All Bets Are Off
Spike cast a bored, black-outlined eye at the dancing teenagers and college students, the couples making out in the back in booths shrouded with mood lighting and fake plants to obscure most of what they were doing, the waitresses and bartenders working like mad to keep up with orders -- and to earn tips by flirting and overdoing the 'service with a smile' cliche.
He found Wesley and Angel, the twats who'd put him up to this in the first place. One eyebrow rose as he saw something unexpected and his fingers tapped against his beer; they weren't how he'd left them.
He'd gone off alone, as per the conditions of this dare, and was now at a table toward the outer edge of the gyrating mass of bodies on the dance floor and he'd left them drinking what appeared to be their combined weight in alcohol.
He knew Wesley was in love with the wanker with the stupid standing-up-hair, but he hadn't known Angel returned the feelings.
They were in one of the make-out booths, well, making out. Hands like tentacles all over each others' bodies, Wesley nearly on Angel's lap and Angel didn't seem to mind Wesley's tongue in his mouth as a hand trailed up underneath the shirt Wesley was wearing to alternately caress his bare back then shift down to cup his ass possessively. They were both very hard -- even Spike could see that in the darkness.
Spike blinked, scowled, rolled his eyes and pushed back some hair that had fallen across his cheek, as had become his habit since donning this...ensemble. It itched and was making him sweat a lot.
He hoped he didn't look like a sweaty freak. He certainly felt as if he were attracting enough attention as it was without that to worry about too.
He would come up with something appropriately humiliating and emasculating to dare them to do later but for now he would do his dare and remember this night as the night he really proved himself to be a stand-up guy who didn't welch on promises, even ones made after consuming copious amounts of alcohol.
He hated being that type.
He could've easily gotten out of the dare if he hadn't been who he was. The two groping twins in the corner hadn't really even remembered what had happened that night.
His beer was getting warm but even that couldn't save the horse piss Americans called beer that was being inflicted upon him. He rubbed the perspiring bottle with a black-tipped nail and scooted it across the table in the ring of condensation that had formed.
He was bored. He didn't normally get bored at clubs but this time was a major exception.
He couldn't play darts, he couldn't dance or pick up women and/or men, he couldn't play billiards, he couldn't even go to the ruddy loo!
Simple, really. The dare.
He couldn't do any of that because he wasn't himself at the moment.
The dare Angel and Wesley had issued -- after little thought, which was very suspicious in the first place -- when they'd all been drinking vast quantities of liquor that, surprisingly, didn't end with someone having to be taken to the emergency room for alcohol poisoning and having their stomach pumped.
They'd been playing that drinking game. You know the one.
Every time Scully was skeptical about one of Mulder's theories, you took a drink. Every time Mulder got in trouble and/or kidnapped, you took a drink. Every time Scully gave Mulder longing glances but never did anything to get Mulder to tap her ass, you took a drink. Every time they had to rent a car, you took a drink. Every time they had to fly somewhere, you took a drink. Every time Mulder claimed aliens were involved in something, you took a drink.
Spike thought Wesley had a crush on David Duchovny because it had been his X-Files dvds they'd been watching -- he had the entire series up to the season Duchovny left the show, as Wesley had so intently explained to a very uncaring Spike, on dvd stacked in chronological order on a shelf near the player.
Needless to say, by the time the episode they'd been watching was half over they were all thoroughly drunk and that was when the dare came in.
Angel had made a mention of how pretty Spike would be if he shaved his legs and put on silk stockings. That Spike had the kind of muscular yet lean physique that made him kind of androgynous and mysteriously beautiful, though not in those particular words because who could say 'androgynous' when they were pissed out of their skull? Especially a guy like Angel.
After Spike had nearly swallowed his tongue and spat whisky out all over the place, he'd wiped his mouth and stared because that was way off topic and he'd never expected such a thing to come out of Angel's mouth, sober or drunk.
And Angel had continued, Wesley at his side and offering suggestions and topping off his glass helpfully.
By the time Angel and Wesley were through, after Spike had been goaded into accepting the dare or be branded a pansy-assed pussy forever, there was a long list of items they had named off that they would like to see Spike wear.
Between the two, Angel and Wesley had everything they needed to dress Spike up and didn't have to go out and buy or borrow anything.
Spike? Really didn't want to know how they got all of that stuff or what they did with it on their own time. All he could think of -- to his absolute horror -- was Angel dressed up like an ugly woman, parading around in front of the mirror lip-syncing to Madonna, shaking his ass and doing choreography from some of her more explicit performances, or Wesley dolling himself up and secretly going out and turning tricks as a transvestite.
Silk stockings. Matching bra and panties, scarlet red in colour. Razor and shaving foam for face, legs, armpits, chest. Lipstick: fire engine red. Long, curly blond wig. Tight little black dress that just happened to be about Spike's size -- he'd raised an eyebrow at that one. Little black purse that looked hardly big enough to fit a wallet, much less all the crap he knew women needed. High-heeled pumps at least three inches tall in roughly Spike's size. Make-up, and lots of it.
If he was going to do it, he had to do it right. So saideth the drunk twins hanging all over each other, giggling and slopping liquor everywhere.
Wesley was an expert at putting on and removing make-up and it was then Spike realised the dress probably would've fit Wesley, too, though it would've been indecently short.
Maybe the late night moonlighting as a transvestite hooker theory wasn't so far fetched, after all.
Angel had helped apply the wig, brushed and gelled it almost lovingly; not a big surprise, just a really fucking weird one.
Angel had handed him a razor and shaving foam and told him to get shaving. Spike had stared at him, pursed his red, red lips and narrowed his kohl-lined eyes.
Angel had shrugged and told him he could welch on the dare...and be known as the guy you couldn't trust who didn't keep his word -- because Angel and Wesley would definitely spread the word and ruin Spike's reputation. As if the whole situation wouldn't have done that on its own.
Angel knew all the right buttons to push to manipulate Spike into doing what he wanted. Angel had always had that type of mojo, especially with his close friends.
Spike had snarled, snatched the items from Angel's hand and stalked into the bathroom. He'd been nicked and razor burned and blood bespeckled all over, but he was smooth and hairless but for his torso and head by the time he was through. The bathtub had been full of little brown hairs and suds and his blood. The razor had been dull and unusable.
He left the mess to be cleaned by the two wankers in the other room, who he could hear snickering even through the closed door.
