I have so many people to acknowledge. Again, [info]reremouse for the beta. [info]_beetle_ for encouragement during the creative process and the suggestion on how to work in the malachite figure of a horse. And today's birthday girl, [info]ponders_life, for mentioning the song "Sway" in a post related to another story entirely.

And then there are the people who answered my call for requests of things they wanted to see in the fic:
[info]willowschild wanted romance and candlelight
[info]darkhavens wanted a lizard, a secret and the word "plunder" (she got two of three)
[info]amejisuto wanted apples or any other fall treat
[info]tabaqui wanted a malachite figure of a horse and the word "druidical" (anything for you, baby)
[info]ponders_life wanted dancing (Happy Birthday! I even used your song idea)
[info]_beetle_'s requests were insane, but I half filled one by incorporating a mention of the rules of Fight Club

Warnings? I give this piece an R rating. A healthy serving of snark, banter and schmoop with a wee side of smut.



True Romance: A story of 2004 words


by
Savoy Truffle



The Surprise

Xander is being dragged down the street by a very rapidly moving vampire.

“Hey, Spike?”

“Yeah?” Spike mutters, not pausing, still dragging.

“Where’re we going?”

Xander strains to make out the mumbled answer.

“A date? We’re going on a date?”

Familiar bluster. “Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

“Um… no?”

“Good.”

“In fact, if you release my arm, I promise to come willingly.” Spike lets go and keeps walking. Xander is practically jogging to keep up. “Really? A date?”

“Harris…”

“Hey, don’t growl at me. Just wondering if I’m dressed okay is all.”

Spike doesn’t even look him over before answering. “’Course you’re not… But if I took you home to change, you’d only make it worse.”

“Hey! Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me or something?”

“What? Just ’cause we’re going on a date?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Bugger that.”

Xander produces a dramatic long-suffering sigh complete with pout.

“Well, I suppose it’s not like my dates are usually nice to me…”

Spike is unmoved. “Quit yer whining. I’m buying, ain’t I?”

You’re buying? Where are we going? The Doublemeat Palace?”

“Oi, what happened to nice?”

“Wait a minute. I have to be nice, but you don’t? That’s not fair.”

“Well, I’m payin’, so that’s how it works.”

“Since you’re paying, you get to be a jerk and I have to be nice. Is that it?”

Spike nods.

“And I suppose you expect me to put out afterwards too?”

Spike’s look says it all.

“Okay, well, yeah… But it still wouldn’t hurt for you to tell me I’m pretty first…”

Spike starts dragging again. “C’mon.”


The Dinner

“Um, Spike? This is a really nice restaurant. Where’d you get the money for this?”

“Earned it, didn’t I?”

“‘Earned’ it from whose wallet?”

“Giles.”

“And you don’t think there’s anything weird about taking me out to dinner with stolen money?”

“Hello. Evil, here. Big Bad, remember?”

“Right. Silly me. Must be all the romantic music and soft candlelight making me forget.”

“Shut up and read the bloody menu.”

“Yes, master.”

The tone is snarky, but the playful flash of submission in Xander’s eyes makes Spike’s pants a bit less comfortable. He flashes back a look guaranteed to put Xander in the same state.

“Save it for later, pet.”

The waiter comes, takes their order and disappears again. Spike hesitates for a moment, then reaches into his duster pocket and hands Xander a folded square of paper.

“What’s this?” Xander unfolds it and scans. “Spike, did you… write me a poem?”

Spike mumbles something unintelligible. Xander reads. Xander giggles.

“What?” Growled.

“Sorry. It’s just… I can’t believe you actually used the word ‘druidical’?”

Spike glares.

“Needed something to rhyme with libidinal, didn’t I?”

“But druidical doesn’t even really—”

Spike holds out his hand. “Give it here.”

“No, you can’t take it back.” Xander clutches the poem to his chest. “It’s mine…. And I love it.”

Spike glowers but lowers his hand. Xander looks around, grinning stupidly.

“Geez, Spike, this place is so fancy. Look at all this silverware and the way they’ve folded these napkins. They look kind of like… I don’t know… little lizards.”

