Disclaimer: Do not own, dude!
Warning: Yeah. Xander in leather pants. I want some, too.

Break the Ice


It really wasn't that big of a surprise. At least, to him it wasn't. He'd had those few times in Oxnard as a sort of preliminary back up experience, and he'd even enjoyed it. The thrill. The excitement. The power. The leather. All things, now that he looked back, he'd never gotten enough of. Sure, there had been those stints as a Slayerette, and being with the Scoobies was great, but he wouldn't sort it into the "thrilling" or "exciting" section. More like the "holy fucking shit that thing has teeth" category. And being tossed around like a limp noodle didn't exactly boost his sense of power. And leather? Well, he blamed Deadboy and Fangless for that little obsession. Just the smell of leather had his eyes glazing over as he thought of both of his least favorite, but undeniably the sexiest men he'd ever met.

Okay, so that bit was a little surprising. Stripping? All fun and games until you find out that hot, horny women grinding against you doesn't get lil' Xan all happy anymore. So, surprise surprise, the Xan-man loved it when one of his male clients jumped on stage and kissed him senseless. He'd been wary of his response at first, but that was a month ago and he'd fully accepted this new side of himself.

He'd been hiding his new job since he got it two months before, and he'd been doing a damn fine job. He was the infamous Masked Avenger—making every woman, man, and demon's dream a reality. Sometimes he'd even do private parties as Officer McNaughty, but he always wore his silky black mask. Sunnydale was a small town, after all, and he was the most in-demand stripper the Delight Night had had in years. Of course, by day, he was still Xander Harris: Zeppo extraordinaire and Butt Monkey of the Universe. No one would ever suspect. No one even knew his real name at his job—besides the club's manager who was a deeply empathetic romance novelist named Kaylee Saunders.

So, as previously stated, he'd been doing a fine job hiding it. It wasn't like he was ashamed or anything, but it wasn't something you casually interjected into conversation. Not that anyone of the Scoobies really asked about his life anyways. Besides Anya, none of them really cared, and Anya was far too preoccupied with her new boyfriend. Xander didn't mind. Giles and her were cute together. The group was far too busy, and he completely understood. He was busy, too. Saving the day, stripping, and moving into his own place. And hiding his new occupation. Which was about to be all for naught because he was dancing a party tonight at the club, and—quite literally—everyone he knew was going to be there. Except for Giles. Which, in and of itself, was a massive relief.

Here he was, finally doing something and being amazing at it, and the world decides that no, Xander isn't supposed to be awesome—Xander's supposed to be my bitch. And he was. He'd agreed to the party without even looking. Just another birthday extravaganza, right?

He let out a bitter laugh, and one of the slicked up men next to him gave him a questioning look through the large, shared mirror. "It's nothing."

"You sure, Lex?" he asked, groomed eyebrow quirking up. "Haven't seen you this tense since your first night."

"Just did something stupid, James," he muttered, slumping and avoiding his own gaze in his masked reflection. "As usual."

Shawn, the drop dead gorgeous fireman on his other side stopped fixing his brilliantly red hair and patted his shoulder. "Don't be so down, Lexxy. It's not like you. You're all suave and sex in leather pants. You know you are."

His lips quirked a little bit at the reassurance, "I am, aren't I?"

Shawn grinned, tossing a look James' way, before he nodded. "Sure are. And you're gonna flaunt it tonight. Give 'em all you got. That'll get you back to normal."

Xander nodded, staring at himself in the mirror full-on now, a restored sultry confidence radiating from within and making him grin. "Right. I'm ready."

There was a sudden and loud uproar, and they all turned to face the three blondes that came stumbling in with broad smiles. The Surfer Dudes. Xander smirked back, rolling his eyes slightly as they all high-fived. The leader of the trio, Jack, waltzed over, patting his shoulders and winking.

"We got 'em all warmed up for ya dude," he said, smelling faintly of weed. "The birthday girl is crazy."

He chuckled as he stood, the thought of Buffy swooning over the three airheads tickling his funny bone. "I'm up then."

"Kill 'em, tiger." James said dryly, a wry smile on his lips.

Xander grabbed the leather duster off the coat rack and put it on with a sexy flourish. Oh, the wonders a little hip movement could do. Grabbing a black fedora, he turned and faced his dancing partners, and blew them a kiss. He received catcalls and whistles as he bowed slightly and made his way to the stage. He paused, just outside the audience's line of view, and took a quick peak around the dark red satin of the curtains. Eyes widening, he scanned the full house of women, dotted with the occasional man. Buffy, Willow, Tara, and Anya were dead front, and he grinned at the sight of the girls flush and fanning themselves with make-shift one dollar bill fans. There was a mutter in the crowd as they waited impatiently for the next act.

For me. He preened, straightening his jacket before stepping into the spotlight.


Spike really couldn't believe the bints had invited him to the Slayer's party. He'd almost said no, but when Anya had said the words "strip" and "club"—Well, who was he to refuse that? Sad bit was, he wouldn't get to see the whelp all open mouthed and around because he'd declined the invitation before even hearing it. Silly git…

'Course, he supposed the Slayer thought'd be funny to take him to see male strippers. She didn't expect him to get off on it, too. Ignorant, she was. Bloody ignorant. He chuckled, remembering the look on her face when he'd started tooting the blonde men on as they tore off each other's clothes.

Now, he was settling back in between Red and the ex-demon with their drinks, finding it oddly annoying that he was having such a good time with the twits. Didn't make a bloody bit of sense, but it certainly was nice to smell all that arousal… It really was too bad Harris wasn't there. Whelp was cute when he was all hot and bothered.

