The Peanut Butter War
by The Mad Poetess
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

Part One

"And just where the hell 'ave *you* been?" the vampire snarled 
directly into his face, and for the life of 
him, Xander Harris couldn't remember why he'd thought it would be 
*safer* to let this creature live with 
him than, say, oh, anywhere else. There was something in the stance, 
the energy barely restrained in the 
slim body that was only inches from his own... [I thought I wasn't 
afraid of him, really I did. What the hell 
was I thinking, again? ] The ghost of his high-school self whispered 
into his paralyzed brain that it might be 
more a matter of what he'd been thinking *with* ...

And the power in this man... vampire, whatever. It was obvious enough 
in his own clothes--or out of them, 
like that time in February when they'd had to dig an Initiative 
tracer out of Spike's pale back. Even laid out 
on a chair, drunk off his ass and slurring his way through an 
impressive selection of dirty turn-of-the-
century pub songs, a shirtless Spike had been an impressive sight. 
Not that Xander had been ..er...paying 
undue attention to the musculature of the temporarily helpless 
English vampire. Here, now, in Xander's 
old navy blue shirt, two years worth of outgrown for Xander himself 
and about half a size off even for the 
smaller man... every twitching muscle in Spike's chest and shoulders 
was outlined in rigid detail. And they 
were all twitching at *him*. 

[He wants to rip my head off! What the hell *was* I thinking? Okay, 
obviously the tender man-to-man 
about men-to-men stuff with Giles was completely unnecessary, and on 
reflection, a little embarrassing. In 
more than the obvious sense. Here I am getting all Dawson's Creek 
with my pseudo-father-figure, and what 
I've got waiting at home for me is a monster who wants to tear me a 
new trachea. Which, okay, not exactly 
an unfamiliar experience. But this one can't, right? Oh, but he sure 
as hell wants to. Unless he happened to 
spend the evening getting his chip removed. Then he could... Oh, 
there's a calming thought.]

"I've been...uh...out? Is there something I can do for you, Spike?" 
Yes, that was sufficiently manly. Gruff. 
Didn't sound like a guy who'd just spent the evening confessing that 
he seemed to be having impure 
thoughts towards another guy, and worse, sticky 
emotional...feeling...thingies...


***

{Something he can do for me? Yeah, first he can put down the grocery 
bags, and then he can come down 
the stairs, and then he can lie still while I shag him senseless... 
or I could just do that right here, if 
necessary. The lying still part is optional. Audience participation 
is always encouraged...} Spike shook off 
the simplistic voice that rose from somewhere in his head... or maybe 
a little lower...but not without 
difficulty. The part of him that delighted in reminding himself of 
his pathetic, defanged status was a great 
help on that front, though.

This was Xander Harris, here, remember? Sucker for the girls, though 
not historically so much of a success 
with them. Recently been boinking himself silly with the ex-demon 
bird, so no indication he was looking for 
a stroll down the other side of the street. This was the kid who 
crawled into bed and hid his head under a 
pillow after a little kiss, not even much of one compared to what 
Spike could do when he really put his 
tongue into it... 

{And then there's the fact that he *hates* you, Spike. He may be 
putting you up in order to keep an eye on 
you-- or just to have somebody, even an undead somebody, around so he 
doesn't have to face his psycho 
family by himself-- but it comes down to you being the enemy, and a 
pretty damn pathetic one at that. He 
may feel *sorry* for you, but at the core, you disgust him. And 
*you've* got a case of the screaming fuck-
me's for him. Brill.}

Strangely, no matter how true that voice rang in his mind, it didn't 
seem to be having much effect on his 
body, which was determined to do its own thing. Standing there a 
human breath away from the 
dark-eyed boy, Spike could smell chocolate on him, the faint familiar 
odors of the Slayer and her friends, and 
something else, less than pleasant, in one of the rolled-up grocery 
bags he held. Stronger than that, though, 
there was the smell of Xander Harris, spice and salt and something 
clean, soap or shampoo, all mixed 
together in warm waves. The sight of him wasn't helping either, too-
long dark hair hanging over his 
worried face, that oh-hurt-me-some-more look shining straight through 
his habitual clown-mask. And damn 
it, almost overpowering the intoxicating smell that was just Xander, 
there was fear. The air was thick with 
it. 

Funny, how that last bit didn't make Spike at all happy; it should. 
It would've a year ago. A few months 
ago. {Look-- I *am* remotely scary. Hoo-bleedin'-ray.} Funny how
his 
body seemed to be acting on that 
fear-smell anyway, or on *something*, reaching up suddenly to grasp 
the boy by his upper arms. Maybe to 
shake some sense into him. {You actually walked from the car to the 
door without being attacked? Do you 
have any fucking idea how good you smell? How much any other vampire 
would want to rip your throat out and 
drink you down, and I, 'cause I'm a great soddin' ponce, just want to 
rip your clothes off and...} Wasn't any 
good going there, was it. Except that seemed to be where his hands 
were going, whether the sensible bits 
of him objected or not.

***

Oh, brilliant, Harris. Piss him off. Silence, and then those 
twitching muscles moved like a striking 
rattlesnake, grabbing his arms, crushing the groceries between them. 
[Shit. Shit! He *has* gotten the chip 
out, and he's gonna kill me. Or he hasn't gotten it out, and he's 
decided it's worth the headache anyway.]

Panicked, hurt somehow, though he couldn't explain why, and feeling 
more than a little stupid about the "Poor Xander doesn't understand 
his less than manly feelings towards the boy next door" mindset he'd 
been in all day, he backed up against the doorframe. [Okay, this is 
it. Um, last wishes...Wills, love ya best. Tara, take good care of 
her. Buff, love you too. Giles, you're the closest thing to a real 
dad I have, and I'll never get the chance to let you know. Anya... 
sorry we couldn't try out the friends thing. Anybody left? Cordy, 
sorry I was an asshole, and Angel...yeah, well there 
may have been the tiniest bit of assholier-than-thou-ness there, but 
I think you can take it, big guy. Ready 
for death now? No, not really. Oh yeah, Spike. Sorry you had to kill 
me before I found out how the hell I actually feel about you. Oh, 
*that* made sense.]

In the middle of his internal babblefest, somehow his hand-to-hand 
reflexes kicked in. [ You go, Army Guy! 
Wondered where you'd gone off to. Conspicuously absent during my 
never-to-be-mentioned fight with 
Harmony, weren't you? ] His hands lashed out of their own accord and 
pushed Spike back. Touching 
Spike's chest with both hands... it was like sticking his finger in a 
light socket. Not that he'd ever done 
anything that stupid...to which he was willing to admit. Xander 
snatched his hands back quickly, positive 
they were about to burst into flames, and one of the grocery bags 
slipped from his arms and fell over the 
side of the stairs. [There goes the butter. Hey--my life is 
supposed to be passing before my eyes, and all I 
can think of is whether the dairy products are gonna survive?]

A look of surprise crossed Spike's face. [What-- he doesn't think 
I'll even try to fight back? I must be even 
more pathetic than I thought I was. ] Spike let go of Xander's arms, 
though, crumpling his hands into fists at 
his sides. [Ooookay, what now? And why isn't he in vamp face? Didn't 
even think I was worth biting? He 
did say something like that not too long ago. Oh, wait, here we go 
again.]

Spike unclenched his fists, and reached for him again. [False start. 
Guess everybody's allowed one, even an 
expert killer like Spike. I mean, he hasn't had the chance to kick 
human ass in a while.] Soldier-boy must 
have kicked in again, or maybe it was just mild-mannered Stockboy, 
supermarket superhero; anyway, 
somebody Xander-shaped shoved the remaining grocery bag in Spike's 
face. The blonde put his hands out 
to stop it, and then... brought them to his own head, clutching it in 
pain. Off-balance, Spike tumbled 
backwards down the stairs, to land in an inelegant sprawl in the 
little doorway at the bottom, still grasping 
his own skull, and not moving.

[Okay, that worked better than I thought it would. Way to go unknown 
Xander-strength! Shit, hope he 
hasn't broken his neck.] Xander stepped slowly down the stairs 
holding his remaining grocery bag. [Hang 
on-- *why* do I hope he hasn't broken his neck?] "Ahh... Spike? You 
still undead down there?"

Spike finally moved, pushing himself up into a sitting position 
against the doorframe and rubbing his head, 
which had probably taken a bit of a beating on the trip downstairs, 
in addition to whatever pain the chip had 
caused him. [Hey, the chip still works! Yippee. Of course, that means 
he wanted to kill me enough to risk 
the mother of all migraines...]

Finally, in a voice that sounded like it was half laughter, Spike 
answered clearly and succinctly: "Ow."

***

{That didn't exactly go off as planned, now did it? Er...planned? 
Who the hell had a plan? Did you, smarmy 
little voices?} Silence from the peanut gallery in Spike's head, 
which was unsurprising, since he knew 
damned well they were all really just him, and he couldn't think of a 
single thing to think. Or say. And his 
head *hurt* !

