Dirty Dancing Spander Style

by
Savoy Truffle

Part Four

Xander staggered his way down the street under the weight of four—or was it five?—overloaded shopping bags, glancing around in disgust.

Shops, shops and more shops.

As far as he could tell, the only reason the boat had stopped in this port was so that people could shop. Hell, as far as he could tell, the only reason this port town existed was so that boats could stop and people could shop.

Of course, Buffy—walking ahead of him and carrying a grand total of one bag that contained all of a necklace and a pair of earrings—was in heaven.

But then, as far as he could tell, the only reason Buffy existed was so that she could shop, meaning she and this stupid port were a match made in… right, he’d already said that.

The real question was: What the hell was he doing here?

Sure, it was either stay on the boat or shop and he’d really wanted to get the hell off the boat for a few hours, but that didn’t mean he had to be Buffy’s pack mule.

And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had warning. He’d woken up to find Buffy bent over the cabin’s desk in intense study of the “shopping map” she’d gotten from the cruise’s Shopping Guide or Shopping Guru or Shopping Mistress or whatever the hell she was called.

Whatever she was called, Xander knew that there was a woman on the boat—with a full team of assistants—whose sole function was to tell people, in a series of daily lectures, how to spend their money quickly and efficiently on the very best of the things that they didn’t need in the first place.

He knew that Buffy had attended all three of these lectures.

And he knew that Buffy had taken notes.

All good reasons to run fast and run far, but he’d been drowsy and slow and Buffy had looked up and batted her eyelashes and Xander’s fate had been sealed.

He was weak. He admitted it. But five and a half frenzied hours of retail therapy (or hell) later, he was still standing (or staggering, at least) and they were just a few feet from the bus that would take them (and the bags) back to the boat.

“Buffy!”

Buffy stopped at the sound of her name and Xander only just managed to keep his body and the bags from crashing into her back.

“Angel.” Buffy tossed her hair and flashed her straight, white teeth as Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Broody caught up to them. Xander stifled the urge to vomit. “What are you doing here?”

“Just had to pick up some things from town.”

Xander snorted. A couple extra bottles of hair gel, no doubt.

“Can I get that for you?” Angel asked, reaching out to relieve Buffy of her eight-ounce burden.

Xander snorted again, louder.

“You alright there, buddy?” Angel glanced in his direction for all of a split second before sticking his big ol’ hand right into the jewelry bag without even asking—gee, creepy much?—and pulling out the necklace. He admired it for a second, then stepped closer to her and reached out. “Bet this looks even better on you. May I?”

Xander turned away in disgust just in time to catch a familiar face staring out one of the buses windows at them. The face was Dru’s and it looked… sad.

“Hey, Buff? I’m just gonna go stick this stuff on the bus.”

Buffy was too busy batting her eyelashes to answer, so Xander went ahead, climbing aboard and making his way down the aisle. He dumped the bags in an empty seat, then kneeled on the seat directly in front of Dru, resting his arms on its back as he looked at her. She was staring at the ceiling now, instead of out the window.

“Hey,” Xander said. “How’s it going?”

Dru didn’t bother to look at him. “I'm naming all the stars,” she said.

Xander considered that. He followed Dru’s gaze. “Huh. I can’t see the stars. All I get is ceiling. Also, it's day.”

“I can see them,” she said. “But I've named them all the same name.”

“Oh.” Xander nodded. “That could… uh… I could see how that could be a problem.”

He was searching for something more helpful to say, but then Spike was there at Dru’s side, taking her elbow and guiding her out of the seat.

“C’mon, love. Let’s go sit in the back.”

And Xander might have thought Spike was trying to get Dru away from him for some reason, except that Spike didn’t even seem to have noticed Xander was there.

Which was even better.

Xander sighed and turned around to face the front. Buffy was coming down the aisle, smiling, with Angel close behind. She slid into the seat beside him.

“Hey, Xan, could you cover for me with Dad and Jessica tonight after dinner? Just tell them I fell asleep in the room or something. Angel says he knows this great place on one of the top decks where you can really see the moon.”

Xander rolled his eyes. “You can see the moon from anywhere on the top decks. It’s the whole middle-of-the-ocean, no-ceiling, nighttime thing.”

“Please, Xan?” Buffy stuck out her bottom lip and Xander was lost.

