Backfire - Spander Files

he crossed the room. It was like living with a two year old.
And Angel loved to exude his Sire-authority over Spike, although it was clear that
Spike didn’t give a flying-fuck. The little vampire never did anything he was told
and would sometimes just punch Angel in the back for simply walking across the
living room. The two of them were constantly black and blue. The moment one
wound would heal, they would give each other another. It was like living with a two
year old and his four year old older brother. Yep, Xander was an official babysitter.
And he didn’t even get paid for it.
Angel didn’t touch Xander. Except for one hand on his hip, one hand on his cock,
his dick in his ass, and his fangs that ripped through the Angel-scar. One or two
times a day, they would both just start to feel it at the same time and go to the bed,
Xander on his hands and knees with Angel behind him.
Xander would take off his shirt to expose the Angel-scar, and would lower his jeans
just enough for comfortable access. Angel would simply lower his trousers to just
below his hips. It was quick and dirty and very slimy because Angel would use a lot
of lube. A lot. He would prepare Xander with no more than two scissoring fingers.
When his cock went in, cold fingers would wrap around Xander’s dick and the
stoking met with the thrusts. The bite and orgasm would come quickly after, and
Xander would go to the bathroom to clean up leaving Angel to do so on the bed.
They had a heavy investment in sheets that were replaced at least twice a day. The
washing machine was always running.
And it was pleasurable sometimes. Angel never aimed for it, but he would
occasionally hit Xander’s prostate (a part of his body that Spike was kind enough to
show Xander with a probing finger one day). But mostly it was routine and
necessary. He felt like they were an old married couple just going through the
motions.
A minor-apocalypse kept them apart for two days once, and they didn’t even make
it to the bed. Or the apartment. Angel had taken him over a park bench using such
an over abundant amount of spit, that Xander could have sworn he felt more spit
rather than come run down his legs on the way home. It was gross.
Sometimes both Xander's scars would burn at the same time. It didn’t happen often,