He was fascinated by the smooth softness of his skin. After slathering on and rubbing the aloe lotion Angel had provided all over his body, he marveled at the concept of such silky flesh of his own. Normally, he had to get a girl naked to feel this.
He...might just have to try this bit again. Maybe get naked and rub his completely hairless body all over his faux fur comforter, or his silk sheet set.
The skin above his cock was especially sensitive and he had to stop himself rubbing it because he started to get hard.
He put on the bra and panties all by himself -- it was harder putting them on than taking them off, he discovered. Padded the bra with tissues and unfrozen ice packs that made his 'breasts' look almost real and move when his body moved. As real as any bird with fake, silicon knockers looked, anyway. The underwear was tight and squashed his bits but they said that was what it was supposed to do.
It would never do to have someone find out you were a bloke by seeing your goodies make a noticeable lump beneath the dress.
Angel and Wesley both helped him put on the clothing, taking great pride in getting it just right and making sure the fabric fell the right way and it fit correctly and blah blah blah.
Angel copped a feel and Wesley seemed to be fascinated with how the stuffed bra molded underneath the satiny fabric of the dress.
Spike slapped them both across the face and they broke into a fit of giggles never seen before in men their age. They had to hold one another up, they were laughing so hard.
Spike was, frankly, frightened.
The pantyhose itched worse than the wig. He felt like he had bugs crawling from head to toe and periodically reached either up or down to claw at his skin until Wesley tugged his hands away and glared at him drunkenly and told him that ladies didn't behave that way.
Also, he'd pull a run in his stockings and knock his wig loose.
And now he was here at the Bronze, after having been escorted by the boozed up twosome, sitting alone at a table nearly smack dab in the center of the club where everyone could see, and bored out of his effing skull.
His head itched but if he kept scratching everyone would probably think he had lice. He had enough image problems at the moment without people wondering about his hygiene issues.
He reached down to discreetly tug at the dress hem and scratch the inside of his thigh while he was down there.
He got a second beer while the waitress was still around and drank that down slowly, daintily, so he wouldn't smudge his sodding make-up -- Wesley had bitched at him and told him to be careful so he wouldn't ruin the job and Spike did as he was told because he didn't want to look like a psychotic circus clown raccoon as well as a drag queen.
The second beer went empty and he was dying for a fresh one.
He didn't, however, want to get up because the heels killed his feet and he nearly fell on his face every time he stood up. He didn't want to look like an ass trying to walk around in them but then that was probably what Wesley and Angel had wanted in the first place: for him to look foolish and get a laugh in at his expense and perhaps to see him in drag and get a sadistic little thrill out of it.
He didn't know how women did it. The heels were tiny, the tips smaller than his pinky nail, holding all of his weight and he wondered how they didn't just snap in two. Then he decided he didn't care because he was just drunk enough not to.
He was lucky he remembered not to sit with his legs spread wide open like he normally did -- that would've made a lovely picture, he figured. And it would've been obvious that he wasn't really a woman, despite the underwear smooshing his bits in place.
Someone ran into his chair, knocking against his shoulder and nearly sending him flying. He growled a warning underneath his breath and the bloke who hadn't been watching where he was going looked down, ready to make some noise about Spike's being in his way, when he really looked at him.
Spike's eyes narrowed as the teenager's eyes widened and ran down his silk encased legs. He unconsciously crossed them at the ankles and moved them further under the table.
Okay, so he'd admit Angel was right, albeit silently. He had a nice set of legs.
He leaned back against the chair as the stranger moved closer and bent down, laying a hand on his leg, caressing lightly.
"Hello, beautiful," the boy purred, eyelids fluttering in a manner that suggested he thought it was cute and would win him some potential getting laid points.
Spike rolled his eyes and leaned forward close to an ear. "You're not man enough to handle what I've got, you git. Why don't you piss off, then, eh?"
Green eyes widened and the hand on Spike's thigh was snatched away as fast as it could be removed. The boy wiped his hand on his jeans and backed up a pace. "Oh, crap. I'm s-s-sorry."
"I'm sure you are," Spike drawled, suddenly amused and in a slightly better mood.
His would-be suitor stumbled away, hitting at least three people on the dance floor he cut across to get away from the dude he'd thought was the lady.
Spike tried to drink from his empty bottle and scowled once he remembered he was empty. Right. Better get to rectifying that little problem, and quick. He was starting to sober up -- a tiny headache was blooming behind one eye, which usually meant a hang-over was soon on its way -- and that just wasn't right. If he was going to make good on this dare, he was going to keep himself sauced out of his ears.
After a few more minutes of not so patiently waiting, no waitress came take his order, even when he looked around blatantly and tried to attract the attention of one. He decided to chance falling over on those spiffy new heels of his to get another beer.
Christ, he'd never had such trouble getting one of those waitress birds to come over when he was dressed in his normal garb. They were usually falling all over each other to get to him.
He was never taking that for granted again.
He clutched his little sequined purse to his stomach and toddled away from his lonely little table toward the bar. Surprisingly, once he arrived -- after tripping and slipping, nearly breaking an ankle and twisting his knee and crashing into people who he smiled at and got past without so much as an insult; it paid to be pretty -- there weren't many at the bar. The rush had ended.
All the better for him.
He slid up to the bar, negotiated his way onto a stool and hooked his heels over the rung beneath it so he wouldn't slip off. He kept his legs together and pressed the skirt of the dress under his thighs, trying to keep himself decent and his secrets to himself.
His beer was delivered with a raised eyebrow, which Spike echoed.
He sipped and sat and watched people dance and Angel and Wesley make out, once he could focus his eyes properly, and then he scared little boys who thought he was a girl when they came over to flirt and try to pick him up.
The evening, all told, wasn't all that bad. Freaking people out was an unexpected bonus.
Finally, though, the hour grew late and he was ready to pack it in, ignore Wesley and Angel, who were still one writhing ball of hair gel and testosterone-laden groping, when someone new was knocked against the bar with a bullet spray of insults and threatenings of wedgies and potential ego bruising.
Spike raised an eyebrow and watched the poor tosser get his self-esteem crushed, what little was left if he had any at all, and glared half-heartedly at people he didn't know.
He really hated people like them. He'd gotten the same treatment when he was a kid. Then he grew up and became cool and...
...well, not so much had changed, really. He was, at least, better at dressing and looking the part of cool. He wasn't immediately dismissed or ridiculed anymore.
