Let's Talk About Sex
by
Estepheia
Part Seventeen
After Dark
When Xander finally arrived at the cemetery it was already long past nightfall. Gusts of wind were hurling leaves into the air and there was the distant rumble of an approaching thunderstorm. He had been determined not to go, but eventually he had been annoyed by his own cowardice and Anya's incessant nagging. This has got to end. He groped around on the floor of the car and grabbed two of the stakes that lay scattered there. I'm not Spike's butt-monkey. He tucked one into his back pocket and put the other into the pocket of his jacket. Did I really say I like the guy? Well, I lied. He grabbed his tool belt and locked the car. I'm not looking for a vampire buddy. I like my friends without the evil.
He felt a bit stupid about this because he KNEW there was nothing at that crypt that needed 'fixing'. Still, Anya would have noticed if he had left without his tools, and leaving them in the car didn't seem like a good idea. And armed with his tools, he could at least pretend that he didn't know what Spike really wanted him in his crypt for.
And I think I just passed Denial 101 with flying colors.
As he neared Spike's mausoleum he saw yellow light seeping out through the arched windows. He could also hear the faint sound of music. He silently approached the crypt door and slowly pressed down the handle, hoping the Doors would drown out the sound of his entry.
...There's a killer on the road
His brain is squirmin' like a toad
Take a long holiday...
He quietly opened the door, his heart beating fast for reasons he wasn't prepared to contemplate. The crypt was lit by dozens of candles that gave off a warm romantic glow. Spike was sitting in his armchair, with his back towards the door and his shoulders stooping forward. A few lit candles were standing on a small rickety table beside him. From the glowing tip of an incense stick, blue smoke curled upwards. For once, the mausoleum didn't smell of death, decay and mould. Spike's right hand was lying on the armrest holding something that looked suspiciously like a joint. The music came from a small portable tape deck that stood on the floor.
...Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown...
Xander suddenly felt like an intruder. Good! Give him some of his own medicine! He tried to rekindle his anger at Spike. Anger was good. It kept him from thinking about the vampire's lips and his eyes and... Oh no! Stop! Not going there. He stepped in and slammed the door shut. The effect it had on the vampire was gratifying. Spike flinched, tossed his joint to the floor and quickly bent forward out of sight, as if he was hiding something. Less than a moment later he propelled himself out of the chair and turned around with a snarl, vampiric features to the fore, facing his visitor.
"Oh, it's you," Spike said, when he recognized Xander, instantly dropping the predator act. His features shimmered briefly, then his handsome human face was back in place. "Hi! What took you?" he asked, smiling, unable to keep his eyes from roaming appreciatively over Xander's broad and muscular body. The boy was wearing tight faded denims and a plain white T-Shirt, obviously work clothes. A pleasant change from his usual wardrobe. But Spike's smile faded when he noticed the scowl on Xander's face.
"Did you think you'd just have to snap your fingers and I'd come running?" Xander asked, radiating hostility.
"Well, you're here, aren't ya?" Spike answered softly, unable to fully appreciate his victory. It had been fun pushing the boy's buttons back at his place; fun, but also stupid. He took a few steps towards the human. "But what do you think you're doing here at night, all alone. For God's sake, Harris, you're really asking for it."
"Oh yeah? Is that what you think? That I'm asking for... something? What am I asking for? Tell me, Spike. Or should I say, what are YOU asking for? Since it was YOU who blackmailed ME into coming here..." Anger is good. Anger is good.
"Huh? Are you daft? All I'm saying is that you shouldn't be out here after sunset, all on yer own! This is a bleedin' cemetery, with all kinds of nasties out there who'd be happy to get a taste of you." He shook his head in exasperation. "As for the rest... I didn't... I mean, I wasn't... oh, bloody hell! Think what you will." Spike turned around, crushed the still smoldering joint under his boot and picked up his cigarettes, fumbling awkwardly to get one out of the packet. Good Lord, does he really think I'd force myself on him?
Xander noted that this was the second time the vampire had expressed concern for his safety. If he goes on like this I'll end up believing him. It was hard to maintain a facade of hostility and anger when the vampire before him looked so... vulnerable. Xander was also uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was primarily angry with himself. Last but not least, he noticed that the vampire was still wearing yesterday's pants. Xander found himself staring at that little bit of white buttock that was showing through the tear.
