By Minim Calibre
Notes: Written for the Dec. 2002 Slash Advent. Fluff, pure and simple. Spike/Xander, R.
Fringe Benefits
“I believe this is what they call a Mexican standoff.” Xander glared at Spike. Spike glared right back.
“Bit racist, don’t you think?”
“What?” Right. Soul. Spike’s changed, blah blah blah.
“Well, you know, the implication that somehow people from Mexico are less able to resolve conflicts. Just seems a bit unfair, that’s all.”
“Spike, I think I liked you better before the soul. In fact, I know I did.”
“Fair enough, though I can’t see why that would be.”
The reasonableness, that was the worst thing. Or maybe it was the calm, low tone of voice, as if Spike thought he was talking to a child. Or maybe the worst thing was the whole situation, complete with the no-staking order from Buffy.
“Look, Spike, I already told you the last time you stayed here that if you’re going to use the microwave to heat up your blood, you need to clean up any spills.” Xander tried for the same low, reasonable inflection Spike was using, but couldn’t quite manage it.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Could you stop? With the apologies, with the nice-nice? Because you’re beginning to give me the creeps here. No, not beginning. You *are* giving me the creeps. And strangely, more so than you did when all you wanted to do was kill me.”
Spike just tilted his head. Man, he hated it when Spike did that. Not that were many things he approved of Spike doing. Actually, when he thought about it, the last thing Xander remembered thinking might have been a good Spike idea was the whole self-staking business. Yellow crayon or no, he still hadn’t quite forgiven Willow for convincing him that keeping Spike alive was a good thing. Or at least less “ooky” than letting him commit Spike-uku in the basement.
“Listen, as long as you’re here, the rules are simple: no leaving bloodstains in the kitchen, no sneaking out to kill people, and no sex with women I care about.”
“What about sex with you?”
Okay. Doubletake. No, make that tripletake. Possibly the rare quadrupletake. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Alrighty then. Should I chalk this one down to, oh, I don’t know–total insanity?”
“No, it’s just that you’re keeping me here, against your will, and I’m trying to make things right.”
“Let me get this straight: you’re pimping yourself for room and board?”
“You make it seem like something sordid, and that’s not the case.”
“Okay, then. You’re offering me a sympathy fuck.” Nope. Still wasn’t making sense. Worse still was how damned earnest Spike looked, like he’d be mortally wounded if Xander didn’t take him up on the offer. Which was more than enough reason to not do it.
“Well, it was good enough for Buffy and Anya, don’t see as how you’re so far above them.”
Right, breathing. Slow, calm. In. Out. In. Out. Anything to keep from staking the annoying vampire offering him… well, offering him something he hadn’t had in a while. And really, there was no reason the idea should sound so appealing, but…
“Things. Not good for me,” Xander muttered.
“What’s that, then?”
“Nothing. Just talking to myself, as tends to happen when the only other option is, say, talking to a CRAZY person.”
“You knew I was crazy when you took me in, so I don’t see what the big shocker is there.”
Reasonable again. And, much as he hated to admit it, in possession of a point. Not much of one, mind you, but enough of one to just barely get under the skin.
“Fine. So I knew you were nuts. Like that’s a big shock. And you think this would make me willing to screw you because why?”
“Thought you might be lonely is all. Anya off finding herself, you here in this large apartment with nothing better to do than complain about my housekeeping. It’s obvious that you’re frustrated.”
That was a much larger point. A point that could, like the Great Wall of China, be seen from space.
“Okay, so we’ll fuck. But no kissing.” Hell, he had to get something from the arrangement, didn’t he?
“Why not? You ashamed of shagging me?”
“Yes, but more to the point, you’ve got blood-breath.”
“They do make mouthwash, you know.”
“Yes, and I spend my hard-earned money on it, which means that I get to decide who in my house uses it, and that who’s not you.”
“Well, fair’s fair. So, you want to go to the bedroom, or just get things over with?”
“‘If it were done when tis done, then twere well It were done quickly’.” Spike cocked a brow at him—the sexy, scarred one, the bastard. “What? You think I can’t know my Shakespeare? I went to school. Have my slightly singed diploma to prove it, even.”
