Dirty Dancing Spander Style

by
Savoy Truffle

Part Seven

The boat had been docked for hours so there were few employees and ever fewer guests hanging around to see Xander follow Spike down the gangway.

The sun was low, but sinking slowly, turning the sky pinks and oranges as they walked from the dock into town. The air was warm and thick, but fresh in its way after hours locked in the practice room. It smelled of dust and impending rain.

This was new for them, walking down the road together—no Dru, no Wes, no music, no dance steps or dance frames—just two guys and the sound of their footsteps.

“So, uh, where’d you learn to dance?” Xander thought it was the kind of question that he might have asked Spike if they’d met some other time in some other place—or at least the kind of question he might have asked after passing from tongue-tied through incoherent babble and on to almost normal.

“Had some lessons in school,” Spike said. “Dru and me, we seemed to have a knack for it. When we quit school a few months later, the instructor offered us a place at her studio. We taught, did shows, competed a time or two. Pay was decent, but we got restless. When Wes got the cruise job and told me they needed dancers, figured we might as well.”

Spike ended with a shrug and fished a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, slid one between his lips and lit it. Xander watched him inhale and exhale and thought about Spike as an actual person. A person who’d been a kid not too long ago.

They had to be thousands of miles from the town where Xander had played Buffy’s pack mule and Spike had walked right past him on the bus like he didn’t exist, but the streets before them now looked just the same—lined with upscale boutiques and their sleek window displays, candlelit restaurants and sidewalk café-bars, interspersed with currency exchange windows. It was hard to imagine what among these options could possibly appeal to Spike, but Spike seemed to know where he was going so Xander followed.

He followed Spike off the main street and down an alley that put them behind one of the tourist bars, out of sight, but that didn’t make Xander any less nervous as he watched Spike make a show of surveying the row of motorcycles parked there. After walking back and forth down the line, Spike seemed to settle on a sleek silver model, accented with red and black stripes. He bent over it and started running his hands along and around until he came up with keys.

He turned to Xander and smiled—wicked and triumphant—dangling his prize from his finger. “C’mon.”

Spike turned back around and threw a leg over the bike, put in the key and started the engine, revved it a bit as he turned his head to look at Xander—waiting. Xander approached slowly.

“Um, Spike? Are you stealing this?”

“Borrowing,” Spike said. “C’mon. Get on.”

Visions of a tiny jail with high, narrow windows and a damp dirt floor filled Xander’s head, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own and his leg was swinging up and over, his thighs settling behind Spike’s. The engine revved again as Spike turned the bike toward the alley and took off like a shot.

They rode out past the shops and restaurants and hotels, Spike only driving faster as he achieved open road, and Xander figured he really couldn’t be blamed for the way he pressed his chest to Spike’s back or the way his hands gripped at Spike’s sides. There was nothing but Spike to hold on to, after all, and if he didn’t hold on tight, Spike was probably going to get him killed.

Another five minutes and there were buildings again, but smaller ones this time—smaller, closer to the ground and not quite as shiny. The bike slowed and they pulled into the unlit parking lot of a bar that Xander was pretty sure had never seen a tourist. In fact, Xander suspected if they had seen a tourist, they’d shot him on sight.

Spike cut the engine. “This is the real town,” he said.

Xander let go of Spike’s waist and slid off the back of the bike, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the ride was over. He ran a hand through his windblown hair and stared at Spike. “I can’t believe you stole a motorcycle,” he said.

He meant it to sound reproachful and it seemed to come out a little impressed, but he wasn’t sure it really mattered because he couldn’t actually decide which of the tones made him sound lamer.

Spike didn’t seem to mind. “Borrowed,” he said. He slipped the keys in his pocket and started toward the bar. “C’mon.”

Xander trailed after him. “We’re going in there? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Xander had this thing about not getting shot.

“It’s a great place,” Spike said. “Friendly.”

“Friendly,” Xander repeated. His tone said ‘yeah, right.’ “Somehow I’m not quite thinking I’m gonna fit in.”

“Bollocks,” Spike said. “Fitting in’s nothing more than confidence. Truth is, no one really belongs anywhere—some people are just better at faking it.”

“Uh…” They were a few yards from the dark, windowless door and Xander’s feet were all about the not moving any closer.

