A soft knock at the door startled Xander from his semi-doze. He wasn't
*really* sleeping; he'd just been staring intently at the tangled light-brown
curls on the top of Spike's head -- which was resting heavily on Xander's chest,
because *somebody* was actually asleep.

Not Xander, though. He'd been looking at Spike's hair for fifteen minutes or
so, getting lost in the whorls and thinking about nothing in particular -- like
whether he could run his fingers through them without waking Spike up. Whether
there really was a hot tub on the other side of that oriental screen over there,
and whether they'd remembered to pack Spike's favorite baby shampoo, so he
wouldn't bitch about soap getting in his eyes when Xander washed his hair.

The knock sounded again, and Xander realized he'd gotten lost, again. He
tapped Spike on the shoulder, then, when that didn't get him any response,
whapped him on top of the head. "Hey. Wake up. Somebody's here."

There wasn't even a mumble. Xander sighed, and began to slowly extricate
himself out from under Spike. He'd made it halfway out when Spike shifted, and
glommed. Xander froze, then sighed again.

"Spiiiiiiiike," he tried again, trying to make it sound like being awake would
be a *good* thing, that there would be blood and mayhem and nakedness if he woke
up. Spike mumbled this time, and tightened his grip around Xander's waist. Fine. 
He'd tried. Xander called out, "Come in!"

There was a pause, then the door opened and a young woman came in, carrying a
tray. She looked to be about twenty or so, dressed like she worked in the
kitchen. "Where would you like your dinner placed?" she asked Xander, not
seeming at all put out by the naked, sound asleep vampire sprawled across
Xander's equally naked, but hidden under Spike, body.

"Over there's fine." Xander pointed at the table across the room. He whapped
Spike again. "Wake up! Dinner's here!"

"Hmmuwha? Dinner?" What a surprise. *Now*, Spike lifted his head and blinked
rapidly at Xander. He'd been known to snap out of a sleep so deep you'd assume
he was in a coma if he weren't already dead, at the scent of chicken parmesan
wafting out of the microwave.

"Yes, dinner, id-boy. Willow was right -- men *are* all about the pleasure
principle. Food, sex, sex, food."

"M'not, either," Spike mumbled. "I like Masterpiece Theatre, f'r chrissake."

"You watch it for the women in tight corsets."

"True enough."

Spike was scrambling out of bed and over towards the table before he finished
speaking, which left Xander to realize in short order that he'd lost his
naked-vampire blanket, and needed to scramble, himself, to yank the sheets up.
Not that the girl was looking at him, he saw after he'd done so. She was too
busy nervously eyeing Spike, who was lifting the silver tray-cover and sniffing
at the food like he hadn't eaten more wedding cake and stolen bagels and
Dumbo-shaped elephant ears in the last 24 hours than any living human other than
Xander could have consumed.

"Mmm. Roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. And baby carrots, and..." Spike
stopped his litany of menu offerings -- which did smell damn good, even from the
bed -- and looked up at the girl. "There's only enough for me -- what's he gonna
eat?"

The woman looked slightly confused. "The food is for him," she said, her tone
revealing that she'd thought that was obvious.

Xander kept the sheet wrapped around himself, and scooted off the bed. "We
ordered the special, didn't we?" He walked up behind Spike and peered down at
the tray. The smell suddenly combined with the sight, and his stomach told him
he was starving. "Want food!" He picked up a fork and left Spike to fend for
himself.

"Where's mine?" Spike asked, sounding a touch little-boy-lost. Xander
snickered. Like he was gonna give up *his* dinner because the hotel kitchen
couldn't send up two plates? Well...maybe, yeah. But not until they knew they
couldn't just order a second dinner.

"I'm your dinner," the woman said. Xander dropped his fork.

Spike looked stunned; his jaw had dropped and was now trying to climb back up
into 'closed', and kept falling back down into 'stunned'. "Er, you...what?"

She gave him a suddenly tender smile. "I forgot, you're from off-dimension. 
It's all right, sir. I assure you I'm here by my own choice. You're entitled to
take two pints -- it was outlined in the brochures the hotel sent your office
when the reservations were made. While you're a guest in our hotel, meals will
be made available up to four times every twenty-four hours, two pints each. 
Around town, you can only drink from those humans wearing a special pink strap
around their throats; those with dark blue collars are off-limits." Both men
were still staring at her, mouths moving to no discernible effect. "It *was* all
in the brochures, sir," she scolded lightly. Then she bared her neck.

Spike gaped even harder. Xander was trying to remember if he'd read the
brochures -- if *anyone* had read the brochures. They'd looked through the
first one, as far as looking at the pictures...then they'd had sex. After that,
Cordelia and Carla, his executive assistant, a.k.a. boss, had pretty much
handled all the arrangements.

"You're on the menu?" Spike asked, looking like he expected someone to jump
out and yell that they were on candid camera. Except that sort of thing wasn't
unusual around the Hyperion.

"She's the Dish of the Day," Xander said, and got a quick, disapproving look
from the woman. But she didn't say anything. Xander looked back at Spike, who
still looked gob-smacked. It occurred to Xander that if this was the only
source of blood, Spike would *have* to feed.... He realized he had no idea what
he thought about that.

Or -- could Spike even bite her? He could defend himself from humans now, to
an extent, but the only one Xander was *sure* Willow had told the chip it was
okay to feed from, was Xander himself. He wondered how Spike would take to
*that* suggestion -- 'Hey, what if I pig out all the time and eat lots of
iron-rich food, and you drink from *me* for two weeks?'

Happy thoughts. Happy Xander. Happy Xander Junior. Spike sniffed, then looked
up sharply at him. "I dunno what you're thinking, but I want food, first. *Then*
more sex." He turned to the girl. "And I mean *food*. On a plate. Blood, in a
glass, please. You wanna donate, fine, nip off and cut yourself humanely, but I
don't plan on biting anybody but him. *After* consuming said food."

The Dish of the Day looked terribly confused, when Xander glanced at her over
his spoonful of baby carrots in gravy. "You want your blood...in a glass?"

"Yeah. No, wait -- a mug. Warmed up with some of those little marshmallows."

"Oo, yeah. Could I have some hot chocolate with marshmallows, too?" Xander
asked.

She blinked, then nodded, slowly. "Er. Yes. Of course. We can do that. I'll
just nip off and... get you another plate. And a..." She shook her head again,
plainly still befuddled. "A mug. With marshmallows."

She left the room, still shaking her head, and Xander grinned around his roast
beef. Spike looked at him, stole a Yorkshire Pudding and dipped it in the gravy,
then asked, "What got you so perky all of a sudden?"

Xander smacked his hand and snatched the little popover away. "Mine. Get your
own."

"Fine." Spike grabbed another off the plate and soaked *it* in gravy. "So what
had you smelling like you wanted to ravish me right in the middle of the baby
carrots?"

"That's *also* mine," Xander said, reaching for the second popover. Spike
just raised an eyebrow at him, and put it in his mouth. "I didn't want to ravish
you," Xander said with a scowl. "And if I'm supposed to take my food back now
that it's been in your mouth, eew. Also, eew."

Spike chewed for a bit, then started swallowing. Then he asked, somewhat
coherently, "Whom did you want to ravish, then? Not *her*, miss menu?"

"Not ravish. Be ravished. I was thinking how much fun it would be to feed
you for the two weeks we're gonna be here-- and I don't mean my Yorkshire
Puddings, so put that back."

Spike was already shaking his head. "You'd get sick by the third day. Not
gonna--"

"I know that. I was just thinking," and Xander could *feel* his eyes losing
focus. "It'd be nice."

Spike was giving him a funny look -- or maybe it just seemed that way to
unfocused eyes. But he smiled a bit, and said, "Yeah?"

Xander answered by baring his neck. Spike made a strangled noise, then was
sitting on Xander's lap, straddling his legs, and pressing his mouth to Xander's
throat. Xander dropped his fork, and the roast beef bounced onto the table.
Yeah. He'd rescue it later. Much, much.... "Oh, god, Spike." He wrapped his
arms around Spike, held him close.

It wasn't like Spike rarely drank from him. It wasn't even like he hadn't
done so three nights ago. But even when it was just a taste, the tiniest sip,
it always felt like this. Xander's eyes rolled back into his skull as Spike's
fangs pierced his skin, and he felt the first, gentle sucking. He whimpered,
and tried to rub his cock against Spike without dislodging him or making him
stop.

He'd wondered, the first time, back in the dawn of prehistory and pre-Spike,
if it would hurt. If it would feel like needles, which he didn't particularly
like. If he'd be scared, once it started. It turned out that he hadn't been
scared at all, when Spike had just been nibbling human-faced at his throat, and
had asked. Now? Can we try it now?

It had been only unbelievably erotic, except for the moment when he'd started
to realize just how good it felt, and had thought for a second, what kind of
twisted mutant human weirdo *am* I? Then he'd become lost in the sensation, in
the knowledge that it really was himself, flowing into Spike. Lost in the icy
hot fire at the place of the bite, which felt nothing like needles, and
everything like being struck by lightning must feel.

Now, of course, he knew exactly what kind of twisted human mutant weirdo he
was -- Spike's kind. The kind who was holding his husband on his lap in a room
decorated like the nineteenth century and being ravished into the twenty-second
purely by the presence of said husband (glurble) and his unbelievable mouth at
Xander's throat.

It was over far too soon, as it always was. As always, he could hear the
words in the back of his brain: don't stop, don't stop, keep going. *That*
scared him, a little. Not so much anymore since he knew what would happen after
Spike drained him. He'd get fed some of that wonder blood and wake up with a
sun allergy. The prospect had frightened him less and less over the years, until
sometime... about a year ago, it had vanished all together. The only thing left
was the lizard brain's fear of death, not caring that the rest of him knew it
would be only temporary.

As Spike licked his throat, and continued to ignore Xander's erection, the big
meanie, Xander wondered. Tonight? Now? His heart beat faster. He had no doubt
it would be sometime soon -- and what better place to be a fledgling than a
Victorian England ruled by vampires? Spike could show him the ropes, then
they'd go home and be coddled and fussed over by their friends, and they could
settle into their new life together as dead people.

Spike was giving him a lecherous grin, which Xander replied to in kind. "Wanna
be ravished," he half-whined, half whispered because he'd stopped breathing
normally, some moments ago.

Spike licked the sore spots on his neck. "Do you?"

Xander whimpered. "Please, please, please, please, please." He thought about
throwing himself backwards onto the floor, spread-eagled so Spike would have no
trouble misinterpreting his request. But that involved moving, so it would have
to wait until later.

Spike moved, which was a good sign. But he didn't move *off*, or yank Xander
off the chair and save him the trouble of trying to get to the floor under his
own locomotion. He just...moved. Which was...ern...urk. Also good. A strange
little noise made its way out of the back of Xander's throat. Part sigh, part
strangled moan. "Or you could do that again."

Spike was just in the middle of doing 'that again', *again*, when the knock at
the door came. Xander bit off a word that Spike would probably have taken as a
request, which it was, but fulfilling it now wouldn't make whoever was at the
door go away, so Xander could be ravished in peace. "Spike, door."

"Who'm I, Jeeves?"

"You're on *top* of me. Not like I can answer it."

"Right, good point. -- Go away!" Spike shouted over his shoulder.

"Room service, sir. I have your second dinner, and your blood... and... er...
marshmallows?" It was the voice of the young girl who'd gotten the lovely view
of his bare, spanked ass, a few hours ago. Xander blushed, then blinked, then
forced himself to remember that she was *not* a young girl. She was only six
years younger than Spike.

Spike growled. "Best let her in, I s'pose. Want those marshmallows." He got up
off Xander's lap, which afforded Xander a view he didn't particularly want to
share with the serving girl, no matter how old or dead she was.

"Fine, but put something on. That's mine, there," he pointed, "and I don't
want you waving it around at the staff." Spike shrugged, and made as if to grab
Xander's sheet. Xander grasped it firmly. "Nuh-uh. Robe. In the big bag."

Spike rolled his eyes, but stalked over to the large suitcase and pulled a
fine red bathrobe from it. Then he grinned. Xander blinked at his choice.

"*That's* not gonna cover much of anything." Then he realized which robe it
was.

Spike grinned again, and slipped Ethan's wedding present on, tying the belt.

A few seconds later, the door opened. "Where shall I...sir?" The serving girl
looked around the room, past the open door, then at Xander. He grinned, as she
watched wide-eyed while the tray removed itself from her grasp, then floated
over to the table, apparently under its own levitational power.

"Thanks," Xander called to her. "You can shut the door, now."

She just gulped, then jumped to grab the doorknob and pull <the door> it shut. 
Xander could hear Spike giggling and thought about trying to smack him -- or he
could grab his hot cocoa before it got cool enough to drink without burning his
tongue. Xander sighed, and reached for his mug of cocoa.

"What's wrong? They not give you enough little marshmallows? You're not
getting any of mine," Spike said, pulling his mug out of Xander's reach. The
mug appeared to slide across the table by itself for a moment, until Spike
suddenly appeared in the seat opposite Xander, one hand just letting go of his
robe's now-untied belt.

"Like I *want* bloody marshmallows?" Xander retorted. "Have I said 'eew' not
enough times? Bloody marshmallows in cocoa? Double 'eew'."

Spike blinked. "Actually, that sounds good. Hot cocoa and blood -- here,
lemme have your mug."

Xander held it away. "Not a chance, deadboy's-boy. Call room service. Get
your own." Spike sat down in the other chair, pouting at him. Xander ignored
him. He waited until Spike was on his third sip of blood, before he asked, "Did
you read anything in the brochures about pink collars?"

"I'm not wearin' a pink collar -- all my shirts are white. I'd get laughed off
the streets," Spike grumbled.

"Were you listening at *all* ? The pink collars the Dish of the Day was
telling us about -- that the humans it's okay to drink from wear."

"Eh. No. I was a bit too gobsmacked with realizing I finally found a place
that delivers, now that I've pretty much turned vegetarian."

Xander snorked, and pointed at the large piece of roast beef on Spike's plate.
"Vegetarian?"

"You know what I mean. Doomed to an unlife of pig, cow, and red cross parcels,
all heated up in the microwave, with the occasional slurp of Xander for
dessert."

"Yeah -- in your very own mug that says 'Lips of Spike were here' and as many
little marshmallows as your heart desires. You've got it rough." Xander slurped
his cocoa. "Why don't you get out the travel package? I think it was packed
under the robes. I wanna know a little more about this place, before we actually
walk back out into the streets."

"What's to know? It's home. I know the streets like the back of my hand."
Spike flashed his palm at Xander and grinned.

"So when you were a kid, humans walked around wearing pink collars to indicate
they could be eaten by vampires?"

Spike didn't reply right away. Xander smiled as he watched Spike try to come
up with a witty retort which didn't involve saying "ok, you're right". Finally
Spike said, "Er," and walked over to the bags. Xander snickered into his mug of
cocoa.

As he bent down, Xander said, "Excuse me? Mr. Chase? You're wearing a robe."

Spike looked back at him, clearly thinking Xander had suddenly gone off his
rocker. Then he glanced down at himself, and shed the robe faster than human
eyes could watch -- which was all right, because the rest of it was done nice
and slow: the naked bending down, the naked crouching while searching through
the luggage, the naked aha-ing.

