One, Two, Three


by
Lady Cat



Part Five

Xander? Had a problem. He liked to think of it as a large problem. A very large, very complicated problem. That he was going to never, ever recover from.

“There has to be some kind of reason,” Riley was saying in a voice that was as hoarse as the suave, confident man ever really came to. And thoughts like that were not helping Xander’s problem, dammit! “Some kind of ritual. You know, most birds have amazing—”

“Riley,” Xander interrupted. His voice had gone past ‘hoarse’ to reside firmly in the ‘croaking’ stage. “Not helping.”

“Well, no, if you think about this logically, it makes sense,” Riley persisted. “The bright colors, the, ahem, complicated movements, almost every species has some kind of ritual to follow for this kind of thing, so if you just look at it that way, it all fits.”

Xander winced at the last word, definitely not thinking about things fitting. That way led to badness. Or at least not ever getting up from this table. He took a hasty gulp of his beer, wishing he could get truly drunk and knowing why that really wasn’t a good idea. “Wait, isn’t it supposed to be boy-birds that do the colorful plumage thing?”

“Um? Oh. Right. That’s right.”

Dressed in their dark slacks and one cream and one navy-blue colored shirt, they stared straight ahead for a while.

“It was a good theory,” Xander offered when his ‘problem’ got too painful. “I mean, a completely wrong one. But I was thinking about proving you wrong for a minute, and not. . .”

Not staring at the dance floor. Where brightly colored and prettily made up women were playing and laughing and generally having a fabulous time. Dancing. Together.

All of them.

The driving beat of the music had offered a distraction when they first came in, as well as the multitude of other people milling around. The girls had made short work of that, though, by hopping onto the dance floor and completely dominating it for the last half hour and more. They were doing it on purpose, of course. Riley and Xander were fully aware of how expertly they were being teased.

So, of course, it had to go up a notch.

With a coy glance at the table, Buffy insinuated herself between Willow and Tara and whispered something. Well, she didn’t actually whisper, but they were too far away to hear what she was shouting and Buffy’s head was turned just enough that they couldn’t see her lips. Willow and Tara exchanged looks after Buffy had finished, and then they started. . . moving. As a threesome.

“Oh, god,” the men said in unison.

Desperate for some kind of distraction—Willow and Tara were a couple and Xander was so over the Buffy-lust!—Xander wrenched his gaze off the grinding threesome and landed on duo part of the threesome that he was really, really, really not thinking about at that very moment.

Anya looked stunning. Her outfit was new, but Xander had no idea what it was other than ‘pretty’, and that the black leather skirt was identical to Spike’s red leather skirt. He knew that because they were pressed up against each other as the two of them ground their bodies together and Xander was turning into a pile of very painfully hard goo. Not just because they were hotter than any sex on toast he’d ever consumed.

Because they were happy.

Oh, they were teasing him, too. Payment was definitely imminent for the two girls, oh yes, indeedy. Xander was plotting out just how he was going to make them pay with the part of his mind that wasn’t thinking about threesomes and dear god, he could have a threesome. Actually, he could have many since they’d just had one this morning and there had been no complaints at all by either of his ladies. But that was just normal horny male talking, and spending most of your free time with girls taught you how to ignore that part.

Spike and Anya were so happy they were glowing. Big, huge smiles that had shone from their eyes from the moment they’d come back home, whispering and giggling and not letting him see a single article they’d purchased. It was only when they arrived at the Bronze, shrugging off their coats with the practiced ease of two women who knew they were gorgeous, that Xander had seen the outfits he couldn’t recall even when staring at them. They moved with a liquid, fluid grace that mesmerized him, dancing entwined with each other, keeping contact with light touches and lingering glances, even when they were separated. They tossed provocative leers him when they remembered, but it was the secretive, conspiratorial looks they shared that really turned Xander on. For once in his life, Xander wasn’t stuck defending one girl from another. Now he was stuck between them, and knew with absolute certainty what a damned good place that was to be.

“It’s disturbing that Spike makes such a pretty girl,” Riley said distantly. “He’s Spike.”

“You didn’t think he made a pretty boy, too?”

Strange, how silence could be deafening in one corner of a very loud, crowded night club.

Riley coughed and gulped his beer. “I’ve seen some strange things. Demons that could kill a man by looking at them. My team getting munched on by people we trusted. Buffy with her hair all in curlers and goop on her face. But none of that comes close to the sight of Spike dancing with my girlfriend. And not only am I not feeling jealous, I’m—” Breaking off with a shy flush, Riley ducked his head.

Anya had slid behind Tara, herself and Willow bracketing the taller girl, while Buffy was twisting around Spike like a blond-and-silk-green cat. ‘Hot’ didn’t even begin to describe the picture. “You know she’s going home with you,” Xander said seconds before both girls threw their respective men promises with their eyes. “Urk. And oh, god help me, I am not man enough.”

Riley didn’t snicker, which was a plus, and actually seemed to get what Xander was saying. Except wait, there was that long-missed panic fighting through the lust, because did that mean that Riley knew Xander was sleeping with Spike, too? And why did ‘sleeping with Spike’ sound so very good?

“Do you want to send Spike to Giles’ tonight?” Riley asked, right on the clueless cue. “Because I’m seeing howling in our future.”

