A PLACE CALLED HOME
by Green and Ladycat
Notes

Xander was shopping. Well, window shopping. He walked past the paint aisle twice before giving in and looking at all the little colored strips of paper in their holders. He looked, and dreamed. He'd driven past The House again that day, the cozy little cottage fixer-upper he'd been stalking for the past few months, and now looking at the paint samples, he was mentally painting every room in the house. He shouldn't, it was just a hopeless little pipe-dream, but he was getting pretty good at wishing for things he couldn't have. He sighed and moved on.

He really wanted to do something nice for Spike. Not to show him he cared or anything, because he was really trying to avoid that. Just something to make the vampire smile. Even if Xander didn't actually see the smile, knowing he'd done something to make Spike happy was enough. So. Something for Spike.

Xander looked at the electric blankets, and wondered if one of those would work. He didn't want to set Spike on fire accidentally, but didn't that only happen with bed wetters? So he'd risk getting the blanket, because he knew that even though Spike acted like he didn't feel the cold, he really did. Xander could tell the way he leaned into heat, the way he wore his coat all the time, and the way he nearly purred when the clothes were fresh out of the dryer and he could put them on when they were still warm.

Xander knew that he way too concerned about Spike.  Concerned?  Xander turned the word over in his mind, then discarded it.  'Obsessed' was probably a better adjective.  Totally over the moon would be the most accurate still, but Xander wasn't going there.  He'd convinced himself months ago that friendship was all he could want or expect and that was really okay.  He liked Spike.  That was all that mattered and maybe, just maybe, Spike liked him back?  He looked again at the electric blanket, considering. Yeah. This was nice.

Except that brought up the problem of electricity.  Xander knew that Spike had jury-rigged something into the crypt for the tv and little fridge he kept there, but he knew how crappy it was.  Would it be able to sustain another drain?  Xander fondled the soft, silkiness of the electric blanket he was looking at—dark red, almost blood-red—and thought about the generators he had seen on sale the day before.  He could get one of those, wait until Spike was away from the crypt and quickly set it up.  That wasn't too obvious, was it?

Yeah. Maybe the generator was going a bit too far. Plus, the time it would take him to set it all up and get it going was more time for him to get caught. And that would mean explaining to Spike just why the heck he was doing it.

He could always keep the blanket at his place and then the next time Spike stayed over, he'd have it ...

No. That was just wishful thinking. Spike probably wouldn't be crashing on the couch again any time soon, unless Xander thought of a damn good reason to entice Spike to stay. And there weren't many reasons for that.

But ... BUT! He could maybe, possibly, think of an excuse of having to stay with Spike! He could bring some creature comforts along with him, including a generator? Maybe some rugs for the floor, a lamp or two, DVD player, a lot of beer?

Xander briefly considered the possiblity that he was going a little overboard. Then dismissed those thoughts.

Staying with Spike? Yeah, that might work. Maybe if he said his place was being fumigated. Maybe Xander's apartment was suddenly a Mecca for mutant rodents?

Yeah, he could do this.  Get the generator and the rest of the stuff, go breezing into the crypt saying that Spike better have some kind of easy plumbing, because he was there for two days and he wasn't going to stink the whole time.  That would keep Spike flustered and defensive, and give Xander time to work.

Pleased with his plan, Xander picked up the blanket and dumped it into his cart.  Blanket, check.  Electronics now, plus lots and lots of cords.  Or should he just buy that at the hardware store?  He checked the prices and decided it didn't matter, so he bought them here.  Plus a DVD player and a converter box.  And a few DVD's.  And a lamp.  A few rugs, and some more odds and ends, and his total was well over the hundred dollars he’d originally planned to spend.  He didn't care.

He was going to do this!  He'd be able to give Spike all these things and Spike wouldn't be able to say 'no', because Xander would let him steal the stuff!  The best way to get Spike to want something was to say he couldn't have it—just like a little kid, except little kids didn't steal with the adeptness that Spike did.  But that was okay.  So he was Xander, the walking Spike Store, and his doors were all open.  And okay, that was the stupidest analogy, but Xander didn't care.  He was gonna do it!