Then there was the naked "What the fuck?" which Xander wasn't expecting.

"What?" he asked, not actually getting up to find out. That was what husbands
were for -- bringing things to you when you were all comfy and couldn't be
bothered to move.

Spike held up a pair of small silver balls, tied together with a short string.
Xander's thoughts ranged freely for a moment, before he focused on the words
printed on each ball: "SQUEEZE" and "ME." It was Willow's handwriting.

Very carefully, so as not to choke on his cocoa, he swallowed, then said, "My
best friend is a sick, sick woman. Go on, then. Squeeze Willow's balls."

Spike stared at him for a moment, before shaking his head wildly. "Uh-uh.
She's *your* best friend. You do it." He tossed the silver balls through the air
to Xander.

Xander caught them without a major cocoa mishap, and studied them for a
moment. "I'm gonna regret this, I'm sure..." He took one in each hand, and
squeezed gently.

For a second, nothing happened. Then Xander felt his palms getting warm. Very
warm. He was about ready to drop the hot pieces of metal, when he felt them
dissolve in his hands. A silvery stream of light poured out from each of his
closed fists, rising in the air over the table, and mingling, to form a wavery
image -- Willow's face.

She blinked for a moment, then grinned. "Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You're my
only hope!"

Xander threw a Yorkshire Pudding at her, which passed right through, and
bounced off Spike's chair. Willow stuck her tongue out; Xander wondered if this
was a live broadcast, or she'd just known he would do something like that.

"Sorry. Wrong movie. This one would be 'My Best Friend's Wedding.' I just
snuck away to the library to record this; things were getting scary at the
reception. Somebody found the karaoke machine, and I can hear Spike trying to
sing 'Macho Man,' even from here." She shuddered. "Anyway, if you're keeping
track, and I know you are, Spike, you haven't opened my wedding present yet.
That's 'cause this is it."

"A pair of dissolving anal beads? You shouldn't have," Spike snarked at the
image.

"Was that enough time for Spike to bitch?" she said after a second, then
shrugged. "Hope so. No, it's not the good luck message, dork-head. It's the
spell attached to it." Willow smiled nervously. "Hope you like it -- Spike's
chip is now completely turned off, until you two get back to L.A. and I can
perform the reversal spell."

Xander's mouth fell open at the same time as Spike's did. Spike recovered more
quickly. "All right! I can go beat up..." His crowing quickly faded. "Er...
vampires."

"There's humans here," Xander reminded him. "Maybe I can get somebody's pet to
look at me funny, and you'll have to beat him up to protect me!"

Spike looked doubtful, but then grinned. "Yeah, and if I manage to get to Gunn
before Red fixes the spell, I can bonk 'im on the head for slippin' that 'no sex
in the truck bed' clause into our wedding vows."

"Don't even think about it, Spike," Willow said. She wasn't exactly looking
directly at him, but her timing was uncanny. Xander wondered if she'd been
taking lessons from Buffy's mom. Or possibly...Ulp.

"Are you *sure* she can't see us?" Spike asked, hands on his naked hips.

"Of course I can't see you," Willow said before Xander could answer. Then she
turned her head slightly, glanced downward, and giggled.

Spike flipped her the two-fingered bird, but she just kept giggling.

Finally, she calmed down, and said, "Anyway, I hope you guys have a good time,
and please don't go looking for random bad guys to beat up, just to test out the
spell. I worry about you." She started to fade out, the image flickering, then
she was there again. "Oh, and Cordy says to read the damn brochures now -- she
and Carla made notes, and highlighted all the cool places. Plus the things
that'll get you killed if you do 'em, and says she'll kick your asses if you
*do* get killed, so be careful. To which I say, what she said. Bye!"

Phantom-Willow blew them a kiss, then faded away completely. Xander stared at
the empty space for a moment, before looking back at Spike. "Have I ever
mentioned that girls are scary?"

Xander couldn't see Spike's expression when he said, "Uh-huh," because he was
being treated to a view of Spike's ass again, as his...glurble...rummaged
quickly through the suitcase. After a second, he stood, triumphantly holding a
pile of brochures in his hand.

Xander looked at them, then looked at the naked Spike who had walked over to
him and was standing in front of his chair. Looked back at the brochures.
Nakedness. Brochures. Nakedness. Brochures. "Um...you willing to risk Cordy's
wrath by waiting just a *little* bit, to read those?" he asked.

When Spike hesitated, Xander pulled open his sheet and leaned back in his
chair. Spike dropped the brochures.

"Right. Read 'em later. Princess can't see us." Spike got down on his knees,
and Xander gave himself over to whimpering and making glurbley sounds. It
occurred to him as his eyes decided to come loose from their moorings and roll
around inside his skull like the marbles he'd lost long ago, that they might not
*need* to read the brochures, or make use of Willow's present, because they
might never leave the suite.

Of course, he was never going to admit that to Spike, because that would imply
that Spike had been *right* about why-bother-to-even-leave-the-Hyperion. There
were rules about admitting Spike was right. Like, it was only allowed when Spike
had something of yours in his mouth and was refusing to do anything with it
until you said uncle. Since Spike already *had* something, et cetera, and wasn't
doing any refusing, Xander kept his own mouth shut, except for the occasional
masimawoogle.

Eventually, he looked down at Spike, who was looking up at him with a mostly
satisfied smile. "Argle. Erm. Brochures now?" Xander asked. Spike gave him the
most incredible pout #17 he'd ever seen. Xander wanted to applaud. Instead, he
asked, "Did you want to do something else, instead?" as if he couldn't see the
way Spike's own et cetera were waving around because nobody'd had *them* in
their mouths lately.

Spike nodded, and started to lean backward onto the floor, in exactly the same
position Xander had been contemplating, earlier. Xander turned to the table.

"Yeah, we *should* finish dinner before it gets cold. You can read me the
brochures while I eat your Yorkshire Puddings." There was a whimper, then there
was a vampire biting Xander on the leg. Xander looked down. "Hello?"

"Rggaugrg!"

"OK, but only in three pieces."

There was a pause, then Spike rolled his head a bit so he could glare upwards
at him without letting go. "Ruwuh?"

Xander nodded. "After six, yes." Spike blinked. Then he bit down harder. 
Since he wasn't using his fangs, Xander ignored it. Instead, he reached out and
grabbed a Yorkshire Pudding from Spike's plate. He 'eeped' and dropped it, then
glared at Spike. "If you hurt those, you can't play with them later."

Spike removed his teeth from where they'd strayed, and glared back at Xander.
"Are you trying to get spanked again?"

Xander tilted his head, then rolled his eyes, then contemplated once again
whether the many whaps on the head he'd given Spike had actually caused brain
damage, or he'd always been this stupid. "Are you offering?"

"No!"

"Ah. Well, then, no." Xander picked the Yorkshire Pudding up again, and
proceeded to butter it and cover it with gravy. He could feel the strength of
Spike's pout even without looking at him. It was a full-on pout number 21 --
nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I'm gonna go outside and eat worms. "I
wouldn't bother -- it's still raining. They're probably all drowned and icky,"
he said calmly, then bit into the pastry.

"You're crazy -- and what's all drowned and icky?"

"The worms."

"If you're trying to do a willie-wilting number on me -- with drowned icky wet
worms..."

Xander stuck a fork into Spike's roast beef, making sure not to look at his
husband if at all possible. "Now why would I want to do that?"

"So you can sit there and eat my dinner and pretend you don't owe me turnabout
is fair play." The pout was developing into an actual sulk, from the sound of
things. Xander grinned -- and reached for his hot cocoa, which was reasonably
warm now, instead of happy, burn your tongue hot.

Warm enough to swig. Warm enough to get a large mouthful of melted
marshmallows and warm chocolate. Some of which he swallowed as he slid off his
chair and bent down over Spike, and some of which he didn't.

"Er...gah...rrr," Spike said, no longer sulking. Then, eventually, "That
better have been your cocoa, and not my blood."

"Sing the chorus with me, Spike. Ewww. Yuck. Ewww. D.S. al coda."

"Since when do you read music?"

"Since when do you care if I slather your cock in blood?"

"Don't. As long as it's *extra* blood, and not my nummy marshmallowy treat."

"Extra? You want me to call room service?" Xander decided he wasn't going to
ask himself why seeing Spike apparently give that question some serious thought
didn't *really* squick him. Maybe he'd finally become completely inured to the
thought of bloodplay with Spike. Maybe he had just reached the point where
almost anything was arousing, as long as it involved a certain snarky,
usually-blond vampire? Maybe he was just too tired to think about it.

That wasn't to say he was going to stop giving Spike a hard time...so to
speak...about it. He reached into his mug of cocoa and trapped a remnant of
melted marshmallow, then brought his finger to his mouth and licked it off. He
repeated the process with another tiny mass of melted goo.

"We need more marshmallows."

Xander looked over at Spike, who was still sprawled on the floor, and watching
him closely. "Nah, I've got enough here," Xander told him, catching up a third
little bit of marshmallow, and sucking it off. Spike's eyes were getting bigger. 
Xander looked into his mug, and saw there were no more floating masses of fluff. 
He shrugged. "Huh. Guess I was wrong. All gone."

Spike scrambled to his feet, grabbed his mug, and handed it out to Xander.

Xander stared deeply into the swirly red-and-white mess. Right. Not like he
hadn't tasted blood before. Just about impossible to live with a vampire and
not. But it was usually his *own* blood, which was all tied up with feeding and
warm Spike thoughts and things that made his eyes glaze over just as much as
Spike's probably were at the sight of him staring into the mug, as confirmed
when he glanced up.

Just a little human blood, right? Voluntarily donated, possibly by the pretty
blonde Dish of the Day. No big deal. In fact, well... He ought to be trying to
get used to it, right? Xander glanced at it again. If he squinted, and didn't
smell it, he could pretend it was whipped cream and raspberry syrup.

Maybe he could just call down to room service and *order* some whipped cream
and raspberry syrup?

Another look at Spike, whose wide eyes had gone from blue to yellow, and whose
other evidence of interest in the proceedings was practically pointing at the
ceiling. Xander smiled, and sniffed the contents of the mug, so Spike knew he
knew exactly what he was doing. Then he dipped a finger in, and lifted it to his
mouth.

He was going to do it. He was *ready* to do it. Even if just for the look in
Spike's eyes, he *wanted* to do it. Xander was slightly surprised, therefore, to
find that the mouth that was gently sucking on his finger was not, in fact, his
own. "Er?" he managed, sounding nearly as coherent as he always did when Spike
sucked on his fingers. He had to wait until Spike was finished sucking, then
licking clean, then nibbling just to make sure, and finally let his finger go,
before he could say, "Erm?"

Spike's golden eyes were still staring at him, holding him still as though
Spike were trying to suck him in just by looking at him. Xander shivered. 
"Need more marshmallows?" he asked, not entirely sure what he meant, but at
least it was English.

"Nah. Just thought...um, might not be clean, s'all."

Xander blinked. Clean? "How can you get marshmallows dirty? Seeing as how
they're floating in blood, I hate to ask what *counts*."

"No, the blood. Didn't think you'd really...hoped you'd make 'oh, disgusting
vampire, need to be spanked' noises, then let me lick your fingers."

Now Xander grinned. In his best lecherous-old-man voice, he asked, "You wanna
lick blood off my fingers, little vampire?"

"Er," Spike said. The glance downward betrayed him. Xander waggled his hips
back and forth, and Spike's gaze waggled back and forth as well.

"Why wouldn't I?" Xander asked, now that Spike was too distracted to answer
clearly.

"Er...whahuh?"

"Why wouldn't I drink the blood?"

"Cos...um..." Spike managed to actually look up -- Xander suspected it was
only because he was conditioned to prick up his ears at the sound of the b-word.
"Ewww? Yuck? D.S. al coda?"

"First of all, how many ewww yuck things have you convinced me to do in the
last seven years? And I do include the thing with the clothespins and the hot
mustard, because that was *not* my idea, and it won't ever have *been* my idea,
no matter how many times you say it was."

Spike looked as if he were seriously trying to count, for a moment, the number
of eeew, yucks. Xander could see his lips moving. But Xander could also see him
getting lost in the details of each experience, by the time he hit number four.
So Xander whapped Spike on the head. First, to get him back on track, and
second, because it was fun. The third time was because Spike was glaring at him,
but not answering his question. The fourth time was because he'd got into a
rhythm, and the fifth time was on the down-beat.

"Grr?" Spike sounded as if he didn't know if he was supposed to object, or
start humming. Xander stopped whapping him, just in case he really wanted to try
answering Xander's question. Spike shook his head once, gave Xander a kiss,
then said, "You ate my pudding."

"Um, duh? Several minutes ago."

"You left the carrots."

"Again with the 'duh'." Spike looked like he was gonna pout again, so Xander
asked, in a normal tone of voice, "How could the blood not be clean? It came
right out of...er, somebody. Didn't it?"

"Yeah, but she might've been sick, or something. You think it's easy catching
a cold by breathing on somebody? Try drinking their blood."

"You don't catch colds," Xander began, then quickly added, "because you're a
vampire. I'm not. Okay, brain working now."

Spike smiled. "Oh, well, we can't have *that*, can we? On your honeymoon and
all, Mr. Chase Giles Harris."

"You can call me Mr. Gunn," Xander said in a breathy tone, because Spike's
fingers were already doing things to parts of his body that had been
goosebump-free a moment ago. He shivered, and pressed himself up against Spike
as if seeking heat. Spike's fingers kept doing that thing, right there, that
made him go "Muuuuuuuh."

"Brain off, now?" Spike asked softly.

Xander inhaled. "No, actually, it's wondering why the marshmallows don't soak
*up* the blood. Or did they? Aren't they porous?" Then he got whapped on the
head.

Part Three  

"Are you sure that's big enough for everybody to see? Maybe I should give it another go,"
Spike suggested, studying the rather large hickey he'd created just above Xander's collar.
They were standing in the hallway outside their suite, actually attempting to leave their room
for some sight-seeing.


"Not that I mind in the least," Xander replied, "but if you start sucking on my neck again,
we may never get out of the hotel -- and I thought you wanted to show me where Jack the Ripper
hung out?"


Spike frowned. It *did* look perfectly visible to him -- not that he'd mind doing some more
sucking either -- but was it obvious enough to qualify as a 'mineminemine' mark, like the travel
package guide said he should do? 


Xander must have read his mind, because he grinned, and added, "Come on, like the sound of
you growling at anybody who comes near me isn't gonna be enough, all by itself?" 


Well... possibly he had a point. But Spike wanted to make *damn* sure none of the locals
decided Xander was a freefloating meal, lack of pink "Eat at Joe's" collar notwithstanding.
Humans, according to the glossy holiday package literature, didn't get killed around here unless
they were incredibly stupid, or actually picked a fight with a vamp, but that might be just
the line they fed to the tourists. Spike wasn't about to literally risk Xander's neck to find
out if these brochures were more truthful than the ones that claimed L.A. was a cultural Mecca
with clean streets and smiling film stars on every corner.