"Well, serves you right for trying to kill me. Hello, chip? " Xander 
said from the bottom step, sounding 
quite affronted, and a little.. what, worried? Spike looked up at 
him. For a fuzzy second he thought the human 
had overheard his thoughts about his aching head, but then as the 
pain began to recede a bit, he realized 
Xander had replied to his rueful "Ow." But... {Kill him? What the 
hell? Oh well, something to say, at 
least.}

"Kill you? What the hell are you talkin' about?" Christ, but his head 
hurt. And something was wedged 
under his right thigh... He shifted his leg to reveal the much-the-
worse-for-wear Almond Joy that Xander 
had tossed down the stairs when he came in. {Right, not as if I need 
any more chocolate... for the rest of my 
unlife.}

"Oh, right. You loom up in my face all 'I'm back and I'm a bloody 
animal,' grab me, shove me against a 
door, make all these growly noises, and then your chip does its 
thing, and you crash down the stairs holding 
your head like it exploded on you. And you're *not* trying to kill 
me?" The Slayerette had walked over and 
was shouting in his face now, and the damned grocery bag was an inch 
away from his nose. Spike grabbed 
his head again, and growled...

"Get that soddin' thing away from me!" 

Xander looked down at his grocery bag. "Huh?" he responded, but 
dutifully backed off, stepping over 
Spike's outstretched legs, through the doorway and into his apartment 
proper.

{Oh, come on, you're a bright kid, for all I might say otherwise when 
I want to wind you up. Hello, chip, 
my arse. Hello, vampire-repellent groceries!}

"I wasn't... trying to kill you...you great...gormless...git..." 
Spike ground out between gritted teeth. 

"Then why did your little No-No-Bad-Spike device go off?" Xander 
countered hotly.

"It didn't. The lovely bag of garlic you brought me went off. 
Reasonably sure I didn't put that on the 
shopping list, mate."

Xander looked a bit nonplused as the concept seemed to work its way 
through his brain. "Oh. Vampires. 
Garlic. Righhht. But...garlic bread? I know I've seen Angel in the 
same room as takeout Italian, and he may 
not've joined in the feast, but a bag of garlic bread never made him 
fall down and break his crown."

Spike sniffed. Actually, less pathetic than it sounded, because the 
garlic fumes coming from the open bag 
were still doing a number on his sinuses. "Not my fault I happen to 
be more allergic than most, is it?" 
{Oh, yeah, you're really hard core, Spike, complaining to the mortal 
kid about your post-nasal drip!}

"Oh. Sorry. No, wait, I'm not. Garlic bread may explain why you went 
ass-over-skull down the stairs, but it 
doesn't explain why the hell you attacked me in the first place." 

Spike shook his head. {Way to seduce the boy. He honestly thinks I 
was trying to kill him. If I *was* 
trying to kill him, I would've got the job done by now. He's 
terrified of me! Wait, why isn't that a good 
thing, again?}

The pissy little internal voice made its expected, unwelcome 
reappearance. {Seduce? Was that what you 
were trying to do? 'Cos the way I heard it, it sounded a bit more 
like "shag the boy senseless." Which lacks 
that touch of classic elegance inherent in seduction, not to mention 
subtlety. No wonder he thought you 
wanted to kill him.}

Spike grimaced. His less-than-subconscious had a point. He hadn't 
really done the seduction thing in a 
while. Every day with Dru was more or less turn-on-the-charm time, 
but since then... it wasn't as if 
Harmony had required a great deal of persuasion. A wink and a bit of 
the old accent, and the undead and 
brain-dead Cordette had been eating out of... and best not wander 
down that avenue if he wanted to keep 
his aching head about him. At any rate, when she got a bit too high-
maintenance, he'd buggered off, as he'd 
been planning to do anyway, and she'd paid him back for that, in 
spades, once he was hungry and 
defenseless. Bitch.

His dark goddess was worth pandering to with the sweet talk; she'd 
brought it out of him in spite of himself 
most days. The blonde bimbette, however, had been after parties, 
Vogue, and somebody to tell her how 
good she'd look at a party in something out of Vogue--and screaming 
sex, of which he'd certainly given her 
plenty. She was trapped in some adolescent fantasy that said 
everybody who shared your bed had to be 
instantly enamoured of you, or pretend to be. Which had been more 
effing work than he'd been willing to 
put in on the only vampire in the world to hang fuzzy unicorn posters 
in her lair and listen to effin' 
*Hanson* on *his* CD player, which she'd kept, thank you very much... 

There was always the practiced ease of charming random strangers, but 
real seduction, of the "face-to-face with 
somebody who knows and doesn't necessarily like you" variety, was 
something he hadn't had a lot of need 
for recently. {Then there's the fact that you just spent the evening 
wolfing down chocolate and sugar and 
bouncing off the walls, and met him at the door with a hard-on the 
size of a boulder. You weren't exactly in 
a "subtle" place, were you now?} Spike gave his head an experimental 
shake. Which hurt.

{And speaking of boulders, why hasn't the prat noticed that less-than-
subtle fact, not that I'm complaining 
now I feel such a right imbecile?}

{Because not everybody in the world spends their free time staring at 
your crotch, much as you might like 
to believe otherwise, you egocentric little prick.}

Nothing like a mental tongue-lashing from your own personal ego-
deflator. He glanced down, hopefully 
surreptitiously. Thank whoever for small favors, apparently: Xander's 
jeans, in addition to being too long, 
were about a size too large for Spike, luckily (on reflection) 
camouflaging his now somewhat less 
burdensome erection. {Well, a tumble down the stairs and a snootful 
of garlic can do that to even the most 
virile vamp.} He shrugged. Which hurt.

Okay, right, subtlety and charm...

***
Part Two

"I wasn't attacking you. I was... oh, forget it.  Believe what you
want. What else did you buy besides Vamp-
B-Gone?" Spike said, giving his skull one more rueful rub and then
slowly getting up.  "Box of frozen holy
water on a stick? Economy pack of mint-flavored stakes?" He picked up
the bag that had fallen from the
stairs, and looked into it.

Xander backed a little further off, toward his sofa bed. The TV was
still blaring the Powerpuff Girls, and
Pokey Oaks Kindergarten was apparently under attack. [ Fend for
yourselves, girls. Spike wasn't attacking
me? Right, and I'm Faith the Horny Slayer.] Wait, which bag did Spike
have? Xander reached into his own
bag and moved the garlic bread aside. Whew. The six boxes of Count
Chocula were safe in his hands and
out of Spike's [oh, god, how humiliating would that be] sight.

"Marshmallows, nice, I like those, Wonder bread, how surprising, 
butter, and ... Xander, is there something
you haven't been telling me?" Spike slipped into a pseudo-maternal
voice, and held up a plastic bubble
container containing a Winnie-the-Pooh temporary tattoo.

[You don't know the half of it,  Dead-Boy Junior.] "I was trying for
Hello Kitty."

"Yes, that makes all the difference," Spike snickered.

"Willow likes her," Xander shrugged. "Pooh's all yours if you want
him."  He walked over to his little
fridge and carefully pulled the garlic bread and the pint of milk out
of the grocery bag, trying not to reveal
the cereal boxes below them. Not that it mattered;  when he glanced
back, Spike was still cataloguing the
contents of his own bag.

"Ooh, peanut butter. That's good, we're out. Wait-- chocolate peanut
butter? They make that?"  Blue eyes
got very wide, and then narrowed. Probably thinking of all the
diabolical ways to kill someone using just
peanut butter and a bread knife.

Xander quickly rolled his  bag closed again over the embarrassing
abundance of cereal. His wonderful
subconscious mind at work as he shopped, letting him know that some
part of him had apparently enjoyed
Spike's whacked-out chocolate-flavored kiss last night. He tossed the
garlic bread on top of the microwave,
the milk in the fridge door, and the rolled-up bag full of cereal
boxes in the utility cupboard, behind the
plunger, right next to his...

"Hey-- you...you...chocolate-stealing vampire guy. Where's my stash
of Mounds?" Xander turned on Spike
angrily, then thought twice. [Where was the transition from "he's
going to kill me, I must run" to "he stole
my candy, I must yell at him" ? Did I miss it somewhere?]

The vamp was right behind him, holding the second grocery bag in one
hand, and the plastic bubble
container in the other. They did the trading places dance, and Spike
tossed the bubble over Xander's head
towards the bed.

"I'm thinkin' the tat would look better on you, somehow. Er, Mounds,
right. There was this gang of rogue
humans, broke in and demanded chocolate, and me, what's a poor vamp
to do, chip in 'is head an' all?"
Spike smiled innocently.

[God, he almost looks...friendly? Nah, it's the what-- nineteen?--
bleurgh-- Almond Joys talking. When did I
stop being terrified of him? Or at least, of him killing me, because
I can't say he still doesn't scare the hell
out of me on other levels.]

"Sides, from the carnage in here..." Spike pulled a handful of empty
Almond Joy wrappers from the bag he
was holding..."you've 'ad enough Peter Paul goodness to last the
night."  He stacked the three plastic jars of
peanut butter next to the microwave, wrinkling his nose as he neared
the garlic bread, then moved on to the
refrigerator.

"I didn't eat all of those," [Just most...] Xander defended himself
as he watched Spike bend down and open
the fridge. [And we are *not* staring at the ass of the man who just
(possibly) tried to kill us, are we,
Xander? No, we're not, and we're certainly not thinking that it would
look better in his jeans than mine,
'cause they're tighter, and we're definitely not thinking that it
would look better out of them entirely...]
Meanwhile, Spike had apparently given up on finding a place for the
Wonder bread, leaving it on top of the
fridge, and had moved on to trying to fit the large tub of butter
into the cramped interior.

"What happened to the great honking fridge you used to have in here?
This thing barely has room for a few
bags of blood and a pint of milk."

[Well, that's Spike for you. Straight from trying to kill me to
complaining about the living conditions.
And that's me, Xander the slumlord. ] Xander shook his head and
reached over the top of the small refrigerator.
"Give it here, and move your dead ass out of the way."