“Fine.”

Buffy flashed him a glowing smile, then turned it on Angel, who was sitting across the aisle. Xander folded his arms and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes as the bus started up and headed back to the ship.

Apparently, Buffy and Angel weren’t the only ones who wanted to see the moon that night; the after-dinner dancing had been moved outside to one of the upper decks.

And who would have thought that wherever the dancing was would be where Xander wanted to be? And not just any dancing—not the over-hyped teen disco downstairs—but the ballroom dancing, which should have been even less likely… but there it was.

And there Xander was, under the open sky, standing at the edge of the dance floor, looking in.

Looking at Spike, who wasn’t dancing with Dru—who’d disappeared earlier—but with some woman in her forties, maybe, who looked a little too perfect for her age—like the kind of woman who made regular visits to the kind of office Hank Summers had. Her dress was sleek and black and low-cut so that Spike (and the rest of the crowd) could look down her cleavage as they danced the tango.

Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow and the woman was smiling at Spike in a way that set Xander’s teeth on edge, pressing her body into Spike’s in a way that made Xander’s blood pound and Xander was so preoccupied with burning a hole through the back of her dress that he jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Anya.

“That’s Mrs. French,” she said, following Xander’s gaze. “She’s a widow.”

She looked young to be a widow and Xander’s look must have said so because Anya went to tell him all about the late husband, who’d been “old and kind of icky, but loaded,” which made sense.

“They were a good match,” Anya concluded. “He liked younger women and she likes younger men.”

Xander’s eyes narrowed. He could tell.

When the tango ended, Anya walked out onto the floor and tapped Spike on the shoulder, interrupting—to Xander’s great satisfaction—whatever Mrs. French was trying to whisper in Spike’s ear to ask Spike where Dru had gone.

“She’s taking a break,” Spike all but growled, stepping away from Mrs. French and into Anya’s space. “She needs a break.”

And right then and there, Xander decided that he didn’t have the balls to go into management.

Anya, however, did not seem to share his problem.

She stood her ground and looked straight at Spike without so much as a flinch. “We pay you for work, not for breaks.”

She turned on her heel and walked back to Xander, a smile on her face. She didn’t just have the balls, Xander realized, she got off on it. Suddenly, he could actually picture her getting naked and rolling around in money.

He chose not to picture it for long.

“You really have to be firm with employees,” she was saying and he was following her away from the crowd. If he couldn’t spare himself the actual conversation, at least he could spare himself the embarrassment of having it overheard. “Workers are an organization’s most valuable resource, of course, but most of them are very, very lazy. You have to watch them constantly to ensure that you get the level of performance you’re paying for.”

She paused as if waiting for affirmation. Xander didn’t give it—not only because he didn’t agree, but also to see if she’d stop talking.

She didn’t.

“There are two types of people in the world, Xander. The slackers…” She waved a dismissive hand in the general direction of the dance floor. “And the go-getters, like you and me.”

Xander was pretty sure she had him mislabeled.

“The go-getters have to stick together,” she continued. “Combine their personal and financial assets, marry to receive desirable tax breaks, and then produce go-getting children who can be trained to take over the family empire…”

Xander choked on his own saliva.

“I can’t believe you kicked me.”

Xander looked up toward the sound of the voice and saw Angel walking along the railing of an upper deck. Buffy trailed behind him, her hair and blouse mussed.

“I’m gonna have a bruise,” Angel continued.

“Oh, you’ll have a lot more than that next time, asshole.”

Xander smiled at Buffy’s words.

“You rich girls are all the same. Fucking teases. Always acting like…”

“Acting? You wanna talk about acting? Men. One minute you’re all deep and soulful and oh-I-feel-so-close-to-you, the next thing I know you’ve turned into a fucking demon.”

“Oh, grow up, Buffy.”

The last thing Xander heard as they moved out of range was Buffy’s snort and, “Grow up? You can’t even handle me at this age, Angel…”

Xander stifled a chuckle.

“See, Xander,” Anya was saying, “that’s exactly what I’m talking about. That’s why most of this staff will never get ahead in this world. They’re just not like you and me—they can’t take their heads out of their pants long enough to set goals. You know?”

Mislabeled again, Xander thought. “I’m hungry,” he said out loud. “Think we could go to the kitchens?”