"You do know we can just buy me one of those dark blue velvet collars?" Xander asked, and
Spike had to work very hard at getting his brain cells to start working again as the last word
left Xander's mouth. Dark blue. The ones that 'pet' humans wore, as opposed to the pink-collared
petty criminals and dole recipients who voluntarily walked the streets waiting to get sucked
on, and were apparently trained to struggle realistically, if you wanted them to.


He opened his mouth to say something, possibly in response, and the image of Xander in a
dark blue collar hit him. Hard. Right in the groin. He heard someone growling, and looked
around -- only to discover it was Xander. "What? What're you growling at?" That was as far
as he got, because suddenly his mental image had the sound-effect added. Why hadn't they stayed
*home* and shagged for two weeks, again? Since they obviously weren't leaving their hotel
room at all? Ever? 


"Thought it'd get your attention. Are you listening?"

"No?" Xander could wear a loose, white, fisherman's shirt, open to the waist, and tight blue
breeches made of the same blue velvet. Knee-high black leather boots, collar, growl a bit,
and what was the question again? 


"Are we *going*? You said you wanted to show me around the city." Xander sounded amused.
The wanker was doing this on purpose.


"Yes. We're going. And we're buying you a collar and you're *wearing* it. The whole two
weeks, even if that means we don't get any sight-seeing done."


"If we don't leave the hotel, I won't need a collar," Xander pointed out. 

"Will," Spike replied. Xander grinned, and, yes indeed, he was doing this on purpose. Spike
growled at him. "You should be nice to me. S'my honeymoon."


"What was the bath, earlier, then?"

"Er--" Spike had woken up from their last nap, first, and got the hot bath started. When
Xander had woken, he'd proceeded to slowly sponge-bathe Spike. The hot water, scented soap,
and husband's hands had all ensured that Spike had been unable to get out of the bath until
half an hour after the bloody thing had run cold. Xander, by that time, had been fully dressed,
including hickey, and ready to go.


"Come on, let's go before you decide you have to ravish me again." Xander tugged on his hand
and led him toward the door.


Spike followed obediently --instinctively, which made Spike wonder just who was supposed
to be wearing the collar here. Not that he'd mind such, either. But his would have to be black
leather. With little Spikes. Little *metal* spikes, not little 'Little Spikes'. Though that
would be amusing, too. 


Spike was well aware that he was babbling internally as his husband led him down the hall
and to the lifts. Part of it was the sight of Xander in the outfit he *had* chosen, which involved
black, black, and more black, and a splash of black for decoration. There was also a red carnation
in his lapel, and he was wearing a Homburg. It was very possibly the hat that did it. Especially
with the way it made Xander's hair crinkle down over his ears and into his face.


The other part was the fact that once they were out walking the streets of a vamp-infested
London, he wouldn't have the *luxury* of acting like a complete lovesick buffoon, even if he
was one. When they reached the lift doors and Xander had hit the down button, he turned and
looked at Spike. Spike managed to not trip, by dint of freezing in place. Had he brought
a camera?


"Spike?" There wasn't any teasing in Xander's voice, this time.

"You look--" Spike began. But he couldn't find any words. He'd not been a terrible poet
for nothing, proven now by barely being able to think of more than 'grr' and 'mine' to describe
how stunning his husband appeared.


Xander grinned, shyly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Rr. Anyone touches you and I break their arm off." Xander didn't laugh. He wriggled
his fingers for Spike to come closer, which Spike did eagerly. When he was close enough, Xander
took hold of his hand. It was warm, and just a tiny bit sweaty. Spike leaned forward and
kissed him. "Rrr. Mine."


"Rrr, right back atcha." Xander's smile made Spike think that maybe, instead of a camera,
they should stop somewhere and have a portrait done. Oils and canvas would come closest to
doing this man justice.... "The lift's here," Xander said after a moment. "We gonna make it
downstairs?"


"If we're gonna make it, we should prob'ly go back to the room," Spike replied, only partially
in jest. Partially, because he didn't really care if they made it right where they were, standing
in the carpeted hallway in front of the lifts. 


Xander laughed, and hauled him into the lift. "Come on. If we stay here, then I can't show
you off to the English vampire people."


Spike blinked. "Show *me* off?"

"Yes, show *you* off. Show everybody out there that I've got the hottest vampire in the line
of Aurelius, making goo-goo eyes at *me*. So there, snooty coat guy."


Goo goo eyes? Spike was *not* making goo goo eyes. He hadn't made goo goo eyes at Xander
-- or anybody -- since last Christmas, when he'd fallen into the bowl of eggnog while fishing
about for Goober, who was really too young to be swimming in that stuff, no matter what Dru
thought. He wasn't drunk enough to make goo goo eyes, now. 


"Spike?" Xander asked, a moment later.

"Huh?"

"Could you ask snooty coat guy for my coat? We've been stopped in the lobby for five minutes now."

"Right. Just wanted to make sure it was safe to leave the lift." Spike didn't think he'd
fooled Xander, but it was the attempt that mattered.


"Mm-hmm." Xander followed him out of the lift and into the lobby, then towards the front
desk. Snooty coat guy was nearby, and Spike went up to him. 


"Where's his coat?" he growled.

Snooty coat guy didn't even bat an eyelash. He turned and headed to a door, which opened
to reveal a small room. Spike wondered if being married had made his growl go all soft. Then
again, this *was* the land of the vampires. They must all just be used to it. Oddly, that
didn't make him feel much better. 


"Here you are, sir," the man was saying a moment later, holding out Xander's coat to Spike.
Spike started to growl again, and the manservant jumped a bit, and handed it out to Xander.


His -- glurble -- husband took a look at the coat, then shook it, as if he were making sure
there weren't any fleas or cooties or other nasty little buggers on it. Then he examined it
again, and finally slipped it on. 


Spike didn't bother to resist snickering. "Who's a clever pet, then," he whispered, knowing
full well that half the vamps in the room could hear him.


"Shall we?" Xander said, offering his arm.

Spike ignored it, in favor of grabbing Xander's hand. He wasn't precisely keeping in period,
judging from both his actual memories, and the vamp couples strolling in and out of the hotel
lobby -- but it allowed him skin-to-skin contact. Xander seemed to appreciate that fact as
well, or maybe he just knew, despite Spike's mature, dignified behavior, how nervous Spike
was about going out on the town with his glurble. He grinned, and nodded, and this time it
was Spike who was tugging Xander out the wide front doors, into the clear, warm night.


"So where are we supposed to be going, first?" Xander asked, as they walked down the fairly
busy street. Spike was looking left and right, seeing everything he hadn't had the chance or
the patience to focus on during their muddy trek to the hotel earlier. The buildings he'd grown
up with, or at least those he'd known as a young man. No glass-walled business towers. No council
block tenement housing. Just big old wood-and-brick structures fronting streets still paved
for horse travel, instead of automobile. Cars existed, but they weren't allowed inside the
city limits of London -- to preserve the atmosphere or some such. 


They'd done a good job. It even smelled like a century ago -- except a bit less polluted.
The scent of rain and horse and, as Xander had pointed out hours ago, what horses left behind,
was strong. If he didn't breathe in too deeply as people strolled past them in long skirts
and frock coats, Spike could even imagine that they were human. 


He blinked as he heard Xander say his name again, but he continued gazing about the street.
He realized that he probably looked like a bloody tourist -- which he was, and did he care
if he acted like it? Finally he turned his attention back to his...right, if he didn't think
the word, maybe he wouldn't make the squeaky sound. There was a curious expression on Xander's
face which made Spike wish he could blush.


"What do you wanna do first?" Xander asked, and that 'isn't he adorable' expression bled
into his voice as well. Damn right Spike was adorable. 


"Er," Spike began, then realized he couldn't recall what he'd suggested. They'd read over
the brochures, finding out more about the collar thing, as well as studying the guide to tourist
traps - both literal and non. The study session had ended up like the previous one had, when
they'd been trying to settle on a honeymoon spot on the first place. Was it Spike's fault that
lying on the floor with Xander made him think of things not related to reading? "We were gonna
visit Whitechapel," he finally remembered, though the first thing that popped into his head
was "go back upstairs and shag". 


"A church? We getting married again?" Xander looked dubious at the prospect, although this
time there was no Princess to stop them from shagging in front of the minister, so Spike wouldn't
have especially minded.


Still, he rolled his eyes. "Whitechapel's the neighborhood where Jack the Ripper did all his
work. We can go find out if this place had a vampiric equivalent."


"Er, not to be obvious or anything, but how could anyone tell? Vampire killing a bunch of
women? This stands out how, exactly?"


"Points for creative effort? Mad Jack was all about taunting the coppers, in our world. Sticking
out his tongue at all the folks who thought they knew who he was." Now why was Xander looking
at him suspiciously? "It was *not* me!" Spike protested. "I didn't do it!"


He wasn't exactly sure why he was protesting -- shouldn't he be looking mysterious and smug
about the whole thing? Not like he *wouldn't* have done it, if he hadn't been busy ripping
people's necks open and sucking them dry, at the time. Somewhere in Darbyshire, if he remembered
rightly. The Poof -- who would've ripped *Spike's* neck open for calling him that in those
days -- had been in a tizzy over following Jack the Lad in the newspapers. Thought he might
look the fellow up and turn him. 


It was utter coincidence that the minute he started going on about that, Spike and Dru had
got themselves in a little drained-the-entire-local-hunt-club sort of trouble, and the four
of them had had to high-tail it out of the country for a couple of years. Nothing at all to
do with jealousy. Angelus had bought that story, anyhow; Darla hadn't, but hadn't minded leaving
England. Spike doubted Xander would believe him either, so he just kept his mouth shut about
the whole thing, and instead suggested -- "Fancy a hansom cab ride?"


Xander frowned at him slightly, and Spike just waited. "They have ugly cabs, too?"

"Yes, they have ugly cabs. Come on, m'not gonna stand here all night jabbering, when we
could be out having fun. Since we're not in having fun."


Xander let Spike grab his arm, and start hauling him towards the edge of the street where
a few cabs were waiting for fares. "We have to leave the hotel at least seven times," Xander
said. 


Spike stopped, and gave his husband-glurble a confused look. "What for?"

"I did some calculations before we left -- actually, about two weeks before the wedding,
when I could still think clearly. That's how often we have to stop having sex in a two week
period so my privates don't fall off."


Spike had been about to grab hold of the door to the hansom; he missed his grab, but managed
to not throw himself forward into the mud. Xander laughed, then opened the door and climbed
inside. Spike growled. "Whitechapel!" he yelled up at the driver, and followed Xander inside.
Somebody was going to find out just how much room there was to maneuver inside a cab.


The cabbie leaned round and peered in the window, and Xander waved up at him from where he
lay sprawled over Spike's lap, with his hat in one hand. Spike growled. "You got a problem,
mate? We're having a private discussion, here."


"No, just need to know *where* in Whitechapel. Street address?"

Huh. Spike shrugged, not lifting his hand from the back of Xander's shirt collar. "Anywhere,
really. Thought I'd give him the Ripper tour, so I guess we could start with Buck's Row."


"The who tour?" The cabbie sounded truly clueless, and Spike wondered if maybe he shouldn't
drag Xander out the other door and find somebody who actually knew the difference between Islington
and Perivale (better pubs) to drive them.


"Hey, cool -- they have Giles-music here," Xander said cheerfully. "He's always bitching
about them breaking up."


"Who?"

"Yeah, them."

Spike decided to ignore the blatant request for him to start spanking, since Xander would
just pretend he hadn't asked for it and yell at Spike for doing it in front of the driver.
He concentrated on the idiot cabbie for a moment, instead. "Ripper, comma, Jack the? Mad Jack?
Scotland Yard's bonnie boy?"


The driver frowned at him. "Sorry, mate. Not got a clue what you're on about."

"Guy who killed a bunch of women in eighteen... when was it?" Xander twisted pleasantly on
Spike's lap in order to look back at him. The current pop hit "What Was The Question Again?"
began to play in Spike's head. 


Xander grinned and thumped him on the knee, and at last he muttered "Eighteen eighty six."

"Eighteen eighty-six?" the bloke scoffed, and he sounded like John Cleese saying, 'You sold
me a dead parrot?' "How would anybody 'ave noticed? Streets were awash in blood, those days."


"Nyah-nyah, nyah-nyah, boo-boo," Xander sang. Spike gave in and smacked him one, though it
obviously didn't do any good through his coat and trousers. Xander just chuckled, which meant
he was going to be all puritan and annoying and not let Spike take those trousers down in a
public place. 'Public place' being something that only Xander was allowed to define, of course;
he been perfectly willing to shag in the back seat of their *own* car on numerous occasions.
The only explanation he'd ever given was, "If it makes me uncomfortable, it's public." How
fair was that?


"Stop pouting," Xander ordered Spike.

"M'not."

"Spike, I find myself wanting to kiss you repeatedly until your lips get all puffy and your
hair stands up like Angel's, without the aid of a single dollop of mousse."


"Rrrr. Yeah?"

"Which means you're pouting. Stop it."

It was easy to spot the flaw in Xander's logic. "Er, I'm supposed to stop doing something
-- that I'm not doing, but if I were, you'd want me to stop -- that makes you want to kiss
me stupid? Why exactly?"


But Xander just grinned. "Because I'm not gonna. I'd just want to, and get all frustrated
until I'm grumpy." He sighed, rolled his eyes at Spike's continued pout, and told the driver,
"Look, just take us someplace touristy, where he can enjoy lots of blood and killing and vampirey
stuff. K?"


"Right, House of Lords do you?" the driver asked.

"Sounds fine to me," Xander told him, and the driver's face disappeared from the window.
Spike lost his wasn't-pouting pout, and leered hopefully. "Nope," Xander said.


"Nope what?" Spike asked, sliding his hands over Xander's bum.

"You're not shagging me in a cab. So you can just take your hands offa me, buster, and put
'em where they belong."


"If I take my hand off of you, you're liable to fall onto the floor. I'm only thinking of
your safety," Spike replied.


"You're thinking you're gonna make me forget the cabbie's listening to us, even if he's pretending
he isn't."


Spike raised an eyebrow, and pounded on the front of the cab. "Oi, you up there? You listening
to us?"


The cabbie's voice came echoing back immediately, "No, sir. Wouldn't do a thing like that."

"See?" He looked hopefully at Xander again, not that he really expected it would work. 

Nor did it. Xander rolled his eyes and scrambled into a sitting position next to him, only
giving Spike time for one good grope before he was upright and peering out the window at the
homes they were passing. Spike considered settling into a real pout, but figured it wasn't
worth the extra facial exercise, especially since Xander truly did seem to be interested in
the scenery. That was why they'd picked this place, right? So Spike could show him off...er...around.
Still, Spike couldn't resist a little sniffle. 


"Could at least come and sit on my lap, like a good little velvet-collared kept-man," he
murmured, wistfully.


"I don't have a collar yet, and there's nothing on your side of the cab but traffic." Xander
looked out the window for a second longer, then grinned, and pulled Spike onto *his* lap. "Happy?"
he asked, as he pulled the window-curtain aside again and gazed out.


"Er," Spike tried to think if saying yes was gonna get him into any trouble he didn't mean
to be in. He didn't think so, but he'd been rather distracted with the Xander-butt he'd been
staring at for all too short a time. "Yeah," he finally said. He leaned over to see out, as well.