People loved to hate the bad boy badass punk.
"We'll be seeing you, Xander," the others laughed, and clapped each other on the back as they walked away with arms around shoulders, weaving in and out of people drunkenly.
Xander sighed, straightened his collar and settled on the stool next to Spike, shoulders hunching despondently.
Spike waited, sure the boy, Xander, was going to hit on him to try and get some of his machismo back after what happened with the bullies, but nothing happened. The young man just ordered a soda and sat there playing with the glass, stirring the drink around with a straw and fidgeting on the stool.
Spike frowned, shrugged and took a drink from his bottle. He felt sorry for the kid. If that was what his daily life was like...
Well, he didn't have any more thoughts about that because he couldn't wrap his drunken brain around them. So, he'd settle for a conversation. Maybe cheer the boy up or something. After all, he was a people person and was quite giving when motivated.
Spike turned and stared at the young man almost patiently.
Xander, however, wasn't very accommodating. He continued to sit there, silent and brooding and generally getting on Spike's nerves like Angel did when he was in one of his brood marathons.
Eventually, though, the brunet started shifting and Spike sighed, unable to take it any longer. "You got ants in your knickers or what?"
"Huh?" Wide eyes fixed on him, a frown marring his brow.
Spike blinked at the pretty brown eyes and the floppy dark brown hair and the not-bad-at-all face he was suddenly looking at.
He cleared his throat. "You're acting all...wonky. Got an itch you're too polite to scratch?"
Xander flushed, looking away. "No, I just..." Sigh. "I'm not having the best night."
Spike raised both eyebrows and felt his wig scratch and itch against the movement. "Is that right? I'd never have noticed."
Xander smiled slightly and turned a fraction toward Spike. "I'm Xander."
"S--Will," Spike finished, stumbling when he remembered he was dressed like a bint and Xander probably thought he was one. That was disheartening. "Want something stronger?"
"Nah, I'm good. I think you're imbibing enough for the rest of us."
"Too right," Spike muttered, ordering another drink. "You can never be too drunk, I say."
Spike drank as he'd never drunk before. He wanted to forget this night and not remember Xander and how charming and sweet he was because that led to thinking about how he was misleading the younger man and that made him...beyond sad.
It really sucked he was a woman tonight. He was really good at being a man, dammit.
He wondered if the boy liked men...
Or men who dressed up like women.
He leaned on Xander's shoulder, heavy head resting there when he wasn't mostly upright trying to drink his beer. Xander didn't seem to mind holding him up, though. He just laughed and slid him shy glances and smiled in a certain way that made Spike's insides all wiggly.
Or that could've been the booze, already biding its time and preparing to make a grand exit when he least expected it.
The bartender was very disapproving as he gave Spike a final beer and cut him off.
Spike pouted and sighed and rubbed against Xander's side.
Xander was stiff and tense, for some reason Spike couldn't fathom, but he was feeling happy and that was all that mattered.
Happy, happy, fucking happy as could be.
Happy as a fucking single bloke with no significant other to be had who stayed in his apartment all day letting his wanker friends dress him up like a bint.
Christ, he'd shaved all his parts for this!
Oh, God, he was so lonely!
Why didn't anyone love him? Why?!
Ah, there was the bitterness that accompanied the warm glow of inebriation.
Bitter that he was alone, bitter he wasn't being himself, bitter about the whole damn world and war and poverty and famine and disease and platform shoes and bell bottoms making a come back along with tie-dye and those really ugly, big, gaudy pieces of costume jewelry, the death of Freddy Mercury...and well...everything...
He sighed and rubbed his face into Xander's bicep. He forgot about his make-up and smudged his lipstick across his face and incidentally on Xander's shirt.
"I really like you," he murmured, tongue flickering out to lick at the fabric beneath his mouth. He lifted his hand and slid it up the inside of one jean-clad thigh and cupped the bulge he found.
And here came the libidinous aspect of being drunk that never failed to get Spike in lots of trouble. He'd woken up next to quite a few strangers because of drinking, not knowing how they got there or what they'd done.
Xander inhaled sharply, started to say something and then Spike interrupted.
"I gotta go to the loo, Xanner. Be riiiiight back so don't go nowhere."
"Yeah, I'll just...sit here and wait."
Spike wiped his face, further ruining Wesley's make-up job, and nearly fell off the stool. Xander rushed to assist him and he took it, grudgingly, grumbling and growling under his breath because he didn't want to be helped but he did want to be touched.
He managed to stay on his feet and make it across the dance floor, being groped and pushed all the way, to the restrooms.
He blinked as he stopped and stared cross-eyed at the men's and ladies' rooms.
Which one was he supposed to go into?!
"This is too much," he muttered to himself, pushing hair out of his face, "How's a bloke wearing a dress to know which loo he's to use? Choices are shite when you've drunk a few pints."
Eventually, he shrugged, bladder coming to its own conclusions and went into one of the restrooms.
Minutes later, Spike was lurching out of the women's room, wide-eyed and disillusioned, his hastily straightened dress tucked partially into his pantyhose. He yanked it out absently with fumbling fingers and smoothed it down his thighs.
All his life he'd been thinking they had luxury and couches and pools and wet t-shirt water fights and...it was pretty much exactly like the men's room only slightly cleaner and without the urinals.
His world had been flipped upside down. This called for another drink.
When he returned to the bar Xander was still where he'd left him, guarding the purse Spike had forgotten when he'd gone.
The boy was easily pussy whipped. Too bad Spike didn't even have a pussy.
Sometimes, he'd love to have one. If not for himself to play with then to have others have a go at...
He plopped onto the stool, forgetting the dress and its length. It slid up his thigh.
Xander's eyes fixed on the nylon-clad leg and Spike watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.
Spike leered at him drunkenly.
"I think you need to go home."
"You comin' with, pet? Going to take advantage of me in my liquored up state?" he purred, groping Xander until he squeaked.
Xander coughed and pulled Spike's hand from his crotch, patting it as he pressed it between both his own. "I'm not going to do anything you can't consent to."
Spike chuckled and slung his free arm wide in a grand gesture. "Then I'm your ruddy oyster, young man! Can open up real wide and take what you wanna give me..." He hiccupped.
Xander's cheeks reddened once again and he hopped off his stool and helped Spike stay upright through sheer desperation. "Umm..."