Spike was halfway between Xander and the entrance when he realized Xander wasn’t following anymore. He turned around. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He crossed back to Xander in two quick strides, his hands reaching for the buttons of Xander’s Hawaiian shirt, which was unbuttoned and halfway off Xander’s shoulders before Xander even realized what was happening.

“Hey!” he said, as the shirt was yanked the rest of the way off and tossed into a nearby oil barrel that seemed to be serving as a trash receptacle, leaving Xander in a reasonably close-fitting black tee and gray cargo pants.

“There.” Spike reached out to tousle Xander’s already unruly hair a bit, then stepped back to take stock. “That’ll do.”

“What? I…” Xander moved to the oil barrel to reclaim his shirt, but thought better of it after a quick glance over the rim. Okay, the shirt was a loss. He could deal, but still…

He turned back to Spike just in time to have a burning cigarette nudged between his lips.

“Inhale,” Spike said.

Xander inhaled.

Xander coughed.

Xander took the cigarette away from his lips.

“Again,” Spike said.

Xander brought the cigarette back to his lips and inhaled again.

Xander didn’t cough.

Spike nodded. “There,” he said. “Now you fit in. Let’s go.” He turned and disappeared into the bar.

Xander glanced around at the dark and empty parking lot. He took another quick drag of the cigarette, didn’t cough, and hurried in after him. Xander was expecting a smoke-filled room with a dark, dirty bar and dark, dirty tables occupied by dark, dirty people.

All of which he got.

Except more with the dark and less with the dirty.

But he wasn’t expecting the music—all lyrical guitars and layers of percussion—that filled the room like a heartbeat. And he wasn’t expecting the dance floor. Or all the people on it, who looked like they took their dancing very seriously.

Xander scanned the rest of the room and people did turn to look at him, but it was curious, not hostile. No guns were pulled. They just took their looks and went back to their drinks.

Spike was standing at the bar in front of two shot glasses, which the bartender was filling with clear liquid from an unlabeled bottle. Xander walked up to stand beside him. Spike slid one of the shots in front of Xander, then lifted his own.

“Cheers,” he said, before tossing it back in one swallow.

Xander picked up his own shot, tipped it toward Spike, then poured it down his throat.

Xander’s eyes widened. Judging by taste, he’d just swallowed a shot of lighter fluid. And judging by the feeling that came about a second later, he’d also managed to swallow a lit match, because there was now a trail of fire burning its way down his esophagus and if Xander opened his mouth, he was pretty sure he’d either start coughing like an amateur or breathing fire like a dragon.

Or both.

So he kept his mouth closed and blinked away tears and the bartender came back with the mystery bottle from hell and refilled their glasses and now Xander knew how they really killed their tourists around here.

But Spike drank, so Xander drank, and it wasn’t so bad the second time around—once you’d killed all your nerves.

Spike smiled as if the shots had been refreshing and reached out for Xander’s hand. “Let’s dance,” he said.

“Uh… can we do that here?” Xander sounded—and felt—like his throat was full of gravel.

“They don’t mind,” Spike said.

“But I don’t know the steps.”

“I’ll show you.”

“Are you sure this is the best time to be filling my head with new dance steps? I mean, what if I forget part of the routine and—”

“Xander.” Spike had two fingers pressing against Xander’s lips and they smelled like tobacco—almost sweet—and if even Xander had been able to speak, it wouldn’t have mattered because he’d lost his train of thought. “There’s something I forgot to tell you about dancing.”

“Yeah?” Xander’s lips brushed the fingers as they formed the word and the fingers slid away, over his cheek, along his jaw and down his throat. Xander blinked and swallowed and waited, watched the quirk of Spike’s lips. “What’s that?”

“It’s supposed to be fun.”

When they staggered from the bar three hours later, they were sweaty and breathless and laughing, drunk on music and lighter fluid.

Well, Xander was drunk, anyway, but he was kinda hoping Spike knew how to hold his lighter fluid because Spike was supposed to be driving and…

Xander looked down at his watch and waited for the numbers to come into focus. “Shit. The boat leaves in twenty minutes.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll make it.”

They staggered toward the bike and Spike sounded calm so Xander decided not to worry except…

“Hey—you’re not staggering, are you? ’Cause you’re not supposed to be staggering. You have to drive.”

