Late Night Double Feature by Kimberly A

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer is trademark 20th Century Fox. The world of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the characters within are derivative of works copyright © 20th Century Fox, 1997-2004. No copyright infringement is intended.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse: http://mysticmuse.net
Nothing Like the Sun: S/X – http://www.nothinglikethesun.com/SX/
Feedback: Yes, please.
Spoilers: After season 5. AU after that. No Buffy.
Author's Notes: The sequel to "It's Just A Jump To The Left."
Pairing: Xander/Spike

Summary: Xander faces the consequences of the time loop and realizes that making changes in his relationship with Spike isn't quite as easy as he'd like.

Spike was kissing him. They were on Xander's bed and Spike was on top of him, face-to-face, Xander's legs spread high and wide, calves resting on Spike's shoulders as he fucked him, slow and hard, kissing him all the while with that rough, insistent hunger, their tongues sliding against each other just as Spike's cock slid inside of him.

"Oh god, yeah," Xander moaned against Spike's mouth, panting. "Like that. Right there. Oh god."

He was getting close, and Spike seemed to know, seemed to just know what he wanted without him having to say anything. Xander's cock was throbbing between them, rubbing against Spike's stomach with every slowly speeding thrust as Spike began to change his pace, making Xander writhe in desperation.

"Oh god," he groaned. "Oh god, yeah, faster, oh god, oh god, yeah…" Xander's head pressed back into the bed, his back arching, he was so close…so close…

Spike began pounding into him, kissing him just as hard, kissing him and fucking him as if he couldn't get enough, as if Xander was his whole world and he wanted to climb inside and never come out. Then Xander felt Spike's body stiffen against him and he knew Spike was coming inside him, and he heard himself cry out, "Yes!" as he came so hard that a few drops hit his chin.

When he'd recovered, Xander rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the condom off of the dildo and tossing it into the trash can by the bed, where it joined many of its brethren. He put the dildo and the lube into the bedside table and closed the drawer. He wiped himself off with a paper towel from the roll on the floor.

He sat there for a while, not really thinking about anything, just feeling vaguely depressed.

After a while, he stood up and went into the bathroom to wash up, avoiding his own gaze in the mirror. He didn't want to look at that guy, that sad guy who spent pretty much every night fucking himself with a piece of plastic and imagining it was his best friend's cock.

Sometimes he felt like a liar, not telling Spike about everything that happened in the time loops. Sort of like he'd molested Spike in his sleep or something. But how was he supposed to tell him now, months later? Remember all those time loops I told you about a while ago? Well, I left out this one tiny detail where you kind of fucked me in the ass repeatedly and I liked it and would like to have it happen again, now, for real. So how 'bout it? And, anyway, they really were friends now, and Xander didn't want to fuck that up. Literally. Or metaphorically. Or whatever.

He dried his hands and walked naked to the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator door and took out a carton of orange juice. He sat down at the kitchen table and tilted his head back, drinking straight out of the carton, and then looked down at the postcard sitting on the table. He'd left the refrigerator door open, and it lit the room in a strange, elongated rectangle. Xander took another drink of juice and looked again at the postcard.

Well, it wasn't really a postcard, not exactly. The front showed a black-and-white photograph of a man wearing only a leather collar, kneeling at the feet of another man who was shown only from the very muscular – and very naked – thigh down. On the other side was printed info about a party at a club. A sort of sex club type place. From what Xander gathered from the blurb, the place seemed to specialize in domination games.

Okay, so, yeah, he'd had a few – okay, a lot – of those kinds of fantasies about Spike since the whole time loop thing. Sometimes he imagined them being romantic…and sometimes he imagined them being just really raunchy and intense…and sometimes he imagined Spike telling him what to do, sort of like in the time loop, all commanding and…well…dominant.

He wasn't actually planning to go to the club. Because what if somebody recognized him? And, anyway, he wasn't interested in that sort of stuff – or any kind of stuff – with anybody except Spike.

But he was awfully curious. He wished he could go and just watch, just see what other people did. Then he could imagine what it would be like if Spike…

Xander swiped his hand across the table and sent the postcard flying. It fluttered crazily, reflecting the light from the refrigerator in a strange mini-strobe effect, before landing somewhere in the shadows on the linoleum. Xander shoved the juice carton away, too, and let his head fall into his hands.

He suddenly felt a little guilty for all those years with Willow, back when they were in school. 'Cause this "pining for your best friend" thing sucked, big time.

In the flickering shadows of the living room, Willow and Dawn turned around simultaneously and shushed them. Tara just continued placidly watching the screen.

Spike was only quiet for a few seconds before he was griping again. "And, anyway, this is not a classic. The Iliad is a classic. Anarchy in the U.K. is a classic. This? This is rubbish."

"This is a very moving parable: the tree nobody wanted, finally finding a loving home. It's touching."

"Hey! Don't be all prejudiced based on ornament supportage! It's a good tree! I've always identified with that tree!"

"Yeah, well, you would, Harris. This shite is written for every pathetic tosser who ever wished somebody would finally see their 'inner beauty' and suddenly want 'em around. World doesn't work like that, whelp. Nobody loves a loser. Not even another loser."

Xander crossed his arms and didn't reply, determinedly watching his beloved cartoon, the rare happy piece of his childhood, the best thing about Christmas…which Spike had just pissed all over.

The show was almost finished when Spike leaned over and whispered in Xander's ear in a vaguely apologetic tone, "Just can't stand this maudlin holiday shite. Makes me want to stake myself."

Xander didn't turn his head, but whispered, "Well, you don't have to ruin it for everybody else."

Spike didn't apologize, but he did slump in a sort of defeated way that Xander knew meant he'd won the argument. So he nudged Spike and smirked at him in the flickering light. Spike elbowed him in return, and suddenly everything was okay again.

When the show was over and the lights were on, Willow said with a mischievous grin, "Now Xander's supposed to do the Snoopy Dance."

Xander gaped in horror and looked around at all the expectant faces now staring at him. Spike and Dawn looked particularly excited at this opportunity for mockery. Xander glared at Willow, who merely shrugged impishly and said, "It's tradition!"

"Oh, pleeeeeeeease, Xander?" Dawn had that whining thing down pat, yessirreebob.

"Okay," Willow interrupted, now looking a bit apologetic at having put Xander on the spot. "That was kind of mean and I'm sorry, and anyway it's really late. Sleepy time."

Dawn groaned and began to complain, but Spike said firmly, "Bed. Or no presents," which had her leaping to her feet and bidding everyone a hasty goodnight before racing up the stairs.

Willow looked at Xander and Spike, still sprawled on the couch. "You guys are both staying tonight, right? Presents in the morning?"

Spike sighed heavily and hefted himself off the couch. "I'll do all this Christmas tripe for the Bit, but I don't want to hear any complaints about running patrols tomorrow. Those Bregni demons are still out there and they won't be stopping for eggnog and carolling."

Willow and Tara both nodded, and Willow said, "Got it. Presents in the morning, demons in the evening. It's a wonderful Scooby Christmas."

Xander got to his feet shrugging, "You don't celebrate Christmas anyway. Jewish, remember? Not everyone worships Santa? I seem to remember a certain young lady saying these things pretty much every year?"

Willow smiled slightly, and she and Tara held hands. "It's for Dawn," Tara said gently. "It's her first Christmas without Buffy. We want her to be happy." Yeah, they were saying her name now without wincing, though it still wasn't very often. Sometimes they even talked about the good times, remembering the Buffster for more than just a leap off a tower and an unexpected goodbye.

Xander felt a bit embarrassed and chastened at the reminder, but he nodded understandingly. "Right. Duh."

Xander turned around to see Spike grinning evilly. "Just us blokes now, Harris. Let's see that Snoopy Dance."

The next day was the usual Christmas morning scene. Torn wrapping paper all over the floor. Sleepy vampire on the couch. Lesbian witches rubbing noses and kissing. A blob of mystical energy in the shape of a girl squealing over every new present. And Xander Harris: Construction Worker to the Hellmouth. Yep. Just your average Christmas in Sunnydale.

Everyone got great presents, of course. They'd all been spending so much time together that they couldn't help but know what to get each other. Well, Xander was a bit shopping-impaired, but Dawn had helped him out some and he'd sort of blundered through the rest as best he could.

When Spike started opening up his gift, he first commented that the package looked as if it had been wrapped by chaos demons. Xander rolled his eyes and tried not to squirm on the couch. He was actually a little – okay, a lot – nervous about this one. Spike tore off the paper and tossed it aside, then just stopped and stared at the object in his hands as if he'd never seen one before.

After enough time had passed to make him worried, Xander explained hesitantly, "It's a journal. See? Black leather cover. Unlined pages." He watched Spike's face, which looked confused and maybe even a little affronted.

Xander flinched, just a little. He couldn't help it. He'd thought for so long about what to get Spike, and he'd thought he'd finally come up with something he'd like but that was more personal than weapons or something like that. "Sorry. I thought…you just…you tell good stories, you know? And I thought you might want to write them down. Like, write your memoirs" – or poetry – "or whatever."

What an idiot, buying him a journal, just because he was a poet when he was human. It's not like he wants other people to know about all that. He sure didn't seem proud of it. So why would he want a journal? Why would he want to write anything now? God, I'm such an idiot. He probably thinks I'm making fun of him, getting in some little jab about the secret he told me. Oh god, of course that's what he thinks. I'm such an idiot!

Spike put the journal aside and returned to admiring the engraved dagger Dawn had given him. Xander's stomach tightened into a miserable little knot and he decided that was a good time to wander away in search of some eggnog and a cookie. Because right now, I need a cookie.

Xander wasn't feeling very chipper as they gathered for the Christmas Night patrol. Spike was right: there were Bregni demons out there causing trouble and they needed to find them. But Xander just wanted to go home and have a nice long sulk where nobody could see him. Spike hadn't liked his gift…Spike had given him a set of knives (nothing says "impersonal" like a gift of weaponry)…and Spike was (as always) utterly oblivious to Xander's attempts at subtle flirtation.

Yeah. In the time loop it must have just been some macho challenge thing, just trying to prove something. Not like he would ever want to have sex with me normally. Obviously.

Sometimes too much time around Spike, doing the buddy thing, just got to him. Because he didn't want to be Spike's buddy. He wanted to make Spike's eyes do that glazed, hot, needy thing they'd done during the time loop. He wanted Spike to look at him like that. And a whole Christmas Eve and Christmas Day of Spike buddy time was a little hard to take. Xander felt like his Goofy Xander Friend Guy act was wearing pretty thin.

"If we run into the Bregni, you girls find a place to hide. Make with the mojo from a nice safe spot out of the fighting range. Xander and I'll take 'em on closer up."

Xander thought sullenly, Who died and made you boss? and then winced. Right. Somebody did. He watched Spike pace around the kitchen barking orders, looking so much like the old Spike, all full of arrogant swagger, no trace of that invisible thing he used to do. Xander wondered if this was how Spike used to treat his minions, back when he had them. Anyway, his little voyage into megalomania is my fault. I'm the one who kept insisting on pulling him into the gang. And he does have the most knowledge and experience.

"Can I come?" Dawn was all wide eyes and hopeful grin, bouncing a bit on the balls of her feet.

"And you'll keep learning. Don't want you getting hurt, so you're staying home this time."

Dawn made whiny complaining noises, but Spike wasn't impressed. "At least you don't make me have a babysitter," she groused.

Dawn stormed off in a huff, leaving the rest of them to roll their eyes and gather their patrol gear.

The patrol itself was pretty uneventful. The five of them just meandered through one cemetery after another, looking for signs of the Bregni demon gang. Spike had decided to bring the Bot for extra muscle, as he did sometimes now, but he mostly kept her at a distance, telling her to walk with Willow and Tara.

Xander shrugged. Stupid knives. What did I expect? Flowers? Jewelry? Poems? Lingerie? Stupid knives. Stupid Spike. Stupid Xander.

"Special throwing knives," Spike continued. "Specifically weighted and balanced for throwing."

Xander nodded. "Neat." He knew he could sound more pouty if he tried. Maybe he could get some lessons from Dawn.

Xander nodded again, looking anywhere but at Spike. "Yeah. I'm sure they'll be real useful. Thanks." Next year, could you get me a vacuum cleaner? Mine's getting kind of old. Or maybe a washing machine. Because that would be almost as romantic, but not quite.

Spike stopped walking, making Xander stop and turn to look at him questioningly.

Oooh. Back to the last name. Somebody's getting a bit testy. Xander sighed. "I don't have a problem, Spike. What's your problem?"

Xander clenched his teeth. Great. A fight. That would be just the best way to end a stellar Christmas. "So sorry I haven't been behaving according to your specifications."

"Fine," Xander spat. "I'll just go home." And he stormed off, striding through the cemetery as fast as he could walk. He knew he was being childish, but he just couldn't deal anymore. He knew Spike wouldn't leave the girls unprotected – not now that he seemed to think they were all his little family to protect – so Xander didn't have to worry about being followed. He could just go home and have a beer and watch some TV and do something that didn't involve Spike. Because he just couldn't do this anymore right now. He couldn't pretend everything was okay. Because it wasn't. Not by a long shot.

Xander was sitting on his couch in the dark, watching a Stargate: SG-1 re-run, when he heard a knock at the door. He wasn't expecting anybody, so he just pretended not to hear.

Xander was tempted to turn the television up, but he figured that would only make it more obvious that someone was home, and might make the person outside more persistent. So he just kept his eyes on the TV, the remote cradled comfortingly in his hand.

Knock knock knock knock. "Harris, I know you're in there. Open the fucking door."

"No." Spike sounded pissed at him. Even better. "Open the fucking door or I will break your lock."

Spike would do it, too, just to be annoying. Just to prove he could. Just to win a stupid argument.

Xander hauled himself off the couch and opened the front door a crack. "What do you want?" he asked, and he knew he sounded tired, drained, but he just didn't have the strength to pretend right now. He just wanted to be left alone.

Spike pushed the door open and stepped around Xander to come inside, glancing around at the lack of lights. "Sittin' in the dark?"

Xander rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "Why is it any of your business, Spike?"

Spike frowned at him and walked over to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and taking out a beer. He took off the cap and drank a swig, leaning back against the counter, watching Xander in the dark. "You've been acting off," he said bluntly. "Pissy like. What's your problem?"

Xander sort of lied, "I don't have a problem, Spike. Except a vampire barging into my house, stealing my beer, and interrupting my television-watching."

Spike narrowed his eyes suspiciously and took another drink of his beer. He set the bottle down on the counter and moved as if he were going to walk toward Xander, except something distracted him. He tilted his head down, looking at the floor, and murmured, "What's this now?" and then bent to pick something up.

Oh fuck! Is that what I think it is? Please tell me Spike did not find what I think he found. Because I have done nothing to deserve this and this day has sucked enough already and I don't know what I'll do if he found what I think he found.

But Spike was holding up a postcard. Xander couldn't see it very well in the dark, but he knew one side of it was a photo of a man kneeling, wearing nothing but a leather collar.

Spike's voice seemed suddenly very loud in the dark apartment when he said slowly, "Where'd you find this?"

Xander blushed and didn't reply. Why couldn't Spike have just left when he didn't answer the door? Why did Spike have to barge in and make this night suck even worse?

Spike turned the card over to read the back, then raised an eyebrow. "A free pass. Somebody gave this to you. Didn't just find it on the street."

Xander crossed his arms and bit his lip, knowing that his blush was only getting worse. What was he supposed to say? Oh, well, you see, the cashier put that in the bag when I bought my new butt plug, which I like to use while I fantasize about you fucking me. "Spike, I'm tired. Can we please not talk about this?" he asked in what he hoped was not a pathetic voice.

Spike shook his head, frowning. "I don't think so. Do you even know what this place is? Way out of your depth, Harris."

That sent Xander's eyes up from where they'd been staring at his feet. Now he glared at Spike defensively. "Oh, I'm just some dumb kid?"

Spike cocked his head to the side. "Not a kid, no." And then Spike held up the card with the naked-guys photo facing Xander. He could barely see it in the light flickering from the TV. It's not porny. All their bits are…hidden. It's like art photography. Spike's voice was a challenge: "But you do realize what sort of club this is?"

Xander squirmed and didn't reply. God. Spike was the last person he wanted to be having this conversation with, making him think of all his fantasies, all the things he remembered from the looping. Hell, it was Spike's fault he was even thinking about any of this stuff! Not that Spike knew anything about that, of course. It was all so complicated and embarrassing and he just wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

But Spike was talking again, sort of patient and concerned, like he was Xander's dad or something. If Xander's dad had ever been patient and concerned. "This is a domination club, Harris. A predominantly gay one."

Xander's chin went up slightly. Spike's know-it-all parental thing was grating on his nerves. "How do you know so much about it?"

"Hey!" Xander frowned, offended, not even thinking before he spoke. "It's not necessarily…Just because it's…that…doesn't mean it's 'seedy'."

Spike's eyebrows went up. "Well, this place is. What…you looking to get offed by some leather queen, get found starkers in some alley with a ball gag in your mouth?"

Xander glared at him, frustrated and embarrassed and sort of angry all at the same time. "It's none of your business, Spike. Just drop it."

"Spike, what gave you the impression that you have the right to tell me what to do? Because you don't. So get the fuck out of my house."

Spike's chin lifted. "Fine. Then I'm going with you. Make sure you don't do anything stupid."

Spike walked toward him, only stopping when he was right in Xander's face. "These kinds of games can be dangerous if you get involved with strangers."

"Oh, what, you offering?" Xander spat bitterly, feeling hurt and resentful and like he might burst into tears and embarrass himself even worse than he already had. Why hadn't he thrown away that stupid postcard?

Spike, you prick, you complete and utter asshole, can't you just leave me alone to nurse my rejection in private? Do you have to come over and rub the whole thing in my face?

Xander said quietly, defeated, "Spike, look, please, just go. I'm really tired. I can't do this right now."

Spike was still standing close to him, close enough that his face was clear in the flickering light. He was watching Xander with a strange expression.

And suddenly Xander was sure he couldn't have heard right, couldn't possibly have heard right, because it sounded remarkably as if Spike had just said, "Yeah, I'm offering."

Xander frowned, confused, because there was no possible way that Spike meant what that had sounded like. "You're 'offering'? Offering what?"

"If you're so curious about this sort of thing, I'll show you a bit. Leastways you know I won't kill you."

Xander stared at Spike in shock, his mouth open but no words coming out. Did Spike just say what I thought he said? Because that doesn't seem remotely possible. Did Spike just…offer to have sex with me? Just to keep me from supposedly getting killed by some random guy at a sex club?

Xander gulped and stammered, "I'm not your pity case, Spike." He can't be saying what I think he is. But what if he is? Does he really want this? Does he want me? Or…even if he doesn't now…maybe he'll start, if we…

Spike smirked at him. "Not pity, brat. Think I won't get anything out of it? Ain't gonna be me on my knees in this picture."

And those words sent such a rush of heat through Xander's body that he thought he might fall down. The image Spike had just put in his head…it was so similar to the time loop…so similar to so many of his fantasies. It all seemed surreal. Spike goes from yelling at him to offering to…offering to…to what, exactly? He still wasn't entirely sure.

"What do you mean? I've been to lots of clubs. Well, I mean, I've been to The Bronze, and there was this one time in Oxnard, when I…well, I've been other places, but nothing like…"

Xander's jaw dropped. When enough of his brains had crawled their way back into his head and he was able to form words again, he squeaked, "What?"

Spike walked to the couch and sat down, sprawling comfortably while watching Xander all the while. "I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions. No excuses. No arguments. You do it. You talk when I tell you to talk. You strip when I tell you to strip." Spike settled himself and raised one eyebrow expectantly. "Now, I seem to remember I told you to do something."

Xander hesitated, wanting to ask what exactly was going on, wanting to be sure he wasn't misinterpreting, but Spike had pretty clearly told him not to ask questions, to just do what he was told. This was probably all a dream, anyway, because stuff like this just didn't happen to him, so he might as well go with it.

Keeping his eyes on Spike's, watching for any clue, Xander lowered his hand nervously to the button at his waist. When he unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans, Spike's face seemed to relax slightly, not smiling but looking somehow pleased, though whether he was pleased with himself or with Xander was impossible to tell.

He was just starting to lower his zipper when he realized he was still wearing his shirts. Oh, yeah. That would be sexy. Drop my pants and stand here in my shirt and socks. Xander started unbuttoning his long-sleeved shirt, suddenly becoming self-conscious about the fact that it was red with big green circles on it. It was Christmas, after all. But standing in his living room with Spike watching him take off his clothes, the shirt suddenly seemed ridiculous, like a clown suit without the nose and floppy shoes. He tried to get the gaudy shirt off as quickly as possible, but he'd forgotten to unbutton the cuffs and it got caught on his hands. He struggled briefly and tossed it on the ground, blushing.

"Slow down, yeah?" Spike drawled lazily. "'S not a race. Give me a bit of a show." He smirked and Xander felt a moment of panic that this whole thing was just a complicated Spike joke to make him look stupid. But Spike wasn't usually that cruel anymore. And the smirk seemed more…sexy…than mocking. So Xander gulped and nodded. Slow. Show. He couldn't help finishing off a rhyme: Blah blah blah blah blow. Ack! No, not blow! Or…um…yes, blow? What exactly does Spike have in mind here?

Xander hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other, and then started slowly pulling his t-shirt out of the waist-band of his jeans, still watching Spike's face uncertainly.

"Tease me," Spike said from his sprawl on the couch. "Stroke your stomach. Lift up the shirt a bit, give me a glimpse, let it fall again. Make me want to see more."

Xander gulped and slowly ran his hand over his stomach, over his black t-shirt, but just feeling his muscles calmed him down a bit, made him feel a little more confident. Yeah, he'd been working out since Buffy's death. It passed the time, and it seemed to work off some of the emotions he didn't know how to deal with. Since the time loop, he'd been spending even more time with the weights. Frustration was a strong motivator.

Xander licked his lips and caught his breath when he saw Spike's eyes follow the movement. Maybe this really was his chance to make Spike notice him as something more than a buddy.

Still stroking his stomach lazily, Xander let one hand slide underneath, lifting the shirt slightly as Spike had instructed, giving Spike a glimpse of the smooth skin of his belly. He stroked his fingers slowly across his stomach muscles and kept his eyes on Spike, who was now watching that sliver of revealed skin. Xander let the shirt fall again, hoping he'd done what Spike said, hoping he'd made Spike want more. Please please let him want more.

Xander smoothed both hands up his body to his chest, then plucked at both nipples through the fabric, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment at the sensation. When he opened his eyes, he saw Spike watching him with that hunger in his eyes, that look he'd had during the time loop, and Xander was suddenly hard. All the way hard. Embarrassingly hard. If Spike was just waiting to mock him, he was going to have plenty of ammunition.

Licking his lips again, Xander found himself almost drunk on Spike's intense gaze on his mouth. Come kiss me, he thought. You keep watching my mouth. Come kiss me. I've been thinking about it for months. Every time we're alone, I think about it. Every time you look at me for more than a few seconds, I think about it. So kiss me. Please. I've been wanting you to look at me like this, and now you finally are. Like you think I'm hot. Oh god. I think I'm going to die if you don't kiss me.

He didn't realize how long he'd been standing there, looking from Spike's eyes to Spike's lips and back again, until Spike said, "Not stopping, are you? Thought you wanted this game."

Xander's head jerked in some semblance of a nod. Right. Game. Do what Spike says. It's like Simon Says…only incredibly hot and sort of confusing. Xander began slowly lifting his t-shirt, revealing his stomach and chest inch by inch. Once he got the shirt to his armpits, there just didn't seem to be any sexy way to get the shirt the rest of the way off, so he just whipped it over his head. He had a momentary giddy image of himself swinging the shirt around over his head and then throwing it at Spike, but that was just too cheesy, so he let the shirt fall to the floor instead.

Spike was running his eyes over Xander's bared skin, making Xander's stomach do funny twisty things. Spike was actually looking at him. Not just like a pal. Merry Christmas to me.

Emboldened by Spike's obvious interest, Xander stroked his stomach again, licking his lips, his eyes half-closed as he watched for even the tiniest reactions. Spike shifted slightly, making Xander wonder if he wasn't the only one getting hard. That thought, of course, only made him harder.

He stroked his hands up to his chest and tweaked both nipples again, which made him moan slightly. Touching himself like this, with Spike there, watching and apparently interested, was the closest he'd come to sex in a long time. It made everything more intense.

Xander shuddered, an image of himself on his knees, sucking Spike's cock, nearly overwhelming him. He put his index finger in his mouth and began sucking, slow, the way Spike had liked. He kept his eyes on Spike, fascinated and amazed at how the other man's eyes had gone dark and hot. He wants me. I think he actually wants me.

"Now use that finger on your nipple," Spike said, watching him closely, leaning slightly forward as if to see better.

Oh yeah. I think we have an answer on whether or not I like this game. Because Spike giving me orders? Definitely twanging my thang.

Xander slid the finger out of his mouth and used it to circle his nipple, teasing himself, and then pinched lightly, sending that tiny shock of pleasure downward again.

Another moment of panic. How was he supposed to take off his pants without bending over and tripping like a dork? Well, one thing was certain. The socks had to come off first, because there was no way in hell he was going to stand in front of Spike wearing boxers and socks. Any small amount of hotness Spike might see in him would be instantly destroyed.

Oh hell. I'm wearing my Marvin the Martian boxers. Why didn't I wear…uh…okay, I have no boxers appropriate for this situation. Okay, honest? I can't imagine boxers appropriate for this situation. Um…maybe I can go shopping after work tomorrow. Because I don't think Spike'll be turned on by the lipstick-kiss ones, either. Or the happy faces. My underwear is undignified. Why didn't I ever notice this before? Why didn't I realize the hugeness of the problem? Uh…hugeness. Yeah, there's that problem, too. If I take off my pants, Spike'll see that I'm enjoying this more than a little bit. Yes, definitely more than a little. But isn't that the point? Wait. Is that the point? What is the point?

"Trousers," Spike repeated, sounding impatient. Right. He told me to do something. I'm supposed to do it. That's the game.

Xander bent over and pulled off one sock, then switched feet and pulled off the other sock. He stood straight again and looked over at Spike, who was watching him patiently, slouching back on the couch. Xander raised his hands to the front of his jeans and swallowed nervously. Spike just watched him. Xander lowered his zipper very slowly, not because he was trying to tease, but because he was anxious about letting Spike see exactly how much he was enjoying this little game.

"Off," Spike insisted when Xander hesitated. Xander considered whether to pull off the boxers at the same time as the jeans, in order to avoid the Marvin the Martian problem, but Spike seemed to be pretty insistent that Xander follow his instructions, so he didn't want to piss Spike off. That might end the game. And Xander did not want to end the game. No. No ending of the game. Even if it means underweary humiliation.

Xander began pushing the jeans down over his hips, worrying about what he was going to do when he would normally bend down and pull them off with the help of some very un-sexy hopping. He didn't think the hopping would turn Spike on. It seemed somehow unlikely.

So he just kept pushing the jeans down, bending over slightly, still keeping his eyes on Spike, who looked interested. When he got the jeans pushed down far enough past his knees, they crumpled down around his feet and he was able to just step out of them. One of the benefits of baggy jeans, I guess. So why have I been doing the hopping thing all these years? I'm sure Spike doesn't do the hopping thing when he takes off his pants. The image of Spike taking off his pants sent another wave of lust through him. The image of Spike without his pants was even better.

He was standing now, looking at Spike, feeling his face burn with a boner-awareness blush. But Spike didn't look like he was going to make fun of either Xander's boner or Marvin the Martian. If anything, he looked hungry. He had that hot look in his eyes again, that look like he wanted to throw Xander down on the floor and do nasty things to him. Oh yes! Please? Where do I sign up for the nasty things?

Xander nodded nervously. Okay. We're getting past R-rated territory now and heading straight for the full monty. Though I'm not sure if 'straight' is the right word to use. But if I do this, we can't go back to the just buddies thing. Because then we'll be naked buddies. Or, half-way naked buddies, since I'm the only one naked. Well, not naked yet. But will be naked. And then I'll have been naked. And then we'll be patrolling, and it'll be all 'yeah, but I've seen you naked', because that just never goes away. We'll be playing pool at The Bronze and the naked thing will be there. I mean, not like my thing will be naked, because naked thing at The Bronze? Not my thing.

Spike was watching him expectantly. Xander slid his fingers into the elastic waistband of his boxers and did a bit of finagling to get the elastic past his erection. Only a moment later, the boxers were at his feet and he stepped out of them, leaving him standing in front of Spike, completely naked…and as nervous as he'd probably ever been in his entire life.

Xander felt his cock throb in response. He reached with one hand and took hold of himself, squeezing gently, making himself moan again, watching Spike through lowered lashes.

Xander knew he was blushing again. Spike wanted to watch him come? He gulped. Okay, just knowing that was going to make the event humiliatingly speedy. He stroked himself once, squeezing again, but he didn't have any lube. He spit into his hand – oh very sexy – and stroked himself again, gasping. He kept his eyes on Spike's face, trying to read the expression in Spike's eyes.

It only took a few strokes. He'd been too worked up for too long. He was still watching Spike's eyes when he felt the orgasm crash through his body, making his eyes close, making his whole body stiffen and buck, making him sob out some inarticulate sound. He nearly fell down, which would have been the final indignity, but he somehow kept his feet and eventually opened his eyes, his breath still quick, his heart still beating fast, his body weak and throbbing, his dick softening in his hand.

Spike was watching him with eyes narrowed, his own chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

"Good boy," he rasped, as if he too had been running the orgasm marathon. "Can go get cleaned up now."

Xander nodded, though his head felt like it was just sort of rolling around all out of control like one of those bobbing-head dolls old people put on the dashboards of their cars. His neck seemed to be made of rubber. The rest of his body seemed to have melted. He wondered how he was going to manage to walk to the bathroom when his legs had been dismantled while he wasn't looking.

He somehow managed to walk, though, and closed the bathroom door for some private freak-out time while he washed himself off.

Holy guacamole! I just jacked off in front of Spike! Because he told me to! What now? What does he want? Because he looked pretty wanty.

But when he came out of the bathroom, Spike was gone. Xander walked, still naked, to the kitchen, where he saw the postcard sitting face down on the table, the text side facing up, with all its information about domination parties and sex clubs. Across the back, covering most of the text, there were four letters scrawled in thick pen: DON'T.

Xander woke up in the morning to the sound of pouring rain. Instead of heading to the shower as he normally would, he staggered half-awake to the phone and called the site. Work was shut down for the day…one of the benefits of rain in the construction industry. Well, except that he wouldn't get paid. But right now, when he was half-asleep, that didn't seem nearly as important as getting another couple hours of sleep.

He groggily shuffled back to the bed and crawled beneath the blankets. By the time he was once again lying flat on his back, however, he had woken up just barely enough to remember the previous night.

It was like the world froze, leaving him lying in the center, staring at the white stucco ceiling, his breath caught in his throat, his heart constricting in his chest, his skin prickling as if he'd just touched a light socket.

Sure, yeah, the relevant body part sat up and took notice, but Xander was lost in the amazed, wondering, almost disbelieving realization that something had actually happened last night. Something had happened between him and Spike.

