Square Nineteen
Sunnydale smelled like storms and dust and mud - and a little bit like Wesley when he changed, the pepper-sharp scent of here there be demons that made Xander's hair stand on end. Kinda turned him on too, but he was long past the age of his confusion about demons. Demons could be pretty sexy when they weren't trying to eat him or rip his head off to mate with him.
Xander paused in his packing and glanced through the office door at Spike, who was sprawled out on the living room floor and sorting his music collection into an acceptable pile that was coming with them to L.A. and a bigger pile that Xander had little hope of ever hearing again. Spike had Xander's lone Alice Cooper CD playing, cranked up loud and unholy. Yesyesyes and strength and mine leapt from Spike to Xander like a livewire. Then Spike looked up with a wicked curl of his tongue and Xander's heartbeat picked up a notch.
Oh yeah - the demon magnetism mojo was working for him now.
Xander bit off a piece of tape and wrestled the box closed. It was labeled office. It'd join the box labeled bathroom and the one labeled bedroom.
This time, he wasn't leaving anything important behind on the Hellmouth. Or under it.
'I wear lace and I wear black leather...' Alice sang, and Spike tossed a badly scratched ELO CD into the 'discard' pile. Tracking Xander through the link; want and possessiveness and yes, and a skein of bittersweetness through it all as Xander sorted his things. The linens and throws of the Nests had already been stacked in the truck, along with a number of pillows. The rest were crammed as tightly into garbage bags as vampiric strength and industrial plastic allowed. Only eight garbage bags - probably more bags then there would be boxes. Spike looked up as Xander carried his 'office' box into the denuded kitchen.
'Tell me where the hell I'm going...let my bones fall in the dust. Can't you hear that ghost that's calling...as my Colt begins to rust...'
"All right, love?" Spike had to ask, and Xander patted the 'office' box and looked over at him, tiny frown creasing his forehead. Spike turned down the music as Xander crossed the room - sat up between the 'keep' and 'throw into the bloody ocean' piles of CDs.
"I was going to put in a loft where the roof peaks and the windows look inland and at the ocean. I thought I could put a mattress up there and it'd be warm in the winter and cool in the summer." Xander settled onto the floor, feeling the home/not home pull of the house. "I don't like it when a window's just for decoration. I wanted to replace them with something that'd open and let in the breeze."
"We can find another house, Xander. One that's not -" They both froze then, as something - stutter phantasm like a bleached photograph - faded in through the fireplace and was gone again, leaving a chill in its wake. Darkly slate-green clouds outside and the seemingly endless rain pattering on the roof and windows and if the ghosts were out and about during the day, it was one more reason to get the hell out.
"That doesn't have those things in it," Spike muttered and Xander poked at the CD discard pile, still frowning just a little. Sad and something complicated that was home and nostalgia and mine notmine from him, and Spike reached out and combed his fingers gently through Xander's hair. "Be all right, love," he said helplessly.
"Yeah - if it's got you in it, it'll be home. I just - god, I was so...happy. I had so many plans. I was so proud this place was mine and I could paint the walls with palm trees and parrots if I wanted to." Xander felt a blast of horror, swiftly muffled, and tipped into Spike's embrace with a snicker. "I don't want to. Relax, sweetheart."
"Bloody shirts scarred you forever, Xander. No parrots," Spike added, kissing whatever he could reach and tugging Xander gradually down until he was on his back and Xander was half sprawled over him, heat and weight that was home and love no matter what. "We'll find something better. Do it up right. Promise, love."
'Promise - love'. Two words that were rapidly creeping into Xander's heart and twisting it around their little pale fingers in a nice way. He could get used to sharing the caretaking duties in the relationship. Besides, Spike's hands felt so nice on his back and his skin was so cool on the tender skin around his eye. "A crypt for two? With the home improvement vampire?"
"Twenty-room mansion, if you like, or a bloody yurt. I don't care." Spike rubbed his chin slowly back and forth over Xander's skull, the long, silky hair lying across Spike's throat and smelling faintly of orange and smoke. "Me an' Dru, we stayed some places for months and some places for only days... I'll leave the house-picking up to you." Another ghost shivered into existence near the kitchen thru-way and Spike jerked then frowned, angry at himself for flinching. "Should get this done, yeah? Get the fuck out of here."
"Yeah. Break time's over, Harris. Get back to work." Xander tipped his face up to brush his lips over Spike's then sat up and looked around the living room. Furniture. Big electronics. Xander poked at his emotions surrounding their loss because face it, relief hadn't been on his expected short list. "Let's load up. I'm done." Happy, when all was said and done. Happy to feel the weight of the place slide off his shoulders. The weight of the Hellmouth, it seemed, finally letting him go.
It hadn't rained too much that day but the air was still wet - thick with moisture and chilly enough to make Wesley shiver as he stood on his front step, looking down the street. Looking for Xander's truck, and not seeing it. Trying not to worry, because that felt... Stupid. And a bit helpless, and entirely too...wet. *Spike can take care of any threat the Hellmouth has to offer...and the greater Los Angeles area, for that matter. And Xander won't let him do anything...rash* Wesley thought back to the stories Xander had told him - midnight motorcycle drives and sex on truck-stop picnic tables and fights in the demon underground of Sunnydale - and slumped. *Or maybe he will.*
Sighing softly, Wesley went back inside and settled at his desk - found a translation he had been laboring over and got to work, determined to wait Spike and Xander out and not to worry.
Something was...bumping. Thumping? *Rapping at my chamber door? No, no...* Wesley stood up and hissed, back stiff and legs half asleep. A glance at the clock showed him nearly two hours had passed and thump thump at the front door. He moved stiffly to open it and was confronted by a wall of wrinkled black plastic.
"Open the bloody door, Wes!" Spike's voice, from somewhere behind the wall and Wesley stepped back, pulling the door wide. The plastic heaved forward - stuck for a moment - and then burst inward, shredding itself on the jamb. Wesley jumped back but it was too late - a shower of pillows pelted him and he grabbed at them, trying to save them from hitting the floor.
"God damn-it! Fuck - sorry, Wes," Spike stood in the doorway, more bulging garbage-bags in his arms and the shreds of at least two hanging from his fingers. Wesley couldn't stop his grin and Spike grinned back. Then Wesley schooled his features to a frown and snatched at pillows.
"Just why are you assaulting me with pillows, Spike?" he asked, and Spike pushed forward, shredding another bag and kicking pillows out of the way.
"Brought the Nest down, didn't we? You don't have a Nest, love."
"Oh, for heaven's sake - you're getting them wet!" Wesley rescued more pillows before Spike could get his sodden boots on them and heard Xander coming up the walk.
"Blind man coming through!" Xander announced and Wesley heard the telltale rustling of more black plastic. He cast a nervous glance back at the bedroom.
"You do realize this is a one bedroom cottage, not a three bedroom, full sized - "
"Stucco and chicken wire monstrosity," Spike finished, lobbing his last bag onto the couch and turning to recover Xander's from him. "Mind the step, pet."
