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"Skirmish"
(a drabble and a half)
by Spike

Dark alley behind the Bronze.  People milling nearby.  Smell of spilled beer, faint garbage whiff.  Xander's shoulders against the wall, reaching up with both hands to grab some big metal staple as Angel goes down hard on his knees.  Hands on Xander's fly.  Angel has him out, hardening.  Cool air, the stunning heatwash of a mouth around his cock and Xander's knees buckle.  He's never... no one's ever...  Wildly ballooning pleasure.  More than he can bear and he can only writhe noiselessly, bat his head against the concrete. Angel's got a mouth like a... like a... and it lasts a second past too long and then -- christ -- he's coming sweet and hot and wet like something's breaking inside, spilling.

Looks down to see: blank beauty of Angel's face.  Angel swallowing and, still coming,  Xander can't stop the welling fear:

//...is come like blood?  Is he drinking...?//

=end=