His whole life looked different now. Before, he'd been Xander the construction guy and night-time demon fighter. Now, he was Xander the construction guy and night-time demon fighter who had something going on with Spike.

He tried to replay every single second of it in his mind, every expression on Spike's face, the moments when he shifted position slightly on the couch as if he was getting hard enough to be uncomfortable, the way he leaned forward when Xander was playing with his nipples, the way his eyes lingered on Xander's mouth when he licked his lips…

Okay, so it hadn't quite been the romantic revelation Xander had been dreaming about. Spike hadn't even kissed him. Hell, Spike hadn't even touched him. But there was no denying that it was a considerable change from playing pool at The Bronze and chatting about weaponry.

And there had been honest-to-goodness – or would that be honest- to-evilness? – heat in Spike's eyes. Xander was sure of that much.

A lot of other stuff about what had happened might be confusing, but he was sure of the look in Spike's eyes.

But, yeah, actually, a lot of the rest made no sense at all. Why had Spike done it? Was it just because he didn't want Xander going to the sex club and supposedly getting killed? Or was that just an excuse? Did he want Xander as much as Xander wanted him? Okay, the answer to that one was no. Not when Xander had been dropping potentially flirtatious hints for months without getting any response.

So Spike didn't want Xander as much as Xander wanted him. But – and here was the thought that made his stomach tighten – maybe he did want Xander at least a little bit.

And if there was a little bit of wanting there, even just a little bit, then maybe it might turn into more.

I'm pretty sure Spike at least likes me. I mean, we're friends now – at least, I'm pretty sure we're friends – I've been horribly wrong about that in the past, but this time I think I'm right – and people tend to like their friends, right? Isn't that in the definition? Isn't that part of the whole friend "thing"? So…he likes me…and he wanted me to get naked. I don't think I'm totally insane to think this sounds promising. 'Cause when friends get naked with friends, it usually means more than friends.

He almost wished work hadn't been called on account of the rain. The day was passing slowly, inching painfully toward dark, when he was supposed to meet everyone – including Spike – for patrol.

He even thought, briefly, about going to Spike's crypt, but that seemed just a little pathetically eager.

So instead he watched some TV – though he couldn't remember afterward what any of it was – and occasionally wandered into the kitchen to look at the postcard.

"DON'T." That's what Spike had written. It was the first thing Spike had ever written to him. And how pathetic was it that it made him happy? Spike had written something to him. Yay!

He was pretty sure it referred to the sex club, just Spike getting in the last word about whether Xander should go there or not. But maybe it was something else. He wracked his brain for possibilities.

Don't come to patrol tonight. No, he would have been more clear if it was that. Anyway, why would he want that?

Don't come bug me at my crypt. He wouldn't know I would think about that. Would he?

Don't think this meant anything. Too complicated. That wouldn't be what he meant. Right? Right?

He came to the conclusion that Spike had to have been referring to the sex club. He'd written it on the postcard, after all. But this conclusion led him to consider the nagging worry that had been hovering on the edge of his mind all morning.

Did Spike do this just because of the sex club? Was he just trying to keep me from going? Or did he want it?

And if it was just because of the sex club, is it possible – just possible – that he might see me differently now? Might think of "Xander" and "sex" as not entirely mutually exclusive concepts? Is it possible – just remotely possible – that this might lead to something, even if it isn't already there?

He figured that everything depended on how Spike acted on patrol tonight. He'd wait and see if Spike was friendly or distant or flirty or what. And that would give him a better idea of what was going on.

In the meantime, all the mooning had gotten him to feeling a bit of an estrogen overload, so he decided he needed to engage in some more manly pursuits to pass the time until dark. Get him feeling big and muscular and tough. Forget about all that staring at the postcard. He was big and muscular and tough! He was Xander! Hear him roar! Well, not actually roar, of course, because the neighbors already thought he was weird enough, what with all the late hours, but more of a metaphorical roar. A metaphor roar. A metaroar.

So he lifted weights for a while in the spare room, which used to be a closet, but it was big enough for a weight room, so he called it a room. It was plenty of room for him to work out on the weight bench, anyway, and so he put some effort into making himself sweat profusely, which passed an hour or so.

Then he got nervous that his manly musk might overwhelm everyone on patrol…in a bad way, not in a sex way. It might even attract unsavory demons…rather than the relatively savory demon whom he wanted to attract. So he took another shower.

Once he was reasonably certain that his odoriforousness would not offend, he spent some time practicing with the new knives Spike had given him for Christmas. He had a target set up in the spare "room," which often came in handy since the time loop, since he'd started the whole knife-throwing thing on patrol. The target came in especially handy times like now, when he felt like he was going crazy and needed something to focus on. It made him sort of understand why Spike used to toss his knife all the time. The rhythm was sort of relaxing.

Not that Spike tossed his knife much anymore. Maybe it had been a nervous thing, and he wasn't so nervous now. Or maybe it had been a way to keep himself entertained when he thought Xander was ignoring him. Whatever the cause, he'd stopped. Now knives were mostly Xander's thing.

It only took him a few throws to notice that the new knives handled really well. Spike had been right about the balance being perfect for throwing. Xander felt like kind of a shit for having been so ungrateful about the gift.

Well, tonight on patrol I can thank Spike properly. Uh…except not the way that sounded. I mean, unless he wants…what that sounded like. And maybe he does. Except not with Willow and Tara watching, because, hello, sort of kinky I guess, but definitely not that kinky.

It was only about an hour before dark when the phone rang. Remembering suddenly that Willow had given Spike a stylish black cell phone for Christmas, Xander ran for the phone.

Willow sounded so chipper and friendly, Xander tried not to sound disappointed. "Actually, yeah. We still on for patrol? Umbrella brigade?"

"Nope. Spike called and said no patrol tonight. Apparently Bregni demons aren't big on the whole getting wet thing. So they'll be hiding out, and we get the night off. Want to come over for movies and pizza?"

But Xander was still stuck on the first thing she'd said. "Spike called you?" Why'd he call Willow, and not me? Especially after last night. He could have called me to leave a message about patrol. But he called Willow instead.

"Yup. Just to give us the heads up about tonight. See? The phone is useful already. I am Resourceful Christmas Gift-Giving Girl."

"Wills, do you think" – god, how pathetic do I sound? – "do you think Spike likes me?" Where is my manly dignity? Because I think I lost it somewhere along the way here. Maybe around the time I read that stupid postcard for the twentieth time.

Only silence came along the phone line. Okay, so the question had seemed less of an abrupt change of topic inside his own head. Because the topic in his head hadn't changed all day. Eventually, Willow offered tentatively, "Of course he likes you, Xander. He just called me because I was the one who gave him the phone…"

Willow was silent for another long moment. "Ummm…do you mean likes you likes you?"

And here we are doing the seventh grade thing again. Why does Spike turn me into an emotional 12 year old? But he actually really wanted Willow's opinion. She was better with stuff like this than he was. Hell, Dawn was probably better with stuff like this than he was. Hell, even Giles was probably better with stuff like this than he was, and wasn't that a scary thought? "No, just…do you think he likes me? As…as a friend…as…anything."

"Sure. I think he likes all of us now. We're kind of like his family, you know? Or I guess he might say 'minions' instead of 'family', but I think that sounds kind of rude, since I'm not all that comfy with the minion thing, but he is still a vampire, so…"

"It's just…I thought he liked me before," Xander interrupted. "Before the time looping stuff, I mean. And I was completely wrong. Wrong to the nth degree. Wrong like garlic ice-cream is wrong. And I guess I was hoping that I'm not wrong this time."

"Xander," she paused before continuing with obvious concern in her voice, "are you having the warm fuzzy Spike feelings again?"

Xander laughed in that way you laugh at things that are in no way funny. "Never stopped, Will. But there's only so many times you can say, 'He's still not interested,' before people's eyes start glazing over."

"No, Will, it's okay. I didn't mean you. I just meant in general. After a while, there isn't much to talk about when the situation never changes."

Darn that Willow and her gigantic brain! She caught me. Xander considered lying, but even the thought made him feel guilty. So he hedged, "I'm not sure."

He could almost see Willow bouncing in hopeful excitement when she eagerly asked, "What? What happened? I want details!"

Details? No! No, definitely not giving the details. So, okay, and now with the even worse hedging. "I…I'd rather not talk about it. It's…I'm still not sure exactly what's going on."

"Oh." Great. He'd made her make the sad, hurt Willow sound, the one that always made him feel like he'd just come home from a long day clubbing baby seals or something. Like he was a bad bad person.

"I do want to, Will. Just…not right now. I'm sorry." If he apologized any more, he was going to lose the few manliness credentials he had remaining, if he even had any left at this point. It just sucked. He hated keeping secrets from Willow.

He was becoming Xander the Secret-Keeping Guy, and he didn't like it much. He was used to being pretty honest with the people he cared about. Okay, not Anya-level honesty, because some things just don't need to be said, especially in public, but still. Honest. Pretty much. Secrets, he was discovering, were very much not his thing. Too stressful.

I mean, really. What am I going to tell her? "Oh, last night, Spike told me to take off my clothes and make with the slippery solo handshake while he watched, and I did it, but I'm not sure if that makes us boyfriends or fuck buddies or just friends who happen to have engaged in one unexpected evening of kinky living room masturbation indulgence."

Not going to happen. Because (A) embarrassing. And (B) embarrassing. And (C) did I mention embarrassing? Not going to be telling Willow about the whole "masturbation while being watched" thing. Or the "taking orders from Spike" thing. If there was kissage to discuss, I'd be dishing with Wills all night long. But weirdo sex games? Hm. No, not so much with the sharing.

The conversation ended awkwardly. Xander declined to join them for movies and pizza, feeling vaguely guilty about the secret-keeping and not wanting to spend all evening fighting Willow's "you can tell me anything" face.

Willow said all the right things, being the good friend as always, but Xander could tell that she felt hurt.

When he hung up the phone, he turned around and went into the kitchen, got himself a beer, and sat down at the table. He looked at the post card.

An hour later, Xander was sitting in front of the TV, pretending to himself that he was interested in…wait, what was it now? Oh, right. Iron Chef. He couldn't even remember what ingredient they were using. And what was he doing watching the cooking channel, anyway?

He told himself he should have the number anyway. The whole reason Spike had a phone was so that he could get in touch with the Scoobies and they could get in touch with him. It would make arranging patrols a lot easier, and Spike wanted everyone to be able to get him in an emergency.

This is not an emergency, Xander reminded himself. Repeatedly. What am I going to do? Make something up? Be honest and say, "Hey, Spike, there's an emergency in my pants"? I don't think so. And, anyway, if he wanted to talk to me, he would have called me. I am not doing that "wait by the phone" thing.

He waited in the same room as the phone – but not by the phone, it's a very fine distinction – until 9:12 p.m.

When Spike answered the phone, there was a lot of noise in the background. He barked simply, "Yeah?"

Xander was taken aback by the noise and the attitude. Where was Spike? What was he doing? And who was he doing it with? And why? And…other question words. Many question words. Some of which might not even exist in English.

"Spike?" Oh, right. Because his identity is so much in question. Why did I say that?

There was a bit of a pause, then Spike's voice, surprised, "Harris?" It sounded like he was in a bar. Lots of people talking in the background.

"Oh, um, right. So, um…" He hadn't really planned out what to say, and that was now finding its way to the top of his personal list of stupid decisions. And then words just popped out of his mouth with absolutely no permission from his brain. "Don't what?"

Well, once you've said something stupid, may as well go with it. It's already said, anyway. Can't take it back. And…okay…so he really wanted the answer.

There wasn't much noise at all now. Maybe Spike had gone outside or something. "What do you think, genius?" There was something in Spike's voice, something kind of funny. He sounded really surprised and maybe confused, too, which made Xander wonder why he wouldn't have expected this. They'd messed around. Of course Xander would want to…want to call up and…okay, so maybe he hadn't expected Xander to call up and want to chat about the whole kinky sex thing. It wasn't really within their usual realm of conversational topics. But today was not usual. Nothing about it was usual. Except maybe as compared to last night. Because that was even more not usual.

Xander realized he'd been quiet too long. And why did Spike keep calling him by his last name? They'd kind of gotten onto a first name basis lately, so why the throwback? And what had Spike asked him? Oh, right, about what he thought the message on the card was about.

"Got it in one. You go there and I'll find out. And I'll kick your ass myself if you don't end up dead first."

Xander's stomach was in knots, but he said it anyway. "I thought you said it would be okay if you went, too."

Another silence. And then: "Figured you for a one-timer, Harris. Didn't think you'd have the balls for more'n that."

Xander replied without thinking, "Make no assumptions about my balls, mister!" and then realized that it sounded incredibly stupid. Too late. He cringed and waited for Spike to laugh.

But Spike didn't. Instead, he said cautiously, "Up for more fun and games, are we?"

Xander's stomach did a rather impressive stop, drop, and roll. And his throat was suddenly really swollen. Like he couldn't swallow and might suffocate. He gulped air and tried to find the ability to form words. He squeaked, "Yes?"

After a minute – or ten or twenty or Xander didn't really know because his sense of time was all screwed up – he eventually said tentatively, "You could come over and we could…I don't know…uh…talk…about…you know…the stuff."

And Spike replied smoothly, "Know what you mean, pet. And it ain't talking you're after."

Xander blushed and tried to think of what to say, because suddenly it seemed like something was going on and it was all happening really fast and it sounded like Spike was going to come over and…do stuff with him again. Maybe more stuff. Different stuff. Stuff that involved actual touching. Of each other. At least, he hoped.

He hadn't come up with anything to say by the time Spike added, "Be there in two shakes. We'll get that pesky itch all nice and scratched." And then he hung up.

Xander put the phone back in its cradle, feeling a bit dazed. So…maybe it is just because of the sex club? But he didn't sound like he was being forced into anything. I mean, he sounded perfectly happy to come over here and…whatever. But even if he isn't into me now, maybe he will be. He'll get to know me better, not just like a pal. And he might start to feel more. It's worth a shot. And, hey, naughtiness with Spike! Not exactly a hardship! Er…no pun intended.

Xander looked around the apartment nervously. He hadn't left the apartment all day, so his feet were still bare. He considered putting on socks. But if things went well, he'd just need to take the socks off again. So he'd stick with the bare feet.

He sat down on the couch, barefoot, and held the TV Guide without reading it. And waited.

When Xander opened the door, Spike walked in close, moving past him with their bodies almost touching. With Xander in his bare feet and Spike in boots, they were almost the same height, Spike just a bit taller for once, and Spike's face was very close as he passed. He had a look in his eye that Xander hadn't seen in a long time. He'd seen Spike confident. He'd seen Spike smug. He'd seen him amused and intense and occasionally domineering to the point of obnoxiousness. He'd even, last night, seen him turned-on, or at least he thought he had.

It was a vampire look, a predator look. Accompanied with the walking too close, it set a certain expectation for what would happen next. And it almost certainly wasn't going to be parcheesi.

Standing so that they were almost touching, Spike reached past Xander and closed the front door, smiling slightly. He kept his hand on the door, his body leaning toward Xander, almost trapping him.

"What you said, on the phone," Xander babbled nervously, "about scratching and itching…"

Apparently parcheesi wasn't the only thing Spike hadn't been planning, because talking obviously wasn't on the evening's menu, either. He tilted his head, looking impatient. "Yeah?"

Xander smiled weakly. "You're not just doing this for me, are you? Because I…I mean…"

But he didn't get a chance to clarify, because Spike was grinning at him. "I'm touched. Really." A chuckle and a shake of the head, as if he was finding something highly amusing. "Just 'cause I work with you lot, you thought I'd turned into some kind of vampire Mother Theresa?" A wolfish grin. "Sorry, mate, I don't do charity work."

"Gonna make it worth my while, aren't you? No strip tease this time. Done with teasing. This time, you make me come."

And at those words, Xander promptly lost his brain. It fell out somewhere, or maybe just became instantly paralyzed, but he wasn't worried about finding it, wasn't worried about his brain at all in fact, because Spike's voice when he said those words was low and rough and wanting.

Spike was wanting. Wanting him. Him. Xander. Spike was wanting him. And that was huge. World- shiftingly huge. Because this wasn't the resentful, rejected Spike from the time loop. This was Spike big and bad and arrogant and choosing to get naughty with him.

And he wanted Xander to make him come. He'd never actually seen Spike come, never seen what his face looked like when he lost control, because he'd always looped out before it happened. But now he was going to see it, going to see Spike's face. Not just imagine it, like he had a million times. He was going to actually see it, actually going to be there when Spike came. Came because of him.

All these jumbled thoughts swirled through his paralyzed brain in an instant. But there was no way he could have formed a complete sentence understandable by other life forms. Not right then. Verbs. Nouns. Way too complicated. All his brain was really capable of saying in that moment was, Guh?

Spike leaned a bit closer, his eyes flickering over Xander's face, and Xander caught his breath – kissing seemed imminent – but then Spike abruptly pulled away to walk into the living room, where he dropped onto the couch, just as he'd done last time. He pushed the coffee table away with one foot and said, "C'mere."

Xander walked on only slightly unsteady legs and stopped to stand on the other side of the coffee table. "C'mere," Spike repeated, gesturing to the floor in front of him where his booted feet were set wide apart.

Okay, this looked like it was maybe going in a familiar direction, which helped Xander calm down a bit as he walked forward. He stood with his bare feet between Spike's boots, his legs between Spike's spread knees, and watched Spike's face for any hint of what he was thinking, aside from the obvious. But Spike's face was unreadable.

"On your knees," he said with a bit of a smirk, and Xander complied. To steady himself as he knelt, he rested his hands on Spike's thighs, then realized that was a fairly intimate touch. He looked up to make sure Spike wasn't offended or something, but Spike was only watching him.

What's he thinking? Does he want me to just do what he says? Or do I get some say here, too? Because I like the whole him telling me what to do thing, but…I want it to be more than that.

On his knees now, his weight firmly settled, Xander kept his eyes on Spike's face as he dared to stroke his hands along Spike's denim-clad thighs. Spike eyed him in that same lordly way Xander remembered from the time loop and said, "Undo my jeans."

Xander let his hands slide further up along Spike's thighs, over the bulge beneath his fly – He's hard. Oh god. Okay, it would be really embarrassing to come from just that. – until both hands hovered at the top button at his waist. He pushed Spike's black t-shirt up a bit to get it out of the way, revealing a pale sliver of skin. The jeans were tight enough that he had to slide his fingers pretty snugly against Spike's stomach, and he felt the muscles twitch.

Not going to come. Not going to come. Well, eventually going to come, at least I hope so, but not right now, not while we've still got all our clothes on and all I've really touched is his stomach.

When the button was released, Xander kept his fingers inside the denim, sliding down along the inner seam to give him leverage to open the next button. No underwear. He felt Spike's cock, and yeah, it was hard. At that first touch, Spike jerked slightly, but when Xander looked up at him, his face was still carefully composed.

I wonder how long it's been since he had sex. I mean, he's not with us all the time. What does he do when he's out on his own? It sounded like he was at a bar or something when I called earlier. I suppose he could be getting laid every night, if he wanted to. I mean, duh. Of course he could, if he wanted to. He's Spike.

Xander rubbed one finger slowly against the side of Spike's cock. He couldn't move much inside the tight jeans, but it was enough to make Spike take a quick surprised breath. Xander's own cock throbbed at the sound.

Returning to his task, Xander slid his hands down to the next button and popped it free. Spike's cock now thrust insistently against the back of his hand, and suddenly he just wanted to tear off all of Spike's clothes and leap on him.

But that was sort of what he'd done during the time loop, and it hadn't worked out so well. This time, Spike was leading. He couldn't fuck this up if he just followed what Spike wanted. Right?

Xander slid his hands down just enough to release the next button with a slight give, the rough fabric parting a bit more as he slid his hand further down to the next button. He'd given up on watching Spike's face right now, because he couldn't tear his eyes away from that slowly emerging cock. He opened the last two buttons in quick succession, getting impatient to move on to the next stage, wanting to taste Spike again after spending so long remembering and wanting.

He glanced up at Spike to make sure he hadn't misread the situation. This was what he wanted, right?

Spike's face was tight and closed, letting nothing show. But his voice was a bit ragged when he said, "Go on. Suck it."

Xander tried to pull Spike's jeans down, but Spike shook his head. "No. Leave it."

Xander nodded and licked his lips, a bit nervous after all because it had been a while. But the sight of Spike's eyes suddenly focused on his mouth took care of any hesitation. Xander took Spike's cock into his hand and squeezed.

Spike arched, just a little, and gasped, "Ah!" His smug superior act was looking a bit worn around the edges, but he obviously wanted to stay in control. And that was probably the most seductive thing Xander had ever seen, because it made him want to do everything in his power to make Spike lose that control. He leaned over and quickly licked the head of Spike's cock, making Spike arch again, biting his lip. Xander shifted position slightly as his own cock throbbed for attention. Why didn't I wear looser pants?

His eyes now trained on Spike's face, he leaned forward and slid the head into his mouth, sucking gently. Xander saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked aside out of curiosity. It looked like Spike's hands were clenched on the couch cushions, which seemed like a good sign. He returned his gaze to Spike's face and slowly slid his mouth down.

Spike's jaw looked tense now, a muscle in his cheek standing out in clear relief. When Xander gave the first good, hard suck, Spike jerked and his eyes closed for a moment. But then he was looking down again, frowning slightly, watching Xander between his legs.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd done this before." Spike's voice sounded a bit gravelly. After a moment, he said suspiciously, "But maybe you've got secrets, yeah? Maybe you have done this before?" Xander kept busy, kept tonguing and sucking Spike's cock, but inside he started to panic.

Oh god. I'm going to have to tell him about the time loop. Because just not saying a thing is one thing, but actually saying a thing that isn't true is just…that's another thing. Totally different things. And I'm not going to do that. Especially when this…thing…is going on between us. I'm not going to lie.

Spike pulled on his hair, pulling his face up to look at him with narrowed eyes. "Xander? 'S that how you got that postcard? You been slutting yourself around?"

Xander shook his head as much as was possible with Spike's hands tight in his hair. "No! You're the only guy I've ever…"

But Spike was pushing his head down again and that familiar cock was nudging at his lips and, suddenly, telling Spike about the time loop didn't seem that crucial. It didn't have to happen right now. There would be plenty of time later.

With Spike's jeans in the way, Xander couldn't really touch as much as he wanted to, couldn't reach his balls, so he put all his attention into working Spike's cock with his tongue and lips, sucking, even scraping a bit with his teeth. And Spike's hip thrusts and quiet moans were only serving to get him more and more turned on, himself.

He kept his eyes trained on Spike's face, and so he saw when those blue eyes suddenly clenched shut and those pink lips parted on a loud groan. And as he watched Spike's face, as he tasted Spike's come in his mouth, Xander suddenly felt himself rocketing over that edge, too.

He felt completely limp, his cheek pressed to the denim of Spike's thigh, his eyes closed. He was still catching his breath when a hand stroking his hair made him turn his head. Xander could feel moisture on his face. Spike's come. And Spike's hand in his hair, lightly touching. Xander looked at him.

Spike's voice was lazy. "Good boy. Think you deserve a reward." A bit of a smirk.

Xander was confused for a moment – he'd never done any of his greatest thinking in the five minutes immediately following an orgasm – but then understanding dawned. "Oh! A reward!" He blushed and sat up a bit, looking away, self-consciously wiping at his chin and mouth. "Uh, actually, I sort of already had my reward." Why do I always blush so much around Spike? It's humiliating, is what it is. But, you know, I've never been big on announcing that I just came in my pants. It just isn't something the world needs to know. Not that it happens all that often, of course. Because…hello! Embarrassing! His face prickling with heat, he looked back at Spike, sort of hopeful and embarrassed at the same time. "But I could have another reward. Just give me a few minutes."

Next time? So he's planning on a next time? Definitely planning on it? Woo hoo! He shoots, he scores! Um, wait. That sounded wrong. But, you know, he did shoot. And so did I. And apparently we are again, sometime. Woo hoo!

At a glance from Spike, Xander carefully tucked him back into his jeans and rebuttoned everything. Then he stood up and got out of the way when Spike got to his feet.

There was a sort of awkward moment as they both stood there next to the crooked coffee table. Then Xander realized that he was blocking the way, and so he stepped aside. As Spike passed, so close, their faces at just the right height, Xander's heart rose into his throat and he stepped forward again in his bare feet, his hand coming to lightly touch Spike's shoulder, his face moving in for their first kiss. Their first non-time loop kiss.

No kiss. Xander's hand was left suspended in mid-air a moment until he noticed it there and let it fall to his side. Spike stepped away. He knew I was going to kiss him, right? He purposely dodged? Maybe he didn't know. Maybe he just thought I was getting in his way. Yeah, right, because that is so likely. It was definitely a dodge. There was definite dodging action.

Spike was frowning, and Xander suspended his own internal monologue at the horrified realization that he sort of recognized that frown. It looked a little bit like a time loop frown. It reminded him of the frown that said, if he wasn't mistaken, "Why are you acting like you give a shit about me when we both know you don't?" It was like the time loop all over again.

"You know you're my best friend, right?" The words were almost unintelligible, he said them so fast.

Spike's frown deepened. "Don't worry, Harris. I wasn't planning any candlelit dinners just because you sucked my cock."

But Spike already had the door open. "Patrol tomorrow. Don't be late. We've still got some Bregnis to deal with." And then he was gone.

The next night on patrol, Spike acted perfectly normal. As if nothing had changed. No secret glances. No sly flirtatious remarks. No indication whatsoever that anything had happened.

It's because Willow and Tara are here, he told himself. Otherwise, we'd be talking about it. Or, okay, probably not talking about it, but, you know, not ignoring it, either. There would be acknowledgment. Things would be acknowledged. But right now all Spike seems to be acknowledging is that the Bregni demons are making themselves scarce. Where are his priorities, I ask you? More important things are going on around here. Like blow jobs. And dodged kisses. And oddly avoidy vampires who won't make eye contact.

When Spike declared the Bregni hunt a loss for the night, Willow piped up that Xander could walk her and Tara home, and Spike simply shrugged and waved a hand in a vague salute before heading off to do who knows what.

Off to hang out at loud talky places where I won't phone him on his cell phone, even if last time he came over afterward. Because I'm not desperate. Nope. Not desperate. Ahh, sweet, sweet denial.

Willow and Tara were unusually quiet on the walk to the house. When they got to the door, Xander started to offer goodnight hugs, but Willow gave him a look. It was the kind of look that deserved a capital L. It was a Look. It said, "You're not going anywhere, buster."

Xander heaved a resigned sigh and followed them into the house. Tara excused herself to go upstairs and do something – do what wasn't entirely clear, since she sort of mumbled and then practically vanished, though you shouldn't say things like that about witches, since there might in fact be actual vanishing – and Willow dragged him into the kitchen and sat him down at the table. When she turned the Look on him again, Xander slouched and looked away.

Willow sat across the table from him and looked at him worriedly. "What's up with you tonight?"

Willow frowned her cutest little "I'm worried about you" frown. He'd been seeing it since kindergarten, and it never failed to melt his heart. "I'm worried about you." Apparently the innocent face failed in its mission. Maybe I should practice it in the mirror or something. Yes, because I am not already enough of a crazy person…I now need to set aside time from my busy schedule in order to make faces at myself in the bathroom mirror. A sure sign of sanity.

"Nothing to worry about. I'm right as rain. But, you know, how right is rain, anyway? People tend to want to avoid rain, right? So wouldn't rain be more accurately described as wrong? But nobody says 'wrong as rain'. Huh."

"What? I'm not acting funny or anything. I'm just me. Just the same old Xander, with the knife-throwing and the carpentrying and the sometimes inappropriate humor." He smiled his best innocent smile. It was no more successful than the innocent face had been.

What? She noticed? Did Spike notice? Because that would just make my night complete. He's blowing me off – unflatteringly soon after I blew him, I might add – and everybody notices that I'm staring at him like some kind of slack-jawed love-sick moron?

Willow watched him, still looking concerned and hopeful, obviously waiting for him to open up and tell her what was going on, but he couldn't tell her. No way. But then he realized he could tell her part of it, and it might actually be kind of nice to get her opinion.

"I tried to kiss Spike last night," he said all in a rush before he could chicken out.

"What?" Willow was grinning now, bouncing a bit in her chair. "You kissed Spike?"

Xander raised a hand in a sort of traffic stop motion, his mouth twisted in a rueful mockery of a smile. "I didn't say 'kissed', Will. I said 'tried to kiss'. Big difference."

Willow looked confused, which was sort of flattering, actually. So it doesn't occur to her that Spike might actively avoid being kissed by me. Nice to know that somebody considers me kissable. Even if she does happen to be lesbian. Maybe if Spike was lesbian, I'd have better luck. Willow probably has a spell for that, but this train of thought is just getting wronger by the second. Willow was still watching him expectantly.

Xander sighed and went for honesty. "I tried to kiss him last night. He dodged."

Willow frowned deeply. "Maybe it was a misunderstanding. You know, like he thought you were reaching past him to get the TV remote and so he thought he was getting out of your way. That sort of thing."

Willow seemed to still be having trouble absorbing this information. "Why? I mean, what was the situation? Why did you finally decide to kiss him all of a sudden? Something must have changed, right? Like…whatever it was you didn't want to tell me before."

She looked hurt again, and Xander felt a pang of guilt. But he wasn't going to discuss kinky sex antics with Willow. It would be kind of like showing porny pictures to a nun. It was just wrong. Not that Willow was a nun. He was perfectly aware that she and Tara were un-nun- like, though he tried not to imagine the details…well, except when he did, but those times were few, and not recent. And never to be mentioned.

No, Willow wasn't a nun, but she still had a sort of innocence to her that made kinky sex seem like something that just shouldn't ever ever be discussed. Ever. Just telling her about the time-loop sex had made her blush so hard he'd worried she might burst a blood vessel or something.

So he went for vagueness. It had never worked before, but he was eternally hopeful.

"He…said some stuff…about sex" – which was true, since there was no denying that Spike had been talking, and that sex had been the topic, he was just leaving out the picky little detail that there had been a naked penis involved – "and it sort of led me to believe that…I don't know…that he might be interested." See? Vague, and yet not lying. The whole "suck my cock" thing does seem to indicate that Spike might be interested in more than friendship. Right?

"You talked about sex?" Xander nodded, hoping Willow wasn't going to ask for details. Please let the vagueness work! Please let the vagueness work! "What sort of stuff did he say?" Damn. The vagueness never works.

"Just…stuff." He knew he was blushing and swore to himself he would work on his tan this year. Living on the Hellmouth, what were the chances he'd live long enough to get skin cancer? The blush camouflage would be worth the risk.

Willow nodded slowly, watching him. "Ooookay. Stuff. He said 'stuff' about sex, and you thought this meant he wanted you to kiss him?"

"It's not like I really thought it through all that clearly. It wasn't like a 'sex equals liplock' decision in my head. It was just…something finally happened, you know? I've been waiting for months, ever since the time loop, and it finally happened."

Willow sat up a bit straighter and looked like she'd had some kind of realization. "The sex stuff he said…was it time loop sex stuff? Did you finally tell him?"

