Chapter One


"Are you sure Willow said *Spike* was dancing naked on the roof of the Bronze?"
Buffy asked. "Maybe she said 'Pike' ?"

"Well, it was hard to hear, given the general hooting, hollering, and yelling of
phone numbers in the background," Xander replied. "But I doubt your ex-boyfriend
would pop over to Sunnydale just to get drunk and strip on the roof of the local
teen pick-up joint."

"He might. You never know." But she didn't sound like she believed herself.
"Arrgh! Why do I have to be the only Slayer in the world with a vampire to
babysit? A non compos mentos one?"

"Spike lacks Freshmaker?" Xander pretended shock. "I'll just nip on over and
give him some. The blood breath, after all..."

"You just wanna see him naked."

"Who, me? "

"Well, he's strong, and mysterious and sort of compact but well-muscled..."

"Shut up!"

"It's understandable..."

"Shut up!"



____________


Chapter Two

"Wish there were still two of me -- one to hold your sorry ass upright while you
barf, one to stand by the road and laugh." If it weren't raining, that is.
Xander pulled the blanket tighter around Spike, in a vain effort to keep it
clean, and Spike somewhat dry. The vamp was out of his manic naked dancing
stage, and now firmly in the grip of the 'yak on Xander's car seat if I don't
stop' stage. "What the hell did you *eat* ?"

"Dunno. Had onions in it." Spike retched violently, then stood up, leaning
against the side of the car. "Much better," he said after a minute.

"For some." Xander shuddered.

"Wimp."

"Drunk."

"Can't argue with you there." Spike fumbled inside his blanket with one hand.
Xander blinked, then abruptly closed his eyes when it fell open.

"What're you *doing*?"

"Lookin' for my smokes."

"You're naked under there, you idiot."

Pause... "Knock knock, who's there, all Spike's bits, completely bare. So I am.
Looked, did ya?"

Xander gritted his teeth. "The whole frickin' *town* looked, Spike. Anyway, I
wouldn't let you smoke even if you could find 'em. You'd explode from all the
beer on your breath."

"Aww, and here I thought you hated me."

"I do. I just don't want you splatting all over my car." Xander dared open his
eyes again.

Blanket properly closed, and Spike watching him closely, swaying slightly. "Why
drive downtown to sweep me off m'feet and carry me away, then, Sweet Prince?"

"Buffy told me to." Which was sort of true. She'd said 'Thank God,' after he'd
volunteered.

"Oh. Yeah. Her." Spike's fingers twitched, like he *really* wanted that
cigarette.

"That what this is about? Thought you were over her."

"I *am* over her. Just..." Spike shrugged, threatening to dislodge his blanket.
"Sometimes, y'know. Gets to me. If I'm gonna make a fool of m'self, rather do it
on purpose."

"Ah." Like getting so drunk he could pretend he didn't know he was naked. Xander
pulled the passenger door open and guided the vampire inside. "Come on, Spike.
Let's go home."

_______________

Chapter Three

"Here, drink. And don't spill this one, please." Anya handed Spike his second
cup of coffee. The first had 'accidentally' ended up in the potted fern.

" S'terrible! You'd think if you'd been round as long as Ssssstonehenge, you'd
at least know how to make a good cuppa coffee," Spike slurred.

"It's not supposed to be good. It's supposed to be strong, so you'll sober up
and go home, and Xander and I can have sex."

"Anya..."

She turned to her husband. "What? I'm not trying to be rude. If I thought you'd
have sex with Spike in the house, he'd be perfectly welcome to stay."

Xander pulled her out of the living room, towards the bedroom. Which *sounded*
promising, but Anya knew from experience that it wouldn't be. "Honey, we *can't*
make Spike go back to his crypt right now."

"Why not?"

"Well, he's kinda had a hard day's night..."

"That reference makes no more sense in practice than it does in antiquated pop
lyrics. Have you been drinking too?"

Xander shook his head, impatiently, and Anya wondered just what she wasn't
getting *this* time. "No. I mean that Spike got himself so blasted that he
didn't care if the whole town saw him dancing naked on the roof of the Bronze."

"Naked? *I* didn't get to see him naked! Why didn't you call me?"

