Title: Mo Peata (My Pet)
Author: Chickalupe
Email: chickalupe@juno.com
Feedback: ooh, makes me feel all tingly… chickalupe@juno.com
Fandom: Buffy/Angel
Pairing: Angel/Xander
Rating: NC-17 for sure
Spoilers: vague Season 6, set in my own sort of little universe
Warnings: slashy goodness, vampiric bloodplay
Disclaimer: Lord Joss, god of the Buffyverse, owns everything you see here. I just make the pretty boys do naughty things without his permission, but the boys secretly enjoy it.
Summary: Angel finally gets his reward, and Xander finds something he didn’t even know he needed.
{{A/N: post-Hells Bells, Anya’s off somewhere doing the demony thing. I don’t know where, just say she’s gone. As for Angel, I have only two words; ‘Conner *who*?’ Got that? Good.}}
{{P.S.- As always, Angel is Spike’s sire.}}

Strong hands traced lightly over Xander’s sweat-slick skin, lightly caressing and cooling his fevered body, at the same time leaving trails of fire wherever they touched him.

Xander was held tenderly in muscular arms, craddled back against a broad chest, teased maddeningly by wicked fingers.

His head fell backwards onto a sturdy shoulder with a gasp as his nipples were teased into points, the nubs rolled and pinched almost painfully before the touch turned gentle once more. The magic hands were almost infuriatingly light as they moved downwards over his trembling abs, finally, finally moving down towards where he needed it most.

The fingers stopped just short of his dripping cock, tracing small circles around the base.

Xander gave a plaintive whimper. A low, husky chuckle resounded in his ear.

“You beg so prettily, mo peata,” a strangely familiar voice said.

Xander whined, “Please, please, I need…”

“What do you need, beautiful one?” The deep voice rumbled in his ear again. “I can give you *everything* you need.”

There was the unmistakable feel of an erection grinding against his ass.

“You! I need you. Please,” Xander sobbed in frustration.

“That’s all you had to say, mo peata,” the niggling familiar voice said in a silken tone.

The fingers finally closed around his aching length. Xander gave a shout of relief…

… And immediately woke himself up.

Xander lay trembling in his bed as he gasped for air, still hugely aroused from the dream. That made every night this week. What was happening to him? He knew something Hellmouthy had to be going on; he didn’t believe it was a coincidence that these dreams appeared every time he shut his eyes.

He briefly considered the possibility that Anya might be getting revenge for leaving her at the altar now that she had her powers again, but realized that since his penis hadn’t exploded or fallen off, it probably wasn’t her doing.

Xander was seriously wigging. He wasn’t gay…was he? He shouldn't be enjoying these dreams so much. He wanted to talk to someone about it, but who? Giles was the smartest guy he knew, but he had gone back to merry old England, and Xander didn’t think he would have been able to make it through this kind of conversation with his father figure without dying of embarrassment. Willow? She might understand the gay thing, but thinking about talking with a girl about this made him squirm. Hell, why did he only have friends who were girls? He was practically a walking, talking, stereotype.

Xander sighed. He knew without looking at the clock that he had to get ready for work soon. He levered himself off the bed, already resigned to starting his morning *yet again* with a cold shower to dispel the still raging hard-on.

“Great way to start your day,” he muttered sarcastically.

As he began clean himself under the frigid water, he could hear the echoes of a lust-filled voice in his ears.

“Mo peata…”

Damnit, where did he know that voice from? And what the hell was ‘mo peata’? Xander wasn’t stupid, he knew it was another language, but there where so *many* languages, how could he find out what it meant? This would require some research, something he had a little bit of practice with.

As he mused, he didn’t notice that he was still hard despite the cold water. Nor did he realize that his hands were wandering over his torso in a mirror of his dream lover’s actions. He didn’t even know that he had been slowly jacking himself off until he was on the brink of climax, and he came, shuddering, against the shower wall. It was like willwill was not his own. As he tried to recover his senses, he could have sworn he heard not one, but two voices laughing as if from a distance.

One, the deep, husky chuckle of his nightly seducer; the other a childish, feminine giggle that twinkled like the stars.




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