Wesley waited for Xander's defense of his home - which failed to come. Instead, he found himself with an armful of Xander and a mouthful of Xander tongue that tasted of rain and smoke and the unmistakable tang of Spike's blood. Which - *oh!* - explained everything, really.
Wesley's back met the wall solidly, making their teeth clack together and he tipped his head back, breathing hard - but not quite ready to remove his hands from Xander's arse just yet.
"Hey," Xander said.
"Hey," Wesley murmured, feeling a little dazed and moving in for more of those sweet-spicy kisses. Xander made an incoherent sound against his lips and leaned into him, pressing Wesley back into the wall and kissing as if it had been months and not days since they'd last seen each other.
"Still got a whole truck to unload," Spike said and Xander pulled back. Turned to Spike who simply shouldered in and now Wesley was kissing Spike, who had one fist in Wesley's shirt, crumpling it. And one on Xander, it seemed, since Xander squeaked and jumped, pushing his hip into Wesley's thigh.
"Hey, I don't want to make Wesley feel unloved." Xander worked a hand between them, sliding up the thick inner seam of Wesley's jeans leg and feeling the narrow muscles twitch and jump under his palm - heat and cold between Spike and Wes' touch. "Feeling loved yet?" Xander's teeth closed with remarkable accuracy over Wes' neck and Wes jumped - moaned into Spike's mouth helplessly. "He sounds loved."
"Is loved," Spike said, leaning one shoulder into the wall and mimicking Xander - nibbling his way down Wes' neck to the collar of his shirt - undoing a button and finding the fever-warm ridge of Wes' collarbone with his tongue. Wes' head thumped gently into the wall and Xander chuckled. Spike undid another button on Wes' shirt and arched in pleasure as Wes' hand finally fumbled under Spike's duster and found skin - ran his hand and his nails up Spike's back.
"Bloody hell." Wesley curled his fingers over the sharp angle of Spike's shoulder blade, fighting the change that would bring out his claws. He shivered in the cool rain-scented breeze curling in the door and clutched at Spike when Xander's fingers closed, warm and strong, around his cock, rubbing, rubbing through his jeans - and then not through his jeans in a move too quick for his lust-fogged brain to follow.
"Can't argue with that," Xander agreed, fleeting kiss to Wesley's cheek and then warm, mobile lips sliding down to Wesley's cock - making him jump and clutch at Spike with unsteady hands.
"The - d-door is - open - oh god - Xander -" Wesley stammered, giving up and giving in and letting the change come - moaning as Spike immediately caressed his scalp - ran cool hands over his back, nudging the spines and sending shivers through him. "S-sspike, the do-or..."
Spike growled - disengaged for mere seconds to slam the door shut and then he was sliding down Wesley's body and his mouth was joining Xander's, cool and warm together and Wesley just closed his eyes and grabbed - hung on.
Hot, slick and pepper-salty, with the cool brush and slide of Spike's tongue and the lusty pulse that was Spike himself. Xander chuckled around Wesley's flesh - savored the strangled groan from above them and wondered if Wes was watching. Wondered if he could see the play of tongues teasing swollen skin, plum-purple tender and slick or if his eyes were squeezed shut, like Xander's. Xander opened his eye to find Spike's gaze hazy and upturned, watching.
Spike blinked - looked at Xander for one moment and then back up at Wesley - watched as Wes' claws scored the plaster of the wall. Then he turned his concentration onto Wes' cock - onto the orgasm he could feel, brimming and trembling just under the surface.
"Isn't he fuckin' lovely, Xan, when he's like this? So turned on he can't talk..." Spike kissed Xander around Wes' hot, succulent flesh - tugged at Wes' jeans and got his hand up and behind, to press and stroke sensitive, secret skin. Wes writhed and Xander's teeth nipped gently at him, and Spike had to wind his other hand in Xander's hair - sink into the lust that was like an electric current from Xander and that was pure, sweet-salt musk from Wes.
"Let's make him come, Xan...take the edge off so we can give him a proper 'we missed you' shag..."
"Give him lots of orgasms," Xander mumbled and ducked - lips barely brushing the drawn-up skin of Wesley's balls, hot breath that made him tremble. Xander gave him thirty seconds. "Check."
Voices blurred into wordless buzzing and Wesley let go, arching into the wall with a growl that was all demon and a roar in his ears like the sea, all rushing white along his nerves; tingling, floating numbness in its wake. The aftershocks rippled through his skin - under his skin and under his scalp and he pressed his cheek to the wall to gain his breath, shivering.
Spike trailed his tongue a last time up the softening flesh of Wes' cock - grabbed Xander and hauled him upright, kissing him along the way. Sharing Wes' sweet-pepper taste and sharing the iron-tang of blood as Xander bit Spike's still-healing lip. Casualty of rush-hour dead-stop almost-sex. They both leaned into Wes and Spike turned to look at the older man - blinked, and nudged Xander.
"Look, Xan. That's -"
"New," Xander said, wide-eyed. The spines along Wes' scalp were lifting and lowering - shimmering through a rainbow of colors. Like a cuttlefish but faint, so faint.
"What?" Wes asked, looked dazedly around at them - the demon shifting away as he got his breath and his senses back.
"Change back." Xander pushed his fingers through Wesley's hair and watched as the spines shivered into existence again before brushing them with his fingertips and watching them ripple in his wake. "They move."
"I - oh..." Wesley shook again, a tremor that shivered away the demon and left him sagging against the wall. "They seem - seem to have become somewhat more sensitive as well."
"That right?" Spike asked, and the glee and - promise - in his voice made Wesley shiver again in anticipation.
"Yes, they - Xander? My - god, you -" Wesley stood up straight, his hands going out automatically to cradle Xander's face - turn him toward the light. The graceful arabesque of rich, reddish ink that curled around the empty socket of Xander's face still looked a bit sore, and Wesley traced the line that curved down onto Xander's cheekbone - watched the younger man shiver under his touch. "Oh, it's..."
Xander couldn't hide his grin - didn't hide the shivers Wesley's warm, dry fingers over the sore skin sent through him. "New?"
"Stunning. But are you certain -?" Wesley realized Xander was staring at him and flushed. "Yes, of course you're certain. I'm sorry."
"Kinda permanent." Xander leaned his face into Wesley's touch, leaned into Wesley.
"There are many tribes, both demon and human, where young warriors do fierce battle for the right to this sort of decoration." Wesley waited until Xander's eye opened and focused on him. "I don't believe any of them would find you lacking."
*You always know what to say, Wes. Always say the right thing. Warrior is right...* Spike stroked Wes' chest in appreciation and affection - watched a huge smile bloom across Xander's face even as he blushed.
"Really?" Xander asked, and Wes smiled back - touched the tattoo again and then slid his hand back into Xander's hair.
"Really, Xander. You've earned such a thing. And...it's beautiful."
"You said that," Spike murmured, pulling Xander closer - wanting them skin on skin, in the bed - in the Nest they were going to construct.
