Saturday
7:30 p.m.

Xander was bored. A perfectly fine Saturday night, and what was he 
doing? Nothing. Not a damn thing. It sucked the big one.

Well.

It didn't suck the big one *yet*, because there was still time to 
find something to do. Only losers hung out by themselves on Saturday 
nights. He was *not* a loser. Nuh-uh. No way. 

Time to get ready. 

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

20 minutes later

Stepping out of his steam-filled bathroom, Xander walked towards the 
dresser. He needed to get geared up in some clubbing clothes. He 
wanted to look hot, because he was going to get laid tonight if it 
killed him. It had been a very dry couple of weeks.

He just needed someone to go out *with*. It was much easier to pick 
up chicks when you were in a group, even if it was just a group of 
two. This was a mating ritual Xander understood. If he went out by 
himself, he would either be put in the loser or serial killer 
category.

Shrugging into a totally sexy hawaiian shirt with purple kiwi's on it 
that he'd found on sale at Wal-Mart, Xander walked very deliberately 
to his phone. No use running. Plenty of his friends were probably 
at home. This nasty schedule issue would be cleared up in no time. 
After all, he had sooo many choices.

Okay. Who was going to be the lucky person to hang out with the 
Xander-man tonight? Pulling on a pair of underwear, then some loose-
fitting black Levi's, Xander picked up the phone. 

He'd try Buffy and Willow first. Walking into a club with two lovely 
women on either side of him always made other men jealous. That was 
a massive ego-boost. Plus, he might be able to snag a babe or two by 
being the 'sensitive' type, the kind who had women 'friends', not 
lovers. 

Smiling, his decision made, Xander dialed. He tried Buffy and 
Willow's dorm room, to no avail. They were already out for the 
night, probably partying their little college hearts out together. 
Pondering the unfairness of that, Xander frowned. What was he, 
chopped liver? Hel-lo. They could have at least called to *ask* if 
he'd wanted to come. That was okay, though. Plenty more where they 
came from.

Who next? Choices, choices. Cordy was out, unfortunately. All the 
way out to L.A., in point of fact. Xander chuckled a little at his 
grammatical coolness, then resumed thinking. By the same standards, 
Angel was also out.

Giles? Uh, no. Giles was cool, in an older book-smart classy kind 
of way, but he certainly didn't want to go clubbing with the guy. He 
had to hear lectures about the origins and dangers of Gileash demons 
and other sundry bad guys about three times a week as it was. 
Expanding his brain was the last thing he wanted to do tonight. 
Expanding other....things, well that would be just peachy.

His list seemed to be getting smaller by the minute. Still, no need 
to worry yet. Worrying caused frown lines , ulcers, and thinning 
hair.

Umm...Anya! Now *that* was a good idea. Xander mentally patted 
himself on the back. Orgasm friend. Oh, yeah...need he say more? 
Not only would they have a blast dancing, but he might actually get 
some tonight. Might? Hell, Anya would insist on it!

Wiggling his hips in time with an imaginary slow ballad, Xander 
called up his little sex fiend. 

Connection. Excellent.

"Hey!" He hoped there was enough excitement in his greeting. If he 
didn't sound absolutely thrilled to be talking to her...well...Anya 
would invariably get testy. 

"Hello, Xander."

Xander thought she could have sounded a little happier to hear from 
him, but beggers couldn't be choosers.

"How are you doing?" Might as well get the little social amenities 
out of the way first. 

"Fine." Shit. The dreaded monosyllabic answer. Never a good sign.

"Just 'fine'?"

"Yes." Two in a row. He was sunk.

"Is-is something the matter?" 

"Is something the matter?" Anya parroted back in a decent imitation 
of his voice.

"Uh, I wouldn't know. C'mon baby, tell your love-muffin what's wrong 
with his wittle swizzle stick?" Xander almost gagged on his own 
reply, but it was the only one he could think of that might not get 
him killed, or at the very least severely maimed. 

Anya held grudges. Women were unpredictable at the best of times, 
and she was no ordinary female. No, she had to be the one, the only, 
retired vengeance demon with a slight grudge towards men. He didn't 
quite know what Anya would do to him if she became seriously pissed 
off, and he didn't want to.

Sometimes Xander truly wondered if he'd been dropped on his head as a 
baby. That was the only explanation he could come up with for 
his...interesting taste in lovers. If they weren't trying to kill 
him, or using him for some extreme revenge scheme, they were 
supernatural in some way. Maybe he was a masochistic. Huh. That 
was a definite possibility. It would certainly explain a lot. 