Anya nodded. “Sure,” she said, starting her feet in the right direction as her mouth resumed the secrets-of-success soliloquy.

Xander took a deep breath and followed.

Anya—no surprise—was still talking as they entered the kitchen, which explained why she didn’t notice Dru, sitting in the corner, face streaked with tears.

Xander—no surprise either—wasn’t actually listening, which explained why he did notice Dru in the corner and saw how frightened she looked of being discovered.

“Hey, Ahn, you know what? I’m not all that hungry after all and I know you probably have a ton of important things to check on.” Anya looked like she was about to say there was nothing more important than lecturing him on business skills, god forbid. Xander thought fast. “Hey, you know who seemed kind of lazy? That guy running the karaoke machine the other night. You should really go make sure he’s not slacking off.”

“You know, you’re right,” Anya said, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and started to steer her out of the kitchen. “He did seem to be taking his time queuing up those songs…”

Xander unwrapped his arm and gave her a little shove. “You go take care of that and find me later, okay?”

“Okay.”

As soon as Anya was out of sight, Xander tried to figure out what to do. Based on the bus conversation, he wasn’t exactly convinced his talking to Dru would help. Really, the only person he knew could talk to Dru was Spike. But who knew if Spike would even listen to Xander?

Of course, there was one person Spike would listen to who would also listen to Xander…

Xander went looking for Wesley.

Part Five

“Wes!”

“Xander.” Wes turned around with a smile on his face and for a second it was too clear how happy Wes was to see him and Xander wondered if he should do something about that—and what he even wanted to do about that and why he was always so dense about these things anyway—but this wasn’t the time. Wes was already frowning. “What is it?”

“It’s Dru. I don’t know what’s wrong, but she’s sitting on the floor in the kitchen, crying.”

“Oh, hell,” Wes muttered.

He turned and hurried off and Xander followed, up and out to the deck again. The deck where Spike was still dancing with that trashy widow woman, and Xander found room among his worried thoughts for a petty one about how nice it was to watch Wesley tear Spike away from her, which was no surprise—there always seemed to be room for inappropriate thoughts in Xander’s brain, the more inappropriate in context the better.

Spike and Wes were hurrying towards the kitchen now, as fast as they could without drawing unwanted attention, and Xander was following again.

For reasons both altruistic and not so much.

He was old enough to admit that.

“What’s he doing here?” Spike asked, which was rapidly becoming the standard Spike question regarding Xander and wasn’t flattering per se, but at least he’d noticed Xander was there this time and Xander thought that might count as progress.

“I want to help,” Xander said, which was mostly true and definitely a step up from ‘I carried a cheese platter.’

“And how are you going to help?”

Okay, so hostility, but hostility addressed to Xander directly now, which was something. The only problem was that Xander didn’t think ‘By following you around like a lovesick puppy’ was the appropriate answer. “I… uh…”

“He’ll be helpful if we run into Anya,” Wes said. “Otherwise, Xander, there’s not much you can do. Dru’s preggers.”

“Wes,” Spike growled.

“She’s…? Oh. Oh. Shit. How…?” Actually, Xander knew how. “I mean, who…?” He glanced toward Spike, who glared back.

“Wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The thought had crossed Xander’s mind—a fact that was apparently written all over his face, because Spike’s glare intensified.

“Fuck. I love Dru, okay? Even if we were… I still wouldn’t let this happen. Tosser.”

And then they were at the kitchens and Xander was dismissed as Spike flew across the room and dropped to the ground, enfolding Dru in his arms.

“Shh, love. It’s okay. Spike’s here now. Not gonna let anyone hurt you.”

“I think sometimes that all my hair will fall out,” Dru whispered, “and I'll be bald.”

“Never happen.” Spike’s voice was confident as he stroked his hand over that hair. “Won’t let it. Love you too much, pet. You and your hair.”

Dru sniffled. “Do you love my insides? The parts you can't see?”

Spike didn’t hesitate. “Eyeballs to entrails, my sweet.”

Dru nodded for a second, then took Spike’s hand and placed it on her stomach. “It’s there inside of me, Spike. Like a parasite. Can you feel it? It’s growing, growing. It’s gonna fill me up until I’m empty inside.”

“We’ll stop it, love. I promise.”