"This is better, anyway," Xander said a moment later, interrupting Spike's comment about
the building they were just about to pass. 


"What? I mean, yeah, of course, but how do you reckon?"

Xander snickered at him. "Excuse me? Who among us is the kept man?"

Spike raised his hand, and blinked at Xander like he didn't possibly understand how being
kept could be cause for the keeper snickering. Between working for an unliving or hanging
around the hotel, Xander's office, and the alleyways of LA -- he'd rather be kept. He got lots
more sex, that way.


"Maybe I should get *you* the velvet collar, then." Xander was looking at his neck when
he said that, and Spike saw his pupils contract slightly before they lost all focus. 


Spike wriggled a bit, rubbing his butt against the not-too-tired-at-all cock in Xander's
trousers, and preened, stretching his head to one side to show more neck. "You think it'd go?"


"Go where?" Xander asked distractedly, shifting beneath Spike in a manner that let his husband
know exactly what he was thinking should go where. 


"Erm..." Spike leaned back against Xander's shoulder. "Anywhere you'd like to put it, I s'pose."
They'd been talking about something specific, hadn't they? A collar, round somebody's neck.
Velvet. Right.


Xander took a deep breath, then asked in a tone that was almost conversational, "Why do I
get the feeling we should've asked Cordy for some of that de-lusting powder to bring along
with us?"


"Relax. We're both fully clothed, and--" The cab hit a genuine vintage London mudhole, and
Spike bounced up a good two inches off Xander's lap, then down again. "Sorry, what was I saying?"


"You were saying why you weren't kissing me?"

Spike blinked. "I was? Stupid me, then." He leaned down the few necessary inches and kissed
Xander. Kissed him as long as he could until he forgot why they were still dressed, and could
only remember that something bad would happen if he removed Xander's clothes. He leaned back
and looked at Xander, and could tell that his husband didn't remember why, either. So he reached
forward and started pulling Xander's shirt open. Xander slapped his hand. 


"What was that for?"

"No shagging."

"I wasn't! Er, now, I'm not. You can shag me." Spike got his hands as far as his belt,
when he got slapped again. "Er...I'm guessing that's another 'no Spike, no shagging'?"


"We're in a cab, remember?"

"Er. Yeah? Oh!" He reached over and closed the curtains. Then he tried to undo his belt, again.

There were fingers on his, but they weren't smacking him this time. Probably a good idea,
that -- what had possessed Xander to think that engaging in blatant foreplay would encourage
him *not* to want to shag? Xander's hands were just holding his, firmly. Not that Spike didn't
have twice the strength required to break out of such a grasp, if he wanted to, but why would
he? Especially when he was being kissed again.


A small part of his mind was telling him that this would only lead in a vicious, if pleasurable
cycle, but he ignored it, the way he usually did. It was always telling him things like "Do
the dishes, Spike," and "Don't touch the button marked don't touch, Spike," and where was the
fun in that? He was just getting back round to the bit where he opened Xander's shirt a little
further, when the cab lurched to a halt, and Spike was bounced forward and back again.


"House of Lords, sir," the driver called back.

After a moment of enjoying the impact, Spike lifted the curtain, looked about, and frowned.
"This isn't the House of Lords-- we're in the middle of bleedin' Green Park!"


Spike heard a very softly muttered, "Offworld tourists..." before the cabbie said patiently,
"Yessir. House of Lords meets outside. Have since the early fifties. Ever since they burned
the place down for the third time in the same year over whether they should try to tax the
folks as raise homebred humans the same as those that buys 'em at the marketplace."


Spike took a look at Xander's raised eyebrow and asked carefully, "Who won?" Not as if he
really cared, since if he had to pay a tax on Xander, it'd be Xander who ended up actually
paying it. 


"You find out, let me know, mate," the cabbie chuckled. "They're still arguing over it."

Xander's eyebrows were still hiding under his bangs -- which, since he'd taken to cutting
them short again, like that horribly geeky year of high school, was saying a lot. Spike shrugged.
"You're a privately owned human. Worst that can happen is someone will offer to buy you."
He was pretty sure he sounded confident, even if he was considering having the cabbie take
them back to the hotel.


"Oh, not to worry. Offworld humans pay tax outside the gates. Er, when you paid for your
hotel, taxes were all included. *That* one they all agreed on right away off." The cabbie smiled.


"Thanks," Xander told him, scowling at Spike. 

"What?" Spike couldn't think of anything he'd done to deserve being scowled at. Xander just
scooted towards the door, and stepped out. Spike followed him quickly -- not because he was
nervous or anything, but because if anyone got a gander at his husband, he wanted to it be
a gander of Spike's husband as attached to Spike. The cabbie was waiting, patiently. Spike
started to reach into a pocket, then stopped and looked at Xander. "Any idea what the going
rate is?"


Xander blinked at him. "You're asking *me*?" He sighed. "Just pay him. We're gonna get
overcharged anyway, might as well give him what he asks for."


"Five bob," the cabbie said promptly.

"Five bob? For a cab ride from Holborn to Green Park? I thought highway robbery went out
with Dick Turpin." Spike was just arguing for the hell of it, really, and to give himself a
longer period of groping in Xander's pocket for his wallet. "Or haven't you heard of him, either?"
He asked this as he handed over the requested note, which the cabbie peered at just long enough
to not quite be insulting about it, then pocketed.


"Of course I've heard of him," the driver replied. "He went about robbing humans at gunpoint.
Nasty criminal element. Nothing like that goes on round here now. They're a protected species."


"Great," Xander muttered. "I'm a humpback whale."

"Does that mean I can--" Spike stopped as he found a hand over his mouth. He settled for
raising one eyebrow in an eloquent gesture that meant 'can I lick it?' and waited for Xander
to scold him again.


"Let's go see if they're in session, or whatever the English Vampiric equivalent is," Xander
said, grabbing Spike's arm and hauling him away from the cab. 


When he dropped his hand, Spike said, "Is that it?"

Xander stopped walking. "Is what it?"

"That all the scolding I get? Doesn't seem right." 

Part Four

Spike straightened the lapels of his coat, and began striding towards a small
knot of vampires, standing about. They were dressed like Lordly assistants,
rather than Lords themselves, and he figured he stood a better chance of getting
some real information from them than the snobbery kind. He tried to make himself
look as important as possible.

Xander followed, saying nothing. Spike imagined there was a bit of eye
rolling and sighing going on behind him, perhaps some smirking at his expense. 
Nothing new.

As they drew near, one of the younger men glanced over, then broke away from
the group and hurried over. Spike stopped, wondering if they had 'tourist'
written on their foreheads, or if visitors just weren't allowed to watch.

"Master Spike! We weren't expecting you. How may I assist you?"

Spike halted. Behind him, after a moment, Xander began laughing. "What're you
laughing at? Obviously they've heard tales of my great adventures in..." Spike
tried to think about where -- besides Xander's bed -- he'd had some adventures
great enough to have gotten gossiped about in another dimension.

"Fish-breeding?" Xander offered. Spike scowled at him. It wasn't as if the
Father of the Year had known that Piranha don't give live birth, either, until
the Host had told them both.

The fellow in front of them was still looking worried and solicitous, so Spike
graciously pretended he hadn't heard Xander's comment, and said, "Er, yeah. They
in session?" He pointed towards the group of better-dressed men, who were
sitting about on wooden park benches, surrounded by riots of yellow daffodils,
and talking quietly amongst themselves.

"Oh, very funny, sir. That's a good one." The younger vamp leaned towards
Xander and said, "He's a great wit, is Master Spike. As if they could be in
formal session without at least three bloodfights going on at a time." The
vampire grinned. Then he sniffed once, and glanced at Xander's throat in
confusion. "Er, Master Spike. Is this...evidence? You did know the
blood-tasting's been canceled for today? Not, mind, that anyone would object to
sampling him if you offered, *unofficially*."

"He's *mine*," Spike growled, without even thinking about it.

"Of course! Of course, never meant to imply otherwise, Milord. Would...would
there be anything else I could assist you with?" The young vampire seemed eager
to get his neck off the chopping block, or at least send Master Spike and his
human on their way.

"Nah. S'nothing else. Go away." Spike looked over towards the gaggle of
Lords, dismissing the servant as befit someone of his apparent, but mystifying,
stature. The vampire bowed and hurried away. Xander poked Spike in the back
of the head.

"What?"

"Master Spike?"

"I like hearing you say that," Spike grinned. "Yeah. Get you all collared
up, a little bit of the yes, master going on...."

Xander just rolled his eyes. "You realize what this means?"

"Yeah, it means they've heard of me. Means we have to find you a blue collar
so you don't get nabbed by somebody. Er, what?"

"Did either of us think to ask if we already lived in this dimension?"

"Love, I realize your brain's all full up with images of me leading you round
on a chain, and of you wearing nothing but that collar and a smile and the extra
set of handcuff keys, but I'm pretty sure I know which dimension we live in."
Spike patted Xander's head tenderly. "It's the one where Angel's a big dork, and
they took Passions off the air three years ago, the bastards."

Xander just looked at him, as if he were waiting for Spike to catch on. Truth
was, Spike had caught on the minute Xander said it, but it wouldn't do let
Xander stop thinking he was the only smart one. Then Xander might have time to
catch on to the fact that they shared the title of 'The Cute One' too, no matter
what Buffy said.

"Oh," Spike finally said, as if he'd just twigged. "You mean there might be
another us. The homebrewed versions."

"Yeah." Xander's eyes lit up. "Hey, maybe they're evil and have goatees, and
we'll have to overthrow them to save the local population."

Spike jerked a thumb in the direction of the peacefully chatting vampires.
"Hate to point this out, but the local population *is* evil. That was sort of
the point of the trip, remember?"

"Then maybe they're good, and we'll have to overthrow them...?"

"Why would we want to overthrow them, if they're good?" Spike smacked himself
on the head as soon as the words came out of his mouth. "I used to be evil, you
know. It was natural, didn't have to think twice about killing innocent people. 
Now I find myself wanting to say 'but it's *wrong*'. Xan, help?"

Xander stepped close, and smiled. Spike was willing to agree that helped a
great deal. Then Xander opened his mouth, ran his tongue along his lower lip,
then said, "You remember how I look when I've crawled out of Angel's hot tub,
and I'm lying on the bench, too relaxed from the hot water to move?"

This was a trick question? Spike nodded.

"You feel like killing anyone now?"

"Yeah - Angel, if he walks in on us, or Wes, if he turns us into newts."

"Besides them," Xander waved a hand, as if they didn't count.

"Erm...no. I don't." Spike pouted, this time for real. "But I *used* to be
a badass vampire."

"Now you're mine," Xander said softly.

That made Spike grin. He turned it into a leer, since they were in public,
and all. "Yeah. Grr. Wanna go say hi to the Lordly Vampires? See if I'm
really hot stuff in this world?"

Xander rolled his eyes, and pushed Spike in that general direction, by way of
a shove on the arse. He also whispered, "You know damn well you're hot stuff on
any world."

"Be cold on Pluto," Spike whispered back, to show that he watched the
Discovery Channel for more than just the wildebeest mating.

"Eww," Xander shot back as they neared the gaggle of vampiric politicians.
"You couldn't be cold on Goofy? He's at least vaguely anthropomorphic."

"You're perverted," Spike declared. He grinned as a well-dressed fellow who
was obviously the Honorable Something of Something looked sharply at them, then
began walking over.

"Spike, old boy. So...pleased...that you decided to join us."

Spike didn't think he sounded especially pleased, but there was nothing
specific that he could point out in the man's demeanor, to prove it. He cocked
his head and studied the specimen before him for a second or two. Well-turned
out, carefully-coifed brown hair that could give Angel a run for his money in
the fussiness department. Neatly trimmed mustache, and a look of cultivated
boredom that brought back such a stab of familiarity that Spike wondered, for a
moment, if he'd actually known this man -- or rather his counterpart -- when he
was alive. After another second, he concluded that he hadn't -- it was just a
type. Young, rich, following in Lord Daddy's footsteps, and dreadfully full of
himself.

"He even dressed up for the occasion -- we *are* honoured," said another
vampire, coming up behind the first. The newcomer was cut from the same cloth,
though he had blond hair and a nasty overbite in his human teeth.

Spike glanced down at his own clothes, which were on the plain side of
respectable, since tonight was all about showing Xander off to the world, from a
safe distance. Not as fancy as these toffs were dressed, for certain, but as far
as he could tell, nothing was torn, stained, or purple.

"I told'ja you didn't need the cock ring," Xander said, and Spike grinned as
the two pompous arses looked surprised.

The two Lords looked at Xander, then each other, with obvious uncertainty. 
Spike felt no need to explain who Xander was, nor even offer lies. He enjoyed
needling these types of blokes. When he'd known them before, he hadn't been able
to without getting tossed in the mud. Once he'd become a vampire, they'd become
his food, and his toys. Now... Xander slipped his arm in Spike's, and leaned
against him a little.

The two Lords looked even more surprised. "I didn't know you'd taken to..."
the second one started, then apparently changed his mind about whatever he was
going to say. After a pause, he said with a sneer, "Keeping human pets." He
still looked somewhat confused.

"Pet. Singular," Spike replied, holding back the growl. He felt Xander's
hand tighten on his, briefly. The two Lords gave Xander the once-over, long,
measuring looks. The first gave a half-shrug and said nothing.

"That's me," Xander confirmed. "I'm cheap to feed, and litter trained, and I
don't even hump the neighbors' legs, unless I'm asked politely."

Spike didn't bother to hold back his chuckle, at that. Though he did point
out, "You're not cheap to feed. You eat more than any human I know except
Cordelia -- and she doesn't count, 'cos I swear she has some sort of dimensional
gateway in her stomach, to eat like that and never gain a bloody pound."

"I think she just sold her soul to the Tae-Bo guy, actually," Xander told him.

"An American pet?" The second Lord finally said, still sounding a bit
bewildered. "Don't they have a six-month quarantine?"

Spike was about to say something witty about Xander having been immunized
against catching most of the nasty English bugs going round, like pomposity and
general berkishness, when the first man answered.

"I expect such considerations are waived, for members of certain families."
Oddly, his voice held a note of warning in it, as if he was hinting to his
comrade that he should tone down the snobbery. Just who was Spike supposed to be
in this world, then? Somebody they looked down on and feared, at the same time?

"Of course," the second vampire was muttering, and he edged away, as if he'd
like to leave if they would just take their attention off him for a moment. 
Spike was tempted to do exactly the opposite. And Spike was so bad at resisting
temptation....

"Is there something wrong with that?" he asked, his question in response to
the first Lord, but he looked at the second as he spoke. "What's the point of
having power, if you can't be comfortable?" Although he did wonder what sort of
power he had. Or perhaps, what power his family had. Who held the power?
Angelus? Angel? Had they even made that bloody awful trip to Romania in this
universe, or decided to holiday in Italy, like Drusilla had wanted?

Spike was momentarily mind-blipped at the thought, so it startled him a bit
when he heard the second Lord answer, "There's nothing wrong with comfort. But
what's the point of power, if you can't do something with it?"

