Warren grabbed the box from Andrew, gesturing wildly. “Listen, Sparky, just put the Boba Fett in the suitcase. He doesn’t have to have his own shipping carton just for the drive back to school.”
“But he’s a First Edition with all his original packaging! How dare you treat him with such a lack of respect!”
The two squared off, one at each end of the twin bed, a suitcase, a pillow, a book bag, and one First Edition Boba Fett in the original packaging between them.
Time stopped. The men stared each other in the eyes, waiting for a moment of weakness, a shadow of doubt, a flicker of an eyelash that would declare one of them the winner.
Andrew was weakening. He knew he couldn’t hold out against Warren much longer. But he had to find the strength somewhere. This was important!
He tucked Boba Fett under one arm, spun on his heel, and stalked to the bathroom. As he grasped the door knob, he whined over his shoulder, “I don’t know why I let you borrow my things. You don’t treat them ... ”
Warren wasn’t listening. Someone was knocking on the bedroom door--distracting him more than anything he had to say. Andrew shut himself and Boba Fett in the bathroom in a fit of pique.
Warren turned to open the bedroom door. His mother, the dumb bitch, had finally learned to knock. He didn’t know if he should be thankful the stupid cunt had finally learned or angry that it had taken her so long. “What?” Warren demanded as he yanked the door open.
Only instead of his mother, it was a man. A man dressed in black, with bleached-blond hair, a scar running through one eyebrow, the sharpest cheekbones he’d ever seen, bright blue eyes rimmed with black eyeliner, full pouty lips--fuller than April’s had been, maybe softer than Katrina’s--and a coat. A real bad-ass leather coat.
But Warren didn’t have time to mess around with guys who wore eyeliner, for god’s sake. He had to get out of town quick, before the Slayer found him and kicked his ass for building April. “How'd you get in here?” Leaning one shoulder into the door frame, he blocked the man--who he now could see had bluer eyes than Andrew’s, the bluest eyes he’s ever seen--from entering the room. “Your mum let me in.” An accent. A British accent. Intriguing. “I'm placing an order.”
Warren dragged his eyes away from the man’s incredibly delicate bone structure to the box he held in his hands. A picture of the Slayer stared up at him. “Oh, no, no, no.” Warren heard the stammer in his voice. “I'm not making any more girls.” He tried to close the bedroom door in the absolutely gorgeous, why don’t girls ever look like this? stranger’s face.
With a smirk and a leather-clad elbow, the stranger effortlessly levered the door open over Warren’s protests. “Sure you are,” he drawled as he shoved the box at Warren's chest. “Here're your specs.” Warren stared at the man and ignored the box. “You're gonna make her real good for me.”
No matter how sharp the cheekbones, or how blue the eyes--he needed to get a picture of this guy to use as a template for his next girl--there was no way Warren was making a Slayer-bot. He shoved the box away. “I told you I’m not making anymore girls. Get out.”
The man, oh no, not the man, the vampire, rippled into game face and shoved it back at him. Clutching the box to his chest, Warren backed slowly into his bedroom, hoping and praying--although empirical evidence did not prove the existence of a higher being--he could get out of this alive. The vampire followed. Maybe he could offer him his mother--vampire bait, finally useful for something--or Andrew--bye-bye blue eyes.
The vampire inhaled deeply, and Warren knew instinctively that it--no, he, definitely he--was getting off on the pounding of his heartbeat, the smell of fear pouring from his body like the sweat that suddenly formed in his armpits, down his back, and under his balls. He kept backing away slowly, so, so, slowly—don’t trigger the chase and kill instinct. He could do this. It wasn’t any different than 007 facing off against Khan, or Drax, or Dr. No.
Then he was out of room. Trapped against the wall of his own bedroom, a bloodthirsty vampire burrowing his nose against his throat, inhaling deeply along his ear, neck, and collarbone.
And his dick was getting harder by the second. Reaction to the fear, that’s all. Chemical reaction in the body, and nothing to do with long, sinewy muscles pressed against him from bottom to top.
The vampire ran his tongue over his fangs and growled deep in his throat as he traced Warren’s jugular with the flat of his tongue. “Name’s Spike. What’s yours, Robot Boy?” he whispered when his tongue reached Warren’s ear.
“W-w-warren,” His dick was standing at attention now, thank you, harder than it had ever been for April, Katrina, the Slayer, or any of a hundred girls he’d admired from afar--but no harder than got when he caught Andrew looking at him like an adoring puppy dog.
“Warren. You’ve a nice name, mate.” Spike grinned as he rubbed his own erection up and down the boy’s length. “Tell you what. You’re gonna make this girl, and you’re gonna make her perfect.”
Warren couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think--there was a vampire rubbing him off in broad daylight and he was so fucking close to coming.
“And for that little favor, I won’t kill you, or your boyfriend hiding in the loo.” A squeak from the boyfriend had Spike back off of Warren just enough to lightly run one finger over his denim-clad erection. “I’d promise not to rape you, too, but…” Spike broke off but continued rubbing.
Warren managed to choke out “But what?” He was about to die, and all he could think about was how his dick was hard as steel, zipper biting into flesh, and if Spike would shift just a hair to the left he could…
“’Cept you can’t rape the willin’, now can you? Guess you’d know all about that, Robot Boy, wouldn’t you, what with building your girls and all.”
The finger kept brushing along the length of his erection, drawing him closer and closer to orgasm with every stroke. Warren’s head fell to one side, his eyes staring blindly over Spike’s shoulder. A flicker of movement caught his attention. Andrew was peeking through the crack of the bathroom door--one blue eye big as a saucer. Warren started to jerk and thrust against the lone finger tracing his erection, keeping his eyes locked on Andrew. He watched Andrew’s thin frame hitch in rhythm with his own, his cock throbbing in time with the tongue tracing the pulse point in his throat.
“Bet it’s pricey building a robot like that. Lots of special bits and pieces.” Spike’s voice was a purr. “Not gonna pay ya, boy, and if you make her right, won’t kill you neither. I’ll just stop by when you least expect, give you and your boy a little treat like, this till she’s done.” The finger was gone now. Warren cried out and thrust towards Spike.
“Shh, hush now, Robot Boy.” Strong hands gripped Warren’s hips, yanked him forward, and now Warren was facing the bathroom. He could see all of Andrew’s face and one shoulder, could tell that he was jerking off watching him and Spike. But there was no time to breathe, because now Spike was backed up against the wall, holding Warren in a one-armed vice grip to his chest, grinding against him.
He heard the jangle of a belt, a zipper opening. Spike thrust between Warren’s legs, squeezing Warren’s dick with one hand, twisting his head to the side with the other, sucking on his pulse point.
And it’s too much, sensory overload, all circuits busy, server overloaded. Red Alert! Red Alert! Alarms ringing, sirens wailing--red, yellow, and blue lights flashing.
Warren could hear Andrew’s moan over everything else. And then he just exploded.
He fell to his knees like pieces of the Second Death Star to Endor. There was vampire come all over the seat of his jeans, and his own covered the inside. Catching his breath, he looked away from Andrew, turning his eyes to Spike. “I’ll build her. I’ll start right now. ” He swallowed thickly. “Anything you want, Spike.”
Spike stuffed himself back into his pants, zipped up, and buckled his belt before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up. “There now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He crossed to the door, then paused. “See you soon, you and your little one.”
When the sounds of Spike’s Docs finally faded, Andrew opened the bathroom door and shyly walked over to Warren. “Warren?” he asked as he sat on the floor beside him, Boba Fett tucked safely under his arm.
“Will you make me a Spike-bot?”
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