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Dining Out by "Great, thanks!" Xander said to the waiter with exaggerated cheer. The waiter (Dan? Stan?) nodded at him doubtfully and left, winding his way through the full tables with evident haste. "Stupid sod," Spike said under his breath. "Gosh, but it's nice to get out for dinner," Xander mused out loud as if to himself. "Mixing with people, getting a change of scenery, having a lovely evening that isn't ruined by a certain crazy person and his insane tormenting of the staff." Xander sighed and turned to Spike in mock wistfulness. "Do you think that we'll ever get to have a night out like that? Because I sure don't remember one happening so far, and it sure ain't happening tonight." Xander tossed his napkin onto the table and glared at Spike. "He's completely incompetent! Coming over here again and again like that, constantly interrupting, talking to you too fucking much," Spike exclaimed in a huff. Several people turned to stare. Xander didn't bother to acknowledge the gawkers. "Christ, Spike -- he just stopped by to ask me how the steak was. How is that incompetent? He's just doing his job, okay?" "I don't like the way he . . . " "Go on," Xander said encouragingly. "Kept refilling our water? Apologized that they were out of artichokes? Quickly cleared the shards of the platter that you broke when you were waving your arms around and snarking about how the other diners don't know how to mind their own business?" He raised his voice at the last part, and the people that were still watching turned away quickly. Spike rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and slumped into the booth. "This sure is the best birthday dinner ever," Xander said pointedly. "Hey there," one of the other waiters said smoothly as he stopped by their table. "Did I hear someone say he's having a birthday tonight?" Xander sighed, then nodded slightly. "Well, let me just tell your regular waiter. Oh, and I'm Mitch, by the way." He patted Xander's arm and winked. "Hang around for a little while, and we'll make sure we do something really special for you." Xander drummed his fingers on the table cloth and finally just pushed his plate away. "You can't tell me that all the waiters singing Happy Birthday and bringing us crappy cake is going to bug you," Xander began. He stopped when he realized that Spike's eyes had narrowed, turned yellow, and were fixed intently on him. "Um . . . " Xander said shakily before Spike grabbed him by the shirt with both fists and pulled him close. When their lips met Xander's eyes were still open in surprise, but his lashes fluttered close at the feel of Spike trailing the tip of his tongue along his lower lip. He murmured wordlessly when Spike dropped one hand to his hip, brushing his thumb against Xander's t-shirt before slipping under the cotton and drawing lightly with a slight scratch along the exposed skin. Once Spike coaxed Xander's mouth open with increased pressure, Xander sighed at the feather-light touches of Spike's tongue in his mouth. He pushed back, brushing his lips against Spike's, then cupping Spike's face in his hand while he let his own head tip back, inviting Spike to control the intense exploration of his mouth. Spike's hand on Xander's hip tightened, and he growled low in his throat. "Oh god, Spike . . ." Xander said hoarsely as he felt Spike mouth along the column of his throat, leaving marks behind the wake of his biting kisses. "No one touches you," Spike said lowly but clearly. "No one but me." "No one," Xander echoed, his head dropping to Spike's shoulder as Spike drew blunt teeth along the tendon at the side of his neck. "So fucking gorgeous," Spike hissed in his ear. "Can't bear those idiots looking at you like that . . . wanting you for themselves . . . you're mine." "Yours," Xander felt his lips move to say, though no sound came out because Spike crushed their lips together once more. His hand sought out the hardness of Spike's cock though his pants without him even realizing it until he was gasping against Spike's mouth because of the pressure he felt there. He drew back to take a breath and -- -- saw that most of the wait-staff was standing in front of their table, surrounding the manager who was holding a small chocolate cake topped with a single sparkling candle. "Hey there," Xander said weakly to the assembled crowd. Most of the people staring earlier had resumed their gaping, though now nearly all conversation in the establishment had ground to a complete halt. "We were just going to wish you a Happy Birthday," their original waiter blurted out. His face was reddened, and he darted his eyes away from the two men. "But, you know, we can see that you're already having a really happy day," Mitch covered smoothly, tugging at a few shirtsleeves until the entire group started to back away from the booth. "Some of the customers are going to complain about that," they heard one of the waiters murmur as the staff dispersed. "Oh, please," Mitch scoffed. "That was so worth any lame complaints. Hell, I'll pay for their meal next week if they came back and put a show like that on again." "Damn," Xander said softly as the other diners returned to their own meals. "Sorry if I ruined your special birthday meal, love," Spike said gruffly. "Screw the meal," Xander said, tossing some bills onto the table. "Let's get the hell out of here and start this up again at home. At first I thought you were just being jerky for some random reason, but if the reason was . . . " Xander glanced at Spike and blushed when he saw the desire so plainly written on his face. "Home?" he croaked out. "Might be a wise idea," Spike agreed, guiding a weak-kneed Xander to the door and back to the car. "Don't want to put on the real show for these berks now, do we? Save that for the new video camera I got you." "Oh boy," Xander said nearly inaudibly. "This really is the best birthday dinner ever." The End
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