It took him two trips, but he finally got everything to the crypt that he needed. Taking a look around, he went back out and bought a broom, a mop, and some cleaning supplies. Nothing too strong smelling, he didn't want to overwhelm Spike's acute senses, but some nice soap and water would do the place good.

Grateful for the muscle and stamina he'd built by working construction, Xander set to work. It only took him an hour to go over the floors and walls the first time, and then thirty minutes on the second go round. The crypt didn't exactly sparkle, but the cobwebs and piles of dust and dirt were gone.

He called Buffy's cell phone and was informed that Spike had been sent to Willie's on a fact finding mission. That left enough time to leave, grab a shower and get cleaned up, and return before Spike got back. Then he could do the rest.

He showered and then hurried back to the crypt with a few changes of clothing to make the whole thing seem more real.  The crypt was still empty when he got there, so he started working on the generator outside.  That's where Spike found him, tweaking the final settings forty five minutes later.

"The hell you think you're doing?" 

The words were angry, the tone more confused then upset.  Xander hid a grin, pretending to concentrate on the finishing.  "What's it look like?  No way am I going two days without my DVDs, Spike."

Spike blinked at him. Tilted his head like a confused puppy. It was adorable. "What the hell?"

Xander ducked his head again to hide his smile and finished. "You want to help me here? I'll start this up and you go inside and see if the television works."

"I know the bloody television works, I stole the electricity myself," Spike said.

"Well, I rearranged a few wires."

"Rearranged a few—what the bloody hell did you do to my crypt!"  So saying, Spike stomped off into said crypt, muttering about ignorant, meddling Scoobies.

The silence that followed was sweet.

Tying off the last wire, Xander rose and entered the crypt.  It really did look better.  Clean, or at least relatively clean, with a few rugs for comfort and warmth.  Maybe some wall-hangings later?  The tv was on, and Spike was staring at the blue 'please insert DVD' lettering.  The refrigerator hummed—a lot less noisy after Xander had worked on it for a little—and he knew it was stocked with food for him, blood for Spike, and lots of beer for them both.

"What."  Spike wasn't asking, but Xander decided to treat it that way.

Forcing himself to be totally casual and slightly annoyed, he shrugged.  "My place is getting fumigated.  Cockroaches the size of your head.  The girls can't put me up, they don't have the room, so I figure I'll bunk here for a few days.  Live the life of the manly and deprived."

"So you turned into Martha bloody Stewart?" Spike walked around the crypt slowly. "Did you get to the downstairs, too?"

"You're objecting to a little spic'n'span?"  With a shrug of dismissal, Xander sat on the (much cleaner) sofa and picked up the remote.  He'd had to do a lot of guessing and rigging to get cable here, and it wouldn't last long, and then he'd had to go and buy another remote, but it was so— repeat, so—worth it from the look of shock on Spike's face when Xander switched it to Iron Chef.

Today was okra.  Disgusting, but it gave him something to focus on when Spike went downstairs.  He hadn't done much there—cleaned a lot, but otherwise he'd just added blankets and his own inflatable mattress.  He'd figured sharing a bed would be pushing it.

When Spike finally climbed back up, Xander said casually, almost distractedly, "Hey, can you get me a beer?  And what are they—ew, don't tell me what they're doing to that."

He watched Spike out of the corner of his eye. This was just too good. Something to savor. Spike was walking in kind of a dazed way, and when he opened the refrigerator, he didn't say a word. Just grabbed a beer and brought it over. Then he sat down next to Xander in stunned silence, just kind of staring at him.

Taking his eyes away from the television, like it was some reluctant chore to look at Spike (ha! as if), Xander asked, "You okay? You're looking a little paler than usual."

Spike didn't answer.  Spike not answering was kind of unnerving, but Xander just turned his attention back to the tv.  Well, he tried to, and managed it for a good five minutes before, "What!"

"I didn't say anything."

"You were staring.  It's annoying when you stare."  Liarliarliar, but it was nerve-wracking.

"You think you're living here.  For two days."