"It bore repeating," Wesley said, and kissed Xander's forehead - nose - eyelid and then the tattoo, gently.
Xander breathed in the mingled scents - peppermusk lust and Spike's tequila-smoke - and nuzzled his way to Wesley's ear. "Spike got a couple of new toys in Ojai." He felt Wesley's jolt and stepped back with a grin and a stretch. "All in favor of building the Nest and getting naked?"
"Aye."
"Too fuckin' right."
"The people have reached a consensus!"
Spike gunned the motorcycle's engine - blasted away from the intersection and down the street, grinning. Hearing the appreciative yells from other cruisers, admiring his custom bike. Or maybe admiring the luscious human draped over his back like a second skin. Either was good. Xander's arms tightened around his ribs and Spike went a little faster, whipping around a corner and taking deep breaths of the rain-washed air. Heading downtown - going to find a nest of vamps. Going to kick a little ass and not worry about the policy of it, or the politics, or if it was right. Just doing it, for the sheer thrill of the dance. And for Wes, of course.
"Turn here!" Xander freed an arm from Spike's waist, squinting into the wind at the street signs, Spike's back a comfortable and solid warmth beneath him - still holding on to the heat from the bath. The bath that had been interrupted by the highlight reel of a vampire attack about to happen. "Wes said off Seventh and Mateo. Near the bus station." Xander's hair was still wet but there was a live current under his skin - a jump of adrenaline like he used to feel before patrols in high school, knowing the big gun was on his side.
"Ta!" Spike yelled back, leaning into the curve and sweeping neatly around a slow-moving Honda. Ahead, still several blocks away he could see the Greyhound Bus sign, glowing against a backdrop of seedy buildings. *Stupid fledges, picking such a shite neighborhood.* Spike pressed back into Xander, shivering slightly. Wes' vision had come, and he'd said something dazedly about calling Angel. And Xander had asked what he'd seen and then... And then he'd told them, and then - the vision had stopped. It wasn't supposed to stop cycling until Wes had told 'the Champion'. Spike couldn't help wondering - aloud, and slightly desperately, if that meant Xander were a Champion.
*Stupid fucking Powers. I didn't volunteer for any bloody martyrdom.* But Wes...had been so happy. *Pillock,* Spike thought fondly, and ducked into the station parking lot.
Get the vamps before the vamps get on a bus and turn it into their all night buffet. Simple enough, in theory - but why? What made the people on this bus any more important than all Xander's classmates who had nasty accidents with barbeque forks?
That was one of the questions Xander planned to ask if he ever had an audience with the Powers, right after 'Have you always been such sadistic fucks, or have you improved with age?'
Xander didn't plan on surviving that meeting if it ever happened, but he hoped they'd deign to answer before he died.
"Wes said there was green light but all I see is red and blue - and street lights."
"We'll find it," Spike said. "Rather be clearing out a nest on Rodeo - better pickings after." Spike parked the bike and turned it off - searched for a cigarette and lighter while Xander climbed off and stretched a little, patting himself down for the pair of stakes he'd stashed in his coat. Spike lit up and inhaled deeply - got off the bike as well and sauntered toward the station. *Green light...shouldn't be too hard...* "Sodding visions...need to find a way out of that for Wes. He can't be doing this forever."
"The job does have a higher turnover rate than the Doublemeat Palace. And we know what that meant now." Xander passed Spike a stake. A bus rumbled by on its way into the back lot, blowing Xander's hair across his face before he pushed it away. No patch - no patch now ever, and it was probably his imagination but it was like he could see better now, without it. "It was outside, so let's check the alleys."
Years of trailing safely behind the Slayer were not wasted on Xander; he was sticking to the walls and the safe places behind Spike, ready to lend the pointy end of his stake. "I think they only transferred 'cause Doyle was about to die - and I kinda - okay I really like Wes alive. It seems like a lifetime gig."
"Yeah, Wes said." Spike sighed - squinted through smoke and the misty air. There was nothing remotely green in this alley. "Let's try one over, yeah?" He caught Xander's hand this time - squeezed it lightly before letting go, grinning over at the man. Xander grinned back and they walked briskly out of the alley, going in search of another one.
"Bingo," Xander said softly behind him, and Spike let the demon rise - felt the tingling pop of demon as the vamps they were searching for came into view. Beside him, Xander shivered - feeling that pop in the link, Spike was sure.
"Time to play," Spike replied softly.
At the end of the alley, a go-light flickered green; intermittent cast of a malfunctioning bulb. Xander stepped forward in the time-honored tradition of bait guy. "Hey guys - are you taking the 9:40 to Escondido? Cause I hate to break it to you but - you're gonna miss it." So, it wasn't up to Slayer standards. Xander couldn't let a Slay go by in silence - it was the principle of the thing.
"Huh," Spike said, and then he was moving, leather and spiky-haired blur and two vamps were bowled over backwards, one crashing into a wall, the other going down hard on his tailbone. Xander thought he might have heard a crack.
"What, you didn't like my preslay quippage?" Xander asked, moving forward - stalking the tail-bone vamp who was moving in a crablike manner across the alley floor. Spike staked a third vamp and ducked a kick from a fourth. Xander readied his stake for tail-bone vamp.
"Slayer's had better, love. You need more practice," Spike said - growled and did a spinning kick into a gangly vamp with a length of chain in his hand - vamp number five.
"It's not like my life is overrun with vamp stakeage." Xander paused, straddling tailbone vamp and looking up at Spike. "Well - not this kind of vamp stakeage."
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!" Tailbone vamp yelped - squirmed, wriggled and pounced Xander onto his back. The stake went flying and Xander remembered why the quips were for preslay and postslay and not midslay. Trying to hold a vampire's fangs away from his jugular was a great reminder. Super reminder. Kinda late reminder!
"You know - you could probably still make your bus if you left right now."
And holy hounds of Hades, the vamp actually checked his watch! *Grab stake. Stake with stake! And the crowd goes wild!* Xander dropped back onto the pavement, coughing on vampire dust. Oh yeah - just like old times.
"Christ, love," Spike stretched out his hand and hauled Xander to his feet, brushing at Xander's shirt. "That shite's harder on your lungs than cigarettes." There was a clatter and a sixth vamp lunged from behind a defunct soda machine, heading for the alley entrance. Spike made a disgusted noise and hefted his stake - aimed and let fly and smirked in satisfaction as the vamp exploded into particles. Xander winced and touched his tattoo.
"It didn't get messed up, did it?" he asked anxiously, and Spike tilted his head toward the light, examining him critically.
"Nah, looks fine. Let's go get a drink, yeah?"
"You said something about going up to Rodeo for good postslay pickings...?" Xander slipped an arm around Spike's waist, under the duster, where the skin was still holding the last of its borrowed heat.
"Probably a nest or a lair or something we could toss. Unless you care if I break into that shop - the one with the weird spy stuff?"
"Sharper Image?" Xander asked, and Spike felt around for another cigarette - lit up and pulled Xander closer. Xander leaned into the pull and bumped them off a wall, kissing. "Get a few drinks in me before we talk about knocking over Sharper Image."