Xander thought he saw Spike’s eye roll, but he looked away because it was making him dizzy.

“Staggering under your weight is all, pet. Trust me, I’ll get us there in one piece.”

They got back on the motorcycle and this time Xander held onto Spike extra tight—because you could do that when you were drunk and there was no point wasting the privilege. They made it back to the fake town in ten minutes, but Xander was pretty sure they had more than a ten-minute walk to get to the boat. Spike still didn’t seem worried. He pulled up to the front of the tourist bar and kept the engine running.

He honked the horn and out walked a cowboy.

Xander blinked. He didn’t think cowboys were native to these parts.

“Hey, Spike,” the cowboy said.

“Hey, Linds,” Spike said. “Running a bit late here. Mind if I drive her out to the dock and leave her for you there?”

The cowboy shrugged and grinned at Spike in a way Xander thought he ought to object to on principle. “When have I ever been able to say no to a gorgeous blond?”

The cowboy was standing right next to the bike by then and Spike reached out to grab him by his snap-down shirt and pull him into a quick kiss.

“I owe you one, Linds,” Spike said. He revved the engine and took off.

They made it to the boat just before the crew started to roll up the gangway.

What do you know? Xander thought as Spike guided him up the incline. He really did borrow it, after all.

Part Eight

Xander couldn’t believe it was tonight.

“I can’t believe it’s tonight.” He glanced at Dru, walking beside him, and she smiled back that way she did—like she could read his mind better than he could.

“It’s always scary your first time, but don’t worry.” Her fingers brushed over the hair at the back of his neck, soft like her words. “You can trust Spike to take care of you.”

Xander blinked and studied her Mona Lisa face, but it revealed nothing. She had to be talking about the performance, right?

He looked away just in time to see Ethan step through a doorway and into the hall, but not in time to stop his own forward momentum. Their shoulders collided, hard, and something dropped from Ethan’s hand. Xander dropped to his knees after it.

It was a leather wallet and a bunch of credit cards had fallen out. Xander hurried to scoop them up.

“I’m so sorry, Eth—I mean, Mr. Rayne. I should have been looking where I was going.” He glanced up at Ethan from beneath his lashes, but Ethan didn’t look mad.

Far from it, actually.

“Well worth the inconvenience, dear boy, I assure you,” Ethan said, reaching down to brush a bit of hair from Xander’s forehead. “Call me ‘Mister Rayne’ again?”

Xander’s cheeks burned and he looked down again, moving his forehead out of reach as he resumed his scooping in earnest.

“That’s quite enough, Ethan.” Xander looked up and saw Mr. Giles this time, who reached down to take the wallet and cards from his hands. “Thank you, Xander. You may stand up now.”

Xander blushed again and scrambled to his feet. Ethan, standing behind his partner now, was still leering. “Sorry,” Xander mumbled again without making eye contact.

He grabbed Dru’s arm and fled.

“Okay…” Xander looked down at the silky silver material covering his chest and cringed as he slipped another button through its hole. “How come when you guys were talking me into this crazy gig, no one thought to mention the gigolo gear?”

Xander shifted his hips and cringed again. If that problem that sometimes, uh… came up when he was dancing with Spike happened to come up again tonight? These pants so weren’t going to hide it. Xander hoped he could count on stage fright to keep that particular issue in check.

Dru reached up and undid the button he’d just done, then the one below it. She smoothed the material over his shoulders. “Your face is a poem,” she said. “I can read it.”

“Oh yeah?” Xander snorted. “What’s it say? ’Better stand back, this boy’s gonna yack’?”

Xander giggled at his own joke, but when he met Dru’s eyes, she hadn’t cracked a smile.

“You’re going to remember this night for the rest of your life,” she said softly. “And so will I.”

And suddenly Xander remembered why they were doing all this in the first place.

He folded her into his arms and it felt like if he squeezed too hard, she might break, but he squeezed anyway and she buried her face in his neck.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he whispered into her hair. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Xander was sitting on his bed—staring at the backpack where he’d stashed his gigolo gear and wondering whether if he made himself vomit now he’d lessen his chances of doing it later—when Buffy popped her head into the cabin.

“Hey, the boat’s docking. Dad and Jessica want us to have dinner in town.”