Xander shrugged a third time.  "Could be a little longer.  And I don't think I'm living here.  I know I am."  Batting his eyes and turning a patently false smile on Spike, he added, "Roomie."

Spike snorted.  A flicker of a grin was in his eyes, though, and Xander relaxed happily back onto the cushions.  "And all this was, what, soften the schmuck up before you invade?"

"Are you kidding?" Xander asked with a grin. "I just had to make this place habitable. You live like a ... a ..."

"Vampire?" Spike asked, amused.

"Hey, just because you're a man of the undead variety doesn't mean you should let everything just go. Nice in here, isn't it? Warm lighting, cozy rugs under the feet, throw pillows and blankets ..." he said, dragging a fuzzy chenille throw over his lap to make the point.

"Is kinda cold in here," Spike admitted grudgingly.  Really grudgingly, Xander knew, given the way he unconsciously shivered.  Poor little Spikey, he thought and started "rearranging" the throw so it covered him and Spike.  It was a measure of the vampire's discomfort that he didn't immediately shove it off.

"Hence the Martha Stewart kick."  Xander thought about mentioning that everything was coming back with him—even though it wasn't—then decided, nah.  If he did that, he'd just make Spike feel bad, and since the point of this was to make Spike feel  good ...

He didn't comment when Spike rose and got himself a beer.  At least, what he thought was a beer.  "Woodpecker?  What the hell do you know about British cider?"

"You might have mentioned it, maybe? Dunno, just thought I'd pick it up on a whim. Is it any good?" Xander said nonchalantly. No way he was telling Spike about all the grilling poor Giles took as Xander made himself more Brit-smart.

"Didn't even think you could buy these here."  Abruptly, Spike's eyes narrowed.  Xander made sure he was not looking, because the only place you could get import liquor was a small shop near the edge of town.  One that charged an arm and a leg—sometimes literally—since they were an ex-patriot's oasis in an Bud Lite desert.

So Xander had spent way too much money already.  He figured he'd spend more, he could afford it, and hey, he was enjoying himself doing it.  Besides, Spike looking confused and suspicious was adorable.

Twisting the not-twistable cap right off, Spike sipped cautiously.  "Nice stuff."  It was the Spike-version of a 'yeah, woohoo!'.  "Hey now, we gonna watch Iron Chef all bloody evening?  Not near enough violence."

Xander bit the inside of his mouth to keep from grinning. "Can't exactly call and order pay-per-view unless we want a nice visit from the cable police, but I picked up a few DVDs today that I haven't seen." He pointed to the stack on top of the television. "Maybe there's something there you'd like."

Spike sneered at him, which was Spike for 'I'm trying to be Big and Bad but actually really grateful you're doing all of this'.  Or so he told himself.

After pawing through the choices for a little, Spike came back with Fight Club.  "Got good taste, pet."

There were several responses going through Xander's head. 'I have excellent taste ... especially in gay vampire sex&snuggle fantasies' or 'why don't you come over here and see how good I taste?' but both of those statements would lead to nothing but badness and utter humiliation. So Xander just nodded and handed Spike the DVD remote. Might as well give him some semblance of control in his own home.

Halfway through the movie, Xander'd had several beers and was enjoying a nice, soothing buzz. He was practically cuddled next to Spike, and his feelings were just as fuzzy as the blanket they were sharing. He was really trying to stay cool and casual, but this was like every little happy little domestic dream he'd ever had.

After Fight Club, Xander tried not to pout while Spike retrieved blood and a few more beers from the fridge and put on another movie.  He was just tipsy enough not to recognize the movie, or care.  Because Spike sat back down in the same place he'd left.  And he didn't object when Xander yawned, creaked, and leaned a little more heavily against him.

"Human blood," Spike commented slowly.  "Must've really wanted to make a good impression, then."

"Better for you," Xander said drowsily. "And you're starting to get a little too skinny."

Spike's body shifted a little, allowing Xander's head to fall almost on his shoulder.  Okay, more like his chest, and it was hurting Xander's neck a little, but Spike's arm was resting on his side.  There was no way he was moving.  Plus, he was too tired.