“In the non-werewolfy sense, right?” tripped out before Xander got a grip. “And nah, no problem. Anya and I we—um—like to—” Implying that you and your honey played with gags was not any less humiliating than telling the truth. What little blood not busy making him so hard he ached made a valiant effort at turning his face red.

Riley looked vaguely surprised and was about to say something probably equally as mortifying, when an offended shout interrupted them. “Don’t touch us again,” Anya said, voice easily carrying over music and conversation. “Please go and dance with someone who wishes to dance with you.”

Xander missed the response, too busy fighting his way through the crowd, hardon be damned. Arriving in time to see Anya gear up for an extremely pissed off retort, Xander slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against his side while Spike melted in front of him, back to Xander’s chest and—thank god—covering Xander’s erection with his ass. “Hey, baby,” Xander told his girlfriend.

Barry White Xander could never hope to be, but the almost fawning expression Anya’s face seemed to mean he’d done the trick right.

The guy—a twenty something college kid built like a mac truck—looked from Anya, to Spike, to Xander. “No way,” he said, all-American features twisted in disbelief.

“Pillock here decided he wanted in on the action,” Spike explained, the almost-snarl in his voice meant that Spike was the one who’d been groped or pinched or something’ed. That distracted Xander out of his indignation and into real anger—Spike couldn’t defend himself! “Oughta rip his balls off for it,” Spike continued. “Nah, wait, too complicated on a dance floor and you really need the proper tools for that one. Could always gut him, in the meantime. Anya, love, think we should rip his intestines out?”

“I want his eyeballs,” Anya said calmly. “I think he’ll scream very nicely when those are removed. And hey, I’ve got something in my purse that—” She paused, smiling brightly as the circle around them widened noticeably. The jerk had taken off as soon as she’d mentioned ‘eyeballs’, bleached white and trembling. “Kidding,” she said cheerily.

“I wouldn’t be,” Buffy muttered, but she allowed Riley to pull her into his arms.

“Are you okay?” Riley asked, already swaying to the beat but still obviously concerned.

“We’re fine,” Spike answered. Catching sight of Riley’s expression, Spike settled more firmly against Xander, swishing his hips and looking bored. “Go, twirl your chit around a bit. Get her to leave me be for a little.”

“Oh, like you weren’t loving it, Spike. And don’t call me a ‘chit’. Bint.” Smugly proud that she’d got the terminology right, Buffy waved and drew Riley to different corner of the dance floor.

Xander, meanwhile, was trying to breathe. Because Spike was still moving his hips, which were pressed against Xander’s. That was great, when trying to hide an erection that might frighten young children and scar the older ones, it wasn’t great when watching your girlfriend and your whatever-the-hell-Spike-was defend themselves was an incredible turn-on. And every single shimmy rubbed Spike’s ass against Xander’s cock.

“We should go home,” Xander croaked. “Now. Please.”

Suddenly he had a double armful of girl, their breasts rubbing against his chest while two pairs of beguiling eyes blinked up at him. “But Xander,” Spike purred. “You haven’t danced with us, yet.”

Xander counted to three. “Spike? Think like a guy.”

Huge blue eyes, totally guileless and clear, blinked up into his. “That bad, is it?” Spike commiserated, voice satin and sex and sliding all over Xander’s skin. “Poor boy, sitting over there watching two girls as pretty as us dance together. Sun and moon, we are, Anya so golden and me so pale. Did you like it when I dipped her, Xander? Could see all the way up her shirt, then, planned it out just special for you. That put you in a big of a, hm, bind, did it?”

Xander closed his eyes and forced his body not to sway to the music the way Anya’s and Spike’s were. “I hate you both,” he whimpered.

“No, you don’t,” Anya said, the absolute certainty in her voice—so different from Spike’s easy seduction—doing nothing to lessen his discomfort. “You love us very much. And now you’re going to take us home and give us both many orgasms.”

Xander nodded mutely, letting them guide him back to the table. Willow and Tara were already there, sipping their drinks and not even bothering to muffle their giggles as Anya helped Spike into his coat, Spike returning the favor before both of them helped Xander into his. “Um, Spike?” Willow asked. “Do you maybe wanna, um, come back to our place tonight?” There was a light kick under the table. “Oh! Um, I mean, Mrs. Summers wouldn’t mind it if you stayed with her, I think.”

“Not bloody likely!”

“Buffy won’t know,” Tara said, “we promise.”

Xander had no idea what happened on the girl-Scooby shopping spree, but seeing that expression on Tara’s face directed at Spike was the scariest thing Xander had ever seen, ever. Ever! Tara wasn’t ever supposed to look so—so—sexy! At Spike!

“Why would we want Spike to go away tonight?” Anya asked. “We need him to—”

“Watch tv!” Xander blurted. “And—and—” And four pairs of eyes were looking at him like he was insane. “And never mind. I’m going home now. Bye.”

Xander took three steps before he felt one cool arm and one warm thread their way through his, quiet giggles doing nothing to distract him from his mission. He had to leave the Bronze. He had to get into his car, turn it on, and make sure he put it in reverse before he put it into drive. Then he had to drive home, leave the car, and unlock the door.

And he had to do all of that before he came in his pants.




t b c



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