Fourth in the Girl Series

Pairing:  S/X.  Kind of.
Rating: R
Summary: Spike takes Xander clubbing.
Disclaimer:  I make no profit from this.  They aren't mine; I just abuse them and give them back.  Don't sue me.
Feedback:  Like it?  Hate it?  Hate ME?  Let me know.
Notes: Part 4 of Girl.  Read the other three first.  Trust me on this.  
I'm still ashamed, and it's still for the Pussycats.
Improv: reckless -- false -- pallor -- spice

For The Girl Who Has Everything


Another club.  Pounding music, drink in hand.  He'd never been here before; he was too young to get in, but one look at Spike and the bouncer had waved them through without a second glance at him.

Where was the bleached menace?  He was usually pretty easy to spot, with that blond mane, especially under blacklight.  Ah.  There.  Dancing with someone very tall wearing vinyl.  Xander wouldn't swear to it, but he was pretty sure that dancing like that was illegal in this state.  It was more like mating, without the convenience of a horizontal surface.

Spike threw his head back, and Xander could see his teeth flash as he laughed.  Could almost hear the low, throaty sound, across a dance floor and under the rhythmic thump of the bass.  He shivered.  OK, Xander, get a grip.  That's SPIKE.  Spike, who made you zip up that dress before you went out, who ordered you to make his hair 'sexy, but not slutty, yeah?', who's been strutting around your apartment in boxers and a t-shirt all week, who fell asleep last night with his head on your shoulder...OK, not helping.  Find another girl to look at.  There.  Dark hair.  Short.  Perfect.

"Hi there."  He realized the futility of trying to talk in a club right after the "hi" and before the "there," but figured it would be rude to stop halfway through.  She did turn and look at him, though, and he tried out a smile.  She smiled back.  He raised an eyebrow and gestured at his drink.  She nodded, still smiling.  He grinned, and hustled off to the bar.  When he came back, she was still wonder of wonders! waiting there.  Smiling.

He was deep into a conversation about either global warming or the internet--charades had never been a talent of his--when he felt someone long and cool slither up his back.  He sighed.  This had been going so well...she'd touched his arm three times, and was smiling up into his eyes in a way he kind of liked.

"Hallo, pet."  No matter how loud it was, he could always hear Spike.

"Hey, Spike."  Spike's chin was digging into his shoulder, as he looked over it at the dark haired girl.  "You having fun?"

"Eh.  That one's a bit grabby.  Hey there, would you mind terribly buggering off?  This one's mine, see."  Xander could almost feel the insincerity of the smile Spike was sending at his brown-haired girl.  More like a baring of teeth, really.  He shrugged Spike off his shoulder, and smiled at her again, but she was looking at Spike, looking at him, and doing terribly inaccurate sums in her head.  She nodded a thanks for the drink, and disappeared into the crowd.

"Spike, GOD.  She was nice!  What did you have to do that for?  And what happened to Captain Vinyl?"

"He was getting a little too fond.  Suggested some things that made my virgin ears burn."

Xander couldn't hold back the snort.  "One day, you're gonna push one of them too far, Spike.  You dance with 'em like the only thing on your mind is getting them stripped down and sweaty, and then you wander off.  Not playing nice."

"Never said I was nice, did I.  An' that's what I bring you for.  C'mon, we're gonna dance.  I OBVIOUSLY can't leave you alone."

"Spike, I am not dancing."

"You NEVER dance!"

"There's a REASON for that!"

"Oh, come on, Xan.  For me?"  He batted his eyelashes.  Xander groaned.  FUCK, Buffy, quit teaching him tricks!  "You can just stand there, I'll dance around and make you look good.  Please?"

Xander took a moment to evaluate.  He had a whole lot of Spike pressed up against him.  He was the focus of a number of envious gazes.  He'd be an idiot to let go at this point, and lose Spike to the dance floor again.  And he'd had a few drinks tonight, hopefully enough to overcome the paralyzing knowledge of his own ineptness.

He turned, grabbed Spike's hand, and grinned.  "Let's go, bleach boy.  Show me how it's done."

Spike's answering smile lit up the club.


Tomorrow night, Buffy takes him out.  Xander was bleary with the late hour and the alcohol and the constant hormone cocktail Spike had kept him hovering on for hours.  This was getting downright painful.  