"Whatever you like, pet," Spike said - leaned in to press his nose into the skin behind Xander's ear, taking in a deep breath and letting Xander's scent saturate his lungs. "Find a nice present for Wes," he added, thumb caressing the silver ring Xander had given him.
Cool lips on warm skin - Pavlov's dog was never better trained than Xander. He tilted his head away, sliding his hand up the back of Spike's neck. "There's that adult shop on Olympic - " Spike nipped and he shivered " - where we can get something very nice for Wesley. And then we'll go somewhere Cordelia-approved to get something nice he can show off at work."
"Mmmm...like that idea. Bloody brilliant." Spike nipped again and enjoyed the shiver that ran through Xander's body - leaned back, finally, and tugged Xander into a faster walk. "Got to find something else to do first, though - Wes needs a few hours alone with his books."
"Hussy," Xander muttered, and then giggled, and Spike bumped him with his hip.
"Let's go cheat some wankers outta their paychecks. I know a bar with a couple good pool tables."
"You want to hustle pool with a man with no depth perception?"
"They'll think you're an easy mark, love," Spike grinned. "We'll make a bloody fortune."
"Where's Wes?" Xander asked the pillow, too tired and sore to contemplate lifting his head.
Or possibly too hung over to contemplate lifting his head.
In either case, no head-lifting was happening soon.
But that was no reason for Spike's fingers to stop with the rubbing. Nice rubbing and clearly Spike and holy god was Xander glad they'd made the Nest before getting hammered.
Xander remembered slayage in there somewhere too.
He also remembered why he didn't drink.
"Wes is getting water. Or aspirin. Or both. Or...more alcohol. I'm not sure," Spike muttered, pushing a little harder into the warm flesh of Xander's back - pushing his face into silken, wind-knotted hair that still held the faint tang of bar-smoke and lemons and pre-dawn mist off the sea. Xander groaned. There was the sound of water running and then shutting off and then Wes was back, walking carefully across the floor. Carefully because there was no floor. All the architectural knowledge that Xander possessed - and all the growled expletives that Spike had unleashed - had not made Wes' bed any bigger, or the pillows stack any better. About a third of the Nest was on the floor. It made the floor Nesty, as well, which was good. Spike distinctly remembered falling to the floor with a Wesley attached to him and being grateful for the over-spill.
Wes lowered himself to the bed with two bottles - water and aspirin. Immediately, Spike reached over and pulled him close, squishing Xander and making the man groan again, a little louder.
Wesley swayed close to Spike, tempted by the swollen gloss of his lower lip that still tasted faintly of cigarettes and whiskey and the raw vampire flavor of sex and blood. "I was only gone a moment," he protested, feeling himself grabbed and held and kissed with greedy hunger he couldn't help but return.
"Water, aspirin, alcohol or a gun to the head. Now, please." Xander gave up his struggle before it began, boneless between two bodies.
"Can't resist you, Wes - mmm...cinnamon..." Spike kissed Wes until the toothpaste taste was fading and Xander was groaning loudly, a sulky edge to his voice and something like whimper in the link. Spike let Wes up for air and looked down at Xander, who had turned over and was staring pitifully up at them.
"Water? Aspirin?" he pleaded, and Spike patted him on the cheek.
"No more tequila shots for you, love." Wes made a snorting sound and fished for the bottles - cracked one and then the other and solicitously helped Xander up, cradling Xander between his thighs and doling out pills. Xander swallowed and then swallowed some more, until half the water was gone.
"At least Wes loves me enough to help me," he pouted, snuggling back into the older man's arms. Wes grinned over the dark head and winked at Spike.
Xander's hair was soft and warm and silky - and did smell of clubs, wind and smog and he pushed into Wesley's combing fingers like a furry pet. "It isn't love, I assure you. It's empathy." Wesley pressed a kiss to the crown of Xander's head with the careful gentleness of a man who has been to hell in a hangover many times.
"I'll take what I can get," Xander mumbled, trying not to snicker at Spike's cocktail of amusementaffectionlust and the knowledge that Spike was sharing his headache - and maybe the nice good scratch-scratch of Wesley's fingernails over his scalp.
"Wait - you don't love me?" Xander turned a bloodshot and half-closed eye on Wes - not his best effort at 'big, sad, and teary' - and Wesley stared for one horrified moment before breaking into wheezing snickers. Xander humphed and wormed away, burying his face in the pillows again. Spike leaned on Xander's buttocks - *somehow, they look affronted!* Wesley thought - and pulled Wesley down again, silencing all laughter in a scorching kiss.
"Course he loves you, pet," Spike said, between kisses, and Wesley reached blindly and found - a shoulder.
"Of course I do, Xander. Let me - ooh - let me show you..."
"Nooooo..." Xander moaned, as the Nest they'd built bounced under Spike's enthusiasm. "I believe you. Show me later." Xander pulled a pillow over his head with a moan and hoped to suffocate where it was warm and dark and soft and smelled like demons and humans and sex. His dreams of great ways to die hadn't changed much over the years - except he'd always thought he'd be one of the ones having the sex.
"Poor thing," Wes crooned, stroking his back, and Spike's cool tongue traced the tattoo on his bicep, followed by nibbling teeth.
"I'm never drinking like that again," Xander said. "Go 'way and let me die in peace."
"Feelin' a bit...peckish, Wes. Pancakes?" Spike sat up and crawled away.
"IHOP doesn't deliver," Wes said, but the voices were moving away, and Xander sighed and burrowed into darkness, hoping the anvil chorus in his head would be gone the next time he surfaced.
"There's..." Wesley opened his cabinets and winced.
"Leeks?" Spike asked.
"Leeks and whiskey," Wesley admitted. "I went shopping."
"For whiskey."
"Spike, you can't object to whiskey. It's - it's hypocritical."
"I'm evil - I'm allowed hypocrisy. Leeks, however..." Spike shuddered and jumped up onto the counter - pulled Wes between his thighs and wrapped his arms around him. "Does anybody deliver pancakes? Or maybe waffles. This is L.A.! There has to be waffle delivery." Wes' skin tasted deliciously of sweat and pepper and tea and Xander, and Spike licked a trail up his shoulder and pushed into the warm crook of Wes' neck, humming happily.
"I'm afraid shopping is - is in order...oh, right there -" They both jumped when Xander's phone cried 'more more more!'. "When did he change his ringtone?"
"Shoot it or answer it!" Xander shouted from the bedroom, punctuated by the thump of a thrown pillow against the adjoining wall.
Spike reluctantly pushed Wes aside and jumped down, heading for the kitchen table. "Bloody Billy bloody Idol and his bloody cheek. 'Oh no, Spike, wouldn't dream of stealin' your look, mate! It's just for the night!' Bloody poser." He snatched Xander's jeans from where they'd landed over a pile of Wes' notes and found the cell phone - snapped it open.
"Xander's phone, he's dead," he growled.