Chuckling, Spike handed over the butter, stood up and crossed his
arms over his chest. [Yes, watch the
master at work. Up to the challenge of cramming food into any space
imaginable.  Ack. That didn't sound
quite right, somehow.] Xander shoved the milk over, turned the butter
tub on its side, and deftly slid it into
the shelf inside the door. The metal restraining bar bulged a bit,
but his mission was accomplished, and he
slammed the door. You had to, in order to get it to stay shut.

Leaning against the closed fridge, Xander tried to shoot down
thoughts of the *last* time he'd had his back
up against the appliance, and decided to regale Spike with the
refrigeration saga. Since he seemed so
concerned, and all.

"The old fridge broke down and flooded the basement with strawberry
ice cream and defrosted chicken
parts.  Father-knows-best decided that since it was quote my damn
mess unquote, I was responsible for
replacing it, even though it was older than I am. Possibly older than
you are. I'll be damned if I'm gonna
buy *him* a new fridge, hence the Goodwill reject you see before you.
Thusly, and so on. You missed that
whole thrilling adventure, because you were busy elsewhere at the
time. Let me think....oh yeah, just
generally being an evil bastard and hangin' out with Adam."

"And aren't you glad to have your very own evil bastard back? No
dank, depressing basement is complete
without one." Spike shot back, deadpan.

Xander shrugged. "Haven't we had this conversation before? If you
don't like it, you have your choice of
doors. If you leave by the front one, you'll probably trip over my
mother, but this late on a Saturday night, she's
usually a bit too drunk to notice. Why are you still here, anyway?"

***

{I *know* we've had this conversation before. Yeah, but you didn't
actually tell him the truth. Gonna try a
different tactic this time?}

"Crypt smashed? Army gits? Working fridge? And microwave?" {No,
apparently not. Good on you, Spike.
Why start a new trend. You're evil, remember?} Speaking of the
microwave... he glanced over at the stack
of three peanut butter jars he'd placed next to it. Chocolate peanut
butter? Now how might that stuff
taste...say...melted and drizzled...

Xander, meanwhile, was busy coming up with uncomfortable
reminders. "You've smelled fresher looking
corpses, remember? Stuck here washing skivvies for a blighter you
wouldn't even have bothered to bite a
few months ago. Remember?" The kid was getting snarky right back at
him. Yes, the whole seduction thing
was working out beautifully.

And of course, the dryer chose that moment to announce to the world
in three dulcet beeps that those
skivvies had not only been washed, but were now tumbled dry and April
fresh. Spike, the domesticated
vampire, now available in three colors: pale, paler, and eggshell
white, to coordinate with all your
decorating needs.

"And that was?" Xander said, once again wearing what had established
itself in Spike's mental catalogue as
"Duh-face." Even Duh-face was starting to look good, and Spike
realized the effects of his tumble down
the stairs were wearing off, but the effects of his chocolate high,
or his apparently lost mind, weren't.
Xander's too-big jeans weren't feeling all that big any longer.

Spike turned quickly, and stalked over to the dryer, crouching down
and opening the door. {What the hell?
You're Spike! The only person in the world less shy about their
sexuality than you is...} he pondered for a
second, momentarily distracted... {Well, Madonna, but she's such a
poseur. So you've got a raging hard-
on. You're usually overjoyed to advertise your lack of a height-
related inferiority complex to the world.
What's different now?}

With a face full of warm, April fresh laundry, he frowned. {What's
different is...I *want* him, and I'm
going to scare him off if I'm not subtle. Or maybe even if I am. I
can *do* subtle, if I'm being Sneaky Evil
Bastard, but I haven't done it for sex in a great long while. Which
means...I want him that much. Crap.
Hell. The last time I wanted somebody that much...} The last time
he'd wanted somebody that much, he'd
been sitting in a wheelchair trying to decide if he was more jealous
of Angelus for screwing his Dru, or of
Drusilla for screwing what used to be his Angelus. Oh, fuck.

"That was your skivvies, Master Harris. And mine, as a matter o'
fact. Duds, anyway. Don't actually wear
much in the way of your literal skivvies."  {And yes, Spike, he
wanted to know that, considering you're
wearing his jeans at the moment. That was both subtle and seductive.
What was that useful phrase again?
Oh yeah--Crap.}

"And once again, with the Too Much Information, Spike." Xander
drawled. "Well, I wondered why you
were wearing my clothes, considering you said you'd rather die than
do that again."

"Actually, I said I'd rather shag Giles in the High Street. Selective
memory, the gift that keeps on giving,"
Spike responded. He reached into his  back pocket, then pulled his
hand out again, empty. Patted the arm of
his t-shirt. Nope. Eh? Oh yeah. Wearing Harris' clothes. No smokes. 
Ventured into the dryer and fumbled
around for his own black jeans. What, 'cos there'd be smokes in
there? God, he hoped not. April Fresh
menthol. Gak.  He yanked out his jeans and red shirt. The t-shirt was
still somewhere tangled among
Xander's clothes, but the other two pieces of his ensemble looked
none the worse for wear. Still crouched
down in front of the dryer, he held them up proudly.

"Look, mum, I did it all by myself. No shrinkage, or anything."

"I'm impressed. You can go get a job at the Fluff N' Fold, and start
paying rent. I actually meant, by the
way, what are you still doing here, it's nine o'clock on a Saturday
night and shouldn't you be out kickin' ass
and not stopping to take names? Or trolling for some other vamp's
leftovers, at least."

***

[Come to think of it, what was he doing home at eleven o'clock last
night? Just stayed in to torment me
before he took off for the wild black yonder? And he's not wearing
underwear.]

This fact was important, for some reason, because Xander's brain kept
coming back to it. [Why is he getting
so chummy, he's not wearing underwear, if he didn't want to kill me
then what was that on the stairs, he's
not wearing underwear, why is he still here, really, when he's told
us more than once that he hates all of us,
and besides, he's not wearing underwear.] Arms crossed, still leaning
against the fridge, Xander shook his
head, trying to clear it. Nope, not a lot of success there.

"Funny, that. Just didn't seem to be in the mood," Spike said
thoughtfully. He stood up, holding his clean
clothes over his arm.

[He's not going to change back into them now, is he? I'm pretty sure
my skull would explode. Because...
he's not wearing underwear. Right, brain, got that the first seventy-
two times.]

"Maybe it's 'cos the demon population of Sunnyhell thinks I'm a
complete tosser for 'aving done business
with the Slutty the Vampire Slayer and her pathetic band of cartoon
crimesolvers."

"Why do you do that?" popped out of Xander's mouth before he knew
what he was saying. Suddenly he
had to know. For once, he wasn't hurt or even really annoyed by the
insults that came as naturally to Spike
as breathing did to Xander.  Correction: as breathing usually did to
Xander, today apparently being an
exception. He just wanted to know... why?

"Do what, Twinkles?" Spike asked, tossing his clean clothes on top of
the dryer and puttering around on the
shelf next to it, looking for something.

"Flash the big 'Hi, I'm an asshole' sign every time somebody starts
to have a reasonably civil conversation
with you. I mean, is it all part of the whole Spike charm thing, or
can't you stand anybody thinking you
might be..."

"What?" Spike interrupted, whirling around on him. "A nice guy? A
prince among men? A bleedin'
vampire with a soul? 'Cos there's only one of those that I know of,
and that's my fairy-cake of a sire. I'm a
demon, remember? It's what I do. You serve pizza to six-year-olds and
stock groceries, I'm an evil bastard."

Ahh, the return of Growly Guy. So, let's push it, because we're
feeling suicidal anyway. "And you have to
try so hard to convince us of it, Oh Big Bad Whatever.  Adam was a
really good attempt; I was impressed. I
just wondered if it's getting to be a bit more trouble than it's
worth."

***************************************

Part Three


{Get the hell out of my head, Alexander Harris. I am an evil, 
soulless, bloodsucking demon. Just because 
I'm friggin' *fixed* don't mean I don't *want* to rip out throats and 
pound things into the pavement...and 
pound you into that soddin' broken-down mattress... I am *not* having 
to try to be evil. I do it by nature.}

Oh, nice. Spike could practically smell the testosterone. Which was 
fine by him, a good bit of pawing the 
ground put him in the mood like nothing else. Except maybe two bags 
of chocolate and a night spent 
climbing the walls, or... any number of other pleasant triggers 
flitted through his mind, until he derailed 
*that* particular train of thought. {I am *not* a nice guy. I'm 
*not* ! I'd rip his heart out in a minute if this 
chip was...}

Half the borrowed blood in his body seemed to be suffusing his face, 
or something, because there was a 
rush of heat to his head. (The one at the top of his neck. The other 
half of that blood had long ago traveled 
south.)

{Oh, buggerfuck. I wouldn't. } Xander's mates might be meat and blood 
if they got in Spike's way, and the 
Slayer and him... they had issues. He'd a sneaking suspicion it was 
more fun yanking Rupert's chain than it 
would be yanking his head off, but he wouldn't rule it out. The 
little witches? Major entertainment 
opportunities in keeping them alive, but they were *awfully* tasty.

{This one, though-- I don't want to kill this idiot child, I want 
to... well, fuck him, but then what? This... 
sucks. God, that's it. I actually thought the word 'sucks' without 
it being involved in a pun. I've gone 
completely Sunnydale. And I'm out of smokes.}

So, now for a witty rejoinder that would cut Harris down to size and 
let him know that Spike was still the 
biggest, baddest vampire this side of the Hellmouth.

