The Twelve Days of Spander

Four Calling Birds
by Adsum
 

 

Xander scanned the trees tensely as his apartment grew closer. A certain amount of liquid holiday spirits, and a moment that was less bravado and more what-the-hell, had led him to make a bet he was beginning to be afraid he was going to lose. The silent aura of self-satisfaction emanating from his vampire companion only made him feel more apprehensive. It had seemed like such a trivial thing as they left the bronze.

 

For whatever nefarious reason, Spike wanted to spend the night and threw out what seemed like a ridiculous proposal: spotting an even or odd number of birds on the walk home would decide whether Xander would give him an invitation that could not be revoked without Willow, Latin, and the burning of a bunch of sticky weeds.

 

"How many birds do you see at night," Xander reasoned. Grinning cockily, he chose odd, figuring one bird might even be the max.

 

Spike gracefully took even numbers and further stipulated that in the event of no birds at all, Xander was also let off the hook.

 

Then they started walking and the first crow appeared. It flew to the top of a stone fence, cocked its head to stare pointedly at Xander with one eye, and cawed loudly. Feeling a hellmouth-y rush at the intelligent look of the shiny black bird, Xander began to get a sinking feeling in direct proportion to the snarky grin slowly growing on Spike's face. A few blocks later, the pattern continued. Crow, piercing stare and raucous calling. Then number three, arrived to his salvation. Now they were less than a block from his home, and Xander was restraining the urge to run for his front door before a feathered harbinger of his own personal doom appeared.

 

They reached the stairs leading up to the front door and at the top, the fourth bird cawed, loud and long, sounding almost like a mocking cackle to Xander's humiliated ears.

 

Hanging his head in disbelief at his own stupidity and the hellmouth's propensity to make him the butt of its jokes, Xander climbed the stairs and unlocked the door. He stepped inside and for a second, contemplated shutting it quickly and dealing with the consequences later, but the appraising look in Spike's eyes, clearly expecting Xander to welsh on his bet, drew him back to the side of the good. He'd given his word….

 

"Come in, Spike." He said firmly if wearily. "Do your worst."

 

Spike eyed him speculatively as he sauntered in the door. He walked right up into Xander's space, making the boy back up a step or two. "'M worst, yeah? Sure you mean that, pet?"

 

The alcohol in Xander's system chose that moment to make itself known again. "Dish it out, Fangless. I can take it."

 

One eyebrow crept up Spike's otherwise expressionless face. There was a pause, then the door closed, and Xander was spun around and backed into it. When he opened his mouth to protest, Spike applied himself to Xander's front like tape on a package, and sealed his mouth with a proverbial kiss.

 

Xander considered struggling; he thought about biting, but quickly discarded that as a bad idea. About that time, the sucking, slick sensations overrode any shred of rational thought left in his overloaded brain.

 

As his arms came up and his hands became explorers in a hard, muscular landscape, Xander distantly heard the sound of four birds, cawing, or was that laughing ?