"Then you're going to have to give me the directions and I'll pay last respects when I get there," Carl said.
"What?"
"Directions to yours. As in, I need them," Carl said. "And Alex has them."
Spike stared at the phone for a moment and then tossed it to Wesley with a shrug. "It's Xander's mate. He needs directions." Spike grabbed his cigarettes and gestured to the door.
"Xander's ma - Spike, which one?" Wesley lifted the phone gingerly to his ear. "Hello?"
A warm chuckle, California accent. "Carlos Ayala. Alex calls me Carl."
"Oh, you. Yes, Xan - Alex has mentioned you. I'm sorry we didn't have a chance to meet when I was visiting him in Sunnydale. Where are you coming from?"
Spike listened with half an ear as Wes told Carl how to get to the house. He waded through the pillows on the bedroom floor to grab a clean pair of jeans and slapped Xander on the ass as he went by. "Carl's coming. Better get up," he said, grinning. Something like horror! shot through the link and Xander jolted upright, his hair a rat's nest.
"What? Carl? Where?"
"On the road. Headed here." Spike sauntered out, doing up the bottom couple of buttons on his jeans and was intercepted by an irate Wes.
"Spike, why didn't you tell me someone was coming by? This house isn't fit for pigs, let alone guests." Wesley gestured and Spike looked around at scattered clothes, shredded plastic bags, boxes, books, papers, take-out leftovers and the overspill of pillows from the Nest. He shrugged and tapped out a cigarette.
"Carl won't care, love - he's a man."
"With a wife and three kids. Jesus Christ. The sun's out today." Xander scowled and squinted in the bedroom doorway and then retreated to the bathroom, muttering and slamming things, and Wes started shifting books.
Spike leaned in the front doorway, protected by Wes' out-of-control wisteria and smoked. "Not the soddin' apocalypse. Just Carl."
"And this is my mother in law, Mariposa Villarreal."
From the corner of his eye, Xander saw horror flicker over Wesley's face and pitied him his half-hearted shuffle to block the chaotic living room from view. Wes shook hands in greeting and stuttered out abject apologies that Xander knew weren't necessary from long personal experience. And from the knowing smirk on Abuela Mariposa's face.
"You live life, you make a mess. Don't worry." She waved Xander closer and gave him a pat on the cheek light enough not to make his skin crawl and whimper with pain. He thought he was doing pretty good playing Mr. Subtle Hangover too - until she spoke. "Alex - you take this, okay? It's good for hangovers." Xander tried not to groan - or turn green - while taking the heavy bag of tamales out of Mariposa's hands; large hands, hands that hadn't been shy about their work in over half a century.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Abuela!" Spike swooped in from somewhere and kissed the woman on the cheek, grinning like a hyena and Mariposa patted his cheek rather hard.
"You! You aren't taking care of Alex. Look at him!"
"He just can't hold his liquor," Spike scoffed. Xander made a face at him which he ignored. Spike reached out and snagged Wesley closer. "Did you meet our Wes? What'd you think?" Wes squirmed a little and Xander rolled his eyes - carried the tamales into the kitchen. Carl followed him, lugging a cooler.
"I think you're not taking care of him either." Mariposa cocked her head and put a hand against the center of Wesley's chest and he flinched - but couldn't back away with Spike's arm around him. "Huh." She gave his chest a pat and stepped into the room.
Mariposa followed Carl and Xander into the kitchen and Spike tugged at Wes' arm and kept him in the living room for a moment, snuggling close and kissing his neck. He'd felt the little shudder go through Wes when Mariposa had touched him. She was la curandera - a healer - and powerful in her own right, and you couldn't be a demon and not feel her. Even Wes, only half-demon and still so new to everything could sense her.
"She wouldn't hurt a flea, Wes," Spike murmured, and Wes looked over at him, smiling hesitantly.
"Then I wasn't...imagining...?
"Not at all. She's got power to spare, but it all goes for helping. Now - let's go see to those tamales. Xander won't have the stomach for 'em - that means more for us."
Xander didn't, fleeing to the living room at the first savory whiff and told himself that Mariposa's wicked chuckle couldn't possibly be directed at him.
Who was he kidding?
Of course it was directed at him.
That woman had a smirk that could win Spike's professional approval.
Unfortunately, his cowardly flight from the land of culinary treats left him standing awkwardly in the living room being callously smirked at and it was too late to turn it in a casual stroll to the couch. For one thing, there was nothing on the couch but an empty takeout bag.
So when his phone rang, he blessed whoever it was, swore to talk to them for as long as they wanted to talk to him and waded manfully into the Nest in search of his phone.
"Abuela - now don't. We're just here to visit, not -"
"Carlos, what? I just need a pot to heat the soup in! What am I supposed to do, heat it by magic?" Mariposa rolled her eyes and opened another cabinet, tsking as she saw the bare shelf and tin of leeks. "This is a kitchen? This is a disgrace! Spike! What sort of way is this to take care of family, huh?"
"Not my house, Abuela - it's Wes' kitchen."
"And you're his novio! You're supposed to look out for him! Is this the only pot you have?" Abuela turned her gimlet gaze on Wes and Spike hugged him closer. Wes gaped for a moment and then stepped manfully up.
"Well, I - well, yes. I don't - don't do a lot of cooking and a - a plethora of pots and pans seemed...seemed foolish."
Xander snickered as he unearthed the phone. *Do not fight Abuela Villarreal, Wes. The next thing you know, you'll wake up in the kitchen section of Bed Bath and Beyond with a cart full of pots and no idea how you got there.* He flipped his phone open and answered quietly enough not to jar any of his surviving brain cells. "Speak quietly and this conversation will go on a lot longer."
"Xander?" Giles spoke quietly. Blessedly quietly.
"I love you."
Giles chuckled - warm and not loud. "This is somewhat sudden. What about Spike?"
"Spike is a bad, bad vampire who comes bearing tequila."
"Ah. I see. If he comes bearing a drink involving a raw egg and claims of a miracle hangover cure, he's lying."
"Not a raw bloody egg! That's disgusting! Tabasco sauce!" Spike yelled, and Xander snickered - winced. He waded back out to the living room and slouched down on the couch, closing his eye.
"No eggs, no Tabasco, no hair of the dog. I just need some Demerol or something."
"That will teach you to go drinking with a vampire," Giles chuckled, and Xander smiled. In the kitchen there was a clatter and a string of soft curses from Spike - a burst of Spanish from Mariposa that Xander was too tired to translate. Something about pans and...dear god - goat's milk?
"Never, ever again. I promise. I'll be good," Xander moaned. Another soft laugh from Giles and Xander took a deep breath. "So, what's the up, Giles? Something new?"
"Nothing you aren't aware of." Giles' voice warmed considerably and Xander realized how glad he was to hear Giles' voice with that tone - directed at him. "You and Spike made quite a stir at Angel Investigations."
Xander groaned. Okay, suddenly less glad. "Who snitched?"
"A dozen Slayers. Have you forgotten already how quickly gossip spreads between teenaged girls?"