Xander ignored that, as he ignored many of her perfectly logical questions. "I
think he's still in a pretty bad way over Buffy."
"So why do *you* care? I thought you hated Spike?" When Xander was quiet for a
moment, she offered, "You empathize with him because you used to have a hopeless
crush on Buffy too?"

Quick shake of the head, and his hands on her arms. "No. I haven't felt that way
about Buffy for years, Anya. I thought you knew that."

"I do. That's why I used the phrase 'used to,' implying events in the past."

"Oh." He paused. "I guess I just don't think it would be nice to send him back
to his crypt naked, in the rain. He'd probably walk back to the Bronze and look
for his damn pack of wet cigarettes, wherever they fell, and catch pneumonia."

"Don't catch diseases, pet, but it's nice to know you care." Spike stood in the
doorway, still holding his cup of coffee, blanket slipped down to his hips.

"Xander! You didn't tell me he was *still* naked!"

____________


Chapter Four

"Ho, Young Female of the Summers Clan," Xander called, dashing up the steps and
grabbing the plastic trashcan that was about to tumble out of Dawn's grasp,
splattering milk cartons and deviled eggs all over the back porch. "Need some
help?"

"Yeah, thanks." Dawn wrinkled her nose. "Why am *I* taking out the trash, I'd
like to know, instead of Ms. Super-Strength?"

"Because Ms. Super-Strength traded you for doing the dishes," Buffy said from
the kitchen window.

Dawn picked up the fallen lid and rolled her eyes. "Also with the super
hearing..." Xander hoisted the can up with a grin, and Dawn walked along with
him while he carried it out to the alley. When they were far enough away that
she was sure her sister the Bat-Queen couldn't hear her, she said, "So, I heard
you went downtown to look at naked Spike last night, and you liked him so much
you took him home..."

Xander sputtered. "I did *not*... I...hey, what the heck is this thing?" He
pointed to the fuzzy red doll on the very top of the trash pile.

"It' s Tickle-Me-Elmo, which you know, Lame-Avoidance-Man, since your wife got
it for me for Christmas. It was always creepy, but now its voicebox is broken.
Just starts laughing in the middle of the night. Not to insult Anya, but no
thanks. Enough spooky stuff around without possessed toys in my room. And, well,
it's a little young for me anyway."

He nodded. "Anya doesn't always get things like that. But she does try."

"Anya's cool -- she's helping me with my World History, and we're going through
my U.S. Government book together, kinda like she's auditing the class. And she's
funny -- she got all excited when she thought disenfranchise meant kicking all
the French people out of the country." She looked sideways at him. "But you're
not here to talk about Anya -- you came to talk about Spike."

"No I didn-- okay, I did, but not with you."

Dawn grinned triumphantly. "I knew it. So, what, you came to ask *Buffy* what to
do about liking him? Like *she'd* know. Her idea of dealing with Spike is to
pretend she doesn't know he still likes her, and be nice to him 'cause she feels
guilty that she doesn't like him back."

Xander frowned. "I don't 'like' Spike."

"But you wanna see him naked."

"No!"

"Why not? Anya does; she said so. "

"She did not. She did?"

"Uh-huh. This morning when we were studying. She *also* said she knows you do
too. I don't blame you-- I've seen him naked; he's hot."

His eyes bugged. "Dawn! You weren't at the Bronze last night--"

"I wish. I watched some of the Buffybot's home movies, though."

Xander stared, then said carefully, "Um... nothing with me and Anya in the
basement of the magic shop, right?"

Dawn whapped him over the head with Tickle-Me-Elmo, which cackled maniacally.
"Okay, so I know you're not gonna go with *my* plan, which is grab Spike and
chain him up so he can be your and Anya's love-slave, and you can loan him to me
on weekends."

Xander was still staring.

"What? I'm sixteen now. Hello to the real world, Old Guy."

"I'm not old. I'm...mature." He bapped her back with Elmo. "So what's your sage
and
thankfully-over-the-age-of-consent-so-I-don't-get-arrested-for-having-this-conversation
advice? Who should I talk to, if not Buffy?"

"Um, Spike?"

"Um, no."

"Then go talk to somebody who knows him. Well."

Xander shook his head frantically. "Oh no. No, no, no, no...."

"Baby. He doesn't bite. Well, okay, he does, but..."

