Square Eighteen

[tabaqui]

"Really?" Xander asked, and Spike straightened from his perusal of the 'fridge.

"Really, love. There's mustard and soy sauce and duck sauce and some...something green. And an egg but it's cracked and..." Spike shuddered delicately and opened the little door to the freezer that was inside the 'fridge. "And this. It's...it's..." Spike frowned - scraped impatiently at fuzzy ice crystals with his nails and then dug under the little cardboard box. It took actual vampiric strength to wrest the box from the floor of the freezer compartment.

"It think it's a pot pie," Spike said, and tossed it into the sink where it clanged off the porcelain. "One of those kind, yeah?"

"You mean - entrails and eyeballs and...'natural flavor' kind?" Xander asked, looking pitifully at the sink and the crumpled box.

"Yeah. One of those. And sushi, but it's...gone off." Spike shut the fridge and slumped. Wes' kitchen was bare - unless you counted a tin of leeks and a box of stale Saltines. Which Spike didn't.

"Fuck," Xander said.

"Proper fucked," Spike agreed.

"All in favor of a tasty and delicious fast food meal from the mass-produced burger establishment on the corner?" Xander raised his hand.

Xander's stomach added its noisy two cents.

"Onion rings," Spike said, peering out the kitchen window. The sky was palely blue behind thin, racing clouds and sunlight chased shadow over the handkerchief-sized yard and the stretch of beach that he could see. Too much sun. "I'll just...lounge in the bed until you get back," he added, grinning over at Xander - sidling up close and draping himself over Xander's body. Nibbling at bite-marks and love-bites and smooth, sweet skin until Xander shifted and slid warm hands over his back.

"Fu-uck, sweetheart." Xander closed his eye and slid a hand around Spike's hip to grasp hardening flesh - stroke slow and sweet in the close, warm space between their bodies. "Gonna save this for me until I get back?" Xander felt Spike's quiet chuckle as much as he heard it - nearly lost his resolve for a meal entirely when he heard the quiet noise of shifting bone, and tipped Spike's face into the crook of his neck with a grin.

"Course I will, love. Lay myself out on the bed, hard and ready for you...won't even touch myself 'til you get back. Just...think about you..." Spike bit down lightly on Xander's neck - didn't break the skin. Just held him for a moment, tongue fluttering against heat and pulse, gathering salt-sweet taste.

Xander licked his lips, raking fingernails over the nape of Spike's neck. He turned his head to brush his lips against Spike's ear, feeling the double pulse - cock and shivery Radio Spike-lust in reaction. "Gonna hold you to that," he grinned. He stepped back reluctantly and raked his eyes down Spike to linger over the thick ring of blue-gray metal through hard, hard flesh. "So gonna hold you to that." He dragged Spike close again by the back of his neck, brushed his lips over rough ridges - down to the point of Spike's nose and over his lips, short and soft. "Onion rings," he said and determinedly turned his back and marched into the bedroom in search of jeans and a shirt.

Xander looked away from the snow-pale figure framed in Wes' window and strode away down the walk - turned right and started the three-block walk to the burger place. In-N-Out burger, if he remembered right. Or Rally's? He shrugged. Didn't matter - hot, salty and greasy, that was all he cared about. The sea rushed in and out across the street - beyond the sand - and Xander walked quickly, head up - grinning. Couldn't help it. Spike was waiting for him and that...would make anybody grin.

Winter sunshine and Spike waiting for him at home - naked and hard. Enough to make a person crash trucks off the road which was why Xander was walking.

Walking and grinning, Xander took in the day - let it in, the way there never seemed to be time to, lately. The breeze was coming straight from the sea; kelp, salt and the metallic tang of the storm but with a the parting of the clouds, it wasn't cold. He stepped over a wide grassy crack in the uneven concrete and tipped his face up to the winter sunshine, drinking in the warmth on both eyelids - on the exposed bite high on his neck that made him shiver every time his hair whipped over it.

The salt sea breeze took on the unmistakable scent of french fries and Xander's happy fantasies of a naked Spike sprawled out on Wesley's bed - hard, wet, thinking - were almost overwhelmed by that burger commercial. The one that ran all the time on late night television featuring the kind of hamburger a guy could kill himself with. *Oh yeah. Good old American food porn. Naked Spike. Burger. Naked Spike with a burger.* Xander snickered.

He could still feel, very faintly, the fluttery vibration that was Spike - lust and love - fading as he walked, but there. He bounced a little with each step - nodded along with something - Eminem? - that was blasting from the stereo of a car passing on the street. Sniffed appreciatively at a puff of cooked-beef-and-cheese-laden air. *Oh yeah. Bring it on. Extra everything and the biggest soda they got.*

Xander cut off the sidewalk into scraggly grass, hopped the low wall into the parking lot and skirted the late afternoon mill of parents with their little soccer players and high school kids hanging out and filling up on greasy, sugary goodness. Pushing through the doors, he weighed up the length of the lines then chose the one with three girls who reminded him of the Cordettes.

Cordettes never had big orders. It was a reliable fact of life, one Xander had counted on many times in his years at Sunnydale High.

Unless the food was expensive. Because then they ordered all five courses and a bottle of exclusive mineral water.

He watched one flirting with a guy in a letter jacket. *Run, kid! Run while you've still got your dignity and your allowance.* He snickered, earning a glare and a flip of sunny blonde hair.

*Ladies and gentlemen, still the grand champion of turning off the ladies.*

Of course, with a sexy, naked Spike waiting for him at home, who cared?

The line moved moderately quickly and Xander spent most of the next fifteen minutes zoning happily on Spike - trying to catch the elusive hum of the link and wondering if they'd eat first or... *Yeah, that first...'cept onion rings taste nasty when they're cold and Spike knows that... Onion rings and sex? Ring toss...* Xander snorted softly to himself, trying to shove that image back where it belonged. Ordered, paid, waited, collected, and made his way to the condiments bar to load up on ketchup and napkins and a straw. Someone bumped him - bumped his thigh - and he turned and looked down at a kid with a tray who was probably about eight.

"S-sorry," the kid muttered.

"That's okay. What'll it be for you? Ketchup? Mayonnaise? A spicy yet refreshing Dijon mustard?" Xander waved his hand over the condiments bar - earned a grin and a cocked head.

"Ketchup."

He grabbed a handful and dropped them onto her tray. With fish fillets. *And good thing Spike isn't here to see the fried fish with ketchup show.* "Here." He dropped a packet of vinegar onto her tray too and waited for the 'ewww vinegar on fish!' he knew was coming.

It didn't.

"What happened to your eye?"

Script changed, Xander stared back. "Huh?"

"Does it hurt to not have one?"