The memory of a dozen pairs of eyes took a throbbing journey through Xander's skull and he remembered suddenly that each had email and a council-equipped cell phone. It was worse than a spy network. "If this is the phone call about responsibility and duty and not pissing off Angel too much, can I take a rain check?"
"This is the call about are you all right, Xander?"
Xander pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it. Giles' number was still displayed on the screen. "There's a possibility I'm hallucinating - but other than hung over, yeah. I'm - I'm great. Spike's great - this isn't the call where you try to talk me out of the me and Spike thing, is it?"
"No. It's not that call either."
*Thank Christ,* Spike thought, listening in on Xander's conversation and feeling the surprise and gladness rippling out from the man. *'Bout time the Watcher figured enough was enough.* Spike hopped up onto the kitchen counter and watched with a smirk as Abuela showed Wes how to sharpen a carving knife. Wes - who could hone a knife to a sharpness that could split one thought from another - was taking it all in stride. Standing there with his blue eyes shaded by half-lowered lids, and his mouth curving up in a gentle smile. *Beautiful man...so fucking special...*
"Abuela, leave the man alone! He knows how to sharpen a knife."
"A hunting knife, maybe - this is different! Stir the soup, Carlos, don't just agitate it like a washing machine. Bring the vegetables up from the bottom." Carl rolled his eyes and went back to soup duty and Spike recoiled slightly as he turned from smirking at Carl to find Abuela Mariposa not ten inches from him.
"And do you think that the kitchen counter is where you should be sitting, Spike? Food is prepared there." Spike nodded and slid down, edging toward the living room and catching the gleam of amusement in Wes' eyes. "Although what sort of food is prepared in here is the question. Carlos! I must go to the market."
A thread of what felt suspiciously like a cry for help wound through Xander and he muffled a laugh.
"I wasn't aware the English weather was so amusing." Giles' voice was dry and Xander scrambled backward through his memories trying to remember what Giles had said about the weather. Funny - it was hard to think with Spike edging his way toward the living room.
Xander made room for his sudden armful of vampire and shifted the phone, wave of amusement and love from Spike who was still watching Wesley - and that was good too. "Well, it is kinda funny when you say it's raining and act all surprised. I mean London? I'm thinking rain and brollies."
"That...sounds so very wrong when you say it. Please don't say it again." Giles warm, amused - affectionate voice made Xander feel a wave of nostalgia and Spike turned on the cushions and tugged him close, hand going to Xander's hair and petting gently.
"It's like a virus - Spike and Wes are infecting me with weird English words all the time. I'm a sick, sick man," Xander said, leaning into the petting and closing his eye again. Spike's cool fingers made his head feel better, too. There was a noise near the front door and then a sharp knock and Wes hurried out of the kitchen, looking relieved. He opened the door and stepped back hastily as a figure in coat and hat pushed through.
"Russ?" Spike called, sitting up, and another figure came inside.
Russ, for sure, who helped Sol struggle out of his oversized trench coat. Once his head was free, Sol lifted his nose to the air and sniffled. A ripple ran through his sleek fur and he narrowed his eyes, tongue curling out over sharp teeth before he stalked to the kitchen, a demon of purpose.
"Ssmellss good."
"Then you stir, gatito. Carlos stirs like he's mixing concrete."
Sol snickered, plucking the spoon from Carl's hand and shooing him with a delicately-clawed hand. "You go. No good at stove cooking."
"What? No greetings for us?" Spike twisted in Xander's hold to face the kitchen.
Xander watched Sol flick a dismissive gesture at them, his attention focused entirely on the pot. Sol was a demon of priorities in the kitchen. The food came first.
"Yesss. Is whatever. You don't cook." Sol grinned wickedly. "You iss all bad at stove cooking."
"He wouldn't let me stop at McDonalds." Russ sank into a chair with a creak and a sigh. "Starving all the way here and he wouldn't let me stop at McDonalds."
"MacDonaldsss," Sol said, a wealth of scorn in his voice. "That iss not food."
"He's absolutely right. McDonalds is trash. Russ, you look terrible, has Sol been keeping you up nights?"
"Abuela!" Carl groaned, and Mariposa grinned, coming around the low wall that divided the kitchen from the living room to walk over to Russ and pat him on the head.
"All right, Carlos, I make him tell me. Come have tamales, Russ. I brought them for Xander but he's too sick to eat them." A sharp look from Mariposa and Spike wrapped his arms a little tighter around Xander, shielding him.
"Let him be, Senora Abuela, his head hurts," Spike chided.
"A raw egg in brandy will fix that," Mariposa called over her shoulder, and Xander groaned. Russ hauled himself upright and went into the kitchen, making 'feed the poor starving man' noises at Sol, who whapped him with his tail.
Xander snuggled lower under Spike, basked in possessivepossessive and snickered. "When did you change sides?"
"Didn't change sides, love. Always on your side." Spike kissed carefully, sweetly and like Xander might break - and he had to admit he still felt like that was a possibility.
"Like you on my side." Xander tugged Spike over and ruffled a hand into his hair.
"Charming as this is, Xander, you do remember you're on the telephone with me, don't you?"
Xander jerked back from the guilty verge of forgetting he was on the telephone and groaned. "Sorry, Giles."
"Lemme have that," Spike said, and slipped the phone out of Xander's hands. "What's the news, Rupert?" he asked, and heard a sigh come down the line.
"I'm sure you heard everything I said, Spike," Giles replied, and Spike nodded to himself.
"That I did. Rain, and the new secretary has her lip pierced and...you bein' good to my boy. 'Bout time, Rupert."
"Yes, I... Yes, it was," Giles said, and Spike handed the phone back to Xander with a grin - got up off the couch to rescue Wesley from Mariposa, who was asking him if he had any cleaning supplies.
"You're being nice to Spike too, Giles. I -" Xander found himself without words as he watched Spike barge his way into the tiny kitchen behind Sol's back and around Russ' bulk, Wesley wedged into his corner with Mariposa, the warmth so intense for a moment his headache went away. *Totally mad fucking in love.* "Thanks." To the silence on the other end of the phone, he watched Spike taste the soup, dodge Sol's tail (and claws), pour himself a whiskey - and at that point, Xander's stomach rebelled and he had to find something else to look at.
Like the ceiling.
"This is an awkward moment in the conversation," Giles observed.
"It's okay. We're handling it like men in manly companionable silence."
"At international rates."
Xander grinned up at the spider crawling across the ceiling. "Bill the Council."
"Rest assured, I will be putting this down as a Hellmouth expense. Xander...Angel said -"
"I'll bet I know exactly what he said. But we were serious, Giles. We're just - done. We just wanna...put it behind us. I'm tired of working in graveyards, Giles, and Spike's tired of living in them."
Another silence, after that, that wasn't quite as comfortable, and Xander listened to the trans-Atlantic connection pop and hiss in his ear, faint and whispery. Giles sighed.