"Wait. You tried to kiss him, and you haven't even told him the truth yet?" Her voice was filled with disappointment and disapproval. Ouch.

He looked at her again, wanting her to understand. "It isn't that simple. I want to tell him, but I don't want to mess things up. We're friends now, you know?" He desperately wanted her to say it was okay. Even though he knew it wasn't. He knew he was making excuses, and that it sucked.

"You have to tell him, Xander. Friends shouldn't keep secrets from friends." Her face showed that she wasn't just thinking of Spike, here.

"You've gotta admit, though, that this isn't your normal 'I broke the toaster oven' sort of secret. This is an 'I had sex with you and you don't remember it' secret. Kind of on a different level of secretness."

"You did! You broke our toaster oven!" Damn. Innocent face just never works. Definitely need to practice it in the mirror.

"Yeah, but you acted all surprised, like 'Oh, the toaster oven is broken? How'd that happen?'"

Okay, hello, defensiveness. "Wait, is this some kind of little-known rule? Friends don't let friends break toaster ovens? Because I fixed the toaster oven with my manly powers of fixingness. And I'd hate to have my friend credentials revoked over a rarely-used household appliance."

"And again I notice that we have strayed from the crucial subject here. Which is Spike." He looked down at his hands, miserable.

They were both quiet for a minute. He looked back up to meet her eyes, and she didn't look upset anymore. Good old Willow, queen of forgiveness. What would I do without you?

She said gently, "Back when you first told me about the stuff during the time loop, you said you wanted to romance Spike, right? So…what happened to that plan? Isn't Spike worth a bit of romancing?"

Xander looked down at the table. "I just…I suck at the romance thing. I mean, I've never really romanced anybody before, and Spike isn't exactly an easy guy to romance. What, am I supposed to bring him flowers and candy? Serenade him under the stars? Because outside of cheesy movies, I haven't really seen a lot of romancing to learn from. And I don't think Spike would appreciate a candlelit dinner and a dozen roses."

"Oh, I'm sure he would. But I doubt it would be a pleasant surprise." He imagined the sheer extent of potential Spike mockery and cringed inside.

Xander stared at the table, not replying. A couple of minutes passed. Then Willow spoke again.

"Xander, Spike's your friend, right?" He nodded uhappily. "Well, as your friend, he deserves better than this. You have to tell him about the time loop."

That brought Xander's head up. "But, Will, if I tell him right now, while everything is all messed up, with the kiss dodge and everything, then I might lose him even as a friend. I don't know what he's thinking right now, you know? I need to figure that stuff out, first. Make sure he knows that I'm his friend, that I care about him."

Willow was watching him with sad eyes. "You've spent the past few months making sure he knew we all care about him, Xander. You've worked really hard to make things better for him, to get to be friends with him, to make him feel better about himself. And that's really admirable. You've done a lot for him, even if he doesn't know. But that doesn't mean you can't move forward. And it doesn't make it okay to lie to him."

He looked at her, feeling lost. "I don't know how. I mean, Spike and me, we're buds now, but we don't really sit around talking about our feelings, you know? Our friendship is more of the WWF- watching, beer-drinking, smack-talking variety. Not the deep sharing variety."

Willow reached across the table and took his hand, squeezing gently. "I have faith in you, Xander. You can do it."

On his drive home, Xander's head was swimming with all the things he "should" do to fix things with Spike.

Not to mention the whole sex thing, which I didn't tell Willow about but which I still need to figure out on my own.

Too many things that needed doing. Too many things to think about. And all of it seemed impossible. He didn't even know where to start.

As he lay in bed, waiting to fall asleep, Xander imagined a perfect world in which Spike knocked on the door and strode into the room, all black-wearing and attitude-having. His imaginary Spike didn't use hair gel, though, and so his hair was sort of fluffy and messed up. He was carrying a bouquet of red roses.

"Really?" replied Xander, standing in the living room in his bare feet. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and imaginary Spike's imaginary eyes blatantly admired his naked pecs. Xander flexed.

"You're my best mate," imaginary Spike said, walking closer, coming to a stop only inches away from Xander, "but you're more than that."

"Yeah. I've been wanting to do this for a long time." And then imaginary Spike reached out and pulled him close – the roses had conveniently disappeared somewhere – and kissed him deep and slow. When he pulled away, Xander just stared.

By the time imaginary Spike had gotten his imaginary boots off, Xander was asleep.

The next day at work, Xander made so many mistakes his boss threatened to send him home until he got a grip. Of course, Walt didn't word it that politely. Language on the site tended to be a bit more colorful than among the Scoobies.

And that was what was distracting Xander so badly that he short- cutted a dozen 2-by-4s by three inches each…just enough so that they'd all need to be replaced. Well, it wasn't exactly Spike's dirty-talking that was distracting, though too much thought on that topic was a little too interesting as well, given recent events.

Or, rather, the fact that he'd be seeing Spike for patrol that night, and he had a jumble of ideas clanging around in his head about how he should act and what he should say and even – god this was humiliating – what he should wear.

He was leaning toward the solid green pullover. Willow said it brought out his eyes.

But it wasn't just patrol that had him so nervous. Today was Friday. That meant the movies. Which now seemed decidedly date-like, even though he and Spike had gone to the Sunnydale Majestic's Midnight Creature Feature every Friday night for the past two months. Well, every Friday night except when they were distracted by Sunnydale's real-life creature features.

They'd first started going because a midnight horror movie in Sunnydale seemed like some kind of sick joke. They'd speculated that it would be a vampire feeding ground, and they'd been right. They caught a few fledges there every Friday while they watched the movie, and they always had a great time cracking jokes and heckling and throwing popcorn at the screen during the most ridiculous bits. It was one of the highlights of Xander's week.

It had always been a buddy thing in the past, but with everything that was going on, it now felt like an opportunity for something more. Going to the movies together was a date-y thing to do, right? Sitting in the dark together, holding hands, sharing popcorn, leaning in close to whisper.

Of course, Spike tended to talk out loud during the movies – often even shouting at the screen – so he was unlikely to lean in close to whisper anything. And it was pretty hard to imagine Spike holding hands with anybody, let alone another guy.

But the possibilities still had Xander nervous enough to fumble around all day as if he'd never worked a table saw before.

When they closed up the site at 4 – one of the few nice things about starting work at the construction worker's butt-crack of dawn – Xander headed home for a couple hours of supposed relaxation before meeting everybody over at the Summers house for patrol.

It's times like these when I actually miss Cordy, because if nothing else she always seems to know what clothes to wear. But even she might be stumped by this whole "uncertainly date-like double feature of patrol-and-movie with a potentially gay vampire" situation. Not exactly an occasion for which Hallmark cards exist…or Cosmo fashion tips. Not to mention the "come clean about the time loop" optional adjunct to the evening. And the potential "kinky gay sex" nightcap.

He thought briefly about phoning Cordy in L.A. to ask her for possible-gay-vampire-date fashion advice, but immediately dismissed the idea. How was he supposed to explain the situation? On the other hand, Willow already knew most of the situation, but Willow – wonderful though she was, and cute as a button, and wise in many matters – was not someone from whom to seek fashion tips. Even Xander knew that much. He didn't plan to meet Spike tonight wearing anything fuzzy. Or corduroy. And no hats.

Xander parked his car in front of the Summers house – Buffy's house, his mind whispered, but he didn't listen, it still felt wrong, though maybe someday it would seem right again – just as the sky was fading from sunset to darkness. Wiping his palms against his jeans, he walked up the steps and knocked, then opened the door without waiting. It was what they all did. Only the girls lived here, but it was in some ways home to all of them, in the same way the school library had once been home. It was where they gathered.

"Hello?" he called as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Nobody was in the living room.

But Willow came down the stairs almost immediately, smiling a smile that made Xander think, Uh oh. Whatever this is, I'm not going to like it.

"We aren't going on patrol tonight," Willow said, nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, tugging and straightening in some sort of unnecessary dance. "Tara's sick."

Xander watched her. Obviously something else was going on. "Sick," he repeated dubiously.

Willow nodded quickly. "Yeah, she's sick. So you and Spike will have to go on your own tonight."

Xander rolled his eyes. So that's what this is all about. "Gosh, that's awfully convenient, Will. Yesterday you bug me to talk to Spike, and today you can't go on patrol?"

Should have known better than to try to pull one over on the Xan- Man. I've been seeing through your little white lies since kindergarten, missy.

"I just think it would be good if you got a chance to talk, you know, alone." Willow looked up at him and smiled, looking all hopeful and friend-like.

Before Xander could reply, he heard a knock on the door behind him and Spike stepped inside, commenting dryly, "Everybody's ready? Now that's one for the record books."

Willow glanced at Xander, then said quickly, "Actually, Tara and I aren't going to patrol tonight. She's not feeling well, and I don't want to leave her on her own."

Spike just shrugged, saying, "Don't really need the whole parade, at any rate. Think the Bregnis have skipped town. Nobody's seen hide nor hair of them for days now, and they aren't generally the shy type."

Willow brightened, her guilt alleviated. "Oh! Well, that's good!" She glanced back and forth between Spike and Xander…and Xander wanted to cringe with embarrassment. Could she be any more obvious?

Xander nodded numbly, and the next thing he knew they were on their way, Willow left behind to play doctor with Tara as much as she liked. As Xander turned to leave, Willow caught his eye and glanced meaningfully at Spike with a slight jerk of her head.

Sheesh. Bossy. Yes, I know I'm supposed to talk to Spike about all that stuff. Too much stuff, if you ask me, which you pretty much haven't. How am I supposed to cover everything at once? "Oh, Spike, hey, I don't just want to be friends, because I'm kind of maybe in love with you, and I know that might seem sudden, but it's not, because we also happen to have had sex repeatedly during the time loop and that's when I started feeling these feelings, which I never told you about because I was afraid you'd freak." Oh, yeah, I'm sure Spike would sweep me into his arms and declare his undead affection.

Xander looked around and realized that they'd been walking in the cemetery for a few minutes, and that he'd been lost in thought since they left the house.

Great way to start off the evening, Xanmeister. Ignore Spike completely. 'Cause that worked so well before the time loop. Yeah, great way to romance the guy.

So where should I start? Try to get with the romancing? Tell about the time loop? Subtly scope out what's going on in that bleach- blonde noggin'? Explain about the "just friends" thing from the other night?

Xander glanced at Spike, who was walking beside him, alert as always to everything around them. His coat billowed slightly behind him as he walked, and his profile was pale and sharp against the darkness. Xander cleared his throat. Here goes. He dove in without preamble. "You know, the other night, after the…the stuff…when I said you were my best friend…I didn't really mean that the way it sounded…"

Spike looked at him and smirked. "No worries, Harris. I know we're mates. A bit of fun on the side doesn't change anything."

Spike didn't reply, just kept walking, glancing around for potential danger. Xander had just opened his mouth to say something – he hadn't yet decided exactly what that something would be, but it certainly would have been something suave and debonair, sort of Cary Grant-ish, something that would have made Spike immediately want to be more than mates-in-the-British-sense – but before he could voice this irresistible suavosity, Spike reached out a hand and stopped Xander with a touch to his chest. Okay, that could have been a good sign, except for the fact that Spike wasn't looking at him. Spike was instead looking into the shadows between two nearby crypts. And now that they'd stopped walking, Xander could hear a sort of snuffling, crunching noise coming from that general vicinity.

After Spike had killed the demon – "What was that he was crunching over there? Wait. On second thought, the potential nightmares say I'm very okay with the not knowing." – they continued walking, leaving the carcass hidden in some bushes.

So he said the sex games don't change anything. Well, that's good, right? That means we're still friends and he doesn't think I'm using him or anything like that. And who says everything has to change overnight, just because there was naked touchy-feely-ness? Maybe friends is okay for now. A good place to start, right? I just need to do the romancing thing. About which of course I'm completely non-clue- having. It's not like the library has books on romancing vampires. At least, I don't think they do. But maybe I'm wrong…it is Sunnydale, after all. But when's the last time I visited a library for the purposes of librarying? Pretty much never. It's just not exactly a Xander-friendly environment, what with all the books and learning and stuff.

Wait. Why am I thinking about libraries? When has this ever been a Xander thought topic? It's just wrong on some basic, primordial level. The words "Xander" and "library" don't even belong in the same sentence. If it hadn't been for Giles and Buffy, I probably would never have stepped foot inside a library in my entire life. It was a source of pride, my successful learning-avoidance. So why do I have libraries on the brain?

Maybe I'm just not wanting to think about the stuff that's actually important. Like how to romance Spike. And how to tell him about the time loop sex without ruining everything. Because there's the whole problem with the non-clue-having.

Spike looked over at him and raised an eyebrow, but looked forward again as he continued walking. "What brought this up?"

Okay. Not really an answer to the question, but the question was sort of on the rhetorical side anyway, so kind of not an issue. "I just…there's some stuff that happened during the time loop…stuff I haven't told you."

"Yeah?" Spike glanced over at him briefly, then looked away again, keeping an eye on the cemetery around them.

"Yeah. Like…um…we…on one of the loops…we…we had coffee with Willow." Cop out!

"So…you don't feel betrayed or anything, right? I mean, that I didn't tell you earlier…about having coffee with Willow?"

Spike went back to looking around them as they continued walking. "Don't need to know about every bloody detail, Xander."

"But…but…this was stuff you and I were doing…together…and I remember it, but you don't…that doesn't feel weird to you?"

I never thought of it that way. So…I guess I don't really need to tell him, then. Because it sort of wasn't really him. And he's pretty much said that I don't need to tell him. So there's no reason to mess things up now, when he doesn't even care if I tell him or not. Yeah. Cool. That's settled, then. So why do I feel like Willow isn't going to understand guy logic on this one? But I'm an independent man of independent thought, making an independent decision based on independence. And okay maybe a tiny bit of fear. But mostly independence. I don't have to do something, just because Willow thinks I should. Okay, so she's usually right about stuff like this…but I can do what I want. Spike doesn't care, so this is fine.

Why does that all sound suspiciously like a pathetic attempt to convince myself?

No. Spike said he doesn't care. I should take him at his word, right? I mean, he wasn't talking specifically about sex during the time loop. But what applies to time-loop coffee drinking should also apply to time-loop sex having. Right? Right. So it's all good. It doesn't count as a secret anymore. And as a non-secret it becomes non- disclosure-requiring. No disclosure necessary. Nope. We have complete official alleviation of secret sex guilt.

Spike let his hand drop, but continued to watch him suspiciously. "You're acting off."

Xander shook his head. "Nope. Not off. I'm definitely on. I'm the On Guy. I'm the guy to call when onnage is required. I'm so on, you might even say I'm…"

Spike winced, but started walking again. Xander caught up with him and they continued patrol with only minimal conversation. It wasn't a weird silence, though. It was pretty normal, just patrolling and keeping their eyes and ears aware to the night around them. It was just a pretty normal patrol.

A pretty normal Friday night patrol…ending up at the Sunnydale Majestic for their standing weekly movie date.

They took their usual seats near the back of the theater, right on the center aisle…prime real estate for vamp spotting and slaying. But once they were seated, Xander found himself fixated on how close Spike's knee was to touching his, how Spike's hand rested on his black- denimed thigh and was thus also close to Xander's blue-denimed thigh. There was chipped black polish on Spike's fingernails, and his hand was pale and slender.

This isn't a date. Spike isn't going to hold my hand and blow in my ear, even if we are sitting in the back of the theater like a couple of teenagers looking for somewhere to make out. We're just friends. Friends who've messed around a bit. And maybe more, if I can manage not to fuck it up. So…romancing somebody. You just…do nice things for them, right?

Xander sat silently, staring at the blank screen, supposedly waiting for the movie to start, but actually trying to work up the nerve to make some kind of move. He remained frozen in place during the "previews" – which were actually just old trailers for random cheesy horror movies – but as the main feature started up, he licked his lips nervously and shifted his weight.

"I'll be right back," he whispered, and then leapt out of his seat, striding up the center aisle and out to the lobby.

When he came back, he held a box of Snow Caps in one hand, a box of Red Hots in the other. As he fell into his seat again, he dropped the red box into Spike's lap.

In the flickering light from the screen, Spike peered at him through narrowed eyes.

Xander hoped his blush was hidden by the darkness of the theater, but he just said defensively, "What? I thought you liked Red Hots."

"Yeah. But you bought 'em for me." Spike was, as usual, using his normal voice instead of whispering. The guy two rows ahead of them turned around and shushed loudly.

"Blokes buy each other beers, Xander. Blokes don't generally buy each other candy."

The guy in front of them shushed even louder this time. Xander slouched, feeling wrongly accused, as usual. It wasn't his fault Spike had bad movie manners!

"Jeez, Spike. It's not a bottle of Chanel No. 5, okay? It's just a box of Red Hots. No big. If you don't want it, give it here. I'll eat them."

Spike knows what kind of candy I like! That's definitely a good sign. I mean, okay, so he's giving me shit about the whole candy thing, but his knowing what I like must mean something. But aloud he only said, "Well, then, Mister Difficult, I guess you'll just have to eat them yourself, won't you?"

Spike was quiet a moment, eyeing Xander suspiciously, but eventually he turned to watch the screen again. His voice was actually reasonably quiet when he said, "Fine. Just watch the film, and keep an eye on that fledge in front of us."

"What? Fledge? That guy's a vampire? The shushing guy? You can tell from back here?"

Spike gave him a funny look. "Yeah, the fangs and yellow eyes were a bit of a clue."

Oh. Guess I was kind of distracted. "He's sitting there watching a movie in game-face? What kind of idiot does that?"

"Nah." Spike shrugged and settled comfortably, stretching his legs out to the side and propping his feet on the row in front of them a few seats to the right, crossing one boot over the other. He opened the box of Red Hots and popped a few in his mouth, keeping his eyes on the werewolf transformation happening on the theater's large screen. "Might as well let him watch the flick first."

Despite his certainty that Spike wouldn't actually hold his hand, Xander found himself keeping his hand accessible, resting either on his knee or on the arm rest, where Spike could easily brush against him if he so chose.

He didn't chose, of course. There was no chosing. Xander was not, after all, the chosen one.

There was some accidental brushing, though, and every glancing touch sent a jolt through Xander. He was hyper-aware of Spike's every movement in the dark.

But Spike seemed completely oblivious, calmly watching the film without a glance in Xander's direction.

Spike's a smart guy. He must notice that something's up. Um…not that kind of "up," not at the moment, anyway. I mean, he must notice that I'm interested. Maybe he just isn't into the public displays of affection thing. Maybe he's just being discreet. Sunnydale doesn't exactly have its own gay pride parade.

A little part of his mind whispered, Spike? Discreet? In what universe? But he chose to ignore it. Because discretion was the only explanation he'd come up with that made any sense. Except the obvious.

When they left the theater after dusting two fledges – including Shush Guy – Spike put his hands in the pockets of his duster and they walked toward Xander's car. It was unclear how the evening was going to end. Xander kind of hoped that Spike wanted to spend more time with him, but there hadn't been any actual discussion on the subject.

But when conversation started, it wasn't quite what he'd been expecting or hoping for. Out of nowhere, Spike said, "Don't need you buying me bloody Red Hots, Xander."

But Spike interrupted him, turning to face him with a scowl. "Look. Don't need sweet talk to get my knickers off. I'm not your bloody prom date and I'm not lookin' to cuddle in front of the fire, listenin' to Barry Manilow. Let's skip the pretense."

"You White Hats probably think it's all gotta be sweet and romantic, yeah? Well, sod that. You aren't half bad at sucking cock. Seem to like it, too. So we both get off, yeah? Don't need the romantic trappings."

Spike sighed and turned to face him squarely. "Xander, if you want a girlfriend, find yourself a bloody girl. If you want to fuck, then let's go."

But it isn't impersonal, not really, because Spike is still my friend…we still know each other pretty darn well. So it isn't impersonal, exactly…it just isn't romantic. It's not a love thing. Yet. But can I really do that? Have sex with Spike, even if it's only sex? Do I even want to do that? Because that would just be asking to get hurt, right? How big a fool would I have to be to do that? Okay, yeah, I'm a plenty big enough fool. But can I really turn this down? I want it. And maybe it might turn into something more. Eventually. Maybe. Can I really walk away from that?

Xander didn't realize how long he'd been lost in thought until Spike's voice interrupted to say dryly, "Let me know when you figure it out, eh, Harris?" And then he walked away, leaving Xander standing at the driver's side door of his car, still confused.

The metal of the door handle was cold against his hand. He stood there and held it a moment, still watching the place where Spike had vanished into the dark. But even he wasn't stupid enough to stand around in Sunnydale in the middle of the night. He opened the door and got into the car, then drove home in a sort of fog and fell into bed still fully dressed, minus only the shoes.

Now that the Bregni scare was over, everything was back to normal. And that meant Xander had Saturday night off. Spike and Xander patrolled on Friday night, Willow and Tara patrolled – with the Bot, of course – on Saturday night. Everybody had a weekend night free.

Not that Xander was doing much with his free weekend night. He wasn't really in the mood to go out. He spent the day re-reading his entire X-Men comic collection, just kicking back on the couch with a dwindling "unread" pile to his right and a growing "read" pile to his left. It was his traditional way to deal with feeling overwhelmed. Escapism.

Friday night had left him more than a little confused. It sounded like Spike was definitely interested in the sex – that meant he must be attracted to Xander, at least a little bit – but he didn't want anything romantic.

Maybe he just thinks I was being polite or something, that I don't actually want more. Like during the time loop. He said nobody's ever loved him, not even Dru…so maybe he doesn't think anybody can. Or that anybody will.

Or maybe he's just being all Control Freak guy, trying to stop me from going to that stupid domination club, even though I mostly wasn't planning on going anyway.

Or maybe he's not into guys, and he's only doing this because I'm convenient, throwing myself at him like some kind of desperate horn- dog. So he gets to have sex without all the complications. Except I kind of want the complications. But he doesn't. Want them, that is. He was pretty clear on that score.

The question is Why? Why doesn't he want complications? And why do I sound like such a girl all of a sudden? Maybe I should spend my evening watching football and guzzling beer and belching, instead of sitting around contemplating why my vampire lover doesn't want snuggles.

The simple truth is that Spike apparently wants to have sex with me. And I have to decide if that's enough. I mean, even if it doesn't go anywhere, because I don't know if it could or would or might or definitely won't. So if it really is just sex…can I do that? Do I want to do that?

Okay. Duh. Sex with Spike? And I'm thinking about this so long why? Even if it's just sex. Dude…it's sex with Spike. So maybe he just wants my bod. Spike wants my bod. What could possibly be wrong with that?

Heh. A year ago, I would have thought there was a world of wrong with that. But now…now's different. Now, the phrase "sex with Spike" makes me say, "Yes? Please? Now?"

In comparison, the X-Men were blissfully uncomplicated. Xander read until he was so tired and it was so late that he staggered off to go to bed leaving piles of comic books in his wake.

He woke up the next morning to a ringing phone and Willow's voice telling him to come over for a research party that night. Apparently, there'd been another run-in with a bone-cruncher. Goody.

He had the rest of the day to angst about what to say to Spike when he saw him again.

It all ended up being moot, anyway, because he didn't get any time alone with Spike. Everybody was ranged around the living room, searching through Giles' old books, trying to find out about these bone-crunching demons, and Spike never walked away from the group. Xander wandered into the kitchen a couple of times, trying to give Spike an opportunity to follow him, but he ended up just standing around the kitchen by himself like a moron.

Unfortunately, the third time he went to the kitchen, Willow followed him. Not really what he'd been hoping for.

Xander fiddled with the orange soda he'd just taken out of the fridge. "Not really. But I tried. He said he didn't want to know." Okay, so that isn't exactly what Spike said, but close enough.

Willow frowned. "How could he say he didn't want to know, when he didn't know what it was he didn't know?"

"Trust me. It's all cool." That's right. Say it with a tone of authority and it must be true.

Willow looked like she was about to say something more, but Xander gripped his orange soda and made a speedy escape, smiling apologetically.

When it started getting late and they still hadn't learned anything useful about these particular bone-crunching demons – though they had learned that demons in general just seemed pretty much down with the bone-crunching thing, like it was a common hobby or something – eventually Xander started making noises of the "I should probably be getting home" variety.

Any hopes he'd had that Spike might see him home were dashed when Spike pretty much ignored him when he got up to leave.

Idiot me, I was so happy the first time he decided I was man enough to go home without a bodyguard. Like he'd finally stopped seeing me as some pathetic kid. Like throwing a couple knives around made me an equal with him or something. I never really thought about how nice it was, always having him make sure I got home safe. Yeah, I'm still pathetic.

He left to a chorus of "See you tomorrow"s. The next day was New Year's Eve, and they'd all made plans far in advance to spend the evening together, just as they had with Christmas.

He arrived at the girls' house around 8. He'd been tempted to show up just before dark – so that he could have maximum potential Spike timeage – but he didn't want to look too desperate. And he still wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to say. Plus, if he showed up early and Spike didn't, then he'd be submitted to more Willow grilling. It was safer to show up when he knew everyone would already be there.

He knocked on the door and stepped inside, calling out, "I come bearing booze with which to ply unsuspecting womenfolk and vampires!" as he waved two bottles of cheap champagne.

Willow and Tara were in the kitchen, putting various munchies into bowls and onto plates. They both smiled and said hello when they saw him come in to put the bubbly in the fridge. Hearing voices coming from the open back door, he walked over and rested one hand on the doorframe.

Spike and Dawn were sitting on the back stairs, and Dawn was saying, "So now he's going out with Summer Thompson, who is a total slut-o- rama. She is to 'slutty' what Michael Jackson is to 'freaky', you know? And he's all totally lying about it. He's like, 'We're just friends.' Shyeah right."

Xander interjected, "Wait, have I been missing out on the crucial 'girl talk' portion of the evening's festivities?" Both Spike and Dawn turned to look up at him. Dawn grinned. Spike just watched him with an annoyingly calm expression.

We've got this whole sex thing out there, totally unresolved, and he can't even manage to look a little uncomfortable? He's got that unflappable thing going, and I want to see some flap. I'm flapping all over the place, and I don't like to flap alone.

Dawn explained, "We were just taking a break. Spike was showing me some self-defense stuff so I can go patrolling."

Dawn rolled her eyes and said, "Can you spell 'overprotective', boys and girls? I knew you could."

Xander shook his head. "Come on, now, Dawn. How many fifteen-year- olds are lucky enough to have their own personal guard-vamp? Ya gotta see the up side, here."

"Oh, right, like I want somebody telling me what to do all the time. Most kids at school only have one parent. Lucky me, I've got like four."

Spike stood up and leaned against the railing. "Want to help with the training?" He was looking at Xander.

Spike gestured at the grass of the back yard. "Go out and rush at her. I'd do it, but if I make a mistake and hurt her, I'd get a hell of a migraine."

"Rush at her?" Xander glanced uncertainly at Dawn, who was rising to her feet and walking toward the middle of the lawn.

"I can take it. Spike's teaching me how to use somebody's weight to throw them."

Xander shrugged and sort of half-heartedly rushed her, not wanting to accidentally knock her down. But the next thing he knew, he was the one on the ground with the wind knocked out of him, staring up at the night sky.

"I rock!" Dawn crowed, leaping up and down with her arms raised triumphantly in the air. "I rule!"

But Spike sounded firm, insisting, "Just because you can toss a slow-moving human who doesn't want to hurt you doesn't mean you're reading to face demons."

Dawn grinned and did a happy little dance. Xander could see it out of the corner of his eye as he lay there savoring the bitter taste of humiliation. Dawn had smacked him down. "What've you been teaching her?" he asked ruefully, still not moving.

"Just some aikido." Spike's face appeared above him and a hand was extended to help him up. Xander reached up to take Spike's hand, and the touch sent a jolt of excitement through him. He saw Spike's eyes narrow slightly, and then he was pulled to his feet.

As they walked into the house, Xander found himself watching the back of Spike's head, the set of his shoulders, the pale skin of his neck. Spike and Dawn were talking about something, chuckling and nudging each other, but Xander didn't really hear anything they were saying. All he could think was, Spike wants to have sex with me. And I'm hesitating why?

The evening passed in a sort of Dick-Clark-narrated blur. When the ball dropped in Times Square and firecrackers went off somewhere outside, Willow and Tara kissed. Xander glanced nervously at Spike, who wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was watching Dawn, who rushed toward him and kissed him on the cheek, smiling. Then she kissed Xander on the cheek, as well. "Everybody should get kissed at midnight," she insisted seriously.

Xander sneaked another peek in Spike's direction, but Spike still wasn't looking at him.

It's not like he's going to bend me over and give me major tongue action in front of everybody, but still…everybody should get kissed at midnight.

When the kissing – real and imagined – was done, Willow insisted that they all raise their glasses and make a toast. "To a new year, and to good friends," she said, smiling, and everyone touched their glasses together. Even Spike made no objection to the sentimentality of the proceedings. He just clinked his glasses with everyone else's and took a sip of champagne.

He wants this. I want this. I don't care why. I don't care if I might get hurt. I want this. Yes.

Spike held his gaze for a long moment, but looked away when Tara said something to him. He smiled slightly, and Xander watched how his lips curved.

After a few minutes of feeling almost paralyzed with nerves, Xander cleared his throat and said, "I should get going."

The girls looked disappointed, but hugged him goodbye with many more "Happy new year"s.

Spike stood and said, "I'll be heading off, as well." Willow glanced back and forth between the two men, then gave Xander a questioning glance. He gave a tiny shrug of non-knowingness.

They walked out the door together and toward Xander's car, getting a respectable distance from the house and the girls, before Spike asked, "You planning on going to the club?"

Club? Oh…right. The postcard. And the New Year's Eve party. And the club. The postcard that started this whole thing.

Xander focused on getting his key into the driver's side door lock, not looking up, and said in what he hoped was a casual voice, "Not really."

Spike leaned one hip against the fender, his arms crossed across his chest. "Got it out of your system, did you?"

As Xander opened the car door, he looked over at Spike. Xander swallowed. Time to end the poultry impression he'd been doing. "Not exactly. I just…you said…I thought…" Xander licked his lips nervously, and Spike's eyes followed the movement. It gave him the last bit of courage to say, "I thought maybe we could just go to my place, instead."

He didn't look away. Spike tilted his head slightly, as if he were studying Xander, and then he nodded. "All right, then."

It wasn't all that surprising, really, that Spike hadn't wanted to stick around. This thing they were doing…it wasn't about curling up in bed together and waking up to morning-breath kisses. It was about sex, and that was all.

Not that Xander was complaining, exactly. It was just going to take some getting used to.

Spike, on the other hand, seemed completely relaxed about the whole thing. When they'd gotten to the apartment last night, Spike had just strolled to the kitchen to get a beer out of the fridge, as he always did when he came over.

The bright fluorescent light in the kitchen gave Spike's skin a slight blue tinge, but somehow it didn't make him any less gorgeous. He saw something held on the fridge by a magnet, and he took it down and looked at it. It was the infamous postcard. Xander had kept it because it reminded him of Spike, but now he wondered what Spike was thinking as he looked at it.

