Pairing: pre-S/X
Prompt: 142 – Flummox
Warnings: Cross-dressing
Rating: PG
Word Count: 720

Summary: Sometimes, being a Slayerette was really hard on the man-ego.

Once is Chance

by
JitkaJaylor

Spike was really very thankful that he didn’t have enough blood to blush right now. From old memories, he knew that he could flush from his cheeks straight down to his navel, and he was showing far too much skin to let that mortiying little tidbit remain secret. Not that much else was secret right now. Or sacred.

“Rupert,” Spike said, trying not to snap the Slayer’s tiny, giggling neck. The Watcher ushered her out of the room before anything escalated. There was a bloke who’d been in his situation. Rupes hadn’t even pretended at a bit of shock like he normally did around these children. Red was utterly flummoxed, mouth slowly dropping by the minute.

“You need more hair to finish the look,” Anya said. There was a long look, up and down then very slowly up again, and Spike felt vaguely dirty in a way he’d not really experienced. Ever. “I’ve got a lovely chestnut blond to go with your summer colors.” And she was gone, brushing passed Xander as he ambled into Rupert’s house. Late. Bloody little bastard with his impeccable timing.

“Hey Wills.” Xander ruffed his hands through his hair, hoping he was scattering sawdust everywhere. “Where’s Anya off to in such a hurry?” He lifted his head and blinked at the pretty girl fidgeting in the opposite doorway. His mouth wanted to ask if Willow had brought one of her witchy friends for a consult, but everything seemed to pause for just a second. Then the delicate, pale face of stunned insecurity snapped into a far too familiar scowl, complete with slightly glowing eyes. “Spike.”

His voice was a bit strangled, but he supposed he could be excused. Spike was, after all, in a dress. Not just any dress, but a well-fitted empire waist with gentle, flowing A-line skirt that made him seem to have just a hint of all the right curves, and Xander hadn’t quite recognized the blond curls falling into those shocking blue eyes. Not like he’d never noticed Spike had blue eyes, but Spike had blue eyes. Eyes lighter than the chartres blue, and Xander had really been around girls for way too long. Though, it looked like Spike, having doted on Drusilla for a century, had just given up and joined the girls.

“You look good,” and there went the momentary censor on his mouth. “Not that you didn’t look good before,” he hurried on at Spike’s very believable threatening growl, “because you were always with the blue eyes and tight body.” Willow’s big eyes slowly tore away from the sight of a prettily pissed off Spike to a blushing, babbling Xander. He lifted his hands and took a step back as Spike stepped forward. “You’re a great visual for androgynous beauty, what with sculpted bones and lean muscles and appealing curls.”

Xander’s finger made a little spin in the air like he wanted to twirl a curl himself, and the blush got deeper. Spike could smell the pheromones from the boy, but he could also smell the faint bitterness of fear. This was one Slayerette that had never been afraid of Spike, not even once in the many times the vamp literally held the boy’s life in his undead hands. And now, fear and arousal chased through his blood. Not unlike how the boy tended to smell around the Slayers or the ex-demon. Or even the witches, at rare times. Spike took another step closer, the soft knit brushing just above his knees. He hadn’t realized that his thighs could be so bleeding sensitive before this little venture. Not that Dru hadn’t dressed him up before, but the older styles she preferred were drastically different than this, where he felt half naked in front of a bunch of school children.

“Get out,” Spike snarled, his eyes daring Harris to keep going. Boy’s body froze for a long moment, dark eyes bouncing slightly like he refused to let himself look down, before he turned and calmly walked right back out of the house.

“Wasn’t he supposed to be your date?” Willow asked, voice a bit dazed. She kept staring at the door, and Spike hissed and stomped back to the bathroom to put on the collection of straps the girls claimed were shoes. It was official: Spike hated Anflr demons.