Just once, he'd like a nice, uncomplicated girlfriend. One who 
wouldn't even dream of killing him in revenge for imagined slights. 

While he'd been pondering the nature of his relationships, Anya had 
taken her time answering. Xander waited. And waited. Finally 
growing tired of the silence coming from the other end of the line, 
he tried another conversational volley.

"Sweetums? What's wrong? You're making me so worried...."

"Xander?"

"That's me."

"You suck." Well. That was blunt.

"I suck a lot of things." Xander clapped a hand to his mouth. Had 
he just said that out loud?

Icy silence. Finally, "I can see you're not ready to take my 
displeasure seriously."

Oh shit. He was definitely going to be in hurting shape very soon. 
Desperately, Xander tried to find a reply that wouldn't sound 
patronising or, God forbid, joking.

"I-I am, honey. I just don't know what I did wrong." Xander tried 
to instill the old 'bewildered and confused male syndrome' into his 
voice. It wasn't difficult at all, seeing as he *was* bewildered and 
confused.

"That."

"That? That that? What the fuck's that mean?" Sweet and 
understanding hadn't worked, so now he was gonna try angry. It was 
worth a shot. 

"I mean that you wouldn't know, would you?"

"Wouldn't know what?"

"Why I'm upset, you asshole!"

Xander thanked whatever god was watching out for him, happy that Anya 
was on the *other* side of the phone, not right in front of him.

"Anya, this has been stimulating, but unless you tell me what's 
wrong, I'm going to hang up. I have places to go tonight..."

"Don't. You. Dare. You're going to listen to me. Plop that skinny 
ass somewhere and get ready."

"I have a very fine ass, thank you very much."

"Shut up Xander."

"Shutting up now."

"About time. Are you ready? You might want to take notes." Oh 
goody.

"You've been ignoring me! What the hell am I, just a nice 
uncomplicated friendly fuck?"

Well, yeah. Thankfully Xander managed to contain that thought before 
it escaped his wayward mouth.

"You haven't been treating me like a real girlfriend. Therefore, I'm 
dumping you for Riley. I've been wanting to tell you for a few 
weeks, so it's actually good you called. He knows how to *really* 
pleasure a woman."

Ouch. "Does Buffy know that you've been playing with her old toys?"

Click.

Xander listened to the dial tone for a second. Okay, he could cross 
Anya off his list of people to go clubbing with tonight. He knew 
she'd still be friends with him after she quit being upset. A few 
orgasms with Riley should clear the mad right out of her system. 

Of course, he'd have to beg first, but that was par for the course. 
He was a male with many female friends. Familiar stomping ground.

He'd just wasted about ten minutes of his time on Anya. He was 
running out of people. Who else was there?

Oz. 

Xander looked through his little black book for the number. Dialing, 
he waited for his buddy to pick up. Oz was a great choice. The man 
epitomized cool. The nails, the hair. Stature and self-possession. 
The women flocked to him and Devon like bee's to honey. He could sit 
back and collect Oz's leftovers. Definitely a plan and a half.

"Hey Oz!" Desperation lent his voice false heartiness.

"Hey Xan." 

"Whatcha doing tonight? Anything?"

"Yep." Funny how Oz's monosyllabic answers scared Xander not at 
all. It was just so....Oz like.

"Oh." Dejection echoed in his voice, practically tangible.

"Why?"

"Well, I wanted to go clubbing tonight. I was hoping you and Devon 
could be convinced to come with me. Are you sure you can't?"

"Sorry. Dingoes play tonight. Would kinda suck if the singer and 
guitarist weren't there."

"Guess so." God, could talking monosyllabically be something 
catching, sort of like a venereal disease?

"You're welcome to stop by and say hi, offer moral support."

"Where?" He was infected with it.

"The Bronze." Ew. That was just a little to teenagerish now. 

"I know it's a young crowd, but it pays the bills, gets us noticed." 
For a second Xander thought Oz had been reading his mind.

"Hardly. You're still talking aloud."

Oh. Oops. "Sorry, I thought I was talking in one-syllable 
sentences."

Pondering silence. Then, "Are you okay? You seem a bit stressed 
out."

"Fine. Maybe I'll stop by later, okay?"

"Cool."

Click.

Xander listened to the dial tone again. Nobody left, nobody left. 
He should just go play Dungeons and Dragons alone and resign himself 
to eternal geekdom. 

He could always masturbate to porno movies and then sleep. He hadn't 
watched Twin Peaks: The Breast Edition (You can Mount Fuji!) yet. 
Just one of the many advantages to having his own place, being able 
to jerk off where no one could catch him. He could concentrate fully 
on his buddy down below. The little guy was starving from lack of 
attention. 