The head tilted again, but Spike was going down on his knees in front of Xander, which somehow made the whole thing less annoying and more… arousing. Seductive. Like when Anya’d—right. Spike.
Spike, who had managed to somehow work Xander’s pants down to Xander’s knees while Xander had been busy trying to figure out just the right word for the whole head tilt effect.
First thought through his head was that Spike’s mouth was nowhere near as cold as he’d somehow expected it to be, not that he’d expended that much in the way of brainpower on the subject. There was no second thought. Things felt too good for there to be a second thought.
Slow, soft, gentle pressure of lukewarm lips around his cock turned to a harder, more insistent suction. A slim, supple tongue played with the sensitive skin just below the head, and cool hands stroked his hips and balls. Xander threw back his head and mouthed a silent prayer of thanks for Spike’s complete lack of a need to come up for air. A couple of seconds later, he mouthed another one for the lack of a gag reflex as his hips jerked and he came into something other than his own hand for the first time in months.
“Better?”
Xander blinked at the sound of Spike’s voice. “Somewhat, yeah.”
“So, I’m forgiven for the mess I made in the microwave?”
They were back to staring at each other, but the tension had gone out of it. Xander grinned at Spike. “Sure, until next time.”
Given Spike’s style of housekeeping, he figured he wouldn’t have too long to wait.
Mutually Beneficial
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” Spike said listlessly.
“Doing that thing. The one where you’re all quiet and pensive. It’s creeping me out.”
Spike turned his head and looked at Xander with something that almost resembled interest. “Why’s that?”
“Because. Because I just know that the whole time, you’re thinking, which wouldn’t be so bad, except you’re obviously thinking about things you regret doing, which, given your history, means you’re thinking about murder and mayhem and a little bit of the old ‘Ultra-Violence’.”
“Don’t tell my Anya never thought back on all the horrible things she did during her career, Xander.”
“Yes, but somehow, when she did it, it was cute. Okay, maybe a little creepy, but mostly cute. You, on the other hand, are just creepy. More creepy than you were when you were being reasonable, and you’d set the bar pretty high with that one.”
With an apathetic shrug, Spike went back to his one-vamp mime interpretation of Colonel Kurtz. The horror. Not to mention the annoyance, irritation, and—oh yeah—the sexual frustration. At some point, Spike’s reasonable facade had slipped into some sort of crushing, soulful depression. Unfortunately, at the same point, he’d gone from the Oscar role to the Felix role in their odd coupledom. A depressed, moody, repentant vampire, it turned out, was a great housekeeper. A neurotically great housekeeper. The place hadn’t been this clean since Anya’d been left standing at the alter.
Xander had liked it better when Spike’s idea of penance involved more penis, less Pine-Sol. No blood-rings on the coffee table, no wet towels on the floor, no wet mouth on little Xander for days. Something had to give.
“Spike?”
A grunt of acknowledgement (no nod, no movement, just a quiet grunt) was all he got in reply. Make that a passive-aggressive depressed, moody, repentant, house-cleaning, holding-out-on-his-host vampire.
“Snap out of it.”
Not even a grunt.
Fine. A few years with Anya had taught him a thing or two about dealing with pouting roomies. Xander got down between Spike’s knees and started undoing the tight, black jeans.
It got more than a grunt. “Hang on! What the devil are you doing?”
“Quid quo blow, Spike. Ah, commando man I see. Good, that’ll make it snappy.”
Xander lowered his head, licking and teasing until Spike’s cock was hard enough to suck, and the grunts turned to groans. With a lifetime of expertise garnered from the sock puppet of love, his hands stroked base and balls before moving to that little in-between bit and pressing up just so…
Spike came in a room-temperature rush, and Xander forced himself to swallow. He lifted his head, wiped his lips, and smiled gamely at the stunned vampire.
“Better?”
Spike blinked, shook his head, and blinked again. “Did that just happen, or am I hallucinating again?”