"Darcy, really," the other vampire said, the 'hush up' apparent in his tone.

"No, I think it's a fair question. We're trying to run a country here. Maybe
we're fools, to think that vampires could ever be loyal to anything but their
own appetites, but we've done something, in the last century. Kept alive some
sort of loyalty to queen and kingdom, and created a society that works, out of a
bloodsoaked mess..." Here, the blond, buck-toothed vamp stopped, as if he'd
suddenly realized he might've gone too far, and looked at the ground.

Spike, for one, was less offended than curious, and as always, eager to poke
at any apparent hornets' nest to see what came buzzing out. "I like a good
bloodsoaked mess," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "But do go on." Next to
him, he could feel Xander gearing up to give him the head-whapping of a
lifetime, if he got them into more trouble than they could handle.

The mustached vampire Lord looked torn between apologizing for his friend's
apparent rudeness, and sneering at Spike himself. "I think perhaps we shouldn't.
They're about to open session again, after all."

"No, really, it's fascinating -- " Spike was about to needle the pair again,
when he felt a sharp pain in his left foot -- caused by Xander stepping hard on
his toe. He glanced at his husband, to find the 'we are not amused' look
plastered all over Xander's face.

"Maybe we should just find a seat and watch, Spike?"

Darcy snickered. When Spike gave him the raised eyebrow, he stammered,
"Surely you wouldn't...allow a human to observe? The safest spot for him would
be on the top of the Careo building with a spyglass." It sounded as though he
thought there was such a thing as taking power and privilege too far, and Spike
thought about just how bloody politics could be. Perhaps it would be a better
idea to observe the session from half a mile away.

He also thought about finding out just how much power he had around here....
Could he declare that he and Xander were going to watch, right here, and there
was damn all they could do about it to stop them? Let the Lords decide if it
was worth antagonizing...whoever they were afraid of, by not keeping the fight
out of Spike and Xander's way? It might be fun to find out.

There went that sharp pain in his toe again. "It isn't like anyone would hurt
*you*," Spike reassured his husband. "Give you a sharp stake and a spot on the
grass over there, you'll be fine." He grinned, though he knew he wouldn't
*really* do it. Maybe. It would be fun, though.

Xander was still being not amused. The first Lord suddenly gasped. "I don't
believe it," he muttered.

Spike turned back to him. "Don't believe what?"

"Are you seriously asking your pet for *permission* to attend the session? My
god, you are. What sort of sick--"

Spike was growling game-faced at him before he got the chance to finish the
question. Xander's hand on his arm was the only thing that stopped Spike from
being up in the other vampire's face, and possibly ripping it off. "Spike, calm
down. We're las touristas, remember? You really want Angel to have to come bail
us out in another *dimension* ? He was pissed off enough when he had to drive to
Fresno."

"In another dimension?" Darcy repeated slowly.

"With voyeuristic intention," Xander replied, grinning. He yanked back on
Spike's coat collar at the same time, pulling him yet further away from what
would've been a really satisfying throwdown, for what-- an impromptu midnight
showing of the Rocky Horror Show? A brief image of Giles in fishnets flashed
before Spike's eyes, and he couldn't hold his gameface and stifle the giggles at
the same time. Dammit! He *used* to be a badass vamp...

The dark-haired vampire was gamefaced as well, but was looking confused.
Darcy, though, was tapping him on the shoulder. "Fairfax... I think I
understand."

"Wonderful. The world shall continue to spin on its axis because Jeremy Darcy
understands. What, precisely, do you understand?" Fairfax asked huffily.

"That he's not your Spike," Xander explained, his hand never loosening its
grip on Spike's collar. "He's my Spike."

Fairfax still looked confused, and now a bit disgusted, which had Spike ready
to try another break for his throat. Darcy turned to his friend. "They're
tourists. *Offworld* tourists."

Fairfax' expression changed instantly to one of comprehension. Spike found he
was a bit disappointed -- apparently he wasn't all *that* not evil. A good
fight would be just the thing...since he wasn't getting shagged properly.
Fairfax was saying, "You're...remarkable. Truly...you resemble our Master
Spike...quite...." He looked Spike up and down, again. "Physically, at least,"
he added, in a somewhat doubtful tone.

Darcy, however, just laughed and held out a hand. "I'm Jeremy; this old
grouch is Percival Fairfax. Pleasure to make your acquaintances."

There was only the barest hesitation before he added the plural 's', so Spike
didn't growl too loudly as he accepted the bloke's hand. Xander shook hands,
grinning but not apparently ready to slap them on the back and ask for the
nearest pub.

"So...astounding," Fairfax was still talking to himself. "Vampires and humans
co-exist in harmony in your dimension, as well? If you would...how does your
government rule? Can we--" He stopped, as Xander failed to hold back his
snickering.

"Sort of a rare thing, this is," Spike indicated himself and Xander. "Mostly
the humans don't really know we're about."

"And those that do, tend to use sharp, wooden 'vamp-be-gone'," Xander added. 
"Not many of us... Well, ok, all of *my* friends are sleeping with vampires." 
He got a thoughtful look on his face. "You think it's me?"

"Eh?" Spike said. "Is it time for you to take your medication again?" Said
medication being a right proper shagging, of course.

Xander rolled his eyes. "Do you think I cause all my friends to want to sleep
with vampires?"

"No, don't be silly. If anything, *I* would cause all your friends to want to
sleep with vampires. 'Sides, Willow doesn't sleep with vamps."

"Werewolf, though. And married a witch. Still evidence of me being a
weirdness-magnet."

"What about Rupert, then?"

"Slept with Ethan?"

"Right, I withdraw the example, since I'm still not sure *what* the fuck Ethan
is, besides scary." Spike thought hard. "Aha! Cordelia!" Xander just gave him an
arch look. "No. Who the hell..."

"I promised I'd never tell."

Fairfax and Darcy were looking more and more mind-blown, which amused Spike no
end. Amused the part of Spike that wasn't busy trying to figure out which
vampire Cordelia had slept with. Surely not the Poof? The only other option was
Harmony. Which, all right, wasn't...that.... Spike shook his head.

"You're just saying that to make me need to wash my brain out. With lye."
Spike shuddered. Lord Fairfax looked as though he wished to interrupt the
conversation. "Yes?" Spike asked, not entirely sure it would be more amusing
than verbal-free-for-all with Xander.

"Humans are more...plentiful, in your home dimension?"

Spike and Xander nodded. "Dominant species, that's us!" Xander said proudly,
then whapped Spike on the butt when Spike scowled at him for telling falsehoods.

"Then...he is *your* pet?" Fairfax pointed to Spike, then to Xander.

Spike tried scowling again, but didn't get his mouth open before Xander said,
"He's really good at keeping the video cabinet dusted. Not so good with the
dishes."

"I am *not*--" Spike stopped as Xander turned to him and mouthed 'velvet.' 
"Right. I am. Know where we can buy those blue collars?"

There was a moment of even greater confusion on the two Lords' faces, then
Jeremy not-so-discreetly sniffed the air. He grinned, somewhat leeringly.
"Imagine. Angelus' boy is--" He stopped, because even though he didn't need
air to breathe, he did need it to speak, and Spike's hand was cutting off all
air circulation.

"I'd think very carefully before you finish that sentence," Spike said.
Dangerously polite, and as cultured as he never let himself sound unless he was
either extremely drunk or feeling particularly ancient. Or impersonating Wesley
on the phone while ordering rental-porn DVD's with the Angel Investigations
credit card number.

Spike noted that Xander wasn't holding him back anymore. In fact, Xander was
standing with his arms crossed, smiling almost as politely as Spike had been
speaking. Bloody hell, *that* was a scary look.

"He doesn't like it when people insult Angel." Xander paused. "Except for
himself. And me. And Wesley. And Gunn. And Buffy. And Cordelia, and..."

"There's a limited list," Spike agreed, not loosening his grip on sniffy-boy's
collar. "You're not on it."

"It's a short, but exclusive list," Xander said. "You can petition to get on
it, but I don't think you'd pass the exam."

Darcy was waving his hands, now -- he'd have been passed out by now if he'd
been human -- and Spike finally loosened his grip. A bit. "I'm sorry. I was
just--" He gulped. "I'm sorry, Master Spike. It won't happen again."

"Thought it wouldn't." Spike grinned, and let his hand drop.

"Ambercrombie's," Fairfax said, eyeing his companion with a resigned air, as
if Darcy was forever getting himself nearly dusted. "Ask for Mr. Martin. As for
watching the session," he continued, glancing over at the Lords who had nearly
all gathered. The volume level was slowly rising, and Spike could hear snatches
of legal by-play. "I really do suggest the rooftop of the Careo Building."

Spike shot a glance across the street to said rooftop, which looked like it
was probably covered in pigeon droppings, and made a face in Xander's general
direction. Xander grinned, and said, "Or maybe we'll just try Ambercrombie's.
They do custom fitted collars, I assume?"

"Of course," Fairfax assured them. "Though you might want to make it clear up
front that you...er..."

"Want matching collars?" Xander supplied. Spike was too busy thinking about
himself and Xander in matching velvet collars -- and nothing else -- to wonder
if he should be growling at Lord Foot-In-Mouth again. It occurred to him that,
while he mightn't be happy about Angel -- even this world's Angel -- being
insulted in front of him, or happy about his own manhood being called into
question, did he give a toss about his counterpart's reputation?

Spike hid a grin, and arranged his face into Pout Number 1.25. "I want a
matching cock ring. Can I have a matching cock ring, Xan? Pleeeeese?
Pleeeeeese?"

Xander gave him a quick glance to see if he was really serious, then hid his
own grin, just as fast. Spike saw it dancing in his eyes, though. "What did I
tell you about whining at me, Spike? Do you *want* me to spank you in public?"

"Um, yes?"

"We'll disrupt the Lords' session," Xander countered.

Spike glanced towards the vampires, now quietly debating some issue or
another. It was difficult to tell which issue, between the insults and wordless
growls. "I doubt it. Could probably drop my trou right here, and-- but of
course I won't," he finished, before Xander could complete the motion he'd
begun.

"Actually, I imagine you're correct," Darcy said. "We're debating water
rights in the lowlands, and whether or not it's worth going to war with the
damned Scots over. No one will notice a thing."

Spike grinned at Xander.

"No. No, no, and again -- no. Do you know why, Mr. Harris?"

*This* was a trick question. He knew it. Trouble was, he didn't know the
proper answer. "Because there's no lube handy?" he ventured.

Whap. "Incorrect. Would you like to try again?"

Spike pondered. "Because people might think I'm the local version and he'd get
a reputation as a masochistic little wanker, which frankly sounds as if it might
be a step up from what they currently think of him?"

Whap. "No. Last chance, for the washer, dryer, and all-expenses-paid trip to
Hershey, Pennsylvania, with Cheryl, our lovely spokesmodel?"

Spike resisted the urge to look around for Cheryl, since he knew it would only
get him whapped again, which wasn't a bad thing, but not as good as getting
spanked. "Er... because you can't spank me without fucking me, and you're still
too goody-goody to fuck me in public?"

Whap. Spike narrowed his eyes. "Hey, what was that for? I know I was right."

"That was the consolation prize, since Cheryl took off with the washer and
dryer while you were busy standing there with glazed eyes for five minutes,
imagining me fucking you in public."

Spike looked around to see that indeed, time appeared to have passed while his
brain was giving him a visual background to go with his third and final guess.
Darcy and Fairfax, for instance, had wandered off towards the other Lords,
though they were both shooting dubious glances back towards Spike and Xander.

"Er, so, you wanna head over behind those trees, then?" he asked, still
feeling a bit dazed.

Xander grabbed him by the lapels, and hauled him forward -- easy enough to do
when Spike wasn't resisting in the least. There was a moment when they were
nose to nose, and Xander was giving him one of those Looks. Then Xander kissed
him.

When he let go of Spike, he said, "Come on, let's go find Ambercrombie's."

"Wow." Xander tried not to rubberneck -- the phrase probably didn't mean what
it meant back home, anyway. Vampires, necks, rubber... It made him think of
vampiric condoms, which would be about as useful as turn signals on Anya's car.
Still, this place was impressive.

"Yeah, it's big, it's overpriced, it's fancy. Come on!" Spike tried to plow
through the crowd, away from the entrance to Ambercrombie's, probably intending
to head directly for the collar section. He got about one foot from Xander's
side.

Xander smirked. "They're having a sale. You're never gonna make it if you
try going through the women's departments."

Spike grumbled as they scanned the crowd for a likely path. "Worse than
shopping with Cordelia, this is."

Xander frowned at him, then pointed at an apparently unpopular aisle of
women's blouses. "It looks like we might be able to get to the men's section
through there." Spike immediately took off, dragging Xander behind him. Xander
wasn't sure which he should protest first -- being yanked along like a kid on
one of those spiral leash things, or being told he shopped like a girl. "Look,
just because I stopped to look at that rack of ties inside the door..."

"Boring. Dress-up clothes. Girl-stuff." Spike looked back at him with a little
sniff. "S'pose I should feel lucky you didn't ask me to hold your purse."

Xander rolled his eyes. "You expect me to believe Cordy trusts you with her
purse? I think not. Anyway, I was thinking of buying four of those ties."

Spike yanked him a bit further down the aisle, then looked up curiously. That
is, he looked up and feigned complete lack of interest, but Xander knew better.
"Why four?" he asked, as if the answer would have as much value to him as
Angel's explanation of why they shouldn't steal Gunn's truck to go offroading.

"One for each poster of the bed," Xander explained. When Spike's eyebrow began
to raise, he added the finishing touch. "They're silk." See, now that was a
much better expression. Utterly dumbfangled. Xander grinned and pushed his
husband out the end of the aisle -- straight into the women's underwear section.

There he stopped, and felt his face take on an expression much like the one
that had been on Spike's. Had been, because now Spike was chortling. "What's
the matter, never seen unmentionables, before?"

Xander ignored him, and moved closer to the display of what he realized were
corsets. He hesitated to actually touch one, but he found it impossible to
believe... "Women actually *wear* these? Are we in the leather, bones, and
bondage department?"

"No, dearie, the bondage department is upstairs," said a matronly woman who
was passing by, wearing a nametag. She was giving him the same appraising look
every vampire in this dimension had given him -- only this time he felt like she
was only measuring him for how much commission she'd get if she were nice to
him.

"We're just trying to get to the men's department," Xander stammered. He had
a horrible feeling she was going to escort them...then *assist* them in trying
things on. Hadn't Fairfax recommended a *man* at least, to help them? It was
bad enough when female clerks tried to help him buy his underwear. He needed
one who reminded him of Willow's mom, helping him buy a velvet collar?

She smiled kindly. "Are you sure you don't want a corset? They're on sale, and
I'd be happy to help fit you for one. That model, for instance, is very
popular." She pointed to one that had more laces and straps and things Xander
couldn't even identify hanging off it than... than anything he'd ever seen in
Morrie's. If there'd ever been any doubt in her mind that Xander was human, he
was sure there wasn't any now. Shopping and gossiping vamps as far as twenty
feet away were glancing over at him -- to see what had caused the sudden rush of
blood to one part of his body, Xander assumed. And it wasn't even one of the
parts he *liked* having blood collect in.