"Um - n-n-no most of the time it doesn't - "

"Laura!" A flustered-looking woman appeared, tray in one hand and toddler in the other, smiling nervously at Xander. "Come on and sit down right now - I'll get our ketchup and stuff. I'm sorry," she added, smiling again at Xander - bright, bright smile and her eyes flickering here, there, everywhere.

"Oh, that's -"

"Now, Laura." The woman herded her daughter away, leaning over her and saying - fierce whisper that Xander heard, anyway: "Don't ask people about their - their handicaps, that's rude!"

The Cordettes stopped giggling over their salads and diet sodas - turned and stared - and suddenly, high school wasn't so funny anymore.

Flash of coming to school the day after a breakup. Pointing and giggling. Ice in the gut, spreading numbness. Pointing and whispering.

They were - staring.

And Xander really wished he was invisible.

He stopped his hand half way to his face and snatched up his soda, ducking behind his hair to get out of there.

Xander strode out of the restaurant, shouldering through a group of high-school boys, 'Whoa, dude, did you see -?' following in his wake. He pushed outside and nearly ran to the sidewalk - stopped and just breathed and tried to make his hands stop shaking and his stomach unclench and... And make the feeling of having exposed himself - of having done something dirty - go away.

Shouldn't - shouldn't feel like he'd flashed the kid - and everyone else in the restaurant.

A car honked as it passed him, ruffling dry leaves and crumpled fast food wrappers at his feet and he turned his face away - turned his face down until his hair screened everything. He hopped the low wall again and cut across the street and someone's yard, out onto the beach. Clutching the cooling bag of fast food against his chest with one arm and the soda with the other. *God. It's not like nobody would notice an eye missing. Come on, Harris. Pull it the fuck together.*

His stomach rolled at the scent of grease, and he dropped the bag to the sand - dropped down next to it and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids and felt the sun go back behind the clouds. Breathed.

Felt dirty.

*Jesus. Fuck. This is so wrong.*

Needed - to get home.

In a minute - just a few more minutes to pull himself together first.

Spike ran his hands down this thighs - up over his hips to his nipples and touched there, lightly. Down again, ribs and belly and thighs, avoiding his erection. Waiting. *Come on love, where are you? Hungry, me... Starving for you...* He shivered voluptuously as a breeze puffed in past the curtains, cool air stroking his skin. And then...

Angerguiltshameshame and he was up and off the bed - pelting out into the front room and yanking the door open - wincing back from scattered sunlight - searching.

*Xander! Jesus fucking Christ! Come home - come home now!* Hoping something of that got through. He couldn't see Xander anywhere, just feel the guilt and sorrow like hammer-blows. *Xander!*

Tidal pull. Fierce. Fearful. Panic love nownownow ripped into Xander's chest and he curled around it, clasped it and breathed deep - wanted.

Then up, out of the sand and - not running - as if that spot in the sand called him back as Spike called him forward.

Or the dirty weighed him down into the sand.

Walking, head down, Xander knew the moment Wesley's porch was in view. Knew Spike was there - trapped by the sunshine - waiting, calling. And he lifted his face, tangled hair hiding Spike completely for just a second. Wantguiltdirty aching in his belly, comecomecome a raging draw on his chest.

Spike could hear the growl rattling up out of his chest as he watched Xander move up the walk - awkward, shuffling gait and the feelings - the sick, fucked up feelings that he couldn't even begin to imagine the source of. Waited, and snatched Xander in over the threshold and slammed the door - wrapped himself around heat and sweat and sorry love shameshame.

"Love, what is it? Are you hurt? What is it?"

"I should be used to this by now." Soft and strained. The bag of fast food dropped to the floor, drink abandoned somewhere on the beach and Xander clutched Spike fiercely, shaking his head against his shoulder. He opened his mouth, words like 'patch' and 'normal' jamming up in his throat and emerging as a wordless creak. His socket ached and he took a hard breath of the angerfear rolling off Spike. "It's - just an eye."

*Just an - what in bloody hell -!* Spike wanted to crush Xander to him - wanted to go out and kill whoever had made him feel this - this shame. Glared at the warm light glowing behind Wes' flimsy curtains and stroked Xander's back - pushed his chin and mouth into the wind-knotted hair and closed his eyes. Tried to rein in the raging hateangerkill that surged up. "Love, love...Xander...fuckin' kill 'em, I'll..." He couldn't talk - he was shaking as hard as Xander was now so he just held on. *I love you, I love you, you've nothing to be ashamed of, nothing, nothing...fucking bastards, fucking...*

Wash of love and anger so strong Xander swayed on his feet, held onto Spike's solidity and listened to him breathe. He licked his lips and breathed in the lingering sex musk on Spike's skin and let it out in words. "It's not - fuck - they're not wrong." Because that's what he'd realized on the beach. That was - god, that was the worst of it. They weren't wrong. "Can't change the world, right?"

"They are wrong, damnit - they're so fucking wrong. Xander, don't -" Spike pushed Xander back, just a little - looked at him. At his beautiful face and his eye - dark and troubled, sheened with moisture. At the empty socket that was, to Spike's way of thinking - a badge of honor.

A war-wound that announced Xander had fought and lived. Like Spike's scar from the Chinese Slayer. Proudly won - proudly worn. Not a disfigurement. *Humans don't see it that way. Humans see the sunken lid and the hole underneath and...*

"Fuck humans," he growled, and pulled Xander back into a hard, hard kiss. Passionate kiss. Love and want and the burning urge to protect. "Change the world one fucking corpse at a time, love."

So...hard to argue his way around a kiss that made it hard to breathe - hard to think. Xander licked his lips again and tasted Spike, smoke and blood, and breathed against his lips. "I am human. Don't want to fuck them when I've got you. Which I guess - y'know - means I'm fucking a corpse and one at a time is a pretty good idea unless we're talking you and Wesley..." Xander gave up and slid his hand up Spike's back - curled his fingers over one bony shoulder and leaned there. *Cue laugh track for forced humor.*

Xander tried again. "This kid - god, maybe eight years old - came up to me at the In-N-Out. I was - playing around, gave her the ketchup packets she couldn't reach." He felt Spike's anger and frustration ebb and flow with his breath and shuffled closer until he could press his aching socket to a cool shoulder. "She asked what happened to my eye and... I don't mind that, Spike. I - don't. I'm not ashamed of it."

"Don't be. Damnit, Xan, it's - it's a fucking - scar is all - says you lived! It's not -" He could feel the ache beginning in the socket - could feel the hunched tension of Xander's shoulders and began moving his fingers in small, soothing circles. Stepped backwards until the couch was there and they could both collapse onto it. "It's not bad. It's...you."

Xander rose on his hands, arms framing Spike's face looking down at him. Had to smile because under the anger, nothing but love, love you mine. He dipped, kissed one eyelid then the other, eyelashes fluttering against his chin, then kissed Spike's mouth and settled. Shifted until he and Spike were a tangle of arms and legs and lovemine and tried to let it go. "Yeah. The kid's mom acted like it - like I was something...dirty. And then it felt like something dirty."