Xander looked up. “Shit, I can’t. Tell ’em I’m sick. Tell ’em I think I might vomit.”

Buffy gave him a once over. “You look like you might vomit.”

“Method acting,” Xander said.

“Well, ‘good luck,’ ‘have fun’ or ‘be safe’ or whatever it is I’d say if I actually knew what you were doing.”

Xander smiled. “My guess is you’d be speechless.”

Spike knew how to do his own makeup.

Xander didn’t ask.

Manip by petxnd

In the end, Spike made a more convincing girl than Xander had expected.

The full, fake curls framed and further softened a face whose sharp masculine planes had been dulled with layers of foundation and skillful shading. Eyelashes, earrings and lipstick drew the eyes and provided the proper cues.

The neckline of the dress was high, offering no cleavage, but whatever Spike had stuffing his bra, they bounced and bobbed like the real thing. His waist was narrow as always, but his hips were full and they swayed from side to side with the click of Spike’s heels as Xander took his arm and led them out onto the stage.

In the end, Xander made a more convincing dancer than Xander had expected.

The lights on the Hyperion stage were hot and Xander thought his makeup—yes, he was wearing it too—might melt off, but as long as Spike’s stayed in placed he supposed they’d be okay. The lights were blinding, too, but Xander wasn’t sure he wanted to see his audience anyway. He could see Spike and Spike flashed him a smile and that was all that mattered.

Xander ran through the steps one more time in his head and a name was announced over a microphone but he didn’t recognize it and it wasn’t until the music began that he realized Spike’s name probably wasn’t actually Spike.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you. Strange what desire will make foolish people do…

They started moving and Xander stopped thinking and sometimes that was good and sometimes not so much, but the way Spike looked he doubted anyone was watching him anyway. And he didn’t trip over his own feet or over Spike’s feet and he didn’t trip Spike with his feet and even when the steps were wrong he kept those feet moving until the music stopped. And when the music stopped, he was holding Spike in that half split, so Spike wasn’t screaming but the audience was clapping, and when he looked up he could make out faces and two of them at a front table looked an awful lot like Rupert and Ethan, but who knew if they even recognized him.

Xander hardly recognized himself.

Xander left the hotel with a woman. He walked into the bar next door with that woman. He slipped into the men’s bathroom with that woman and locked the door behind them and pretended he wasn’t looking as the woman stripped down to his briefs and washed her face.

Of course, if Spike didn’t bother pulling on his pants before turning his back, bending over and burying his face in the sink for a solid minute, you couldn’t exactly blame Xander for forgetting to be a gentleman.

Two guys walked out of the men’s bathroom and out of the bar.

One of those guys was wearing a touch of eyeliner.

The other one decided not to mention it.

Wes was waiting for them at the end of the gangway.

Spike broke into a run.

Xander squeezed through the tense crowd of staffers gathered in the hall and slipped into Dru’s cabin. Spike was already kneeling by her beside, fingers pushing at the strands of hair clinging to her damp skin. Her lips were pale and taut and Wes’ voice was coming from somewhere—frantic words about dirty tables, ancient equipment and too much blood.

“She needs a doctor,” Spike said.

“She told me not to call Dr. Lee. She’s afraid she’ll get fired.”

“I don't believe in science,” Dru whispered. “All those bits and molecules no one's ever seen. Who’s going to sew up my heart?”

Xander slipped back out of the room. He glanced around at the crowd in the hall. “Don’t wake up the doctor, but can anyone here sneak into the sickbay and snag some medical supplies?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just ran down the hall. He took the stairs two at a time.

“Come on. Hurry.”

“Jesus Christ, Xander. It’s the middle of the goddamn night. Someone had better be dying....”

“Actually, I’d really rather she didn’t.”

The medical supplies were waiting when they arrived.

“Everybody out,” Hank said, not even looking at the people he was banishing as he pulled up a chair to the side of the bed. His eyes were on Dru. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Drusilla.”

“Okay, Drusilla. Just relax and I’m going to fix everything.”

Xander knew it took more than technique to be a successful plastic surgeon—even in L.A.

You had to be the kind of man woman trusted instantly.

Hank Summers was a very successful plastic surgeon.

When the cabin door opened again, they could see Dru lying on the bed and they let out three synchronized sighs of relief. She was calm and smiling.