It didn't help remotely that Spike was looking him up and down, an appraising
glint in his eye. "No," Xander said firmly.

"You don't have to be shy, young man. All sorts of people shop in this
department, you know. I sold one of these to Oscar Wilde, just last week." When
her dimples flashed, she looked less like Willow's mother, and more like
Xander's own grandmother, which was not conducive to getting actual words to
emerge from his mouth.

Spike, however, came to his rescue, in his own psychotic way. "Oh. Forget it,
then. Don't want one." At the saleswoman's look of mild surprise -- she'd
obviously noticed Spike's leering appraisal; hell, she'd have to have been blind
to miss it -- Spike made a face. "Don't want my pet in anything that great
pansy'd wear, do I."

The woman made an obvious mental back-pedal, and Xander took the opportunity
to move a few more feet *away* from the corset and towards what he hoped was the
men's department. Or shoes. He could deal with shoes.

"Perhaps you'd like to see this style?" she said, and Xander realized she'd
turned her attention to Spike. Xander was torn -- go back and rescue his
husband, before said dead man bought a corset for Xander, thereby forcing Xander
to become a widower on his honeymoon? Or keep going, and pretend he didn't know
Spike and didn't know who he was buying presents for.

Or he could veer into the belts and buckles department, which he could now see
around the display of black lace and scary things. He left Spike to fend for
himself -- who had the wallet here, anyway, smart guy? -- and went to look at
the belts. Possibly nicer than ties...not that they couldn't get both. They
did have a credit card verified for use in this dimension, after all, even if
Spike didn't know anything about it.

Eventually, Spike showed up at his side -- with a shopping basket on one arm,
something black and suspiciously corsetlike nestled in the bottom. Xander gave
him a Look. "If you even think I'm gonna wear that..."

Spike gave him a Look right back. "Who said it's for you?"

When Spike finished rubbing his head and was about to launch into some pouting
complaint about having been whapped, like they both didn't know he got off on
it, Xander cut him off. "Who are you buying underwear for, Spike?" He tried to
sound as jealous as possible, though anybody for whom Spike was likely to buy
something like that would either give Xander hours of amusement as he watched
them take their revenge, or they'd accept it graciously, and he and Spike could
have hours of amusement imagining them wearing it. No real way to lose -- so the
jealousy was just to make Spike wonder if he really was.

"Not gonna tell you, now." Spike stuck out his tongue.

Xander peeked into the basket -- not like he was gonna actually *touch* the
thing -- and studied the garment. Black, black and black, with blood red satin
laces. He frowned suspiciously at Spike. Then he felt the blood rushing to that
other place, the one he liked much more than his own face, as a thought entered
his head. The thought looked around, found no company to speak of, and proceeded
to set up housekeeping, scrawling pictures of Spike and corsets on the walls of
Xander's eyes by way of decoration. "Uh..."

"I figure we can have our own little private screening after we get home,"
Spike purred. "I'll pick up some fishnets, and some rice we can throw at the
screen, and we'll have to clear a space on the living room floor so there's room
to do the Time Warp..."

There were fingers snapping in front of Xander's face. He blinked, which
cleared at least some of the crayola illustrations from his vision. "Huh?"

"You can be Brad, if y'like..."

Xander tried to remember who Brad was. "Bibble?"

Spike nodded, a serious expression on his face. "You can be Bibble, if you
like."

Somehow, Xander managed to get the image out of the front of his brain, and
packed near the back with all the others. Two brain cells fired up, and he
frowned at Spike. "You're going *right* to the collar department--" which made
the image come back, full force, only this time Spike was wearing the corset
*and* the collar.

Xander felt his brain melting, and dripping out of his ears. He whimpered. 
How was this fair? He'd only wanted to enjoy his honeymoon, and here he was in
public, totally unable to make Spike look like he did in Xander's head, singing
and swaying his hips.

"Xander?" Spike's tone was that usually reserved for those conversations that
began 'Did you get another concussion?'

Xander replied by slipping his hand into Spike's free hand, weaving their
fingers together, and deciding that Spike, who apparently was capable of speech
and therefore thought, could be in charge. Spike could lead him around, and
Xander would just be brain-dead.

"Were you gonna buy that belt?" Spike asked, pointing at the one Xander had
been fingering when he walked up. Xander managed to nod and make a sound
composed almost entirely of consonants. Spike wrapped Xander's free hand around
the basket handle, then dropped the belt in.

"No speaking Welsh on our honeymoon," he added sternly before he dragged
Xander towards the men's counter at the back.

In the collar section, a youngish-looking guy in shirtsleeves and suspenders
with garters around both of his upper arms gave them a polite smile. "Are you
being served, sirs?" Xander knew there was supposed to be something funny about
that, but his brain wasn't firing rapidly enough for him to remember what.

"Yeah, we'd like to see Mr.... " Spike turned to him. "Xan?"

"Guh?"

"Wotsisface? What's the bloke's name that Fairfax said we should see?"

Something kicked in on instinct in Xander's head, and he felt his mouth slowly
forming words. "No, What's the third baseman. Fairfax said we should see Mr.
Martin."

"Mr. Martin?" The gentleman's eyebrows rose rapidly, then his face became
composed once more. "Of course, sirs. Right this way, please."

Xander let Spike lead, again, trailing along behind as though they were here
to get only *him* fitted for a collar. His mutinous brain tried to predict what
it would feel like to have a bit of velvet wrapped around his throat, which
would then be caressed by Spike's long fingers....

"Watch it!" Spike's sharp tone broke through his reverie, and Xander looked
around to find himself walking over the foot of a rack. "Best sit you down in a
chair someplace, hadn't I?"

Xander nodded, and Spike looked around, then guided him over to a large,
well-stuffed chair sitting beside a display rack of collars. Not just velvet --
there were leather collars, and silk collars, and metal collars, and collars
made of things he didn't want to look more closely at. Spike set the basket at
Xander's feet, and went to peruse the selections.

He looked quite serious, frowning at one collar, nodding slightly at another. 
Xander hadn't seen him take a shopping excursion so seriously since they'd gone
to pick out wedding rings. Spike looked over at him, sharply. "Xan?"

"Glurble?" he repeated.

"You still with us?"

Xander nodded. "Uh-hunmmmm. With us. Yes."

Somewhere deep in his head, the little guy who paid attention to such things
was burying his tiny head in his tiny hands and bewailing the fact that Xander's
next line was probably going to be "Tell me about the rabbits, George." Xander
blinked. Did he actually care, when the little guy who was holding the crayon
had slithered to the front of his head again, and was drawing pictures of Spike
wearing that fake barbed-wire collar that was hanging just above his head? At
least, Xander hoped it was fake.

"Xan, watch my lips. Do you want me to get a blue one or a red one?" Spike was
pointing to his own neck, where Xander obediently looked. He was also
enunciating each word slowly and clearly, rather like he was Angel, telling them
again why they shouldn't steal Gunn's truck.

"Yes." He tried to figure out why this answer, which he thought was a good
one, made Spike look at him funny. There was a scrap of velvet cloth around
Spike's neck, and Xander could see the plush, all laying down flat and begging
someone to brush it back the other way. Xander reached out and did so, the
deep, soft fabric barely catching on the ridges of his fingertips.

"Gaaaaaah," Spike breathed. Xander brought his hand back, and Spike stood
there, blinking for a moment. Then he straightened up and turned to someone
else. "This one."

Looking over, Xander found they'd been joined by another employee of the
store, a man dressed in snazzier clothes than anyone else Xander had seen here,
yet. He wasn't wearing a nametag, but he nodded at Spike's direction and moved
forward to take the velvet collar. "If sir will allow me to take a measurement,
we will have one made up for his Lordship by this evening."

"You're taking it off?" Xander protested, as he saw the man's hands going to
his husband's neck.

The man -- Mr. Martin, he presumed -- paused, but only said in a calm tone,
"This is the floor model."

"Um, yeah? It fits?" Xander looked at Spike.

The gentleman gaped for a moment, and Xander worried that he was going to
swallow his tongue. Finally, he said, "Off the rack?" as if he'd found Spike
and Xander tracking demon bantha poo into the dressing room.

Spike just gave him a look. "Yeah, off the rack. He can put me on the rack
later, if he likes. Now -- you got one for him? Maybe an inch longer, midnight
blue, yea wide..." As Spike described the collar with his fingers, it occurred
to Xander that he hadn't even registered the color of Spike's, which was a
carmine red that just matched the laces on that thing in the basket that Xander
wasn't going to look at or name, even mentally, lest he have to reboot his brain
yet again. He was having a hard enough time as it was -- red was definitely
Spike's color; blue would just confuse the natives, anyway.

Mr. Martin knelt down, staring at Xander's neck as he reached for the
gold-tipped tape measure that he was wearing around his own. After a second,
Xander heard a familiar sound -- the building of a growl, low in Spike's throat.
"I need to measure him for the collar, sir," Mr. Martin said calmly. Very
calmly, for a man with Spike's hand wrapped tightly around the place where his
tape measure used to be.

"Then do it," Spike told him, not relaxing his grip.

As the salesman -- or store manager, or whatever he was -- leaned over and
brought the tape up to wrap around Xander's neck, nowhere near as tightly as
Spike was holding on, Xander blinked. It suddenly dawned on him that this was a
vampire with his face within inches of Xander's throat. A not-Spike, not-Angel,
not Dru-the-fish-Auntie vampire.

He focused on the grip Spike had on the gentleman vampire's neck. Looked like
a nice, solid, grip. Said gentleman moved away a moment later and nodded, still
poised and acting as though nothing untoward had occurred. Nothing had, except
Xander was surrounded by people who wanted to nibble on him, and he was buying
an accessory which would tell them all that only one vampire was so allowed.

"When I was fourteen, the weirdest part of my life was math class, and Dana
Miller's short skirts."

Spike blinked, almost completely hiding the worried, bite anyone who comes
near you look in his eyes. "What's so weird about a bird wearing a short
skirt?"

Xander shook his head. "Dana was a guy."

Spike appeared to consider this revelation for a moment, before asking, "And
you chose to share this with me because? Or, er, did you want me to buy a skirt,
as well as the corset? Perfectly happy to -- god knows I've got the legs for
it."

"No. Um... no. I don't think so. Ask me again later. I meant..." Xander wasn't
quite sure what he meant, just that he was looking at Spike with an expression
of bewilderment and general confusion that he hadn't felt on his face since the
day he'd been standing in the library, where the books live, and had overheard
Giles giving Buffy the first of a billion Chosen One speeches.

He'd lived every day with weirder than Dana Miller's skirts, since that
afternoon in the library. Gone from finding out vampires were real to helping
kill them, to falling in love with one and trying to teach him how to do dishes
when they got dirty so they didn't build up in the sink until you ran out of
clean forks and the takeout people wouldn't deliver anymore because they were
afraid of the sounds coming from your kitchen.

He was also back to speaking Welsh, apparently, because nothing with an
identifiable vowel sound was coming out of his mouth. Xander looked up at Spike,
to find that there suddenly wasn't very much up to look, as Spike sank to his
knees in front of the chair. A long, slim finger reached out and touched
Xander's face. "Hey," Spike said softly.

"Grr?" Xander replied. Spike grinned, briefly, before leaning close enough
that Xander could see every speck of blue in his eyes. Then he could feel cool,
soft lips pressing against his, and for a moment that touch was the only thing
he could feel at all.

"Love you," Spike whispered, though he needn't have bothered. Mr. Measuring
Tape sniffled, and looked like he wanted to get a tub of frozen chocolate and
blood flavoured ice cream. That thought, oddly enough, didn't distract Xander in
the least from the man kneeling in front of him, looking up at him with eyes now
flecked with as much gold, as blue.

Except for the part where the first attendent-vampire was saying to the
second, "Isn't that the most marvelous thing? I couldn't imagine at first why
they were *both* getting collars, but, it's just so wonderful. I think I'm
going to cry!"

"Your name wouldn't happen to be Mr. Humphries, would it?" Xander asked
without looking away from Spike.

"No, it's Spike William Abelard Bloody Harris Wyndham-Pryce Gunn Chase Summers
Rosenberg Jones Giles. The first," Spike answered.

"You're planning on there being more of you, not that I was talking to you?"
Xander replied.

"I was thinking we could get Gomer to name one of the fry after me," Spike
told him, looking as serious as he ever did when they were talking
not-pregnant-but-possibly-egg-laying kids who had gotten them into this marriage
thing in the first place.

Xander leaned forward and pressed his lips to Spike's, since there wasn't
anything he could say that could possibly top the silliness of that remark. The
gonna-cry-guy was making awww noises.

Xander looked over, and gave them a smile. "So when will these be ready?"

Mr. Martin showed no signs of having been watching, as he said, "Our tailor
shall begin work right away, sirs, and you'll be able to pick them up within the
hour. The red collar, of course, will require only a slight adjustment."

Xander was mildly surprised at the short amount of time -- but then again, how
hard could it be to cut and hem a piece of velvet? He started to nod, when he
realized this meant he and Spike would have to amuse themselves for an hour. At
Ambercrombie's. With a credit card billed to home.

"Do you need us here?" he asked, not really knowing what was involved with
tailor-made collars. Despite the weird turns his life had taken since he
was...three, actually, the first time things started to get bizarre...Xander
didn't have much experience with velvet collars and the fitting thereof.

"You're welcome to shop, of course, sirs. We'll need to check the fit of the
collars once they're finished."

Xander stood up slowly, though he was reasonably sure he wasn't likely to
collapse from the overwhelming must-shag-him-now-ness of the whole thing,
anymore. Mr. Martin was re-hanging his tape measure, and looked like he was
about to head for the back rooms behind the counter, so Xander, without even
thinking, reached out and tapped him on the arm.

Hello, tapping bad-and-unchipped vampire on the arm, his mind tried to tell
him. But it was a feeble protest, much like when he was lying in bed in the
morning and Spike was tangled up with him until he didn't know whose arms and
legs were whose, and his mind was saying 'Work? Don't you need to get up and...'
Like it hadn't learned already that no, as a matter of fact, he didn't, not if
he didn't want to.

Xander smiled when he realized that at least his forebrain had finally
realized -- I'm with Spike, and he won't let anything bad happen to me.

So the dangerous vampire turned to look at him like any employee in a
high-class department store once he'd established that, insane or not, Xander
and Spike did possess a valid credit card, and said, "Yes, sir?"

"Which way to the postcard section?"

Mr. Martin pointed, and Xander dragged Spike off, this time. "Postcards?"
Spike was protesting. "How touristy can you get, Xan?"

"Carla made me promise to send some back to the office. You think I'm gonna
argue with her? Now behave," he ordered in his best 'I own this company and you
*will* do as I say' voice, which he'd never dare use it on Carla, "or I'll mail
you back by Federal Express, and you can explain it to her personally."

He waited for a snarky response from his glurble, but none came. Instead,
Xander was getting looked at. He knew this look. Finally Spike said, "Do that
again."

Xander rolled his eyes. "I'll talk dirty to you later, back at the hotel. 
Remember me saying 'Not in public'? I still mean it."

"Xaaaan," his big bad vampire whined. Then Spike looked cute at him. Xander
rolled his eyes.