Still holding the postcard, Spike walked over to lean against the counter, tilting the beer bottle up to take a swig. His throat moved as he swallowed, and Xander couldn't help but watch, hypnotized. Spike lowered the bottle and set it on the counter, eyeing Xander speculatively.

He held up the postcard, not looking at it, holding Xander's gaze. His voice was pure sex when he drawled, "So…what did you think about, looking at this?" He paused, glancing at the photo on the card, then back at Xander. "You like the dog collar? Want to be somebody's good little puppy?" He smirked, not giving Xander a chance to reply before he continued, "Or did you want more…maybe think about getting yourself tied up, spread open, gagged and helpless? Or maybe you were looking for a daddy to spank your naughty bottom all pretty pink, make you beg daddy's forgiveness?" Xander was shaking his head now, but Spike didn't stop. "Or was it more than just spanking you were after? Like a bit of pain, do you? Get all hot and bothered by whips and chains?"

"No! None of that stuff!" Spike just arched an eyebrow. And, after a moment of feeling his face heat, Xander amended reluctantly, "Okay, I've tried some of that stuff, because – hello…Anya – but not the…the freaky daddy stuff, and serious pain doesn't do it for me, and…look, I'm not looking for a wonderland of kink. That wasn't what I wanted. I just…" He broke off, suddenly afraid, wondering how honest Spike wanted him to be. How honest he wanted himself to be. He took a breath and looked at Spike, willing him to understand through some kind of osmosis or mind meld or something.

Spike tilted his head slightly and pushed off from the counter with a graceful roll of muscles. He stepped forward, smiling. "Just looking to get bossed around a bit, eh?"

Xander felt somehow disappointed, as if an opportunity had just passed him by. He looked away and said quietly, "Yeah. Pretty much." Coward. But he doesn't want to know. It's only sex.

Damn it. I'm going to be honest about this, at least. Because even if it's just sex, it's okay for him to know. And I want him to know. Because I want this to be real.

It took a huge effort, but he looked Spike straight in the eye as he said, "When I looked at that card…I didn't just think about…you know, the domination stuff…I mean…I thought about that stuff…but…I thought about that stuff…with" – Xander gulped and closed his eyes – "I thought about that stuff with you." He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see Spike's reaction. What if this ruined everything? What if Spike thought he was some kind of weirdo stalker guy, all obsessed with him? He licked his lips nervously and opened his eyes.

Spike was watching him with an unfamiliar expression, something flickering between what looked like surprise, confusion, suspicion, arrogance, and plain old lust. The lust was clear enough to make Xander shiver. He wondered what he would have seen if he'd opened his eyes sooner.

At least Spike didn't look angry, or even uncomfortable, really. Instead his expression was moving rapidly into smug. Like he was having fun with this. And that was a hell of a lot better than a lot of the other reactions he might have had.

Spike's voice was low and smooth when he said, "So…you were wanking to thoughts of yours truly? Interesting. What did we do in these 'thoughts' of yours?"

Crap. Why did I think this was a good idea? Spike's the king of the put-down. Anything I say is just giving him ammunition. So Xander went for vagueness, one of his favorite avoidance tactics. "Um…lots of stuff."

"'Lots of stuff', eh? Well, we'll definitely be doing 'lots of stuff'. I've got plans for you."

Spike nodded slowly, with just the barest hint of a curve to his lips. "Mm hmm. Plans."

What kind of plans would William the Bloody come up with? The mind boggled. And not in a good way. "W-what sort of plans?"

"Oh, nothing you won't like." Spike lifted up the postcard and looked at it again. "So you were looking at this little piccy of a bloke in a dog collar, and wanting me to be your master? Get you on your knees? Tell you what to do? Teach you how to get me off?" Spike looked up, meeting Xander's gaze expectantly.

Xander just watched him, trying to read Spike's expression. He couldn't even seem to make himself nod. Even though they were both still fully dressed, he felt suddenly naked and exposed.

Apparently not bothered by the lack of reply, Spike just smirked. "I can do that." He seemed so relaxed about the whole thing…like he did this every day.

Spike just shrugged. "Would've thought it'd be you running from that one." He put the postcard on the table and stepped forward again, hemming Xander in until his back was pressed against the refrigerator, alphabet magnets pressing into his spine. Then Spike reached one hand down and cupped Xander's…special equipment. Xander's breath caught, not out of fear, but because it was Spike's hand on him…finally. Spike smiled, gently squeezing. "But you're just full of surprises, now aren't you?"

Xander tried to remember to breathe, but his voice still sounded a bit hoarse when he said, "That's me. Surprise Guy."

Spike stepped back slightly, his hand pulling away to fall by his side. "Shirt off."

Xander blushed. "But…you already…the other night…when I…I took off my clothes…"

Spike shook his head impatiently. "Up close and personal like." He tilted his head to the side and waited.

Feeling self-conscious, Xander untucked his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. He was so close to the fridge, the sweep of fabric sent magnets skittering onto the floor. Unsure what to do with the shirt, he dropped it on the white linoleum. He sort of hoped he'd be needing his hands for whatever Spike had in mind.

Spike pulled back a bit further and looked Xander up and down, his eyes roaming over bare skin.

"Hey…want to go into the living room? Or…uh…the bedroom? 'Cause fluorescent lights don't really do good things for skin tone. I keep telling the landlord that I could pull this out and put in something that uses incandescents, but he says his insurance doesn't…"

"Yeah. Shut up. You wanted me to tell you what to do…well, I'm telling you to shut up. Want to enjoy my new toy without the soundtrack."

Spike stepped close again and put his hands on Xander's shoulders. Not holding…just brushing lightly against the skin. He slowly moved his palms down, stroking Xander's upper arms, then squeezed each bicep as if testing the resilience of the muscles. His lips curved just a tiny bit upward, barely enough to be called a smile. Xander felt like he'd just passed some kind of test.

"On second thought, if you want to talk so much, then talk. But not about that rubbish." Spike's hands had somehow found their way to Xander's chest. He lightly pinched Xander's nipples, making Xander gasp. "You like that?" Xander jerked his head in something approximating a nod. "Then say so."

Okay, so much for passing the test. It made him defensive. "Well, I'm sorry. I'm just not really good at the whole talking dirty thing."

Spike crossed his arms across his chest. "Gonna have to learn, then. Convince me. Or I can leave. That what you want?" He started to turn away.

Xander stood, bare-chested and clueless, while Spike watched him expectantly. What does he expect me to say, when we aren't even touching anymore? "Are you…are you going to touch me?"

Xander started to reach out his hands, but Spike took another step away. "Words. I want to hear you say you want me, want my hands on you, want my cock in you. Say it."

I was okay with the stripping. And the…the one hand clapping…and the blow job. But this makes me feel like an idiot. I'm going to sound like a complete moron, and in front of Spike. But…it's what he wants…and it's not like I'd be lying. So I guess he's sort of saying that if I want to do this, then I have to tell the truth. And maybe I haven't been so good on that score lately.

Xander took a deep breath and then looked at Spike. "I…I do." He cleared his throat. "I liked it when you were touching me. It felt – god! – it felt amazing!"

Spike smiled slightly. "Good boy!" He came closer, crowding Xander against the now-magnetless refrigerator again, and ran a finger along Xander's throat. "Keep going."

"When you…uh…touched my nipples" – Spike moved his hands to Xander's chest again, pinching lightly, making Xander struggle to hold still – "Oh fuck!"

"Not quite yet," Spike replied as his hands traced along Xander's stomach, moving slowly downward.

Spike leaned forward to whisper in Xander's ear, "I'm the one giving the orders." He pulled back and let his eyes fall to roam Xander's bared chest and stomach. "But since you said 'please'…" He skimmed one hand past Xander's waistband, down to cup his balls again through the denim. Xander closed his eyes and blindly reached back, holding onto the sides of the refrigerator for balance.

"Please please please please please," he breathed, trying to hold still, not wanting to give Spike any reason to stop what he was doing. And apparently he was succeeding, because Spike was unbuttoning and then unzipping his pants, slipping one hand inside to gently squeeze the hardness there. Xander froze, swallowing convulsively.

Xander opened his eyes. Spike's pupils were dilated, making his eyes far darker than usual, and his chest was moving with breaths he probably didn't even realize he was taking.

Spike looked seriously turned on. That alone was enough to make Xander's cock throb.

Spike's hand pulled away, making Xander almost want to cry. But then Spike was pushing Xander's jeans and boxers down, then taking a firm hold on Xander's dick again and stroking slowly.

Xander opened his eyes again. Spike looked controlled, but something about the eyes seemed to say that it was a struggle. Like Xander was getting to him somehow. Probably the power trip.

"You want to come?" Spike asked tightly, still stroking Xander's dick. It was a bit painful without any lube – he'd be sore tomorrow – but there was no way he was going to stop to go in search of petroleum products right now.

So Xander just nodded, hips bucking slightly forward. "Yes…please…" He knew he sounded desperate, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Xander stilled for a moment, unsure what Spike wanted, but emboldened by that barely restrained wild look in Spike's eyes, he grabbed Spike and reversed their positions. He nearly fell on his ass, stumbling over the jeans around his feet, but he managed the move without completely humiliating himself. Kneeling on the cold linoleum, he unfastened Spike's jeans quickly – no leisurely teasing this time – and swallowed Spike's cock with his own soft moan of pleasure.

Spike's hips jerked, and his hands came down to twine into Xander's hair, his eyes intense as he stared at Xander's mouth working on him. Xander kept his eyes trained upward, watching Spike's face, and it was a surprisingly short period of time before Spike was arching and cursing and Xander was swallowing come.

Afterward, Spike leaned heavily against the refrigerator with his eyes still closed, chest rising and falling, hands still tangled in Xander's hair. Xander knelt at his feet with a cock so hard it pressed against his belly, pre-come leaking steadily.

"Good boy," Spike panted, eyes still closed. When he finally looked down at Xander, his face was smooth and relaxed, his smile genuine. "Get up here."

Xander stood so quickly that he almost tripped over the jeans bunched up around his feet. Spike caught him, though, holding him steady until he got his balance again. And then Spike's hand was reaching down, taking hold of him again, squeezing and stroking with a bit of slick help from pre-come, and Xander raised his hands to brace himself against the refrigerator on either side of Spike's body.

"Do you still…want me to…talk?" he gasped, watching Spike's face, trying not to close his eyes despite the pleasure rocketing through him.

"Mmmm," Spike replied not very informatively, still smiling slightly. He squeezed a bit tighter and Xander gripped the sides of the refrigerator door, leaning close, suddenly aware of his height advantage and size. Spike seemed so small, trapped between Xander and the fridge, his eyes looking up to meet Xander's gaze as he began to speed up his hand.

"I don't know if I can," Xander admitted breathlessly, feeling his orgasm growing. "It's so…it's so…oh god!" He cried out, coming all over them both, Spike's hand pumping until it was done. Xander sagged weakly, hands still braced against the fridge, Spike trapped beneath him.

He'd barely caught his breath when Spike pushed at his shoulders, easily moving him away, and yet giving him time to shuffle his feet along, trapped in denim. Spike stepped aside, refastening his own jeans quickly and easily. Xander contemplated which was worse: looking ridiculous with pants around his feet or looking ridiculous trying to pull his pants up. He decided to just stand there, letting it all hang out. Spike had seen it all before, anyway.

"All right then," Spike said cheerfully. "I'll be on my way." And a moment later, Xander was standing alone in his apartment, pantsless, heart still pounding from an incredible orgasm.

It wasn't until he was in bed, almost asleep, that he realized Spike still hadn't kissed him. All that time, pressed up against the fridge, their faces so close together, and no kissing.

On the surface, everything looked the same. Patrol three times a week, with the usual Hellmouth assortment of vamps and baddies. Occasional research parties – but luckily no apocalypses – and pizza/video nights with the whole gang. Evenings spent helping Dawn train to go on patrol. Occasional nights out at the Bronze. Friday nights at the Majestic.

Spike acted the same as he had before. He hung out with everybody, spent time listening to Dawn's troubles, snarked over the pool table at the Bronze, mooched beer, threw popcorn at the screen at the Majestic, and fought the bad guys in a graceful fury.

But when the movie was over, when the research party broke up, when they finished their game of pool, when they went back to Xander's apartment after patrol…everything was different.

How weird is it that I feel safe enough wit Spike to try stuff that would have made me feel stupid before? Sure, Spike's big with the mocking, but not once we get to the sweaty naked wrestling. He's just so…so intense…so sexual. I just get caught up in it. It's never been like that with anybody else.

One night after a particularly boring researching party, they barely made it in the door before Spike's jeans were open and pale hands were shoving Xander down, grabbing his head and pushing a hard cock into his mouth. Xander drooled and sucked and opened his pants to stroke himself when Spike told him to. He came embarrassingly fast, still sucking Spike's cock, trying not to bite down. Spike came immediately afterward with a tightened grip on Xander's hair and a groan aimed at the ceiling.

One Friday after the creature feature at the Majestic, Xander was over Spike's knee, pants around his ankles, getting a spanking that had him begging and pleading, not for Spike to stop, but for Spike to let him come. He'd never been big on spanking – the "bad boy needs to be punished" element had always seemed ridiculous – but Spike's low, angry voice was anything but ridiculous, and in between slaps Spike's hand lingered and stroked in all the right places. It hurt just enough to sting without setting off the chip…and it made Xander want to be a very bad boy again, someday soon, after he'd had a little time to recover. He had trouble sitting down at work the next day, but every time he settled gingerly into a chair, he felt himself blush and couldn't help but smile secretly to himself.

He got better at talking during sex, too, because the look on Spike's face, the grip of Spike's hands, the twitching of Spike's cock in response to his words…it was all worth it. He learned that flattery made Spike crazy, and he praised Spike's cock with clumsy stutters that nevertheless had Spike gasping and arching and bucking, sometimes even had Spike coming with the first touch.

When Spike got him really worked up, writhing and desperate, mindless, he always begged Spike to fuck him, but Spike never did.

And, since the dodge, Xander hadn't had the guts to attempt any kissing, though he tried to always be kiss-accessible. Spike never took him up on it.

It had all been going on for about three weeks, and they'd gotten pretty used to the new rhythm of their strangely split relationship. Patrol…to be followed by some Spike-determined form of sex. Unfortunately, the bad guys hadn't gotten the memo.

The demon was fat and ugly, but surprisingly spry. "It's a Kashith demon," Spike called out as he fought. "Stay out of the way."

Xander kept to a safe distance, throwing a knife whenever he got a clean shot, which wasn't very often. Spike had hopped onto the thing's back and wrapped his arms around its neck, trying to strangle it. It looked like a strange maneuver, but Xander stayed back, trusting Spike's judgment in a battle situation.

"Fuck! It's a female!" Spike suddenly let go and fell to the ground, writhing in what seemed to be pain.

Trying to give the fat demon a wide berth, Xander ran over, worried by Spike's uncharacteristic collapse. "What happened? Spike, are you okay?"

Xander gave it the old never-went-to-college try, but his knives just bounced off the demon's tough skin, and eventually she seemed to decide he wasn't worth her time. She disappeared into the shadows and was gone.

"Can't go after her right now," Spike growled from the ground. "Need to get home. I'm covered in kashithnek."

Spike opened his eyes and glared at Xander. "Female Kashithi excrete a defensive liquid through their skin. Usually, the females are smaller. I guess she's just a bit on the portly side." Spike staggered to his feet, taking hold of a tall tombstone to keep him steady.

"Defensive liquid? What does that mean?" Now that he looked closely, Xander saw that Spike's clothes and hair were sopping wet.

"It paralyzes the attacker so the Kashith can get away to protect her young." Spike started walking carefully in the general direction of Xander's apartment.

"Yeah. Got me good, too. Never been dosed by a Kashith before. Need to wash this crap off." With his stiff, uncoordinated limbs, Spike was doing a pretty funny Frankenstein impression, but Xander chose not to point that out. Spike was already pissed off enough.

They were almost to the apartment when Spike stumbled hard enough to almost fall. Xander reached out to take his arm, but Spike flinched away.

Xander ran up to the door and unlocked it, stepping out of the way to let Spike in. "Then how are we supposed to get it off you?"

"I'll do it myself." Spike shuffled clumsily toward the bathroom, his hands and arms not cooperating particularly well. He didn't look capable of sitting down by himself, let alone taking a thorough shower.

Spike nodded as he removed his clothes with jerky movements. "Should do." He gave up on getting the t-shirt over his head, and instead just ripped it down the middle. When he was naked, leaving behind a pile of ruined clothes on the bathroom floor, he gingerly climbed into the shower and turned on the water.

"Can't be sure. Like I said, never been dosed by a Kashith before." Spike reached out for the soap and knocked it onto the floor of the shower. "Fuck!"

Xander just ignored him and quickly took off his own clothes, stepping into the shower and picking up the soap. He started lathering his arms and chest.

Spike backed away on clumsy legs that sent him careening into the shower wall. "Get away from me, you half-wit! I don't need your bloody help." When Xander just kept soaping himself without replying, Spike spat out, "I said I don't need your help! Just…just look at you…how could I possibly need help from a loser like you?"

"Me?" Pausing in his ablutions, Xander repeated disbelievingly. "What about you, Slimy Paralysis Boy? I think you just need to shut up, stop being such a prick, and turn around so I can wash your hair. This demony stuff is obviously paralyzing your brain."

With his body well-soaped and hopefully kashithnek-proof, Xander poured some shampoo and reached out to begin vigorously rubbing it into Spike's wet hair. To his complete surprise, Spike obediently closed his eyes and turned away, leaning his head back a bit into Xander's touch.

"This doesn't mean anything," Spike said firmly. "We just fuck. It's just…fucking."

"I know." The words didn't hurt as much as they probably normally would have, because Xander was more concerned with keeping Spike from getting paralyzed. Kashithnek was a lot more important than relationship definitions at the moment.

"I'm the one who gives the orders." Spike sounded petulant. Almost like a little kid.

Xander sighed, then said patiently, "I know that, Spike. So fine. Tell me what to do. You're half-paralyzed…you can't do it yourself…so you're the boss…tell me what to do, and we'll get you cleaned up."

But, strangely enough, after pointing out his own dominance, Spike seemed pretty docile. Instead of barking out orders, he moved where Xander pushed him and held still while he was carefully soaped. Xander ran soapy hands along the well-defined muscles of Spike's arms, enjoying this chance to explore Spike's body in more detail. Spike's biceps were hypnotic, and Xander washed them thoroughly before sliding his hands beneath to wash under his arms. Spike twitched ever so slightly, and Xander bit back a grin. Ticklish, are we?

The pecs and abs were even more interesting. Xander had gotten more of a chance to touch them in the past, but wet and soapy was different. Spike's wet skin seemed to gleam, even in the fluorescent light. Xander wanted to lean over and taste those nipples with water running over them…but this wasn't the time.

In fact, Xander was just pleased that neither of them had yet fallen down paralyzed. Apparently the soap had been a good idea.

Spike's movements were sluggish and still a bit clumsy as Xander turned him and ran soapy hands up and down his back, tracing the bumps of his spine, palming the wiry muscles on either side, cupping his shoulder blades, then sliding down to draw wide circles on Spike's tight buttocks. Still turned away, face hidden, Spike gave no obvious reaction to the touch, and so Xander daringly allowed one hand to slip between those mounds of flesh, brushing gently against a part of Spike's body he'd never been allowed to touch before this. Mostly he'd only given blow jobs.

Spike audibly caught his breath at the unexpected touch, but his buttocks remained relaxed. Xander wasn't sure, but he thought maybe he widened his stance a bit, giving Xander more room to maneuver.

Xander slowly ran his soapy hand down to stroke just behind Spike's balls, then dragged his fingers back along the smooth skin of the perineum to softly circle the puckered hole he found there. Biting his lip, hoping he wasn't going too far, he gently pressed a finger there, not pushing inside, but thinking about it. Spike went even more still, if that was possible.

Unfortunately, Xander's brain chose that moment to remind him that he hadn't washed off all the kashithnek yet, and Spike was most likely getting closer and closer to paralysis, just because Xander'd gotten all distracted by the hotness of his vampire butt.

Back to business, Xander knelt down to wash Spike's legs, and from the lower vantage point he noticed that Spike's cock was hard. Oh god.

When he was reasonably sure that Spike was clean all over and all the kashithnek should be gone, Xander stood up again. Spike was still facing away from him, swaying slightly from time to time, strangely meek and apparently sleepy.

Hoping that this wouldn't come back to haunt him tomorrow, Xander soaped up both hands into a thick lather, and then pressed himself lightly to Spike's back. He grasped Spike's cock with his right hand and began a slow stroke that had Spike leaning back slightly, resting his wet head against Xander's shoulder.

Then Xander slid his left hand between Spike's buttocks, gently stroking the puckered skin there, making Spike groan and flex in something Xander interpreted as enjoyment or even request for more. But he didn't go beyond that light touching, gentle stroking and circling, while his other hand work firmly on Spike's hard cock.

It only took about a minute, and Spike's cock was pulsing and throbbing as he painted the tile of the shower wall with white stripes. His body was a heavy, relaxed weight against Xander. "Sleep it off," he muttered.

Rinsing them both off thoroughly, Xander tried to keep a grasp on Spike, since he seemed in danger of tipping over in a rather undignified heap. Drying them both off was even more difficult, and eventually Xander gave up, hauling a damp Spike over to the bed and maneuvering him onto it and under the covers as best as he could. Spike was shivering a bit, so Xander crawled into the bed with him and spooned up behind him under the covers, wrapping his arm around the smaller framed man in an effort to lend his body heat. He'd planned to phone Willow to ask for more info on the Kashithi and kashithnek, but first things first. He had a cold vampire to take care of.

Bundled up in the blankets with his eyes closed, Spike wasn't shivering so much anymore, but he was talking softly to himself. It sounded remarkably lucid, given the fact that Spike didn't seem to be talking to anybody but himself. "Donut Boy?" Xander hadn't been listening too carefully until he heard that oh-so-flattering moniker. "Dru…my ripe wicked plum, my dark princess, lovely pale death in the deep of night. And Buffy…the Slayer, the one girl in all the world…all gleaming power and sunlight in a world of darkness. And now there's…there's Xander Harris? Bumbling pizza delivery boy to the Hellmouth?"

Xander couldn't make out everything – Spike's voice got quieter and more slurred as it went on – but he understood enough to get offended. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm a carpenter now!"

Spike's voice sounded half-asleep as he murmured softly, "Jesus was a carpenter."

Xander was taken aback for a moment. "Uh…yeah. But I'm pretty sure he never took naked gay showers with vampires…unless there's a secret book of the Bible I don't know about. And, boy, I'm just gonna burn in hell for that one, aren't I?"

And then Spike's eyes were quiet and he took a few more breaths – growing slower and shallower until they were imperceptible – and then he was still. Leaning up on the arm not currently wrapped around Spike, Xander looked at him while he slept. His eyelashes were dark against the paleness of his skin, his lips soft and pink, his hair damp. Carefully extricating his other arm, Xander gently stroked Spike's shoulder, then down along his arm.

Xander stroked his arm again and then lay back down, wrapping his arm around Spike's body again and pressing his chest to Spike's back. "I know, Spike. Spike, don't worry…I know."

The next day at work, Xander came up with 1,436 different ways to tell Spike the truth about the time loop. He actually counted them. And all of them sucked.

Last night…Spike was so…soft…so vulnerable…he hasn't let me really see him in a long time. Hell, he's never let me see him like that. No big badness. No barking orders. No bravado. No…um…anything else starting with "b". Just…Spike. Spike actually needing my help, and letting me help him.

If he can be that honest with me, then I pretty much owe it to him to be honest too.

He decided to leave his car at home and walk over to the girls' house for the evening's research shindig, if only to give himself a bit more time to think. It didn't help. Taking care of Spike had been so intimate…he knew he had to tell the truth now. Unfortunately, that knowledge didn't magically telegraph the right words into his brain.

Sometimes I really wish my life was a science-fiction movie, because that brain telegraphing thing would come in really handy right about now.

When he opened the door and stepped into the Summers' entryway, he still had no idea what he was going to say. He saw Spike sitting with Willow and Dawn in the living room, but as soon as their eyes met, Spike's face tensed and he stood up, grabbing Dawn's arm and practically dragging her out of the room. Dawn glanced at Xander curiously through a screen of flying brown hair as they went past.

Willow was sitting cross-legged on the couch with a large, dusty, crumbly, Giles-type book open on her lap. She looked up when Xander came in, then glanced after the fleeing Spike and Dawn with a concerned wrinkle between her brows. She looked up at Xander and asked mildly, "What's that all about?"

Excellent question. Got a Magic 8 Ball handy? Because maybe I could get an answer that way, because heaven knows my brain isn't much help. In fact, I should just trade my whole head in for a giant Magic 8 Ball. I doubt my decision-making would get much worse.

Outlook not so good. Reply hazy, try again. Better not tell you now. My sources say no.

Xander walked distractedly into the living room and glanced around. "Where's Tara?"

Willow frowned a bit more. "She went to the Magic Shop to get us some stuff for an identification spell. We think maybe these Kashith demons might be working with the Bregnis or something. So we're going to do a spell to…" She seemed to notice that Xander wasn't listening, because she trailed off and quietly closed the book in her lap. She leaned forward slightly so that she could see his eyes. "Why did Spike run off like that when you came in?

Xander glanced toward where they'd gone, then shrugged. "Dunno." Better not tell you now. Reply hazy, try again. Actually, he was pretty sure Spike was avoiding him – maybe embarrassed because of the shower shenanigans, or mad, or whatever – but he didn't want to get into some big ol' girl talk with Willow when Spike was bound to come back into the room at any moment. Ask again later. I am the human Magic 8 Ball. Shake my head and wait for random answers to appear. Better than no answers at all, right?

"Well, how goes Operation Vampire Smoochies?" The secretive excitement of Willow's smile made him feel vaguely guilty and brought him back to the fact that she was actually trying to talk to him while he carried on extensive conversations with the Magic 8 Ball in his head.

Xander smiled with a bit of effort. "I'm pretty sure Spike would stake himself before using the word 'smoochies'."

"Who cares about the saying of smoochies…what about the giving of smoochies? It seemed like you were getting pretty optimistic last time we talked."

"Me?" Xander glanced around melodramatically. "Optimistic?" He gave Willow a sardonic glance. "You obviously have me confused with some other devilishly handsome carpenter of your acquaintance."

Xander shook his head. Willow just watched him with a little sympathetic frown. Eventually, it got to be too much, and Xander couldn't help but succumb to the power of the Willow Sympathy Face.

"He's really different from what he was like during the time loop," Xander explained hesitantly.

Xander shook his head. "I mean…when we kissed during the time loop, he just…he just grabbed me and kissed me, you know? Well, I kissed him first, but he was into it. Very into it. But now…no kissing at all. It's weird."

Willow looked deep in thought for a moment. Then, "Well, he was a lot more vulnerable before…with all the lonely and the sad. So maybe he's built up his defenses since then." Willow was warming to her subject and began to talk faster. "Oh! Or maybe you just caught him off-guard with the time-loop smooches, and now he's all guardy. Or maybe…maybe he doesn't want to seem 'into it'. Maybe he's…um…shy." Willow smiled kind of apologetically at the end there, as if even she recognized how unlikely that sounded.

Spike…shy. Right. Because he's such a retiring flower when he's pushing me down and making me suck him off on the kitchen tile. It seems a lot more likely that he just doesn't give a shit. Maybe he's just using me and I've been imagining all that other stuff. 'Cause sometimes it really does seem like there's more there. And other times not.

God, I'm so pathetic. Why does that seem to be turning into a refrain? If this were a Greek tragedy – and, hell, who says it's not? – the chorus would be chanting it in the background in every scene.

Yeah, a choir of angels, singing, "He's so pathetic! He's so pathetic! He's so pathetic!" I can practically hear them now. Well, at least, hopefully it would be a choir of angels, and not Angels. Because the idea of Angel singing pretty much anything is just wronger than…um…than Principal Snyder making out with the lunch lady. And…ew. I so did not need that image in my mind. And yet, Angel singing would be worse. And the idea of an entire choir of Angels singing just makes my ears bleed even thinking about it. But…would they wear those long satin robey things? Because, hey, actually, that might be pretty funny.

Xander didn't realize how long he'd been staring into space until he heard the soft sound of pages turning. Willow had discreetly gone back to her researching. What had they been talking about? Oh, right, Spike's sudden disappearing act.

He cleared his throat and stood up. "I'm gonna go out back and…" He trailed off, but Willow didn't seem to notice. She just smiled encouragement up at him and went back to her reading. Xander stood still for a moment, hesitating, and then walked through the house to the back door.

When he opened the door and stepped onto the deck, he interrupted Dawn mid-punch. She and Spike were both standing out on the grass, but at the sound of the door opening, they both turned their heads toward the noise, and Dawn's punch accidentally hit home. Spike's head rocked back and then forward, leaving him cradling his jaw, frowning. Dawn, on the other hand, seemed pretty happy about the turn of events.

Xander smiled at her but didn't say anything. Spike was pointedly looking at Dawn and avoiding Xander's gaze. The whole thing got awkward fast.

"Um, I think I hear Willow calling me," Dawn lied, and then scampered into the house with only a fleeting worried glance behind her.

Xander shifted from one foot to the other and waited for Spike to look at him. Spike just rubbed at his jaw, gazing down at the grass. When a minute or two had passed with no luck, Xander said hesitantly, "I think we need to talk…"

Apparently, that was what was necessary to get Spike moving. Spike looked up and strode glowering toward him at an impressive clip, making Xander flinch when he got near, as if some kind of violence was imminent. But at the last moment, Spike dodged him with a simple sweep to the side and walked into the house without a word. Xander stood confused, looking out at the dark yard – Outlook not so good. Cannot predict now. – and then finally turned to follow.

When Xander came into the living room, he found everyone in mid- conversation. Willow was saying, "Sure. We can check out the Kashith demons here, doing the research thing. And Tara's bringing some candles and ingredients for an identification spell, and that might tell us…"

"Right. You do that, then," Spike interrupted. "I'll take the boy with me." He latched a hand onto Xander's upper arm tight enough that Xander looked at Willow and mouthed helplessly, "Ow." Willow just smiled encouragingly again and nodded in reply to whatever Spike had just said. The next thing Xander knew, he and Spike were outside, walking briskly through the mellow evening air. Spike flung Xander's arm aside as if he couldn't bear to continue the touch.

Nearly jogging along to keep up, Xander rubbed his arm where Spike had gripped it.

How come his chip didn't go off? Or was hurting me just worth it…worth setting off the chip? Hell, maybe he just wanted to humiliate me a little bit, make me feel like a 190-pound weakling in front of the rest of the gang.

Is that the frown of "I have a migraine from rudely bruising my innocent pal"? Or is it the frown of "I think I'll throw Xander into a pit of hungry demons because I'm tired of him"? Or maybe it's just an "I'm pissed that they raised the cigarette tax again" kind of frown. Or a "Sweet little Dawnie clocked me one" frown. Or maybe a "Stupid Xander keeps staring at me with a confused look on his face" kind of frown.

Spike turned to look at him and narrowed his eyes, but still didn't say anything. Xander was so lost in thought and confusion that he hadn't really noticed where they were going. Suddenly, though, he realized they were in the middle of some really dark and disgusting alley, standing next to a very odoriferous garbage dumpster.

