Title: Oven Gloves
Author: Moonloon
Email: maryavatar@gmail.com
Website: Amused and Abused
Feedback: maryavatar

The oven gloves were the final straw. Great big ridiculous things, hanging off the ends of Andrew's skinny arms. Funny how things got to him more, now that he had a soul.

Battle a demon and save a very ungrateful Anya, and get stressed. Meet Buffy's latest, and overly hostile, love interest; that cranked the juice up into the red. Willow walking past and damned near staking him by accident, he was surprised there wasn't steam coming out somewhere.

So by the time he got to the kitchen and saw Andrew playing housewife, just out of the deadly patch of afternoon sun, everything was on a hair trigger.

Why the oven gloves pulled the trigger was a complete mystery.

Half a dozen quick moves: shove the little boy face down on the countertop, buttons, zips, jeans down, a handful of cooking oil, since he was feeling generous, and in.

Only he'd forgotten the gag. Whoops. That could have been bad, only Andrew wasn't screaming and trying to get away. Andrew was pink, biting his lip, and had a glazed fuck-me-now look on his face.

The shiny new soul was screaming 'what the Hell are you doing?' but the shiny new catamite whispering 'why the Hell did you stop?' drowned that out.

Constructive thought wasn't easy with a cock hard enough to cut glass. Even more difficult when said cock was roughly 70% embedded up the arse of a pretty boy with really quite startling muscle control. Buffy's voice floated through from the garden. She was talking to Wood. Out in the sun, like normal people do. Like he couldn't.

Andrew stuffed the oven glove into his mouth himself. Just as well, really: it wasn't a nice fuck. It was, however, a bloody good fuck. Tight, hot, rough, fast. Andrew managed to get the other glove down far enough to jerk himself off, and didn't the smell of come mix nicely with whatever the Hell he'd been baking?

Andrew didn't seem terribly impressed with cold come all the way up there, but fuck, who cared?