Twice is Coincidence

“Word on the street says you’ve gone the way of your Sire.” Xander slid onto the barstool and leaned his arms on the bar, his eyes lazily drifting around the room and blatantly avoiding the man next to him. The barkeep froze for a long moment, deer eyes trembling on the verge of outright terror, but Xander flicked a finger at the empty bottle and then tapped it on the bar in front of him. The beefy man ducked down, slid a new bottle of Jack Daniels onto the bar as far from the scowling blond as possible then scurried to the other end of his domain. Somehow, the distance didn’t ease his visible nervousness.

“Only a matter of time, yeah?” The deep, rough British seemed to startle the two other men at the bar. They both stared for a long moment before one pushed his drink away and stumbled out of the smoky room and the other tipped his head back and gulped his drink before beckoning for another. Xander bit the inside of his lip to keep from smiling.

“Oh, the material,” Xander murmured, finally turning and really looking at Spike. He coughed over his initial laugh. Spike glared. “Is there something the girls see that I don’t?” he asked. Because really, Easter Sunday Best was the only thing coming to mind with the lemon yellow dress falling below the knee and topped with a sky blue shrug that only emphasized the visual delicacy of Spike’s throat and shoulders. “Big Bad goes Good Girl seems a bit of a jump, to me.”

“Bloody right it’s a jump,” Spike snarled. He snatched up the new JD and wrenched off the cap. Xander didn’t know if the subdued tone was melancholy or alcohol. “Dru least made me a Debauched Duchess when she wanted to play.” Spike swallowed three very large chugs of liquid before pounding the bottle down again. “No respect, that’s what’s goin’ on here, Harris.” Those blue eyes were certainly crossed, hazed over with too much liquor, and Xander was very glad he’d brought the truck, because hauling a human home in a drunken stupor was bad enough. Spike was probably the type to try and wobble away from any helping hand.

“I haven’t gotten a lot of manly type respect for a long time, Spike,” Xander sighed. “I figure I escaped this particular fate by simply being too big.” Spike’s bleary eye squinted and seemed to consider Xander’s shoulders. There was a pout that Xander tried very hard to ignore before Spike wrapped his lips around the neck of the bottle again. Xander felt the interested heat circling low in his belly, and grit his teeth.

“How’d you find me, anyway?” Spike leaned his head on the bar, peering sideways at Xander, wondering if the boy even knew the delicious appeal of fear and arousal mixed together. Demon aphrodisiac, really.

“You’d be surprised the gossip you hear at a construction site,” Xander grinned. “Pretty blond that makes you almost miss the Adam’s apple.” Spike flipped him two fingers. “Wasn’t hard to track you down, honestly.” Xander tilted his head. “Though I think it’s about time to roll you into a couch.”

Spike watched Xander drop cash on the bar. His left hand wasn’t about to let go of the potent amber fire, but he graciously allowed Harris to slide under his right arm and haul him up to his feet.

“Room’s not supposed to spin,” Spike said. Xander rolled his eyes.

“Your speech is bizarrely recognizable for someone who can’t put one foot in front of the other.”

Spike frowned, looked down at his feet, and sternly told them, “Walk straight, ya hear?”

Xander chuckled, stuffed the boneless man into his truck, and hoped that vampires didn’t have the throw up type of hangovers.

Three Times is Conspiracy

Xander sighed and flumped down in the swing next to Spike. The vampire absent-mindedly sneered in Xander’s general direction and tilted back his head for a swig of whatever unlabeled alcohol he had in hand. Xander supposed he deserved it. Another dress, kinda reddish this time, though the lack of lighting didn’t bring it out like the last few times, and Xander just knew that Spike was trying really hard to hide from everyone in this new skirt and flouncy shirt get-up. Which, of course, meant that Xander’s comfort instinct had kicked in. For Spike.

“Why haven’t you just changed?” he asked. Spike twisted the swing just enough to put his back to Xander. It was only a moment before another swig of booze unbalanced his toes and spun him around, bleary eyes not focusing on Xander at all.