"I suppose I can - understand that, Xander. It's been - hard on all of us but you're...still there... Angel was nearly apoplectic. I had to cover the mouthpiece." Xander snorted, and Giles chuckled, and the mood went back to lighter - went back to better. *Love* from Spike and Xander watched the spider drop down on a strand of web, swaying slightly in the air-currents in the house. Big air current as the front door opened and Gunn limped in.
"Hey - Wes, you havin' a party and forget to invite me?" He dropped a heavy bag by the front door. "And there's three kids and a hot babe hanging in your magnolia tree."
"Charles! Thank god!"
Xander watched Wes struggle his way through the throng of four in the kitchen and snickered at the sudden stunned silence on the phone. "Good lord, Xander! How many people are there? Wesley said he lived in a small one bedroom cottage."
"He does. You should see it. It's so crowded, Spike should lie on top of me to save space."
"Should I, pet?" Spike said, sauntering over, bottle in one hand and shot glass in the other. Xander rolled his eyes and Spike flopped down, head in Xander's lap and feet dangling over the arm of the couch. Wes stood near the door, speaking in a low voice to Gunn who was watching with wide eyes as Sol and Mariposa bickered over whether or not to add salt to the soup.
"I think we're done here, don't you?" Giles was saying, and Xander grinned into the phone.
"Probably. You don't think I'd make out with Spike while I was on the phone, do you?"
There was a moment's silence and then Giles cleared his throat. "Um. Not as such, however...Wesley mentioned -"
"C'mere and lemme kiss you, love," Spike said loudly and Xander giggled - held his head.
"I'm too hung over to make out. And not in front of Abuela, anyway. I'll call you soon Giles, okay?"
"Yes, please do. Be careful...the both of you."
"Yeah. Bye, Giles," Xander said, and then there was nothing but the soft purr of a dead line and Xander folded up his phone. Smiled as Spike reached and stroked his cheek.
"All right, love?"
"You mean aside from my head splitting like an overripe cantaloupe, right?" Xander dropped his phone onto the side table and leaned his cheek into Spike's stroking fingers. "Yeah. I'm so much more than all right, I'm booked into the Penthouse suite of the All Right Hilton." He let his eye close, toyed with the soft-washed peroxide curls under his fingers. "With a tray of strawberries and champagne - " Xander winced. "Okay, a tray of strawberries and whipped cream, a hot tub and -"
"Changa!" Mariposa yelled out the kitchen window. "Get out of that tree! We're going to the store!"
"- peace and quiet."
Mariel came into the house looking overheated and a little harassed, dragging Alejandro by the hand. He was six, very stubborn, and at the moment filthily dirty and Spike saw Wesley shudder and put out a hand - then stop and turn back to Gunn, squaring his shoulders and obviously doing his best to ignore the scatter of twigs and shredded leaves that Jan left in his wake.
"Jan needs the bathroom," Mariel said in passing, grinning at Spike and Xander.
"I do not!" Jan groused, but let himself be pushed inside and the door shut.
"Don't make a mess!" Mariel pushed her hair back out of her face and turned to the kitchen. "Sol! How are you? Hey, Russ. Mami! What are you doing? Leave that alone, what will Mr. Wyndam-Pryce think!" Mariel lunged at her mother, who was rifling through the junk draw in the kitchen.
"There's no church key, changa."
"We'll buy one," Mariel said, slamming the drawer and giving Sol a one-armed hug - air-kissing Russ. Xander was giggling hysterically into a pillow and snorted helplessly when Jan came out of the bathroom, sans jeans.
"These won't button!" he yelled.
"No kids," Xander whispered to Spike, who was watching with a kind of fascinated horror as Jan stomped over to their couch.
"Jander! Button me."
Xander groaned and sat up, dislodging Spike's head and taking the grubby pants. "You've gotta learn to put your own pants on, buddy. Sit on the table."
"No. None. Ever," Spike agreed as Paloma - middle, girl, eight, attitude - stalked into the house.
"Are we going or what? I want to go!"
"Going where?" Jan asked, kicking his feet. Xander whapped them.
"To the store," Paloma said and Spike watched Jan pout and Mariel roll her eyes.
"Yeah, never," Spike repeated. "Why don't we just slip into the bedroom -"
"Do you have a lot of pillow fights?" Jan had turned all of his attention on Spike. "There were lots of pillows. There was even a pillow in the bathroom."
Xander remembered clutching that pillow under his aching head on the cool tile floor and blushed. "Yeah. Tons of pillow fights. Every night, we're...fighting in the pillows."
"Mmm, yeah. Pillow fights. Rolling and pouncing and...biting -"
"Spike!" Mariel tugged Jan's jeans up - tugged the boy up and buttoned and zipped, all while giving Spike the death-glare she'd inherited from her mother.
"Sorry, Mariel," Xander mumbled, and Spike grinned at her.
"We're going to buy food. Wesley! You're going to show us the way to the market. Spike, Xander -" Mariposa called, "the kitchen needs straightening and why is there a pillow in the bathroom? Unsanitary. Paloma! We're going!"
Mariposa stood with her purse and a string bag in her hands, looking impatient. Wesley looked beseechingly over at the two on the couch and Spike waved happily.
"Have fun, mate!"
Dizzyhotlusty. On the back of Spike's motorcycle, pressed to Spike like a second skin - like a really tight tee shirt. That close, and tingling with a heady infusion of Spike's blood. Xander slid a hand up under Spike's shirt, scratching upward toward the chill metal rings he hadn't been done playing with when the call came from one of Wesley's contacts, a half demon named Hal.
A deal was going down. A deal with demons and illicit magical gems and seedy bars, oh my. A deal Hal thought Wesley would be really interested in.
And Wesley had agreed.
Xander licked up the back of Spike's neck, salt and smoke and the lingering tang from Wesley biting the nape of Spike's neck when he came. This was the life he'd signed on to years ago when he became the Slayer's boy. Adventure, excitement - okay there was more time spent wrapped around a sexy vampire guy than High School Xander had ever imagined but that was, as the saying goes, of the good.
Spike wanted to pull over, dismount, and fuck Xander right through the plate-glass window of the 'Pay-Day Check Cashing' place. Xander's warm breath, warm hands - warm tongue - were all driving him to distraction and he knew he was vamped out. Driving through the streets of L.A. with the most gleeful of faces - hard as nails, floating on the heady brew that was Xander's blood and *loveminewanthappy* rolling over and over him - tingling through him. Nothing - nothing - was better. Pleasant ache when he shifted on the saddle that brought Wes vividly to mind - Wes pushing his thighs wider and fucking him; shivering into the demon aspect so he could fuck harder and Xander kissing Spike into panting breaths...
And now - a little wheeling and dealing - a little action. Unlife...was perfect.
A block ahead he saw the stutter neon that spelled out 'The Eight Ball' and he looked for a space to park. Mentally checking his weapon inventory and making a grumbling noise of pure pleasure as Xander cupped his erection and squeezed. *Oh, yeah. Perfect.*
"Save this." Xander gave another squeeze and let go. Could hear the breathiness in his own voice - ground against Spike for a spine-tingling moment before dismounting and stretching. He needed a new analogy for his blood. He felt like Rice Krispies with a fresh pitcher of milk poured over them. The good kind - with marshmallows. "This place is a dump."