Hank Summers, however, was not.

“Is she going to be okay?” Wes asked.

“She needs to stay off her feet for a couple of days,” Hank said, “but she’ll be fine.”

“Thank God. Thank you, Mr. Summers.” Wesley extended his hand and Hank shook it.

“Yeah, thank you.” Spike extended his hand, but Hank didn’t take it. He wasn’t even looking at it. He was looking at Xander’s hand, which Xander hadn’t even realized had been resting on Spike’s shoulder until now. He let it fall to his side. “I don’t know what we would have done without you,” Spike continued.

If there was something beneath contempt, Hank’s look showed it. “You’d probably have watched her bleed to death,” he said. “Say goodnight, Xander.”

But Xander didn’t say anything. He just turned and followed Hank down the hall.

“I won’t be telling your mother about this, but I suggest you stay the hell away from those people. I also suggest you give some serious thought to your lifestyle—because my money sure as hell won’t be paying for that one.”

Because Hank was standing there watching, Xander went into his cabin and closed the door.

Half an hour later, he opened it again.

He spent twenty minutes wandering around the upper deck, breathing in the cool night air.

But it wasn’t air Xander needed.

He headed downstairs.

Spike answered the door in jeans.

Period.

Full stop.

Or maybe exclamation point. Xander’s heart was pounding. He looked down at Spike’s bare feet.

“I’m sorry about the way my step-father treated you.”

“He fixed Dru. That’s all that matters.”

There was music playing on the stereo. Spike backed out of the doorway and turned to turn it off.

“Leave it on,” Xander said. “And that’s not all that matters. You matter.”

Spike scoffed, kept his back to the door and fiddled with the knobs on the stereo. “I couldn’t do a damn thing for her. But what you did… Xander, I—”

“I ran and got my step-dad. Big fucking deal.”

Spike turned and stepped toward him. “It is a big deal. I’m sure he’s not too pleased with how you’ve been spending your time.”

Xander shrugged. “You could say that.”

“But you went to him anyway. To save Dru.” Spike shook his head. “A regular white knight. Just like she said.”

“So—what?” Xander stepped forward, closing the gap between them. “What’s the fucking point?
I get to ride off into the sunset someday with some princess? Well, fuck that. What if that’s not my idea of a happy ending?”

Xander’s pulse was racing—fight or flight—but Spike’s gaze pinned him in place.

“Then maybe it’s time to change the script,” Spike said. “Or ad lib.”

“Will you dance with me?” Xander didn’t know he was going to ask until he had, but he wanted it—wanted to touch Spike without an audience. He took another step forward.

“Here?” Spike took a forward step of his own.

“Yeah.”

He was close enough to touch Spike now, but he didn’t. Their eyes held.

“Not in the mood for dancing,” Spike said.

Xander’s heart dropped into his stomach and he turned his head, but a hand on his jaw turned it back, held it in place as lips covered his. A second of shock and then Xander started to kiss back, right before Spike pulled away.

“Could go for a shag, though,” he said.

Xander’s heart was back in his chest and threatening to beat right out of it. He licked his lips and tasted Spike.

He swallowed.

“Okay.”

Part Nine

Okay.

The word seemed to hang in the moment that was stretching out between them and now that he’d come this far, Xander wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Was he just supposed to stand there and wait for Spike to do something or was he supposed to start taking off his clothes? Or maybe he was supposed to be taking off Spike’s clothes—only Spike wasn’t wearing half as many clothes as he was, so that would be weird since he’d be all clothed and Spike would be all naked and he wasn’t sure he was ready for naked Spike anyway.

Except that his dick begged to differ.

And suddenly Xander wasn’t so sure he was ready for naked him.

Although he was obviously going to have to get naked so that Spike could…

Okay, so he wasn’t exactly sure what Spike was going to do because, you know, he knew about—okay, well, he’d read about—some of the things you could do, but they probably weren’t going to do all of them tonight, or at least not at the same time, and it wasn’t like Xander knew how to do much more than jerk a guy off with their clothes on behind the bleachers and there weren’t any bleachers here, although there was a bed and maybe he should just go sit down on it or lie down on it and let Spike do whatever it was that Spike was going to know how to do because Spike was probably pretty far past the bleacher stage and…

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Xander’s eyes and mind snapped back onto Spike. Spike, who was standing right there in front of him and reading way too much off his face.