But Spike cut him off. "Shut up." His voice was sharp and harsh, which was actually pretty unusual. Usually, they were good buds when they were out on the town, joking and occasionally indulging in some good-natured bickering. Spike didn't get all domineering and start barking out orders until they were in the privacy of the crypt or the apartment, and even then he wasn't usually this…mean. Then it was all in the spirit of fun. But now…there was a strange sort of tension tonight that was sort of freaking Xander out.

He knows. I mean, he probably doesn't know exactly what he doesn't know, but he knows there's something to know! He knows I've been lying and hiding stuff. He knows, and that's why he's pissed off. God, he has every right to be mad.

Xander blinked, surprised out of his thoughts, then glanced around the alley nervously. "Here?"

Spike glared impatiently, and Xander reluctantly pulled the long- sleeved t-shirt over his head and handed it over, wrapping his arms around his body for both warmth and cover. He wasn't really in the mood right now to flash his man nipples to every Tom, Dick, and Homeless Guy.

Spike immediately tossed the shirt into the dumpster. It had never been one of Xander's favorite shirts – the orange sleeves had always made him feel vaguely Ronald McDonaldish, and the flowers on the front just hadn't communicated the raw masculinity he'd been going for – but, still, it was the principle of the thing. It was his shirt, and Spike had trashed it.

Spike was noticing his "bum"? Well, things were looking up. Xander rubbed his hands along the worn denim that covered his thighs and mumbled, "Yeah, well, it's laundry day."

"Guess that could explain the shirt, too. You're better off. Let's go." Spike turned around and began to walk.

But Xander didn't follow. "'Let's go?' Let's go where? Spike, I'm half-dressed and freezing, standing in a dirty alley, with a perfectly good shirt now soaking in eau de garbage."

Spike stopped and turned to look at him, then smiled a smile that promised really really evil things…probably involving screaming orgasms. "No worries. The club'll be nice and warm, all those hot sweaty bodies rubbing against each other and all."

Spike smirked and somehow managed to look even more sexually dangerous. "Think it's time you got to check out that special little club you like so much, pet."

The door didn't look like anything special. Spike was walking straight toward it, but there wasn't a sign or anything. It just looked like a beat up old warehouse door.

Nervous, Xander babbled. "Hey, do you know if this place even has a name? I mean, I don't see a sign or anything, and the postcard didn't…"

They were near the door by this time, but instead of going inside, Spike pressed Xander up against the nearby wall, pressing into him with the entire length of his body. His coat was cool against Xander's bare chest, and he felt his nipples tighten. Then Spike leaned over and breathed against the side of Xander's neck, his lips almost touching the skin.

Not the neck again! No! I'll give you a million dollars, which, okay, I don't actually have, not on my salary, but if I did I'd give it to you if you just…just don't…oh…oh like that…oh god…

That soft whisper of air against his sensitive skin made Xander shudder. It always did. And Spike knew it, the bastard. Damned vampire didn't even need to breathe. He just did it to make Xander crazy.

He felt Spike's head turn slightly and then that husky voice whispered in his ear, "When we go in there, you're mine. You belong to me, and you do what I tell you. You don't so much as sneeze without getting my permission. Got that?"

Spike's lips curved a bit with amusement, but his eyes were still serious. "Long and short of it is: you do what I say. Tonight, in there, you aren't Xander the bloody carpenter. You aren't some member of the Scooby gang. You're not the arsewipe who always talks during the bloody football match. You're nothing. Nothing except my piece of very obedient fluff. So don't even start to talk back or argue or make smart remarks. You shut up unless I tell you to talk. And you do what I tell you to do." The last words were spoken with a quiet intensity.

Xander gulped. "You're not gonna tell me to…like…have sex with ten guys at once, are you? Or…or…take off my pants and do the naked macarena on stage? Or…you know…I'm not big on wearing wigs and women's clothes…"

Spike clapped a hand tight over Xander's mouth, pressing him tighter against the wall again, and now his face was grim. "Shut up." Spike's face came very close, so close that Xander couldn't see his eyes very well anymore. They sort of smooshed together until he looked like some kind of pissed-off vampire cyclops. And then suddenly Spike was pulling away and his hand was on the doorknob. "Won't make you do anything you won't like," he smirked, and then he opened the door and stepped inside.

Xander found himself in a very small room with white walls and a black-and-white checkerboard floor. A tall bald man in a black leather tank top and black leather pants stood behind a podium – sort of like a goth maitre'd – talking quietly with Spike. Xander heard Spike say "Clive" and assumed that must be the tall man's name. It was difficult to tell whether they already knew each other or if Spike was running some kind of scam on the guy or what, since Xander couldn't make out more than a word or two of what they were saying. The one thing he did notice, even from a distance, was that Clive seemed to be wearing an awful lot of black eyeliner.

Very 1980s. Very Duran Duran. Not sure about that bold fashion statement there, Clive. But what kind of name is "Clive", anyway? That's a like…like a Watchers Council name. Somebody named "Clive" should be wearing a tweed jacket and sipping Earl Grey out of an intellectually humorous novelty mug while discussing the decline of Western civilization.

Or maybe a guy with a name like "Clive" just really needs eyeliner in order to be cool. Who am I to judge? The shirtless Xander judges not.

Reminded of his near-nakedness, Xander casually crossed his arms in an effort to hide as much skin as possible. But neither Clive nor Spike seemed interested in what he was doing, so Xander took the opportunity to look around him. On the wall behind Clive, above a closed door, flowing black script letters were painted on the wall, as if in decoration:

Bondage ~ Discipline ~ Domination ~ Submission ~ Sadism ~ Masochism Play At Your Own Risk

For the first time, Xander started to get truly nervous. Because he'd been under the assumption that this club was mostly a domination/submission sort of thing. And the word "sadism" just brought to mind all kinds of things Xander didn't want to consider.

Yeah, trust Spike to go in for the violence and pain gig – William the Bloody and all that – but getting whipped and burned and hit and cut and…and…whatever…all that stuff…that's just not my thing.

Okay, so maybe I've had some stray…thoughts…about Spike…and biting…but…but only when he does that neck thing! And he only does that because he's evil.

Oh god. Does he know about the bitey thoughts? Is that why he does the neck thing? That bastard!

Xander looked over at Spike, who was leaning on the podium with one hand, his hips cocked at a suggestive angle. A pang of jealousy ran through him as he wondered whether this quiet conversation was actually Spike flirting with another guy, right in front of him.

Hell, maybe he brought me here specifically to show me. To…I don't know…is he going to mess around with other people here? Where I can see him? Does he come here all the time, when he's not with me, and fuck other people?

He could feel tears stinging his eyes and he turned his head away, wondering if he should just leave. Spike certainly seemed happy enough over there with "Clive"…he hadn't even glanced Xander's direction since they came in.

He blinked rapidly, trying to get himself under control. Things were complicated between him and Spike, but he could still remember the feel of his soapy hands on Spike's skin, he could still remember the feel of Spike's body along the length of his as they spooned in Xander's bed, he could still remember how soft Spike had been. How soft.

There is more there. I'm sure of it. And we are going to have that serious talk. Probably not at a sex club, but…still…we're going to have that talk. And I'll tell him everything.

"Okay, then. You are okay." A heavily-accented voice rang out in the tiny room and Xander jumped and looked over at the other two men. Who'd have thought Clive would sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger? Are you Sarah Connor? I'll be back. Clive was looking at him. "You read the rules, and you go in." He pointed at a small, tastefully printed sign on the wall to Xander's left.

Club Rules

1. Do not GRAB or touch others without permission 2. Do not join a scene without an invitation from those involved 3. Do not interrupt a scene in progress 4. Clean your play space with the materials provided 5. Do not touch toys that do not belong to you without permission

Any violation of these rules will result in immediate dismissal and removal from the club

Scenes? What scenes? We're putting on a play, here? Because I've gotta say this really isn't what I always imagined when I heard about "Summerstock". And what's up with the "play spaces"? Like sandboxes and playpens? Because that's just a little too kinky for me. If Spike tries to make me wear a diaper, I'm outta here.

He also felt vaguely distressed by the "GRAB". It seemed to indicate that random vigorous groping was a problem requiring capital letters to describe. He found himself suddenly torn between holding his hands behind him to protect his ass and holding his hands in front to protect his…front. Which side was more likely to be GRABBED? He wished he could be sure. He considered asking, but didn't want to look stupid. Just to be on the safe side – Ha ha ha! – to cover all the bases – Hee hee! Look! I can still be funny, even when I'm freaking out about strange men groping my butt! – he held one hand in front and one hand in back. Clive looked at him a little strangely, but Xander just smiled nervously and kept his hands where they were and silently vowed not to touch anyone's toys without permission, praying that they'd keep their hands off his toys, too.

Clive opened the door, and loud music came pouring into the tiny room. He gestured with his arm, Spike looked at Xander expectantly, and Xander took a deep breath.

As they stepped through the door, Xander felt one of Spike's hands on the back of his neck, thumb extending along one side, under his ear, and fingers wrapping around the other side. Not gripping, really, but holding. Firm, without hurting. He wasn't sure if the contact was meant to be reassuring…or just some kind of symbol of control. What it felt like to him, though, was connection, which was good. Unexpected, but good.

The club itself was remarkably similar to the few other clubs Xander had visited. The lighting was…well…it was club-like. Sort of dim, but with enough light to easily check out the other clubbers. The music was club-like, too. Thumping. Volume up high enough that you'd need to talk a little loud to be heard.

And you didn't need vampire senses to notice that the place smelled like sex. Sweat and musk were thick in the air.

As they walked, Spike kept that hand on the back of Xander's neck, perhaps to keep from losing him in the crowd, perhaps for some other reason. Xander couldn't even see very far into the room, mostly because of the crush of people, but there seemed to be a bright light on some area further in. Around him there were couches here and there with people sprawled on them, some just sitting and talking, some watching the crowd, and others…well, others were a bit more occupied. Everyone seemed to be wearing black, most of it shiny. He couldn't tell if it was leather or vinyl or rubber or plastic or what, but it was all definitely tight. One very tall guy was walking around in some kind of black bustier thing with garters hanging down, attached to thigh-high stockings. He was also wearing very high heels.

Where does a guy find high heels in that size? Frankenfurter's Big & Tall Transvestites' Emporium?

A guy on one of the couches was wearing a kilt, which his companion seemed to be enjoying immensely, since aggressively wandering hands flashed glimpses that verified what they said about guys and their kilts and what they didn't wear under them. Xander averted his eyes, which seemed kind of silly, since the guys were purposely doing this where people could see them, but staring just made him feel squirmy.

Most of the club's patrons seemed to be men, but a Xander noticed a few women scattered in the crowd. Two women were dancing to the throbbing beat of the music, just right there in the middle of the floor between two couches, swaying and rubbing against each other. They seemed like an odd pair, because the brunette was wearing a very prim skirt and long-sleeved blouse, while the blonde was topless and wearing a black leather skirt so short that she gave frequent glimpses of pale pubic hair as she writhed nastily, rubbing her small breasts against the brunette in an aggressive display of dominance, whispering often in her ear. The other girl seemed to do whatever she was told, though she moved with stiff, embarrassed movements and seemed very nervous.

Xander found himself wondering if the brunette was really so shy and prudish, or if it was just some kind of game the two girls were playing. The idea that someone might have a nerd-girl fetish made him think of Willow before he could stop himself. Would these girls get turned on by 9th-grade Willow in her corduroy jumpers and round- collared blouses? Xander was distressed to find that the idea was vaguely arousing, and he quickly looked away.

He turned to Spike to make some comment, but it immediately fled his brain when he saw the expression on Spike's face. He looked…vulnerable. It was only for a second, and then Spike tilted his head, all attitude and arrogance. They were standing close, people crowded all around them, and they were facing each other now, but Spike's hand was still cradling the back of Xander's neck, his arm stretched around Xander's body in a parody of an embrace.

Spike's chin tilted upward at a stubborn angle, and Xander could only stare. He knew that gesture. He'd seen it often enough during the time loop.

Xander frowned. "Knock off the crap." He wasn't finished, but Spike interrupted him.

"All right." Spike used his hand on Xander's neck to turn him around, facing the crowd. "Tell me what you see."

Frustrated, Xander sighed impatiently, "What I see? It's a club, Spike. With people."

Xander frowned, turning around. Spike let him, though the hand remained where it had been, still holding Xander's neck firmly. Watching Spike's face, Xander looked for something…trying to figure out what was going on in that stubborn head. And then something clicked. "Is that what you're doing? Bringing me here to prove something? Make sure I get the message that it's just sex? Because you're afraid…"

The hand on the back of Xander's neck tightened suddenly, squeezing him enough that he broke off what he'd been saying with a yelp of pain. Spike's face showed only the slightest wince to indicate the firing of the chip. And he squeezed harder, staring into Xander's face with eyes that were dark and filled with something that looked like hate.

But it's not hate. He's afraid. He's afraid that nobody can care about him. He's afraid that if he wanted it to be more than sex, then I'd be the one to reject him. So he puts on the tough guy act and rejects me first. But how the hell do I get him to cut the act long enough to even listen to me?

The harsh words interrupted Xander's thoughts. Spike was watching him with an expectant glare.

Xander just stared at him. Here? With everybody watching? Why? He didn't have to decide how to reply, though, because another man approached them and shouted over the music, "Spike!"

Spike dropped his hand from Xander's neck, leaving a throbbing ache that would probably mean dark bruises tomorrow.

A tall, muscular Hispanic guy was clapping Spike on the shoulder, smiling broadly. Spike smiled back, but his face was still tight, his mind no doubt still focused on the conflict that had just been interrupted. As he and the stranger shouted back and forth, though, Xander could see Spike gradually relax, his smile growing more natural, more genuine. Apparently Spike knew this guy. Xander couldn't hear anything they were saying – the music was too loud and recent events made him hesitant to interrupt them – so he just stood patiently and waited to find out what was going on.

And then the guy was turning toward Xander, smile still bright, his teeth white against his brown skin. "I'm Jeremy," he shouted into Xander's ear. "Spike says you're a newbie."

Xander glanced at Spike, but his face was turned away, his eyes stubbornly averted, as if watching the crowd was some kind of duty he was determined to perform. Xander glanced back at Jeremy and just nodded. "I guess so."

Xander looked around, then pointed over toward the brightly lit area he had noticed before. "What's over there?"

Jeremy's grin broadened. "That's where it all happens." At Xander's blank look, he said, "Come on." He glanced at Spike and must have received some kind of agreement, because Jeremy turned around and began threading his way through the crowd.

Xander looked at Spike uncertainly, but Spike just jerked his chin in the direction of Jeremy's retreating back and said, "Go on."

When they caught up to Jeremy again, he was leaning against a low wall that reached only to about chest height. He gestured to Xander to come closer, and Spike nudged him from behind.

A circular area was cordoned off by curved chest-high walls – with openings at either side for people to go in and out. But inside the circle, bright lights illumined what looked like a torture rack, along with two low, padded tables that looked sort of like the pommel horses at the Olympics. Xander couldn't help imagining Mary Lou Retton running through the shadowy crowd of sexual deviants to perform a perfect vault, sending the leather-clad, dog-collared, nipple-pierced club patrons into a furor of patriotic applause and whistles.

Spike glanced at him, and he realized he must have chuckled out loud. He just shrugged.

But the people in the circle weren't doing gymnastics. Or, at least, not the Olympic kind. Mary Lou Retton would surely have been scandalized right down to her very muscular toes.

A nude woman was lying face-down on one of the pommel-horse-looking- things while a slender black man buckled her wrists and ankles to the sides, leaving her spread open, her genitalia clearly visible to the on-lookers.

Xander glanced over at Jeremy, who was now leaning his forearms on the top of the wall, watching the people inside the circle with interest. His biceps bulged, and the sleeveless black mesh shirt he wore showed muscles bunching in his back, as well. When his eyes found Jeremy's face, Jeremy winked.

Xander's eyebrows went up, and he glanced back at Spike worriedly, then back at Jeremy. The music wasn't as loud here – further from the speakers – so he didn't have to shout to be heard. "I wasn't…that is…I was just…I was wondering what's going on," he finished lamely.

Jeremy shrugged. "Lydia and Patrick are doing a scene. Oh, and Craig's going to help out."

"A scene?" On the torture-rack-looking thing, a naked 30-something guy with graying hair was being whipped by another man who was dressed all in black leather. The guy arched with each blow, crying out. Xander's stomach did a funny little dance of fear.

"Don't worry. It might seem like the dominant is in control, but really that's just an illusion. The game is often the submissive's idea. Maybe you might even be interested in trying something out, yourself. You finally get Spike to come to my club…it'd be a shame if you didn't take advantage of the facilities we have to offer." Another grin.

Spike stiffened behind him. They were barely touching, but Xander felt the movement.

Spike hasn't been here before? But…he seemed so…I mean…why wouldn't he? All these people, doing all this twisted stuff and getting off on it, some of them even hurting each other, making each other bleed…

Surreptitiously, he turned to eye Spike, whose face was partially turned away as he talked with Jeremy. But Xander could still see his profile, the paleness of his skin so bright in the dim club. His hair was slicked back in its usual rigid style against his head…none of that fluffy, curly after-shower mess Xander liked so much…this was totally under control.

Because, yeah, Spike likes to be in control. Um…yeah. I think we've seen that proven beyond a reasonable doubt. God, before the chip, when nothing was holding him back, he must've been…

The chip. Of course. That's why he's never been here before. The chip. He wouldn't be able to hurt anybody, but he'd have to watch all these other people, getting to do what he can't. What he wants to do, but can't.

The slender black man was now fucking the girl who was strapped to the pommel horse. With her strapped down on her belly, legs spread, he had his hands on her upper thighs, thrusting into her with deep strokes, his buttocks clenching and unclenching rhythmically. Whenever he pulled out, it was obvious that he wasn't fucking her in the orifice approved by the Catholic Church. She really didn't seem to mind.

A meaty red-headed guy with a lot of freckles had joined them and was thrusting his dick into her mouth in unison with the other guy's strokes. The girl writhed between them, her pale skin rippling under the bright lights. A dark-skinned hand slapped down on one of her buttocks occasionally, which seemed to make her buck her hips upward even more, straining against her bonds.

"In scenes, people play roles. Lydia's a submissive, and she wanted to be taken by two men at the same time while she was helpless to resist. It doesn't mean she wants to resist but can't, or that she wants to be helpless. She just wanted to play that role. Good clean fun for everyone."

Xander looked at Jeremy and asked slowly, "So…people sort of act out fantasies?"

Xander watched the 30-ish guy weeping as his back was whipped with a multi-strand flogger. Heck, maybe that guy couldn't get that kind of emotional release any other way. There were red stripes on his back now, some of them bleeding. But as the leather-clad dominant ceased his blows and released the man from his shackles, there was a sort of peaceful joy shining through the man's tears as he was led away.

Xander felt intensely aware of Spike's body behind him. And the unresolved conflict from earlier.

"Like…if I maybe thought about what it would be like if…if somebody cut me" – he could almost feel Spike's surprise behind him, like a shiver of excitement – "not a lot of cutting, you know, 'cause I'm not really into pain" – I can't believe I'm actually saying this – "just cutting a little, just enough so I'm…so I'm bleeding." Without turning his head, he could tell he had Spike's full attention. "Just bleeding enough…enough so that somebody else…somebody else could taste my blood. Drink my blood." There. It's out. Wait…can I take it back? Because…knives…not really a Xandery happy thought. But the words were out and he couldn't take them back. Didn't want to, really. That didn't stop his stomach from doing that dance some more.

Around them, the club was as much of a chaotic kaleidoscope of activity as before, but Xander felt like he and Spike were standing in some kind of eye of the storm. Everything frozen in that moment, waiting for…something.

But Jeremy just nodded casually, seemingly unaware of the tension, and said, "We don't do a lot of blood play here, but if everyone involved is okay with it, then sure…that's just the sort of scene people do."

Xander heard Spike's voice from behind him. "Make the arrangements." Jeremy nodded and smiled, then walked away through the crowd.

He's gonna ask why. Why I'll let him. Why I didn't say anything before. And, well, obviously, there's the chip. I mean, he can't bite me. And I'm just way too squeamish to go slicing myself up for his dining pleasure.

But Spike didn't ask any questions. He moved from where he'd been standing behind Xander, sliding into the spot Jeremy had just vacated. He leaned his arms against the top of the wall and watched the pale girl getting fucked by two guys.

Jeremy glanced up. "Believe it or not, at my day job I'm a doctor at Sunnydale Memorial."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to imply…anything. I'm just really not into pain, so I'm a little nervous."

Jeremy smiled. It was probably supposed to be reassuring. "It won't be bad at all. I'll make only really small, shallow nicks. Just enough to get some blood going. You'll barely feel it."

Xander eyed him disbelievingly, but Jeremy just dropped the shiny silver scalpel into some kind of tray of mediciney-smelling stuff. Probably disinfecting it. Or something.

Yeah, 'cause I wouldn't want to explain this at the emergency room. "Well, doc, you see, you was letting this guy cut me so my chipped vampire boyfriend could drink my blood." One trip to the loony bin, coming right up.

Jeremy didn't look up from his preparations when he said, "Don't tell him I said so, but it's good of you to do this for him."

Xander frowned in confusion. Then Jeremy shot him a look and he got it. Holy vamp-knowing doctors, Batman! "You know. About Spike."

Jeremy had a bunch of stuff prepared, and when they walked out into the circle, he got to work, but Xander barely saw him anymore. Instead, he stood frozen by the stares of what seemed like hundreds of guys, leaning against the circular wall from the outside, peering in at half- naked him, waiting for the show. It brought back somewhat disturbing memories of The Fabulous Ladies Nightclub…and the ignominy of shaking his groove thang in front of a drunken bridal shower and a couple of blue-haired grandmas.

But these guys were buff. All gym-toned and nipple-pierced and…um…whatever-pierced…and leather-wearing and…and what the hell was Xander "Donut Boy" Harris doing getting up in front of them to flaunt his manly boob muscles and bleed all over the floor?

Another disturbing memory. Larry and the other football players, snapping wet towels at him in the shower after gym, laughing. Pointing and laughing.

But then…the look in Spike's eyes when Xander had stripped for him, that first night in the living room. Yeah, Spike was into it. At the time, Xander had been feeling pretty confident, thinking about all the hours he'd put into working out, stroking his fingers over his stomach to feel the tightness of the muscles.

Xander pressed a hand flat to the bare skin of his belly and tried to stop breathing like a runaway horse being chased by Fyarl demons.

He'd chosen to go barefoot, knowing this would give Spike a slight height advantage. He wasn't sure exactly how this whole "scene" thing was going to go, but he trusted Jeremy and Spike to guide him through it.

They stood on a raised platform which Jeremy had covered with a tarp. Everyone could see. Barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but faded blue jeans, Xander felt the nervousness start to flutter in his stomach again. Spike hadn't even come out into the circle yet, and he was already feeling the urge to flee again.

Jeremy whispered to him to kneel, and so he did. Hands clasped behind his back. Head lowered. A heavy lock of hair fell into his eyes.

But then there was movement, and a moment later he saw the scuffed toes of Spike's boots, and just like that he remembered why he was doing this. He wanted to look up, to see Spike's eyes, but he knew he was supposed to keep his head down. Part of the whole "being dominated" package, apparently.

And it comes with this lovely set of Ginsu knives, as well! They slice! They dice! They make you bleed for your kinky vampire hijinx! Now how much would you pay?

"Shall I bind him for you, sir?" Out of the corner of his eye, Xander could see that Jeremy held in his hands a set of what looked like leather wrist and ankle straps. Xander wasn't sure how he felt about doing the bondage thing in front of a crowd, but he didn't say anything. He knew that much: Xander isn't supposed to say anything.

Right. Silent obedience. I can manage that, right? I mean, how tough could it be? Silence, obedience, and blood. Why do I not get the urge to start singing "These Are A Few of My Favorite Things"? Oh, god, this is going to be a disaster. There's going to be blood, and pain, and I'll run screaming like a little girl, and Spike will kill me.

But Xander's attention was drawn back to Spike when the vampire did not reply immediately to Jeremy's question about making with the bondage. Xander tilted his head back slightly and rolled his eyes up so that he could look up through his hair to see Spike gazing down at him thoughtfully. And then Spike shook his head. "Not this time." This time? "I want to watch him give himself willingly."

Something in the timbre of those words made Xander wonder what exactly this game meant to Spike. Because it sounded like…but…

Has he even drunk from a human since he got chipped? Is he just lusting after tasty fresh human blood warm from the source? Xander glanced at the crowd uncertainly. Or is he just putting on some kind of he-vamp power display to show everybody he's still a blood-sucking fiend?

But as he peered up through the hair that had fallen across his forehead, Xander could see that the look in Spike's eyes said yes, yes to that last one, yes it was something to do with Xander…which somehow made the whole thing only that much scarier.

Because that meant this wasn't just fun and games. This was…things were going to change.

Xander shivered lightly at the thought, and Jeremy seemed to take that as his cue to get things started. He probably thought Xander was cold, but even shirtless he was fine. The club was warm, all those bodies in such an enclosed space. He felt warm, but he couldn't help shivering again.

"This boy," Jeremy called aloud, loud enough for the crowd around the circle to hear him, "wishes to make an offering to his Master. An offering most precious. He wishes to offer to his Master a taste of his very self, his own life's essence, his heart's blood." He turned to look at Xander, kneeling on the floor. "Is this what you wish, boy?"

Xander began to speak, but had to clear his throat. Then he said clearly, "Yes, sir."

Knives. Going to cut me. Blood. If I faint, will Spike keep drinking anyway? Will they just prop me up like a half-naked bleeding Raggedy Andy and go on with the scene? Oh god, I'm going to faint. We could pretend it was part of the "scene"…I'm just playing the role of a girlie man afraid of his own blood. Heck, I've cut myself at work dozens of times, so why is this freaking me out so bad?

But then all thought stopped when he felt Spike's hands stroking through his hair, smoothing it back off his forehead. And then Spike's voice, surprisingly soft, said, "Xander?"

Xander looked up, up along Spike's black-clad body, up into the blue eyes that were gazing so intensely down at him, asking some sort of wordless question. Spike's fingers were still in his hair, motionless now, holding it back from his face.

"Say it," Spike said, still softly, so softly that surely the audience could not hear. Perhaps even Jeremy, standing only a few feet away, could not hear.

Uncertain what exactly Spike wanted him to say, Xander took a deep breath and then looked Spike straight in the eye as he said quietly, "I'm offering you my blood." Not as flowery and descriptive as what Jeremy had said before, but nobody'd ever said Xander was a showman.

More of a no-show man. A hide man, really. A stealth man. Yeah, that sounds better.

Spike's fingers slid away from his head, and Xander wanted to lean to follow the touch, but didn't.

Xander did, though his knees felt a little wobbly. Jeremy stood a bit aside, apparently waiting for some signal from Spike. Xander tried not to shift from foot to foot. He tried not to look nervous. Tried not to look like he was about to bolt.

And then Spike stepped closer, leaned closer until there was no distance between their bodies. He rested one hand on Xander's bare shoulder and then pressed his face into the angle of Xander's neck, nudging Xander's head out of the way so that he could breathe onto the smooth skin there. Xander shivered again.

Then there was tongue. Spike was licking the side of his neck and Xander was horrified to discover that it was really really sexy. Spike hadn't really done much touching before this – their thing had mostly been Xander touching him, instead – and the movement of Spike's tongue against his skin made him feel weak. He wished this wasn't happening in front of an audience.

His eyes shifted back and forth, noticing how many people were watching them, until he felt the first press of teeth. His eyes closed, his back arched, and he tried to press himself harder against Spike's teeth. He had a hazy moment to wonder Is this what a vamp's bite does? Does it make you want more more more MORE? Or is it just because it's Spike? Oh god, I want more!

Spike's teeth were biting down hard now, slow and hard, almost hard enough to really hurt, but just hard enough to feel really really good. "Please," Xander panted, forgetting that he wasn't supposed to talk, forgetting that anyone was watching, his eyes closed tight, his hands balled into fists. "Please."

Despite the bright lights, Spike's eyes were dark, the pupils dilated. He nodded past Xander, and then Jeremy stepped near again, behind Xander and a bit to the side. He heard him, but Xander couldn't look at him. He kept his eyes on Spike.

A tickling trickle along the skin of his upper chest was the first sign of blood. Xander hadn't even felt the cut…the blade must have been very sharp. He kept his eyes on Spike, watched Spike's eyes follow the trail of blood. Down. Down. Down.

And then suddenly it was Spike who was kneeling, pulling Xander down slightly bent so that he could lick blood from Xander's nipple. Xander watched him, fascinated by the sight of Spike's tongue as it flickered in and out of his mouth, red with blood, Xander's blood. Spike licked and sucked and finally began pulling Xander down so that he clumsily returned to kneeling. Spike licked along the blood trail, up up up toward Xander's shoulder. And then he was licking, sucking, lightly biting Xander's neck, and now Xander felt like he was going to faint for completely different reasons.

There was more. Xander knew that. There was more. They didn't stop there. But, afterward, all he could remember was Spike's tongue and lips and teeth against his skin. Fingertips. Palms. Wrists. Nipples. Neck. Throat. He was pretty sure he ended up lying flat on the ground, with Spike bent over him like an animal feeding on captured prey, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

And eyes. Spike's eyes, shining and wide and dark, as if he were stoned out of his mind.

He's drunk on my blood. Or my offering. Maybe both. But I did that. I put that look on his face, that look in his eyes. That's because of me. That's for me. Nobody's ever looked like that because of me.

Spike was kneeling over him, rubbing absently against his lower body as he licked blood from Xander's throat, and then suddenly his lips were there. Right there. And they were kissing. Spike's lips were on his, and their mouths were hungry, tongues thrusting, and the taste of his own blood was familiar, not gross at all, and Xander couldn't help it. Not with Spike kissing him, kissing him for the first time since the time loop. For the first time ever, really, because this Spike had never kissed him before.

He pushed up to rub harder against Spike's body, just for a second, just for the tiniest second, just a bit more friction. He barely needed it with Spike kissing him like that, but with that slight pressure against the body above him, Xander came, groaning into Spike's mouth, trying not to bite down, though Spike probably wouldn't have minded if he did. He came, his body arching off the floor, his hands clenching by his sides, finding no purchase on the slick plastic tarp.

And when his brain stopped buzzing, he realized he was lying in the center of a brightly-lit circle, with dozens of complete strangers watching him. He could feel the blush roll up into his face, his cheeks feeling as if they were burning.

But then Spike's face filled his vision, and he forgot about all that. Because Spike smiled at him. Not a smirk, not a sneer, not mocking or ironic or superior. Just a smile. A real smile. And Xander wasn't sure he'd ever seen that on Spike's face before, not for him. Maybe for Dawn, but not for him, not for Xander.

Xander was horrified to feel tears in his eyes. But Spike just offered him a hand up, and then they were both standing, and Jeremy was there, and the three of them were leaving the circle like everything was normal.

"Let Jeremy get you cleaned up," Spike said, sprawling bonelessly on a fake-leather couch in the hallway.