Suddenly, the master vampire's attention was drawn to the stage as all the lights went out but one. His blue eyes narrowed as bare feet padded softly on stage, and the entire club fell silent. Spike tensed as rich, dark eyes peaked out from under the brim of a black hat.

'It's been a while.'

He licked his lips as the man on stage winked and ran his hands up his body. Slowly. Teasingly. Seductively. They reached his head, and he yanked off the hat to reveal soft, dark waves of hair. Spike briefly wondered if those locks were as soft as they looked.

'I know I shouldn't have kept you waiting…'

His hands trailed back down, gripping the collar of a black leather jacket before he yanked it open and slowly slid it off. Blue eyes roamed over a well-toned body appreciatively, and he adjusted in his seat, his pants becoming a little snug.

'But I'm here, now.'

As soon as the beat started, his jacket was off and his hips were swaying sensually to the beat. A devilish little smirk lightened the masked man's features, and he twisted around as the lyrics started, sweeping himself into a bend that showed off his ass quite nicely in the red leather pants. Spike watched, lips parted in awe, as the God on stage writhed and moved to the music in all the right ways. His hands clenched on the arm rests, bending them unnaturally as heated brown eyes found his and locked on tight.

Hips rolled and rocked. A pink tongue came out and licked his lips teasingly. The bloke was taunting him. His unneeded breath hitched at the come-hither look, and he groaned as the boy dropped down and rolled up. Bloody hell he was sexy. He thought of all the things he'd do to that taunt little body as the man on stage ripped off a black wife-beater over his head and tossed it to the crowd. The entire room erupted in noise and bills were already being tossed up at the now shirtless man.

The dance was pure torture. One big cock tease. He let loose a practically inaudible growl as muscles contracted and the boy isolated his chest to mimic wanton panting.

'Are you hot enough, yet?'

Yes, he bloody well was.

The next thing he knew, the bloody sexy git was off the stage and in the Slayer's lap. Spike watched, envy sparkling bright in his now gold eyes. The other women cheered, reaching over, tucking bills here and there in the bloke's leather pants. He growled, and Anya was practically crawling over him to touch the sensually moving stripper to his left. He was half tempted to throw her off, grab the boy, and find out just what that sweat glistening skin tasted like.

He watched as hips rolled teasingly over Buffy's, and the normally strong woman seemed as though she'd melted into a puddle of goo. Her hands ran over skintight leather, laughing as the man wiggled his eyebrows at her, and kissed her cheek. She blushed slightly, watching in awe as he stood, hips still swaying with the music. Deep brown eyes shined with mirth, and he moved is body in a slow body roll with the beat.

"Happy birthday," he said, voice deep and husky over the music.

Catcalls and shouts rang through the air as more men filed out onto the stage, all of them dancing to the voice of Brittany Spears. The brunette smirked, eyes running over the small group up front, and landed on Spike. Yellow eyes gleamed, catching deep, rich brown ones, and suddenly, he knew exactly why this particular stripper was so damned taunting.

"Xander," he purred the name, a smirk slowly finding itself on his face.

Oh, this was going to be interesting.


"I'm sorry, hottie, but you can't come back here," he said, voice pitched as he tried to keep the man from moving forward. "Dancers and performers only."

"I got business," he said with a growl, and Xander scowled from behind the door. He knew that voice. That 'Big Bad' tone. "With one of your boys."

His eyes went wide. Had Spike recognized him?

"Well, I'm afraid you'll just have to wait—"

"Not bloody likely," he muttered, shoving past the man and wincing a bit as the chip flared softly in his skull.

Suddenly, Xander was very, very frightened. Spike knew. He had to know. That was the only plausible explanation as to why he was about to walk through the dressing room door. This didn't make sense. This was bad. Really, really bad. Stumbling back, he scrambled for somewhere to fun or hide. He regretted ever being confident if it meant Spike using his job as teasing ammo. This was not good. The door was slowly jimmied open, and Xander dove, snatching up his mask and putting it on just as the large metal slab swung open.

And there he was… Tall, pale, and sniffing the air. Xander would've been creeped if he hadn't been so busy, propping his feet up to look casual. Blue eyes landed on him, and Xander gulped as they scanned him hungrily. So, not exactly what he was expecting.

"Saw you dancing tonight," he said, voice low, and he shivered.

"Yeah?" he replied, going for nonchalance and surprisingly succeeding. "Did you like it?"

Spike made a bit of choking sound, and Xander found himself pinned by the gaze of a lustful predator. This was almost as scary as when he thought Spike was going to laugh in his face. He wiggled back in his seat, feeling oddly naked even though he was still clad in his leather pants.

"Like it?" he asked, prowling forward. "Pet, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Done?" he squeaked, jumping a bit as Spike leaned down, his arms locking him in his spot on the chair.

Spike chuckled, nose brushing Xander's cheek teasingly, his voice dropping to almost a purr. "Want you, pet."

"You know who I am?" he asked, just to make sure.

"Can smell you," he said, "Couldn't before. I can, now. Smell like chocolate and sex."

"Th-that's a good thing?"

"It's a sodding great thing," he murmured, listening to the mortal's heart race. "The only question is… Do you taste the same way?"

A blush consumed his features, and his hands hesitantly came up to grip Spike's duster. He grinned cheekily, oddly happy to know he had an effect on him. Elated, really. Arching, he ground against the vampire tauntingly.

"Want to find out?"

"Oh, bloody hell," he groaned, lips meeting lips, and everything made perfect sense again.

The End

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