"Fuck her, then. I'll fuckin' gut her," Spike muttered, winding closer around the heat and solidity of Xander's body. The thing - the person - that kept him from slipping away. From going back, to solitude and defeat. "She's wrong, love. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Nothing dirty about what you did - how you fought... If you were wearin' damn pips on your shoulder she'd have thanked you."

"I don't expect thanks." Xander lifted his head, close range eye to eyes with Spike and traced the scar in Spike's eyebrow, then tracked down to the barely-there lines scoring Spike's chest - traced one down to the point where Spike's body pressed against his and flattened his hand over Spike's ribs. "There's not a lot of thanks going on for heroes these days. Pretty thankless, heroing. I accept that."

"Don't accept, Xander." Spike looked up at his boy - no, man. Lover. Love. Pushed pride and love and joy at him, hard and strong. "Fight! Always fight, love. Never give in - never give up. Never be anything but your own man." Spike lifted his hand and let his fingers trail so, so gently over Xander's face - around the empty socket and across the sunken lid - brushed the long lashes that lay still on the tanned cheek.

"So fuckin' gorgeous. So brave. So damn smart. Fuck the world, love, if they can't see it - it fuckin' blinds me."

Xander opened his mouth to say the things he was used to - make the joke that Spike must have him mixed up with somebody else, or 'who spiked Spike's blood?' - but mouths were better for kissing than they were for talking. Better for wrapping around that wonderful tongue that said wonderful things that went straight to Xander's numb heart and made it ache. Ache good.

Until the ache became more than kissing and Xander was wearing way too many clothes for the way Spike was touching him, holding him, kissing him back, as eloquent without words as with and -

'Save a horse, ride a cowboy,' jangled the phone in Xander's pocket.

"Don't - don't - bloody hell !" Spike scowled as Xander squirmed and got his phone and - most importantly - stopped kissing, stopped groping, and stopped trying to get his jeans off one-handed. He growled as Xander lay there, staring at the screen - grabbed him and held him and rolled them both over into the back of Wes' couch and then he was straddling Xander's knees and getting his pants down - shirt up - exposing the bits of flesh he most wanted to the air and to his mouth and hands. *See if he can talk through this...*

Xander couldn't - the phone fell to the floor with a clatter Xander hoped didn't press any bad buttons - for all of two seconds before Spike was reminding him why call: bad, lips and tongue of Spike: good and vampires who didn't need to breathe: mindblowing. Which was his only excuse for palming the riotous curls and waves of Spike's bed head hair and gasping "W-willow!"

"What? Where?" Spike jerked upright - tried to - and growled again when Xander's fingers pulled his hair, hard. "Damnit, love -" He put both hands on Xander's hips and held him down - went down, power dive onto Xander's cock, taking him in and humming in satisfaction and glee.

Xander answered with a heartfelt groan - caught Spike with a knee wriggling out of his jeans and kicked them off all the way, panting. He scrounged for brain cells and threw an arm over his head, gripped the end table for leverage. "W-willow was on the phone."

Spike lifted his head but not his hands, pinning Xander's squirming hips to the upholstery. "You're askin' me to stop because Red called you?"

"Fuck no," Xander replied - with feeling.

"'S what I thought," Spike smirked, and went back to work, fingers digging into Xander's hips and his mouth sucking and licking and biting - enjoying, and savoring. "Taste so fuckin' good," he muttered, and Xander arched and squirmed. Spike grinned.

"F-fuck...Wes -" Xander stuttered out, and Spike took one of Xander's balls into his mouth and rolled it over his tongue - let it slide out.

"Phone didn't make a noise, love - you sure you know what you're sayin'?" he chuckled - lapped his way along Xander's length to seal his lips around the head with a self-satisfied hum.

"N-nuh - " Xander tried before his brain dribbled out his ears. Wes was a guy. Wes would understand. Wes had been on the receiving end of that fucking mouth... *Oh Jesus - oh fuck that feels good!*

Wesley walked into his home and found Xander sprawled on his couch in nothing but a tee shirt rucked high around his ribs, a horny vampire attached to Xander's prick and the air thick with musk that made him groan before he came back to himself.

Gunn whistled. "Man, I thought you said you didn't subscribe to Showtime."

Spike concentrated on making sure Xander couldn't say anything. *Wes and Gunn can...go in the kitchen. I can smell hot wings and...Thai? Chinese? And sushi - they need plates....* Xander writhed under him and he grinned and hummed and pressed his own erection into Xander's thigh, rubbing.

"Do I have to get a bucket of cold water to get those dogs off the couch?"

"It wouldn't do any good, Charles. Come help me with the plates."

"God! Spike!"

"Sounds like Xander finally found religion." Gunn leaned hard on his cane, limping into the kitchen accompanied by the soft sound of a growling vampire, the patter-stagger of feet and the slam of Wesley's bedroom door.

"Spike has a knack for inspiring worship." Wesley felt the blood trickling into his cheeks, into his cock and the stronger beat of his heart, listening to Xander's frantically gasped 'lube - lube - fuck where - ohhhh fuck yes' and Spike's equally passionate 'bloody hell - yes.'

"Is that what that is?" Gunn asked, rolling his eyes as a rhythmic thumping started up and the moans and growls got louder. Wesley just shook his head, piling books and papers onto the end table in the living room. Gunn got busy opening boxes of take-out and selecting some chop-sticks from a bag - looked eagerly over the feast they'd brought. "Damn booty-call without the phone is what that is. Jesus!" A particularly loud...noise...made them both jump, and then there was silence. And '...save a horse...ride a cowboy...' as Xander's cell phone rang.

"Xander! Damnit!" Spike yelled.

A laugh escaped Wesley and he reached for the phone, checking the display before muting the ringtone. A low moan broke the renewed silence and Wesley looked thoughtfully from the closed bedroom door to the phone he held. "I'm not sure which is worse."

"I know which is worse, English." Gunn settled himself awkwardly into a chair, balancing plate, fork and cane and trying not to spill anything down his front. He leaned the cane against the table and then shoveled up some rice and shoved it into his mouth. Wesley put the phone on the end table and joined him, serving himself a huge plateful of mostly-raw fish.

There was a murmur from the bedroom and a laugh - Spike - and then Xander stumbled out, hair in the backwards-through-a-hedge state and his jeans not done up all the way. His t-shirt was inside-out.

"Ah - Wes...Gunn..." he muttered - glared back into the bedroom. "Spike!"

"Comin'," Spike said - no, Wesley thought, that was smirked - and Spike strolled out after Xander, sporting a rather impressive bite on his collarbone, jeans only buttoned up to the third button. He sprawled on the couch, one leg on the floor and one on the seat. His fingers brushed the line of just barely visible dark hair under his navel and his eyes followed Xander possessively.