“Huh? What? No! I mean, yes. I mean, of course I…” Spike’s eyebrow lifted and Xander caved. “Okay, no, not so much.”

Spike nodded. “But you want to?”

And Xander knew the answer to that one and he nodded back and said: “Yes! Definitely, yes. A whole world of… and I’m just going to stop talking now, okay?”

And Spike just said, “Okay,” and not even in a way that sounded like ‘okay, you idiot’ and Spike was smiling and he had his hand cupping Xander’s jaw again and that was pretty much Xander’s new favorite thing except that the kissing was Xander’s new favorite thing and it was happening again and it was lasting longer this time so Xander actually had time to participate, which was a good thing because he’d been told he could kiss—plus, he couldn’t talk and kiss at the same time, so yeah, definitely of the good—and maybe if they just kept up with the kissing he wouldn’t scare Spike away.

And when Spike pulled away, he didn’t look scared at all. He seemed…

Intent.

Intent on Xander and Xander wasn’t sure anyone had ever been intent on him before and it did strange things to his stomach.

“Yeah?” Spike asked.

Strange things, but good things and Xander definitely wanted more.

“Yeah,” he said and he followed Spike’s hand with his eyes as it reached out and started to unbutton his shirt.

“This shirt is hideous,” Spike said as he pushed it off Xander’s shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He reached for the hem of Xander's undershirt and started sliding it up Xander’s chest. “How many am I gonna have to throw away before you run out?”

Somewhere in the back of Xander’s mind he knew that that was a question and he thought he should answer it and probably in some witty or possibly defensive fashion, but most of the front of his brain was focused on the feel of Spike’s palms against his bare skin, so the shirt came off over his head before he came up with a comeback—witty, defensive or otherwise—and then Spike was kissing him again and there was that skin-against-skin thing and if Spike wanted to throw away all his shirts and keep him shirtless all the time, Xander wasn’t going to waste breath or lip movement trying to stop him.

Spike had stopped undressing Xander, but he hadn’t stopped touching him. Spike’s hands seemed to be everywhere—Xander’s arms, the back of his neck, the edge of skin just below the waistband of his cargo pants and above the waistband of his boxers—and Xander wanted to touch back, but he wasn’t sure where or how and his fingers shook at his sides.

“Take off your shoes.”

It took a moment for the words to register in the post-kissing haze.

“Shoes,” Xander repeated, like he was trying to buy his brain time to come up with the answer, which turned out to be toeing off his sneakers and kicking them to the side of the room.

He looked back up at Spike, who was grinning and shaking his head. “You’re so fucking cute,” Spike said. “I don’t usually go for that shite.”

“Hey, I…” Again with the vaguely insulting and Xander started to argue that he was not cute, but stopped when he couldn’t quite figure out what other asset to claim instead. He gave a mental shrug and decided that as long as he was here and half-naked with the hottest guy he’d ever met, he could work the cuteness angle.

He flashed Spike his best puppy eyes and threw in a pout for good measure.

Spike’s eyes went dark and he all but tackled Xander onto the bed.

Xander fell onto his back wearing the grin of the smug.

Score one for the cute.

Spike leaned in and kissed the smug grin off Xander’s face.

Apparently, the rest of Xander’s body was looking pretty smug, too, because when Spike had finished with Xander’s face, he started moving lower.

Smug throat.

Smug collarbone.

Smug nipples.

Spike really gave his nipples what for, but they only seemed to cop even more attitude.

Xander giggled.

Spike looked up. “What?”

“Nothing.” Xander pressed his lips together to stifle another round of giggles and shook his head. “You can keep going.”

“I can, can I?” Spike smirked. “And where is it that you think I’m going?”

Xander glanced down his own body and back up at Spike. “Is that a trick question?”

Spike laughed. “Git,” he said.

And Xander didn’t exactly know what a ‘git’ was, but he figured Spike could call him pretty much anything he wanted in that particular tone and Xander wouldn’t mind a bit.

Especially if Spike always followed it with a kiss.

And especially especially if he always followed the kiss with fingers at Xander’s fly and lips around Xander’s…

Holy hell, and hello Mr. Tongue!

At which point all functioning of Xander’s brain was temporarily suspended due to lack of blood flow.