"Get bent." Yeah, brilliant and incisive, that was.

Xander scowled. "So's your momma. Wait, what?" 

Oh, look, Duh-face again. Only it wasn't a Harmony sort of "If you 
blew in my ear you'd hear a whistling 
noise" Duh-face. More a matter of the mouth being quicker than the 
brain, which was still in there 
chugging away, trying to catch up. Spike's lips twitched. {No, I will 
*not* laugh. I'm a badass, I'm a 
demon, I'm... oh, sod this for a game of soldiers.}

He smiled. Then he laughed. Then he laughed some more. Not "I'm an 
evil bastard, you're a tenth-grade 
loser" laughter. Just... what the hell could be funnier than this? 
Arse-kicking motherfucking hundred-and-a-
few-odd year old demon tries to get laid by seriously pissing off the 
puppy-faced, purehearted, nineteen 
year old object of his psychotic affections? 

{Hang about... affections? Could I be any more hopeless?}

***

"Look, you underdone English toffee! Quit laughing at me! At least 
until I can figure out what the hell 
you're laughing at." Xander snapped petulantly. [See, look, he's 
laughing at me, which was what I figured 
this was all about, but he took long enough to get around to it. 
There's always a set-up, before they knock 
you down and kick you.]

Spike ran pale fingers through his paler hair, crossed his eyes 
[Okay, *that* was disturbing], pulled on the 
end of his nose, and finally stopped laughing.

"Not laughing at you, mate. Laughing at me. And 'get bent' means... 
er... basically, go get fucked, but taken 
literally, go get fucked by a man." Spike shut up, but that damned 
grin was still on his face.

Oh. That. [To which 'So's your momma' is an oh-so-appropriate 
rejoinder. Okay, maybe a little tiny bit 
funny. If I weren't fucking *blushing*, which I know I am, dammit.]

Xander snorted to cover his embarrassment, and retreated to 
the "kitchen," where he picked up the topmost 
jar of peanut butter from Spike's precarious stack. Chocolate. That 
would do the trick. That would tell him 
what was going on. Chocolate would make everything make sense. True, 
nineteen candy bars in eight hours 
hadn't helped much, but surely some peanut butter would be the 
magical solution? He opened the jar and 
ripped back the foil freshness seal. 

Dark, chocolatey peanut butter stared up at him, smelling like a 
thousand safe sunny afternoons of splitting 
Reese's Peanut Butter cups with Willow in the park, seeing who could 
swing higher and jump farther. Oh, so much 
less confusing than trying to psychoanalyze the smirking vampire 
standing a few.. feet.. away... [wearing 
no underwear...] 

Then again, swinging wasn't all that safe either. An image from his 
dream the night after they'd beaten 
Adam: a tweed-clad Spike and Giles on the playground swings, seeing 
who could swing higher. A 
Watcher scoffs at gravity... Spike in tweed. Disturbingly hot, and it 
made no freaking sense whatsoever, 
and the heat he was sure he felt in his cheeks had decided to spread 
all over his body. Desperately, Xander 
dipped a finger into the smooth, creamy peanut butter, pulled it out, 
and put it in his mouth. 

Oh, yesss...that was the stuff.

***

The smirk slowly faded from Spike's face as he watched Xander lick 
the chocolate peanut butter from his 
own finger. The sight was inexplicably erotic: the full lips closing 
around the peanut-butter coated finger, 
the dark lashes on the closed eyes, the look of sheer single-minded 
bliss. A shot of pure lust ran like a 
lightning bolt down the length of Spike's body, straight to his groin.

{Oi, enough of this! No more bleedin' conversation. Shag now! 
Er, 
no, subtlety, remember? Shag! Subtlety! 
Shag!} Spike growled. No smokes. Too much chocolate. No bloodsucking, 
and here was this perfectly 
edible living body in front of him, and all he wanted to do with it 
was...explore its warmth and shadows, 
and touch it until he either expired from the effort, or regained 
what little sense he'd ever possessed. 
Granted, an oddly acceptable alternative, but the point was, he kept 
getting entangled in meaningless 
conversation, when, subtlety or no subtlety, that wasn't what he was 
after at all.

He sniffed the air. No scent of fear now. Well, that 
was...disturbingly comforting. Very little garlic, also 
helpful. Lots of spicy clean Xander smell floating around the room, 
and then there was the chocolate. 
Peanut butter. Together. Which smelled verrrry good. 

Brilliant idea springing forth from nowhere, energy less in check 
than ever, Spike literally bounced over to 
where Xander stood, and tried to grab the jar from his hand. The 
boy's eyes snapped open.

"Uh-uh, Mister Get Bent. Get your own." Xander pulled the jar back, 
but Spike didn't let go. No way on 
earth. This was going somewhere, or he was going to by-God levitate 
up the stairs through the power of 
sheer horniness, smash his way out the door, and go beat the unliving 
shit out of every demonic resident of 
the Hellmouth that he could get his hands on.

"But I want *yours*, Xander!" he whined in his best five-year-old 
voice, smirk back in place. He pulled the 
jar back, harder. Not as hard as he *could* have, mind you. He wasn't 
using full vampiric strength here. 
Aside from not wanting to set the seven-times-damned chip off, he was 
going for subtlety. A certain 
specific kind of subtlety. Give and take. Test and measure. If he 
doesn't want this, maybe I won't come off 
looking like a complete moron. If he does, ahh, then...

***

Spike pulled on the jar of peanut butter again, and Xander replied in 
kind. [Mine. My peanut butter. My 
basement, my brain, my...what...heart? Not going there. My jeans, 
dammit. Get the hell out, you demonic, 
smartassed, undead, underwearless...drop-dead gorgeous guy who has me 
questioning my sanity and my 
masculinity and...]


***

Spike hauled back on the jar, just a little harder. Watched 
Xander's countenance run the gamut from 
pissed-off to Duh-face to *really* pissed-off.

The human yanked the jar to his chest with both hands. Fine. Spike 
wasn't going to let go, and he wasn't 
going to be outdone by Mr. I'm Bloody Taller Than You So I Get To 
Keep The Nummy Stuff All To 
Myself... so right hand joined left on the plastic jar, and he braced 
his foot in front of Xander's, pulling back 
with juuuust enough strength to get the young man tugging harder in 
the opposite direction, then letting up, just a 
little... now this was the tricky bit. Would it work?

***

Feeling Spike's hold weaken unexpectedly, Xander stumbled back a bit, 
off balance. He wasn't sure 
whether to snatch the jar away victoriously, or just pull it calmly 
from the vampire's literally cold, dead 
hands-- or whether he was about to fall on his ass and make it a moot 
point. He'd just decided on the first 
choice [Mine! My chocolate!] when Spike pulled again, hard, and the 
unbalanced [definitely unbalanced] 
Xander fell *forward,* knocking the shorter man to the floor and 
landing on top of him.


***

{Yes! Schoolyard fight! It worked! And no blinding headache from the 
chip, although bouncing my skull 
off the basement floor *again* probably isn't doing it any good.}

The two rolled across the small clear space on the floor, tussling 
all the while. Spike made damn sure not 
to do anything that would actively *hurt* the boy, and kept sending 
calming thoughts to his blasted 
computer chip, just in case. {*Not* trying to hurt him. Just playing, 
see? Good vampire. *Nice* (eccchh) 
vampire.} 

***

Roll, push, pull...Xander on top, and eye to eye with the remnants of 
his shattered remote control:

"You broke the remote?" Pant. Gasp. Inhale. White hand snaking up, 
and peanut butter suddenly smeared in 
Xander's hair.

"I was frustrated."

"Hey, everybody hates the re-run season, but that's no reason to take 
it out on innocent equip..."

***

A little burst of vampiric sugar-high, and they were rolling the 
other way. They banged up against the edge 
of the bed, Spike on top and grinning inanely. Oh, this was fun! 
Right next to the empty cider bottle and 
Mounds bags that had begun his descent into this night of madness.

"You drank my Woodpecker? Bastard," Xander hissed, giving as good as 
he'd gotten with a swipe of 
peanut butter across Spike's forehead.

"Somebody has to protect you innocent underage kids from the evils of 
alcohol," Spike answered. "Might 
as well be me..."

No answer, but the body underneath him tensed and bucked, and they 
were rolling again.

***

Xander on top, and Spike staring up at him, still smirking. [I'll 
wipe that grin off his smarmy face...Big 
Bad my ass...maybe Slightly Naughty... What the hell is he *doing* to 
me?]

A "grrrr" of anger and frustration, and Xander was pinning the 
vampire's arms to the floor, straddling 
Spike's torso with his knees, and glaring back down at him, breathing 
hard.

"Why..." huff... "the hell..." puff... "did you..." 
huff... "come...back here, dammit?"

"Missed you, ducks. Not to mention the scintillating conversation. 
And the mildew, can't forget the mildew. Why haven't you chucked
me 
out?"

Xander stared into the misleadingly innocent blue eyes beneath him. 
If he fucking knew that, wouldn't 
everything be just peachy. And wasn't it wonderful that Spike, too, 
had noticed his blatant illogic on the 
subject of giving shelter to evil bloodsucking demons who gobble your 
private stash of chocolate and insult 
you continuously when they're not trying to kill you or your closest 
friends.

