The Five Times The Others
Didn't Find Out About Spike And Xander,
And The One (Spectacular) Time They Did



“Xander,” Willow called, walking down the steps to his basement, “are you here?” The young witch peered around the basement, but couldn’t see her friend. “Xander?” she tried again. She cocked her head suddenly; she thought she’d heard something. Walking over, she knocked on the door to the tiny bathroom. “Xander?” she tried again.

“Just a minute, Will,” Xander called out. He walked out soon after, drying his hands. If a guilty look flashed across his face, then Willow never seemed to notice it. He plastered a welcoming grin across his face. “Hey, Will, didn’t hear you come down,” he greeted.

“Your mom said you were down here, but, uh, I guess I caught you, you know,” Willow shrugged, grinned, and blushed, in a complex attempt to indicate a necessary bodily function.

“Yeah,” Xander squeaked then cleared his throat, and nodded. “Yeah, well… Anyway, so how was your day?”

“Good,” Willow beamed. “So, um, want to go for coffee?”

“Sounds great,” Xander returned. Devious vampires that kept on with blowjobs even when they knew certain people’s childhood friends were right outside the door would just have to wait for a return of the favour. It was only fair, after all.


Buffy squinted into the gloom: she was sure she’d heard something. She moved forward on light feet, hunting whatever it was that was making the surreptitious noise. She moved closer, and turned the corner of a crypt, only to realise that the noise was coming from inside the crypt. She backed up and made her way to the small window in the side of the crypt: she really wanted to know who had asked for that particular design feature in a crypt of all things.

She peered inside, and finally saw what was making the noise. It was a man. Well, it was a man and a woman, having sex. She wasn’t sure whether she was more disturbed by the unsanitary conditions, or the fact that they were having sex in a crypt in Sunnydale of all places. And the guy was really well built, all his muscles nicely displayed as he, yes, well… It wasn’t until he reached around and began to make a really odd movement that she suddenly realised the person he was with might not be a woman. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course. Shame, though, cause the guy was really built…


Giles prowled around the shop, stopping every so often to listen: something was making knocking sounds somewhere in the shop, but he had yet to figure out what it was. He was about to step down into the basement when a customer recalled him to the counter. He rang up the sale with a smile, and a little discussion about the uses of newts eyes, and forgot about the noises for a while.

He was about to lock up a few nights later when he remembered that Xander had been stacking boxes in the basement. He opened the door and called out.

“Yeah?” Xander called from behind some shelves.

“I’ll be leaving soon: are you nearly finished?” Giles asked.

“Just about,” Xander replied, a little breathless from lifting, obviously.

“Very well,” Giles noted, and closed the basement door.

“Best hurry up, then,” Spike growled into Xander’s ear.

“Fuck,” Xander muttered, “that was close.” With that, he slammed into the vampire, rutting hard in his need to finish them both off. He took Spike’s mouth in a hard kiss to hopefully muffle both of them as they came hard, keening into the kiss. “One of these days, Spike,” Xander sighed, sated.


Tara wrinkled her nose. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. Occasionally, she would see something strange in Xander’s aura, but she didn’t know how to explain it. It was as if he were reaching for a lover, but she knew he was single, had been since Anya had decided to move on to greener (money was green, wasn’t it?) pastures.

Not that she was prying, she hadn’t really meant to look at Xander’s aura; it was just that sometimes he shone so brightly, which was odd for someone who didn’t have special gifts, like Willow or Buffy. At the same time, it got a little muddy, especially when Willow talked about her, or Buffy about Riley. She guessed he was feeling lonely, though that didn’t really reflect what she was seeing.

She wished she could figure out what it was that she was seeing. It was going to bug her until she figured it out. Maybe she should investigate Spike’s aura: he might be soulless and unliving, but he should still generate some kind of aura. Except, it wasn’t really appropriate to do without permission, and she didn’t have the same excuse as with Xander…


Dawn yawned as she headed for the steps; she wanted a drink, and if she just happened to see Spike with his shirt off, well then who could blame her for having a good look? Even Xander wouldn’t be too bad, even though he wasn’t her crush anymore: apparently he’d looked really good in a Speedo.

There was a sudden flurry of movement as she wandered down the stairs. No doubt Xander was changing the channel to something suitably Disney-ified so Buffy wouldn’t scream at them for having it on while she was in the house. Please! As if she had any interest in the kinds of things they’d be watching at this time of night. She just wanted her drink. And to maybe perv at Spike and/or Xander.

“Everything okay?” Xander called out.

“Thirsty,” Dawn offered. She looked into the lounge, and saw the two men sitting on opposite sides of the couch, and frowned. “Did Spike hit you?” she asked, looking at Xander’s swollen mouth.

Xander touched his mouth. “Oh, uh, well, we were wrestling, and I kind of hit my mouth,” he offered, blushing.

Dawn shook her head at masculine stupidity: the things they did to themselves.


