"So tight," Xander murmured, nuzzling Spike's jaw. "Are you ready for me, Spike?" He punctuated each word with a slow thrust, twisting his two fingers around to brush against the vampire's prostate.

"Please, Xander," Spike moaned, hands fluttering helplessly around the boy's shoulders. He needed Xander to push inside him, break him apart and put him back together. This interminable waiting, tortuous cycle of want and wait and want again, was pushing him onto a dangerous cliff of pleading.

Xander eased a third finger and an additional layer of gel inside the vampire, working to slowly stretch the slowly spasming flesh that surrounded him. He moved to kneel between the blonde's widespread knees, admiring his ivory lover in the dim light of their cabin.

The train was moving now, a constant rumble that told Xander they were no longer in Paris. The truth was, they'd left long ago, as soon as the door had shut behind them. Xander existed in a world where the sun rose and set on the whim of bluest eyes, where the tides of the ocean mimicked the undulating skin of his alabaster-and-steel master, who lay open before him.

Xander wanted inside Spike, where the vampire held his heart captive. He needed to know if the blonde's skin was as soft on the inside as it was here, where he could touch it. Was Spike as beautiful, as coolly deadly, inside where his mind roamed free? Could Xander find incontrovertible proof of Spike's desire for him, buried in the depths of this demon's corporeal form?

Spike watched as Xander's eyes darkened, as his lovely boy bent to his task with sudden purpose. His fascination with this change couldn't distract him from the hot pressure of a fourth finger pushing into him. He blinked, forcing his muscles to relax around the additional intrusion. The vampire lay very still, body paralyzed by Xander's hand inside him, stretching and reaching.

Xander brought his fingers together and brought his thumb up to them, relishing the way Spike's body seemed to pause and *think* before letting him inside. He waited patiently, knowing that the blonde would-would open up and welcome him into the cool depths that already knew him so well. Indeed, a moment later Xander felt the pressure ease just a tiny bit, but it was enough.

"Xander," Spike whispered, eyes falling to witness himself being penetrated. Thick wrist disappearing, rough knuckles suddenly all too prominent inside him. They hit his prostate; his wholly unneeded but very much wanted breath hitched. It was like having all of Xander inside him, all at once. He was full, falling away and open, not full enough, please gods more, don't stop...

Xander listened to the mindless words falling from Spike's lips, awed that his lover would want more of this slow, steady torture. However, Xander was not one to deny Spike anything, so he continued, spreading his fingers out as he rotated his wrist first one way and then the other. He found just where the vampire's hidden gland was and rocked his knuckles over it, again and again until the words Spike had been letting fall turned into soft, warped tears of sound.

Spike heard the pitiful wailing of a desperate man and felt painfully acute sympathy for whoever was suffering; he was in much the same untenable situation. Xander had mastered him, utterly and without effort. Even now, Spike's body was not his own; it waited for a word, any signal from Xander that release was his to give. He wanted... wanted... whatever Xander wanted, if only it was something that brought him relief.

Xander brought his free hand up from the bed, tracing around the taut flesh that encircled his wrist. It quivered; Spike's mouth fell open. Xander carefully slid one more finger inside, right next to his wrist. He watched, awed, as Spike seemed to rise off the bed entirely, levitating as if by magic. The vampire existed in a timeless, frozen chaos.

Spike felt his mind and body part ways. Ecstasy raced between them, trying desperately to keep him whole. Even in its defeat, pleasure managed to overwhelm him. As he flew apart, Spike knew that should he ever come back together, Xander would be an integral part of him, bound inside by the very forces that tore him apart.

"Fifty-two," Xander murmured, easing his fingers out of Spike with extreme caution. He let them slide around one pale thigh, squeezing gently. Then he lay down beside the blonde, cataloging each twitch and shudder.