harris?” for another 500 to me, thanks. Not that he would ever admit to watching the stupid show. Eventually even that reached the excitement level of flogging a dead horse. Waiting until it was just him and the boy in the Magic Box, he smirked and slapped down the glossy magazine on the table. Oh look; more lust/embarrassment and Spike swore he was never going to get the smell out of his clothes.
“What the hell, Spike?” Looking about a fierce as a puppy, Harris jumped away from the table.
“Maybe nobody else is bothered, but I’m bloody sick of you smelling like a whore house around anything with two legs. Pop one off and give it a rest for a few minutes, yeah?” He said, exasperated.
“Um, ok? There’s a perfectly ordinary request. Y’know if you’re Captain Insano Vamp on your way to Crazy Town!”
He would have thought the embarrassment would be enough to supersede the almost permanent arousal Harris seemed to be sporting. Apparently he’d underestimated just how randy the bloke was.
“I can smell you, whelp. Stinking up the place like you’ve taken a shower in pure lust.”
He hollowed out his cheeks with a smirk at the boy’s embarrassment and got yet another burst of scent. Then he realised Harris hadn’t looked at anyone, or anything, that should have caused that reaction. Several thoughts collided all at once, and if the Whelp said anything, Spike didn’t hear it; too busy putting two and four (and possibly six) together to come up with one impossible answer. Though perhaps he was being a bit harsh on himself; improbable would be a better word to use - he was, afterall, one handsome devil.
In the spirit of science and testing a theory – but mostly for his own amusement – he gave the boy his best leer, curling a pink tongue over his teeth. And there is was.
“Someone’s not quite the boy scout you’d like everyone to believe. Or maybe too much of a boy scout, if you catch my drift?” Another smirk and very casually Spike tucked his thumbs into his belt loops.
“Did someone slip something into your blood this morning?” Defensive Harris. He’d seen this one before.
Stalking forward the short distance between them he couldn’t help but grin again when the Whelp backed up fast, running that hideously clothed back into a corner. Kicking sneakered feet apart he got far too close for the human’s comfort and chuckled.
“Somethin’ you feel like sharing Harris?”
Spike wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting when he set out to torment the boy. This was strictly a plan-free operation. So when he found himself with a hot tongue so far down his throat he could feel a heavy pulse thrumming against his teeth, it was with no small measure of surprise. Never one to let an opportunity pass him by, he decided to go with it.
A second later he found himself being moved, back shoved into the very book case he’d just had the Whelp pinned to. Hands the approximate temperature of the sun shoved their way under his shirt and blunt human teeth were drawing nipping patterns from behind his ear down to his collarbone.
Sucking in a sharp breath he attempted to speak, “Not that I’m complainin’ or anything–”
“Then stop talking already. Sheesh, you’re worse than me on a sugar high sometimes.” The words were mumbled against his skin and a warm tongue found that one spot in the hollow of his throat.
Right, wordless would be just fine by him. A moment later his shirt was pulled off and tossed aside. Blinking open eyes he hadn’t realised he had closed, Spike wondered if he’d stepped into some weird alternate reality. Then Harris did something truly incredibly with blunt teeth and his hipbone, and he really didn’t give a toss one way or another.
There was something to be said for the enthusiasm of youth. Looking down to see brown eyes focused entirely on the task in front of him and tanned cheeks hollowed, Spike could feel his eyes crossing.
If it wasn’t for the fact that he hadn’t gotten his leg over in even longer than the boy, and he had absolutely shame, he would have been embarrassed at how quickly it was over. Instead he just gave the boy still kneeling at his feet a look that could melt steel.
“Right, think you and I need to have a chat about a few things. No, don’t get up. It’s mostly a hands-on discussion.”
AN: Written from a SpanderFiles prompt by laazikaat: I want Oblivious!Spike aware of Xander's arousal every time he's near him, but assuming Xander's getting hot and bothered over whoever else is in the room as well, and starting to think Xander's a randy bugger hot for nearly everyone (including Giles!) until they're finally alone somewhere and the penny drops.