"Relax, honey pot, not gonna hurt you. I'll do nice things that'll make you feel real good..."
Spike pulled away from Xander's grasp and proceeded to make overly-cautious steps toward the door. He went around the crowd this time, keeping to the dark and feeling along the walls because the lights made him more dizzy and nauseous.
Xander hurriedly grabbed Spike's forgotten purse and followed.
The car ride was hazy, a blur of horrible, warbling country music and street signs Spike couldn't read and lights of many colours and darkness. Xander babbled on about something or other and Spike tried to give directions to his flat when he wasn't trying to crawl over the console and get into Xander's lap.
They made it, though, and Spike was a giggling mass of girly clothes and smudged make-up as he tried to insert his key into the lock without tilting too far to one side as the world dipped and whirled.
He failed. Utterly and miserably.
And also scratched the hell out of his lock and nearly broke his key off in it.
But he couldn't find it in himself to care.
The keys dropped and he giggled some more and Xander smiled patiently, amused, and reached down to get them. His eyes flitted to Spike's legs and followed the line up as far as he could see. He flushed.
Spike smirked. "Like what you see, do ya?"
"Yeah," he said softly.
"Unlock the door and come in for a night cap."
"I don't drink."
Spike arched an eyebrow, flicking lightly at the hair that had fallen in his face. That was getting downright annoying by this point. "Didn't say it had to be a drink, now did I?"
When he woke up his mouth tasted like something had crawled into it and died, leaving a furry carpet of nastiness that smelled and tasted foul. His head was pounding, his eyes were gritty and swollen and throbbing to the same beat his skull seemed to be.
Face down on the bed, he was nude and something was tickling him, his face. He was vaguely nauseated but he pushed that back for the moment to assess everything else more closely.
He opened an eye slowly, hissing as the light sent stabbing knives through his retinas, and peered through the curtain of long blond hair.
He frowned, shifting.
Long blond hair?
He pulled and tugged until the hair came away from his head and stared at the wig he'd been wearing. It looked like road kill.
It took him a moment but he remembered the big, bad, really shitty dare.
He groaned and rolled over and fell off the bed. He hit the floor with a thud and a grunt, his stomach rolling.
The nausea he'd been feeling suddenly became a high priority on his list.
He sprinted to the bathroom, naked tackle probably flopping very attractively, tripping on boots and tennis shoes and clothing that didn't look familiar and a dress and stockings that vaguely did. High heels stabbed into the soles of his feet and he cursed and winced and slammed into the door jamb with a huff as he frantically tried to get to the toilet before he had a very ugly mess on his hands.
He swallowed hard and breathed hard trying to settle his stomach but...
He tossed his cookies. Heaving his guts out, it seemed like, kneeling on the cold floor until his knees were sore, hugging the toilet, and all that was left of the lining of his stomach was in the bowl in front of him. Eventually he got up and wearily washed out his mouth and brushed his teeth leaning heavily on the sink.
He felt like he'd been run over, then backed up over, and run over again.
Then, he looked into the mirror at his reflection and blinked scratchy eyes.
He looked like he'd been around the block a few times last night. That pretty much agreed with his getting run over theory.
Lipstick was smeared all over his face, eyeliner smudged down one cheekbone and across the bridge of his nose making him look like a pasty, hung-over raccoon whore, and the blood-shot eyes just made it all the better. His hair was matted down in places and stuck up in others because of the wig he'd had on for God knew how long; apparently it had been there all night, since he'd woken up with it still plastered to his head.
His scalp was sore. He felt along the places the wig had been stuck on and made a face when they turned out to be tender.
He was never wearing a wig again.
The other stuff...was negotiable, actually.
He drank some water and took some pills that were in his medicine cabinet and hoped they did their job soon because he hated the energy-sucking feeling of being hung over.
If he wanted to feel like crap he'd go to the hospital and catch something fun, like pneumonia or the Black Death.
He washed his face, scrubbing until all the make-up came off and his skin was pink and tingling and clean.
He stumbled back to bed and flopped back down on his stomach with a sigh, minty fresh breath a much better bedfellow than the skunky kind he'd had before.
And then he noticed something.
He cautiously turned his head and anxiously examined his previously unnoticed bedmate with unblinking, still bloodshot eyes.
A brunet with bronze skin and nice muscles lay on the other side of his bed as if he were made to be there. Spike had no idea what colour his eyes were or what his face looked like or even if the bloke was naked because he was covered from about mid-torso down with the sheets from Spike's bed.
He moistened his lips and let his eyes wander over the skin he could see. Not bad, really. He'd just love to know who the fuck the man was, though, and what they might've done last night.
He re-examined his body by shifting to and fro gently. He didn't feel achy in the ass area or like he'd been fucking all night long. But that didn't mean nothing had happened.
He frowned and then shrugged and closed his eyes.
It was too early, he was too hung-over, and he didn't care to figure this shit out right now.
When he was completely sober and at least partially rested and fully dressed, he'd consider freaking out.
He really hoped he got at least part of his memory back. He'd love to know how he came to meet this bloke and how it involved the bet.
All he did remember was drinking and being in drag and...Angel and Wesley groping each other in the back of the Bronze?!
That thought prevented him going back to sleep.
Oh, well. Whatever. He'd be concerned later.
He pulled the sheet up over his nudity and settled into bed again.
The man in his bed rolled and shifted and moved close enough that Spike felt his warm breath on the back of his neck.
His eyes blinked open when an arm snaked over his waist and tugged him into a broad chest and a warm body.
Before he could raise the indignation he ought to feel, before he could try to pry himself free, before he could turn and try to see the face of the stranger, the body shifted again and he could feel a cloth covered groin against his ass instead of more nakedness.
Well, that was something, at least. Generally, after sex, a person didn't put clothing back on -- not in his experience, anyway.
It was so warm and so comfortable and so unlike how he normally slept that it didn't take long for him to slip back into unconsciousness.
When Spike woke again, it was because the pillow he was sleeping on moved.
Wait. Pillows didn't move...
Then he discovered he wasn't sleeping on a pillow at all but on a smooth chest and the body he'd practically climbed on top of at some point was shifting while the owner of said body woke.
Spike took a breath and moved away from his unknown bedmate, leaning up on one elbow as he watched dark eyelashes flutter open and even darker eyes fix on his own.
Wow. This man was pretty.
At least he had good taste when he was drunk.