“I love it, Spike, but I don’t want it. I don’t want it.” Dru shook her head and clawed at the front of her dress, scratching Spike’s hand in the process, but Spike didn’t seem to notice, just kept stroking her hair.

“Shh, I know, love. We’ll fix it. We’re gonna find a way to fix it.”

He swept Dru up into his arms and carried her downstairs to her cabin, murmuring reassurances all the way. Xander followed, hovering in the doorway as the other three sat on or by the bed.

“You should have just come to me, love,” Spike was saying. “I take care of you, remember?”

“No money, no time, no way out,” Dru sing-songed. She laughed, but didn’t seem to have the breath for it. “The air. It worries. It moves, but it’s trapped. I’m trapped.”

“She’s right, Spike.” Apparently, Wes also spoke fluent Dru. “We won’t get paid in time.”

“No way out,” Dru repeated, and for once, Spike didn’t look like he knew what to tell her. She looked like she was about to start crying again and Xander couldn’t help stepping away from the door or opening his mouth.

“Hey, don’t cry… I mean, you can’t just give up. There’s gotta be something. We just… we just have to brainstorm.”

“Brainstorm?” Spike echoed. “We?”

“Someone’s been whispering secrets,” Dru sang.

“I told him,” Wes said. “I thought he might be able to help.”

“The kitten wants to be a white knight,” Dru said. “Tall, dark and handsome and he said he was an angel, but he was wicked and led me into temptation and now I can’t say enough Hail Marys to make it right.”

Xander frowned.

“Dru used to be Catholic,” Spike said.

But that wasn’t why Xander was frowning. “Does she mean Angel Angel? Is he the one who…? Why don’t you tell him? Make him pay? I bet he has the money.”

“He knows,” Dru said.

“Angel is a cunt,” Spike said.

“Spike,” Dru whined, “you shouldn’t say—”

“Look…” Wes stood and moved toward Xander. “They don’t do abortions on the ship and most of the countries we’re stopping in, it’s not legal. Or if it is, the only clinics are in the big cities. But there’s this port in two weeks and there’s supposed to be a place, reliable, but it’s gonna cost five hundred dollars, cash. If she can’t get it there, we don’t know when or where and she’s just not doing so well, so if you can think of anything…”

“Shut the fuck up, Wes. The more he knows, the more he can tell his management girlfriend.”

Xander threw up his hands and flashed Wes an apologetic smile. “Look, I obviously shouldn’t be here.” He turned to Spike. “But for the last time—Anya is not my girlfriend. Anya’s not even my type. She doesn’t even have the right equipment to be my type, okay? And even if, in some alternate universe, she did and she was? I still wouldn’t do that.”

He slammed the cabin door behind him.

Dinner the following evening was more unbearable than usual. Even Rupert and Ethan’s standard banter (and Hank and Jessica’s standard discomfort) failed to make Xander smile. He was too busy seething every time Angel came within five feet of the table.

Angel, for his part, seemed oblivious to Xander’s rising hostility. He was too busy smiling at Buffy. Apparently, he’d forgiven her for kicking him the night before. Or at least decided it was worth a few bruises to get into her pants.

The scary part was that, by the end of the meal, Buffy was starting to smile back.

“Maybe I’ll catch up with you later tonight,” Angel told her in a low voice as they got up to leave the table.

Xander’s jaw clenched.

Over his dead body.

He waited half an hour, ditched the family and circled back to the dining room, where he found Angel bent over a table, clearing it.

Xander walked up and stood behind Angel, heart pounding as he waited. When Angel turned around a few seconds later, he was obviously startled. Xander pressed his advantage and cut to the chase.

“You got Dru pregnant.”

He watched Angel’s expression as Angel tried to decide how to play things. A confused frown was the first attempt.

“What are you talking about?” Angel asked.

Xander didn’t blink. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

The frown disappeared and was replaced by an indulgent, man-to-man smile, which Angel flashed at Xander before turning back to the table.

“Oh, come on,” he said, as he resumed clearing. “You can’t believe everything Dru tells you. I mean, she’s crazy. Literally.”

“You’re not wrong.” Xander kept both his voice and his feet perfectly steady—and wasn’t that a minor miracle? He crossed his arms over his chest as Angel looked back at him again. “And yet you chose to take advantage of her. So my question is: what exactly does that say about you?”