He growled, letting go of one of Spike's arms to dip a hand into the 
half-empty peanut butter jar. He was 
just grasping a handful of the vampire's white-blond hair with peanut-
buttery fingers and trying to decide 
what new style to give him with the makeshift hair gel, when Spike 
gave a polite 'ahem...'

"No answer, then?" asked the obnoxious grinning face that definitely 
didn't have enough peanut butter on 
it.

"Get bent," Xander snapped. 

"Trying to, pet, but you're not exactly making an easy job of it," 
While young Mr. Harris' much-abused 
brain tried to make sense of what he'd just heard, Spike used his 
[oops]free hand, and a little unfair vampire 
advantage, to push Xander over.


**************

Part Four

Spike on top, and Xander on his back, blinking at the triumphant 
vampire. It was all Spike could do not to 
crow out loud. {Somewhere between subtle and senseless, but at least 
now he knows what the game is. 
Now the only question is... is he playing?}

The boy had one knee up, already preparing to shove Spike off him, 
and dark eyes widened as that knee 
made contact with Spike's swollen crotch. {Well, if he hadn't figured 
it out yet, he'd have to be unbelievably daft not to twig to it 
now...} The knee shot down again, as if burned. That wasn't so far 
from the 
truth, at this point, Spike reflected. He leaned in close to Xander's 
face.

"What, nothin' to say? I seem to recall something about us "needing 
to talk" before I took my little garlic-
induced fall from grace. Something you wanted to say, grocery boy? 
Something you wanted to know?" 
Spike gave his best patented evil-vampire raised-eyebrow leer. 

At which point the object of the game burst into hysterical laughter.

***

[Why does he remember every freakin' thing I say? Couldn't he just 
ignore me like everybody else usually 
does? Oh, God, touchy-feely 'we need to talk' Xander, pinned to the 
floor by the vampire of his 
nightmares, who's not wearing underwear and is apparently storing a 
cannonball in his...my... jeans, and 
he's doing that damned eyebrow thing and he doesn't know he's got a 
big dollop of peanut butter about to 
fall off said eyebrow and onto my nose...]

"What?" demanded Spike, affronted. Xander shook his head, and 
continued laughing, totally out of control. 
He reached up and, gasping for breath, wiped the peanut butter from 
Spike's eyebrow, revealing the scar 
beneath it. There. Now at least he could look at the vamp. Definite 
improvement. He'd transformed Spike 
from hysterically funny creature of the night to delicious-looking, 
highly annoyed creature of the night.

"Sorry...just...you'll laugh, too, really. I was gonna ask..." 
gasp... "whether you were playing with my 
head, last night." Wow. It was out. He'd actually asked. Which 
implied somehow that he cared about what 
the answer was. That was enough to cut the laughing jag off.

Spike made a strange snarfing noise, somewhere between a snort and a 
guffaw, and Xander could smell the 
chocolate, sweet on his breath. What passed for breath, 
anyway. "Well, yeah. 'Course. Worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah, it worked," Xander replied slowly, trying not to sound 
disappointed. Trying not to *be* 
disappointed. [What the hell was I *thinking* ? Lather, rinse, 
repeat. What the hell was I *thinking* ?] 

A put-upon sigh from above, and then Spike's lips were on his. No 
blood this time, just cool, sweet Spike 
flavor, and the same warm coconut and chocolate that Xander himself 
had been scarfing all day. The 
vampire's tongue slid into his mouth, wrestling with his own as their 
bodies had wrestled moments ago. 
Even without the warm blood that had accompanied last night's 
experience, Spike's lips weren't really 
cold. Room temperature, maybe, but not with the friction against 
Xander's own, not for long.

***

He wasn't sure if the wide-open eyes and frantically scrabbling hands 
signaled complete mental breakdown 
or just lack of air, but Spike figured it was about time to let the 
boy breathe. He pulled back, just a bit. Still 
right in his face. {Let the fun begin-- which way does he go, lads?}

"Sp..Spike, what the hell are you doing?" The hurt-puppy look from a 
few seconds ago had been replaced 
with utter confusion. {Oh, yeah, I've still got it. Well, either 
I've still got it, or I've just kissed the most 
crack-brained feckless git on the face of the planet. Or both.}

"Should think it would be crystal bloody clear by now. What I've been 
tryin' to do since you walked in the 
door, you little twit. Kill you. Obviously. Grrr," he finished off 
exaggeratedly, and sealed it with another 
hard kiss.

Wasn't pushing him off, that was a good sign, and unless Spike's 
tongue had completely lost its sense of 
direction, there was some seriously enjoyable reciprocity going on. 
The Scooby-boy tasted like chocolate 
and rain, and he gave as good as he was getting. When Spike 
reluctantly pulled back, however, the 
confused look was still in place.

"I thought you said...you were just...playing with me..." 

Oh, the earnestness. The humanity of it all. Spike sighed, and 
explained as if to a very small, easily 
frightened child. "Why'd you want to go believing anything I say? 
I'm evil, remember?" Soft kiss on the 
tip of Xander's nose, just a moment's touch. "Thought I was. At
the 
time. Playing. That's then, been a long 
day, this is now, any more bloody questions?"

"Mmmph. Mmmph-mph," Xander replied into his mouth.

***

Xander had stumbled completely over the edge. There didn't seem to be 
any rope back up, and it was a hell 
of a long way down. Might as well enjoy the fall. The view wasn't 
bad from here, either. Lost, that was it. 
He was lost.

"What was that, pet?" Spike asked amusedly when he pulled off to let 
Xander breathe again. Spike had 
been right about the breathing thing. Inconvenient.

"I said, you have peanut butter on your nose."

Spike wrinkled said nose. "Do not."

"Do too," Xander sing-songed, and smeared a line of chocolatey peanut 
butter down the length of Spike's 
nose, from bridge to tip. He knew that fingerful he'd stolen from the 
vampire's face would come in handy. 
Unsure of exactly what the hell he was doing, he smiled a little 
shyly, and stretched his head up, sticking 
out his tongue. Slowly, with little short sweeps, he began to lick 
the peanut butter from Spike's nose. The 
vampire made little cat noises, narrowed his eyes, and grinned even 
wider.

***

{And it's another goal for Manchester United! Take that, Liverpool 
supporters and snarky brain voices.} 
There was blissful silence in his head. All of Spike in perfect 
unity. Then the licking stopped. This was a 
bad thing, yes?

"Did you just call me...pet?" A disbelieving croak.

"Twice. What, you missed the first one 'cos it was so close to that 
bit about wanting to get bent?"

Silence. "Um, yes, very possibly. What was the question? " More 
silence. "Oh, yeah--isn't that something 
you do with girls?"

Spike looked down at him incredulously. "Get bent? No, luv, I thought 
we'd covered that." {Oh, I get it--
the 'pet' thing. Still, let's us watch him fumble through that one.} 
Spike's wickedest grin was hiding just 
under the surface, but he fought it down.

Chocolate eyes unfocused, and a flush rose in the boy's cheeks. {He's 
blushing! Not feckless-- 
innocent. Un-bloody-believeable...and absolutely delectable.} Spike 
really couldn't resist it any longer. He 
could almost feel the blood thumping through the jugular vein a few 
inches from his lips, and he darted 
down to Xander's neck, grabbing the stubborn chin and firmly turning 
the beautiful head.

Lips against the warm, so-thin skin covering the rushing blood, 
Spike could feel it begin to pump faster, 
almost fluttering. The mind might know Spike couldn't hurt him, but 
the body was another story, and it was 
in full panic mode. Making little shushing noises, Spike kissed down 
the length of the vein, then drew a 
line back up, with the tip of his tongue. A final teasing, delicate 
nip with his flat, oh-so-human teeth, and 
there was a half-choked gasp from Xander. {Think I made my point. 
Whatever the hell it was.} 

Spike withdrew again, sat back on his heels, and waited. Watched. Had 
a hell of a lot of fun.

***

Point. Point. Here, point. Xander was sure he'd had one. Something 
about girls. Getting bent. No. Spike's 
hand was on his face. Spike's mouth was on his throat. Spike wasn't 
going to hurt him; Spike *couldn't* 
hurt him... but his heart beat like it was trying to jump out of his 
body, which was busy feeling like 
somebody had zapped him with an Initiative blaster. Tingles of 
electricity jagged their way up and down 
his spine, across his chest, melted down to pool like liquid fire in 
his penis and then skittered back up to start the 
whole thing over again. When the tiny sharpness of Spike's human 
teeth pricked his skin, he could see 
stars. Then suddenly Spike's cool hand, Spike's warm lips, withdrew, 
leaving Xander gasping for breath. 
From somewhere in his throat came a little sound that was absolutely 
positively not a girlie squeak.

"You had something to ask, was it?" Spike purred. 

[Damn him! It wasn't *that* important. Definitely could've waited...] 

Point. Point. Oh... "uhm...Girls. That 'pet' thing-- I've only ever 
heard you use it with girls." Just trying to 
get it straight. As straight as possible under the circumstances, 
anyway.

"You a girl? 'Cos I'm thinking…I would've noticed." Spike put a
hand 
on Xander's chest, fingers splayed 
out. "Nah, don't think so." Trailed that hand a little further down, 
across Xander's stomach, which was 
doing little happy/sick flip-flops, to the waistband of his jeans. 
Whisked those fingers very lightly over the 
denim that covered Xander's rapidly swelling cock. "Hmmm... 
definitely not, I'd say. ..Pet." 

Xander groaned. Spike apparently chose to take that as a complaint, 
because he removed his hand. Which 
wasn't Xander's intent at all, insofar as he was still capable of 
anything so intelligent as intent.