Spike had shown him how it was done, all right.  He wouldn't soon forget the feeling of one of those long legs sliding between his own, as Spike ran teasing hands over his back and whispered dirty secrets in his ear.  Or that one song, deep and slow and raunchy, when Spike had taken his hips between his hands and moved them, until they were grinding together, Xander not even minding that he was painfully hard and he KNEW Spike could feel it, because it felt so fucking good...and then Spike had leaned in and nibbled on his earlobe with blunt human teeth, and his head had gone back and he'd moaned and heard that low, answering chuckle...there had been bodies pressing around them on all sides, and he could feel the bass in his bones, and Spike slim and cool and pliant in his arms...

And now he's sleepy, and leaning on me, and I've got to get him home and into bed and NOT just throw him down on the couch and have my way with him...I am so going to heaven for this.

"C'mon, Spike.  In the car.  Seat belt.  We go home now.  Come ON, Spike, let go of me, I have to drive."  He shuffled Spike into the passenger seat, shut the door, took a deep breath.  Brains out of pants.  Check.  OK to drive?  Check.  Home we go.

He sang along with the radio as he drove, in a futile attempt to distract himself from the pretty, tipsy, sleeping vampire in his car.


Spike watched through half-lidded eyes as Xander moved around the apartment, dropping his jacket on the floor, pressing the answering machine button.

"Guys, hi, it's Buffy.  Just wanted to see if you had fun at the club tonight!  Spike, call me, there's a sale at Express that starts tomorrow and I was gonna swing by after classes, and I know you want that top.  Bye bye."


"Hello, this is Giles.  Spike, Buffy and I are going to be doing some training exercises tomorrow in the afternoon.  If you would like to join us, I can drop by and pick you up around four.  Please let me know.  Cheers."

Xander smirked as he poured himself a glass of water and grabbed a blood bag for Spike, before sinking down on the couch.

"Shopping vs. training, Slayer vs. Watcher.  Will you be paying cash or credit, Spike?"

"Oh, credit, I should think.  Slayer gets a kick out of dressing me like some doll, an' it's her dosh, so I'm not telling her no.  Get some nice things out of it."  He stretched out one leg, peered admiringly at his new sandals.  Xander admired them too, he could tell by the glazed look in the boy's eyes as he followed the pale curve of thigh and calf down to ankle.


"Um.  Hi guys.  It's Willow.  I've got some, maybe bad?  I don't know.  Well, I was kind of on the phone with Cordelia, you know I'm helping them research that orb thingy they found, and I might have maybe mentioned Spike's, um, situation.  And she might have laughed a lot and put Angel on the phone."  Her tone changed from timid to indignant.  "He SWORE at me!  Well, not at me, but he said 'I've got to fucking see this.'"  Back to timid.  "So, I'm pretty sure he's coming here.  Tomorrow, maybe?  But he's bringing the orb, and he sa-"


"Xander, your machine cut me off.  Anyway, Angel's coming.  Buffy knows, and she's ok with it, I think.  And I thought it would be good to give you some warning..."  Her voice trailed off.  "Well, I hope you had fun tonight.  Call me if you need anything.  Um.  Ok.  Bye."

Silence.  Xander peered cautiously at Spike.  His eyes were shut, and his head had fallen back against the couch.


"If I killed Willow and ate her, do you think it would set off the chip?  It's so justified, you know."  Spike's tone was even and conversational.  He felt inordinately proud of that.

"I might object.  She is my best friend, after all.  Hey, it might not be that bad.  You can wear your tall boots.  He won't be able to loom over you any more."

"That is annoying, isn't it?"


Spike shifted and leaned on Xander's arm.  Xander was warm and solid and terribly comfortable.  Angel's coming.  Xander slid an arm around his shoulders, and that was even better.  Maybe it was the whole girl-thing.  Different hormones or something, but he was feeling this very strong urge to just curl up right here and cuddle.  And Spike did NOT cuddle.  Angel's coming.

He pressed his face into Xander's shirt, smelled smoke and whiskey and clean human sweat, and felt solid heat underneath.  Xander's hand was running up and down his arm, but it was without intent, he could tell.  Just casually comforting.  Angel's coming.  

Spike had been slowly invading Xander's space over this last week, getting him used to the touching, ready for the planned fall on Day Eight.  But this whole Angel thing was gonna fuck with his timetable something fierce.  He didn't want sex now.  It was dark and quiet and warm and he was tired and didn't want to move.  Ever.
Maybe they could just stay here for a few days, until Angel buggered off to wherever he was living now, and things could go back to the strange normal he was existing in these days.  Where he was the Slayer's best girlfriend, he got makeup tips from Dawn, and he was slowly falling in love with a hopelessly fashion- and rhythm-impaired human boy.

Angel's coming.  Oh, this was not going to be fun.

"Bed, Spike."