"Hi," Stranger murmured, smiling slightly and looking well rested and at ease and there was no indication at all that he'd been drinking all night like Spike had. His eyes flickered up to Spike's head. "Should've known you were a bottle blond. Look better this way. That wig was...awful's too mild a word."
Spike took a breath, feeling unaccountably pleased at the compliment. Though he was still extremely tense; enough for the both of them, since the other man obviously wasn't. "Gonna be blunt because...well, I don't remember a sodding thing. Who the hell are you and why are you here?"
Brown eyes were concerned but full of amusement as the man pushed dark hair from his forehead. He really was taking Spike's memory loss quite well.
"You don't remember anything?"
"Some things," Spike admitted, "but...apparently, I got really shit-faced."
"Understatement. You were putting 'em away like water before I even got there."
"Obviously," Spike said dryly, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the slight headache he still had.
"As for the who and why: I'm Xander Harris, we met last night at the Bronze. I drove you back here because you were too drunk to make it on your own. I would've worried if I hadn't helped you."
"Quite the white hat, aren't you?" Spike arched an eyebrow. "Why are you still here, though?"
Xander flushed suddenly, eyes lowering as he sat up and pulled the sheet further over his body.
Spike watched, amused at his late show of modesty.
"I, uh, got you home and...you invited me in. I know you meant for more but...I couldn't do that, not with you in that condition. That's not me. But you, umm, you started kissing me and did a strip tease and everything and...it was hot. You went all out with the drag...had on a bra and panties and stuff."
"You know I was a bloke when you approached me?"
Xander rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid or that unobservant, no matter what all my teachers said."
"You make a pretty girl but...you're a hotter guy."
Spike brightened. "Is that right?"
Xander looked up through his lashes, nodding as he plucked at the sheet. "Yeah..."
Spike licked his lips. "Well...since I'm sober and you wouldn't be taking advantage of me now...how about you go into the bathroom and use my extra toothbrush? It's that door right over there..."
Xander's brow furrowed. "Huh?"
Spike moistened his lips. "Morning breath. Not conducive to a nice good morning kiss."
"Oh. Right." Xander blinked, then self-consciously crawled out of bed and hurried into the bathroom, cute ass wriggling beneath his cartoon boxer shorts.
Spike spent the time Xander was brushing his teeth thinking about last night, trying to remember last night.
He could almost touch memories, could grasp a few scattered flashes of what had happened, but nothing conclusive, nothing he could really use.
He tried harder, making the headache throb behind his left eye.
Angel and Wesley making out in a dark corner, hot and heavy. Getting hit on. Having fun fucking with young boys who thought he was a woman. Getting roaring drunk. Being alone and depressed until someone remedied that.
Sparkling brown eyes. Boyish grin. Sweet. Gallant and helpful. Nice. Drank soda while Spike got even more soused. Waited with Spike's purse as Spike went to the ladies' loo and had trouble peeing with the pantyhose clinging to everything and not cooperating. Walked him to the car with a hand on his elbow. Propped him up while he unlocked a door and then gently pushed him down into the passenger seat of his car. Just as gently fended off Spike's drunken pawing without making it seem like Spike was being rude or uncivilized.
Long car ride. Crappy music. Giggling. He tried to climb over into the other man's lap but was easily rebuffed and laughed even more. Jingling keys. Humming 'The Stripper'. Getting naked. Attempting a sexy dance to seduce Xander.
And that was it.
Well, that was something. He remembered some but not all of what happened. It was like a scratched dvd; some of the parts played but others didn't and you couldn't follow what was going on but you knew enough to get the gist though it pissed you off that it didn't work properly.
Boy had a white hat complex, though, because Spike could've been taken advantage of six ways from Sunday and he'd never have put up a fight or really remembered it. Hell, he'd even asked for it and Xander hadn't taken what was on offer.
That was a very commendable, yet insanely stupid, quality to have.
The bathroom door opened, creaking, breaking Spike from his thoughts. Xander came out tentatively, fingers laced together and twitching over the front of his boxers.
Spike patted the bed in a way he hoped wouldn't frighten the boy off. At least he had a consolation prize. "Come here."
Xander swallowed audibly and shuffled over, quickly getting into bed. "This is weird," he said after a few seconds, picking at the sheet he'd thrown over himself.
Spike chuckled and moved closer. The sheet that had been covering most of his lower half slipped and so did Xander's eyes. "You're not half wrong but...it's also good. Never met anyone like you."
Xander flushed, eyelids still lowered; he couldn't seem to take his eyes off Spike's barely covered bits. "Really?"
"Yeah," Spike murmured, moving closer. "You're a stand-up sort of bloke. Not many people would've done what you did...getting me home safe without trying to get something in return or taking advantage of the situation." His knee pressed against Xander's as he shifted across the bed -- coarse hairs tickled and warm skin burned as it touched. He lifted one arm and carded his fingers through a mess of dark, tangled hair. He yanked Xander's head closer and tilted his own. "Going to kiss you now. You mind?"
Xander's pupils dilated, he licked his lips, his breath hitched. "Not so much, no."
Spike pressed his lips to Xander's. It was a slow kiss, exploratory, and a sweet, slightly minty fresh hello with closed mouths and firm lips soft in all the right places. But that changed quickly enough.
Soon they were wrapped in one another's arms and kissing open-mouthed, bodies pressed together intimately with only a couple of thin layers of cotton separating them.
Panting, moaning, bodies moving, hands grasping.
Xander's mouth was so hot and wet as Spike tried to pillage and take it for his own.
There was spearmint involved. Spike liked the taste of spearmint and sought out more.
Spike groaned into Xander's mouth and broke the kiss, breathing heavily.
"Bloody hell. You're good. Your mouth could be a lethal weapon. Illegal in forty-nine out of fifty states. Nevada doesn't count because anything goes in Vegas."
Xander smiled shyly. "You're not half bad yourself, Will."
Spike smiled back and pushed Xander down. He straddled his waist.
Xander's eyes widened as he looked down Spike's body to his erection.
Spike followed his gaze, rolling his hips a little, causing the tip of his cock to rub against the fabric keeping them apart. He hissed at the tingle that ran up his body, then said, "Bother you?"
Xander swallowed, shifting beneath him. His hands fluttered for a moment before settling on his own chest. "No. Having a weird moment again."