After the vampire lit his cigarette, he turned around to look at the human. "I wasn't blackmailing you," Spike said tiredly, wondering how he always managed to cock up around humans, and around this human in particular. "Well, perhaps a little," he admitted with a shrug. "Obviously not one of my brightest ideas. Look, if you wanna go home I'll take you to your car."
Spike grabbed his leather jacket from the marble angel it was hanging on and headed for the door. Xander made no move to leave. He just stood there, trying to come to a decision.
Xander didn't know how often he had replayed that kiss in his mind since he had fled from Spike's crypt yesterday afternoon. Often. It had felt like watching an exciting movie that was cut off by a power blackout just as it became interesting. And he had to admit to himself that he was dying to know what would happen next.
So far, The Young Xander Harris Sex Wars Chronicles consisted of - he quickly counted - six exciting episodes... starring a giant praying mantis, an Incan mummy girl, the most self-involved high school beauty of the Western hemisphere, a delinquent Slayer and a thousand-year-old ex-vengeance-demon, not to mention the stellar cast of Sunnydale's entire female population lusting after him because of a botched love spell. For two years now he had lived with the belief that his love life could not possibly get any weirder. Oh boy, was I ever wrong!
Is it the Hellmouth or is it me? And does it really matter?he asked himself. He knew he wasn't the world's most courageous guy, but he had faced monsters and demons and Principal Snyder without completely disgracing himself, and somehow he had always come out of every catastrophe alive. Even without having any super-powers. He wasn't going to let a simple kiss or a horny vampire scare him again.
"Nope. Not going home," Xander said. "More talking, less running away." He smiled at his Anya-ism.
"Oh?" Spike warily raised an eyebrow.
"Unless you want me to leave?"
How about less talking and more shagging? Spike sighed inwardly. But all he said was "Stay."
Part Eighteen
Tales from the Crypt
Xander took a few steps into the crypt and put his tools down. He threw his jacket over the backrest of Spike's chair. Outside the wind began to howl louder. It seemed the thunderstorm was closing in rapidly. Already there was the smell of rain in the air.
"Tea or coffee?" Spike asked.
"What happened to 'I'm-not-equipped-for-live-visitors'?"
Spike just shrugged.
Xander nodded. "Coffee would kinda hit the spot."
Spike turned the music down a bit. Then he poured water from a plastic canister into a dented saucepan (scavenged from the city dump), and plugged in an old fashioned electric immersion heater. He brought out two slightly chipped mugs. Then there was the unmistakable sound of aroma seals being broken. With the cigarette hanging from his mouth Spike put sugar, milk powder and coffee grinds into the mugs and waited for the water to boil. Xander watched him for a moment, then sat down in Spike's armchair. Remembering the way Spike had reacted at his sudden entrance, he looked around to see what it was Spike had hidden. In just a few seconds, he found that something had been tucked underneath the chair. He reached beneath the cushion and found what felt like... A book? So what kind of bedtime stories do vampires read? Probably "American Psycho" or something...
As he was retrieving the hidden treasure, his hand brushed another small object but he couldn't quite tell what it was. He pulled both goodies out of their hiding place and looked at them in disbelief. "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" and a pair of eyeglasses. He snickered.
"Nibblet lent me the book," Spike said, neutrally. He had been watching Xander's smooth detective work while waiting for the water to boil. "I'm rooting for Severus Snape and House Slytherin’, of course," he added, not without a touch of irony.
"I didn't know you read," Xander said.
"What do you think I did before the advent of the idiotbox to while away the decades?"
Xander had no answer for that. But he was beginning to feel that there was a lot he didn't know about the vampire. And oddly, enough, he was looking forward to the new discoveries.
"What happened to superior vampiric vision?" he asked, turning the glasses in his hand and trying to picture both of Spike's faces with spectacles on.
"It's superior enough when I go all fang-y, but when I'm like this..." Spike pointed towards his human face, "I'm actually a bit short sighted. And since I don't like reading in bloodsucker mode... Well, try not to break them."
Xander got up and put the glasses on the television set, together with the book.
Spike crushed his cigarette butt in a saucer, walked over to the young man, and passed him a steaming mug.
"What, no cookies?" Xander tried to joke.