Then he grinned. In his best commanding tone, he said, "Spike, I want you to
shop for stationary with me."

Spike blinked, then shook his head. "Naw, not quite right. It's more of the
'I'm not ordering you, I just expect it to be done' tone. Like when you tell
Carla that you expect the proofs to be on your desk by Monday -- right before
she laughs at you."

"You're critiquing my style?" Xander put an extra note of shock in his tone,
noting that Mr. Aren't They Sweet was watching, again.

"Er... If I am, will you..."

"No."

Pout Number 1.25 again, second time today, and Xander firmly shook his head.
"No. No and no. You can give me that look all night -- you can even try Number
One on me, and the answer's still the same: no. Not until we get back to the
hotel." When Spike reacted by slipping into something that really *was*
dangerously close to Pout Number One, Xander gave him the sternest look
possible, and added, "Do you understand me, young man?" He added a raised
eyebrow, to complete the effect.

Spike merely took his hand, and led him towards the stationary section. The
pout had been replaced by a truly shit-eating grin, however.

The little guy with the crayon in Xander's head was *writing* on the walls
now, and Xander could read it, if he shut his eyes. It said "You not only have
to wait around here for an hour before you can get those collars and take Spike
back and shag him sillier, but you have to play the Dominant One for that hour,
without turning Spike on so much he forces you to drag him kicking and screaming
into a fitting room." Some people would have pointed out that there was a
contradiction in terms somewhere in there, but those people didn't know Spike,
and they certainly weren't married to him.

Part Six

Xander grinned as he flipped though his new collection of semi-naked vampire
postcards -- though why he was getting turned on by something he saw every day,
both at home and at work, he wasn't sure; maybe it was the Victorian underwear.

"Oi, look at this one!"

He turned his attention to the items on the shelf that Spike was now pointing
at. "What are... where are we?" He looked around, realizing that in his
contemplation of Victorian underwear, which had led him back to thinking about
Spike in that corset, he'd missed noticing which section of the store they'd
headed for after they'd left the stationary area. "Spike? Tell me these are
not sex toys."

"Why not? Bet we could use 'em to enhance our sex life."

Xander laughed. "Like we *need* any enhancing." And wasn't this the perfect
way to avoid having sex in public, or even semi-public? Talk about it until
they couldn't help themselves?

Spike was grinning at him, though, and Xander had to stop worrying about
public indecency and how much the batter beater he was holding up might hurt, in
order to enjoy the look of sheer blissful perversion on Spike's face. Xander
could feel himself slipping into the brain-dead zone, but he couldn't help
himself. Spike just looked so...happy. It made Xander want to kiss him--

"Stop it!" Xander scowled at him. "Why can't you be annoying, or something?" 
There was a time when Xander would have shot himself for even thinking those
words, much less uttering them. He missed the good ole days, when Spike was
somebody he could threaten, then forget about. For a few minutes. Right? The
good ole days when he didn't have to constantly slap Spike's hand before it
crept inside Xander's pants, in the middle of a department store filled with
vampires.

Of course, Spike had *always* done what he did next -- which was pout when he
got told he wasn't being annoying or evil or scary enough to make a little old
librarian lady nervous. Granted, Xander didn't used to *know* it was a pout--
he'd once thought it might be a sign that somebody had finally gotten wise and
spiked Spike's bloodbags with garlic.

"Can be, if I want." Spike cranked the egg-batter-beater in Xander's face, and
as he watched the two metal paddle things whirl around, Xander decided it was
one enhancement their sex life could do without.

"Put that down," he ordered.

Spike stuck out his tongue, and clasped the kitchen utensil to his chest. "No.
I want it. S'my wedding present."

Xander reached for it, then thought better of that idea. Touching Spike would
only make things worse. "First off, Cordelia gave us the food processor from
hell, just so you'd stop going down to the kitchen and bugging her when she's
trying to make brownies--"

"Won't work," Spike interrupted.

"I know that. Second, I *gave* you your wedding present already. It involved
you, me, and the babysitter. Remember?" Yes. Also a bright idea. Remind Spike
and himself of *that* little adventure, as a way to take their minds off sex.
Why didn't he just drag Spike off someplace, like a fitting room, and *have*
sex? Other than the complete mortification that would follow?

Xander shook his head, and felt the guy with the crayon go flying around,
losing his grip so that he and the crayon both careened off the walls of
Xander's head, and for a moment none of them could remember the question, or the
objection thereto. Spike was holding a see-through apron.

Luckily, Spike then ruined the moment by saying, "We should get one of these
for Princess."

Xander blinked. "What? Why? I mean, why her? I thought you--" He stopped
as Spike gave him a grin that was both knowing, and preening. "Yes, big
surprise, I like thinking of you, naked. Why would we give Cordelia a
see-through apron? Do we *want* her to cook?"

"What about Angel?"

Xander had to dig around for the hand-crank to his brain. When he got it
re-started, he scowled at Spike. "I am not thinking about Angel, naked, while
I'm on my honeymoon. Not unless we're playing 'Angel and Wesley' in the privacy
of our own hotel suite."

"Eww. That's disgusting," Spike protested loudly, just like he hadn't invented
the game.

Xander looked around, but no one in the immediate vicinity seemed to care that
his insane glurble was implying that *he* was the perverted one, so he simply
shrugged, and picked up another item from the discounted merchandise shelf. "You
think Cordelia would like one of *these* ?"

Spike looked at it, widened his eyes, tried not remotely to suppress a grin,
then leaned over to whisper into Xander's ear.

"Oh, it is *not*!" Xander studied the item in his hand, and succeeded in not
turning the color of a tomato. Mostly. "It's in the kitchen section."

Spike just lifted an eyebrow and said, "Like you can't do that in the
kitchen?"

Xander turned the item over, and read the label off -- "Pineapple ring stand,
for use as a decorative centerpiece. And you say *I* have a dirty mind?"

The look Spike gave him was reminiscent of the second ever look Spike had
given him. It said 'you're a looney.'

"You *have* a dirty mind. S'why I love you, git." Xander whapped him lightly
on the back of the head. Spike didn't even blink. Xander put the decorative
pineapple ring stand back on the shelf, and picked up another item which he
*knew* wasn't a sex toy, even if he had no idea what it really was. "You're
going to tell me you don't know that's a nuts-squeezer," Spike said.

This time, Xander whapped Spike with the garlic squeezer, as he'd discovered
it was labeled. "Is there *anything* in this store you can't claim is used for
sex?"

Spike gave him another 'you're insane, why am I with you?' look, before
saying, "Xan, what sort of store do you think we're at?"

"Um, just guessing here, but - department store?"

"That caters to vampires."

"So...you're saying they sell stuff for eating blood, looking mysterious and
sexy, and...oh. Oh!" Xander looked around, as he suddenly realized. "We're at
Morrie's!" Or, Morrie's if Morrie contracted his clientele to vamps, and
expanded his product line to...well...everything. Including tea cosies.

With that in mind, Xander looked around again, and... Spike was right. Yes.
Well. *That* was going to be helpful in the whole not-having-sex project.
Considering that Morrie's was one of the select list of places in L.A. for which
he'd lifted the not-in-public rule, precisely because it was impossible to be
around Spike and that many sex toys and not drag him into one of the tryout
rooms. This place was like one of *Morrie's* sex fantasies.

Xander blinked. Then he decided that, while normally, imagining the sex
fantasies of a human-sized duck was *not* on his to-do list, it was just perfect
for the spot he was in right now. Cooled that 'must shag Spike now' fire down to
a low smolder. "Neat. Hey, do you think we should bring some stuff back for
him?"

Spike looked at him like he was loony, again. Or possibly still. "For Morrie?
I'm not buying sex toys for Morrie. That'd be like..."

"Offering him a marketing deal? For a cut of the profit if it catches on in
the local vamp community?" Oops. Spike's eyes were doing that
contracting-pupils-spinning-in-circles thing. "Stop that!" he commanded. 'You're
not helping here,' Xander saw scribbled on the back wall of his skull.
Apparently somebody had found his crayon. "Spike, I mean it!"

"But you're being all ruthless. How the hell can I help it if that makes me
want to be shagged?"

"Spike, there is no way I am going to have sex with you in this building. Or
near it, or anyplace else that isn't our hotel suite. And we are not leaving
this building until we have our collars." Because that would do so much for
ensuring they made it all the way *to* the hotel without sex, right? Xander
sighed. "I mean it, Spike." He knew he wasn't playing fair -- using that tone.
The 'I'm not fooling around anymore, this isn't a game' tone.

Right. Glurble. What was the question? Spike was already taking his hand
again, and pulling him close for a soft, almost non-sexual kiss. Right when he
was about to say something nice and touching, and growly protective, Xander
grinned triumphantly. Spike's expression froze, then he glowered. "That's not
fair."

"Oh, and you going all growly on me is fair? Think not, bubba. Hands *off*. 
Where I can see 'em."

Spike slowly raised his hands -- and Xander realized too late that Spike was
holding something. It was probably originally meant to be a cooking utensil. 
But all Xander could think was 'yeah, now *that* would fit'. He thumped himself
on the forehead.

"That's not fair either," Spike whined. "No foreplay for me means no foreplay
for you."

Xander looked up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You don't get to whap yourself on the head, if you won't do it to me."

The temptation was strong, but Xander resisted. Instead, he asked, "You think
it's been an hour yet?" Spike made a great show of pulling his pocket watch out
of his trousers, and popping open the cover to check the time. Xander knew quite
well that he just did it so the little music-box mechanism would start playing
'Black Velvet' and Xander would have to reach over and-- "Spike?"

"Fifteen minutes."

Arrrrgh. "Maybe we should shop in opposite corners of the store."

The look Spike gave him for that was akin to the one he'd received when he'd
tried to suggest they go look at the squirrels in the zoo -- the ones that were
safe behind glass so they couldn't get him -- in order to desensitize him to
that little phobia of his. "Alone?"

"It would be difficult to shop in opposite corners of a store this size and
stay together." Spike's mouth quivered, ever so slightly, and slowly Xander saw
something he hadn't seen in a very, very long time. It was a new pout. He
suspected it was a 'you just married me, and now you want to go more than two
yards away from me?' pout. "Otherwise I'm not gonna survive the next forty-five
minutes," he tried to explain.

Spike's pout slipped into a more familiar one. "You don't wanna shag me," he
complained.

Xander resisted the urge to hit him. "D'uh! What have I been saying? I
don't want to shag you. Or be shagged by you. Or grope, or be groped by you.
*In* *public*."

"Can we--"

"No."

"What about--"

"No."

"You're no fun."

Xander rolled his eyes. "Get used to it, pal. Maybe once I get turned I'll
lose my mind and my morality enough to not care if people see me getting it on. 
But right now, I do, I have, and I'm *not*."

Spike didn't say anything for a moment, looking vaguely disquieted. But all
he said, was, "Don't you love me, Xander?"

Xander laughed. "You'll have to try harder than that-- no! I didn't mean it.
Shit, shit, shit. I'm going to look at shoes."

All Spike had done was waggle his eyebrow. But it was the *way* he waggled his
eyebrow. Like eyebrows were independent creatures who only lived on people's
faces because it was convenient, and *Spike's* eyebrow was in the mood to get
together with Xander's eyebrow and make lots of little eyebrows, so it was doing
the Forbidden Dance of the Sacred Eyebrow Mating Ceremony. And it had to be the
one with the scar. Asshole.

"Please? I'll be good." Which statement should have had Xander rolling on the
floor laughing his ass off, if it weren't delivered in a soft, subdued voice
that, while it didn't *really* sound hurt, did almost sound as if Spike meant
it.

"Spike, you can't be good. You might not exactly be evil anymore, but good
isn't even a remote possibility."

"I can if I want to." Now he sounded more like a grade-schooler than he
usually did. Like Xander had just told him he couldn't eat a spoonful of
ketchup, grape jelly, sauerkraut and baked beans without throwing up.

"And why would you want to?" Xander retorted, not sure why he was encouraging
Spike to misbehave. Masochism? Or was he just *really* that horny? Okay, that
second was a distinct possibility. But no matter how horny he was, and no
matter how adorable and fuckable and sexy and cute and edible Spike looked, he
wasn't...going to.... "Spiiiiiiike."

"What? I wasn't doing anything! Both my hands are right here." He held them
up, showing how they weren't touching anything of Xander's.

"Stop lookin' at me."

"Or what? You'll kiss me? Give me the shagging of my unlife?" Spike grinned,
apparently thinking he was about to be triumphant in the 'Let's Get Xander'
game.

"Or I'll buy this," Xander grabbed the first thing off the shelf that he could
reach. "And I'll tell Angel you bought it to use on Gunn."

Spike blinked. He looked at the item in Xander's hand, and blinked again. It
was clear he was weighing the pros and cons - getting killed by his Sire, or not
getting to have sex with Xander in the middle of Ambercrombie's. "Er...Xander?"

Xander looked down at the item in his hand. Which was an egg-timer. A flat,
squat, can't possibly think of anything sexual you could possibly do with this,
egg-timer. Spike looked a bit smug, until Xander said, "He'll think you're
saying Gunn would only last three minutes."

"Gunn? Naw, I'd clock him at a good hour, at least. We could give that to him
and tell him it's to time the Sire, though. *That's* believable."

Xander began to believe he might just *never* get it through Spike's thick
skull that public sex anywhere that hadn't been pre-approved wasn't an option.
The Hyperion was okay -- it was home. The office was okay; it was his private
place. The car was okay, depending on where they were parked, and he truly
didn't have a choice about Morrie's. Everywhere else... he had to think about.
Spike had known this about Xander since the days when he was dating Anya and
pretending he didn't like playing pool with Spike -- but it never stopped him
from trying.

Not that Spike was *directly* begging to be shagged right now, but silly,
pointless arguments were just as much foreplay as eyebrow-waggling, or
butt-pinching, or standing there giving him that perfectly innocent look that
Xander kept telling Spike he was incapable of, because if he *knew* he could do
it... gah.

This line of reasoning was only going to lead him into trouble -- having sex
with Spike, in public. Normally the trick was to get as un-public as he could
manage, before dropping his pants. But Xander felt like he should stand firm
about getting back to the hotel first. He *didn't* want to have sex at
Ambercrombie's, and anyplace outside, like the alleyway, was likely to be
inhabited by vampires.

He tried to think of a way to distract Spike again...assuming he'd actually
managed to distract him, before now. The problem was, just about anything
counted as a prelude to sex. Arguing about who fed the fish last was a prelude
to sex. *Feeding* the fish was a prelude to sex. There was just no way Xander
was going to be able to say 'no', in a store full of sex toys and egg timers. He
glanced up in time to see Spike's grin broaden, like the silly vampire knew
Xander had lost the internal war.

Xander sighed. The guy with the crayon in his head was writing 'and why is
this a bad thing?' over and over, in purple. Xander blinked. In fact, the kid
kinda *did* look like Harold. He shook his head, fast, and thought about ways
to use pepper shakers as a marital aid.

That kept him happily confused, and not entirely turned on, long enough for
Spike's triumphant grin to turn doubtful. "Xan? You wanna buy the egg timer?" 
He nodded at the item still in Xander's hand.

