Mmm, Mmm, Good
Summary: Xander gives Graham a sweet surprise
Date: January 7, 2001
*Dedication: This one is *really* Charles' fault, 'cause it was
his idea. . . like my sweet, innocent mind could come up with such
sordid things ;)
"What *exactly* are you gonna do?"
"Nothing" Look, we both know you're going to do something, so, just. .
. tell me."
"Sorry," Graham could practically hear his lover's smirk. "There's
this whole 'need to know basis and you don't need to know' thing."
"*Xander*." Graham growled.
"What?! I try and do something sweet for my lover, and I get yelled at?
Where's the love."
"I didn't yell. And, I'm very appreciative when you do sweet things for
me. I just like knowing what said sweet things are."
"Well, in that case, why don't you just look for yourself?"
Graham's jaw clenched.
"Oh. I guess that pesky blindfold is kinda getting in the way, isn't it?"
"Pretty much. Yeah."
"You know," Xander's voice became serious. "If you want to stop, we
Graham thought for a moment. "No. I'm okay."
"Yeah. You asked if I wanted to play, and I said yes. I'm not backing
"It's not about backing down, Graham. It's about making sure you're
comfortable with what we're doing. And, if you're not, that's cool,
really. I'll take the cuffs off here and now."
"No. I'm. . . I'm good. I'm just not used to being in a situation like
"Oooh. No previous experience with bondage. That's what every
possessive boyfriend wants to hear." Xander gently nipped at one of
Graham's nipples, producing a soft groan from the captive body. "But,
just to be perfectly clear. If you do get too freaked, you know what to
Graham rolled his eyes, an action that loses much of its
expressiveness when hidden under a strip of black silk. "I still don't
see why we have to use *that* as a-"
"Because a safety word is supposed to be something that is never
associated with sex. And, if 'Buffy' doesn't fit that criteria for you,
then we're going to have to have a long talk."
"I get your point. It is kind of a mood killer, isn't it?"
"Yeah, so's this whole talking thing. So, shut up, and let me ravage
your body in peace, okay?"
"That?s all right."
Graham was silent. . . for approximately forty five seconds. "What's
Xander sighed. "What smell?"
"That. . . *Xander*."
Xander cleared his throat. "First of all, if you didn't
automatically identify that smell, you don't deserve to be told what it
is, and, secondly. . . *Shhhhh*."
Graham wriggled a bit and grumbled under his breath.
"Let's keep in mind that only good little commandos who don't ask
annoying questions will be getting the massively satisfying orgasms
later. So, either stop talking, or-"
"Or I won't get an orgasm?"
"No," Xander said patently. "Or, I'll get the duct tape."
"I'll be good."
"Glad to hear it."
Graham tried to relax, and ignore the various sounds Xander was
making. There was soft scraping, then a loud pop, then more scraping.
The commando opened his mouth, ready to ask another question, his
curiosity overriding the threat of duct tape, when something warm and
wet was unceremoniously dumped onto his stomach.
"GAH!" Graham wriggled desperately as he felt the foreign substance
start to spread out over his abs. "What the hell is that!"
"Don't be such a baby." Xander said, right before something else
plopped down on the commando's skin.
"Xander, that feels. . . really gross! What did you do!?" Graham
rapidly blinked as his blindfold was snatched away.
"Really gross." Xander crossed his arms over his chest. "That's nice.
Honestly, thanks for that."
Graham craned his neck and looked down at his body. "What. . . what is
"Melted chocolate and marshmallow cream. . . on Graham." Xander
grinned. "I turned you into a s'more."
"A s'more. . ." Graham shook his head. "I'm in love with a crazy
person, aren't I?"
"Oh, come on. With a name like that you're just asking for this
kind of treatment." Xander leaned over and gave Graham's stomach a long
lick, his tongue scooping up various sugary goodnesses. He then moved
up that sculpted body and gave the commando a lengthy kiss. "See, told
you I was doing something sweet. . ."