He drags his mouth across Xander's cheek, stopping at his mouth. It's not really a kiss, only lips moving against lips, soft, not tasting nor nibbling, only touching, and this makes awkward, drunken sense.
Xander closes his eyes and lets Spike's lips touch his, lets cold breath whisper secrets. As long as he doesn't listen, it's still okay.
But then he forces his eyes open again, because you close your eyes for kisses, not for whatever this is. Spike's too close for Xander to see clearly, he's too bright and surreal, and Spike's eyes are open, too. Searching, maybe.
Xander's lips feel too dry and his tongue darts out to wet them.
It happens so quickly that he doesn't realize it at first, but when it is in his head (spike's tongue in my mouth, spike is kissing me, oh fucking hell) he gasps and opens wider.
Spike's hand is clenching and unclenching in his hair, a needy rhythm, and his other arm is wrapped around his waist possessively.
Xander closes his eyes.
He's kissing back.
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