Xander's eye was dark and wide, hazy-dazed, and he looked like he'd walk out into traffic with a smile on his face without guidance. He blindly grabbed up one of the still-closed containers of Chinese and his own chopsticks and flopped down between Spike's legs on the couch.

Kicking his feet up onto the cushions, Xander leaned bonelessly against Spike's chest and dug into the mystery contents of his container with enthusiasm and the high buzz of minewantmine singing through his veins.

"I see you've worked up an appetite," Wesley said dryly.

"You have no idea."

"We got all kinds of ideas. I think the neighbors got ideas. Thank god I never had to listen to Angel do that." Gunn ate an enormous bite of beef rendang, grinning, and Spike grinned back, lazily stroking his hand over Xander's belly and opening his mouth for a proffered bite of...

"That those…glass noodles with the red bean paste? Can't abide the slimy...lumps," Spike said, eyeing the overloaded chopsticks.

Xander snorted. "It's good. It's spicy. Pretend they're spicy eyeballs in gooey entrails. You said Dru liked the eyeballs and entrails best, right?" And darted the chopsticks into Spike's mouth when he opened it to frame some retort. "What are the slimy black lumps anyway?"

"Eyeballs," Gunn said immediately.

"Mushrooms," Wesley corrected in the kind of voice that made Xander homesick for Giles.

"Eyeball mushrooms," Gunn said, and searched for the other box of Szechuan glass noodles with mushroom, plucking out a lump and eating it.

"Really, must we have such discussions while eating?" Wesley delicately picked up a slice of yellowtail and dipped it - ate it - while Gunn smirked at him and Spike chewed furiously, obviously wanting to say...something, but not willing to spit bits of mushroom-eyeballs all over Xander. *Thank heavens for small mercies.*

"We must. Unless you got something better, English?" Gunn reached across the table and grabbed a slice of tuna with his chopsticks.

"Anything is better than eyeball mushrooms. Have you seen eyeball mushrooms?"

Xander looked a little pale. "There really are eyeball mushrooms?"

"Course there are, pet. Except they're really Vree demons, aren't they? Live in the mushroom, look like little spores - if you eat 'em they attach to the lining of the stomach and -"

"Yeah, right, ooo-kay! Enough. I need a drink." Xander attempted to get up and Spike pulled him back and Gunn snuffled over his rendang, trying not to spray Wesley with bits of rice as he smothered his laughter. Wesley looked around primly and wiped his mouth - took a long drink of the beer they'd brought.

"Actually, I have some more information for Angel that we should go over."

"Can I have one of those beers first?" Xander reached out plaintively, pinned around the waist by Spike.

"Come and get one." Wesley held one out in Xander's direction, far, far out of reach.

"English bastard. Spike - sweetheart - if you let me go, we'll have beer. You like beer." Xander coaxed, wriggling around until he could get a hand between them, down into Spike's unbuttoned fly. "I'll be grateful for beer."

"Aw, come on. Yo - Blondie." Gunn tossed a bottle to Spike - neat pass and catch.

"Ta, mate."

"Actually..." Wesley paused to nibble a California roll - wiped his mouth again and waited until Xander and Spike's attention was on him rather than on the beer. "Actually I had a - a vision, about Sunnydale. So - Angel Investigations is officially taking the case." He paused, watching Xander and Spike - waiting. Wondering just what they would say.

"What happened? Did the Powers run out of little old ladies to rescue from speeding demon cars and cats to help down out of vampire trees?" Xander snarked. "That warning would have been a little more useful a month ago."

"Yes, it probably would," Wesley said, and Xander made a small gesture, frowning.

"It's... I'm sorry, Wes. Not your fault. I'm just -"

"Just fuckin' tired of bein' jerked around," Spike muttered. He ran a hand through Xander's hair and looked over at Wesley, a small smile on his face. "Hope Angel got riled up good and proper. So what's the new news, pet?"

"That was the new news." Wesley swirled his beer around the bottle thoughtfully. "As for Angel, you'll be able to find out for yourselves how...riled...he is. He needs the information Charles and I have - "

"Hey - hey man. Not 'you and Charles'. You. I'm not workin' for AI."

Wesley set his bottle down with an impatient sigh. "Charles, if it wasn't for you we'd still be looking in all the wrong places -" Wesley cut himself off when Gunn raised a hand.

"I'm not sayin' I had nothing to do with this. I'm sayin' I didn't do it for AI. I did it for you."

"And he's very, very grateful, and he's not going to push it, is he Wes?" Spike said, and Wesley opened his mouth and then closed it - looked for a long moment at Spike and Xander entwined on the couch, then looked at Gunn, whose face was a study in resolve and irritation - and affection.

"Yes - yes he is. Very grateful. And grateful that his other two friends are going to courier this file to Angel and also pick up a rare book for him?" Wesley asked, a small smile on his face.

Xander and Spike exchanged a long look, half skeptical and the other half resolved. As the resolved half, Xander shrugged and nodded. He felt a growl - both physical along his spine and mental in his belly and dropped his head against Spike's shoulder. "I'm trained. He could ask me to pick up tampons at the Mega Mart and I'd do it. Not that Wesley would be asking for tampons, because he's a guy and all. But I'd do it."

"Thank god we don't need any bloody - any sodding...female...things," Spike grumbled. "What we need around here is food. Wes - you have a tin of leeks in your cabinet. What in fuck do you propose to do with a tin of leeks?"

"Leave them in the cabinet. I don't like leeks. And you're hardly in a position to criticize my pantry, Spike. All the two of you have in your cabinets is Pop Tarts and Old Speckled Hen."

"Hey, not true pal!" Xander half sat up and jabbed the beer at Wesley to make a point. "All that shit and Connor visiting before we left Sunnydale? We finished the Old Speckled."

Spike drove roughly north, heading for the bookshop in Pasadena first - The Golden Hinde - because the owner was meticulous and twitchy and closed at nine o'clock precisely every night. Traffic was already clogging like a bad artery and Spike just knew he'd be kicking some ass before their drive was through. He settled his shoulders under his duster and checked to make sure Xander was buckled in, then took the ramp to the freeway with a snarl on his lips.

Chrome and metallic paint as far as the eye could see, and everything gleaming with the rain that had returned in force while they'd eaten and showered. Xander flipped through the file Wes had given them again and then took out his cell phone - stared at it for a long moment.

"Problems, pet?"

"Someone turned my ringtone off. I missed a bunch of calls." Xander gave Spike a hard look, a suspicious wave of smug satisfaction rolling through the cab. He glanced down to page through his contact list for Russ' number and found it under 'Russ' instead of 'Fenwick'.