"Yeah, well. Demons tend to gravitate toward dark and damp." Spike lit a cigarette - swung off the bike and into Xander, arm around his waist and all that hot, fragrant flesh pressed tight against him for a moment. Hard cock pushing into Spike's hip and he kissed Xander and let him go. "Save it all night, love. Makes it so much sweeter, when you've been waiting..." Xander grinned at him and together they strode to the door - went inside.
*'Dump' was being kind,* Spike thought, as he stood at the bar and surveyed the worn, broken, and generally second-hand tables, chairs, booths and clientele of the bar. The bartender slopped whiskey into a smudgy glass - opened a beer for Xander and moved sullenly away and Spike snarled after him. No point in hiding in here - he was Spike here - he was William the Bloody and anybody who didn't know would soon find out. Xander was leaning casually on the bar next to him, and Spike smirked to see the envious glances sent his way. *My boy - everybody wants him. But I've got him.*
"Hope this Hal shows soon. This place makes me...edgy," Spike muttered.
"You were a regular at Willy's," Xander murmured back, dropping his head and watching the clientele through his hair. He had to admit they were a lot more colorful than Willy's regulars. A lot more open about what they were - but humanized. There was a green-skinned, bald and mottled demon playing darts who Xander could swear had breast implants. "Not that this place isn't fuckin' weird."
"Willy's was the default, love. Where else was I gonna go? Got sick of the soddin' Bronze and the soddin'...white hats," Spike said, flicking a laughing glance at Xander and swallowing his shot. He banged the glass down and raised a finger and the bartender nodded, coming back their way. "I think - that might be our boy," Spike added, looking at a demon coming in the door.
Xander might have thought it was a trick of the light if he wasn't expecting a half-breed. The guy looked almost human. Hockey jersey, baggy jeans, skin a smooth, rich, dark brown that reminded Xander of Gunn except this guy was short and skinny - and seemed to have gently fluttering gills on the sides of his neck. Xander was pretty sure he'd have noticed if Gunn had gills.
He looked about five years too young to drink - at least - but by the time he reached the bar, the bartender was already popping open a beer and sliding it his way. "You guys gotta be Wes' boys."
"And you gotta be stupid. Keep your voice down, you git," Spike snapped, eyeing the half-breed with discontent. Hal seemed - cheery. Spike didn't like cheery. "So who's the seller and exactly what is he selling?" Spike asked. Hal took a long pull of his beer and licked his lips.
"Vuch. Calls himself Jackie. Claims he's got some spelled Dragga-stones from the Seventh Star. Or something." Hal drank more beer and Spike lit a cigarette - squinted at him through the smoke.
"'Claims'? You said he did. You pretty much told Wesley it was a done deal, Hal. Does he have them or not?" Spike didn't raise his voice, but Hal flinched back a little, just the same.
"Well, you know the Vuch! Could be lying through his teeth! Look, he'll be here in a minute, let's go sit down and -"
"No, we'll stand," Spike growled. He leaned over to Xander and kissed him - nibbled his way to Xander's ear. "Keep a sharp eye out, love," he whispered. Made his way back to Xander's mouth and kissed him again and ignored Hal's gape of surprise.
Xander licked the flavor of whiskey and smoke off his bottom lip and leaned against the bar with a little nod - gave Spike room to move and move fast. He didn't know what a Vuch was - and the Seventh Star thing sounded like something out of one of the DVD sets he'd left behind in Sunnydale - but a guy never lost the ability to look like he knew what was going on. Even when he didn't have a single soggy clue. Spike knew what a Vuch was. Xander was just along to be big and freaky. He could do big and freaky.
Hal looked freaked.
Success.
"Th- that's Jackie coming in. The F'rith behind him is Gunther, his bodyguard."
Vuch were wizened, twisted, and scaly. Rather like animate dried lizards. Jackie was a dull grey sheened with a yellow-gold that did not go well with the lavender leisure suit he was wearing. Or the ropes of gold chains around his scrawny, wattled neck. F'rith, on the other hand, were built like Mack trucks. Solid, earthy brown all cracked and mottled like the Thing. Only Gunther had a fringe of auburn hair and...gold chains.
Spike rolled his eyes and widened his stance ever so slightly, one elbow on the bar, hand holding a full shot-glass and the other lifting his cigarette to his lips. Gunther was big. *Hit him first,* Spike thought, *if there's trouble. Hit him hard.* Jackie swayed up to them, one hand fluttering.
"Hal. You look smashing. So Nelly. Are these your associates you mentioned?" Jackie gave Spike a long, appraising once-over and Spike shifted - canted his hips out a little. Jackie twitched.
"Jackie," Spike purred. "Call me Spike."
"It is a pleasure, Spike." The word oozed forth in a way that might have made Xander's skin crawl if he wasn't busy feeling a rush of smug possession. Until Jackie's eyes slid to him - and down him. "And this is your -" Jackie paused, tongue flickering out to taste the air "- pet?"
"Partner." Xander slid a hand up Spike's back, muscles loose and ready under his shirt. *Mine, you scaly bastard*.
"Part-ner," Jackie said, pursing his lips. He murmured something to Gunther, who grunted and stepped up to the bar. "Let's take a booth, shall we? Standing at the bar - so rent-boy, don't you think?" Jackie's slit-pupiled gaze ran once more up and down Xander's body and Spike growled softly.
"Manners, Jackie," he said - took a last puff of his cigarette and blew the smoke into Jackie's face. "Manners, or I'll find a new and exciting way for you to function without your legs." Jackie's eyes went wide and then slitted, the nictitating membrane flashing across them for a moment.
"Gunther! Make mine a double," Jackie snapped. He turned and swayed toward the booths and Spike pushed slowly away from the bar - gestured to Hal.
"Ladies first, Hal."
Hal glanced back at Spike and Xander. Nervous? Xander wondered. "Gotta table reserved by the door."
Gunther closed a hand around Hal's bicep. His thumb and forefinger overlapped easily. "That table." He pointed to a table half way between the door and the back, a table without an easy run for the door. Confident? Or convinced Xander and Spike would grab the whatever stones and run?
A warm feeling, like a mental shrug rolled off Spike and down Xander's spine, relaxing him. "Yeah. Okay." He really hoped it was in Spike's plan to have his back, because he could feel those reptilian eyes sliding down him - and ew. At least in Sunnydale, he hadn't been worried that the demon of the week wanted him naked and chained to the bed. *New and wiggy.*
Lust curled off Spike like smoke, peeling away from the steady pulse of loathing for the Vuch and the coiled ready ready ready tension.
Okay, when certain demons wanted him naked and tied to the bed, it was less ew. Not on topic - but a lot less ew.
Unwilling to put his blind side to Hal or the rest of the bar, Xander leaned into the corner of booth and wall.