The sound of a key in the door had Spike looking around for a hiding
place, but it was too late. Xanderâs eyes went from vampire to what he
was holding in his hand and his jaw dropped.
“Would -” He paused to clear his throat, “would you like to tell me why
youâve got that out? In the middle of the living room? When youâre on
your own?”
Spike gripped it tighter, feeling the vibrations run up his arm. “Makes
me feel manly?” he ventured.
“I just bet it does! Naked, powerful...oh, you bet it makes you feel
ten foot tall and covered in hair! Still not answering my question
though.”
‘Thought Iâd surprise you?”
The tentative tone almost worked, almost, but Xander hardened his heart.
“I told you what Iâd do if I came home and found you playing around
with that, didnât I? Well?”
Spike looked sulky, his pout working overtime. “Said youâd put blisters
on my arse thatâd last a week...”
“So?”
Spike bent over the nearest chair without a word and Xander stood,
vindicated, righteous rage zinging through his body as he looked at the
torn, gouged plasterboard.
Then he saw what Spike had been trying to hang on the wall, using the
forbidden power tools; a photograph of them together, arms around each
other, mugging it up for the camera with Spike pretending to bite him...
“Oh, shit! Spike - why didnât you - oh get up and come here!”
Spike stayed in position, refusing to give Xander the comfort of guilt
forgiven just yet. His backside was a series of eloquent curves; hurt,
misunderstood, wronged.
So far, so good...but then it wiggled impudently. Xanderâs lips set
grimly as he realised that Spike had come _this_ close to getting away
with it. Four strides put him in reaching distance of the handcuffs on
the pegboard. Four minutes were plenty to strip Spike bare and position
him over the counter, looking at the wall, thin chains linking his
cuffed hands to bolts Xander had put under the lip of the counter in
various places.
Spike looked at him, smugly certain that heâd manipulated Xander from
rage to randy. The look faded as Xander reached for sandpaper, wall
filler and palette knife.
“Thought you were going to -”
“Oh, I am,” Xander assured him, humming under his breath as he began
repairs. “First, though, Iâm fixing this mess.”
Long moments passed...
“Canât you get a move on,” Spike whined. “Itâs like watching paint dry.”
“No,” Xander said. “Itâs like watching filler dry. Then I paint it. And
wait for that to dry. And hang the picture properly, using rawl plugs
and a - are you crying?”
“Would it help if I was?”
“No.”
“Then Iâm not. Mâsulking.”
Xander washed the spreader free of filler and dried it carefully. There
really wasnât anything else to do for a while...and Spike looked as
fuckable as he could manage. Tied down, naked, legs spread; that was so
far off the scale that Xander felt a quiet pride that heâd resisted him
for so long.
“You remember the night that picture got taken?”
“Your birthday.”
“Thatâs right. Remember when we got back here, what we did?”
“Before or after you got your birthday spanking?”
“Both, wasnât it?”
“Now you come to mention it, yes.”
“Spread ‘em wider, birthday boy.”
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