"You invitin' me?"  He couldn't even put any snark into it.  And he was clinging in a way that, if he had had even a little more pride at that point, he would have been deeply ashamed of.

Xander tensed, then relaxed.

"Yeah.  Don't ravage me in my sleep, though, or it's back to the couch for you.  Deal?"


They stumbled to the bedroom.  Spike couldn't reach his zipper, so Xander did it for him.  Xander's sleepy fingers were having trouble with the buttons on his cuffs, so Spike flicked them open.  Dress off, t-shirt on, and Xander wasn't looking at him again.  Boxers.  Xander disappeared to brush his teeth.  It was strangely domestic, Spike thought, as he crawled into the big bed and under the sheet.  He could still smell faint traces of Anya, and there was the spicy tang of Willow, and Tara's earthier smell, from when they'd had to evacuate the dorm for a burst pipe and Xander had gallantly slept on the couch.  

But mostly he could smell Xander.  Sweet and musky and male, comforting.  He curled up on his side, and let his eyes fall
shut.  Just before he drifted off, he felt the bed dip, and arms come around him, and he sighed, and slept.


Spike in the morning looked like a rumpled dandelion.  He was all squinty and cranky, and his hair stood out in a fluffy platinum halo around his head.  Xander could usually get up and out the door to work without Spike twitching a finger, but this morning as he'd tried to disentangle himself from long pale arms, Spike had muttered and sniffed and blue eyes had cracked open to glare at him balefully.

Xander called in sick.  After all, it was a big event, the Scourge of Europe coming to town, and everything.  Yeah, right.  You just wanted to make Spike coffee and listen to him yell at Ricki Lake (they'd slept right through Katie Couric) and watch him wander around blinking for an hour before he gets in the shower and wakes all the way up.  Oh, and also, he's looking a little stressed, so hey.  Supportive Xander strikes again!

It was weird, the way Spike kept flip-flopping between ultra-masculine and hyper-feminine.  One minute he'd be batting his eyelashes and swishing his hips, and laying fingers delicately on Xander's arm.  The next he'd growl and sit with legs all sprawled and slap away any touch, and look at pretty girls with an admiring eye.  Xander supposed the habits of a century or so were hard to break, no matter what your body was telling you you were.

It was disconcerting, though.  He'd look at Spike and see, well, SPIKE, evil vampire guy, all-around badass, master of the cutting comment, hands-fucking-OFF, thankyouverymuch.  And then he'd blink, and be looking at Spike, still evil, probably; still badass, definitely; but feminine and softer, somehow, a little less edgy, and definitely more touchable.  It worried him that he couldn't figure out which one he liked better.



"Whoa, bite my head off.  I just wanted to know when you wanted to head over to Buffy's."

"Why would I want to go to Buffy's?"

"Well, there's the shopping.  It frightens me how well you two get along when you're in a mall.  Also, um, I think Angel's going to go to her place when he gets here."

"Reason number ONE for me to be nowhere near the soddin' place."

"Could you come in here so I can quit shouting at you?"

"Fine, fine, but you'd better be making coffee."

Spike joined him in the kitchen.  Xander felt he could be excused for thinking that he was the most edible item in the room.

"So, I repeat, why should we go to Buffy's?  I want to avoid the broody one if at all possible."

"He's here to see YOU."


"Don't you think it's rude to just avoid him?"

"Ask me if I could possibly care less.  Go ahead.  I dare you."

"Plus, if you don't go, he'll think you're hiding from him."

"I'm not hiding."

"You know that, and I know that, but he won't know that.  Come on.  Get dressed up pretty, I'll do your hair, you'll knock his overstarched socks off."

Contemplative silence.  Spike sipped his coffee.

"Can I wear the black leather pants?"


"And the blue shirt?"

"Absolutely.  Though I don't know if technically that garment qualifies as a shirt."


"Spike.  Wear what you want.  He'll never know what hit him."  And the idea that you're putting this much thought into it does NOT make my stomach hurt, oh no it does not.  The fact that tall dark and broody has the undivided attention of yet another gorgeous blond does not mean I should be reaching for the nearest stake.  Calm, Xander.  Go shower.  Think of nice things.  Like Angeldust.  The kind that comes from the termination of Angel.  Yeah.

He showered.  He changed.  He looked at what Spike had picked out to wear, and shook his head.

"Spike, you look like a hooker in that.  You want to look good, but not like you're TRYING to look good."

"But you said I could wear this shirt!"

"I take it back.  Go get something else."

"Don't wanna."

"Fine, but he's going to laugh."


