"Dru, pet, where are you?" Spike impatiently pushed his hair out of his face. He'd run out of hair gel, time to nick some more and pick up any other supplies they might need. Bloody Hell, where was that woman? Probably hidden in the attic talking to Miss Edith again.

She'd been less than coherent these past weeks and Spike blamed it on the house. It was haunted. No wonder the place had been vacant - a fully furnished little beauty on a cul de sac in a quiet neighborhood, made to order for a vampire and his ladylove. He'd thought the realtor's asking price might be too high, but she'd denied it before he'd eaten her. No, apparently it was the unseen room mate that caused the little gem's permanent "For Rent' sign on the lawn. 

If it wasn't making loud bangs in the middle of the day, it was rearranging furniture in the living room or pulling the minions' hair. Bloody annoying, if you asked him but Dru thought it was funny and the bothersome spirit seemed to have taken a shine to her as well. Everyone else had to check their chairs for tacks and pins before they sat down, but not Dru. No Dru got pretty trinkets and ribbons for her hair. Sure it made her happy but it also made her less inclined to communicate with the more corporeal entities sharing the house.

Spike kept catching her whispering and giggling at the wall. She always shut right up when he entered in the room, always threw him a pout as if he'd interrupted some oh so important, boys aren't allowed, girlie meeting. He'd growl and stomp out refusing to acknowledge that he might be ever so slightly jealous of the attention his Dark Princess was paying to the

anonymous shade.

"Dru!" Spike rattled the locked bedroom doorknob. "Why is this door locked? Let me in pet."

The door opened just a crack and Dru peered out innocently. "Yes, my Spike?"

"Wot are ya doin in there princess?" Spike gave a tentative push to the door, somewhat surprised when she didn't immediately give way and step back.

"Nothing, my Spike. Miss Edith and Miss Anne and I are having tea and discussing women's issues." She answered him imperiously.

"Women's issues eh? Right, well look pet, I've got to go out for a bit, get us some food and such. You stay put all right?" Spike gave her his sternest look which she returned all big eyed and childlike.

"Yes, my Spike. I'll be very, very good." Dru gave him one of her truly beautiful smiles and he blinked, a bit dazzled by it. He hadn't seen one in so long that perhaps he could be forgiven in retrospect for not recognizing that she hadn't actually said that she'd stay put.

He cupped her cheek gently and then whistling a jaunty tune he slid down the banister, grabbing the motorcycle jacket he'd appropriated from last night's victim, and yelling to the minions to hold down the fort before slamming the door on his way out.

Dru shut the bedroom door quietly before turning around and biting her lip at the shade of a young girl smoking an insubstantial cigarette in the corner.

"When the cat's away the mice will play eh, Dru baby? Ya ready teddy?" The girl waved to the trunk at the end of the bed.

"Spike will be awfully upset with me, he'll go all 'bad dog' and growl and snap, perhaps I shouldn't Barbara," she answered fretfully.

"Dru baby you promised. You know the only way I can get out of here is by hitching a ride with you." The teen ghost kicked at the bed leg peevishly. "I'll just die if I don't get out for a bit of fun. I'll just die!" She answered dramatically.

Even Dru saw the humor in that statement and gave the exasperated spirit an affectionate smile before kneeling down to open the trunk.

Inside there were various items of feminine fashion suitable for an American high school girl of the 'I like Ike' years. Several skirts and sweater sets, some socks and a pair of saddle shoes. And hidden deep, a tube of bright red, don't let your momma catch you with this, lipstick.

"C'mon, c'mon the night's a wasting."

Dru held up one of the skirts, a deep red affair with black polka dots. She gave the ghost a concerned look.

"Don't worry, I'll help you dress and do your hair. Oh I can hardly wait." The ghost fairly bounced on the bed. Drusilla still appeared skeptical but with a sigh she allowed herself to pushed, poked and prodded into a fetching ensemble. 