"What? No. Um, yes. Give it to Gunn and tell him it's for Angel. Then we
run. Or we can mail it to him... *Can* we mail stuff from here?"

Spike shook his head. "Don't think so. Think I remember seeing something about
it in the brochures. Y'know, before we did unspeakable things on top of 'em."
Hopeful grin again.

"If they're unspeakable, why are you speaking about them?" Xander asked,
hoping to forestall the apparently inevitable. "And I suppose we can just get
Wes to give it to them. He's always looking for an excuse to get in trouble."

While Spike got that hazy undetermined look on his face, wherein he tried to
decide whether he was going to try to top Xander's sane human logic with his own
insane Spike logic, or pout because Xander hadn't picked up on his oh-so-subtle
hint, or just pout because pouting stood a good chance of getting him shagged,
Xander was suddenly struck with a thought. He suspected for a second that it
might just be crayon-boy throwing his purple crayon at the walls of Xander's
skull and giving up in disgust, but no, it was actually a thought. And it didn't
even involve nekkidness on the part of himself or Spike. Might even distract
Spike, for at least thirty seconds.

"Hey, who do you think won the poll?" he asked Spike, whose expression was
still fighting with itself in a disturbing manner. Disturbingly cute, of course.

"Which poll?"

"The 'how long does it take Angel to get off his ass, realize how unbearably
cute we are, and ask the zoo crew to marry him so he can try to be as cute as
us' poll."

"Dru." Spike didn't even seem to have to think about it.

Xander blinked. "They let her play?"

Spike just shrugged. "You think anyone would say 'no' to her? You've seen
her pout, Xan. Even Angelus and Darla went weak in the head when Dru pouted."

"Huh. True. But how do you know she won?"

Spike stared at him, and this time it was the 'you *are* an idiot' look, and
not the 'you're insane' look. "You remember Drusilla, don't you? Loony psychic
vampire chick? About yea tall? Talks to stars?"

"Spike! Are you saying she cheated-- what am I saying? Of course she cheated. 
Spike, whap me on the head, will you? Ow. Thanks."

"Does this mean I can shag you now?"

Xander groaned. Harold was scribbling 'told ya so' on his mental walls.
"Spike? If I *say* no, what will you do?" Xander knew it was pointless, asking. 
He knew what Spike would do-- keep trying. But the longer they stood here and
talked about having-not-having sex, the closer they got to getting to go try on
their collars and go back to the hotel for actual sex. He made a note to himself
-- *not* sex in the cab.

"Is this a trick question?" Spike was frowning, now, as though Xander had
just over-taxed his reptilian brain.

"Probably. Are you going to answer it?" Was this a conversation? Was Spike
actually holding a Victorian butt-plug in his hand, or was Xander just too far
gone to be able to figure out what on earth that thing could possibly be used
for that *didn't* have a sexual connotation?

Spike tossed the thing up and down in his hand for a moment, plainly enjoying
the way Xander's eyes followed it, before finally sighing, setting it on the
shelf and saying, "Fine. I'll play fair if you'll play fair."

Xander tore his gaze away from the shelf, and tried to decide whether to laugh
or look serious. Spike looked serious, but Spike looking serious almost always
lead to something utterly psychotic coming out of his mouth, rather than to him
actually *being* serious. Xander settled for vaguely amused but willing to play
along, and hoped he didn't come off looking as psychotic as *he* felt at the
moment. "Okay, I'll bite. 'Splain this to me, Lucy."

"You tell me up front it's really not gonna happen, and I'll stop tryin' to
change your mind. Not so much fun, maybe, but if it's *not* gonna happen, we
could always pick out pressies for the gang, instead of wasting our time."

Whoa. Xander felt his eyebrow, the one that had wanted to go off and do the
mating dance with Spike's a little while ago, try to crawl up his forehead and
hide in his hair, like it was frightened of the strange creature in front of it.
Xander knew how it felt. "You would actually stop trying to seduce me?" Which,
Okay, wasn't...completely...unheard of. Usually there was bloodshed involved,
in the form of a fight to be had. When had Spike ever just taken 'no' for an
answer?

Of course, how often had Xander just *given* him 'no' for an answer, rather
than play around until he said yes anyway, or got them both so distracted that
'no' wasn't necessary anymore? Xander tried grinning: small, cute, and adorable. 
Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. "Am I a git, now, Spike?" Xander asked.

"You're *always* a git," Spike said, fondly. "But you're *my* git, and right
now I say we git to the cookbook aisle and find something for Peaches."

Xander nodded, not even bothering to groan -- he still couldn't think clearly
enough to respond to bad puns -- and began to follow Spike out of the dangerous
cooking utensil aisle.

An evil thought occurred, which he tried to bat down. Really, sincerely,
tried to bat down. Watching Spike precede him down the aisle, humming happily as
he lead them off to find something that would make Angel yell at them, yet still
look like a thoughtful present, Xander found it difficult to bat it down
entirely. Spike's ass had a tendency to make Xander think evil thoughts. It
didn't matter if it was covered by a coat; Xander knew what it looked like,
underneath the linen.

Now that Spike had agreed to *take* no for an answer...how mean would it be of
him, to start flirting?

Xander fought back a giggle. Very. Positively evil. Well, not *too* evil.
Mostly not evil. Maybe he needed some practice in mostly-not-evil, though.
Seeing as how, at some point, he was going to become a mostly-not-evil vampire.
Wasn't like he could just take lessons from all the other souled vamps around.
He didn't want to accidentally become a dork, after all, and the only other
choice was Harmony, and Xander *already* knew how to be evil better than *she*
could.

So he followed Spike to the cookbook section, and looked around for something
suitable. Took a whole...oh...twenty-five seconds. "This is a good one," he told
Spike. "Cooking with blood. Let's see..." He flipped through the pages at
random, looking for a good recipe. "Oo. Yeah. Type A stew. Angel's a Type A if
I've ever seen one. You bring the blood to a low simmer, add a pinch of season
salt. Hmm." He pursed his lips. "It says you're supposed to serve it warm, on
your lover's back. Spoon optional. You pour it into that little dip... Wow. The
number of utensils they had back in the other section, you'd think these
Victorian guys would be able to come up with a soup bowl, or something." Xander
didn't show Spike the front of the book, which actually read 'Erotic Cooking
With Blood.'

"We *have* soup bowls," Spike protested. When Xander looked up, raising one
eyebrow at him, Spike said, "I mean we did. These blokes might not -- no, there
they are. Dining sets with plates, bowls, cups, and eyeball scoops."

"Can I say 'eew' and pretend you didn't just say that?" Talk about spoiling
the flirting mood. Probably not for a vampire, granted. But Xander was still
human, and didn't plan on changing his mind about the erotic or edible uses of
eyeballs. Raw pig, sure. But he'd let Kyle eat the eyes.

"Lemme see that." Spike tried to take the book out of Xander's hands, and
Xander pulled the book away casually, while he kept reading, as if he hadn't
even seen Spike grab for it.

"Look, here's a recipe for mousse. Blood mousse? Does blood *set* properly? 
Huh, I guess it does." The recipe only called for enough blood to provide
taste, but still.... Xander shook his head. "Leave it to vampires to come up
with a blood-related *dessert*."

Spike sniffed. "What, we're not allowed to have dessert, just because we're
evil?"

"Yes, Spike. That's sort of the whole point of life. When mothers send their
children to bed without their strawberry shortcake because they shaved the cat,
it pretty much sets the pattern for everything that follows. Shave the cat, no
dessert. Become an evil bloodsucking creature of the night, still no dessert."
There seemed to be a lack of accounting for degree of evilness there, so Xander
amended himself. "Pardon me -- shave the cat, no dessert. Evil bloodsucking, no
dessert *and* you have to stand in the corner."

Spoken with utter innocence, and absolutely no overt recognition of the fact
that to Spike, standing in the corner invariably preceded some sort of erotic
punishment game followed by much hearty shagging. "You're saying we don't get
dessert?" Spike said again, sounding like a four year old who'd shaved every cat
in town.

"I'm *saying*...forget it. This book proves that some vampires, at least, get
dessert. Maybe it's only for vampires who are good. Or really, really bad."
Xander flipped another page, and discovered the chocolate and blood section.

"Um," Spike said, a moment after Xander had quietly read the chapter listing.

Xander read all the way through 'Chocolate, Blood, and Candied Yams' before he
looked up. "Yes?"

"Are we getting that book for Angel, or for us?"

"You're saying we can't steal it from him?"

"Right. Do we need any kitchen stuff Angel hasn't got, already?" Spike
leaned forward to read over Xander's shoulder. Xander flipped to the 'What You
Will Need' preface.

"Spike? Tell me I'm not seeing that."

"Which one? The picture of the whipped blood and cream, or the spice rack?"

"The *eyeball* scoops!"

"Well, I'm sure you don't need 'em for *every* recipe. Anyhow, it can always
double as a melon-baller." Spike tugged at the book, but there was no way Xander
was letting it out of his hands. "Speaking of which, did you know you can drill
a hole..."

Xander rolled his thankfully unscooped and planning to stay that way eyes.
"Yes, Spike. I believe you told me that the second time we ever went shopping
together. My answer now is the same as it was then -- eww, what a waste of a
perfectly good melon, and why would I want to when I have you?"

"You never said that about the cucumbers."

Xander shrugged. "Everybody's got a kink." He looked up from the recipe for
Grimm's Black Forest Cake, drizzled with blood and topped with black cherries,
to find the expression on Spike's face was the one he'd expected to produce.
Disbelief wrestling with Spike's usual reaction to thinking about cucumbers and
melons and other fresh vegetables.

"*A* kink?"

"Yup. All my other weird sexual deviancies come from trying to please my own
personal weird sexual deviant, a.k.a. you." So did his ability to tell utter
bald-headed lies like that one with a straight face, Xander reflected with an
internal grin.

Spike looked as if his head were about to explode. "You are *such* a... Right,
you mean you can stand there in public with a cookbook in your hand, and
honestly tell me that you didn't like having your backside smacked before you
ever met me?"

Xander wasn't sure what the cookbook had to do with anything, unless he was
supposed to be swearing by it, but he was delighted that Spike had given him an
open target, via his phrasing. "Before I met you?" he whispered, leaning close
to Spike's ear. "Spike, honey, I was a virgin when I met you."

Yup, there went the pupils, doing the contracting into little black dots
thing, as Spike's crayon-guy scribbled words like "deflower" on the walls of
*his* skull. Even if he hadn't been there for the actual
steering-round-the-curves event, Spike was more than capable of going off into a
little mental wonderland of what-if. He'd taken Xander there a few times. It was
a really nice place.

Crayon-guy was scribbling really fast in Spike's head now, from the glassy
sheen that had appeared in his eyes. If Xander looked deeply into them, he could
almost see the little bastard. He had fuzzy blond hair, huge blue eyes, and he
was soaking wet. In the hand that wasn't holding the crayon, he had a grape
lollipop. Xander groaned, slightly. This was *not* the plan.

Spike's eyes were regaining a little focus. Xander swayed from side to side a
few times, until, yep, Spike's eyes were following him. Wondering what the hell
he was up to, of course. But tracking, again. "You were *not*," came Spike's
retort.

Xander laughed. "I was, so! Would I lie about a thing like that? Geez,
Spike, don't you *remember* the first time you fucked me? How--" And he didn't
even have to say 'tight I was' because Spike's eyes had gone all golden and
unseeing. At least, Xander was pretty sure Spike was seeing something that
wasn't in the middle of Ambercrombie's.

He waited, grinning, until Spike's brain finally kicked in, once more. "Er,
hang on! That doesn't count -- you weren't a virgin when we started sleeping
together -- and I *wasn't* the first one to ever spank you. Or fuck you, thank
you very much."

"Doesn't count? Being offered up as a snack doesn't count as a meeting?"

"Er..." Spike's eyes went out of focus, again, and Xander suspected that
crayon-guy was writing something like 'Angel *gave* him to me, as a present. 
He's mine, mine, mine! Can I eat him, huh, can I?' Xander figured that because
it was pretty much what Spike said every time he got jazzed up on sugar and
blood, and was trying to have sex with Xander on Angel's desk, while Angel was
still in his office.

"And anyway," Xander went on, just as if he had no idea what he was doing, or
saying, "Anya fucking me doesn't count. I mean, the spanking counts, I guess,
but the dildo doesn't. It has to be the built-in model, before it counts."

Spike blinked. "How romantic -- I was the first person who ever fucked you
with something that wasn't attached by straps?"

Xander suspected, but wasn't sure, until he saw the smile spreading across
Spike's face. He was serious about the romantic part -- which was why it was
both cruel and kind of Xander to look at him just as seriously and say, "Spike,
you're the *only* person who's ever fucked me with something that wasn't
attached by straps, or not attached at all."

Only in this insane thing that Xander called his life, could that possibly be
a romantic enough statement to make Spike kiss him softly in the middle of a
vampire department store, with absolutely no attempt to feel him up in the
process.

"Oh that's just so *adorable*. Rupert, come over here, you have to see this. 
The human's got him and me both all misty eyed."

Xander opened his eyes to find Spike looking at him. They both turned their
heads -- breaking the kiss only incidentally -- to find a matronly vampiress,
and a stodgy vampire, standing at the end of the aisle watching them. The woman
looked liked his grandmother had, at the wedding -- about to cry, wringing her
hands, and looking around for cake. Of course, hearing the name 'Rupert' had
made Xander reflexively start to peel Spike's jacket off just to see how far he
could get before Giles yelled 'Stop it!'

Spike seemed to be trying to regain enough composure to growl threateningly,
but his hands were entwined with Xander's, and he was moving his mouth back to
nibble on Xander's lips as though it was controlled by a mind of its own.

"Marielle, leave those children alone, and come along," stodgy Rupert was
saying. Xander felt a Spike-growl pressed against his chest, and knew that
Spike wanted to say he wasn't a child -- but doing so meant cutting off the kiss
that was rapidly becoming less romantic and more sexy.

Xander leaned back, breaking all contact except for their hands. He found
Spike blinking, then Spike focused on Xander and smiled. "Really?"

"Yes, really, doughboy." Xander didn't quite manage to inject the proper
amount of casual joking into his voice, but suspected Spike wouldn't mind not
being properly teased. "Let's go spend a lot of money, then try on our
collars."

"Doughboy?" Instead of responding aloud, Xander poked Spike in the stomach.
"Oi! Hey, what was that for?"

"To make you go squeak, like Poppin' Fresh. And don't say it. Just, whatever
it is, don't say it." Because the second the words 'Poppin' Fresh' were out of
Xander's mouth, Spike had got a calculating look in his eye. Xander hoped --
truly, really hoped -- that whatever was going on in there didn't involve Spike
putting on a chef's hat and Buffy's extra puffy work-out suit.

"Did I say anything?" asked suddenly-innocent Spike.

Xander sighed, and guided him vaguely in the direction of the men's counter.
Maybe the collars would be finished early?

"Hey, look at this!"

Or maybe he could just let Spike buy anything he wanted, and by the time the
collars were done, their arms would be too full to have to worry about feeling
each other up. Xander turned to look at what Spike was holding up, wondering if
he'd be able to identify it. Or want to.