"Not my fault the Watcher hates that plinkity racket as much as I do," Spike said, then swerved violently to avoid a woman who was apparently driving, chatting, eating, and changing radio stations at the same time. Spike slapped his palm down on the horn and flipped the woman off as they passed, then he braked, fuming, as the traffic slowed to a crawl.

"Must be out of my mind, drivin' to Pasadena this time of day. Wesley'd better have something nice for us when we're done with this," he muttered. Xander just rolled his eyes, waiting for Russ to pick up.

"Yessss?" Cautious, cat-like sibilance and the quiet click of claws on plastic. Xander closed his eyes and grinned - he'd seen Sol answer the phone before, creeping up on it sideways like it might jump and run.

"It's Alex. Is Russ home?"

"He iss bathing, yes? I am not let him on the couch so muddy." Sol sniffed and Xander hoped he couldn't hear Spike's muttering and swearing.

"Oh, right. He just got off," Xander said, trying to wrest his mind back into work-schedule mode.

"Not yet, he hasn't," Sol said, deadpan, and then gave in to hissing, bubbling laughter that Xander had to join. "I not let him on me so muddy too."

"TMI, man. Okay - tell him call me when he's done? I need to talk to him. It's about - the Hellmouth. We found out some stuff." Sol took in a sharp breath and muttered something in his own language, and Xander sighed, wishing... *Wish I didn't have to do this. Damnit. They don't need this...*

"I tell. Is...bad, out there. Sso bad." Sol's voice was low and a little shaky and Xander nodded, unthinking, then cleared his throat.

"Yeah. Thanks, Sol. Bye." Only the click and deadness of disconnection answered him and he scrolled the menu again. Carl was next. Spike - was still cursing, steady monotone that made Xander smile briefly, until the phone began to ring.

"Hello - Mariel - hey! Not while I'm on the phone! I said - " Whatever Carl 'said' was in Spanish - Spanish Xander would have to look up later from Mariel's wicked giggle. He was tempted to call back at a better time. Which would be a worse time.

He groaned.

Carl stopped laughing. "Alex?"

"It's either Alex or a zombie who wants to eat your brains. Since I'm talking, I guess it's me and since it's Sunnydale, I guess I shouldn't joke about zombies eating brains." Xander twisted in his seat until he could see Spike; jaw clenched, cigarette bitten through and hands tight on the wheel. Xander laid a hand on Spike's thigh, hoping Spike could feel the rush of calmlovebeautifulmine.

Spike twitched - muttered something - then looked over at Xander and smiled slightly, the angerfrustrationkill of his emotions easing off a bit.

"So to what do I owe this pleasure?" Carl said, all mock-serious and a little breathless and Mariel squealed something in the background. Xander had to smile - kneading Spike's thigh and leaning his head back on the headrest - but it faded quickly.

"I've got Hellmouth news."

"Aw, shit."

Xander could hear Mariel stop giggling and ask something quiet in the background that made Spike glance at him quickly. "What?"

"She asked him if it was time to pack the car, pet." Spike turned his eyes back to the road in spite of the crawling traffic, flutter of resignation, roll of hate for Sunnydale. "They know."

"What's your news, Alex?"

"It's time to get out of Dodge for a while. Do you have some place you can take the family?"

A pause, then: "My place outside of San Bernardino is big enough for the family. What's going on?"

Xander slid down in the seat and gave Spike a grateful smile when he felt a cool hand settle over his on the truck seat. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try."

Spike listened to Xander fill Carl in on the Hellmouth going's on - gently squeezed Xander's hand in his, hating the almost apologetic tone Xander had. As if he were responsible for what was going on back in Sunnydale. Spike snarled silently - contemplated honking the horn again as a sleek little Italian sport car cut him off. But he didn't want to make Xander any nervier, so he restrained himself. The demon sulked and muttered, and Spike did his best to ignore it. Xander finally said goodbye and clicked the phone shut, looking out the window for a long moment.

"Not your fault, love," Spike murmured. *Love love love you...*

Xander closed his eye and basked in the warmth of Spike's emotions with a grin. "I thought it might be my fault once - demon magnet, you know? But I hate being the messenger when it's bad news." He tugged his hand free only to turn it over beneath Spike's, clutching back palm to palm. Outside the window, the Italian sports car had wedged itself in between two SUVs. "And there is no way that guy is gonna make it to the right lane before the exit."

Spike snorted softly, agreeing with Xander - listening to the tick tick of the windshield-wipers going over and over the glass - to the patter of rain on metal. Twilight was coming down, blue-grey and soft as down, and the long line of brake lights blurred into a scarlet snake, stretching for miles. Spike felt a sudden wave of tiredness. Not physical, but...other. Soul tired.

*Another fight...another enemy...another fucking crisis. Never bloody ends and it's not fair, Xander having to go through this again. I don't want to...go through this again.* "No more calls to make now, though," Spike said, in what he hoped was an encouraging voice.

"Except maybe I should call Willow..." Xander sounded less than enthusiastic about that, and Spike squeezed his hand again - inched forward with the traffic. Xander shook his head and turned off the phone. "Later." He watched Spike's eyebrows go up and shrugged. "It's one in the morning there now. She's probably asleep. And if it was important Council news, Giles would have called Wes." Spike's exhaustion was palpable - the kind of tiredness he'd felt on the way to Africa and it tied his stomach in knots. "Feels like we've been here before."

"Been here, done it - got the bloody scars to prove it, love. Rather have had a soddin' t-shirt." Spike felt his own exhaustion mirrored in Xander and he hated it. Hated that hopeless, helpless feeling of never, ever being quite enough. *Burned alive on the Hellmouth and it wasn't enough... Xander lost an eye - lost his family - it wasn't enough... Nothing's ever enough...*

"We need to get away from this, love. Go someplace warm - turn the bloody phone off and shag each other unconscious. Shag Wes until he's too fucked out to even talk, never mind read..." Spike grinned over at Xander and felt after his pack of smokes, feeling a little lift from that idea. Good idea.

"That's gonna take a lot of fucking." Xander paused thoughtfully - grinned at the lift of want and promise of normality. "I am so on board with that plan." Xander let go of Spike's hand long enough to let him light up and looked out the window, into the back seat of a minivan full of laughing teenagers. A moment later, one pointed - then all were turning to stare back at him and Xander turned his head away, back to Spike. "We need to get away from this," he echoed.

Spike felt the twitch of something go through him - stomped on the brake and glared at the gridlocked lanes, then turned and tugged Xander over, leaning close himself - kissed him, tangling his free hand in Xander's hair and getting lost, for one blissful moment, in the heat and scent of his love.

"Take you anywhere you want to go, pet. Name it. Got the money - can do anything." He leaned forehead to forehead for a moment and then sat back, taking in a long pull of smoke and eyeing the minivan beside them whose occupants seemed to be having trouble with man-on-man kissing. Or something. Wankers. He contemplated vamping and scaring the piss out of them, but what he really felt like doing was stomping something into a bloody pulp and letting the demon up and out would only make that impulse stronger.