“’S a conspiracy, yeah?” Spike’s voice was husky with a welcoming depth that invited Xander to join the secret. Xander leaned forward a touch, chest pressed against the swing chain. “The Slayer, she’s messin’ wit’ me.” Spike shook his head, apparently trying to clear his thoughts. “Wan’s to see me ‘ike ‘is.” Spike spread his arms, swing twisting, and almost hit Xander’s head.

“Why?” Xander asked. Because, really, Buffy wanting to see Spike in a dress? Not with the sense making. Spike tilted his head.

“’Cause ‘m prettier ‘an she is.”

Xander nodded, slowly. Only response he could come up with.

“You think so.”

Xander blinked.

“Smell all lusty ‘n stuff when ya see my legs.” Spike glanced sideways at a very stiff Xander. Then he stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankle. He nodded firmly. “Calves or ankles I think’s what does it for you. Though the whole fear scent’s throwing me a bit.”

“Ingrained reaction,” Xander said, voice tight. “I like a girl, she tries to kill me. Rather trusty bad-gal locator, I am.”

“No blokes?”

“Oz tended to look at me funny whenever he growled.”

Spike growled. Xander’s eyes widened then snapped shut. He pressed his forehead to the cool chain.

“Sun’ll be up soon.” Spike said. Xander listened to the swing chains rattle as Spike stood. A hard-edged bottle nudged his hand, and Xander wrapped his fingers around it in a death grip. “World’s still spinnin’.” Xander nodded, metal links digging into his forehead. Spike sighed and tugged Xander up by his shirt collar. He started walking, Xander hop-skipping a few steps before coming up next to the vampire. Spike let him go once he seemed sure of Xander’s compliance. “Can’t jus’ leave you out there all mixed up with fear and lust. Good as hot blood,” Spike’s eyes darted over to the stunned face, “or chocolate.”

“Chocolate’s good,” Xander murmured, wringing his hands around the neck of the bottle. A bit of liquid sloshed inside. Spike tapped the bottom.

“A swallow’ll numb the shock. Get ‘ya ta’ sleep, and this never happened in the morning, yeah?”

“It’s already morning.” Xander took the drink.

“Sky’s certainly light enough for me,” Spike muttered. Xander looked up, the sky not black so much as deep blue streaked with reddish-orangey clouds.

“You can have the couch.” Xander blinked. Looked at Spike’s amused eyebrow, and blushed. The other eyebrow joined the first.

“We’ll see what happens,” Spike’s grin was insinuating and dangerous, and Xander admitted defeat to the fear response of his libido, “in the morning.”

Four Times and You’re Fucked

Xander wakes slowly, comfortable in the security of his little space shut away from the rest of the world, the walls keeping everyone out, and he knows that he’s lying to himself, that there are things that can and will waltz through wood and steel and concrete like it’s one of those Japanese paper door things, flimsy and breakable and falling into nothing at the first hint of rain, but living on the Hellmouth demands a certain level of demon-blindness in order to keep the human brain sane, and Xander figures letting this oversight of the home space is just a bit necessary for him to sleep at all so he wakes in slow, easy increments, grunting and pulling blankets over his head like he used to as a kid, hiding from that annoying ray of sunlight trying to pierce his skull. Except, there is no sunlight right now. Actually, the only light is the funny green light from his bathroom night light. He lifts a hand to rub his eyes, blinking around his room and trying to figure out what’s woken him up so early in the morning. There’s only so much sleep he gets around work and slaying, and he treasures it like a hoarding dragon.

“Gonna wake up an’ play?” Spike gins, sure that Xander can’t see him, amused that the human trusts him this close in his sleep because Spike’s seen Xander go from sprawled out and snoring to swinging the large battle axe leaning against his nightstand. A demonstration of years of living next to death, the boy had been bleary-eyed and unresponsive while cleaning the axe and crawling right back into bed. Now, though, Spike hovered not five feet from the attuned human, and not a flicker of tension rode those broad shoulders. Spike licked his lips and leaned forward, Xander’s eyes finally tracking his movement in the limited vision of humans. “Got a treat just for you.”