For a horrified moment, Xander thought Spike was referring to the fact that he'd come in his pants, but then he realized he must be talking about the cuts. Of course. The cuts. How could I have forgotten about the cuts? Xander nodded dazedly and followed Jeremy into the same clean white room where they'd gotten ready.

When he came out, sporting several small bandages, some of which would probably earn him some ribbing at work, he found Spike still sprawled on the couch. Their eyes met again, and it was like an electric shock.

Xander stood there for a moment, not sure what to do, waiting for Spike to say something, do something. They watched each other. And finally Xander said, simply, "Let's go home."

They didn't talk much on the walk home. It was cold outside, and Xander was wishing they'd brought his car. Walking down the street with no shirt on, he shivered, and without a word Spike tossed him the leather coat. Xander put it on, momentarily jarred by the lack of body heat.

Normally, a guy gives you his jacket, and it's all warm and toasty inside. Well, I mean, not that guys give me their jackets a lot. Well, ever. But, you know, like when somebody gets off the couch and you nab their seat and it's all warm and toasty from their butt heat.

Every time he glanced at Spike, he saw only profile. Spike never turned to look at him. Spike had a very attractive profile, come to think of it. All sharp angles and soft lips.

Does he use Chapstick? Or are soft lips a vamp thing? Not that I'm going to go around doing an undead lip-lock survey or anything, but it's weird. It's weird that a guy more than a hundred years old, a dead guy…it's weird that he has soft lips like a girl.

Spike just strode along at his usual clip, making Xander scurry to keep up, like a little kid trotting alongside a grownup.

And that's just wrong, because I'm taller than he is. He should be the one scurrying, right? But Spike never scurries. He strides. He stalks. He even, upon occasion, struts. But no scurrying. And that's just not fair. Why should I always have to be the scurrier? I'm a big guy. I shouldn't scurry.

Nonetheless, he scurried. And as they got closer and closer to the apartment, Xander began to get more and more nervous. Things had been intense at the club, but he still hadn't gotten a chance to really talk to Spike. And after what happened at the club, it seemed even more important to come clean.

"Hey, Spike, I need to tell you about something that happened during the time loop…"

"Hey, Spike, I know this probably seems like it's coming out of nowhere, but I've actually been in love with you since the time loop, because a lot of stuff happened that I sort of haven't mentioned…"

When they got to the building, Xander found his door and put the key in the lock, trying to breathe slow and calm, ready to launch the conversation as soon as they were inside. It was long past time.

But as he opened the door, Spike hustled him inside and closed the door behind them, turning the lock. And then he had Xander pushed up against the wall, looking him straight in the eye.

So much for the calm profile of a moment before. Now Spike looked half-wild, less controlled than Xander had ever seen him before. He'd seen him pissed off, but never this shocked vulnerability. This openness, as if his protective shell had shattered and the real Spike was suddenly revealed. As if some invisible wall had crumbled and fallen silently away.

"Hey, Spike, I want to…um…well, there's this thing I've been wanting to talk to you about…"

And then Spike's mouth was on his and relatively soon afterward words seemed really really unimportant. He tried to think, really he did, but it just wasn't physically possible with Spike kissing him like that.

Spike pulled away just enough to push the leather coat off Xander's shoulders, down his arms, past his hands, until it crumpled in a heap on the floor and Xander's body was once again bared to his gaze.

He leaned in to kiss Xander's lips again, just once, a moist soft press of flesh, and then he pulled away and brought his hands up to rest on Xander's shoulders, leaning away to trace Xander's chest and belly and arms and neck and face with a light touch, his eyes following his hands, staring as if he had never seen anything so wondrous. His fingers traced – once, twice, again and again – over the white bandages, as if the cuts beneath were some sort of magnet, drawing his hand, as if the cuts were some sort of touchstone, giving him courage or reassurance.

He didn't bark out any orders, didn't demand dirty talk, didn't do anything but touch, and kiss, and look at Xander with wide dark eyes.

When he pulled his t-shirt off and moved close again, bringing their bare chests together, the white bandage on Xander's nipple rasped between them, the small sound seeming magnified in the heady silence. The cuts didn't hurt, just stung a little, and that stinging was actually making Xander even more turned on, reminding him of Spike's tongue on his skin in the bright light of the club, that blonde head bent over his body as if in prayer.

When Spike reached down to unfasten Xander's jeans, it was a revelation. Spike had never undressed him, never touched him like this, with this gentle urgency, this needful intimacy. Xander stepped out of his jeans and kicked them aside, then fell to his knees and rubbed his face against the front of Spike's jeans. Spike hissed out a surprised breath and closed his eyes, his hands coming to rest in Xander's hair.

It was different from the other times. Better. And when Spike's jeans were opened, fallen to the floor, when Xander had taken him in, with the taste of Spike's skin and pre-come on his tongue, Xander found himself wondering if it was really true…if he was the one with the power. He thought of everything he and Spike had done and realized that he'd always trusted Spike to stop if he said no. He'd always trusted Spike not to really hurt him, and not just because of the chip. He'd trusted Spike. He'd always known that everything would stop if he said no. That, in a weird way, when it mattered, Spike would do what Xander said.

Was that why Spike had been acting so weird? Was Spike really truly scared? The idea seemed ridiculous…except…during the time loop he'd seemed…maybe…

Somehow they ended up on the couch, lying full-length on it, making out and rubbing against each other like teenagers. Spike pressed his face to Xander's neck, behind his ear, and murmured, "You smell good. Always smell so good…" And then they were kissing again.

But things could only go so far on the couch without some potentially painful gymnastics, and Xander's back twinged enough at work as it was.

I'm no spring chicken anymore. Not even a winter chicken. Or a summer chicken. No kind of chicken at all. Nope. Not chicken. So if I'm not chicken, then why am I still here and not dragging Spike off to bed like I want to?

Xander reluctantly extricated himself and stood up, smiling hesitantly. He reached out to take Spike's hand, but Spike jerked sharply away, frowning.

Guess Spike just isn't a hand-holding kind of guy. I probably shouldn't be surprised.

"Come on," Xander said quietly instead, and turned to walk into the bedroom, hoping Spike would follow and that dragging would not actually be required.

When he got to the bedside table, he turned around to see that Spike had indeed trailed after him and now hovered uncertainly near the foot of the bed. Xander opened the drawer, took out a small bottle of lube, and walked over to put it into Spike's hand.

Spike stared at it as if he'd never seen the substance before, then looked up into Xander's face as if he were searching for something.

"I want to," Xander said quietly. "I want you to…" He didn't know how to finish that sentence. "Fuck me" sounded too crass for this new thing they were doing. "Have sex with me" sounded too clinical and formal. "Make love to me" sounded too candlelight-and-roses.

"I want you to," he repeated helplessly, because there were no right words. He pushed the blankets aside and climbed onto the sheets, sitting down and looking up at Spike again.

Spike stood there with the clear bottle in his hand, watching Xander for a moment, his expression difficult to decipher, and then he climbed onto the bed and they tangled in a knot of arms and legs and lips and all of it rubbing and touching and when Xander found himself on his knees, Spike held him, pressed against his back, wrapping his arms around Xander's body to caress his chest, his dick sliding between Xander's buttocks, sliding along where he wanted it to go, and Xander whispered, "Please, Spike. Please."

Those words seemed to let something loose, and Spike pressed kisses to Xander's spine as he slid his fingers where Xander wanted them, circling, teasing, testing, and finally in.

Slick fingers pressed into Xander's body, trembling, shaking. Xander could feel the tremors, could feel Spike's shivering, shuddering body behind him and above him and inside him, and then it was Spike's cock sliding inside him, and Spike's chest was pressed to Xander's back, his hand reached around to grip Xander's cock as he thrust slowly in.

And then Spike froze. One thrust, and then nothing. He was motionless, his body suddenly tense, as if he were surprised. Shocked. In that moment, Xander wished he could see Spike's face, have some chance at guessing what he was thinking, but the body behind him gave little clue.

And then the moment of stillness was gone, and Spike began to thrust, stroking Xander's cock in a punishing grip, pulling and squeezing and thrusting all at once, like a whirlwind of slippery sensation. But something was different now. Spike wasn't trembling or exploring or whispering that Xander smelled good. No kisses on his spine.

Xander had been wanting this for so long, and now that it was happening it was nothing like what he'd wanted. This wasn't about sharing…it was about dominating. Somewhere along the way, it changed, and now Spike was using him, treating him like an object or some…some slave. Someone he didn't even like. As if Xander didn't matter at all.

Xander put his head down and weathered it as if it were a storm. Spike raged against him, over him, inside him, and it was like howling winds and crashing waves and Xander held on to the sheets beneath him if only to keep himself from being swept away. To keep himself from being lost in all that rage. To keep himself from being crushed or blown apart.

His body didn't know the difference, and he came with a small cry, an orgasm torn out of him by Spike's rough touch. He let his head hang down, loose, exhausted and betrayed, and could see Spike's body between his legs. Could see Spike still thrusting into him, the rhythm now fraying, unraveling, and finally dissolving into frantic chaos as Spike thrust a final few times and came. Soundlessly.

Xander opened his mouth to ask what the hell that was all about, but Spike was already on the move, getting up off the bed and stalking out of the room.

Xander got up and followed him into the living room. He could feel a trickle of come winding its wet way down his leg and wished he could go clean himself up first, but this thing with Spike seemed more urgent.

He found Spike pulling on his clothes with jerky, clumsy movements, lacing up his boots with harsh yanks that threatened to snap the laces in half, but didn't.

Still sitting on the couch where he had put on his boots, Spike looked up, looked Xander in the face, and it seemed like there was a strange tension in the air, like static electricity, like a storm brewing again, but Xander wasn't sure exactly what was happening. He had only a split-second to notice Spike's face suddenly twisting with rage before Spike was on his feet, in his face, lashing out and striking a blow that sent Xander sprawling to the ground, one ear ringing with the impact.

At the same moment, Spike crashed to his knees, both hands pressing to his temples as he roared with pain and rage.

You hit me. You actually hit me. Here I've been trusting you – god! – loving you, all these months, and you hit me. You don't hit people you care about. That's sort of a rule in Xander Land. You don't hit people you care about. You don't. You just don't. But you did. You did, Spike. Why? I trusted you!

Oh god. He knows about the time loop! Willow told him. Wait, no, Willow wouldn't do that. But I haven't been lying about anything else, so what in tarnation is he talking about?

Spike awkwardly climbed to his feet, still rubbing his temples. "If this'd been the first time you had a dick in your ass, it would've hurt a lot more for both of us. Chip barely twinged."

Xander's jaw dropped. "You hit me because…because the sex didn't hurt enough? Because my ass didn't meet your fucking specifications?"

Xander turned around and walked out of the room. He heard Spike cry out, "Hey! Where are you going?" and he sounded annoyed and confused.

When Xander came back into the living room, Spike was standing near the door, obviously getting ready to leave, but he turned to look when he heard Xander clear his throat. In his hand, Xander held a fairly sizable purple dildo, which wobbled a bit in his grip in a way that would have been comical under different circumstances.

Spike looked at the dildo, his face slack with surprise, his eyes filled with confusion and…maybe that other bit was horror.

And then Xander, drained, lost, broken, said quietly, "Get out, Spike." He turned his back and walked to the kitchen. Come was still dripping down his leg and his cuts were stinging from all the movement. It all felt horrible now. Wrong. His stomach did a lurching unhappy thing. He'd had enough hitting in his life. He felt like he might throw up. Or start crying.

His voice was even quieter the second time, tighter. He didn't turn around. "Just get out."

He took a package of frozen corn out of the freezer. By the time he had it pressed to his jaw and turned to look back into the living room, Spike was gone.

On his way to the girls' house the next day, Xander noticed that the blue mailbox on the corner was tipped over, a fist-sized dent in the side. A rather Spike-sized fist.

When Willow saw him in the entryway, she gasped and ran over, reaching up but then carefully not touching his bruised jaw. She had on her worried face. "What happened? Did you and Spike run into trouble after you left last night?"

Xander tried to chuckle dryly in response, but it hurt too much. "You could say that."

Willow took his hand and led him to the kitchen, where Tara and Dawn were eating breakfast. They both gasped and suddenly there was a flurry of female voices asking questions, offering help, and just generally making Xander want to hide under the table. When they quieted down, Tara said gently, "You should put some ice on that."

Around a mouth full of cereal, Dawn offered, "You look like you punched a Bregni demon with your face."

Willow took an ice-pack out of the freezer – always ready for emergencies, that's our Will – and wrapped it in a dish towel before leading him out to the living room, where they sat on the couch.

"Oh, Xander," she sighed, gently pressing the ice-pack to his jaw. Xander winced and took it from her, holding it gingerly himself. "What happened?"

He thought about lying. Making up something stupid that would make her laugh and just let it go. But lying to Willow was like drop-kicking a puppy.

Xander looked away and admitted quietly, not wanting to be heard in the kitchen, "Spike punched me."

When he looked back, Willow's eyes were big and round. And then she frowned, obviously confused and distressed. "Spike? Why?"

Xander shifted the ice-pack, trying for a position that didn't hurt as much. No luck. "Uh, well, he thought I lied to him about something."

Xander sat up and stared at her, raising the non-ice-holding hand and pointing a finger for emphasis. "First of all, I am not lying about the time loop. I'm just not…telling. It's not the same thing. And second, when he punched me, he was completely in the wrong and I wasn't lying to him at all."

Willow sighed and slumped down beside him, her head coming to rest lightly on his shoulder. "I think the messing-up got started when you didn't tell him the truth about the time loop. From there, it just got messier and messier until it went kablooey."

Xander muttered, "Yeah, kablooey all over my face." They sat there together for a long while, just listening to each other's breathing. Then Xander said softly, "I never thought he'd actually hit me."

Willow shifted on the couch to sit up straighter and look at him. She had her serious face on. That never meant good things. "I know you don't like to think about it, Xander, but Spike's a vampire. He might seem like a normal guy, hanging out with us and eating pizza and watching videos. But he isn't human, Xander. He's a demon. And when he loses his temper, he might not have as much self-control as you expect him to have."

Feeling hopeless and depressed, Xander whined, "So I either stay away or let him make me a punching bag? I'm not liking either option. Can I take (c) none of the above?"

Willow shook her head. "I don't know if those are the only two choices. I just think you need to talk to Spike about it."

Xander slumped lower until his butt was almost off the couch and his shoulders were hunched up around his ears. "I know. I need to talk to Spike about all of it."

"Yeah, you do, because you really aren't being fair to him. Somewhere along the way, it seems like you decided that just because Spike isn't all sad and lonely anymore, then he's suddenly some kind of superman who doesn't get hurt by stuff. Spike's always been sort of…vulnerable. Stuff hurts him, maybe even more than it hurts other people."

It wasn't until after he left that he wondered if Willow had figured out something was going on between him and Spike. Probably. Xander wasn't very good at hiding things from her, and so she'd probably at least suspected.

It was time – past time – to have a serious talk with the Bleached Undead Mike Tyson.

Spike wasn't in the upstairs area of the crypt, so Xander climbed down the ladder to see if he was down below. No big deal. They'd gotten comfortable enough with each other's living spaces. It didn't seem wrong or anything.

Xander hesitated, uncertain whether he should wait, leave a note, or just go home and call Spike on his cell phone.

Then his eyes fell on a very familiar-looking black leather journal sitting on the banged-up bedside table. It was the journal he'd given Spike for Christmas. Spike had been so surly about it, Xander had figured he'd probably toss it out with the trash, so it gave him a little thrill of pleasure to see it lying there.

He didn't mean to read it. Really. He didn't. He just picked it up to see if it had been written in, just to see if the Christmas gift had been appreciated after all, even though Spike had been such a jerk about it.

He honestly really didn't mean to read it. But once he'd opened it and seen Spike's delicate handwriting so tidy on the unlined pages, he couldn't help it. He'd spent so many months wondering what was going on in Spike's head, trying to decipher every gesture, every look. And these past few weeks, especially, with the sex stuff and never knowing what Spike was feeling or thinking. And now, now, here was everything he'd been wondering about.

The first entry was mostly a description of Christmas with the Scoobies, including descriptions of everything they ate and the gifts everyone received. That made sense, since the journal had been a Christmas gift. Apparently Spike had written fairly soon afterward, despite his surliness when he'd first opened the present.

He was skimming and reading quickly, often only catching half- sentences or portions of words until something made him stop. On the following page, several lines down:

And Valentine's Day isn't for another couple weeks, anyway. Who'd've thought Spike was such a think-ahead kind of guy? Does he buy his Christmas presents in May?

That's right. Lie to him about the time loop, guilt him into having sex with me, break into his crypt, read his diary, and then throw up on his floor, just as the vomitous icing on the bitter cake of betrayal.

He started to page back, hoping against hope that maybe he was misinterpreting what Spike had written. But a sound from the tunnel entrance in the corner of the room had him scrambling to put the journal back where he'd found it, and then sitting as far from it as possible, legs crossed innocently.

Spike emerged carrying a brown paper grocery bag. He stopped short at the sight of Xander sitting on the bed, but then he recovered himself and strolled into the room calmly, as if nothing were odd about the situation.

He put the grocery bag down on what looked like a pile of junk. "Quite a bruise you've got there."

Surprised that Spike would mention it – but then it's kinda hard to ignore – Xander just nodded. "Yeah, I…I want to talk to you about that, but first…could you sit down or something?" Spike raised an eyebrow, then cleared a space on top of a large trunk and sat. Xander closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage, and then opened them again. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you about."

And then it was as if a dam had burst, because the whole thing came rushing out of him. The time loop. The kiss on the back steps.

Spike listened silently until Xander wasn't sure what to say anymore. He hadn't gone into any detail, but he'd touched on most of the highlights.

"So, during one of these time loops, my dick accidentally ended up in your ass?"

Xander fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt, but then looked up again. "It wasn't accidentally. It just…happened." He hesitated, uncertain of whether he needed to say anything more. But, hey, this was supposed to be coming clean, right? "And it wasn't just one of the loops."

Both Spike's eyebrows went up. "Oh really? How many times are we talking about?"

Xander looked away, over toward the entrance to the tunnels. "Not more than I could count. Just…it happened on every loop."

Spike was silent a long minute, and when Xander looked at him he was surprised by the expression of disbelief on his face.

"Every loop." Xander nodded. "Every one of 'em." Xander nodded again. "We shagged on every single bloody one of your bloody time loops, and you never thought to mention it?"

Xander winced. "I tried," he said lamely. "You said you didn't care. You said that was a different Spike, not you."

Spike was standing now, pacing, turning to stare at Xander now and then, always with that expression of shock and anger. Now he stopped, though, considering what Xander was saying. Then his eyes opened wide and he strode over to Xander, pointing a finger right at his chest. "You were talking about having a coffee with the witches. And unless that's a new euphemism, this is a whole different ball of wax, mate."

Xander looked at him, and their faces were close now, as Spike had bent down to point at him. Abruptly, Spike stood up again and walked further away.

Xander looked at the floor. The rug really was ugly. "I know. I should have told you right away." He sighed and stood up. If Spike could pace, then so could he. The room was plenty big. "I didn't know what to say. You didn't even like me back then."

Spike shrugged, looking at the wall, then said begrudgingly, "Liked you all right."

Spike looked a bit taken aback, but then said quietly, "Well, you stopped, didn't you?"

Xander didn't know what to say in reply to that. He couldn't very well refer to what he'd read in Spike's journal, not without getting the rest of his face battered to match his jaw. So he didn't say anything.

Spike was still watching him, though. His voice was still relatively quiet when he asked, "Why'd you never tell me? Ashamed?"

Xander nodded automatically. "Yeah, I guess." But then he saw Spike's expression and hastily amended, "Not ashamed of what happened, really. Ashamed that I'd treated you so bad." He ran a hand through his hair and kept his arm bent, keeping his hand resting on the back of his neck. Comforting. Like Spike's hand on his neck in the club.

They were quiet for a while. Emotionally exhausted, Xander ran his hands over his face, hissing out a curse when he touched his jaw.

Spike started pacing again, rubbing his arms in a fidgety kind of way. "I'm not apologizing."

Xander's jaw would have dropped if it didn't hurt too much. His eyebrows went up, instead. "You don't think you owe me an apology?"

Spike shrugged, still pacing. "Didn't hurt you much. Be good as new in a couple days."

Xander shook his head in disbelief. "So you're saying that I can't trust you. You'll just haul off and hit me anytime you like, for no reason at all?"

Spike stopped and stared at him, stubborn. "Demon, Harris. Violence. The two have a slight tendency to go together."

Xander frowned. "Well, duh. But you have control over it. I mean, I've seen you have control over it. I mean, did you hit Drusilla when she pissed you off? Did you smack her around like you did me?"

Okay, ouch. I mean, I knew – I mean, I think I knew – that he doesn't love me. I mean, of course. But still. Ow.

But she didn't love you and I do! You go all misty-eyed for some vamp who didn't know your name half the time, and me you punch in the head. Don't you even want anybody to care about you? But Xander couldn't make himself say those words, couldn't make himself actually voice the dreaded "L" word, not in the way that mattered, because Spike was putting him down, saying Xander was nothing to him, and that just…he already felt pathetic enough.

Xander nodded and swallowed, feeling like a golfball was stuck in his throat. When he could speak again, his voice was uneven. "So, if you love someone, you can control the violence? But otherwise you don't see the point?"

Spike tilted his chin up. Oh familiar gesture! "'Cept for setting off the chip, nope."

Xander nodded slowly, but couldn't bring himself to say anything for a while. He sat back down on the edge of the bed, wondering if he should just leave. He'd told the truth about the time loop, he'd confronted Spike about the punch in the face, he'd been told he didn't matter, what more was there to talk about?

Spike took a step forward and his foot slid on something that lay on the floor. A bookmark. They both saw it. Where'd that come from? Oh fuck! Spike and Xander simultaneously looked at the journal on the bedside table, and Xander cringed when he saw that he hadn't put it back as carefully as he'd hoped. It was at an angle, one corner hanging off the edge of the table's surface, and apparently the bookmark had fallen out at some point and he hadn't noticed.

He didn't want to look, could barely stand to look, but he made himself raise his eyes to Spike's face, only to see his gaze pointedly travel from Xander's face to the journal and then back again. Those blue eyes were like ice.

Xander didn't know what to say. His mouth wasn't working. His brain wasn't working. All he could think was fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

Spike's smile was vicious. "My, aren't we the tidy little hypocrite! Whinging on and on about trust and whatnot, when all the while you've been keeping your little secrets, telling your little lies, and snooping in my personal effects."

But Spike shook his head and wagged a finger at Xander. "No. I don't think you get to talk anymore. I think we've finally seen the truth of Xander Harris. Your white hat's looking a little dusty there, mate."

Xander stood, miserable, ready to leave. But Spike wasn't through with him. "Don't think I'll be needin' your services anymore, either. So don't bother coming 'round."

Spike nodded, all business, his lips curved into an impersonal smile. "The fucking. No longer interested."

This wasn't going right at all, but Xander had no idea how to salvage things now that it had all gotten this bad. "But it wasn't just…Spike…it was more than that. I mean, we're at least friends."

Spike shrugged, all nonchalance. "Right, that's us. Best mates." But the way he said the words dripped with irony. And then, "The rest was just fucking, and it's done now."

Xander shook his head, getting angry. "I saw you. I saw your eyes, that night at the club, that night at my apartment. It was more than just fucking."

Spike smiled a very cruel little smile. "If you knew me, you'd know that, beyond the obvious, I don't have much use for a dumb kid with a nice dick and an addiction to his rowing machine. Biceps don't make you a man, little boy."

Xander was having trouble making sense of everything Spike was saying, especially with how it related to what he'd read in the journal. But it was looking like Spike really hadn't been interested in Xander, personally, at all. Not sexually. Not romantically. His stomach was churning again. "Then…why did you even have sex with me in the first place?"

Spike shrugged. "You were gagging for it. Couldn't have one of the precious Scoobies roaming town, looking for someone to bugger him blind. I took a bullet for the team."

"You…you took a bullet? That's what this was?" Xander stared at Spike for a minute, holding back tears, and then turned and ran, climbing up the ladder as fast as he could, his feet slipping on the rungs in his haste. Once upstairs, he just continued running, out of the crypt, through the cemetery, down the street, until he got to his own apartment and collapsed on the couch with his eyes still stinging. Not crying. Not crying. But almost there.

He turned on the TV and watched some stupid infomercial about stain removal, and his eyes felt glued open, but he didn't really see anything.

When he went to bed, he put extra blankets on the bed and wrapped his arms tight around his pillow.

The next morning, Xander called in sick. If ever there was a time for a mental health day, this was it. Plus, the guys on site would have ribbed him mercilessly about the bruise on his jaw, which was fading into a marbled medley of green, yellow, and some still-fading swirls of red and purple.

I'm a rainbow of fruit flavors, Xander thought, watching himself in the mirror while he brushed his teeth.

By the time he'd shaved – very carefully – and showered, he realized that he'd been stupid to leave Spike's crypt in the middle of the fight, just because Spike got mean.

So Spike's being an asshole because he's scared? Well, get over it. I mean, you don't see the Cowardly Lion popping Dorothy or the Scarecrow in the nose. But, then, the Cowardly Lion wasn't a demon…I think.

From what I read in the journal – not that I should have been reading his journal, but since I already did and got caught, there's no sense in pretending I didn't – I guess he doesn't want to be some kind of loser schmuck. Hey, I get that. I've been there. I've had the "no more Mr. Butt-Monkey" moment. I can relate. Of course, Spike's having more of a "no more Mr. Love- Monkey" moment. But, still, basically the same thing. No more monkeys of any kind. We're both emphatically anti-monkey.

Problem is, how am I supposed to convince him that I want him to be my Mr. Love-Monkey?

He just sort of puttered around the house all day – maybe he should have gone to work after all, if only to distract himself – and watched way too much TV. By the time it was getting near dark, his brain felt like it was made of Jello. It could've been the blow to the head, but Xander was pretty sure it was just the result of a Surprise By Design marathon on the Discovery Channel. He'd spent half the day squinting at Robert Verdi and thinking, "At least I'm not that gay. I'm just…I'm a manly kind of gay. A muscular construction worker kind of gay, not a pink-wearing interior designer kind of gay."

He refused to admit – even to himself – that he'd actually used the phrase "window treatment" in his own thoughts while contemplating the blinds and wondered if curtains might look nicer.

Next thing you know, I'll be wearing a mauve scarf tied jauntily around my neck.

And, anyway, if you're bi, you don't have to wear scarves. I think that's in the rules somewhere. "No scarf-wearing required. Window treatments optional."

It was almost dark now. Time for patrol. As he was putting on his shoes and looking around for his keys, the phone rang.

Apparently Spike had decided that he and Xander should patrol separately, "to cover more ground." Of course, Xander only knew this because Willow called him up to tell him.

He looked at the piece of paper next to the phone, where he'd scribbled Spike's cell phone number.

If Spike had wanted to talk to him, he would have called, instead of passing a message through Willow. And this sudden decision not to patrol together didn't exactly inspire cheery confidence, either.

It was pretty obvious Spike wanted nothing to do with him, at least for right now. So he should just give it some time, right?

But is that actually going to help, or just make things worse? Can things even get worse? Well, okay, if Spike was actually scheming to kill me, then that would be worse.

Under the assumption that a Spike-planned homicide was not imminent, Xander went out and patrolled by himself.

Spike assiduously avoided him. The first time they happened to pass each other on the front steps of the girls' house, Xander started to say something, maybe something about needing to talk, or being sorry, or you're a real jerk for hitting me, or something, but it didn't matter what would have come out of his mouth, because he didn't get a chance. Spike just shouldered past him with a scowl.

Valentine's Day eventually rolled around, and Dawn squealed delightedly over the teddy bear Spike gave her. Xander watched for a chance to get Spike alone, to try to say something, to try to get them talking again at least, but Spike never left Dawn's side, pretending delight in Dawn's happiness and complete obliviousness to Xander's presence in the room.

Xander decided to spend Valentine's Day with a Hungry Man frozen dinner at home in front of the TV. The girls had invited him to stay for pizza "with the gang," but he just wasn't up to it, especially with Spike there so pointedly ignoring him.

It was almost worse than the Valentine's Day when every woman in Sunnydale became homicidally obsessed with him. Almost, but not quite. At least this year nobody was chasing him with an axe.

Time passed. Spike couldn't avoid him entirely – the group was too social for that – but they rarely spoke, and never more than bland small talk.

When Willow asked, Xander admitted that he'd told Spike about the time loop. "And it ruined everything, just like I knew it would. Before, we were at least friends. Now, we're not even that."

He wasn't using the dildo anymore. Butt plugs, either. He'd pretty much fallen back into the familiar, efficient, no-nonsense shower-jerk of his teenage years. Anytime he thought about the rest of it, he remembered Spike spitting, "I don't give a flying fuck about your slut ass." Any time he even considered masturbating with a sex toy, he couldn't help thinking "slut ass."

It's not like I'm a porn star or something. It's not like it's the Grand Canyon down there. I should know…I've put stuff in there and I know it's tight. And when Spike was in me, it hurt. I mean, he didn't spend all that much time getting me ready, and so of course it hurt some at the beginning. So it's not like he got his dick in there and was just thrashing around in limitless space. It just didn't hurt as much as if…well…as if nothing had ever been up there.

But the sex toys stayed in the shoebox under the bed, and he found himself feeling vaguely ashamed of his previous masturbatory exploits. Now, in retrospect, it all seemed sordid and embarrassing.

He just jerked off fast and mindless every morning, his hand slippery with the shower soap, and if he occasionally remembered the look in Spike's eyes that night at the club, and it if always made him come, well, that was nobody's business.

It couldn't continue on indefinitely like that. The girls couldn't help meddling, and Dawn in particular pestered Xander – and probably also Spike – with so many questions and concerns that Spike eventually agreed that they should patrol together again.

And once we're alone on patrol, he'll have to talk to me, right? Or at least listen. Well, I suppose he wouldn't have to even do that, because he's pretty good at not listening. But at least there'll be a chance.

Xander heard a shriek of excitement and looked up from his thoughts to see Dawn jumping up and down like she'd won the lottery. Xander looked around in confusion. "What'd I miss?"

Dawn grinned at him, her hands clasped in front of her. "Spike says I can patrol with you guys tonight!"

Xander felt his eyebrows fly up so fast they were almost catapulted into outer space. Possibly into orbit. Spike was going to let Dawn come on patrol? Something he had privately admitted he had no intention of ever doing? Why?

Right. Then he doesn't have to be alone with me. And there's no possibility of talking. Pretty sneaky. And kind of…sad.

Dawn didn't seem to care about the reasons, though. She just rushed off to grab her sweater and touch up her lip gloss – she'd obviously learned her most important lessons about slaying from Big Sis – and then they'd be ready to leave.

Spike stood near the door, avoiding eye contact, looking pissed off, tossing his knife and catching it, toss and catch, toss and catch, in a way Xander hadn't seen him do in months.

When Xander walked toward him, Spike opened the door and stepped outside, as if to wait in the fresh air. As if he wasn't just trying to get further away from Xander.

