Disclaimer: A full disclaimer can be found here, but please be assured that none of this is mine.
Warnings/Squicks: Pretty Boy in Drag.
Summary: A quick, slashy giggle for you all!
Author's Notes: The lovely and talented kitty_poker1 made sure that all the words worked right for me!
Xander yanked at the ruffled cravat around his throat before yelling up the stairs, “We’re already late! Let’s go!”
“Fuck off!” thundered back down at him and he threw himself into his favorite chair, his fingers tugging at his costume.
“These pants are too tight! There is no way that you can make me believe that people used to show off their googlies like this!” It began as a mutter, but soon he was yelling at the doorway. “I don’t see you dressing in some stupid gothic prince-of-darkness get up! Why do I have to?”
“Because, those pants make your arse look divine.”
Xander turned at the softly spoken words but was unable to respond when his eyes caught sight of his lover.
Spike stood in the doorway, a mass of golden curls piled high on his head and trailing down over one shoulder. His face was heavily made up in a gothic style, a beauty mark pressed just above the left side of his mouth.
Xander rose and stumbled to stand in front of him, his hands reaching out to caress Spike’s satin covered form. Spike shoved him back. “No touching. It took me hours to get this all on.” He smoothed his hands over his purple and black corseted waist, trailing down to fluff the ends of the wickedly short skirt, lifting it enough for Xander to verify that there were no undergarments being worn beyond the tiny crinoline that supported the skirt.
Spike’s bare thighs peeked between the skirt and the tops of the black on black fishnet thigh-highs. Strong, pale, purple-tipped fingers slid underneath the tops of the stockings, adjusting and snapping them into place before moving to align the long black train that dragged on the floor behind him.
Xander dropped to his knees, his hands reaching out to trace the line of the stockings, his face upturned as he begged with his eyes.
Spike glared down at him, lifting one stiletto-clad foot to shove him in the chest. “No, Xander. I told you that vampires don’t do Halloween. You insisted that we go to this party. And now, we’re going.”
Xander crawled closer to Spike, his hands out as if in supplication. “Spike, please, just let me…” His voice trembled with lust and the aforementioned googlies appeared to be intent on ripping out the seams of his too-tight pants.
“No!” Spike roared, his demon coming to the fore. At this, Xander trembled, whimpered and then shuddered in an all too familiar way.
“You have got to be joking,” Spike muttered, glancing down at the wetness that was spreading across Xander’s groin.
“Sorry?” Xander offered.
In a flash of patent leather, black lace and gold lame, Spike stormed back up the stairs, his eyes rolling as Xander began to peel the slacks from his body.