Angel kept clearing the table—kept the easy posture and the disgusting smile—but his tone took a warning edge.

“Look, the girl’s obsessed with me. There’s nothing I can do about that. Honestly? It could have been anyone. Hell, it could have been Spike.”

Xander shrugged. “But it wasn’t Spike,” he said. “It was you.”

It wasn’t a question and Angel straightened to his full height, ditching the posture and the smile and stepping right into Xander’s space. “So what if it was? What are you going to do about it? Gonna beat me up?”

And, yeah, something inside Xander really wanted to step back—way back—but he didn’t move an inch. He smiled instead. “Oh, you and I both know I can’t beat you up. You’d kick my ass. But the thing is, Anya really likes me. And she thinks you’re a tool. So, I’m thinking I might be able to get you fired. And I’m kinda feelin’ the urge to find out.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

Angel took a tiny step back.

Xander kept right on smiling.

“I kinda think I would,” he said. “But stay away from me and stay away from my sister and maybe we won’t have to find out.”

Xander looked down at the table in front of him and saw a half-full glass of watery Coke. He remembered the first time he saw Angel. The first time he saw Spike.

He picked up the glass and poured it down the front of Angel’s white pants.

Still smiling, Xander set the glass back down on the table, turned around and walked out of the dining room.

When Buffy returned to the cabin that night, Xander was in bed with the lights out, but he wasn’t asleep.

“Hey, Buff,” he said. The bathroom light illuminated a sliver of the room. “Did you see Angel tonight?”

“Nah,” she said. “He didn’t show.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.” The sink was running and he could hear her splashing water over her face.

The water stopped.

“Ah, Angel’s alright. You’ve just gotta know how to handle guys like him.”

Xander smiled to himself. He was definitely learning how to handle guys like Angel. Buffy stepped out of the bathroom in her pajamas and he changed the subject.

“I need five hundred dollars.”

Buffy picked up her purse off the dresser, pulled out one of her credit cards and dropped it on Xander’s nightstand.

“In cash,” Xander said.

“You know I don’t have that.”

“But you could get it.” Xander raised his voice an octave. “Daddy, the shopping guru says we’ll get the best deals at the next soulless tourist town if we pay in cash, leaving no record of the transaction. Can I have five hundred dollars?”

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest. “Just a tip, Xan—mocking? Not the best way to ask for a favor. What’s it for, anyway?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Buffy sighed and dropped her arms from her chest, pulled back her sheets and climbed into bed.

“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” Xander said. “And it’s not like Hank’s gonna miss it.”

Another sigh and then a silence. Then: “When do you need it by?”

“Tomorrow would be good.”

Which is how, the next night, after another all-too-awkward dinner and the latest round of evening activities from hell, Xander found himself in an empty hallway holding an envelope and staring at a closed door as it shook with the rhythm of the bass line.

Taking a deep breath, he opened it and stepped inside, weaving his way through the crowd until he spotted platinum blond. The song was slow and Dru and Spike were wrapped around—wrapped up in—each other, swaying to the beat. Xander touched Dru on the shoulder and she pulled away, followed him to the edge of the room, where Wes was already standing.

“I got you the money,” Xander told her, holding out the envelope.

Dru reached out and closed her slender fingers around it. “Angel?”

There was hope in her voice and it hurt Xander to have to shake his head. “No, Spike’s right about Angel.”

“Then how…?” Wes started.

“Boy’s loaded, isn’t he?” Spike stepped forward and curled an arm around Dru’s shoulders. “Probably just asked Daddy if he could skim a bit off his trust fund.”

Xander shook his head. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Thanks, kitten, but the Queen’s changed the doors and the key doesn’t fit.” Dru reached out as if to hand the envelope back, but Spike stopped her arm.

“Are you mad?” he asked without a trace of irony. “Take the bloody money.”

“Doesn’t fit,” she said.

“The girl who told me about the place remembered the port wrong,” Wes translated. “It’s the one we’re hitting a few days later, the same one where Spike and Dru do their rumba show at the Hyperion. We’re only there one night and they have to do the show. They do it every sailing, but if they cancel this late, they won’t be invited back and they can’t afford that. The money’s too good.”

“If it’s that big a deal, couldn’t one of the other dancers fill in?”