Xander winced when he heard a switch flip, but it was only the hall light, bright enough to dazzle his eyes for a moment, but not the shock his stupidly high-wattage lamp on the bedside table would have been. Spike shifted back from his side, standing in the spill of soft white light, nearly posing with his head coyly tilted down and to one side, hands behind his back and hips cocked just enough to display the lines of black fabric and white skin: white throat bared by a deeply cut V-neck shirt, the top wide and nearly falling off of Spike’s delicate shoulders, hugging the long line of thin torso, every sharp muscle surely visible if only there was a bit more light, a black skirt almost surely as tight creating an intriguing little shadow at the very bottom of Spike’s ass where his male curves pushed the material out just enough to tease, all on top of gloriously bare white legs, nicely formed, trim, flowing from lethal muscle to lecherous shadowy dip down to feet, long and fine-boned, wonderfully small toes tipped with black paint. Xander gulped, panted a few breaths, and didn’t even try to stop his blood from dropping out of his brain.

Spike rather liked the slow perusal of those darkening eyes, appreciative, knowing, accepting. The confusion tumbling around in his head ever since the beginning of this Anflr debacle didn’t matter here. Or it mattered more than he’d ever imagined because the reaction he’d expected had been nowhere in sight or scent. This scent was all desire and fear and respect and hunger, and when Spike tilted his head back to breathe it deeper, he wasn’t surprised to find himself pressed against the wall, burning human flesh leaning into him with barely leashed sexual need. He let a satisfied grin curl at the corners of his lips, and opened his eyes to look down at the sparkling brown eyes searching his own. The fast, wild grin flashing across Xander’s face startled him for a second. That was when his arms were twisted up behind his back, caught in the ripped shirt, and Spike couldn’t quite get enough leverage with his own weight pressed against them. Xander leaned close, his breath hot and comforting against his throat.

“I’m going to fuck you against the wall, Spike,” Xander whispered, pleased when Spike tried to buck him off, that long expanse of white throat arched beneath his mouth. Not one to pass up such a blatant invitation, Xander pressed his lips to the pulse point, intrigued to find that Spike actually had a very slow thump-ump, and he set his teeth around that heart beat and huffed a very soft, very pleased moan that Anya had hated, called it a growling purr that set all of her demonic memories on edge. Spike stopped wiggling. For a long moment, Xander could swear he’d ruined the entire night, Spike’s body trembling, vibrating with something Xander didn’t pretend to understand, and then Spike breathed a soft moan and practically melted into the wall, body all open and malleable, and Xander ran his hand up a smooth thigh, leather skirt dragging up its short length and exposing Spike’s usual commando state.

Spike couldn’t stop the begging whine tumbling from his lips as Xander’s smiling lips nipped down his throat and settled just over the hollow of his collarbone. Tremendously thankful that Xander only wore boxers to bed, Spike arched his back and rubbed against that delightfully radiant chest. Xander leaned more weight on Spike, and bugger it all, his hands were going to hurt when this was all over, but the rough fingertips gently hooking under one knee and lifting it begged him not to care. When that same hand tugged those boxers just far enough to let Xander’s cock slide down Spike’s then under his balls, he wished he could see something other than the really boring ceiling. Then Xander’s thumb pressed against his hole, insistent and unrelenting, and Spike squeezed his eyes shut, dragging in with a panting gasp. Spike pressed his head to the wall, neck open to whatever Xander wanted next, and grit his teeth as Xander pressed cum-damp cockhead against Spike, shifted his grip on Spike’s waist, and bit down on Spike’s shoulder.