Aside from the tension and Dawn's almost constant excited talking, patrol was pretty standard. A few fledges, a toothless blue demon that cowered and begged so pitifully that they let him go, and a few stupid human Sunnydale residents walking around alone at night.

Don't these people ever learn? If you want a midnight stroll, drive until you're at least a few miles from the Hellmouth before you start. Sheesh.

They ran into two of the Bregni demons Spike had been talking about for weeks, and they were just as big, ugly, and pointy-toothed and sharp-clawed as Spike had said they were. And really really strong, too. Spike yelled to Dawn to hide, and got knocked down by a Bregni while his head was turned. Xander started throwing his knives, trying to be as fast as possible without losing accuracy, and he got one of the demons right in the center of the chest – where Spike had said their hearts were located – and it fell over like a giant ugly sack of potatoes.

Spike was still struggling with the other and they'd traveled quite a distance away while fighting, but he seemed to be getting the upper- hand. But then suddenly they were rolling on the ground and the demon was straining downward, sharp teeth dripping with something Xander didn't want to think about.

Xander noticed Spike's knife had gotten knocked away during the scuffle, so he picked it up and tossed it several feet to Spike, who caught it without even looking. A shove and a sort of gross-sounding twist, and the demon collapsed on top of him. Xander helped him throw the body aside, and they stood there looking at each other. Dawn popped up from behind a tombstone, dusting herself off.

Everything was quiet. Dawn walked over to peer curiously at the demon Spike had killed. Spike was sharply kicking the thing in the leg, but once he was sure it was dead, he stalked off a ways, wiping his knife off on the denim of his thigh and then flipping it and catching. Flipping and catching. The silver of the knife blade glinted in the moonlight. It was so familiar.

Xander walked back to retrieve his throwing knives from the second demon's body and from the ground around him. Some distance away, Dawn was still standing over the demon Spike had killed, fascinated, murmuring, "So gross!"

Tilting his head to mimic Dawn's curious posture, Xander looked down at the demon at his feet and quipped, "Man, this thing has more teeth than the entire Osmond family!"

Dawn turned to look at him and giggled, but as she turned her head Xander saw another Bregni emerge from behind a crypt only a few feet behind her.

"Dawn! Get out of the way!" Xander yelled, and he started running toward her, throwing knives as he went. Unfortunately, he couldn't aim worth shit when he was running, and so he didn't get in any good shots. Dawn just stood there, frozen, until Xander got to her and shoved her onto the ground. He had another knife in his hand as quick as possible and this one hit, but didn't kill the damn thing, which had forgotten all about Dawn and was charging at Xander instead.

Behind him, he heard the scuffling, smacking, crashing noises of another fight. Probably Spike. Apparently there had been more Bregnis around than they'd realized, and he wondered fleetingly how many Spike was fighting. On the ground, Dawn whimpered. Xander felt sharp pain and thought, "Oh, that'll mean bandages tomorrow," and then he lifted, apparently weightless, into the air, with the sound of two voices screaming his name, and then he was flying.

He felt like he'd been doing a Dad impression, but couldn't remember the actual drinking. He had a doozy of a headache, though, and the world felt swirly and unstable, like when he was a kid and he and Willow would look up at the blue sky and spin around and around and around until they fell down on the grass of her back lawn, laughing. He didn't particularly feel like laughing, though. Ralphing, maybe, but not laughing.

His eyes also seemed unusually reluctant to open. He'd had his share of mornings – usually following particularly eventful late-night patrols – when he didn't want to open his eyes to face the day, but this was worse. His head didn't feel right.

When he was finally able to pry his eyes open, he squinted at the whiteness of the walls, the ceiling, the bed. White everywhere.

But just to the left, sitting in a chair with one hand resting limply on the edge of what Xander now realized must be his hospital bed, head slumped forward, chin resting against his chest, eyes closed as if he'd fallen asleep upright without realizing it, was Spike.

The whiteness of the room was almost blinding. Xander looked at Spike, the only non-white thing in the room. Even the paleness of his skin and hair seemed dark and warm in comparison to the hospital walls.

The last thing he remembered was the cemetery at night, demons, sharp pain, someone screaming his name…

Spike jerked, his head coming up, eyes blinking in confusion. When he saw Xander looking at him, he leaned forward slightly, leaned closer. It was nice. "What's that, pet?"

Xander frowned. His brain wasn't working right. He felt really confused. "I remember the demons, and fighting. And then…I'm here. Did I loop?"

Spike's face was close, leaning above him. It was familiar, somehow. It made Xander feel warm inside. His head wasn't working right and everything was weird, but he was glad Spike was there. "I'm glad you're here," he said quietly. Spike swallowed heavily, his throat working visibly in the bright hospital light. He nodded, but didn't reply. Xander tried to smile, and murmured, "I love you."

Spike's head jerked as if he'd been slapped, but then he regained his composure and said in a choked voice, "You're not thinking right, Xander. You'll be better soon, though."

He wanted to ask Spike why the world was so squishy and bright and swirly, but his eyelids were really heavy and he didn't think the words ever made their way out of his mouth before he fell asleep again.

The next time he woke up, Spike was standing on the other side of the room talking with a doctor who looked strangely familiar. The doctor was wearing a white coat. White white white. But his hair was dark and his skin was very brown. Dark against all that white.

At the sound from Xander's left, he turned to look, and Willow was there, reaching out to take his hand with a broad smile. Against the hospital white, her red hair seemed very very red, like Ronald McDonald.

Xander frowned. His head was hurting and he couldn't remember, couldn't seem to remember what was going on, couldn't seem to think straight. He looked at Willow, but his head was heavy on the pillow. "Did I loop again?"

Willow's smile dimmed a watt or two. "No, Xander. You didn't loop. You're in the hospital."

Xander nodded slightly, then rolled his head to look back at Spike and the doctor. "I know that guy," he murmured, and then his eyes were closing and he just wanted to take another quick nap.

Xander woke to find the familiar doctor looking down at him. Xander couldn't figure out where he'd seen the guy before. Maybe he dreamt it? Maybe this was a dream? His brain wasn't working right, and he couldn't remember why.

"He keeps asking that," Spike said from near the doorway. Why was he standing so far away?

"Perfectly normal," the doctor assured him. "He's perseverating – repeating the same thing over and over again – which is to be expected with a concussion of this severity. Nothing to worry about." The doctor was shining a light into Xander's eyes, holding his eyelids open. "Now, Xander, can you tell me what day this is?"

The familiar doctor smiled, his teeth very white against his brown skin. "That's good. Yes, today's Wednesday. Can you tell me the date?"

Xander peered up into the guy's smiling face, confused. "I know you from somewhere."

The doctor glanced over toward the doorway, where Spike was standing, then looked back at Xander. "That's all right, Xander. Yes, we've met before. I'm Spike's friend, Jeremy." The doctor didn't give him a chance to respond before quickly continuing, "I'm glad you remember. That's a good sign. Now can you tell me the date today?"

Xander answered all the questions as best he could, and finally the doctor – Jeremy, his name is Jeremy – said seriously, "I'd like to keep you here for observation for the rest of the day, but I'm willing to send you home if a responsible adult stays with you for the next 48 hours to observe you for complications."

Xander frowned, trying to make sense of this, but his head was still very muddled and he was starting to notice that his arms hurt, and his chest, too. And he had little tubes going into his nose, and other ones attached to his hand, and suddenly he just really really wanted to be out of there.

Doctor Jeremy said, "Spike has said he's willing to stay with you. He'll need to wake you up every 3 hours to check on you, to make sure no problems occur. Do you understand this, Xander?"

Doctor Jeremy said, "Yes, and I don't want you returning to work or other normal activities for at least a week. You need to rest. The next two days, you must have Spike with you to keep an eye on you, but after that you just need to rest. Do you understand?"

Xander nodded. His head was feeling very slightly better. It still hurt, but nodding didn't make his eyes water anymore. "Spike. Rest. Got it." In truth, his head was still pretty fuzzy, but it sounded like Spike had offered to take care of him. That couldn't be right, could it?

Well, if this was all a dream, then it wouldn't matter. So he smiled and nodded.

Doctor Jeremy patted Xander's non-tubed hand and said, "Well, then, let's get this paperwork taken care of. It's almost dawn and you'll be wanting to get him home before the sun's up."

The ride in a wheelchair out to the car was mildly entertaining. At least he was wearing his own clothes again, though Willow had brought a new shirt for him. Apparently the one he'd been wearing on patrol was ruined.

Wheeling through the hospital was like watching a really weird IMAX movie full of people dressed in white. Some of them wore plastic shower caps. Other ones wore blue-green pants and tops like he saw sometimes on "E.R." when he channel surfed into a re-run. There were other people in wheelchairs, too. And some on gurneys. And some who weren't. It was all very surreal.

And then he was in the car, and the world was racing past the window and making him feel sort of sick, and by the time they got him home and into his own comfy bed, covered in his own comfy blankets, head on his own comfy pillow, he was ready to sleep some more.

He woke, eyes still closed, to the feeling of a hand on his hair. Stroking. Soft. Slow. Sort of threading through to brush lightly against his scalp. It felt really nice. Like somebody was taking care of him. Watching over him. Keeping him safe. Loving him.

The hand stroked along and through his hair gently, over and over, until it lulled him back to sleep again without him ever having opened his eyes.

The next time he woke up, he opened his eyes to find he was in the dark. Well, not pitch-black, but a lot better than the hospital's glare. Looking around, he recognized his own room, dimly lit. The blinds must be closed.

Spike had apparently pulled one of the kitchen chairs into the bedroom and so he was sitting on Xander's left. When Xander looked at him, their eyes met. Spike looked tired. He didn't say anything.

Spike smiled, just a little, and shook his head. "No, Xan. No time loop. You just need to rest."

Xander tried to nod, but it felt like his head weighed a thousand pounds, so he just murmured, "Okay," and closed his eyes again. Eyes still closed, he asked softly, "But you'll stay?"

A hand stroked his hair again – he vaguely remembered that happening earlier – and Spike's voice, much closer now, said gently, "I'll stay. I'll be right here."

Xander smiled, or thought he did – he smiled inside his head, anyway, because he was glad Spike was there – but he was already part- way asleep, so he wasn't sure if his lips actually moved.

When he needed to go to the bathroom, Spike helped him walk. It would have been embarrassing, except that he was so sleepy and weak and sort of drunk that he was just grateful for the help.

Then back to the bed, and he was exhausted by the trip, and so fell back asleep before Spike had even gotten him under the covers.

He tried to say, "Why do I have bandages on my arms?" but even he could tell it was a bit mumbly.

Spike relaxed slightly and almost smiled. "Well, at least this time you didn't ask if you'd looped."

Xander woke to a hand on his shoulder. Not shaking him, just touching firmly. Sort of holding. Spike was standing next to the bed.

"Need to wake up again for a bit, pet." Spike sat back down in the kitchen chair and smiled a sort of soft smile that looked just…weird on Spike's face. Except that he'd looked that way at Buffy a thousand times. Xander had seen it, and hated it. Spike's voice was gentle when he asked, "Remembering anything yet?"

He was feeling a bit more awake this time, less drunk-feeling, and his head was feeling clearer. He could even sort of remember about the fight in the cemetery. It was all a little hazy, but it was better now, and he thought he remembered…

"She's fine. Not so keen on patrolling again right away, but that's a good thing. Needs more training."

Spike leaned forward, face serious. "Bollocks. It was me that brought her along before she was ready, just because I…" He broke off, lips tightening.

Xander looked away. He considered just going back to sleep mid- conversation, using the whole head injury as an excuse, but the truth was that he was feeling a lot better, and so instead he said quietly, "I know you were avoiding me, Spike. It's okay. I'm just sorry Dawn almost got hurt." Silence. Yeah, Dawn almost got hurt because Spike couldn't stand to be alone with me. I remember that part. Without turning back to look, Xander cleared his throat and said tiredly, "Maybe you were right. It might be best if we patrolled separately from now on. It would probably be better for everyone."

Spike grabbed Xander's face – his fingers resting where the bruises had been on his jaw – and turned him so that they could see each other's eyes again in the darkened room. "There's no bloody way I'm sending you out alone, not after this."

Spike didn't reply, but his eyes were still blazing, his face still tense and strange.

After a long moment, Xander closed his eyes. "Spike, I'm tired, and I don't want to fight with you anymore. Please?"

Spike's hand on his face withdrew, but as it went it felt oddly, unexpectly…almost like a caress.

As Xander started to drift toward sleep, it all just seemed so sad. So broken. He said softly, "I'm sorry I messed everything up."

He could have sworn he felt a hand softly stroke his hair again, just once, as he fell asleep.

A hand on his shoulder woke him up from a bizarre dream. "It's in the sandcastle," he mumbled emphatically as he rolled to get away from the hand.

When he opened his eyes, Spike was standing there with a grin on his face. "It's in the sandcastle, is it? Well, that's a fine place to put it, I suppose."

Xander rubbed his eyes and blinked hard. Yep. Spike was still there. "I was a fish. And Fish!Willow was looking for her green fuzzy sweater, but it was in the sandcastle at the bottom of the tank."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Fish sweaters? Even your dreams are boring." He handed Xander a mug, but it was too hot to hold. Xander made an ouch face and set it down on the bedside table, jerking his hand away. He sniffed the liquid.

"Tea's not meant to be drunk anything other than piping hot. Now drink it down." He picked up the mug and held it out to Xander again, but Xander shrunk away, trying to melt into the mattress.

Spike put the mug back on the bedside table and sat down in the kitchen chair beside the bed, scooting it a bit closer. "You're supposed to have liquids," he admonished, his brows knitting in obvious concern.

"Well, uh, liquids? I like soda. Mountain Dew is good. Or root beer. And juice is okay."

Spike just nodded, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. "I'm supposed to get you talking every few hours, make sure you aren't gone brain dead."

Xander blinked. Shouldn't Spike have made some kind of joke about him being brain dead already, or how would they know the difference, or something like that? Man, Spike must be off his game!

Xander nodded, then turned his head to stare at the ceiling. Stucco. Tiny stalagmites of death, waiting to fall on him while he slept. He tried to think of something to say.

"Not yet. The witches are working on some rain mojo. Bregni demons aren't good with water."

"Well, Dawn could do that." This doesn't make any sense. Why are you here when you've been working so hard to avoid me? What's with the mixed messages, mister? "Why doesn't Dawn stay with me instead?"

Spike made a sound that was almost a snarl. Then, "Look, I know you don't bloody want me here, but I owe you for the Kashithnet. After this, we call it even."

But Spike was already gone, storming out of the room, his back stiff with pride.

Jesus Christ, Spike! Always jumping to conclusions! Like when I said you were my best friend and you acted like I was trying to let you down gently or something and got all offended.

Sometimes I think if the Scoobies had an insecurity contest, you and I would beat everybody else by a mile.

Xander lay on his back, staring at the stalagmite ceiling, and thought maybe he should go after Spike and explain, but he was still feeling so sleepy that he drifted off in mid-thought.

Xander slowly blinked open his eyes to see a glass of orange juice in front of his face. He tried to shift up against the pillow, to sit up enough to drink, and Spike quickly put down the glass and helped him, placing a supportive hand on his arm and pushing the pillow into a comfortable position.

Spike pulled away sharply. "Right. Of course. Drink your juice. Supposed to keep hydrated. And I'm fixing you some soup."

"You made soup?" Xander was a bit frightened at the thought, given his past experiences with Spike's culinary exploits.

Spike's face tightened, as if he knew what Xander was thinking. "Tinned soup."

They somehow managed to avoid an actual argument, and Spike even let Xander leave the bedroom to go sit on the couch for a while, though he wrapped an arm around Xander's back and practically lifted him off the ground while they walked.

The walk to the couch had made his head ache and spin again, but Xander ate a little bit of soup and watched a few minutes of Mighty Mouse before he started fading. He didn't remember falling asleep in front of the TV.

When he next woke up, he was back in bed with the blankets tucked around him securely, and Spike was snoring quietly from the kitchen chair nearby.

Xander drifted back to sleep, weirdly comforted by the sound of Spike's breathing in the darkness.

Xander woke on his own, hearing noises out in the kitchen. At first, still sleepy, he was spooked, but then he remembered Spike and relaxed.

Xander eyed the bandages on his arms. He could feel another one on his chest, under his pajama top. The demon must have scratched him up pretty good with its claws.

Spike came into the room, carrying a steaming mug – it smelled like the much-debated tea – which he set on the bedside table. The tension was almost unbearable. Xander felt pretty much all the way awake now, unsure what was going on between them. He didn't want another fight, even if Spike had brought tea into the room. But then Spike took a sip of the tea, and Xander relaxed another notch.

Xander gestured vaguely to the white gauze on his arms. He quipped, "So I must've been bleeding a lot. You get a chance for a quick snack before they bandaged me up?"

Spike's head jerked up, his eyes shockingly dark and wet. "I carried you all the fucking way to the hospital, Harris. Didn't have time for…and anyway…I wouldn't…it was different when you…" Spike looked away, shaking his head with jerky movements. When he looked at Xander again, his face was composed, though his eyes were still wounded. "Your head doing all right?"

Xander nodded, sighing, "It's not like this is the first time I've had a concussion, Spike."

"Yeah, I never understood why Rupert and Buffy let you all come on patrol. Bloody dangerous is what it was."

"First of all, I helped. And second of all, I was an old pro at the concussion thing way before Buffy came to town." They didn't say anything for a few minutes while Spike unnecessarily smoothed the blankets, tucking them around Xander in a bizarrely motherly way.

Xander continued, "That's part of why I wanted my own place. Wanted to get out of the basement. Dad still likes to take a swing now and then when he's had a few too many." Another long silence. "I try to just stay away from that sort of stuff."

Spike's hands jerked back, into his lap, where they tightened around each other to form a knot. "Said I was sorry," he mumbled, looking at the floor as if something fascinating were happening down there.

Spike looked up, mouth twisted with some deep emotion, and choked out, "I'm sorry."

It wasn't enough. Not for punching him. That wasn't okay. Just saying "I'm sorry" wasn't enough. But Xander wasn't sure how to make it right. If it was even possible.

Xander closed his eyes, leaning back against his pillow, exhausted, and said softly, "Yeah. Me too."

Spike shook him awake and gave him a glass of orange juice. The lights in the room were on low. Spike sat in the kitchen chair and watched him sit up and take a drink. Spike took a sip of the tea he had brought for himself again. Xander'd never realized what a tea-drinker Spike was. Maybe it was stress.

Xander didn't spit orange juice all over himself, but it was a near thing. He swallowed and then asked archly, "You were snooping through my stuff?"

Spike shot him a look, one eyebrow raised. Right. The diary. Well, he'd be living that one down until…pretty much forever.

"Been using the plastic cocks long?" Spike sounded so calm, like they were discussing…uh…something that had nothing to do with anyone's butt.

Xander blushed. He wanted to say it was none of Spike's business…but in a strange way it sort of was. So he opted for honesty…a refreshing change of pace. "Uh…since the time loop."

Xander couldn't believe Spike had brought it up again. He was momentarily paralyzed by the surprise, but then he nodded, not knowing what to say. Not wanting to mess things up again. He had that jumpy twisty feeling in his stomach again. Nervous.

After a long time, Spike shifted in his chair and set down his mug of tea. Then he shifted in the chair again.

"It's not like I was looking for pain," Spike started hesitantly, still looking at the floor. "But, you know, chip. I figured I'd go on anyway, even if it hurt." He looked up, looked at Xander, and his face was so very sad. "When it didn't hurt as much as I expected…well…I jumped to conclusions."

Xander wasn't sure what to say. And then suddenly his mouth was moving and words were coming out. "Well, you know what they say about conclusions. They make a 'con'…of…um…'clu'…and…'sions.' Wait, that doesn't make as much sense as I remember. Maybe it was 'assumptions'? They make an 'ass' of 'ump' and 'tions'? That doesn't sound right, either. Let me start again."

Spike shook his head, smiling a little smile that didn't look happy at all. "It's all right. You need to rest." He got up out of the chair and walked silently out of the room.

Xander took it easy for a week. Didn't go in to work. Apparently the hospital had phoned the site manager directly and given strict orders that he take a week off.

So he spent his time mostly watching TV. Dawn came over after school each day and told him all the teenage gossip she usually shared with Spike. Xander had no idea what she was talking about most of the time, but he was glad for the company, so he just smiled and nodded and gasped in all the right places.

Willow and Tara came by together a few times, and Willow came alone once, too. She kept picking at him, though, trying to get him to talk to her about Spike, and he didn't want to talk about that whole mess right now, so he ended up faking a headache to get her to leave.

Everybody came over for video night three times that week. It was a new record. And "everybody" included Spike, though he fidgeted a lot and went outside to smoke more times than usual.

Spike didn't come over on his own, but everyone else mentioned him. "Spike asked me how you're doing." "Spike seems really moody lately." "Spike's been patrolling every night, looking for the Bregni demons." "Spike said he might come with me to visit today, but then something came up."

He wasn't supposed to drive and he got really bored in the apartment, so the girls took him out to the movies twice and brought him over to their house once. He was kicking back on their couch, drinking hot chocolate Willow had made from scratch (in honor of his visit) when Spike showed up. It was pretty obvious from the panicked look on Spike's face that he hadn't known Xander was going to be there.

"Hey," replied Spike, lingering in the entryway. He glanced nervously toward the kitchen. Come to think of it, the girls were rather curiously absent. Those sneaks.

"So…" Xander began, not quite sure where he was going with this, "my incarceration comes to a glorious end tomorrow."

Xander shrugged. "I've been feeling pretty good for the past few days. I'm just taking it easy so the Scooby Nursing Brigade doesn't give me too much shit."

Spike nodded. Whenever he looked at Xander, his eyes were dark and vulnerable. Xander wanted to fix him…make him not look like that. But Spike had been strange since the two days he spent with Xander after the concussion. He'd been sort of awkward and easily startled. And whenever Xander caught his eye, he quickly looked away like he'd been caught doing something wrong.

"So I was thinking," Xander said, trying to look Spike in the eye despite the attempted evasions, "patrol as usual tomorrow?"

Spike looked at him straight-on, then, not blinking, obviously surprised. Then his expression transitioned more into confused. Or maybe concerned.

"Patrol as usual" was, of course, a ridiculous thing to say. He and Spike hadn't patrolled together – except for the night of the Bregni- induced concussion – for ages. But Xander wanted things to be right again. He wanted to find a way to make them right again, and this was as good a place to start as any.

Spike looked about to say something, probably something about how Xander was hurt and he shouldn't blah blah blah overly-protectivecakes. So Xander leapt in and said, "I've spent an entire week just sitting around, even though I feel fine. I'm ready to hit the cemeteries."

Spike walked slowly into the room and sat down in one of the chairs, closer to Xander's position on the couch, but still at a safe distance. He seemed deep in thought, looking down at his hands and frowning. But eventually he looked up, actually looked right at Xander without letting his eyes slip away like they'd been doing lately, and he said, "All right then."

Even after they'd been patrolling together again for a couple weeks, it hadn't fixed things the way Xander had hoped. Things were still weird. He occasionally looked out his window and thought he saw Spike across the street, watching the apartment from behind a telephone pole, which was weird enough, but when they were around each other Spike was still skittish.

They were stiff with each other, formal, cautious, serious, quick to take offense. Patrol was very tense.

They were walking through Shady Hills when Spike actually had the guts to mention it. He was flipping his knife and catching it. Flip and catch. Flip and catch. Familiar. And then, "Not really friends anymore, are we?"

Xander couldn't help remembering the sections in Spike's journal about not having friends, and not wanting to lose Xander's friendship. Xander had worried about the same thing…it's why he didn't tell about the time loop sooner.

And yet things had somehow ended up like this. Exactly what they'd both wanted to avoid.

"I don't know," he replied with a sigh. "Maybe if we could catch a time-loop back and do it all different."

"I'm afraid you're the only one who had that luxury, mate. Most of us fuck things up, they just stay fucked."

They walked for a while, not talking. Spike was still flipping his knife and catching it. The glimmer of the spinning silver reminded Xander of the time loop, and how different Spike was then.

Xander rubbed his forehead in frustration and finally said what he was really thinking. "I don't know, Spike. I don't know if we can, because how are we ever supposed to be friends after this? You hit me."

Spike stopped walking and turned to look at him, head tilted, body language suddenly pissed as hell. "Yeah, well, you lied to me. For months."

They just stood there, silent, staring at each other in the darkness of the cemetery, the moonlight shining down on them so that Xander could clearly see the pain in Spike's face.

Yeah, it hurt. Still hurts. And I'm not the only one who's hurting. Would it kill me to take a little responsibility here?

Spike's eyes were suddenly like dark slits in his face, his mouth set in a tight line. "Doubt you'll keep that promise."

Xander raised his hands – look, no weapons, I come in peace – and said firmly, "Spike, now that I know" – how much it hurts you? how much it means to you? how vulnerable you are? – "um, now that I know, I can absolutely promise I won't do it again." He lowered his arms back to his sides, watching Spike's face.

They were both silent a moment, and then Xander continued, even more seriously, "But I'm not sure if I can deal with the hitting me thing. I mean, you said it yourself, you're a demon…violence is part of the package."

Spike's chin tilted up, just slightly, in the gesture Xander remembered from the time before the time loop. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were filled with things he wouldn't say, things Xander couldn't understand.

Xander let loose. "I'm just some idiot. Some 'child'. Some pathetic kid you had sex with out of some kind of sense of obligation, like you had to protect me from myself. Well, I can do without your kind of protection, Spike." Xander closed his eyes and shook his head. He'd run out of steam. His voice was quiet again when he said, "Nothing to keep you from smacking me around, is there." It wasn't a question. It was just a really depressing fact.

"Listen to me, you fucking idiot." That brought Xander's head back up, and Spike looked…not angry, but…frustrated. Determined. Ready to take on dragons and gods, if necessary. "Because yes, you are being an idiot. I will not hurt you again. I swear it. If I do, you can bloody well stake me yourself. You know where I sleep. Can sneak in during the day when I'm out for the count. Nothing I can do to stop you, eh? Won't even try."

Xander rolled his eyes. "I'm not staking you, Spike, no matter how much you might deserve it sometimes."

But Spike was persistent. "I'm not doing that again, Xander. Not hitting you again. I swear it."

Xander stared at him, just watching his eyes, and he could see that Spike meant it. Spike might have an impulse control problem, he might have a thing for violence, but he also was true to his word when it mattered. And his eyes right now said that this was something that mattered.

Xander raised a hand to push his hair out of his face, and saw Spike's eyes follow the movement. It stirred a memory, though he wasn't sure if it was something he'd dreamt or if it was real.

The hazy memory gave him pause for a moment, made his heart beat a little funny, but then he realized that Spike was watching him, waiting for some response, uncertain of whether he'd be pushed away again. Xander didn't want to keep doing that.

"Yeah, a bargain. No lying, no hitting. If either of us breaks it, there's no going back. Game over. The end."

Spike stepped hesitantly forward, then reached out to shake Xander's hand. His grip was firm, his skin cool and smooth and familiar. They hadn't touched in…Xander wasn't sure how long. Too long. As they released each other's hands with one last squeeze, they didn't step away but stayed standing where they were, facing each other.

Spike smirked, "Mind you, deal's off if you beg me to give you a smack or two just for fun…or if a good blow to the head'll get you out of danger's way."

Xander couldn't help but smile in response. "All right. I think I can deal with that." He thought a moment. "Well, and I can't promise I won't lie if I'm possessed by some hyena spirit or enthralled by Dracula or if you're wearing something that makes you look really fat or if I'm planning your Christmas present or…"

"The Christmas present. I liked it. I'm sorry you read it, sorry I got so angry, but I liked the gift. It was…thoughtful."

Spike gave him a wry look. "Xander, I've snooped through your things more than you could ever dream of snooping through mine. I'll just do a better job of hiding it next time, 'stead of leaving it on the bloody bedstand."

They grinned at each other and it was as if all that other stuff – all that bad stuff – just fell away. Xander found himself wondering if this was what it felt like to be baptized, having all your sins washed away in that one moment of forgiveness, getting a chance to start your life anew and do it better this time.

The next night was Friday. He and Spike actually weren't on patrol together, because the Scooby schedule had been reshuffled to suit Willow and Tara's university course schedules. They patrolled on Friday nights now. Spike and Xander had Saturdays.

And somehow Xander found himself dressed in one of his nicer shirts and one of his cleaner pair of khakis, heading toward a familiar part of the cemetery. He tried to smooth his hair down, but it was doing some funky curling thing in the front. He didn't want to have funky hair for this.

The door was slightly open, candlelight was spilling out in a golden sliver across the grass, and a tall man was leaning in at the doorway, as if kissing someone goodnight.

Xander stopped where he was and just stared. He couldn't really see the person very well, but it was definitely a guy, definitely tall, and definitely lingering at Spike's door as if he didn't want to leave. Xander could hear the murmuring of conversation, but couldn't make out any words.

Finally, the shape disengaged, pulling away from the crypt doorway enough that he became an independent silhouette. Enough moonlight shone on him that Xander could now see that it was Jeremy, the doctor from the sex club. He seemed to be smiling into the doorway as he backed slowly away.

Spike stepped into the doorway, shirtless, looking rumpled and languid. He called a goodnight after Jeremy and then stood there for a moment as if frozen, frowning slightly. Then he turned his head and looked directly at Xander, as if he'd somehow known he was there.

Well, he couldn't just run away home now, little though he wanted to have this conversation with the obviously post-coital Spike. He dragged his feet as he walked to the crypt. Spike invited him in, but they stayed upstairs.

The top button of Spike's jeans was undone. He hastily grabbed a black button-up shirt off the back of the chair and put it on, but he didn't button it.

Xander felt like a golfball was stuck in his throat, and his heart felt like it had been stomped on by a whole stampede of Bregnis wearing football cleats. He tried to smile. Here I am. Xander the friend guy. "So. You and Jeremy, huh?"

Spike frowned in confusion. "What?" He seemed to see something in Xander's expression, though, and his eyebrows went up. "What? No! Nothing like that."

"No, I…sometimes I help out at the blood bank. Keep an eye out for other vamps, that sort of thing. And they don't seem to mind if a bit of the stock goes walkabout when I'm around. Haven't been by the blood bank lately, so Jeremy was…concerned."

"So you just sat around and chatted about blood?" With your pants undone and your shirt off.

Spike frowned. "He brought me a couple of pints. Interrupted me when I was about to get better acquainted with my left hand, if you must know. What's it to you, Xander?"

Right. Right. What's it to me? It wasn't like we swore undying love to each other or anything. We just agreed to be friends again. With no hitting and no lying. Just…non-hitting, non-lying friends. Right.

Xander looked down. The crypt floor was surprisingly clean. He tried to picture Spike with a broom, merrily keeping everything tidy, and it just didn't work. Maybe he had secret minions to do his housework. Like the shoemaker's elves. Except evil.

Except he's not so evil anymore. Not really evil at all, actually. Well, mostly. And we never said we weren't going to be more than friends. There wasn't actually a friends-only clause to the bargain. So…there's no reason not to…might as well…

Leaning against the wall, Xander asked casually – or at least he hoped it sounded casual, even though his heart was beating like he'd been running laps – "You been keeping an eye on The Majestic?"