"Well, you called me an underdone English toffee, and *I* didn't take 
offense. Wasn't bad, for a first try. 
More suited to your upper class types, like our Rupert, though. For 
me, you want...oh, 'knock-kneed 
Limey guttersnipe,' maybe, or you could always try 'jammy little 
oik.' You'll learn. We'll have you 
hoistin' Real Ale with the lads down the pub in no time." He sounded 
as if he could go on at length, which 
was the last thing in the world Xander wanted him doing with his 
mouth at the moment, sexy as that voice 
might be.

"Shut up..." Xander commanded, and Spike cocked his head.

"Well, if you don't want me to call you 'pet,' I s'pose I won't 
then..."

Xander hissed in frustration, and reached up to grab a handful of 
Spike's t-shirt collar, pulling him down to 
face-level. "Didn't say that," he muttered. "Now. Shut. Up." He 
reached a hand round the back of the
bleach-blonde, peanut butter spattered head, and pulled Spike's face 
to his own, plunging his tongue into 
that moist, vaguely chocolate-flavored cavern again, sucking on the 
soft pink bottom lip.

[I'm sucking face with a vampire. Me, Xander "How could you do it, 
Buffy" Harris. And mine doesn't even 
have a soul.] Somewhere in his head, the guy who wanted to keep 
sucking face hit the babbling intellectual 
with a very large, determined fist, knocking him out of the driver's 
seat. Shoving the mental cruise control 
lever into place, he went back to what he was doing. [Fuck off, 
higher brain functions.]

***

Spike almost chortled in glee when Xander pulled him down. {Alright, 
audience participation!} Perfectly 
happy to shut up, since he'd just been testing how long he could 
tease before the lad either came to his 
senses or did what he was...doing...right...now...

Hot mouth, cool tongue, slashing circles round his own. Pulling out, 
to nibble his lips, to brand little fiery 
kisses onto his chin, his cheeks, the scar on his eyebrow. It was 
driving him out of control. Every bit of 
pent-up energy that had built up over the long night, over the long 
months since he'd first started noticing 
that this man-child was more than the Slayer's personal comic relief, 
since he'd first started denying it to 
himself... It was all about to come to a boil. Which was why, 
unbearable as it was, he pushed himself back 
from the body beneath him. Spike thumped backwards to sit on Xander's 
trapped thighs, hands resolutely 
fastened to his own kneecaps, and looked at the face in front of him.

Confusion, need, more oh-hurt-me looks, and wanting him. Spike 
couldn't fathom why the fact that 
Xander wanted him was filling him with such inexplicable joy, but 
there it was. He resisted the urge to 
smooth the concern from the furrowed brow before him.

"Did I... do something wrong?" Xander asked hesitantly. Spike shook 
his head. No, definitely right. Very, 
very right.

"No. No, but here's this: I've got to know that you're not gonna get 
up bright and early tomorrow and run off to 
the Slayer tellin' her I had my wicked demonic way with you against 
your will. I don't fancy wakin' up to 
find I've turned into a Kansas song. Need to know that *you* know I 
can't do a damn thing to you... that you 
don't want me to. Didn't force you, didn't hypnotize you into doin' 
my evil bidding..."

Sudden perk of interest. So easily distracted, this one. Could be 
useful, or at least fun. But not now, 
dammit. He sighed. "What?"

"Can you *do* that?"

"Hypnotize you? No. I'm not flamin' Dracula, Xander." He so
seldom 
said Xander's name aloud unless 
baiting him, usually replacing it with his newest insult-of-the-day. 
The sound in his mouth now was 
something strange, too personal, too real.

"I just...because Dru..." Xander was suddenly quiet, and his 
quicksilver expression shifted into the familiar 
"Oh, Shit" face that Spike had come to know so well.

"You can say her name. I won't bite-- can't-- and I won't stake 
m'self. Promise." He waited.

"Dru could hypnotize people." Xander finished uncertainly.

"Yeah. And other two-legged animals. That's Dru. She has visions, 
too. It doesn't come with the vampire 
holiday package; it's just what she is. Do you always talk this much?"

"Me???" Xander protested. "The man who decided to give me impromptu 
lessons in British slang asks 
this?" He may have sounded peeved, but his hands were doing 
distracting things to Spike's bare ankles, and 
moving their way up the vampire's ticklish shins... {Focus, Spike. 
Focus.}

"I was winding you up. Doesn't count. Topic at hand-- you want this, 
or don't you? You get it? I'm helpless. 
The Slayer comes after me for molesting her best friend, I'm pretty 
much road grit." It was ludicrous, really. 
He was trusting the word of the forces of good here, because he was 
for some reason absolutely sure that whatever Xander said, he'd stick 
by it.

" 'Cause I'm definitely gonna be dishing with her over bagels and 
latte tomorrow morning concerning the interesting new directions my 
sex life has taken. Hello? Repressed adolescent male here? Anyway, 
you're right, she'd stake you on sight, but she might stake me, too, 
just in case you'd...used your wicked demonic ways on me." The boy's 
hands, meanwhile, had found their way to the sensitive spots behind 
Spike's half-bent knees, and were doing unspeakable things.

"Xander..." Spike groaned, only half in frustration. "Tell me. Bloody 
well just...tell me..."

"I...want this."

The words were barely out of the boy-child's mouth when Spike grabbed 
the torturing fingers and pushed Xander's 
hands away from him. He fell forward again onto the surprisingly 
broad chest beneath him. After using 
one hand to pin those dangerous fingers above Xander's head, it was 
Spike's turn to explore every inch of 
the other's face with his mouth, with his tongue. He licked remnants 
of peanut butter smears happily from 
the warm skin.

**************

Part Five

And all it had taken was his soul. Everything in him. Every ounce of 
sense and responsibility was 
screaming at him to shut up, to push the vampire off, to do 
*something,* even run to Buffy as Spike had 
implied. And he'd opened his big mouth and said, "I want this." He'd 
told the truth, like a good little soldier 
for the light, and all it had taken was everything he had. 

[Want this. Want this. Want Spike. Want to fuck Spike. Yeah, 
vampire. Yeah, evil, whatever, maybe. Don't care. 
Don't fucking even care. Want him here with me. Touching me. Want to 
touch him. ] 

His hands trapped above his head, he couldn't. Couldn't do anything 
but lie there and feel every cool/hot 
contact of Spike's lips, Spike's tongue on his face, his neck, 
Spike's free hand in his hair. Good, so good, 
but he wanted to touch, too. He struggled. He wasn't exactly stronger 
than the vampire, but he did have one 
unfair advantage. Spike not only couldn't hurt him, he'd be actively 
trying not to, unless he wanted the 
mood broken by massive head trauma courtesy of Ye Olde Behavioral 
Modification Chip. So...

He wiggled beneath Spike's body. Which felt unbelievable, and 
elicited little growly noises, but didn't get 
his hands free. [The hell with this!]

Recalling the stylin' hand-to-hand moves he'd used in their tussle 
for control of the peanut butter, he rocked 
sideways suddenly, using his own weight to roll over on top of the 
other man. [Yeah, who's got control 
now, Mr. Grabby Hands?] Spike had let go of Xander's hands as the 
vamp instinctively flung his arms out for 
balance, so Xander was free to put those hands wherever he wanted. 
Where he wanted happened to be the 
fabric of Spike's borrowed t-shirt. Xander tugged it up, and after a 
struggle, off, Spike deciding to play 
nice by raising his arms over his head. Delighted with the expanse of 
pale-pink, almost white chest beneath 
him, the brunette put his fingers everywhere he could think of, and 
then some. Cool, so smooth and cool. 
Lowering his face to Spike's chest, he snaked his tongue out to 
gently lick one pale nipple, and Spike 
hissed, grabbing his head and pulling it closer. He licked his way 
across to the other nipple, but didn't touch 
it, instead drawing concentric circles around it until a pained groan 
from his [What? Lover?] finally melted 
his evil human heart, and he lowered his entire mouth to it, sucking 
hungrily.

***

Everything was just right. Peachy. Better than perfect. Here he was 
ravishing and being ravished by one of 
the Slayer's best friends, and loving every minute of it. Except the 
hard concrete floor below him, which he 
could deal with. He'd done it in much less pleasant surroundings. But 
why, when there was a better option? He pushed Xander back gently, 
against his body's better judgement. 

"Huh? What, again with the 'do you really want this?' " came the 
grumpy voice. "Do. Now, please."

Spike chuckled. "No, not again. I just don't fancy doing this on the 
floor when there's a perfectly decent bed 
three feet away. "

His {What? Lover?} cocked his head, as if considering, then jumped 
up, suddenly. {Gonna run now? Bit 
late for that.} No, apparently not, because Xander leaned down to 
help him up, and they stumbled those 
three feet to the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and moving 
fingers. Xander hit out at the TV in passing, thankfully ridding the 
room of the sounds of superpowered five-year-olds kicking evil tail. 
Spike was busy trying to rip that 
ridiculous Sunnydale High t-shirt off Xander's body, and they landed 
on the folded-out sofa bed with a loud 
creak. The vampire winced as his knee hit the metal bar in the 
middle, beneath the mattress.