When blood began to trickle into his brain again and functioning resumed, Xander’s first thought (beyond guh!) was, Oh shit, it’s my turn to do something.

Not that he didn’t want to do something to make Spike as good as Xander was feeling right then—because he really, really did—but he was pretty sure he couldn’t do what Spike had just done. He may not have had much to compare it to, but Xander knew skill when he saw it.

Or felt it.

Or had it blow him within an inch of his life.

Fact was, Spike knew his way around another guy’s penis. Whereas Xander only knew his way around his own. And since his back didn’t bend that far, he had no idea how to go about…

“Bloody hell, you just never stop nattering in there, do you?”

Xander looked over at Spike who was lying beside him now, propped up on one elbow and studying Xander’s face and Xander could feel himself blush. “You don’t want to know,” he said.

Spike reached out with his free hand and traced patterns on Xander’s chest with his index finger. “Didn’t ask, did I?”

“Guess not,” Xander said. He felt silly.

Spike kept up the patterns. “Look, remember what I said about the dancing? Same thing goes for this.”

“Keep your arms up and your back straight?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

“Um, in case you didn’t notice, what you did just now…”

“The blow job.”

“Yeah, that. Uh, in terms of fun, that was pretty much Christmas, Easter and the Fourth of July all rolled into one.”

“Easter?” Spike asked.

“Peeps,” Xander said.

Spike shook his head. “You told me not to ask.”

“And yet…” Xander grinned, then frowned. “Are we supposed to be talking this much?”

“Absolutely not,” Spike said. “Sex should be very solemn. And somber.”

Xander sighed. “You know what I mean. We’re like, in the middle of… And you haven’t… And I should be… Not…”

Spike leaned in to kiss him for a few seconds like he was either too cute to resist or just really needed to be shut up. As long as there was kissing, Xander didn’t really care.

Spike drew back. “We’re just talking,” he said. “It’s not like we’ve stopped to play a hand of cards.”

Xander giggled.

Spike gave him a stern look. “Solemn,” he reminded. “Somber.”

Spike’s face was absolutely straight and Xander’s giggle grew into a full-on laugh. “Okay, I get it. You’re trying to get me to stop worrying.”

“Actually, was hoping to get you relaxed enough so I could fuck you.”

The delivery was so casual that it took a moment.

Xander blinked.

Replayed.

Blinked twice more.

“Oh.”

Spike was studying his face again. “Unless you’re not—”

“No! I am. I totally am.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“But I am, I swear. Ready, willing, interested—whatever you were worried that I’m not, I totally am. I’m in. I’m all in.” Xander paused. “Well, actually, that’s gonna be you and, okay, maybe that’s slightly on the scary side, but believe me when I say that I really, really…” Xander started to actually hear himself speaking. “I’m pretty much never gonna be suave, am I?”

Spike was kind enough not to answer as he rolled off the bed and stripped off his jeans, his back to Xander as he rummaged through a drawer.

“I should probably stick with the cute,” Xander continued as he admired Spike’s naked backside. “I’m just going to lie here and be cute and let you do all the suave st—” Spike had just turned around and suddenly Xander was admiring his naked frontside.

There was an awful lot to admire.

Xander swallowed as Spike stepped back toward the bed. “You had so better know what you’re doing.”

“You so know what you’re doing,” Xander told Spike about fifteen minutes later.

Only it sounded more like, ’Mur oh uhn uh murph gnuh’ due to the current placement—and a particular movement—of Spike’s fingers.

Placement and movement which should have been really uncomfortable but were somehow really amazing and were starting to be really not enough.

But Spike seemed to get that.

Spike seemed to feel that, too, his hot eyes like chinks in his armor of cool—as if, for the first time all night, there was something that he needed and needed now.

Xander swallowed and nodded and then the not enough became nothing at all became too much became just move already and then just right. And Spike was whispering things that made Xander blush and made Xander hard and, a few minutes later, made it all too much, the words combining with the sensations to push him over that dizzy edge.

And, for the second time that night, Xander fell back breathless and boneless on Spike’s bed—this time beneath an equally boneless Spike.

And as they lay there, Xander finally found the nerve to reach up and run a gentle hand over the slick, smooth skin of Spike’s back.

It felt good.

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