The vampire rummaged in his sarcophagus and wordlessly handed him a large packet of English biscuits, Plain Chocolate Whole-wheat Digestives.
Xander just raised his eyebrow and took a sip of his coffee. It was just as he liked it. He opened the packet and tried a biscuit. Should I comment on his sudden metamorphosis into the perfect host? Better not. He helped himself to another cookie and settled for an appreciative but tactful "Hmmm, yummy!"
You can say that again! Spike thought, watching Xander licking his lips. He found himself getting a bit horny again. Sometimes a vivid imagination wasn't so great, after all.
To distract himself, and because even the undead got the munchies when smoking pot, he ate a few biscuits and sipped his coffee.
He had felt like a complete idiot buying coffee and stuff. Like anyone ever came round for coffee... He'd only bought it because Xander mentioned it. Making Xander feel comfortable had somehow become a priority. That was the depressing truth. Man, you've really got it bad!
"Say," Xander suddenly exclaimed into the lengthening silence, making the vampire jump. "Can I ask you something?"
"Can't see why not."
Xander shifted a bit nervously. "Um, did you ever... uh... 'shag' a live human being without... um... you know, killing that person?"
Spike gave him an evil grin. "What do you think?" he said in his most suggestive voice, raising his scarred eyebrow.
"Um, uh, I guess I don't wanna know, huh?" Xander back-pedalled, slapping himself mentally for venturing onto that kind of treacherous terrain in the first place.
Gullible much? Spike let his grin broaden. "Well, there was this Sheik, and he had this harem, see? 96 girls and a few boys. Definitely more than I could eat, so I let half of them live..."
"Really?" Xander blurted out, swamped by disturbing images of Spike as the Thief of bloody Baghdad. Ugh!
"No, not really, Xander," Spike said, sounding like a parent who told his child that, no, there wasn't a Santa Claus.
Xander frowned and decided not to be deterred by diversionary tactics. "So, Did you?"
Spike hesitated a moment. "No."
"Was that a yes-I-did-but-I-killed-everybody-afterwards or a no-I-never?"
"No I never, but it's at the top of my list of things-to-do-before-I-get-dusted," Spike said, the look on his face making it quite plain just who he had singled out for this particular event. He smiled self-consciously but continued, "Somehow I never got round to it. I mean, I happen to have spent most of my unlife with Drusilla. We were very... close. And... uh... imaginative."
A thought occurred to Xander. "Never? Not even when you were alive?" he asked incredulously.
"Not even then," Spike answered after a pause.
Xander found himself readjusting his mental image of big bad Spike. Which made him wonder... He counted mentally. Drusilla. Harmony. Buffybot. Three? That can't be true!
Spike sighed. He could see the next question coming.
Xander took a deep breath. "Did you... ah ... Have you? Have you ever had sex with another man?"
"Oh yes." Spike said matter-of-factly. He lit himself another cigarette and watched as the young man was trying to pluck up enough courage to continue this strange interview. The tape player turned itself off with a snap. Without the music the sound of rain splattering down on the crypt was suddenly very loud.
"Who?"
"Angelus. Who else?" Spike answered with a shrug, not really willing to elaborate.
"Oh."
Let's see, I'm about to become the latest addition to a short list that includes: a lunatic vampire, one of the most infamous torture-happy vamps ever, the dumbest person to ever walk the earth and a sex robot. And I thought MY sex life was weird. Xander looked up and gave the vampire a once over. He really wants me, that's for sure. There was no mistaking the hungry look in the vampire's eyes or the bulge in his pants. He dropped his gaze again, looking at the mug in his hands as if it was the most fascinating object ever. What does this say about me?
Spike watched as Xander's shoulder slumped forward. "Yeah well," he remarked. "I don't go round shagging just anybody."
"Oh, that's why you dated Harmony. Because you were madly in love with her."
Spike shrugged. "You got me there. Momentary lapse of taste. Rebound girl, I guess."
"And the robot?"
"Well thank you very much for bringing that up," Spike exclaimed, tossing his cigarette to the floor and crushing it underfoot. "When you're finished psychoanalysing me and dissecting my sex life, can we just fast forward to that bit where I rip your clothes off?"
His words were punctuated by loud thunder, as lightning flooded the crypt with a sharp and piercing brightness.
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