Xander watched the scowl form and melt on Spike's face through kiss-hazy vision - felt the wave of suppressed violence that stirred a sleeping echo of the hyena. Something wild and caged. And he got that. Got it enough that knowing he could go anywhere because he'd been fired only caused a small pain - an ache; twinge of indignant fuck you anger at the corporation. "Anywhere but here," he answered with feeling that surprised him.

"Yeah?" Spike grinned, then, feeling the indignant anger that, to him, meant Xander was starting to realize something. Realize that he was too good for the corp-rats, and that he could have any life he chose. "Let's think about that, then. Someplace warm, someplace wet so you and Wes can swim..."

"Someplace with twenty-four-seven room-service? 'Cause I dunno about that whole 'servant' thing - that cook was scary." Xander slumped comfortably down in the seat, pulling a little at the seat-belt and putting his hand on Spike's thigh.

"She was a bloody good cook. And she'd make us anything we wanted - didn't have to stick to a menu."

"Yeah, but not at three in the morning."

"We'll get two cooks - day shift and night shift." Spike reached out and turned on the CD player, the lifting mood making him want music. *Anything for you, love - hotel, house - fucking island, if you want.*

"I want privacy," Xander said, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding across the seat to where he wanted to be. "And I want lots and lots of gratuitous nudity." Xander slid his hand all the way up Spike's inseam, rough fabric warming his fingertips by the time they closed over Spike's groin. "'K?" He squeezed - felt the lust like a shock - felt it shudder and coil inside and he reluctantly let Spike go.

"Bloody hell. Put that back."

"And I want the world not to end," Xander finished, putting his hand back on Spike's leg, high on the thigh - contact.

Spike turned his head enough to catch Xander's mouth - kiss him. Nibbled at Xander's lower lip and pressed thigh to thigh. He fed his cigarette out the window and then made good use of two free hands by twisting and getting his left hand over Xander's own groin - pressed the hardening flesh, kneading it - and got his other hand in Xander's hair so he could tilt his head a little - kiss him right.

"World's not gonna end, love. We'll see to that, and Wes will...the bloody Angelus might even do some good..." he murmured between kisses, and Xander felt so damn good. The want - the need coming from him was enough to make Spike vamp - make him grumble low in his chest, pleasure-sound and growl together.

"Not goin' anywhere...let me just get your jeans down..." he muttered, fumbling at button and fly.

The grumble, the growl went straight to Xander's cock, hardening twitch under Spike's fingers that made Xander spread his legs encouragingly. "Fuck yes." Xander arched, groaned and rolled his head against the seat. Movement in the next car over caught his eye and he jerked upright, catching Spike's wrist. "No!"

"Yes, yes - fuckin' hell, love, not actually moving, here -" Spike ducked under Xander's chin and sucked at his neck - at the bite from earlier in the day and grinned to himself at the whole-body shudder that caused.

*Thinking - thinking so optional. Think Xander! Think!* Xander had a hand in Spike's hair but he wasn't sure if it was to pull him away or push him closer until a honking horn made up his mind. He tugged at Spike's hair, hard and slammed their lips together, tasting copper and salt, smoke and Spike - fed all that want into the kiss until he was dizzy. "Too light out," he gasped, once he had enough air.

*Fuck, fuck - bloody traffic, what the fuck is that horn?* Spike gave in to Xander's manhandling - let himself be kissed and bloodied and drew back licking his lips, eyes half-shut and his whole body thrumming with *wantwantwant*

"Be dark in twenty minutes -" Spike said, and then that damn horn again, and a voice -

"Get a room, fucking queers!"

And that shame feeling from Xander, for just a second, and Spike didn't hesitate. In one liquid movement he pulled away from Xander - pushed his door open and was out of the truck - around it - reaching in through a still-open window to grab a shirt collar and yank. Barely remembering to be human for this, but not letting that stop the snarl. Oblivious to the rain that slanted into his eyes and soaked the front of his shirt - beaded on his duster.

*What the fuck?* turned into *Fuck, fuck fuck!* and Xander dove for the parking brake before scrambling out of the truck and into the downpour, jacket pulled over his head against the rain.

"Fuckin' call the cops! This guy's - " The driver placed his hands against Spike's chest and shoved - choking on Spike's grip on his collar, choking on the water running down his face.

"Miserable little shit, I'm gonna use your fuckin' rib bones for soup if you so much as look at me and mine again -" Spike could smell the terror and it was like sweet-spicy smoke over his tongue. He ached to simply snap necks and be done and the nonono from Xander made him growl. The kid went white.

Already on edge from the steady throb of kill kill kill rolling through Spike like a heartbeat, Xander took one of those deep, cleansing breaths of wet and ozone and searched for quick quips guy.

He found him some place warm and dry with a beer and *thank god* a quip. Xander ran a hand up Spike's spine - rigid beneath his duster. He raised his voice to be heard over engines, horns and steady rain. "I kinda liked it better when he was kissing me and you were minding your own business. How about you guys?"

"Yeah - y-yeah! Th-that's better -" the kid gibbered, blinking rain out of his eyes and another one - in the back: "Let him go!" and "That's guys crazy!" Spike grinned - a slow and evil thing that made the kid he was holding go from white to slightly greenish.

"You little fucks are lucky. I'd rather my boy any day than a pack of useless wankers like yourself. In future, keep your filthy mouths shut." Spike shoved the kid backward - noticed, finally, a chorus of honks and reached for Xander's arm - pulled him close and kissed him, hard and fast. "Sorry, love - lost my head," he smirked.

"Nice head." Xander's kiss was soft and slow and wet and cold. He backed Spike all the way into the passenger side of the truck and pulled back to ran a hand over Spike's hair, curled now by the rain - mouthed a drop of rainwater from his jaw. "I like it where it belongs." A police siren cut through the horns and Xander gave Spike a shove. "And that's behind the wheel of the truck driving us out of here before we're arrested for assault and whatever they arrest you for when you make out in the middle of a freeway."

Spike blinked - scowled at the world in general and scrambled in and across - checked to be sure Xander had clicked the seatbelt shut and then took advantage of the slowly shuffling traffic to cut across three lanes to the shoulder while Xander fished under the seat for towels. He trundled along at a fair clip and took the next exit.

"Fuck that mess, love - let's find some other way. Might have to kill somebody, next, traffic makes me that edgy."

Xander double checked the wrappings on Wesley's book, which had turned out to be thick and bound in a smooth-grained leather that made Xander's skin crawl to touch it.

The trip to The Golden Hinde hadn't gone well. Spike had been barred from entering, and Xander had caught a glimpse of a cot and sink in the back room behind the register.

The owner hadn't invited either one of them in.