"Okay, twirl, that's it, perfect!" The ghost announced. "Now for the finishing touch, pucker up."


* * * * * *


"Ah smell that sweet California air. I'm going to live here permanently someday, yes siree." Lorne took a deep breath and checked the shine on his penny loafers one last time before heading out into the warm summer night. He briefly wondered if his family was the least bit worried that he hadn't shown up for dinner. Nah!

He grimaced at his less than fond memories of nights around the table watching his brothers snort ale through their noses. Pylea, what a dump! It was nothing like this place with its teenagers and baseball, hot dogs, TV and music, oh yes music, he

thought. He hummed a little of the Platter's newest tune while hoofing his way down the street to 'Twilight Time'. He barely managed to duck behind a tree when a cherry red Chevy filled with giggling girls turned the corner and cruised by him.

"Close one, Lorne," he muttered under his breath. He could picture the scene if they'd caught sight of him; he'd be the reluctant star of his very own creature feature, desperately protesting his innocence while a frightened mob hounded him into a corner where the army could blast him into oblivion. He shuddered. Oh well, accentuate the positive, as these humans liked

to say.

"Heavenly shades of night are falling, it's twilight time. Out of the mist your voice is calling, it's twilight .  . ." Lorne came to an abrupt halt. "Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy night," Lorne gasped, bringing a hand to his letter-sweater covered chest.

Ahead of him stood a bad boy vision in a black leather jacket, cigarette dangling from the corner of it's mouth while it worked at coiffing it's honey colored locks into an intricate duck curl.

Spike turned toward the unwanted interruption with a sneer. His cold-eyed glare traveled from the highly polished penny loafers up the neatly pressed slacks to the bright white letter sweater covering the plaid pink shirt, to the carefully combed blond locks which did nothing to obscure the little red horns or the shell shocked look. What the hell kind of pansy assed

demons were they letting roam around this country?

"What are you looking at ya prissy little begger?" Spike slipped his comb into the back pocket of his jeans and took a long drag of his cigarette before flashing a bit of fang at the ponce.

Lorne felt his heart and other parts of his anatomy do a little dance at the sound of that dreamy English accent and the fangs weren't bad either.

"Me, nothing, well obviously something, I mean you definitely are something" Lorne stuttered while mentally kicking himself. "Good going Lorne, very snappy patter. You've got his interest now."

"Riiight."  Spike turned away, intent on getting a bite for Dru.

"So, you come here often?" Lorne grimaced. "Oh my god where did that bit of inanity come from? Please someone just shoot me now."

Spike stopped upon hearing one of the world's oldest and worst pick up lines. He shook his head in mock pity before turning around and stalking up to the embarrassed demon with a feline grace that had Lorne swallowing audibly.

The vampire eased into the taller demon, blue eyes meeting red, thighs barely touching, swaying in front of Lorne like a cobra. Spike brought his lips in close, blowing cool air along the line of Lorne's neck, waiting for the shiver it induced before

whispering; "I come anywhere, anytime it suits me, luv. How about you?"

"Squeak," Lorne replied.

"Now that's a pick up line you bloody poof," Spike snapped before slapping Lorne's ass.

"Eep," Lorne jumped.

"Now take off, you'll scare the kiddies and I need to do some hunting, got mouths to feed you know." Spike pulled another cigarette from behind his ear, lighting it from the first one and waved the green demon away.

Lorne desperately tried to get his scrambled brain to feed his mouth some sort of witty retort that would get the blond Adonis to come back. Ah!

"Ummm, speaking of mouths to feed," Lorne managed to gasp.

Spike glanced over his shoulder, "Are you still here?"

"Oh, yeah, still here but I'd loved to be over there big boy." Lorne gave his most inviting smile, gaining confidence from the fact that the vampire hadn't tried to rip his throat out yet.

Spike raised an eyebrow in deliberation. The night was young, Dru was loony and the thought of messing up those neatly pressed pants was gaining appeal.