Spike tilted his head as if in surprised curiosity. "Can't say that I have." He didn't say why, but it hung there in the air between them, unspoken: It was something we always did together.

Xander nodded nervously. This had all seemed very suave and easy when he practiced it at home, but now it seemed like a huge risk, and he was a little afraid. He licked his lips and said, "The place is probably overrun with vamps by now."

Xander's palms were sweating. He was sure of it. Very suave. "Yeah. So…you want to?"

Spike didn't nod this time. He just watched Xander's eyes, just staring right at him, and then he smiled, just a little bit, and said, "Yeah, all right."

They dusted four vamps before the movie even started. Then Spike got up and said, "Be right back."

Xander shrugged and put his feet on the chair in front of him, waiting for Bride of Frankenstein to start, but still keeping an eye out for the demon contingent.

Spike plopped down into the seat next to him and tossed a box into Xander's lap. Xander looked down. Then he looked at Spike, who was opening a box of Red Hots.

During the movie, Spike's knee slid over to rest against Xander's, and it was more intimate than anything they'd ever done when they were naked.

Five weeks and three days later, everything was going fine. They were friends again. They patrolled like usual, hung out with the gang, went to the Majestic on Friday nights, joked around, had a few beers…things were normal.

They never mentioned any of the sex stuff. Any time Xander tried to bring it up, tried to talk about all that complicated stuff that happened – all the more-than-just-friends stuff, all the misunderstandings and things that were said and the blood at the club and all of it – Spike abruptly changed the subject. And if Xander tried to change the subject back again, Spike almost invariably stalked off into the night without a word. And if for some reason leaving wasn't an option, he just went absolutely silent. Deaf and dumb and…invisible.

So they were just Spike and Xander, demon-fighting buddies. Just like before. That's all.

Like sometimes he caught Spike looking at him, and it didn't look like friendship.

Like Xander kept seeing Spike hiding behind that telephone pole across the street from the apartment. At first, he thought he was imagining things, but when it continued to happen, he just started wondering why Spike was hanging around.

Is he protecting me against some Xanderifying beastie that's secretly out to get me? Is he spying on me through the windows with some kind of telescopic vamp-o-vision? Is he making sure I don't leave the house, like some kind of weird long-distance prison guard?

But the one time Xander finally lost patience and went outside to ask Spike what the hell he was doing there and why didn't he at least come in for a beer, he got across the street and no one was there.

Xander showed up for video night a little early, hoping Spike might be there already. Yeah, they were doing the just-friends thing, but still…being around Spike never stopped making him all tingly, with the fast heartbeat and the tendency toward goofy smiles. Such a dork. But he couldn't help it.

Xander'd been looking forward all day to just sitting next to Spike on the couch.

But Spike wasn't sprawled on the living room sofa the way Xander had imagined he'd be. Tara and Willow were snuggled up together, kissing, so Xander discreetly kept walking, taking his six-pack of beer into the kitchen and putting it in the fridge.

He heard quiet voices from the open back door, so he walked over there to see what was going on. Spike and Dawn were sitting on the back steps, facing away from him, looking out over the darkened back yard.

Spike sounded tired. "Not really in the market, Bit. Been burned too many times."

Dawn had a grin in her voice. She'd probably just been yanking his chain, like always. "Well, so you two were together for ages. So that must have been okay."

"Yeah, well, she was off her nut. Didn't know who I was half the time. I took care of her, more like. And, anyway, she left."

Xander heard the unspoken end of that sentence, even if Dawn didn't. Left me, it said. Didn't just leave…left me. And, not for the first time, Xander found himself wondering if Spike was actually afraid. Afraid that Xander wouldn't love him, like Drusilla and Cecily and Buffy. Afraid that Xander might leave him, like Drusilla and Cecily and Buffy. Afraid that Xander might hurt him, like…well, you get the picture.

Certain sentences he'd read in Spike's journal had continued to bounce around in his brain for the past five weeks and three days, and he wasn't sure if he was twisting them into what he wanted them to mean, or if he was actually right. It made him hesitant to act on what he thought he understood. What if he was wrong? He really didn't want to mess things up with Spike again. It was a miracle they'd been able to get back to friendship, after everything that happened. He didn't want to end it permanently by making assumptions and acting like a moron.

Damn. I guess he missed the noise I made at the fridge, but now I know he heard me. He knows I'm listening like some kind of eavesdropping stalker guy.

But Dawn just kept talking to Spike, oblivious. "You can't just be alone forever. You need to make an effort. Go out and meet people!"

Now that he'd been found out, Xander figured he might as well join the conversation. He tried to put on his jokey face, despite the fact that the topic of conversation made his heart hurt and his stomach tighten up into a little ball of NO NO NO. "Did I just hear you encouraging Spike to go out and eat people?" he quipped.

Both Spike and Dawn turned to look up at him framed in the doorway. The kitchen light shone on their faces, making them glow bright and warm against the darkness of the grass and trees behind them.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Meet people! And you, too! You guys need to go out and find yourselves a couple of hot babes. Go to the single bars or something."

Looking back at Dawn, Xander raised his eyebrows. "Single bars? Didn't those go out with the 70s? And anyway, I'm not going cruising for chicks with Spike. Nobody'd give me a second look with him in the room."

Another quick glance between the two of them, this time with Spike holding the gaze a little longer before his eyes slipped away.

Dawn was grinning up at him. "What are you talking about? You're totally hot, Xander! You've got that tall, dark, and handsome thing. Plus all the muscles. Girls would be falling all over you!"

"Oh, you've got that sexy slim-hipped, wiry, dangerous thing going on. Sort of a punkish rough-trade rent-boy kind of thing." She smirked.

Xander put on his parent face and asked sternly, "Where the dickens are you learning stuff like that, young lady?"

Dawn rolled her eyes again. "Hey, I do watch HBO, you know. I'm not a complete cultural ignoramus."

Xander grinned at him. "Well, it has been a while since you've seen yourself in the mirror. Maybe you don't really remember."

Spike looked up from his seat on the steps, and his eyes were not happy. Apparently the prospect of looking like a "rough-trade rent-boy" actually bothered him.

Xander shrugged. "I can't argue with her about the 'sexy slim- hipped, wiry, dangerous' thing…but you've never struck me as being particularly rough-tradey or rent-boyish. And, anyway, I think it would have to be rent-vamp. You're definitely not a boy."

Spike's eyes this time were hot and intense, and he didn't look away at all. In fact, it was Xander who flushed and turned around, suddenly noticing that Dawn had snuck past him when he wasn't paying attention. He could hear her talking and laughing behind him in the kitchen.

When Xander looked back at Spike again, those blue eyes were back to normal. Shields up at full power. Spike stood and said calmly, eyes averted, "We should be getting inside. Girls'll be wanting to start the film."

Xander nodded vaguely and stepped aside, but didn't move out of the doorway. His heart was beating hard and he licked his lips. Spike walked close to him, moving to go into the house, and suddenly he was so close…so close…then trying to squeeze past him through the doorway…and Xander brought his hands up, braced them on the doorjam on either side of Spike's head, and Spike turned to look at him, brows drawn together in confusion, and Xander leaned into him, pressed his body against the length of Spike's, pressed his lips against Spike's lips and just…kissed him.

Five weeks and three days of nervous glances and thwarted attempts to talk and Snowcaps and wondering and now Xander was just tossing it all up into the air and he had no idea how the pieces were going to fit together again when they landed, but he couldn't just do nothing. Couldn't just keep doing nothing. And Spike's eyes…Spike's eyes when he was sitting on the steps…looking up at him…so dark and…wanting…

But Spike really wasn't kissing back. And this started to seem like it had been a really bad idea and oh fuck this was going to ruin everything and they wouldn't even be friends anymore and Spike was going to just push him away, push him down the stairs and wipe his mouth and say, "What the fuck was that about?"

Spike's lips softened, relaxed, and though they weren't quite kissing him back…they weren't discouraging him, either.

Soft. Soft. Xander kissed him gently, hands coming up to cup Spike's face, to hold him there while he kissed him again and again. They hadn't done this before, this softness, not like this, and he wanted Spike to see…to know…it wasn't just friendship…and it wasn't just sex…

And then Spike's lips parted slightly and he was kissing back, still so soft, so very very soft, lips slow and soft, pressing together and it was more than Xander had hoped, more than he'd dared to hope, because it was perfect.

But then Spike abruptly pushed him away, staring at him with dark, suspicious, hurting eyes. Hurting. Xander hadn't meant to do that. But before he could even open his mouth to say anything, Spike just lunged at him, pressing him hard up against the other side of the doorframe, the impact sending the door crashing open against the wall inside the kitchen, Spike's mouth colliding with his hard enough to make their teeth clack together and Xander wondered if his lip might be bleeding, but Spike's tongue was in his mouth, Spike's hands roving his body, clutching at him, grabbing at him in some kind of unexpected desperation, and so Xander just went with it. Because it was so fucking good.

When Spike pulled away again, Xander felt a little dazed, sort of like he'd been hit by a very grabby, tongue-thrusting train.

"Not really in the mood for a video tonight," Spike said, and he sounded kind of hoarse.

Xander's own voice was embarrassingly breathy when he replied, "Yeah, me neither."

When they made their apologies, the girls were suspiciously friendly, all warm smiles, and Dawn kept giggling while Willow elbowed her to keep quiet. Xander had a vague memory that there might have been girls in the kitchen before the whole kissing-in-the-doorway thing first started, but he couldn't seem to make himself care.

After they'd closed the door behind them and were standing on the front steps, Spike turned to him and said, "Think the secret's out, pet." And Xander smiled like he'd just won the lottery.

When they got to the apartment, as soon as the door was closed Xander moved in for more kissing, but Spike backed away.

Xander frowned. "No. Spike, it…it was never about that." At Spike's arch look, he admitted ruefully, "Hey, don't get me wrong, that stuff is fun and all, but…that wasn't what I wanted, specifically."

Spike just nodded, a sharp jerk of the head like his neck was made of some unmovable stuff that didn't bend easily. Rebar, maybe.

Yeah, okay, so he needs to hear it. I can do that, right? I mean, he isn't going to laugh or anything. At least, I don't think he is. What if he points and laughs? What if I say too much and he doesn't want emotional complications and he leaves? What if I don't say enough and he gets offended and leaves? What if I don't say anything and he gets impatient and leaves? What if I…

Spike's face was closing up, going blank. He was doing that invisible thing again, and Xander hated when he did that. So he just started talking.

"Spike, during the time loop, I…well, I kind of got used to seeing you naked and…you know, us doing the wild monkey sex thing. But when it was all over, you didn't remember any of that stuff, and I knew you'd freak if I said anything, because during the time loop you said I was treating you like a whore, and I didn't want to treat you like a whore, or for you to think I was treating you like a whore, so I just…I wanted us to be friends first. Does that sound really stupid?"

Spike didn't respond, but he was very still. Xander chose to assume that he was listening.

"But the whole time we were friends, I was…god, Spike…I was wanting more. I was wanting you. I was putting sex toys inside me and imagining that it was you." Xander could feel that his face was blushing red as a fire engine now, but he kept going anyway, because apparently Spike needed to know this stuff, needed to hear this stuff. "I was…I was jacking off in the shower and saying your name when I came. I wanted to be friends with you, because I wanted you to know that I really do like you, as a friend, as a person or vamp or whatever. But I also want more than that. And I wasn't sure if you would want more than that, and so I didn't want to just jump on you or something and totally ruin our friendship. But then I did that anyway, by not telling you."

Xander grit his teeth to keep from roaring in frustration. "No," he said in his calmest, most patient voice. "No, Spike, it's more than that."

Spike just watched him, disbelieving, chin tilted up in that way that said, "Yeah, right. Go ahead and mock me, you bastard." He looked like he was waiting for the humiliating punch line. Then he turned his head and looked at the front door like it was going to do a dance or something. So fucking fascinating.

Spike didn't respond. Didn't even look at him. In the silence, the words suddenly sounded really stupid. In his head, they'd sounded better, not so All My Children. Now he felt stupid. And he was feeling stupider the longer Spike just sat there like a big bleached- blond bump on a log.

Spike looked up then, frowning, staring at Xander as if he'd said something completely incomprehensible. His voice was harsh and cynical when he replied, "Said the same thing to Anya, now didn't you? And look how that turned out."

Ouch. A hit. A very palpable hit. But he'd already thought this one through, so he knew what to say. He didn't know if Spike would believe him, since he seemed to be pretty stubborn that way, but he could at least try to explain.

"You know, you might not remember this, but during the time-loop I told you that I sort of envied you for being able to fall in love."

Spike looked away again. "Nothing to envy, there. Never brought me anything but misery."

"But, see, I wasn't even sure if I could. Love somebody, I mean. The closest I ever came was with Anya, but that was mostly…I just…I did what seemed right, you know? I wasn't even really interested in her, but she…well, she chased me, I guess. Finally just dropped her clothes and…well, you know, I wanted to have sex. But I didn't want to have sex with her, in particular. I just wanted to have sex, and she was offering. And then she wanted to be my girlfriend, so that sort of happened, too. And then after a while it made sense to move in together. And then the next step was to get married. But I was just doing all this stuff because it seemed like the way things were supposed to go. Like I'd seen it so many times on TV that I knew the script."

Now that he was talking, the words just wouldn't stop. It was like a river, carrying him along toward something, something that might be good or might be bad, but was absolutely inevitable. He had to get it all out. Tell the truth. All of it. Whether Spike wanted to hear it or not. Whether it helped or not. Just because it was true.

"I was never in love with Anya. She's great, but when it came to the whole marriage and kids deal, I just knew I couldn't do it. Because I'd been acting out a part, you know? Just going with the script. Saying the right things, doing the right things, but not…not feeling it. I guess I could've gone that route and kept up the act forever…but…it just didn't seem right. Not fair to Anya…and not fair to me."

Xander came to an abrupt halt. He really wasn't sure what to say next, as if the words had just dried up and there weren't any left inside him. He just stared at Spike, willing him to understand. He'd talked so much tonight that he didn't really know what else to say. He was all talked out.

And then he realized that there was one more thing he should say. And then he'd be done.

"Now, see, this" – he pointed at himself, then at Spike, then himself again – "this isn't part of the script. You're not part of the script. You…when I'm with you, it's because I want to be. It's because it's about you, and not about anything else." Xander shook his head and smiled, a little embarrassed. "When I'm with you I can't think about anything else. Sounds stupid, huh?"

There was that silence again, Spike still not looking at him, and it looked like nothing he'd said had made a difference, but then Spike turned to look at him, and his face was open and vulnerable and there was something shining in his eyes, and he pulled Xander to him, roughly, in a sort of awkward embrace. "Doesn't sound stupid," Spike said, and then there was finally – finally! – more kissing.

Spike was all soft touches and vulnerable eyes, cocky defenses having simply dropped in a way Xander had never seen except after the club, after the blood. And, in a way, that made sense, because the blood had been a symbol of love, in a way, until everything went wrong.

Spike looked shell-shocked, stroking Xander's skin as if he'd never seen anything so wonderful. Somewhere along the way, they'd both lost their shirts, and Spike had him flat on the carpet, had him trapped, straddling his hips, a knee on either side, his ass occasionally lowering to brush against Xander's groin in a way that was a probably- intentional tease. Spike leaned over him, smooth hands running slowly along Xander's chest, up to his shoulders, down his arms.

Bracing himself on his hands, Spike leaned even closer, kissing Xander gently on the lips, then on the side of his neck, on the curve of a pectoral muscle, on that slightly hollowed spot between chest and belly. Xander lay helpless beneath such a tender onslaught. He'd never expected this.

I probably should have, though. I saw how he was with Buffy, how sweet he was when she let him, when she wasn't pushing him away or punching him in the face. I always thought he was pathetic, wearing his heart on his sleeve like that, letting everything show on his face when she just wanted him to go away. Then getting all gruff and proud and snarky when his feelings were hurt. I saw how he was. I saw his face. I should have known he'd be like this.

Spike pressed a kiss to Xander's other pectoral muscle and then raised up to look at him, just looking at him for a minute. Then, "Say it again." Spike's face was serious, his eyes still watching Xander intently for…something. Xander didn't know what. But he was pretty sure he knew what Spike wanted him to say.

Spike stared at him a long time, gaze shifting slightly back and forth to examine Xander's eyes deeply. Xander just looked back at him. He'd already come clean and had nothing to hide.

Spike finally blinked and looked a little confused but mostly awed. "Never had somebody say that to me before."

Xander grinned. "Oh, please. In over a hundred years of looking like that, you've never had groupies?"

"Hey, hey," Xander reached out, clutched an arm and the side of Spike's waist, pulled him back down, shaking his head and saying, "It's okay. Just…c'mere." And a smile.

Come on. You don't have to say it. I'm not going to twist your arm or anything. But don't pull an Angel on me and get all broody and go stalking off into the night with your coat billowing behind you. Because…that? Already been done. Done and old and tired. Let's do this instead. Because it is so very very not-tired. Wide awake, in fact. All body parts alert and interested.

Spike let himself be easily coaxed back, almost as if he hadn't really wanted to leave in the first place. Xander twined arms around him, arms that looked very brown against Spike's pale skin, very muscular against Spike's wiry frame. But Spike didn't look small, not really, because almost immediately he was pinning Xander to the floor again, hands pushing on Xander's shoulders to hold him down a moment as he smirked like sex personified. "All right then. Be a good boy and lie still."

The sound of the zipper was unexpectedly loud. And then Spike's hand was sliding inside to cup Xander's cock through his boxers. He'd been mostly hard already, but now he could feel his dick twitch and grow in Spike's grasp.

Don't move. Don't move. Spike said to hold still, and if I don't hold still he might stop what he's doing and I so do not want him to stop what he's doing…

But then Spike was shifting around, and told Xander to lift up a bit, and then there was Xandery nakedness. And a moment later there was Spike nakedness, as well. And then Spike was back on the floor, back straddling Xander's hips, hands on Xander's skin, one hand returning to Xander's cock, while Spike's own dick pressed almost flat against his pale belly.

Xander reached up a hand, leaned up a bit, reaching out, but Spike pushed him flat again. "Later," he growled. And then he was pressing hard, biting kisses along the side of Xander's neck, down across his chest, lingering to suck a nipple a moment before biting just enough to have Xander arching off the floor with a gasp.

The position – Xander lying flat on the floor while Spike crouched above him, pressing mouth to flesh – was so much like what they'd done at the club that it brought all the intense emotions of that scene flooding back. Xander remembered the look in Spike's eyes, and it wasn't all that different from now.

Spike's tongue on his dick, just circling the head. Then a slow slide down until Xander's dick was all the way inside Spike's mouth.

Xander clutched at the carpet, but it didn't have any give, so coarse fibers ripped and came loose in his hands.

Xander closed his eyes and tried not to come, tried not to hyperventilate, tried not to pass out. It wasn't the technique – which was good, sure, but Anya'd been good too – it was the complete shock. He'd never expected Spike to…Spike had always been the one with the power. The Master Vampire. The arrogant bastard who said, "Get on your knees and suck me off."

Spike pulled back a bit and looked up the length of Xander's body. His eyebrows were lowered a bit, his face wary. "Why?"

Xander reached out toward him again – hooking his hands around Spike's arms, pulling him up so that he lay full-length on top of Xander's body, their cocks angling awkwardly for a moment but then nestled side-by-side – and explained breathlessly, "Because if you didn't stop I was going to come." And then he kissed Spike, long and slow and thorough, wanting to thank him but knowing he couldn't do so with words or Spike would pull away. So he just kissed him, letting his hands roam the muscled planes of Spike's back, the skin so smooth and unblemished, the shoulder blades so sharp in his slender frame, the nape of his neck so soft and vulnerable.

And Spike kissed him back, their tongues stroking against each other in thrusts and parries and lingering caresses. As the kiss grew deeper and harder, Spike braced his hands on the carpet and began to move, rubbing their bodies together, rubbing their cocks against each other. Without any lube, it was almost painful – could get to be painful after a while – but for the moment Xander couldn't help but grasp Spike by the buttocks and grind up against him, making them both groan.

"Get the slick, yeah?" Spike's voice was low as he lifted off to give Xander room to move.

Right. Not nervous about this. Just because last time it ended with me getting my head bashed in, and the only other time was during the time loop when Spike thought I was treating him like a whore and it was all surrounded by me getting my throat slit and him getting dusted and…okay…yeah…so we don't have a great track record when it comes to the whole full-on anal sex thing. But, yeah, not nervous. Okay, maybe just a little. A little nervous. "Nervo," perhaps. Or maybe "ner." Maybe even "ne." I am the gay knight who says "ne."

But Spike was watching him expectantly, so Xander obediently jumped up, and Spike fell back onto the carpet in a pose that would have looked ridiculously contrived on anyone else. One knee bent, the other leg extended, resting back on his elbows. Most people would've looked like they were trying to be sexy. Spike just looked sexy. And his cock was long and smooth and hard. Xander hurried back with the lube.

Then in a fluid movement, Spike was rolling over, onto his stomach, body undulating slightly, hips raised a bit off the ground. "Want you to fuck me," he said into the arm that was folded under his face.

Xander stood, dumbfounded. "Me?" Okay, that sounded kind of squeaky and not at all sexy. But he had sort of assumed that Spike would…

Spike turned his head so he could send a sidelong glance in Xander's direction. "Figure with all those months to think about it, you've probably got a good idea of what to do, yeah?"

Xander was still frozen in place, standing naked in his living room with a bottle of lube in his hand, staring at a naked Spike on the floor. It was like some really bizarre tableau. Still life with lubricant. "Uh…actually…I pretty much always thought about you being the one doing the doing. I mean, during the time loop…" He knew he was talking too fast. And Spike was lying there alone and naked on the floor, and if it was Xander there he'd be feeling really embarrassed, but Spike doesn't get embarrassed.

But then Spike was moving again, starting to roll – oh those muscles! – starting to sit up, and that got Xander rushing forward. Spike muttered, "If you don't want to…"

Xander caught him before he'd had time to move much, caught him as he rolled onto his side, and pressed their bodies together, his front to Spike's back, arms going around that slender body to touch and grasp. He stroked Spike's cock once, just once, with a squeeze, and his voice was husky when he said, "I want to. I definitely want to." And Spike rolled easily onto his stomach again, arching his back a bit to rub his ass against Xander's dick.

"Well, then." Spike didn't say anything more, but his tone seemed to indicate some kind of permission. Some kind of difference from the way things had been before. Some kind of blessing and urging for Xander to do whatever he wanted, rather than following orders. Like he was saying, "Go ahead."

Like maybe Spike wanted to see what Xander would do, if he wasn't ordered around.

Xander leaned down to lay a kiss between Spike's shoulder blades, and Spike went completely still beneath him. Then he trailed a finger along Spike's spine, feeling the subtle bumps of the vertebrae, down and down Spike's back until he reached the little dip that signaled the start of the crack of Spike's ass, and then down further.

He heard Spike breathe sharply, slim hips lifting slightly higher as if he was trying to help, trying to give Xander better access.

Brushing a finger softly against Spike's hole, watching the muscles in that pale back bunch and roll in reaction, Xander said hesitantly, "I know I should probably do other stuff…foreplay stuff…"

Spike made a sound that was sort of like a laugh, then replied huskily, "Can do the whole song and dance another time. Right now, I just want you to fuck me."

The lube was cold on his fingers, so he rubbed them together to try to warm it up. He wasn't sure if Spike would really care, but cold lube just seemed…rude. Inconsiderate. When it seemed sufficiently warm, he slid his lubey right hand down between Spike's cheeks. Making a small noise in his throat, Spike spread his legs a bit to make it easier.

The whole lubing up process was pretty familiar, since he'd done it to himself plenty of times, but Spike's little jerks and noises of reaction made it a hell of a lot more exciting. Wanting to touch more, Xander slid his body up, hand still busy down below, and pressed a kiss to the back of Spike's neck. Spike made a little noise and moved his head forward so that his nape was fully exposed.

Xander leaned in and bit. Not hard. Just a little bite, really. But Spike bucked and hissed, "Harder." So Xander bit the back of Spike's neck again, harder this time, not hard enough to draw blood, but maybe enough to leave a mark, even on a vampire, and Spike started actually growling.

Spike pressed his ass back onto Xander's fingers more insistently. "It's an order."

Xander grinned at that. "You don't get to give me orders tonight. In fact, maybe I should be giving the orders."

Suddenly the nerves were back. This really hadn't gone well in the past. And it wasn't like Xander's fantasies at all. He pulled his fingers out of Spike's body and hesitated.

Xander nodded, not saying anything. Okay. Whatever. Not like I'm disappointed. Much.

But then Spike was rolling over onto his back with an amused smile. "You'll want a pillow. Something firm."

Xander nodded again, a little nervous, and looked around. He got up and fetched one of the couch pillows. "Will this work?"

Spike just grinned. "Slide it under my bum." And after a bit of wiggling he said, "This should do us all right."

And then Spike was all spread out in front of him and he couldn't help it. "Wait. There's something I have to do."

He trailed his hands along Spike's stomach muscles, feeling them twitch and tremble subtly at his touch. Then he leaned over, over Spike's flat stomach, over those well-defined abs, and he leaned down and bit, not hard, just enough to test the firmness of the muscle, just enough to feel the sensation of the skin in his teeth, just enough to make Spike jerk and yelp, "Christ!"

Xander looked up into Spike's face and grinned. "I've been wanting to do that since the time loop." Spike looked dazed, all wide eyes and parted lips. A shiver ran through him, and Xander could feel it.

It seemed like the right time, so Xander put some lube on his dick – argh! cold! – and lined himself up. He thrust slowly.

Embarrassed, Xander tried to line up again, but he overcompensated and this thrust went awry the other direction, sending his cock sliding up to nudge behind Spike's balls.

Spike just reached down a hand and grasped Xander's dick around the base, helping him line up. Xander thrust.

"Fuck! Am I supposed to say 'Open sesame' or something? Are you doing this on purpose?"

Xander was having trouble computing that, but then his brain wasn't functioning at its best right now. "Well, you know about stuff…"

"Yeah, well, seen a lot in my time. Doesn't necessarily mean I tried it all myself."

"Right answer," Spike said, his face immediately losing that blank look, and kissed him. And this time, whether it was because he was more relaxed or whether it was because he'd figured it out after a few tries or whether it was just chance, Xander thrust…and slid inside.

The first few thrusts were shallow, slow, and careful. He didn't want to hurt Spike by going too fast, but he also didn't want to slip out and have another embarrassing misdirection. He was frowning and trying to make sure he was doing it right, when Spike said dryly, "Bloody hell, Xander. It's not calculus."

He looked at Spike's face, and the smirk there made him relax again. He stretched to kiss Spike at the same time that he thrust again, a little harder this time, sliding further inside. It was tight and it was Spike and he just wanted to hammer away until they both came their brains out, but he didn't want Spike to feel like he was being used. Didn't want him to feel like he was being treated like a whore. But the kiss turned nasty and carnal and wonderful and Xander didn't even realize he'd been speeding up his thrusts until Spike broke away from the kiss to let his head fall back onto the floor, gasping, "Oh, fuck yeah!"

Licking his lips, Xander kept up the faster pace, bracing himself with one hand on the floor so that he could reach the other down to stroke Spike's cock, making Spike buck again with a groan.

They fell into a sort of rhythm, with Spike writhing beneath him, fucking himself on Xander's cock at the same time that Xander was fucking himself into Spike's ass. Spike alternated between scrabbling against the floor, trying to get leverage, and grasping at Xander's arms and shoulders, muttering and growling and cursing. "Harder…oh god…like that…just like that…yeah…oh fuck…"

Xander lasted longer than he'd thought he would, probably because he was so focused on Spike's face, Spike's cock, Spike's litany of curses and praises. When he felt Spike's cock begin to throb in his hand, felt the telltale pulse, and then felt the thick liquid on his fingers, he hadn't even realized how close he was himself. With a few more rough thrusts, he groaned and came.

Not wanting to crush Spike, he rolled over and lay beside him on the floor, trying to catch his breath. He stared at the stucco ceiling. Tiny stalagmites of death, waiting to fall and impale his naked, sweaty body. Whoever invented stucco was some kind of sadistic freak.

When his heart was beating close to normal and he could talk without panting, Xander turned to look at Spike, whose eyes were closed.

"Hey," Xander said gently. "Don't fall asleep on the floor. The least I can do is offer you a bed."

Spike opened his eyes and turned to look at him a moment before nodding once and saying, "All right."

They made it to the bed and Spike climbed beneath the blankets, clasping his hands behind his head and getting comfortable. Xander started to climb in, but after he sat down on the mattress he suddenly realized how thirsty he was. Post-sex beverage…always a plus.

Xander turned to get up, but heard Spike from behind him, quiet. "Used to find it easy to say, you know."

Xander started to say, "Easy to say what?" but that would be stupid, because he was pretty sure he knew. So he just sat there, still facing away as if he was giving Spike some strange kind of privacy.

"Even with Buffy, even when she hated me, I was saying it all the time. Easy as pie. Now, though…it's not so easy."

Xander turned around then and asked gently, "Because of what happened to Buffy?" But Spike shook his head, so Xander tried again. "Because of how messed up things were with you and me?" Spike shook his head again. Xander started to get frustrated. "Because you've gone mute and decided to become a mime?"

"There's more at risk, now isn't there?" It wasn't really a question. So Xander didn't reply. He just waited. Eventually, Spike added quietly, "If it isn't mutual, you've got nothing…so you've got nothing to lose."

Xander didn't know what to say to that, because it was sort of true, in a Spike-logic sort of way. They just watched each other for a few seconds, and then Spike smiled a very small, very sweet smile, and said, "Could use that drink of water, pet."

Xander nodded and smiled and tried to send some kind of message with his eyes, but he wasn't sure what it was. Something to do with reassurance or hope or maybe shared nervousness. He was feeling such a jumble that he wasn't sure what Spike might see on his face, but he wasn't going to try to hide.

When Spike smiled a bit wider and nudged him, Xander nodded and chuckled and said, "Right. Water. Coming right up." And he got up and walked naked to the kitchen.

As he filled a tall glass with tap water and then took a long drink, he found himself looking at the refrigerator door. Among all the take- out menus and to-do lists and random magnets, there was an obvious blank space. The postcard was gone…he didn't even remember what had happened to it. Maybe Spike took it? It didn't matter, really. He refilled the glass from the tap, then rearranged the spare magnets on the fridge to form an X in the blank space. X is for Xander. X marks the spot.

When he got back to the bedroom, Spike was still sprawled on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, snoring quietly with the blankets covering him only to the waist. How can someone so defensive fall asleep so quickly? He had angry pink rug burns on his elbows, and probably in a few other places Xander couldn't see at the moment.

Xander put the glass of water on the bedside table and climbed carefully into the bed, trying not to jiggle the mattress too much. Spike didn't stir. He pulled the blankets over himself and just watched Spike for a minute, so relaxed and vulnerable in sleep.

After a little while, Xander turned off the light and rolled over on his side. One of his knees touched Spike's knee under the covers, and stayed there. And then he fell asleep.

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Late Night Double Feature

by Kimberly A

Copyright © 2006

kimberly_a@livejournal.com