This was really pathetic. Maybe there was a twelve-step program he 
could join somewhere.

Except....wait! There was at least one more person he could call. 
Someone who was currently being socially ostracized by his peers 
because of a certain chip-infestedness. Spike!

Definitely not one of the more pleasant people to party with, 
but....it beat the alternative.

Xander started searching his black book, then realized he remembered 
Spike's number. For some reason he seemed to have memorized it. 
Huh. Wasn't that funny. 

Ring, ring. Ah, victory!

"Hi Spike." Couldn't seem too excited, after all. Wouldn't want to 
give the guy any ammunition.

"Xander? What the hell do you want?" For some reason his little 
buddy down below twitched. It must have gotten excited when he'd 
thought about whacking off.

"I'm going clubbing. Wanna come?" 

"Come where?" Heh heh. He said cum. 

"Clubbing."

"No shit. Where?" Huh?

Oh yeah. "Umm, not sure yet. We can decide in the car."

"Not the Bronze." Definitely not.

"Okay...." Xander did his best to sound reluctant. No need to let 
Spike know he agreed with him. "Oz, Devon and the Dingoes will be 
playing, though."

"Does it sound like I give a rat's ass?" That growling tone was 
actually kind of addicting to listen to. 

"No."

"Why are you talking like that?" What?

"Like what?"

"Like Oz."

Still? "Sorry. I seem to have caught some monosyllabic flu thing."

"Like a venereal disease? Big word, by the way. I'm impressed." 
Xander preened.

"As you should be."

"Is it catching?"

"Uh, no." What a lie.

"Fine." He's got it already.

"When are you coming to pick me up?" Maybe not.

"Actually, I was hoping maybe you could pick me up." Anytime, 
anywhere.

Sigh. "Fucking pain in the ass." You could be a pain in my ass.

Shit, shit, shit. Xander knew there'd been a reason he'd avoided 
talking to Spike in awhile. He'd forgotten about the whole futile 
attraction thing he had going. Oh well. Fuck it. Too late now. 
Xander ignored the little voice in his head that said he hadn't 
forgotten. Obviously he wouldn't have called Spike up if he'd 
remembered, it was as simple as that. 

Yep. Right. 

"Helloooooo. Are you still alive over there?" Some parts of him 
were, Mr. Happy being a prime example.

"As opposed to being the walking undead, like you?"

"Just be ready in an hour, alright? I'll bloody well pick you up, 
but you'd better not keep me waiting." You can pick me up anytime, 
big boy. I'm definitely ready.

"Wait! Before you go, it's my duty to tell you to wear something 
sexy. We're going club-hopping, remember? I don't want to have 
women running away in fear because of your wardrobe."

Spike growled. Pressing a hand to his groin, Xander waited for the 
inevitable response. "Fucker. I have much better taste than you 
anyway. I'll be wearing my black leather." Drool. "Worry about 
your own atrocious fashion sense."

"I resent that!" Talk dirty to me.

"Resemble it, you mean. Just be ready."

Click.

Xander listened to the dial tone again. 

Mmmhmm. He'd definitely be ready.


Part Two

Xander sat on the lone recliner in his living room, waiting. Spike was now 
officially ten minutes late. 

Who the hell did Spike think he was? The Xan-man didn't wait for anybody. 
The Xan-man had places to go, people to see... 

Hell, he was doing Spike a huge favor inviting him out. Xander was wanted 
at social gatherings. No party was complete without a Xander. Women and 
men alike begged him for sex. He was admired for his fashion sense and 
quick wit. He was The Man. 

Well, sorta. Okay, not really. But it was a nice fantasy. Xander sighed. 

Fifteen minutes. 

Twenty. Where was the hell was Spike? 

Twenty-five. Xander was pacing. He was also considering putting a 
pillowcase over his head and declaring his social ostracism to the world. 
He'd be talked about for years to come. Xander could see it now. He'd be 
walking down the street and people would say, "Look! There goes Xander!" 
like they'd say, "Look! It's a leper!" 

Wait. Was that a knock? Yes! It was! He was saved! 

Xander put on his 'I wasn't worried at all face', and calmly walked towards 
the door. Opened it just as sedately. 

And felt his mouth drop open. 

Spike looked *hot*. Dressed head to toe in black leather, platinum hair 
shining, painted-black nails gleaming, he was a vision. The pants were 
tight, sitting snugly on the bones of his hips. The shirt was a knitted 
gray, soft and pettable looking. And boy, did Xander want to pet. And 
lick, and suck, and.... 