Spike's voice vibrated through the places they touched.  "And that bothers you, doesn't it."  It wasn't a question.

"Shouldn't see the Big Bad's ribs," Xander mumbled. Turned his face the tiniest fraction of an inch to slowly, secretly breathe in Spike's scent.

Shoulder's twitched underneath his weight.  "Big and bad.  Yeah."  His hand started moving on Xander's body.  Slow, careful touches.  Like petting, or stroking, or something equally subconscious—and probably Dru-like in origin.  Xander didn't care, concentrating on maintaining his relaxed breathing.  After a few moments he didn't have to concentrate anymore—the pleasure of being touched and petted mixed nicely with the fuzziness of the beer.  "Mmm."

"Think you need tucking in, pet," Spike said. "Gets cold up here. Come on, I got a little space heater downstairs."

Xander did not want to move from where he was, but he got up reluctantly anyway and followed Spike down the ladder. Slipped once in his relaxed state, but Spike was there to catch him and half carry him the rest of the way, so it didn't really matter.

It was really nice to let Spike carry most of his weight.  Along with the touching Spike parts, being shown that a guy a little shorter and a little smaller was so much stronger then him was ... nice.  He liked it.

"Mattress," he mumbled into Spike shirt.

"I know, I see it."  Xander was tipped backward, landing gently on the inflatable mattress next to Spike's bed.  "Here we are, lie down now.  Been a busy little bee, turning my crypt upside down, haven't you."

Xander smiled without opening his eyes. "You like it?"

Cool fingers pushed hair away from his face.  "Go to sleep, Xander.  I'll ... I'll try an' be quiet so not to disturb you."  With that totally unexpected, and differently accented goodbye, Spike vanished back upstairs.

* * *

Xander woke slowly.  There was a crick in his neck, but he felt really rested.  Comfortable.  Mmm.  Stretching leisurely, Xander yawned, sat up, and blinked.

Spike was stretched out on his bed, underneath the electric blanket.  That was plugged in.

Oh, yeah.  Xander ruled.

Grinning foolishly, since Spike-the-dead-body wouldn't see it, Xander did a mini-Snoopy dance and then headed towards the little bathroom area Spike had rigged up.

He washed his face and brushed his teeth, and thought about what he could do while Spike slept. He'd really like to do more to the crypt—clean up all the melted wax from Spike's candles, for one. But that didn't really benefit Spike, per se, more like just pleased Xander's sense of personal style.

Splashing water over his body in lieu of a shower, Xander pulled on fresh clothes and went back to the 'bedroom'.  Spike was still sprawled over the bed, cosily tucked under the electric blanket.  The wine-dark red suited him.  He looked ... calm, underneath all that heat.  Satisfied.  Sated.

Shaking his head, Xander went upstairs and ate a breakfast bar.  He didn't really have anything he needed to do today, and it was late enough that Spike might wake up soon—which meant trying to plaster the walls, which his internal carpenter screamed to do right that minute, was out.

So he settled for relaxing on the couch and flicking through the channels a bit.

He'd just started getting interested in the commentators' back-and-forth dialogue—hey, he could keep up with the news ... um, sometimes—when Spike shuffled up the ladder. Xander hadn't known it was possible to shuffle while climbing a ladder.

Or that Spike would have eyes half closed. Body totally relaxed. And bed head.

Totally oblivious to the way Xander stared at him, Spike stumbled over to the refrigerator and pulled out a packet of blood. He stared at it, eyes narrow in contemplation, until he blinked and looked around the crypt. He made a guttural noise as his eyes landed on Xander, sitting on his newly cleaned sofa. "Still here."

Xander hid his 'aww, that's so cute!' face and nodded. "Told you two days. You slept sound, but not that sound."

"No. Just thought ... " Brows coming down in a way that threatened to force Xander's 'awww' out loud, Spike shook his head and started heating the blood.

Xander's stomach rumbled and he remembered the electric skillet and toaster he'd brought. Mmm, eggs and toast sounded pretty good.