Spike leaned forward and braced himself on his spread hands. He nuzzled Xander's neck and sucked a trail up the boy's jaw to his mouth. He nipped the soft lips before pulling back slightly to look into glassy eyes.
"Uh, no. No weird here. Feeling the sexy, though. You could keep doing that...if you wanted."
Spike smirked, growled a little and then sat down on Xander's erection as he brought their mouths together again.
Xander's gasp was muffled by Spike's mouth as the blond ground down against him.
Spike pulled away, breathing hard, and sat up. "You done anything like this before?"
"With a stranger or with a guy?" Xander asked, panting just as hard.
"Either, both..." Spike shrugged.
Spike arched an eyebrow and rolled one of Xander's nipples between his thumb and forefinger. "Kind of? Need something a bit more specific, pet..."
He didn't have a good feeling about this.
"I...haven't been with a lot of people."
He wasn't good at coaching newbies. Wasn't good at patience or anything that didn't involve getting naked and sticky sooner rather than later because he liked to get to the pay-off.
But this man had earned something. He'd taken care of Spike when Spike hadn't had the cognitive abilities to do it himself. He was...special.
Spike sighed and settled back. He crossed his arms over his chest. He tried not to appear too intimidating but from the look on the brunet's face he could tell he'd failed. "Yeah?"
Xander bit his bottom lip and looked away. "I've been with one person, okay? And she was a girl. Sort of a wham bam thing without the thank you or the cuddling afterward. Faith wouldn't even let me kiss her and kicked me out so quick afterwards...it was humiliating and arousing at the same time. It was a heat of the moment deal. She wanted me and...I needed to know what it was like...if I...and then I discovered I was gay and wasn't really as interested in girls as I thought I was and...there just hasn't been anybody that I've clicked with since. It's just...hard to meet someone you feel that kind of connection with..."
As he trailed off, Spike stared at him, drumming his fingers on his forearm, creating an imposing figure despite his distracting nudity. "You're a virgin to gay sex and nearly a virgin in all things..." he finished.
Xander finally looked at him, staring up, troubled and tentative and so damn young. "Yeah. Kinda-virgin, here. That just about covers it."
Well, it was kind of flattering that out of all the people in the bar, in the town, Xander had chosen him to go home with, to connect with.
But, still...virgin territory.
Sweet buggering hell.
It went downhill from there. The sensual moment was gone, Spike went flaccid, Xander was uncomfortable and also not so hard anymore, so...
They didn't touch. Spike lay at Xander's side and both of them stared up at the popcorn balled ceiling like it was the most fascinating sight in the world. A spider skittered across the bumpy white surface and dangled from a web string as it lowered itself to another place and went on its way.
Spike would love to be able to go some place else, himself.
Also, he figured he should do some dusting and get some of that insect spray. Didn't want an unexpected, prickly visitor with multiple hairy legs during the night or during a fuck, did he?
Finally, he broke the silence, "This is...awkward."
Spike snorted and tucked his hands behind his head, lacing them together. "What're we going to do about it?"
"Do? What do you mean?"
Blue eyes rolled. "Can't stay here like this forever."
"I guess I should probably--"
"Don't you dare even suggest leaving. That's not a ruddy option. Got plans for you that involve you here and very willing and maybe underneath me..." Spike turned his head and cast a heated glance down the parts of Xander's body he could see, then one particular part he couldn't but was making itself known again under the sheet. "...Or perhaps on top. I'm not that picky, so long as I get off, but we could probably take turns if you're game," he finished.
Xander gulped. "Oh."
"Yeah, oh. Plus, we've got to make it right because that bit back there was downright embarrassing. How about a shower? Get clean, then see what we can do about getting dirty again. If you want."
"Wouldn't say no to a shower. I don't like the smell of alcohol and smoke. At least, not on me."
"Great!" Spike rubbed his hands together briskly and hopped out of bed. He was halfway across the room in seconds, Xander watching him with wide eyes. "What are you waiting for? We should conserve water and all that rot."
"Right. Conservation. Saving the planet. It's the right thing to do."
Spike smirked and sauntered into the bathroom, listening to the mad dash Xander made as he leapt from the bed and streaked across the carpet.
A warm body plastered itself against his backside as he turned on the shower, revealing more confidence than Xander had to date, according to Spike's swiss cheese-like memory of last night.
Xander dropped the soap after a comical juggling display. Spike couldn't have planned that one better if he'd had a week in advance to do so.
He also took advantage of Xander's innocent act of bending over to retrieve the mishandled bar by pressing up against him and rubbing his erect cock against the inseam of his body.
Xander trembled and nearly toppled them both out of the shower but Spike held onto his hips and ground himself against Xander's balls, between the insides of his thighs.
Xander gasped, still leaning forward, one hand braced on the shower wall, soap mostly forgotten in his other trembling fist, but he did hold onto it this time. "You're...enthusiastic."
"Damn right I am," muttered Spike over the shower spray and both their panting and moans. "Didn't get anything last night, that I recollect, and I want to make up for it...if you're ready and willing. C'mon," he said, smacking Xander lightly on one ass cheek then rubbing it afterward. "Let's get washed up first so we can have that out of the way. Want to get on to the naked fun bits quick, before I burst."
The shower was...incredibly not boring, being one way to put it. Xander and Spike couldn't seem to get their minds out of the gutter, off what was going to happen once they did complete the shower, so their hands and bodies didn't seem to want to cooperate and get things done so they could get to said acts.
Xander grabbed Spike's ass, squeezing the cheeks. Spike groaned and thrust against him, burying his face in the brunet's neck. Xander sighed and nibbled on Spike's earlobe. Spike stepped on Xander's toes and caused the boy to yelp and stagger back and knock his skull against the shower head. The shower spray splattered into Spike's face and he spluttered and wiped at it with one hand.
They snickered as Xander sheepishly rubbed his head and finally got down to the washing business -- they didn't try to help one another this time because they knew it would lead to other things and an inevitable wasting of precious time that could be spent horizontal in bed.
They rinsed, dried off with lingering looks to each other's wet bodies and finally stood there, breathing hard, hot from the shower and slightly damp with wet hair curling around their ears and foreheads.
Spike's eyes were intent on Xander's as they squared off against one another. It was like a contest of wills, a modern Western gun-slinging show-down only without the loaded...
Spike's gaze lowered to Xander's loaded, leaking weapon and he moistened his lips. His fingers tingled, legs trembling as he thought of having that nice piece inside him.