Angel had snuck back into Sunnydale, in-so-far as one can sneak while driving a classic American convertible. Cordy hadn’t had a vision so much as Wes had wanted a book that he knew Giles owned, and so Angel had volunteered to fetch it. Just, of course, out of the kindness of his heart. Cordy had simply rolled her eyes and gone back to her own unique brand of bookkeeping, leaving Angel to head for his car, all the while reminding himself it was probably a bad idea, what with Buffy and her new boyfriend, and all.

The trip to Sunnydale had been uneventful, and he had arrived at the Magic Box without delay. He had entered the store with his stereotypical swirl of coat-skirts, and glared around the room, noting those he knew and those he didn’t. Chief (only) amongst those he knew, and wished he didn’t, was Xander (giggle: Lavelle) Harris, sitting at the table, attempting to read something obviously so far beyond him it was ludicrous to watch the attempt.

He stalked straight past the human only to jerk to a stop, turn, and glare at him. He smelled something so far beyond the realms of possibility that magic had to have come into it somehow. “Harris,” he growled, uncaring of his descent to demon form, “what the fuck are you doing with my Childe?”

Xander’s eyes went wide. “Angel?” he asked, out of his seat, and backing away.

Angel grabbed Xander by the shirt-front and hauled him upwards. “I asked a question,” he sneered, only to drop the man when he was hit by something solid. He whirled to see his beautiful childe coming at him with a hard right. Even as he rocked back, he decided it was a powerful blow, but lacked science. “Just how low have you fallen, childe, that you need to consort with the likes of Harris?” he demanded. “Did you not know you could come to me? I would have helped you; anything to have prevented this!”

“You are not my Sire,” Spike hissed, eyes gold and fangs flashing. “You stopped being my Sire when you abandoned me to Darla’s oh-so-gentle hands, and you have no right to question who I take into my bed, just like I have no desire to question who you do.” He sniffed, and sneered. “Or not, as the case may be.”

“Angel,” Giles began sternly, “what the bloody hell is going on here?”

Angel looked around to see that the Watcher was armed with his trusty crossbow; he knew enough of the man to know that the weapon was cocked and ready to fire, and that Giles would have no compunction in dusting him, either. “Harris is sleeping with Spike,” he growled, delighted to share the pain.

Giles looked over to see the young man close his eyes and clench his jaw. He felt the crossbow sag in his hands, but couldn’t find any words to say.

Buffy surged forward. “I’ll kill him,” she cried, “he’s dust!”

“No!” Xander shouted, darting forward to block Buffy’s path. “He is my choice, and you don’t get to do that,” he decided.

“Xander?” Willow whispered.

Xander kept one hand on Buffy’s wrist, but looked around at his friends. “Yeah,” he whispered, “I’m with Spike.”

Buffy glared up at her friend, and twisted her hand out of his grip. She then looked at Spike, who was staring at Xander with a look of incredible sadness. “Your choice, huh?”

Xander looked back at Spike, and grinned. “My choice, Buff.”

Buffy recognised that grin from happier times with Cordelia, and sighed. She looked over to Tara, who looked like she’d received some sudden revelation, and at Dawn who was blushing, but also looked giddy with excitement for some strange reason. Willow was biting her lip, possibly considering the possibility of a spell, but Buffy knew that Spike wouldn’t do that: he’d never really liked magic, and had abandoned the one attempt at a love spell that she knew of.

When she turned around, Giles was walking back out of his office with a bottle of what she assumed was whiskey in his hand and some mugs in the other. He plonked the mugs down on the counter, and began roughly filling them with the whiskey. He handed one to Angel, and took the other before looking over to Xander. “Well, at least this one doesn’t have a soul to lose,” he muttered sourly.

Xander shrugged, folded his arms, and approached the counter nervously. “Well, I could go on about true love, and all that, but … don’t really think you want to hear about that.”

“No, I bloody don’t,” Giles agreed.

“We’re good together,” Xander offered.

“How long?” Giles asked, tossing back the rest of his glass.

“Um, a while now,” Xander blushed.

Giles frowned at the younger man, then scowled suddenly and poured another more than healthy shot. “Bloody hell,” he grunted. “Just stay out of my basement, you hear.”

Xander blushed brightly then glared at Spike when he sniggered. He then began to grin guiltily, the grin growing when Willow muttered, ‘The basement? Ew!’

“Wait,” Dawn began suddenly, eyes wide, “you didn’t actually hit yourself in the mouth, did you?”

Xander’s eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to speak, but decided that discretion was the better part of valour, so raced out of the store, dragging Spike behind him.

“Don’t want to know,” Buffy said, forestalling any ‘helpful’ explanation her sister might have. “Have absolutely no need nor desire to ever know what that’s all about.” She turned to Willow. “Shovel speech,” she nominated, pointing at the redhead.

“Not a problem,” Willow chirped, “though I may have to add something to it. Do you think props would be too much?”

“Go for it,” Buffy waved. “What about you, Angel? Do you have any special things you need to say to Xander?”

Angel scowled at the thought then brightened suddenly. “Only one thing really: Welcome to the family.”

The End