Xander came over and plugged the skillet in. He tried to ignore Spike watching him while he cracked eggs and started preparing his own breakfast. "So? Big plans for ... " he checked his watch " ... the rest of this Saturday afternoon? And why are you up now?"

"Wasn't ... That is, I thought I'd go on down to Willie's, catch a poker game." He so obviously hadn't been planning anything of the sort. Xander was suddenly reminded of himself when he was trying not to look like a loser. "Why, you got any ideas?"

"A poker game at four thirty on a Saturday?"  Xander gave Spike a skeptical look, but left it at that.  He didn't want to rile up the already nervous vampire.

"No, not at four thirty," Spike blustered, rubbing his face and hair.  It messed the curls up even further, making them so much cuter.  Xander was pretty sure he was going to die of hypoglycemia. Then Spike was going to kill himself, once he learned that it wasn't overwhelming evilness that had finished Xander off. 

"Oi, lemme have some of that."  Spike snagged a piece of toast and started dunking it.

Xander made the expected 'bleugh' face, even though the blood thing didn't even bother him anymore. And stealing someone's food—that was practically flirting, right? Maybe even foreplay, if he looked at it from a certain angle. In the right light. Like, the light of the blue moon.

"I was going to go by the Bronze, shoot a little pool. Maybe catch a movie later. If you aren't doing anything, I guess you could come," Xander said. Please say yes, please say yes.

"You guess, huh?"  A glimmer of amusement made Xander flush and duck his head.  Spike couldn't look at him like that.  First there was the whole Spike actually hating him thing.  Then there was the ohmigodcan'tbreathewhenhedoesthat thing.  The latter was more physically pressing, but the former ...  "No skin off your nose or money from your wallet, is that it?"

"Right," Xander agreed nervously. "I mean, I'll pay for the pool table, since I'd be spending that anyway. And you can just sneak into the movie." He made a quick note to just pay for Spike's ticket while he was 'sneaking in'.

Spike stared at him for a moment.  "You're a weird kid, anybody ever tell you that?"  Tossing back the rest of his blood, he disappeared downstairs and soon Xander heard the sound of Spike's makeshift plumbing being operated.

Oh yeah, that was another thing he had to fix.  Hmmmm.  Maybe he could do that now?  Movies weren't till later, anyway, and all Spike needed was a shower-head and Xander was pretty sure he knew enough to get the rest of plumbing done without help ...

He almost left a note, but then he stopped himself. Spike wouldn't care one way or the other if Xander was gone when he got back, so Xander just left.

* * *

Showerhead? Check. Nothing fancy, just a nice, adjustable fixture that looked nice, too.

Xander wandered the aisles of Ralph's Discount Hardware Emporium and picked up everything he needed. And then ... then he saw something that made him just stop in his tracks.

Water heaters. On sale. Okay, that 'sale' price was a little steep, but it was a tankless unit, and easy to install, and ... and Spike probably hated the cold water he was stuck with.

Xander did some quick mathematics in his head.  He'd have to give up cable at his own apartment for a month, or beer, or something but ... chuckling, he shook his head.  Like he wasn't going to do this?

Everything bought and paid for, Xander headed back towards the crypt.  It was still daylight, so he was careful to minimize the sunlight exposure as he opened the front door. 

Spike glanced up from the TV, pausing his movie.  "Where'd you run off to?"

"Here, you carry this down the ladder.  It looks in okay shape, right?"  Knowing he wasn't answering anything, Xander grabbed the rest of his stuff and made sure he closed to door tightly behind him.
Spike was staring at the water heater with narrowed eyes.  Flicking a glance towards Xander was more pointed then any of the "what the bloody hell is this" responses Xander had expected.

"Well, I'm not going to take cold showers!" Xander said defensively.

"So you went out and bought a water heater?" Spike's voice rose incredulously.

"No, I didn't just go out and buy a water heater. I know a guy at the hardware store. This one ... fell off the truck, kinda."

A dark eyebrow rose precipitously.  "Right.  And you're gonna install this one, too?"