Xander growled until he felt Spike’s body split around his cock. Then he stopped, Spike’s rapid breathing whistling at the back of his throat, Xander’s teeth deep enough for him to taste blood. He shifted a foot, pushing Spike’s one support out just a bit, kneading Spike’s sides with his hands, and breathed for a long moment as they both relaxed, rode out the pain. Once the little hitching breaths slowed, Xander slid his knee forward and wrapped his hands around Spike’s waist. He lifted his head and waited a long moment more until Spike opened his eyes and looked down. Xander wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, but when Spike dropped his head onto Xander’s shoulder with a sigh that shuddered down his sides and legs, his back curving with a very inviting tilt of hips, Xander took that final step and leaned into Spike with his whole body, pressing forward with a slow drag that burned his cock. Spike made choking, gasping sounds in the back of his throat, a low, constant whine reverberated in Xander’s ear, and Xander knew this wasn’t all fun and games, yet he could still feel Spike’s very interested cock nudging his stomach. Not like he could have stopped at this point, he’d been wanting to be inside this lithe body ever since that damn chartreuse dress that brought out Spike’s eyes, and the very thought pushed Xander, made his hands pull and his hips buck.

Spike wailed, that one glancing pleasuring slicing through the roiling hot ache, his head snapped against the wall, his voice stuttering as his body throbbed and relaxed, clenched and released, his cum ground between their stomachs as his muscles tensed and twisted, unable to escape as Xander hissed and dug his fingers into Spike’s back. Spike wanted to close his mouth, he didn’t need to breathe, but his body was drooping, melting, and when Xander thrust up again, Spike’s foot lost the ground, scrabbled at the back of Xander’s leg to get some support as the man buried his face in Spike’s throat and controlled both of their bodies, pushing and pulling, forcing his way in and out of Spike’s unresisting body, surging and reaching for his own tumbling pinnacle. Spike grunted, his head fell forward, and he couldn’t do anything but enjoy the stinging scrape inside of his body, the solid heat burrowed deep inside. And when Xander’s teeth dug into his shoulder again, he felt the warmth spread through his stomach, could almost feel warm down his fingers and toes, and he closed his eyes, tucked his nose into musky dark hair, and lingered in the fleeting companionship, trying not to let the encompassing embrace make him feel safe, secure.

Xander didn’t bother to step back. He didn’t think his legs would keep him up. Using Spike and the wall, he slowly folded downward, keeping Spike’s ass pressed to his hips, reluctant to give up that tight little haven his cock had found. His tongue darted out to soothe the angry red welts he’d put on Spike. For a moment, Xander felt a swirling giddiness at having marked the vampire, then he leaned away and looked at Spike. The blond’s head was tilted back on the wall again, throat not quite so invitingly arched now.

“I’m confused here,” Xander said, oddly relieved when Spike snorted and rolled his head up enough to blearily glare at Xander through heavily lidded eyes.

“I came here to fuck you, pet,” Spike said. Those sneering lips paused, softened and curled into a sardonic, yet content, smile. “Turned the tables just a bit, you did.” Spike tensed his muscles, grin widening at Xander’s soft, choked little gasp. Still had the boy by the bits, he did, even if it wasn’t exactly by the plans. Spike didn’t care for nit-picky operations, anyway.

Xander curled forward, dropped his forehead onto Spike’s shoulder, and wrapped his arms firmly around the other’s waist. “Next time, wear the duster,” Xander murmured, his interrupted sleep and rather athletic exploits dragging him down to sleep, propped up on the floor around Spike.

Spike blinked down at Xander’s soft snore and could have sworn bloody murder. Boy’d fallen asleep on him. Spike squirmed, trying to get his arms free or off of Xander’s not-quite soft cock, and wasn’t that going to be interesting when the boy woke in the morning. Xander’s arms tightened, pulling Spike closer, pushing deeper, and Spike was not going to be stuck here with his own bloody hard-on, so he sighed, settled his hands a little lower on his back, curled his leg more comfortably around Xander, and told his brain to go to sleep.

“Right cock up this was,” Spike mumbled to the ceiling. He took a quick look at the tussled hair and lax body and made a note to wear the duster next time.

The End

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