"We going to stand here gawking at each other all day or are we going to get down to business before one of us explodes?"
Xander's grin was lopsided as it curved his lips. One hand rose and gestured for Spike to precede him. "After you."
Spike smirked. "You want me to go first so you can get in a good ogle at my ass, yeah?"
Xander stepped up to him, close enough that their body hair brushed and he could feel the heat of Xander's body against his own and Xander's cock press lightly against his thigh. Spike's own swelling prick did the same to the brunet's lightly furred upper thigh. None of the rest of their bodies touched, which really was a pity, in Spike's opinion.
Xander breathed against his neck, into the shell of his ear. "Yeeeeah."
Spike swallowed around the whimper trying to work its way out of his throat and took a deep breath. "Yeah, all right."
He turned and pushed back his shoulders, stood straight, and walked proudly out of the bathroom.
Xander lingered, watching the curves of his ass and Spike could feel that look down to the very marrow of his bones, could feel it in the pit of his stomach and the center of his balls -- it made him saunter and show out more. He loved the attention.
He loved knowing he was affecting Xander the way he was also being affected. It was only fair, after all.
Xander shut off the light and followed and tackled Spike face down on the bed without warning.
Spike cackled as Xander found ticklish spots around his ribs and they had a fine, sexy tickling fight...or Xander did. Spike just had to lie there, writhing and laughing until he thought he'd piss himself because he couldn't turn over and he was too weak from laughing to retaliate.
Xander stopped tickling and began to caress him; his cock was pressed into the crease of Spike's ass and Spike spread his legs, urging him closer wordlessly.
Xander inhaled sharply and Spike could hear him begin to breathe faster. He smiled smugly and undulated back against him, succeeding in rubbing his own aching hardness between his own belly and the mattress.
"Want to fuck me?"
"God, yes," Xander exhaled against the back of his neck, hands smoothing down Spike's biceps and forearms until they laced with Spike's fingers, briefly.
"Lube's in the side table. Might want to get that. Rubber's in there, too..."
Spike missed Xander's weight and heat when he left to retrieve the items they needed but Xander returned soon enough with a slick finger that hesitated at his entrance.
Spike could sense his reticence, nearly smell his nervousness, and decided to prod him along. He rolled his hips and raised himself up slightly on his knees. "Just massage the lube around my hole and press a finger inside. Real gentle, like, or it'll hurt me. Gotta stretch me because it's been a while since I've had anything in there."
Xander swallowed so hard it was audible but Spike felt the finger begin to circle his pucker. He sighed and lowered his head to the bed, shutting his eyes as pleasure washed over him. It always amazed him how sensitive he was there and he always forgot until the next time it happened.
Before long, Xander grew a bit bolder and had a finger, then two working deep inside Spike. Without coaching he accidentally found the prostate and Spike groaned low and deep, hips working back on the fingers spearing him. He spread his legs.
"Christ, that's good. Do it again, pet."
And Xander curled his fingers once more, massaging the tips against that little gland he'd found and Spike arched his back, toes and fingers spasming against the sheets as his mouth fell open and his eyes slammed shut.
By the time Xander rolled on the condom and was easing his cock inside him, Spike thought he'd have to take matters into his own hands because the boy was taking his sweet ass time and that wasn't what he needed. Or wanted.
He took a breath and slowly let it out as Xander finally pressed deep inside him, smashing him down into the bed. The solid heat and weight at his back was good, felt so damn good, as he was filled and taken. His body was crushed into the bed in a very appealing way. He slid to and fro, getting sweet, sweet friction for his erection when Xander began to fuck him.
Xander, the soppy git that he was, laced their fingers together again and Spike couldn't reach underneath himself to try and pull himself off.
Not that he wasn't getting closer to orgasm the way things were going.
It was a long, slow fuck, building and soaring and then falling back when Xander stopped moving and just kissed his neck and rubbed his face against his nape.
For some reason, Spike felt his eyes burn and blinked rapidly to prevent himself from doing something poncey like crying.
He didn't know what it was, but this boy brought out...mushy feelings he hadn't felt since Drusilla -- his first love -- and he hadn't seen her since he was fifteen.
He moaned, turning his face to the side and shutting his eyes as Xander's hips rotated and the cock inside him brushed his prostate.
"That's so good, Xander," he whispered, afraid to raise his voice and ruin the moment.
Xander's lips brushed the hinge of his jaw. "Yeah," he said equally softly, pelvis still undulating hard flesh slow and steady into Spike's body. His pubic hair brushed against Spike's skin, coarse and tickling, another thing to savour with the feel of Xander pushing deep inside.
And this was how it went for a long time. Spike hadn't experienced anything like it and probably wouldn't ever again. He would memorise this moment and play it back again later when it was all over and Xander had gone.
His arousal was fierce, painful, as his body strove for completion despite the tender, soft fuck he was receiving. He tried to yank his hand away from Xander's when it got to be too much, but Xander held on and tightened his grip and Spike choked on a sob building in his throat.
"Xander, please," he begged, eyes squeezing shut tight, legs quivering as he tried to thrust himself back and forth between the mattress and Xander's weight.
"Shh," Xander hushed him, riding into him at only a slightly faster pace. "Just let me."
Spike frowned, groaning softly, hanging onto the fingers lacing his own as if they were his lifeline.
Xander's body was slick against his, sliding in their sweat as he moved.
Spike buried his face into the mattress as his orgasm eventually rushed over him, inescapably surprised, humbled. Xander pounded into him, finally, finally giving him what he wanted, what he needed, and he came so hard, striping his stomach and the bed beneath him, that he heard static and his racing heartbeat, and saw dancing coloured dots behind his clenched eyelids.
He'd deny this if anyone ever confronted him about it, but...he thought he may have blacked out for a bit after that because he missed Xander's orgasm completely and only became aware of the other man's climax when Xander collapsed against him and wheezed into the hollow of his neck, unmoving save for slight twitches of the spent cock inside him.
Spike blinked his eyes open, tried to focus on the blur of the face much too close to his own a moment before giving up and allowing his eyes to soften and refocus on just the shape of Xander's silhouette in his peripheral. He licked his dry lips. "You...sure you've only had the one lover?"
Xander chuckled weakly, tilted his hips and gently eased his softening cock from Spike. He rolled off Spike -- who chilled at the loss and shuddered -- and tied the condom, disposing of it in the handy trashcan near the bed.