"Well, I did use 'decent' in the sense of 'not made out of 
concrete,' " he muttered, then proceeded to finish 
the job on Xander's shirt, which would definitely be unwearable now. 
The younger man's mouth was a bit too 
busy on his chest again to reply, and Spike wasn't about to interrupt 
the lad's obviously heartfelt efforts. 
Instead, he concentrated on fiddling with the brass button at the 
waistband of Xander's faded jeans. 
Success. Next, please? Xander stiffened as Spike began to slowly pull 
the zipper down. Click...click...

{Fun. Torture's always fun, but taking too friggin' long.} Spike 
tugged on the trouser legs, and Xander 
finally broke away from Spike's chest to lift his hips. Then an 
obstacle. Hell, shoes. Beat-up tennis shoes with laces that Spike 
only succeeded in tying up in witch-knots, until Xander figured out 
what he was doing and pried each one off with the opposite foot. 
Good, because otherwise Spike would have yanked them off, and
he'd 
end up having to buy the kid new shoes as well. Mission accomplished. 
Jeans tossed on the floor. Of course, human-boy had to be wearing 
underwear, and the boxer shorts of the day were? *Hello Kitty.* 

Spike had to stop himself from bursting into laughter. Couldn't have 
ruined the mood at this point...nothing 
short of the Hellmouth opening could do that, and even then he was 
pretty sure he'd be trying to fuck Xander 
and wield an axe at the same time. Some torments, however, should be 
savored, and he wasn't in the mood 
to savor anything but the body before him. Tomorrow morning was soon 
enough to tease the boy 
wickedly about his choice in underthings.

*** 

Xander blinked dazedly up at Spike. Not that the man who had just 
tugged his jeans off was difficult to look at, but something was 
terribly wrong. [Not fair. He's got more clothes on than me.]

He reached up to do something about that, and had the zipper on 
Spike's jeans three clicks towards goodbye when he remembered
that 
actually, they were about even in the clothing department. One piece 
each, and he was about to do away with Spike's. Ulp. Oh well, in
for 
a penny… 

He hadn't really been planning ahead, had he? His little
deny-them-
two-minutes-later fantasies hadn't got quite as far as staring at 
Spike's dick in all its uncut glory and wondering if putting his 
fingers on it would put him full-on over the edge into the land of 
never-to-return, personal ad in the school newspaper gayness. Not 
that he didn't *want* to…he was just momentarily stuck still
while 
the room spun around him.

As if reading his thoughts, Spike's sardonic, slightly
exasperated 
voice cut through the haze. "You can actually touch it, you know. 
Much like me, it doesn't bite."

"That's debatable," Xander retorted softly, but he slowly
put out a 
finger to run the length backwards, from bobbing tip to base nestled 
in curls as dark as his own. While Spike inhaled unneeded air sharply 
and helped Xander out in evening up the clothing score by pushing the 
unzipped jeans to his knees, Xander grinned his first real evil Spike 
grin. "Somebody's not a natural blonde…" he mock-sang in
a reasonably 
good imitation of Spike's London accent.

"Try to get over the shock," the real accent muttered through 
clenched teeth as Xander's fingers tiptoed their way around,
pausing 
here and there to catalog the differences between his own circumcised 
member and Spike's nineteenth century anachronism. [Vampire in
your 
bed, you know… plus, more than a hundred years older than
you….] a 
niggling little voice whispered. [Think I told you to fuck off a 
while ago, didn't I?]

***

Spike wasn't exactly doing very well. Over a century old, shagged
and 
been shagged every which way from Sunday, and here he was being 
tentatively felt up by this innocent puppy-child, and teetering on 
the edge. Any more of this and his undead brain would turn to mush. 
Not that it wasn't good, mind you, but there's only so much
foreplay 
a guy can take when he's been waiting about all night, living on 
sexual tension and outdated Halloween chocolate. When Xander's 
exploring fingers finally made their way down to his balls, stroking 
them with the tiniest feather-touch, he just about snapped.

Grabbing the unwittingly evil hand tightly by the wrist, he glared 
down into surprised, disingenuous brown eyes. {So bloody sure
he's 
done something wrong again. What the hell did Demon-Girl do to him? 
Or is this older than that?}

That rueful little smile he gave when he was about to put himself 
down before somebody did it for him. "Y'know, Spike, I…
really don't 
know how to do this."

{Can't believe I'm going to say this twice in the same
century. And 
it *is* the same century; bugger the idiots who forget there
wasn't a 
Year Zero.} "Yeah, luv, as you'd put it, duh." He held
onto Xander's 
wrist. "You'd think you'd never done this before or
somethin'. 
C'mere."

As Spike pulled the infuriating child to him, Xander said quietly, 
with a jagged laugh, "Just don't say anything about steering
me round 
the curves. I've heard enough car-inspired Faithisms to last the
rest 
of my life."

{Ooh, darkness. Bet there's half a story there.} "You really
do talk 
this much all the time, don't you?" He rested his chin on top
of that 
dark head. Smelled peanut butter and chocolate, and almost laughed. 
{We *are* a right mess, aren't we.}

Xander murmured into his chest, "Just call me Alexander
Rosenberg." 

Spike smiled. {Babble-boy and girl, the Bobbsey-twins of 
Sunnydale.} "Wanna try this again? My way? No steering, and
very 
few curves. Promise." 

He was about to take silence for a negative when he felt Xander's 
head nod once beneath his chin. He tilted that head up, and kissed 
him again, perhaps a little harder than he intended, but it had been 
a *very* long day. Pushing Xander back against the mattress, he 
kicked off his jeans, allowing them to join Xander's on the
floor, 
and concentrated on tugging those ridiculous boxers out of his way 
for good. Oh yes, very nice. Quite.

Tempted as he was to give the little sod a taste of his own medicine, 
Spike refrained from teasing Xander with his fingers, instead putting 
a knee on the mattress between the boy's legs and lowering
himself 
down to lie atop his…what, pupil? Ha. The same position
they'd been 
in on the floor, with a lot less clothes. Which was the point, of 
course. Spike's lips on Xander's chest. Erections pressed
against 
each other. See, nice. Now we blinkin' move on…Xander wiggled
beneath 
him, and the connection sent almost-there, just a little more, 
messages to every part of his body. Delicious, but you'd almost 
think he was trying to sit up… Oh, hell, now what?

"Drawer, under the TV," Xander panted. Spike rolled his eyes.

"If you're about to tell me there's condoms in that
drawer, I'll be 
severely disappointed in you. I'm dead. There's nothing I can
give 
you, nothing you can give me." He went back to licking, something
he 
was very good at. Thought twice. "Well, nothing bad, any road. On
the 
other hand, if you're telling me there's lube in there,
I'll be… 
pleasantly surprised. Er… very surprised. Beginning to think
I'll 
have to figure out where the damn peanut butter went, and crunch up 
some more of your childhood with m'big vampire teeth." 

Since Xander wriggled again, he took it for a signal that he really 
should take a moment to back off and check out the drawer. Separating 
himself agonizingly from the warm body under him, he stood quickly 
and pulled the little drawer out. Right. *Pleasantly* surprised. 
There *were* condoms in the drawer-- of multiple colors and brands-- 
but there was also a little white tube. He returned to the bed, 
holding it up, unable to keep the "Huh?" look from his own
face. 
{I've been corrupted, I have.}

**********************
Part Six


Xander shrugged, embarrassed as usual. "Anya. A word that
explains 
all mysteries, answers all questions, fits most crossword puzzle 
clues." When Spike began to grin rottenly at him with that
`oh, 
reeeeeeally, now' look, he hurriedly added, "You'll note
its unopened 
condition…."

[Naked Spike in my room, holding a tube of lubricant. I don't
know if 
that's a fantasy or a nightmare. I mean, naked Spike is good. Or 
Evil… but…]

"Remedy that, shall I?" Spike asked, studying the twist-off, 
poke-
through-the-seal cap. Xander blinked.

"Why am I suddenly hearing `Dueling Banjos' in the back
of my head?" 
he gulped out.

Spike laughed, a short bark that sounded almost genuinely 
amused. "Because you're a disturbed product of twentieth
century 
American culture with no appreciation for the finer things in life, 
and somebody really ought to have shot James Dickey before he made it 
a sin to tell a boy he had a pretty mouth. This isn't for me, 
gobshite. It's for you." Spike flung himself down on the bed
next to 
Xander, and ran his free hand in tantalizing ziz-zags across the 
younger man's still flippy-floppy stomach.

[For me? Spike, you shouldn't have. Okay, hysterical now.]
"Again, 
please, in words of one syllable or less?"

Sharp little pains in his shoulder as Spike dug his fingernails in. 
In a tightly controlled voice: "You. Me. Much as I'd like to
be 
nailing you into the mattress, I don't fancy the headache I'm
sure 
would come with it. Don't think I could manage it at this point 
without hurting you, at least a little bit. Might try it next time, 
real slow, but now, chip, ow, ergo you, me. Monosyllabic enough for 
ya?" Spike ripped the cap off with his teeth, spat it across the 
room, and used the little fingernail on his free hand to puncture the 
foil seal. 

[And I think he's reached the limit of vampire patience,
somehow…]

"Yeah. No fair throwing in the Latin, though," Xander replied
as he 
felt Spike's hands making their way downward, and the shock of
the 
liquidy gel being expertly (he supposed-- he should know from 
expert?) applied to his warm, not to say practically roasting, cock, 
by those smooth cool fingers. [Next time? Did he say next time?] 
Lost. He was absolutely lost. He groaned softly, and Spike gave 
another of those guttural laughs, thankfully took his fingernails out 
of Xander's shoulder, and rolled over onto his stomach.