“You bet it just happened, Mister. Now answer my question: better?”
A hint of a smirk passed across Spike’s face. “It’s like you once said; sure, until next time.”
The next morning, when Xander woke up, he found toothpaste on the mirror and wet towels on the carpeting.
Hallelujah.
Cost/Benefit Analysis
Anya wishes she had popcorn as she adjusts the binoculars. Of course, the branch she’s perched on doesn’t seem to have room for snacks, and she’s pretty sure that loud crunching sounds might alert her quarry, and that would ruin the show.
At first she’d been spying because she was actually worried for Xander’s safety. Now she’s just spying because it’s educational entertainment. Perhaps she should film it and see if PBS is in need of new programming. It’s not like it’s any more risque than your average nature program. Once you’ve seen gorillas mate, there’s not much that will shock you.
Not that she wasn’t shocked, at first. But it makes perfect sense, now that she thinks about it. They both liked her, so obviously they have something in common.
Oh, good. It’s clean up time, or will be soon.
Spike looks around, doesn’t see anyone, and drops a towel smack dab in the middle of the living room. She imagines him whistling (his mouth looks like it’s whistling, so her mind supplies the tune—something kind of jaunty and retro) as he leans against the kitchen counter, waiting for Xander.
It’s a short wait.
Xander comes into the room, all dark and blustery (the big faker can barely keep from grinning—no wonder she always cleaned him out when they played poker) and starts shaking his finger at Spike. Anya’s shaking with laugher.
Spike hams it up, dropping his head in a parody of abject apology before dropping to his knees to “beg forgiveness”. She feels herself get a little warm as she watches the familiar contortions of Xander’s orgasm face, and wishes again for popcorn. There should be snack demons, who will come and grant wishes like that at the cost of horrible intestinal cramping. She wonders how she could set up a guild as Xander collapses against the couch, taking Spike with him.
The pre-show’s over. Time for the main event.
She adjusts the binoculars as Xander pulls himself to his feet and goes to… the hall closet. This should be good. Strong, muscled arms stretch all the way to the top shelf, and his large, firm hands hit against the edge of a box until it falls at his feet. She’s grinning, knowing exactly what’s in the box. Anya can’t wait to see Spike’s face when Xander opens the thing.
Spike’s looking at him, his head tilting this way and that. Xander gives him a big, goofy grin, and gently removes the lid. Anya can see the word XMAS written on the top in her bold, yet feminine handwriting. She grins back at them, not caring that they can’t see her, because this was her gift to Xander last year, and this year she’s getting it back, new and improved. Xander’s eyebrows wiggle lasciviously as he slowly pulls out a soft, fuzzy, red… hat. He puts it on, and folds his hands across his belly before letting out what is in all likelihood an exaggerated Ho! Ho! Ho!, which is even funnier without the sound effects.
Confusion and suspicion chase each other around Spike’s face like kittens, then freeze in place when Xander pulls out the rest of the items. Technically, it’s women’s wear, but as there’s not a lot of actual fabric to it, she suspects the elf costume is functionally unisex. It’s too bad she has to hold the binoculars, because her first instinct is to rub her hands with glee (and maybe rub a little something else while she’s at it, but that can wait) as Spike strips and starts putting on the outfit. Okay, the glitter pasties look a little silly covering his nipples, but the green cap is charming, and the short marabou-trimmed skirt is adorable. Xander Claus seems to think so too. He sits down, lets out another Ho! Ho! Ho!, and pats his lap.
Elf Spike sits down gingerly, the wary expression still firmly in place. Then Xander Claus slips a hand under the elf skirt, and it’s time for them to be naughty and nice. She makes a note to drop off an anonymous donation for the dry-cleaning as Spike’s hips start to buck and twist in Xander’s lap, and the front of the skirt darkens with moisture.
Sated and exhausted, the boys conk out. Typical men.
Anya slips the binoculars back in her coat pocket and climbs back down the tree. She walks home with visions of dark and light sugarplums dancing in her head, and “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” escaping from her lips. Someone really should film them and show it every year at Christmas.