"Yep," he finally said, rolling Spike's unresponsive body over so he could finagle Spike into a desirable position against his side. When Spike was resting with his face propped on Xander's shoulder and an arm across his chest, he continued, "But I have jerked off a lot and watched a lot of porn. May've checked out the adult section at the bookstore, too... I'm a visual learner. Also fast at it when something...interests me."
Spike could feel the heat building against his forehead as Xander flushed. He smiled and snuggled closer. "You were born to fuck. Glad I found you last night. That kind of sex only happens about...once in a sodding blue moon. Will bloody miss you when you've gone."
Xander pushed Spike up so he could look into his eyes, frowning. "I know what I said earlier, about the leaving, but...are you throwing me out?"
Spike's eyes widened. "No! I just thought..." He made a face and leaned upright on still trembling arms. His back was growing cold where Xander's arm had been. "Well...we met at a bar and...we shagged and...that's it, right?"
"I don't know about you, buddy, but I don't just...go out and pick people up at bars and have sex with them. I mean, I told you about my one and only time having sex!"
It was a slow realisation on Spike's part and he felt rather stupid for not seeing it before now, but...
"You mean to say that since we fucked...you're sticking around?"
"Well, when you say it like that...maybe I don't want to. Don't want to cramp your style or whatever," Xander grit out, scowling as he tried to pull away and get out of bed.
Spike didn't let him. He leapt on top of the brunet and glared down at him through narrowed eyes. "I didn't mean it how it sounded. I'm no good at...saying how I feel, usually. I fuck it up when I open my mouth so I usually don't, but..." He sighed and shrugged. "Wouldn't mind you sticking around for a bit...if you wanted."
Xander finally relaxed, after searching Spike's face for...something. Something he evidently found. He smiled that lopsided grin Spike was growing really fond of. "Is that a proposal?"
"Maybe. Certainly an indecent one," Spike said, leering down at him, and collapsed against Xander's side, straddling one thigh. He ran his fingers lightly up and down the ladder of Xander's ribs. "Have to get to know you a mite better for the other..."
Xander smiled. "I'll give you some bullet points, then. Xander Harris. Twenty-two. Construction worker. No college, barely made it through high school. Just the one girl type not-friend that wasn't my girlfriend. Bullied all my life for being a nerd and way too uncool for my own good. Social reject with absolutely no skills at dating. Okay, your turn."
Spike laughed. "William Sutton. Nickname's Spike, and I don't mind if you keep calling me Will, by the way. Twenty-five -- and you're older than you look; thought you were jailbait for a mo' and it's a bit late to be lamenting about that. Wannabe writer working on the novel in my spare time. Take a class or two -- writing -- at University when I have the chance and the extra dosh. Work at the local newspaper as a beta reader -- that's grammar and spelling and context checking -- and I sub. in for people who don't get their articles written on time. Was a bit of a nerd myself and worked hard to get out of that. That's pretty much it."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Sutton." Xander stuck out his hand.
Spike stared at it and rolled his eyes. He put out his own and felt it enveloped by the slightly larger hand, roughened with hard work and tanned by the long hours under the sun. "And you, Mr. Harris."
Someone's stomach growled and they blinked and laughed.
"What time's it?"
Spike leaned and squinted at his alarm clock, then straightened. "Three twenty-five. Bloody hell. No wonder I feel like my stomach's trying to eat itself. Let's go get something to munch on and watch some telly."
"I wouldn't say no to that," Xander said, following Spike when he got out of bed. "We getting dressed or are we staying naked? Not that I mind the nudity..."
Spike turned back, leering and striking a provocative pose. "I rather like you naked, pet, but...I suppose we should get cleaned up and dressed at some point. Don't like to wander around bollock naked, despite what you may think -- can get cold, sometimes. Got some extra sweats that are big on me if you want..."
Xander nodded and ducked his head.
Spike came over and kissed him because he couldn't pass up that cute face.
They washed the semen and lubricant from their flesh and put on pants and made sandwiches out of some odds and ends they discovered in Spike's fridge that weren't too far off the expiration dates.
When they'd eaten, they curled up on the couch together, spooning, Spike wrapped in Xander's arms as they watched tv. Their skin tingled from the proximity; they were comfortable in each other's embrace.
Xander rubbed a finger over one of Spike's nipples; it puckered up, and the blond shuddered.
"What made you come to the Bronze as a woman, anyway?"
Spike bit his lip, faintly embarrassed. "Why d'you ask?"
Xander shifted. "You weren't comfortable so I know you'd never done it before...You seemed out of place, I guess. Not that you still didn't look hot..."
Spike smiled a little. "Was a dare. A drunken dare issued by a couple of my mates who have far too much time on their hands and a surprising amount of women's apparel and make-up. Don't want to know why they had it all on hand and I'm not going to ask."
Xander grunted. "Huh. So...none of it's yours?"
Spike frowned as he felt the body against his tense a little. "No..." He twisted his head to look at the younger man and eyed him suspiciously. "What's wrong with you?"
Xander sighed. "Nothing. Never mind."
Spike narrowed his eyes and turned around so that he was pressed firmly against Xander's body from knee to sternum. "Give."
Xander's eyes widened at the proximity. "It's just...well, I kinda liked certain aspects of it."
Narrowed eyes widened. "Oh, really?" He grew smug and a little cocky. "Well...perhaps I'll have to keep some of the items I wore last night, then, eh? Bastards owe me, anyway."
Xander inhaled deeply and hardened against him. His arms tightened around Spike's waist. "Umm...maybe the lipstick and the heels. And the panties and stockings."
Spike chuckled and hiked a leg over Xander's hip, rocking a little against Xander's arousal. "So long as it's not that bleeding itchy wig. Felt like I had bugs crawling all over me and it also made my scalp hurt after wearing it for so long."
Xander rubbed Spike's unruly tufts of ungelled hair. "Yeah. Not so much liking for the wig because I like how you are now, but..."
"Everything else is doable," Spike finished, blue eyes glinting.
Xander swallowed. "Yeah," he breathed.
Spike kissed him, hard, and wrapped an arm around his neck. He sighed into the kiss.
Looked like he might have to thank Wesley and Angel for the dumbass dare they'd issued. But that would have to wait. He had better things to do right now. Like Xander.
Here Endeth the Story
|Feed the Author|
|Home||Categories||New Stories||Non Spander|