“Sure, ’cause nothings says class like a lizard,” Spike mutters under his breath. Xander is unfazed.

“This place is just so cool. I can’t wait to tell Willow we—”

“Try it and I’ll rip out your tongue…”

“Okay, ew. And what? It’s not like they don’t all know we’re together. I mean what with the random straddling of me at Scooby meetings and the molesting of me against any available surface—walls, tombs, tables, that fire hydrant—and, ouch, by the way. Anyway, point is, I think they’re hip to our game.”

“Just ’cause we’re shagging doesn’t mean we’re dating.”

“True, but can I point out that we are, in fact, on a date?”

“Not for long if you don’t…”

“Oh, I see… You’re afraid that if they find out you took me on a date it will ruin your evil, uncaring, badass reputation…”

“Harris…”

“Alright, alright. I get it. It’s like Fight Club: The first rule of dating Spike is, you do not talk about dating Spike. The second rule of dating Spike is, you do not talk about dating Spike…”

“Your parents ever consider putting you on Ritalin?”

“Hey, uh… Pot? Kettle? For the record, you’re just as ADHD as I am… Just because I happen to be spazzy-geeky hyper, while you tend to be more evil-violent-kinda-sexy hyper… Which I’ll admit, can be a significant difference. I mean, at least as far as getting play is concerned… Of course, that doesn’t really matter now, does it? Because I’m not really looking for play anymore. And neither are you. Because we’re both getting our play right here… right?”

Right here?”

“No, not right here. I mean, not public-place here. I mean, you know what I meant. And hey, hey, um, naughty foot. Naughty foot with the naughty touching here. Right here. Um, Spike… Public place, remember? Spike…”


The Dancing

As they’re taking the last bites of their delicious meals, a lounge quartet consisting of pianist, bassist, drummer and vocalist takes the small stage overlooking the restaurant's hardwood dance floor. The first song is “Moon River” and several couples, most with graying hair, step out onto the floor.

“Ooh, look Spike, they’re dancing the… whatever that dance is that they’re dancing.”

“S’the waltz, you heathen. Don’t they teach you kids anything these days?”

“Okay, do you have any idea how old you just sounded?”

“M’not old. I’m immortal. There’s a difference.”

“I bet you even know how to waltz. And I bet you know other old dances, too. Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Oh, you so do. Because you’re old.”

“Immortal.”

“Whatever. It’s cool. I just forget sometimes that I’m dating such an old guy.”

“Shagging, immortal, and vampire.”

“Whatever, whatever, and whatever.”

They try to stare each other down. Spike cracks first.

“Okay, what’s it gonna take to get you off the old thing?”

“Dance with me.”

“You can’t dance.”

“So show me.”

The waltz ends. The rhythm picks up slightly. The singer’s voice turns sultry and playful.

When marimba rhythms start to play
Dance with me, make me sway
Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore
Hold me close, sway me more


Xander aims a wistful gaze at the dance floor and sighs. By the time he turns pleading eyes across the table, Spike is already rising from his chair and reaching for Xander’s hand.

“C’mon then.”

The movements of Spike’s body are surprisingly easy to follow once Xander relaxes.

Sway me, take me
Thrill me, hold me
Bend me, ease me
You have a way with me


Damn, Spike really is good at this. He guides Xander through box steps, hip twists and underarm turns. It all feels effortless. Still, Xander’s breathless by the end and he’s happy to draw Spike close against his chest and lead them in the white man’s shuffle as the band plays a slow one.

I’ve got you under my skin
I’ve got you deep in the heart of me
So deep in my heart, that you’re really a part of me
I’ve got you under my skin

I’ve tried so not to give in
I’ve said to myself this affair never will go so well
But why should I try to resist, when baby will I know so well
That I’ve got you under my skin



The Gift

After a shared dessert of Autumn Apple Tart à la mode, they walk home.

“Ooh, window display. Since I’m your date and I’m gonna put out, will you buy me something, Spike?”

“Buy you something?”

“Yeah, to remember this night by.”

Spike looks wary. “Like what?”