“No, Mister White Hat,” Spike mocked, “they couldn’t. People have to work around here. Faith has to cover for Dru that night and Kendra’s too busy between now and then to learn the routine. You’re the only one who’s on holiday around here.” He smirked. “Unless you wanna do it…”

Xander scowled. “Ha. Ha.”

“Wait a minute,” Wes said. “That’s brilliant.”

Spike and Xander both turned to stare at him.

“What? Now you’ve gone mad, as well?” Spike looked at Xander, looked Xander over, and snorted a dismissal. “The boy’s cute ’n’ all, but I doubt he’d look good in a dress.”

Xander looked at Spike, then back at Wes. “Trust me, he’s right about the dress thing. I…” He looked back at Spike. Wait a minute—Spike thought he was cute?

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Spike said.

Oh, shit. He’d said that out loud.

“Besides,” Spike was saying, “he’s taller than me. We’d look ridiculous.”

All of a sudden, Dru clapped her hands and squealed. She smiled at Wesley, who smiled back. “He’ll look so pretty!” she said.

Spike put his hands on her shoulders, which were vibrating with excitement. “Dru, darling,” he said slowly. “I love you, but you’re barmy. The boy said it himself, he would not look pretty in a dress.”

Dru just smiled at Spike as Wes stepped up to place his own hand on Spike’s shoulder.

“You’re right,” Wes said. “Xander wouldn’t. But I dare say you’d look smashing.”

Part Six

“Bloody hell!”

Xander removed his foot from Spike’s and winced. “Sorry.”

“Could do with a little less sorry, a little more holding the bleedin’ one,” Spike snapped. He sighed and dropped his hands from Xander’s hand and shoulder.

“Sorry,” Xander said.

Spike glared and Xander opened his mouth to apologize again for apologizing again, but managed to stop the word just in time. Spike walked over to the stereo to turn off the music and stood with his back to Xander for a long moment. When he turned around again, he seemed more composed.

“Look, mate—you’re stepping on the one because you’re bored.”

Xander’s brow furrowed. Nervous? Sure. Feeling like a total spazz? Definitely. Inappropriately aroused? Well, not that he was going to admit, but… “Bored?”

“Sure. You step on the four and then the one comes along and it feels like you haven’t moved in ages and you’re starting to feel like an idiot just standing there, so you step.”

Huh. It actually sounded plausible. Who knew there was so much psychology to dancing?

“Thing is,” Spike continued, “you’re not supposed to be standing there doing nothing. You’re supposed to be rolling your hips. Like this.”

Spike positioned himself for demonstration, legs spread shoulder width, left hand raised with the right lying flat against his abs, just over his hip.

“One,” Spike began, holding his body perfectly still. “Two, three…” He rolled his weight into his right hip, then his left. “Fourrrr…” He drew the word out along with the motion as he rolled his right hip forward, then snapped it around to... “One.”

Spike kept counting and rolling as Xander went from watching to staring and pretty much forgetting about the whole learning part until he realized that Spike was actually saying something—probably to him.

“Uh… huh?” Xander blinked and lifted his eyes to Spike’s face. Spike was looking back at him as if at a very simple child.

“Try. It,” he repeated, rolling his hips through another measure.

Xander didn’t move. “Um, see… the problem is that my pelvis? Is actually attached to the rest of my body.”

Spike rolled his eyes and sighed. “C’mere,” he said.

No, don’t do it, Xander thought desperately. Back away from the hips slowly, Xand-man, and no one gets hurt.

Spike was glaring again. “Come. Here.”

Against his better judgment, Xander stepped forward into Spike’s reach. Spike took hold of Xander’s arms just above the elbows, raising them to chest level. Xander automatically copied Spike’s grip and then his wide stance. Then Spike started counting again, rolled his hips left, right and around, and Xander tried to copy that, too, he really did, but…

“See? Still attached to my body,” Xander said. Spike was looking down at his stiff, awkward hips in contempt—his own hips still rolling right along—and it was getting really har… er, difficult for Xander to focus. He tried once, then twice more with the same poor results before Spike sighed and let go of his arms, and Xander thought he might be off the hook, but...

“Bloody hell. Turn around then.”

“What?” Bad idea. Bad. Bad.

