Pairing/Characters: Spike/Xander
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Warnings: Fluff!alert (appropriate after last week's prompt)
Summary: In an alternate Once More With Feeling Xander gets a lot closer to Spike than he ever would have wanted - or so he tells himself.
A/N: Thanks to [info]spikesdeb for pretty-ing things up for me. Excuse my post-readthru fiddle, it's a habit. *sigh* Mistakes are all mine... see anything amiss, whisper in my ear, would ya? Written for [info]tamingthemuse prompt #174: Mambo.

I'll Never Tell


Xander was obviously losing his mind.

There was no way in the world he was dancing the mambo with Spike. Okay, so, yeah, he’d done his version of the two-step with Anya – complete with their own special duet – and yeah, it seemed like the whole town was busting out in song and dance over just about anything.

But, this was Spike. Spike who was leading him around the storage room of the Magic Box, manhandling, vamphandling, him this way and that. Silent but for the occasional growl. Oh, and the sniffing of Xander’s neck.

The sniffing was pretty scary actually and he was doing his best to ignore it. And how it was starting to turn him on. Because that would just be… wrong.

He was just going to put the whole thing down to the hellmouth going wonky. Yep. Hellmouth wonkiness.

It had to be. If not—

No! That way led to crazy. Crazy, crazy thoughts.

He was in love with a beautiful woman, dammit! He was engaged to be married. So what that he was discovering he had a few commitment issues now that the date was looming closer and closer. What man didn’t? What woman didn’t for that matter? It was just pre-wedding jitters. Something that would pass with time, and him saying “I do”.

“Spike?” Xander said after another spin around the room and a series of intricate footsteps that normally would have boggled his mind at their complexity, never mind his ability to actually do them.

“Shut up, Harris.”

“But, Spike. We’re dancing. Together. You. Meeeeeeee…!” Xander squeaked as he was dipped. Then, “Whoa!” as he was brought upright with a sharp tug that brought his chest flush with Spike’s.

Spike didn’t say anything, just held him close, gave him another thorough sniff of his neck, then ran him through another series of intricate footsteps he was helpless but to follow.


“Harris, I said shut up.”


“If I start singing because you won’t shut up—” Spike growled. Then muttered under his breath, “It’s bad enough we’re bloody dancing together…”

“Right. Shutting up. Shutting up right now.” Xander made a motion of zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key.

Because, Spike was right. There were worse things than doing the mambo. Things like doing the mambo… and singing. With Spike.

The thought alone made him shudder. He so didn’t want to have to sing. Again. Once was more than enough.

After some more twists, spins, another dip or two and far too many hip shimmies for his peace of mind, the dance ended and they broke apart. Xander was panting heavily after the vigorous footwork and leaned back against one of the shelves to catch his breath. What he wouldn’t give for a bottle of water. Or beer.

“Where… uh… where did you learn how to dance like that?” Xander gasped out after some time.

Surprisingly, Spike hadn’t left immediately after their impromptu dance and had taken up a position on the far wall and was now smoking a cigarette. He gave Xander a thorough once-over before finally answering. “Spent some time in Cuba back in the 50s. Good times.”

Spike smiled, wide and knowing and just a little bit smug, and Xander had to wonder about those good times. They’d obviously been very good.


“You’re not too bad yourself, you know. For a beginner. Who knew that beneath that frumpy exterior was a body that, well… Anyway, far cry from your early slayer days.”

Spike blew a ring of smoke and Xander concentrated on that, rather than the backhanded compliment he’d just received. His ears reddened at just how he’d learned how to dance: him in a barely-there thong, a packed crowd of near-rabid women eager to get at that small scrap of material… or any other part of his body, the bass overly-loud in his ears making it near impossible to silently count out the steps he’d been hastily taught after their regular dancer got sick.

Spike chuckled and Xander’s eyes flew toward his face. “What!?

“Nothin’, Harris. Just sensin’ a story, is all. Care to share?”

“No way. A world of no. I’m not going to give you any more ammunition to well, that is— No, Spike. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.” Xander crossed his arms over his chest and nodded decisively.

“If you say so. Can always ask the Slayer or Red, I suppose. I’m sure they’ll tell me all about it, whatever it is.”

Xander pushed away from the shelf. He started forward, pointing a finger in the vampire’s direction; he nearly jabbed Spike in the chest once they stood toe to toe. “Don’t. You. Dare!

He turned away and stalked out of the storage room. In the main area, Willow and Tara were huddled together around a stack of books. Giles was silently pacing behind him, the end of his glasses hanging from his mouth as he thumbed through the pages of the book he held. Buffy was standing, arms akimbo, waiting silently, her expression grim.

“Giles! We seem… to have… a problem,” Xander sang. Problem was drawn out into three syllables.

“A problem! A problem!” Willow and Tara chorused.

Son of a bitch! Not again!

Xander clapped his hand over his mouth to prevent himself from belting out the next line that was reverberating in his head. He was just thankful that Spike was nowhere in the vicinity.

Dancing alone with the vampire had been bad enough. Doing it in front of his friends? So not going to—

“Don’t worry, pet. I’ll help you,” Spike crooned in his ear as he slipped his hands around Xander’s waist and practically plastered himself against his back, rocking their bodies from side to side.


Xander was impressed with himself. He was pretty darn sure the note he hit was a high “c”.

The End

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