"No, you're going to install this one.  I know you know a lot about plumbing, and I don't.  So carry that downstairs, I'll get the rest of the stuff, and we can have hot showers before we leave tonight.  Um.  If you're coming with me."

Spike didn't answer the question that wasn't really a question, just gave Xander another look—this one, Xander couldn't figure out, even though he thought he might be an expert on Spike looks—and headed down the ladder with the water heater.

Grateful that Spike hadn't made more of a fuss, Xander followed.  Setting everything up was surprisingly easy.  Spike really did know a lot about plumbing, rifling through Xander's purchasing with nary a word.  There was a lot of eyebrow raising, though.  Xander helped when he knew what to do or when Spike told him to do something, staying mostly out of the way.

Because watching Spike twist and turn and flex those muscles in his tight black tee and tighter black jeans with the top button undone?  Momma.

"Gimme that tension rod," Spike said eventually.  Xander passed it over, as well as the plastic curtain he'd bought to get threaded through it.  Black

"Black?" Spike questioned.

"It ... was the least see-through of the store's selection."

"Right."  Spike was giving him really odd looks.  "Well, since it was your friend that 'found' this, you wanna take the first one?"

Xander shook his head.  "Nah, I'm good.  You go ahead if you want."  Busying himself with cleaning up and muttering about finding a movie in the paper he'd picked up, Xander covertly watched Spike's reaction.

Surprise.  Suspicion.  Disgruntlement.  More suspicion.  And then a longing that told him he'd been right.  Spike wanted this, the hot water, the chance to get totally clean.  He wanted it badly.

Xander held the happiness close to himself as he climbed the ladder, waiting until he heard the new shower fixtures twist and the water start before letting out a whoop and allowing himself to grin the way he'd been wanting to all afternoon. Just knowing that Spike was getting something he really wanted—hell, needed—made Xander happy. Incredibly, wonderfully, amazingly and hugely happy.

The shower ran for a really, really long time.  Xander wasn't worried about taking a cold shower—the tankless unit had pretty much instantaneous electric heating. The generator was probably drinking up fuel like it was nothing, though.

And then the singing started.

It wasn't good signing.  Or very loud.  Xander recognized it as something punk and probably tuneless in origin.  It was also coming from Spike.

Xander grinned even more broadly and sat down beside the ladder hole, cocking his head down to hear better. He knew he had it bad before this, but here was the irrefutable proof. He was straining his ears to hear Spike's bad shower-singing.

Three songs later, the water was turned off.  Xander scurried back to the sofa as a clean and smirking Spike came upstairs.  He didn't say anything about the shower.  Just heated a mug of blood and started fussing with his still-wet hair.  The almost golden-colored curls needed to be gelled.  Xander enjoyed the rare opportunity to see Spike free of product—and reminded himself not to let Spike see him looking like such an utter sap.

"Well?" Spike asked when Xander made no move to head downstairs.  "C'mon, hurry up.  Gotta get you dressed in something respectable before we go."

Xander hid his grin. So they were going. And Spike wanted to dress him? What?

There was a sudden flash of fantasy: Spike dressing Xander in leather pants and an unbuttoned silk shirt ... maybe oiling his chest first, pale, strong fingers working over his skin, skimming his nipples .. silver choke chain he'd use to lead Xander over to the bed, just one finger hooked through the largest loop ...

Xander swallowed. Yeah, like that would be happening. "Sure, I'll uh ... go down right now," he said, moving quickly so Spike couldn't see the so very hard erection tenting Xander's khakis.

The shower was good. The heater worked well, but Xander soon turned the hot water down to rid himself of the erection.

Finished, he found clothes laid out on Spike's bed. 

"Put those on," Spike's voice called down to him. "No bloody arguments."

Like he was going to argue.  The jeans were his own, and he must have brought them over by mistake because they were just this side of too tight.  The shirt was definitely Spike's: a red silk button down, the kind Spike used to never be without.

"Hurry up!" Spike called while Xander stared at the shirt and tried not to tremble.  "S'just clothes, pet, put 'em on."