Xander didn’t move, but Spike moved for him, stepping around Xander’s body and placing his hands on Xander’s hips from behind. And—sweet Jesus—their pelvises weren’t touching exactly, but Xander knew that his ass was just inches away from Spike’s…

“One…” Spike’s voice was firm as he began guiding Xander’s hips with his hands. “Two, three…”

And there was nothing for Xander to do but loosen his hips and try to breathe as he conjured a series of the least sexy things he could imagine in a desperate bid not to think about all the other things Spike could be teaching him in this position, besides how to dance the rumba.

“Two, three… back straight… two, three… arms tight… two, three… and hips… two, three… eyes up.... two, three…”

Spike stood to the side, smoking a cigarette as he issued his orders, and if Xander weren’t so damn busy keeping his back straight and his arms tight and his hips rolling and his eyes up, he was pretty sure he’d have both hands wrapped around Spike’s fucking neck—squeezing.

Two, three, fourrrr… one. Two, three…

The voice in Xander’s head was British.

And snarky.

And he looked around to make sure the hallway really was empty, then shifted his weight onto his front foot, dragging his back foot forward and past, trying to snap it the way Spike taught him. He transferred his weight, rolled his hip.

Arms up, back straight.

Another snapping step, a wobbling foot, a roll of the hip that kind of hurt a little. He looked around again, dared a couple more forward rumba walks. Brought his feet together, then stepped to the side in a little cucaracha.

His internal Spike glared at him.

He tried it again with more hip.

And again.

And again.

He heard voices in the hall and dropped his arms, slouching a bit and trying to look casual as he hurried past a pair of women and on to the practice room.

The music stopped and Spike dropped his arms away from Xander, moving for the stereo and heaving yet another long-suffering sigh.

Xander threw up his hands. “Oh, come on. What now? That was good. I got all the steps and I even did that arm thing you wanted.”

Spike turned back. “You don’t dance with your feet,” he said. “Or your arms. That’s just the window dressing. The bells and whistles. The real movement has to come from here.” Spike stepped forward and placed his hand just below Xander’s belly button.

Xander sucked in his breath.

“Here.” Spike dropped his hand and reached out to grab Xander’s, placing it against his own lower abdomen. The muscle was tight beneath Xander’s fingers—fingers that itched to spread and explore, just a little, but he held them still. “Now tighten up your arm and close your eyes,” Spike continued.

Right. Close his eyes. Because Xander really needed it to be easier to imagine he was touching Spike like this under completely different circumstances.

“When you lead…” As Xander listened, he felt pressure against his hand and stepped back automatically, three steps, and then the pressure stopped. Xander stopped. “You lead from here.”

He felt Spike’s center shift to the side and shifted his own weight from right to left. Then the pressure lightened and he found himself walking forward, trying to keep the feeling beneath his palm.

“This is how we communicate,” Spike was saying as he shifted again. Xander shifted with him. “Your center to my center. Now keep your eyes closed....” Xander felt his hand being lifted off Spike’s abs and replaced under Spike’s shoulder blade, felt Spike’s body slip into dance position against his. “And let’s try it again.”

They started through the sequence again and Xander couldn’t see a thing, but somehow, this time, it felt like dancing.

Xander walked down the hall with hips that no longer hurt, just rolled like that was what they were made to do. Well, okay, not quite the same way that that was what Spike’s hips were made to do, but still, it was getting hard not to roll them when he walked.

A little too hard.

The other day, Buffy had actually asked if he’d hurt his knee or something because he looked like he was limping.

And limp wasn’t exactly what he was going for here.

But then Buffy wasn’t the only one who seemed to notice the new way Xander was moving his body.

And Xander had Ethan’s leer pegged for a slightly inappropriate sign of his whole-hearted approval.

“What are you thinking about right now?” Spike asked.

Spike, who’d just been led across Xander’s body and into a fan, which culminated in a sensuous full body shimmy off the end of their joined arms, which probably should have looked girly, but since, for whatever reason, Spike had decided not to wear a shirt today, just looked…

What was he thinking right now? Xander was so pleading the fifth on that one.

“You should be thinking about sex,” Spike told him, as he spun in his alemana and began to prowl his way around Xander’s body.

Xander stood in place and rolled his hips and figured he ought to be proud. This had to be the first time in the history of their dance lessons that he was actually already doing what Spike thought he should be doing.

Not that he was going to admit it.

“Excuse me?” Xander said.