"Yeah, alright than," he shrugged waving the demon over.

Lorne did his best to regain some ground and match the cool exuded by the vampire.

"So what's your name?"


"Oh my god you're kidding!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean!"

"I just mean, a vampire named Spike, how fitting."

Spike scowled. "So what's your name than?"


"You might want to think about changing it."

Lorne scowled. Why were bad boys always so rude? He sighed, part of their charm he guessed before glancing down at Spike's ass in his jeans, definitely only part of their charm. All such thoughts were momentarily pushed aside as they came upon a white Coup de Ville with matching tuck and roll leather seats. The top was down and even with the bloody handprint on the driver's side door, it was still a beauty, absolutely cherry, speaking of which.

"Great car," Lorne caressed the leather seats. "I love leather . . . . seats."

Spike smirked, hopping into the front seat and spreading his legs. "Why don't you show me how much," he growled morphing into gameface.

Lorne damned near came on the spot but somehow managed to clamber into the car, albeit somewhat gracelessly and got busy popping open buttons, unzipping coats and ripping t-shirts in an absolute frenzy of carnal abandon before taking a deep breath and .....

"Bloody Hell!"



* * * * * *


"Yeeha! Ride 'em cowboy!"

"You're, 'gasp' flipping mad, 'gasp' you know that 'gasp'  don't you?


* * * * * *


"My sweater's ruined!"

"Good, no self respecting demon should ever be wearing a sweater besides, what did you letter in anyway?"

"Bloody Hell!"



 * * * * * *


Lorne stumbled out of the front seat two minutes after three a.m. and thoroughly debauched. He and Spike shared a grin and a cigarette. The vampire was leaning against the hood of the car wearing his leather jacket and a pair of partially buttoned jeans. He'd never removed his boots.

Lorne ran his hand over the hood. "Did I mention that I really like this car?"

"Yeah, I think you might have screamed it once or twice," Spike leered.  "Well, it's been fun eh? "

Lorne eyed the vampire suspiciously, "This isn't the part where you try and kill me is it?"

"Well, normally, yeah but I'm feeling generous tonight and besides, don't want to ruin the paint job, you know?"



Lorne straightened up with a slight wince and ignored the vampire's smirk. "Could you do one little thing for me before I go?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Sing for me?"

Spike frowned.

"Just a few verses?"

Spike shrugged, thought for a minute and than began in a surprisingly good tenor -  "Never know how much I love you. Never know I care. When you put your arms around, I get a fever that so hard to bear..."

Lorne gave a little chuckle, "I never would have thought you were a Peggy Lee man."

Spike merely growled still too sated to muster the energy to kill the smirking bastard on principle.

Lorne offered his hand, "Be seeing you Spike."

"Naw, shouldn't think so. Dru and me'll be moving on soon enough."  Spike shook his hand briefly.

Lorne gave him a small smile, "Yeah, well you never know," Lorne answered enigmatically.

Spike watched the demon as he walked into the woods and shook his head before rubbing at a small smudge on the hood. Ah well, best to get some food for Dru and head home, poor thing, stuck in the house all night by herself, nothing to do but talk to the minions and the ghost. If he could feel guilty, honestly he would.  Spike sighed, probably bored to undeath.


* * * * * *


The two minions stared at the bedroom door. The giggling had stopped about thirty minutes ago shortly after the starting line up for this year's High School All Stars Football Team had stumbled out, half drunk and fingering their necks with besotted smiles on their faces. The minions had been given strict instructions to let the food leave unmolested.

They gave a collective jump when the door opened enough to allow a long white arm to drop 12 pairs of briefs in various sizes and shapes out the door. Next came nine bottles of cheap bourbon, empty, and a life sized inflatable Jane Russell doll.

Dru then popped her head out the door, put a finger to her lips and held each of their eyes before smiling gaily and slipping back inside with a firm snap of the door.

The two minions shared a long look of commiseration before gathering the spoils of war and heading downstairs.


The End


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