_____________________

Chapter Five


"You saw Spike naked." Angel studied the man in the lobby of his hotel. Why had
Xander Harris come to *him* , of all people? "And now you're...confused?"

"No, I'm not confused. I recognized all the parts."

"Okay, you're... well, what are you?"

Xander winced. "Question of the day. 'Married,' would be one answer. Straight,
would be another. I thought."

"So..."

"So why does the thought of Spike, naked or not, sometimes make me wish I'd gone
to the Prom with the Sockpuppet of Love, instead of Anya?"

"Er..."

"Don't ask. Anya dressed nicer, and Sockie wore too much lipstick." Xander
sighed. "I love my wife. That's not in doubt. And Spike's..."

Angel nodded, beginning to see why Xander was here. "Annoying and evil and
confusingly human at all the wrong times." Like he'd been a century ago. Half
the reason that the Master wouldn't accept Angel's younger childer into the fold
-- Spike's humanity, Dru's madness. He'd expected it to be Buffy, driving up
here with this question, not Xander. But the answer was the same. "Spike's...
Spike."

"Yeah, saw that too. Along with most of Sunnydale." Xander put up his hand. "I
know, I know. Not what you meant." He shook his head. "You know him best -- so
tell me this: I can't *stand* the guy. So why'd I drag his drunken ass off the
roof of the Bronze, throw a blanket over him and take him home so Anya could
pour coffee down his throat?"

"Doing a favor for most of Sunnydale?"

Xander chuckled, then blinked, then chuckled again. "Huh. Dawn said you'd have
an answer."

With that, he left. No goodbyes, just spun on his heel and walked out. Angel
watched him cross the sunlit drive to his car, and wondered what sort of answer
he'd given.

_____________________

Chapter Six


Anya popped a bagel out of the toaster and set it in front of him. "You want to
invite Spike to move into our spare bedroom."

"Well...*some*body has to keep an eye on him. He's a menace. A few nights ago he
was dancing naked on the Bronze -- tomorrow, who knows?"

"Our living room? I have a list of songs picked out already. What d'you think of
'It's Raining Men' ?"

"Ahn! I'm talking about doing the rest of Sunnydale a favor. Keeping Spike off
the streets and outta the pool parlors, not..."

"Boinking him? Blueberry cream cheese, or pineapple?"

"On Spike???"

"The bagel, dork; Spike's a strawberry kinda guy. Good thought, though."

Xander picked up his bagel and chewed, sans cream cheese, but not sans blush.
Anya waited. He watched her wait. He swallowed. She waited.

He closed his eyes. "Fine. Excuuuuuuuuse me, if I notice. He's.... noticeable.
It's not like *you* don't notice. I've noticed you... noticing." Bagel. Mouth.
Makes babble stop.

"You mean when I called you 'Spike' last night? Just a slip of the tongue."

He choked. Sputtered. "You did *not*!"

"No, you're right. That was you."

"Was not." He hadn't called her Spike. He'd just said it in a moment of...
distraction. Xander put the bagel down. Slowly. "I hate you."

"No, you don't. You love me."

"Nuh-uh." He stared at his bagel.

"Uh-huh."

"Nuh-uh times infinity."

"Pineapple or blueberry?"

"Blueberry." He slowly looked up at her. She'd painted her lips with blueberry
Philly, and she was smiling. "Have I mentioned I hate you?" he asked.

"No." Anya leaned over the table, and pressed a fruit-flavored kiss to his
mouth. "Yes, we can invite Spike to come live with us, M'sieur le Dork."

"I am, huh?"

She grinned. "Yes. But kisses are a better fate than wisdom. Or so I've heard."

Xander considered this, and decided the theory needed testing. So he kissed her
again -- then spread cream cheese over the remains of his bagel. "So... um...
how do we actually get him to say yes?"

Anya grinned. "Oh, don't worry. Dawn and I have a plan. We've been working on it
for weeks."

"I hate you."

_________________


Chapter Seven


"Would somebody like to tell me why I'm going along with this again?" Xander
whispered as he crouched in the bushes outside Spike's crypt. Anya stood boldly
on the doorstep, about to knock, and looked at him with a combination of
fondness and scorn.