“The rumba is a slow seduction.” Spike stepped in toward Xander’s body, executed a hip twist and slinked away. “A tease.” They were facing each other now, looking into each other’s eyes as they mirrored the rotation of each other’s hips. “You want me and I’m pretending you can’t have me.” They turned out into a New Yorker, then back to face each other again. “But we both know that it’s just a game.” Out and back to facing. “I play hard to get ’cause we both know that’ll just make it hotter when you catch me.”

Xander was so busy listening and looking into Spike’s eyes that it took him a second to realize they weren’t moving anymore, that the music had stopped.

“Ever played like that?” Spike was asking.

Xander swallowed and shook his head.

Spike smiled. “Think you can pretend that’s how it is between us?”

Xander blinked and suppressed a shiver. He nodded.

Sometimes Dru came to help out. She’d watch them together and tell them what looked good and what needed work or dance with Spike so he could show Xander how to lead the moves. But Xander’s favorite was when Dru would give Spike tips on how to be a better girl.

With all the work he was putting into this thing, Xander figured he deserved a good laugh now and then.

Spike figured differently.

“One word and you’re a dead man,” Spike growled the moment Xander walked into the practice room.

It was barely eight a.m. and Xander was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, so it took a moment to figure out what Spike was talking about. In fact, it took the clicking sound of Spike’s footsteps as he walked over to the stereo.

Xander looked down past the hem of Spike’s jeans and saw heels.

High heels. Silver, and a little sparkly.

Spike was wearing sparkly silver heels.

Xander snorted.

Spike spun around—on his sparkly silver heels—and glared. “Not. One. Word,” he said.

Xander swallowed a giggle and pressed his lips together, shook his head.

“We only have a few days before the show,” Spike muttered. “I have to practice dancing in them.”

Xander kept his mouth closed and held up his hands as if to say Spike didn’t need to explain, but he was still giggling on the inside.

Couldn’t stop giggling on the inside, a fact which was reflected in his sloppy dancing and did not go unnoticed.

“Stop looking at my feet and hold your soddin’ frame.” Spike jerked Xander’s elbows into place. “Bloody spaghetti arms,” he muttered.

Which gave Xander a mental picture involving arm-sized spaghetti covered in blood sauce and topped with meatballs and had him giggling inside for a whole new reason. The internal giggles collapsed his frame again and Spike jerked his elbows back into place.

“This is my dance space…” Spike gestured in front of himself. “And this is your dance space.” He gestured in front of Xander. “I’ll stay out of yours and you stay out of mine.”

Xander schooled his facial expression into one of gravity and focus and tightened his frame as he stepped forward to take Spike into dance position. He glanced sideways at Dru, who was sitting on the floor against the wall, grinning like she knew something they didn’t.

She’d been doing a lot of that lately.

They were coming up on the end of the routine and Xander was feeling good. He was remembering all the steps and keeping his frame locked and his hips were moving and his lips weren’t moving, even though he was counting in his head. And his eyes were up and he was looking at Spike like he pretend-wanted Spike, but hopefully not like he for-real-wanted Spike, and he was pretending to be the kind of guy who could have Spike, not just some dorky kid on a family vacation, and he thought it might be working. And Spike was spinning in and stopping in front of him, facing the imaginary audience and dropping into a middle split that was only supposed to go halfway because Xander was supposed to be catching him, but he was a split second late—and Spike was in no position to appreciate that pun.

Xander hauled Spike back up to standing.

“Buggering fuck! Are you trying to kill me? Or did you just want to ensure that I never bear children?”

Xander almost felt the urge to apologize—but not. “Yeah, Spike, I’m deeply concerned with thwarting your reproductive capacity.”

Spike glared. “You think this is funny? Is this your idea of a good time?”

Xander glared back. “Of course it is,” he said. “We’re at our first port in five fucking days and Buffy’s out there walking and shopping on solid ground, but I’m in here, with you, because the next port is in two days and we’re supposed to be doing a show there that I know I’m gonna fuck up but for some reason I’m doing it anyway because apparently I have a soft spot for snarky bastards who treat me like shit.”

Xander sucked in a breath and crossed his arms and kept up the glaring at Spike, who, for whatever fucked up reason, actually seemed to have enjoyed his little speech.

The snarky bastard grinned. “Let’s get out of here, then.”

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