Ahem. Moving on. 

Low-heeled boots and a small silver bracelet completed the ensemble. 
Spike's black leather duster framed the whole outfit. Slurp. Realising 
that he was staring, and had been for some time, Xander quickly looked away. 
He tried to regain his former bored expression. 

Failed. Spike grinned at him, all fangs and flashes of bright white teeth. 
"Do I pass?" 

Oh yeah. "You'll do." 

"I'll do!? I look wonderful, if I do say so myself." 

"And just did." Not that he was disagreeing, but Xander did have *some* 
self respect. 

"No need to get snippy, there's a good boy." I was a very good boy this 
year. Will you be my present? 

"Snippy? I'm snippy?" 

"Yeah. Do you mind getting out of the doorway so I can come inside?" 

Right. Good idea. Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly.... 

"Oh! Sorry 'bout that." Xander moved out of the way, letting Spike enter 
his apartment. 

"You know where everything is, obviously, so make yourself at home." 

"Thank you, Martha Stewart." Spike took his jacket off, hanging it up in 
the closet. 

"Shut up." 

Settling himself into a convenient recliner, Spike finally took a good long 
look at Xander. 

"You're not wearing that, are you?!" 

"What's wrong with it?" Xander asked, offended. 

"You're wearing a *hawaiian* shirt!" So? 

"Yeah, and....?" 

"And it's got purple kiwi's on it!" Spike spat, disgusted. 

"What? Do you have a problem with kiwi's or something?" 

Spike didn't answer. Xander watched with trepidation as Spike got up off 
the recliner in one violent move, walking quickly towards him. 

"Now Spike, I think you should just back away....ouch! Spike, let go. 
Spike! Not so hard!" Pregnant pause. "Why are you dragging me to my 
bedroom?" Xander tried to keep hope out of his voice. 

"Spiiiiike? Why are you dragging me into my *bedroom*?" Is it to fuck me? 
Huh, huh? Is it, is it? 

"You're changing clothes. Now." Dammit. Guess not. 

"What's wrong with what I've got on?" I look hot, you fucking pricktease. 

Silence. 

Fine. Don't answer. See if I care. 

"Shit, would you quit being so damn rough? You're bruisin' the 
merchandise!" Xander breath whoofed out as he was pushed onto the bed. 

"Is that from a movie?" Heh. And you think you're so smart. Stupid idiot. 

"Gee, what was your first clue?" Sarcastic. "The fake accent, or did the 
expression on my face give me away?" 

Xander noticed Spike was giving him the glare of death. The patented one. 
Perhaps he should revise his previous statement just a leeetle bit. 

"I mean, uh, yeah. It's definitely from a movie. Good guess!" 

The glare was still going strong. "Which one?" 

"....." 

"What was that? I didn't quite catch it." 

Muttered lowly, "Newsies." 

Spike was giving him an incredulous look. "You actually watched something 
called Newsies?" 

Xander propped himself up on one elbow, watching Spike rummage through his 
closet. "Be quiet." 

"And you admit to it?" 

"Shut up." 

"Wait. I think I've heard of that. Wasn't it a Disney movie?" 

"I said shut up." 

"Didn't they sing? And dance?!" 

"Enough, already! Jesus." 

Spike chuckled, the sound muffled. 

"You do realise that suffocation is a very real possibility for those who 
dare disturb the sanctity of my closet, don't you?" 

A black t-shirt suddenly flung itself out from the depths of the closet 
towards Xander, hitting him on the chest. 

"Put that on." Now? 

"I can hear you, but I can't see you. Were you eaten by the nefarious 
closet monster?" 

"Ha ha. Smartass. I'd like to go clubbing sometime this bloody century, if 
you don't mind. Put the shirt on." Pause. "I haven't seen this many ugly 
clothes together since the seventies. Can we say fashion-impaired?" 

"No." Moron. 

"How about ensembly challenged?" 

Bastard. "I have great taste. Shows what you know, platinum boy." 

Spike finally emerged from the closet, seemingly unscathed, carrying a pair 
of red leather pants. 

"Oh no." No way in hell. 

"What?" 

"I'm not wearing those." 

"Why'd you buy 'em then?" 

"I didn't. They were a present from Oz when he came back from his little 
wolfie crusade. Those are so not me in any way, shape, or form." 

"Live a little. Put them on." 

"No." Absolutely not. 

"Chicken." 

"Yep." 

"Baaaawk, baaawk, bawk, bawk, bawk..." 