“Like….um… that.” Xander points.

Spike stares. “You want me to buy you a malachite figure of a horse?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty.”

“It’s poncy.”

You’re poncy.”

“I certainly will be if I buy you that, you…. Are you batting your eyelashes at me?”

“Is it working?”

Spike sighs, storms into the store, pays for the figure without a word, exits said store and starts back down the sidewalk. Xander trails behind him. Spike reaches back extending the bag.

“I expect major sexual favors for this.”

“You always expect major sexual favors…”

“Just take the bag, you soft-headed git…”

“Says the guy who just wrote me a poem.” Xander comes around in front of Spike, takes the bag and faces him, walking backwards as he taunts. “A lurve poem.”

“You are so asking for it, Harris…”

Xander tries on his best ‘fuck me’ look and lowers his voice.

“I’m begging for it, Spike. Gonna give it to me?”

Spike’s ‘fuck me’ look blows Xander’s away.

“’Til you’re begging me to stop.”

“Never.”

Their eyes hold and burn into each other until Xander, still walking backwards, trips on a crack in the sidewalk and goes sprawling onto his ass.

“Christ, can’t take you anywhere,” Spike mutters, reaching down to pull Xander up. “Didn’t break your horse, did you?”

Xander dusts himself off and tilts his head in question.

“Well… I mean… it’s just… Paid good money for it, didn’t I?”

Xander smirks. “Let’s hurry home and I’ll show my deepest appreciation.”


The Nookie

No sooner have they closed the door behind them than Xander has Spike pressed up against that door. He folds to his knees. Spike’s black-jeans-du-jour are button fly. Xander goes at them with his teeth. Spike’s doing the unnecessary panting-breathing thing, his hands are gripping Xander’s hair and it’s all going pretty damn well in Xander’s estimation when suddenly those hands are pulling Xander’s head away.

“Wait.”

“Wait? Wait? I’m on my knees, opening your fly with my teeth, about to give you my most enthusiastic rendition ever of the patented Xander blowjob—which, I might add, was developed in express compliance with your exacting standards—and you’re telling me to wait?”

Spike almost reconsiders. Xander starts to lean back into Spike’s crotch, but the hands pull him away again.

“I... I need to… arrange some things… in the bedroom. Just stay out here a minute, yeah?”

Spike is already leaving the room.

“Sure, yeah,” Xander mutters to himself, sitting back on his heels. “I’ll just wait.”

Patience lasts about two and a half minutes.

“I’m sure whatever you’re doing in there is wonderful, Spike, but it’s not necessary,” he calls out. “I’m a sure thing tonight—well, any night, really—but especially tonight, trust me.”

“Almost ready. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Shouldn’t still be wearing knickers at all, Spike.”

“Alright, come on in.”

Xander enters a bedroom filled with the glow and aroma of scented candles. The bed is dressed in cream satin sheets and sprinkled with chocolates. Two tiny bottles of what Xander recognizes as chocolate-flavored massage oil and chocolate-flavored lube sit on the nightstand. Spike is shirtless and barefoot and the top button on his black jeans is still undone. It’s a look Xander likes better than naked… almost.

“Um… wow… So, pretty much anything nice I say about all of this is going to result in snark and defensive posturing, right?”

“Pretty much.”

Xander nods. He mimes zipping his lips, attaching a small padlock and throwing away the key, as he slowly walks toward Spike.

“Actually, pet, might want to retrieve that key. Just ’cause I don’t want you to talk, doesn’t mean we won’t be using your mouth…”


The Afterglow

“Just so we’re clear: Tell anyone I took you on a date and I’ll take you over my knee and you won’t be able to sit for days. Tell anyone I bought you that horse and I’ll tie you to the bed and tease you ruthlessly without letting you get off every night for a month…”

These are supposed to be deterrents?

“Tell anyone I wrote you a bloody poem and I’ll kill you. Slowly.”

He wouldn’t actually…

“And if you ever tell anyone that I danced… You’ll never feel these lips around your cock again. Ever.”

And there is a threat worth taking seriously.

“Right. So that’ll be our little secret.”




The End




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