"Because you just watched, "In and Out" for the eighth time in a week, and told
me very coherently at 3 a.m. yesterday that you were ready to go through with
asking Spike to move in with us, because your karmic mission will never be
fulfilled until you've seen Spike dance naked to Macho Man."

Jeez, could she be any louder? Xander blushed. Whatever funky CD Spike was
playing inside -- sounded like a woman singing, pretty voice, but not in English
-- echoed out into the darkened cemetery, almost drowning out the chorus of
"Macho, macho man..." in his head. So maybe it was loud enough that he'd get
lucky, and Spike hadn't heard. Arrgh. 'Do not think 'Get lucky' when Anya's
talking about naked Spike,' he berated himself.

"Anya," Xander stammered, "I don't even remember being *awake* at 3 a.m." Except
then why did he have crisp, clear mental images of Spike in black jeans and a
muscle-T, energetically removing said clothes to a pretty good impersonation of
Kevin Kline's dance routine, while he and Anya watched and shared a bowl of
popcorn?

A particularly intense dream, that was all. Except...um... why was he dreaming
about Spike, naked? And why had he come straight from the construction site,
still in his work clothes and hard hat, while the song bounced through his head?
Oh, yeah -- the hat was for protection in case Spike threw things at them.

"Xander, you're going through stage five of denial. It's to be expected, but
hurry up. I've got a casserole in the oven."

"What's stage five?"

"It's where you overcome your fears, make a perfectly intelligent decision
during open and honest dialogue with your significant other who thinks the whole
idea of being with you and Spike together is the best present since the thing
with the batteries that you made me promise not to say its name, and much
cheaper over the length of our marriage than my total gay porn rental bills
would be -- I showed you the calculations, Xander -- and then you chicken out
because you're a big weenie."

Xander blinked. "You made that up."

Anya rolled her eyes and tugged on his arm. "Come *on*, Xander. You had a good
idea. Get Spike off the streets and into a place where we can keep an eye on him
so he's not a danger to himself or others, like those innocent bystanders at the
Bronze who aren't equipped to appreciate the sight of a naked, drunk, dancing
vampire. It's perfectly decent reasoning."

Xander shook his head. "No, it's a flimsy excuse dreamed up by a deranged man in
a moment of extreme insanity proven by the fact that he actually went to *Angel*
for advice. Spike's not a kid, and he's perfectly capable of taking care of
himself."

"Xander, all we *need* is a flimsy excuse. Once we get him moved in, we can
seduce him, and by the time Spike's naked in our shower, he won't care if we
only want him there so we can deduct him on our taxes." She frowned. "We can't,
by the way. I checked."

It would be a heck of a lot easier to concentrate on whether she was right or
not, if Anya didn't keep saying things like "Spike's naked in our shower."

"Ahn... Talking about it with you was one thing. Actually doing it is something
completely different."

"Yes. It's sexier."

"Not *that* kind of doing it. I mean, asking Spike to move in with us. How do we
even know he'd want to?"

She put her hands on her hips, and gave him her best, 'Puh-leeeze' expression.
"He's lonely, he's bored, and he's been reduced to redecorating tombstones for
fun." She pointed to the nearest one, which had once read, 'Here lies Tom
Spencer, Beloved Father and Husband.' Now it said, in roughly-chipped carving,
'Buffy Summers Has Stupid Hair. And she cheats at Kitten Poker.'

"Right, but that doesn't mean he's interested in...you know. Us. Me. You."
Xander backpedaled quickly when he saw the stormy look approaching Anya's face.
"I mean, anybody would be interested in *you*. But in a..."

"Kinky threesome?" Anya finished.

"Did somebody say kinky threesome?" The low British voice drawled from just
inside the door. Xander groaned, crouched down lower, and tried very hard to
look like a tombstone. "Oh, for god's sake, get up, Harris," Spike told him as
he opened the door and stood next to Anya. Gah. Black jeans. Muscle-shirt. Gah.
"You look like that parody of the Village People they have up at Rick's Triple X
Video." Xander rose to his feet, blushing furiously.

"Oh, you've seen that one?" Anya asked brightly. "Xander and I wanted to, but
they said they had to order a new copy, when I tried to rent it."