"You are such an asshole." 

"I'm waiting..." 

"You can wait forever. I'd look like a nimrod! Not putting them on, no, 
no, no." So there. 

"Oh, but the purple kiwi's make you look classy?" Spike's voice oozed 
sarcasm. He tossed the pants on the bed, right next to the shirt. "Get 
busy." 

"You can't make me." Pout. 

"Wanna bet?" Voice low and threatening, Spike started towards Xander. 

"Uh, no. No, that's okay." Stay back, big boy. "Why don't you just go in 
the kitchen while I change, see if I have any spare bags of blood laying 
around somewhere?" 

"I'll stay here, thanks. Just to be sure nothing mysterious happens to your 
outfit in the interim." 

"Interim?" 

"Don't try and distract me. Strip." 

"I need some privacy." 


"What are you, a girl? Haul ass." Spike crossed his arms over his chest, 
one eyebrow uptilted, fangs bared in a menacing grin. 

Shit, that look got him hard. Xander could feel Mr. Happy plumping up, 
getting excited. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not now! 

Xander stood up, turning his back on Spike. He quickly shucked off his 
shirt, replacing it with the black one. Maybe that'd be good enough. 

"Now the pants." Maybe not. 

Trying not to think about the consequences if Spike saw his half-hard dick, 
Xander complied. Now all he had to do was quick put on the red leather, 
and.... 

"Boxers." 

"What are you blathering about? I'm wearing some!" 

"You shouldn't wear anything under leather, it leaves lines." 

"But you're wearing leather!" 

"Exactly." Ooooh. He definitely did not need to know that right now. 
Naughty Spike. Bad Spike. Extremely sexy Spike. No! Down boy. 

Pushing his underwear down quickly, Xander stepped out of them with little 
fanfare. He reached toward the bed, back still turned toward Spike, 
searching for the leather. All he got was a handful of bedspread. 

"Looking for this, pet?" Spike asked, low and husky, right in Xander's ear. 
He then proceeded to lick Xander's earlobe, just once, a moist and hot 
touch. 

Xander flinched, shivered, then looked back over his shoulder. Spike had 
somehow snuck up on him, was in fact right beside him, so close they were 
sharing breath. He was holding out the pants. 

"Y-yeah." Holding his hand palm up, Xander waited. He prayed Spike 
wouldn't look down. His partial boner was trying to graduate to a full one. 

Spike handed him the red leather, grinned wickedly, and slapped him on his 
bare ass. Hard. 

Xander jumped and gave a little yelp. What the hell? Was this an intro to 
sex? A little spanking and licking first? Kinky. He could handle that. 
Bring it on, baby. 

"You can take it from here, right?" Huh? 

He stared at Spike with big uncomprehending eyes. 

"I'll take that as a yes. Hurry up." So saying, Spike left the bedroom. 

What, no sex? Rubbing his abused ass in an absent-minded fashion, stinging 
from more than just the slap, Xander quickly finished dressing. 

********************** 

Xander walked into his small living room not two minutes later. He spotted 
Spike next to the door, duster on, waiting impatiently. 

"Can we go already? You're lucky I have that whole eternal life thing 
happening, or I'd be pissed. Talk about wasting bloody time." Oooh. 
Scary. 

"Gee, I'm really scared now." Xander sneered. "You forget that it's the 
whole *undead* eternal thing." 

"Same difference." 

Giving him an arch look, Xander grabbed his jacket. "Actually, it's not. 
In one, you're eternally *alive*. In the other, you're essentially dead. 
Just reanimated. Think of yourself as a zombie with a brain. And not much 
of one, for that matter." 

"Christ, what crawled up your ass? Are we feeling a little cranky?" After 
getting me excited, then leaving? Yes, I *am* cranky. Perceptive, aren't 
you? 

"No, *we're* not." Sarcastic. 

"Are you trying to annoy me?" Yes. 

"Is it working?" 

"Very well. In fact, I'm wondering if I should kick your ass." Whoooo. 

"Ooooh. This is me, shaking. Just how are you planning on doing that, Mr. 
Chip-in-the-head?" 

"Aren't we feeling clever this evening." 

"Why, yes I am." Heh. Take that. 

Grumpy himself now, Spike exited the apartment. Xander followed right 
behind him, all the way to the car. 

Strangely enough, Xander felt better now. Baiting Spike always had that 
affect on him. He was better than one of those squishy stress balls. 

"What're you grinning at, anyway?" 

"Nothing much. Are we going?" 

"Damn straight. Get in."

TBC