Now, they sat and stared across the street at the Hotel Ali Baba. "I don't know about you but I'm not expecting a warm welcome." It was that kind of day.

"Sod it," Spike said, lighting up and grabbing the book, leaving the file for Xander. He shoved the truck keys into a deep pocket and got out of the vehicle - waited for Xander to join him in crossing the street, dodging puddles and getting even wetter. The rain was pouring down now - slashing, spangled curtain in the sodium-glow of the street lights.

Waiting outside under an inadequate awning at the bookstore had not improved Spike's over all snappish mood, and the owner had been short and condescending with Xander. *Just want to get back to Wes' place, damnit.* On the way to the shop Xander had made an appointment with a rental agency, and tomorrow they were shopping for someplace to stay for a while.

Someplace to kidnap Wes to, and to decompress from the monster headache that the Sunnydale mess was becoming.

"Don't come any closer!"

Xander stumbled over the thick rugs and towels piled in front of the doors at Andrew's yell and watched in disbelief as the young man approached them under a burden of more towels.

"Sorry guys. I just mopped and I am not mopping again." Andrew tried to reach up to dry Spike's hair for him but Spike growled and he let go of the towel immediately, taking a step back. "Every Slayer has been through here at least twice in the last two hours and none of them know how to wipe their feet!"

Andrew looked ruffled and put-upon and flushed, and Spike scrubbed violently at his hair for a moment and then flung the towel sideways into the sodden pile that was against the wall. Feeling too on edge for his own good, really - he knew he was winding Xander up tight as a drum, and any moment Angel would stomp in and then... *Bloody fucking Blitzkrieg,* Spike thought, looking at his too-wet-to-burn cigarette and throwing it after the towel.

"Not a bloody idiot, Andrew - know how to wipe my fucking boots off. Not that I will," he added, striding across the lobby toward the offices, sure he was leaving foot prints and not caring. "C'mon, Xander, let's get this nonsense done with, yeah? Need a drink."

Xander gave his hair a quick scrub with the towel, squeezing the ends into it until he wasn't dripping anymore and handed the towel back to Andrew with a grimace. He wanted to lift his patch - dry the irritating trickle of cold water under it but Andrew wouldn't stop...hovering. "Thanks." He abandoned the towels instead, trying to rub under the patch without taking it off and made his unsteady way across the lobby after Spike.

He could have found Spike blindfolded and in the dark with the disgust pouring off him. Oh. Good. Angel was in.

"What took you so long? Wes said you left hours ago," Angel said, coming out of his office with a stack of folders and a scowl. Spike slapped the book down on the counter and reached for his cigarettes, wishing like fuck he'd remembered to bring his flask from Wes'. But he'd meant to refill it and left it lying on the kitchen counter instead.

"Fuck off, Angelus," Spike snapped, and then Xander was there, hand on his back and Spike took a hard, hard hit of his smoke, biting back the rest of what he wanted to say.

"Why don't you hand over what you came here to bring me and fuck off yourself? That's what the messenger boy does."

Xander felt each bump of Spike's spine beneath his hand stiffen and creak under muscle tension. "We're all professionals here, yes sir."

"I knocked you on your ass and had you dead to rights, you miserable bog-trotter, so keep your smart mouth shut." Spike hadn't felt anything quite this...murderous toward Angel in long a while, and the demon leapt up and out, snarling. He felt Xander shiver and felt Xander's fingers sink into his shoulder - death-grip that he barely acknowledged.

"Uh - as much as I would love to watch you kick Angel's ass again, it's gonna be hard to fuck Wes deaf and blind if you're recovering from the fight of the year." Xander didn't even try to hide the satisfaction he felt when Angel flinched. *It must just eat you up that we got there first, Angel.*

Spike smirked at the gotcha! feeling of glee coming off Xander and plucked the file from Xander's hand - tossed it down by the book, sending the contents fanning over the counter. "That's Wes' latest info. Now it's yours. And we've gotta go." He started to turn - twisted away with a snarl as Angel's hand came down on his shoulder.

"Spike - I've got something to tell the both of you." Angel let go as Spike angrily shrugged him away - reached for Wes' folder and the spill of papers that had slid out of it. "This is bigger than just a few demons in some back room, you know," Angel said, and Spike couldn't stop the snort of amusement that puffed out of his nose. Angel shook his head - tapped the papers back into true and slipped them back into the folder. "It's Wolfram and Hart big and... And I want the two of you out of it."

"Good." Xander felt the pulse of *anger* turn to a roar of *fuckyes!* and laughed - every ounce of the weight of Sunnydale, Hellmouth, duty evaporating into someone else's problem. He held up a hand to Angel, said "I'll be right with you," and then picked Spike up and drove him into the wall with a kiss that made his lips ache and body hum with the champagne bubbles of pure freedom.

Between the wall and Xander, Spike couldn't get a breath for a proper howl of utter joy, but it didn't matter. Xander felt - felt like a bird in flight. Lifting, swooping - heart-stopping loops high in the ether and Spike was happy to join him - got a leg and both arms wrapped around Xander and kissed back with abandon, ignoring the increasingly frustrated noises coming from Angel.

"Hey, dad, what's up?" Connor ambled in from somewhere, glancing at Spike and Xander with a grin. Spike winked back and then shifted to kiss Xander's neck so he could watch the 'Connor and Angel' show.

Angel cut him off. "I do not want to hear 'besides Spike and Xander' from your mouth."

Connor shrugged a shoulder, showing more interest in Spike and Xander's public celebration than Angel looked comfortable with. "They're happy guys. Why are they happy guys?"

"I have no idea," Angel muttered. "Cut it out!" He reached over and slapped the back of Xander's head and a moment later was up against the wall, Spike's fingers digging into his throat and Xander right behind him, fury in his eye, patch askew and a look that was too much like Spike's own to be comfortable.

"You wanker. Don't." Spike rapped Angel's head into the wall. "Touch. Got it?" Spike let go and stepped back - shot a look at Connor. Connor lifted both hands in a 'don't look at me' gesture.

"Hey, he shouldn't have done that - right there with ya."

Xander fumbled with the band of his patch, gave up and yanked it off, jammed it into his pocket.

Angel didn't move from the wall, head down, teeth bared. "Get out, Spike. You're not welcome here."

"Fuck you, Angelus. You ever wonder why Gunn is off doing his own gig - why Wes'd rather work at home than here? Why Blue is out all hours of the day and night, and not here? You get one bloody guess." Spike settled his duster - looked over at Connor, hoping that Connor got it. Connor gave a slow nod, and Spike felt a tiny loosening of some tension. "You want to be the grand champion of this fuckin' rat race? Be our guest. We both gave everything we were to this fuckin' fight. And now? We're done. Have at it." He reached blindly for Xander's hand - found it and folded his own around it - turned and walked out.