Spike was grinning right at Xander while he answered Anya. "Well, yeah. Somebody
might've...er...worn it out, I suppose." He lifted one eyebrow as he leaned on
the outside wall of his crypt. "So what're you two doing here? Just dropped by
to tuck me in and read me a bedtime story? Play a game of Scrabble? Warn me not
to go out at night 'cos there's ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties
about?"

"We came to proposition you," Anya said succinctly.

"Not in a kinky threesome way," Xander said quickly, glaring at Anya. "Just a
wouldyouliketomoveyourstuffintoourplacebecauseit'sbetterthanacryptandwecouldusesomehelparoundtheapartmentandsometimesweworryaboutyou
way." He couldn't breathe. Wasn't that a sign of impending heart failure?

"Ah." Spike pursed his lips, as if he were thinking it over. "So it's nothing to
do with wantin' to see me strut my bad stuff to Macho Man, then?"

Definitely heart failure. Followed by brain failure. Xander closed his eyes, and
wondered if he could walk back to the car that way without tripping over any
tombstones. Then he opened them, suddenly irked. "You mean you were listening to
us all along?"

"Been gabbing loud enough to wake the dead out here - and there's a lot to
choose from. Might as well listen in, since you lot interrupted my alone-time
with Nana Mouskouri." Spike rejoined. Xander realized that sometime during his
and Anya's talk, the strange music from within the crypt had disappeared.
"Nobody messes with the Nana-time. That's the first thing you two need to know
when I shack up with you."

"But you just let me go on like that, making a fool of myself?" Xander asked,
stepping up into Spike's face.

The grin he got in response to that could've lit up the whole cemetery and half
the surrounding block. "What can I say -- I'm evil, luv. Remember?"

Xander glared at him. And glared. And glared. Until finally something penetrated
the chorus of  'I am a dork, I am a dork, I am *so* embarrassed, I am a dork...'
in his mind. "*When* you shack up with us?"

"Yeah. Half an hour or so. I'm pretty much packed, but I've got a few things
left downstairs. Plus I want my Nana-time. Sod off to the malt-shop for a bit,
eh? Swing back by around nine?"

"*When* you..."

Anya was pulling on his arm. "Come on, Xander. He said yes. This is a *good*
thing, remember?"

"Remind me why?"

"Because now we can actually *have* naked Spike in our shower, instead of just
thinking about it?"

Xander groaned loudly. "I do *not* think about... Oh, forget it."

She led him toward the car, patting his arm, and telling him in soothing tones,
"Hey, at least we didn't have to go with the backup plan."


*****

Spike stepped back into his crypt with a satisfied grin.

"Did it work?" he heard from the floor in front of his stereo, where Dawn sat
cross-legged, flipping through his CDs.

"Yours truly is the proud new pet of one Xander and Anya Harris, completely
house-trained and available for private dances upon request," he bragged. He
added quickly, "Not for you, so don't even ask, you pint-sized pervert."

Dawn just held out her hand. "I *told* you they'd be here before the week was
over, if you did the dancing on the roof thing. Pay up."

Spike narrowed his eyes, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled
twenty, slapping it into her palm. "I liked you better when you were innocent
and underaged and didn't know what Xander meant when he said the Wiccas were off
doing spells together."

She smirked. "Times change. I'm a sixteen year old woman with a shopping habit
to support. You're a hundred and twenty-nine year old private dancer and future
houseboy. Get over it. Besides, don't say you didn't have fun with the whole
thing."

"Well, the getting drunk part was fun, and the dancing, and the being coddled by
the two of them. The vomiting, I could've done without."

"Yeah, yeah. Small price to pay." Dawn rose to her feet and peered out into the
night at Anya and Xander's departing car. "I'm kinda disappointed you didn't
hold out longer, though. You're too easy. You barely even let them get that
lame, not-even-indecent-proposal out of their mouths, before you jumped on it."

Spike blinked at her as he walked over and pressed PLAY on the CD, and the Greek
version of "White Rose of Athens" filled the crypt again. She looked back at
him, making a face at the choice of music; he flipped two fingers at her. It was
an old argument.

This was a new one. He liked new arguments. "I am *not* easy. And I don't think
it was lame. At least they've got initiative; they came right out and asked."

Dawn gave him a positively malevolent grin. "The backup plan involved chains."

Spike swallowed hard, then glared at her. "Why didn't you say that earlier?"

"What can I say -- I'm evil, remember?"


the end