Three changes later, and Spike was in dark jeans that fit him like a soft second skin, a tight black t-shirt with 'Blow Job Queen' across the front in rhinestones, and his favorite black boots.  Because, as he explained, a chance to be five inches taller in the presence of his grandsire was just too good to pass up.

Xander sniffed and wiped at imaginary tears.

"My little girl's all growed up!"

Spike snarled and batted at him.  "Wanker.  Can we go?"

"Twenty more minutes till Buffy gets out of class.  I guess it's true, all girls really DO take longer to get ready.  I don't remember you being this slow before."

"Yeah, well.  Once you realize that everyone's gonna be staring at your ass, it becomes a bit more of a priority to make sure that ass looks good."

"Whatever.  People were staring at your ass before, too."

Spike's brow arched.  Xander blushed.  Mouth!  Mouth!  I am cutting out my tongue, I SWEAR it.

"Really?" That drawl was the most infuriating thing EVER. "Do tell, Xander."

"Not, I mean.  I'm not saying I.  You know.  I'm sure.  Well."  He gave up, and looked at Spike helplessly.  Spike chuckled, and patted his face gently.

"S'okay, pet.  No harm.  Don't swallow your tongue, there.  I might need it, later."

He dropped his hand and turned away, and Xander felt something break in his brain.  He grabbed Spike's shoulder, spun him back around, whoa!  Spike's like three inches taller than me in those damn boots, grabbed his face, and looked into startled blue eyes.

"I might need it now."  OK, lamest line EVER.  I should be killed for that.  Whatever.  Kissing Spike NOW.

He was lapping at cool lips, and they parted under his tongue and let him in, and oh, Spike tasted like heaven.  He had his hands tangled in short white curls, and his hips arching into that lean body, and Spike was kissing him back, KISSING HIM BACK!  And making little whimpering sounds into his mouth, and running frantic hands down his sides and back up and grabbing hold, as he kissed deeper, wanting to memorize this taste and the cool slickness of Spike's mouth and the pressure of his tongue against his own, and the way Spike was coming apart so beautifully under his hands.

They broke apart, panting and staring.

"Took you long enough, you tosser."

"Cut me some slack, Spike.  Seven days ago you were a GUY."

"Bet you wanted me then too."

"Bet I didn't."

"You already said you were looking at my ass."

"I did NOT!"

"Did too."

"Did- I am not getting into this with you.  C'mere."  He pulled Spike down again, and kissed that smiling mouth.

They were late to the mall to meet Buffy, but Spike held his hand the whole way, so he couldn't bring himself to care.  And he trailed them through the stores in a happy daze, not caring that Spike was holding BUFFY's hand, now, and towing her over to look at some sparkly thing that he couldn't even identify, but was sure would look stunning on Spike.  They were maybe even squealing.  Spike was SUCH a girl.  He snickered, caught a glare, turned it into a cough, and waited meekly while they went to the register.


Spike sure had Xander well-trained, and in under a week!  Buffy was impressed.  It had taken her months to get Riley to stand with that patient, long-suffering posture outside the fitting room, nodding obediently and giving his mostly-ignored opinion on the garment in question.  Xander hadn't even made a move towards the record store, though he had looked in longingly as they walked by.  Spike had too, but Buffy was on a mission.  Mission 'Pretend Angel Is Not Coming Here.'  She suspected that Spike was on a similar mission, and that Xander understood and was trying to be supportive.
She had history with Angel, sure.  Intense, painful history.  But Spike had HISTORY.  Like, the kind you read about in school.

She picked out another skirt.


"Do you think he's there yet?"

"If he is, he'll be sitting on the porch.  Mom went out to dinner with some work people, and Dawn's at a friend's."

"Good.  Let him cool his heels a bit."

"Spike, be nice."

"Fat bloody chance of THAT."

"Xander, smack him."

"I can't, I'm driving!"

"This isn't exactly easy for me either, you know."

"Hah.  Did you have him tortured the last time you saw him?  Is he gonna laugh his great froufy ass off when he sees YOU?  No, I thought not."

"Don't worry, Spike, we'll protect you."

"Oh, thank you Xander, I feel MUCH better now.  Ass."

"Hey!  Take it easy on the insults, there, fangless, or I won't defend your honor."

"Like it needs defending from anyone but you."

"OOOH.  Tell tell!  Spike?  You have to tell, it's in the rules!"

"What rules?  What?  Spike, don't you dare..."

"Hey, we're here.  Oh bollocks, that's his car."

"That's him."

"Do I have to get out?"

"Um, yes?  Otherwise, he'll miss the impact of that shirt."

"Nice, huh?"

"Oh yeah.  Come on.  Let's get this over with."

The End


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