"Easy way. Novice-level. No gymnastics, no steering, no curves. 
Think you can keep up?" Xander stared. Not exactly no curves.
There 
were the curves of Spike's ass, as translucent an ivory as the
rest 
of the vamp's body, being thrust invitingly up at him. He
honestly 
wasn't sure when he'd ever seen a more beautiful body, male
or 
female, and here it was being offered to him, Xander Harris. Boy 
Doofus. Victim of the twenty-seventh nervous breakdown of the 
evening. He just looked for a second. Then he couldn't resist. He
put 
his hands on each of those white cheeks and squeezed. Spike moaned, 
and muttered, "That stuff does evaporate if you don't use it,
you 
know."

[What, in a few seconds? Pushy, pushy.] Xander leaned down and 
planted a loud kiss on the left half-globe. "Wanker!" Spike
growled, 
but he really didn't sound too unhappy about it. Hoping
enthusiasm 
would make up for having no fucking idea what he was doing, Xander 
fiddled around in the sheets until he found the lube, and squeezed 
some onto his finger. Parting the twin mounds carefully, he slowly 
drew his finger down the hidden crease of Spike's behind, ending at 
the puckered opening. Right, then, got the concept down…

***

Spike was about to fall off the cliff. {Want him. Want him *in* me. 
Close as you can get. Closer. God, I know he means well, and I
can't 
say it doesn't all feel good, but if you have any love at all for
the 
poor fucked-up demonic creatures roaming your Earth, will you tell 
him to Get A Bloody Move On!!!!} He sighed with relief as
Xander's 
finger finally slid slowly past the outer ring of muscle and entered 
him completely. About damn time. He pushed up against the finger, 
willing his…{better be `lover,' by now, eh?} lover to
find the right 
spot…and there it was, as a gentle probing hit the edge of his 
prostate and sent long-anticipated {Dear God or reasonable facsimile, 
how long *has* it been?} quivers of pleasure through him. Movement, 
slow, in and out, quirking sideways...and it was driving him 
absolutely bonkers...and time passed...so fucking slowly...

"Good…wonderful…oh, dear God, get on with it…" he
whispered. It was 
apparently Xander's turn to laugh at him, now, as he slowly slid
the 
finger back out. "Yeah, that was it, ten out of ten. Don't go for
the 
whole floor show, just for the sake of all that's unholy, do it 
already."

"You're sure… I won't…"

{Hell spare me from beautiful brown-eyed boys who're concerned
for my 
welfare!} "You won't hurt me, Xander. Just do it."

The warm body bent close to him, and the half-cruel, half-loving 
tenor voice whispered in his ear: "Do what, Spike?"

Grrrr…thankful his face was pressed into the pillow where the
human 
couldn't see his brow reshape itself, eyes turn bright gold,
sharp 
teeth extend, he fought his game face down. {Not going to scare the 
boy not going to scare the boy not going to scare the boy….} With 
great sincerity, but less than infinite patience… one might even
say 
desperation {And he thinks *I'm* impossible?} he answered:
"Oh, 
for...you little bastard. Fuck me, Xander."

"Oh, that." And oh, too unbelievably slowly, the warm, hard
presence 
made its way past his now slippery opening and slid deeper, until at 
last it struck home. Then slow again, pulling back…. He growled 
again, this one more vampire than human, and apparently the message 
got through. 

***

There wasn't anything to prepare him for this in his frenzied 
falterings with Faith, Miss Steer-You-Round-The-Curves-1999, or even 
in Anya's endless invention in search of some physical way to
make 
him fall in love with her. Spike beneath him was like an extension of 
his own existence, pushing back against him. Spike around him was the 
closest touch he had ever experienced, and Spike murmuring his name 
in low, rough gasps was suddenly the only way he ever wanted to hear 
it again. The last of his strange fears, that he would somehow hurt 
the man he was touching, holding, dissolved. When the growl that was 
more supernatural than human escaped from Spike, Xander began to move 
in him. 
Move with him.

Forward towards the center of all things, back towards the past that 
was still there, waiting, through the present that would somehow be 
different, now. And the heat built up in him, and the sound and the 
movement and the thought that it was Spike and this was okay, better 
than okay, more right than anything, ever, ever, the skin beneath his 
own, the skin that contained him, they were all the same thing, and 
it was going to break, because nothing, nothing could be this good 
and last. Funny, strange like all his days were strange, and...when 
it did break…there was cold and roaring in his head, and he was 
pretty sure he was dead, except that then he wouldn't be able to
feel 
Spike under him, grabbing the mattress and freezing in a sudden 
silent arch of his back that seemed to last longer than this entire 
crazy long two days had lasted.

And then he fell, back from wherever he was, into this creaky sofa 
bed with a smartass undead guy making very satisfied little stretchy 
yawny, catlike sounds that echoed through the connection of their 
skin, right into his pretty much empty skull. And it was a good place 
to be. Which was the first time he'd ever thought that about this 
basement, so, major plus there, and he thought maybe he should roll 
off and let the undead guy breathe, but then, he didn't need to,
did 
he. Still, Spike's face was probably nicer scenery than the grey 
basement wall he was staring at right now.

***

Even as Xander's weight rolled off him, Spike's body
protested the 
separation of their skins, as if some part of his own had been shorn 
from him. {And what in the name of all that crawls the Earth in 
search of a pint of blood and a pack of cigs was that?!!!} his 
returning mind screamed.

{Oh, hell, I know what that was. You know what that was, and we all 
live in the yellow submarine that is Spike's head, so don't
pretend 
you don't} he answered himself. Xander lay next to him, breathing
in 
shallow gasps. Well, at least that was one thing he had over the 
rotten, horrible, unbelievably exasperating young man who had just 
fucked the unliving daylights out of William the Bloody and lived to 
tell about it. 

"Always like that?" Xander asked diffidently.

Spike convulsed with laughter. Honestly! Honestly! "Had
worse…" he 
finally managed to choke out. 

Xander turned and glared at him, then the glare was replaced by the 
most terrible look… this cat-that-ate-the-whole-bloody canary and
got 
away with it look, that said in one upward quirk of that wide smile, 
one lift of a black eyebrow, the crinkling around those damn human 
that, yes, were reading him, *him*, Spike… honestly! Nobody was
ever 
allowed to wear that look but him! It was patented!

***

[Hey, whaddya know-- I can do the eyebrow thing!]

***

Later, and Spike could honestly have given a shit about sleeping in 
the wet spot, but no, human-boy had to put the ruddy April fresh 
sheets on. And now he was watching Xander sleep, head buried in the 
pillow, bum in the air like a any two-year-old in a cot, and Spike 
of course wasn't the least bit sleepy. This was his time to be
out 
kicking arse and not bothering to take names. So where was he? 
Sitting up against the threadbare sofa-back, bare feet playing idly 
with the April fresh sheets that Xander had almost immediately kicked 
to the side of the bed. Sitting in the dark watching Xander Harris 
sleep.

Something was poking him in the back, and since he was watching 
Xander Harris sleep, it couldn't possibly be anything good. Spike 
reached behind him and dug into the darkness between the mattress and 
the upholstery, finally coming up with a clear plastic bubble. Oh, 
yeah. That.

{I am indeed still evil. I am the evilest of them all. The Biggest 
Bad there ever was, if ever a Bad there was.}

Spike popped it open, pulled out the bent cardboard, smoothed the 
picture out, pulled the plastic cover off, and plopped the temporary 
tattoo face down on Xander's backside. He squinted in the almost 
pitch darkness, shifted to demon face so that his already keen 
vampiric sight became pure night vision, and read the tiny fine 
print--"Moisten with water and hold for thirty seconds, then remove 
paper backing."

{Well, *I'm* not getting up for water.} He slithered over to Xander's 
side of the bed, and, lowering his ridged, fanged face, began to lick 
the paper...and a good bit of surrounding Xander-arse, tasting clean 
spice and salt, even stronger than before with his vampiric senses 
fully in gear.

"Hmmm? Wha... Spike? Whacha doin'..." Xander muttered, not really 
awake.

"Just returning a favor, pet," Spike whispered throatily, grinning 
from ear to ear, which would have been a truly frightening picture if 
anyone could see him.

"Mmm, okay....s'nice..." his Scooby-boy answered, drifting off again.

Softly, Spike peeled the paper back and admired his handiwork. A red-
shirted Disney-version Winnie-the-Pooh cavorted with a honey-pot on 
Xander's left arse-cheek. {Yup. I'm definitely still evil. And I'm 
not sleepy...at...all...] Yawn.

***

Somewhen in the wee hours of the morning, Xander drifted up from 
fuzzy dreams of racing Willow to the top of the big dune at Cooper's 
beach, to find himself pressed up against someone's back, arm thrown 
possessively across a flat, bare chest, head resting against cool 
shoulders. Oh...oh-- Spike. [Spike in my bed. And...oh, yeah. That. 
And that. And now I'm snuggling with a vampire. I should let go. 
Really.] 

But he didn't want to, not at all. Possibly not ever, but he supposed 
he'd have to get up sometime, if only to pee. He'd burn that bridge 
when he got to it.

[What have I done? Huh? What have I done?]

***

Spike felt Xander shift against his back, curling up even tighter to 
him, if that was possible, and he silently put a hand on top of the 
fingers that had sneaked their way under his arm and across his 
chest, trapping them there. As he felt the human boy tumble back into 
sleep, he settled back himself, against the body that seemed to be 
wrapped around and through his own.

{What have you done, Xander Harris?}

*************************

TBC