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Buffy rounded the mausoleum to see a truly horrific sight. Xander, bent over a tombstone, his pants around his ankles, head tossed back in apparent ecstasy, being royally fucked (and there was no other word for it, Buffy decided) by a bleached-blond, obviously very evil vampire.
"Oh, God, Spikey," Xander moaned. "Pound me with your man-meat. Give it to me, baby."
"Oh, yeah, love," Spike ground out in reply, "I'm givin' it to ya. I'm givin' ya a right poundin', ain't I?"
"Please, Spikey," Xander whined, "I need you. I need you, Master. Please make me come," he begged.
"So bloody tight, pet," Spike growled. "Come for me, Xanny."
Buffy covered her mouth, feeling more nauseous than even Dawn's last Friday night dessert had made her. She swallowed harshly, and ducked back around the mausoleum to lean against the cool stone wall and concentrate on her breathing. She shuddered, and glanced back when she heard Xander and Spike cry out in matching orgasms, then pushed herself away from the wall. Patrol tonight was a lost cause. There was no way she could concentrate on anything other than the thought of what was happening to her friend. She needed some time to calm down before she could confront him. Lots of time. Lots and lots of time.