Wesley wanted to be angry - he wanted to be angry and irritated and deliver his carefully crafted speech about calling home so he won't worry when Spike and Xander go for hours without contact in dangerous times. Or after visiting Angel Investigations which was a dangerous time every time when Spike was there. But when they came stumbling in well after one - stumbling and swearing and giggling, drunk and happy-stupid and determined, it seemed, to touch every inch of Wesley's body - his speech, anger, irritation and worry crumbled away. Crumbled beneath the attentions of two warm bodies who tangled themselves around him the moment he opened the door and kisses that tasted of beer and whiskey, cigarettes and salt. And he moaned when Spike manhandled him into Xander's grasp and arched when warm human hands unfastened his belt and fly.

"Love how you tas', Wesss...you go gooood with JD..." Spike slurred, sliding down Wesley's body and pushing his trousers down - rubbing his cheek along Wesley's rapidly hardening cock and then licking in long, flat strokes.

"You both - you both made me very...I was -" Wesley tried to talk, but Xander was kissing his neck - his jaw - was rubbing callused hands over his belly and then up under his shirt to his nipples. Was grinding his erection into Wesley and muttering something about 'Wes...so warm...love how you feel...' and really - what could he do? And then Spike - cool mouth, clever tongue - quick and wicked glance up with gleaming golden eyes and Wesley let his head loll back on Xander's shoulder - got one hand in Spike's hair and one in Xander's and just held on.

Xander's mouth was moving against his ear, warm and wet, lips and tongue, and his fingers were sliding down, down - holding Wesley's aching cock for Spike to swallow whole, leaving him trembling between them. Wesley realized Xander was speaking.
"We're done, Wes. Retired. God - you feel good like that - " Xander slurred, shuddered, breathed against the damp skin of Wesley's neck and nibbled. "We're gonna celebrate - take a couple days - drive t'Ojai tomorrow - " Xander's liquor-fogged voice deepened, rasped when he moaned and Spike echoed the sound. "Come back..."

Wesley tugged at Xander's neck - at his hair - turned his head so he could kiss him, tasting hops and the sour bite of whiskey - salt and lemon. Spike was teasing - nibbling - sucking and kissing and his fingers were moving here and there - back and forth. Wesley's legs were shaking and he was glad Xander was holding him up.

He pulled away from Xander's mouth, panting for breath - looked down at Spike, who looked up at him - bit at his belly and grinned, eyes glinting gold.

"Gonna come back, Wes, an' then you're gonna come with us. Jus' for a little while!" Spike added when Wesley opened his mouth to - to what? "Jus' a few days, love... Need to relax, you do." Spike ran his tongue up the underside of Wesley's cock and blew across the damp tip. Wesley shuddered.

"Keep you tied to the bed, maybe - nothin' to do but...entertain me an' Xan..." Then Spike took him in again, cool mouth sliding down and down and Wesley arched into him - gripped Xander's neck and leaned against him and just...let go.

"Want that, Wes? Me an' Spike using you an' making you feel good all weekend? Take away your...choice." Xander's teeth dragged a fiery-cool trail down to Wesley's shoulder and bit and Wesley thrust his hips at Spike with a helpless moan because yes - yes god he wanted it. "Gonna think about it while we're gone?"

"G-god...thinking about it...now -" Wes gasped, and Xander slid a finger into Wes' mouth - let him mouth it - suck it - then trailed his hand down, between them - slid in as Spike did something that was probably very nice, and Wes cried out, his hips bucking forward, his hand painfully tight in Xander's hair. Spike's hands were tight on Wes' hips and Xander crooked his finger and bit at Wes' neck - felt Wes' body shudder and arch and finally fall bonelessly still, only his chest heaving as he panted for air.

"I think he likes that idea, love," Spike said. Then he giggled and climbed Wes' body and kissed Xander over Wes' shoulder - musk-salt-pepper taste canceling out the whiskey and smoke. "Let's get him to bed." Whirling, floating feeling swimming back and forth through the link, drunkenness doubled as they shared it.

"Yeah," Xander breathed, alcohol and lemon, sweet and bitter and he rode Wes' groan with a slow grind of hard cock against Wes' arse, sending an ache of want skittering up and down his spine. "Gonna feel us till we come back, Wes." Xander didn't wait for an answer before sliding an arm around Wesley's waist above Spike's and leading the three of them unsteadily into the bedroom. "Gonna make you miss us."

There'd be time for soberness and thinking tomorrow.

Spike drove to the insistent scream of Randy Rhoades' guitar and Ozzy's demon voice. Hands clenched so tightly on the steering wheel that they ached, golden eyes practically burning holes through the rain-washed night. His fangs had cut through two cigarette filters and he'd given up on them completely. Occasionally, he'd glance over at Xander.

Between them was a miasma of emotion - fury and shame, fuck him and kill him and lovelovelove under it all and Spike shook and Xander rested his forehead against the window, face pale and tight and reflected against the rain.

The rental appointment had gone as badly as their trip to Angel Investigations - or worse.

An hour on, they'd driven past houses too big and houses too small. Houses owned by famous people Xander had never heard of. Then: "See that office up there?"

"Yeah." Xander looked in the direction their rental agent was pointing and saw a lot of offices. Brand new offices. Classy old offices. Some of them covered in so much ivy they looked like gigantic chia pets.

"There's a doctor up there who has a team of specialists from Hollywood. They've done things to people - he told me they had Nicole Kidman up there, fixing some sun-damage. Can you believe it? And - he's got prosthetic specialists, too. Remember when Mark Hamill was hurt? They put him back, good as new. He could fix that damage - nobody would suspect a thing, I guarantee it."

Xander stared at the agent and felt the names wash over him in a tide of huh? and 'what? and then it clicked and he almost choked on the word "Damage?"

Xander thumped his head back against the truck's seat and raked his hands through his hair - frustrated gesture, tangled, tired of strangers looking at him and seeing damage and disfigurement. Tired of being a - a handicap.

*Fucking bastard. Had no right. Find him, hurt him, kill him...* Spike pushed down a little harder on the gas - edged the speedometer over 120 and listened to the hiss of water as it fanned out from the wheels. Couldn't get away fast enough and he glared for a moment at the fading glow of L.A. in the rear-view. *Fucking gobshite. Love you so much, Xander... God...fucker...*

Xander dropped his hand and Spike stole a glance at him, found him raising a forefinger to touch his reflection in the glass; tracing around the missing eye, tracing up the side of his nose, over the dark arch of his eyebrow and around, fingers feathering down his cheek, resting at his jaw. Spike reached out and turned the music down to a murmur. "You're not damaged, love. You know that, don't you?"

Xander traced the pattern again, trying to see it. "War wound. Scar. I'm on board. I don't want to hide it." He twisted away from the window so he could see Spike, see his decision written in Spike's expression. "I want to decorate it. I want it to say: 'This is mine - I fought hard and I won'."