Xander flushed and dropped the towel. Without Spike downstairs to see him, he let himself have the momentary thrill of being naked in Spike's bedroom. He grinned to himself.

His skin was just damp enough to make the tight jeans difficult to get on, but once they were on, they clung to his skin in a way that felt good.

The shirt was cool and luxurious and only a little too short in the arms. He flipped the cuffs up to make it look less obvious. Way too tight in the neck, but Xander solved that by leaving the first two buttons opened.  He hoped he looked rakish and not idiotic, but the lack of mirrors offered no help.

"Will you get a bloody—oh."  Spike dropped onto the floor next to him, roughly pushing his body this way and that.  "Not bad.  Better than the banana boat.  I'm sure you'd throw a very straight, manly man hissy fit if I suggested eyeliner?  You've got such pretty ones."

While Xander boggled at that, Spike messed around with his hair and then disappeared back to the first floor.  "C'mon, don't wanna miss the flick you picked out.  I like previews."

Right. They had a date! Okay, not really a date. But Xander could pretend. Even though Spike thought he was 'very straight'. He wondered if he should correct the misconception or if he should just ignore it? Nah, probably shouldn't say anything. It might make things weird, and then Spike would get the wrong idea—or the right idea, but he'd probably take it badly—and then this little slice of Spike-heaven would be gone. Xander had about twenty-four hours left of quality Spike time before he had to leave, and he didn't want to ruin it.

Xander followed quickly and they both headed to the car.

Ten minutes later, Xanderwas parking by the movie theater.  "You're gonna sneak in, right?"

Spike gave him a scornful look.  "Not the first time I've snuck into the cinema, pet.  Just get me popcorn and some of those Snowcap thingies."

"Popcorn and Snowcaps, check."

Buying a ticket for an absent Spike was easier then he'd thought.  The ticket-taker didn't care and he had the stubs if there were any problems.  Not that there were. 

Arms laden with goodies, Xander found Spike in the back row, feet in the chair in front of him.  "So what're we seeing?"

"One of those weird new movies Tom Cruise is doin'," Spike whispered back, then jabbed him when he tried to ask which one.

A while into the movie and Xander was confused.  And more then a little disturbed.  "What is this?" he hissed.

"You're the one that circled it on the bloody paper," Spike answered back.

"What?  No, I didn't!"  He tried to think back to what he'd chosen as 'things he wanted to see'.  Had he?  Maybe he had.  Because Tom Cruise usually meant stupid movies like Mission: Impossible, not freaky kinky shit that was hard to watch.

"Just.  Watch."

"What's with the masks? Are they just gonna do that with ..." Xander trailed off and stared. "Huh. Guess they are."

He stayed quiet a little longer, then gave up.  The movie was too confusing.  Spike, however, seem to really like it, so ... Xander started watching Spike.

Oh, he tried to be slick about it.  Watching from the corner of his eye, tensed to look away if Spike noticed.  But Spike didn't turn.  He was watching the screen with what looked like seriously concentration.  The corners of his mouth were turned down fiercely when he wasn't laughing, and—most surprising—he was silent.  Spike was rarely silent when watching movies.  Or maybe that was only with movies he didn't know?  Xander tried to remember if he'd shown Spike any movies he knew the vampire hadn't seen before.

"I know I'm pretty, pet, but the flick isn't that bad," Spike said quietly.

Xander gulped audibly and stared at the screen until the credits rolled.

They were quiet as they headed back to the car.  The silence was starting to make Xander kind of crazy.  "So what was that?" he blurted.  "The movie, I mean."

Spike shrugged. "Pretty good job of getting at how intense things can get when a bloke's jealous. The way the imagination can run away with you, the way it can all make you crazy." Spike thought a few seconds more and added, "If Kubrick hadn't have kicked it, I'd think he was a vampire. Thought like a vampire, that's for sure. All raw and dirty. Getting to the meat. Love and obsession and all that." He must have remembered who he was talking to suddenly, because he lost the thoughtful expression and smirked. "You up for the Bronze? Been looking forward to taking your dosh in a bit of 9-ball."

Xander blinked as Spike pared the movie down into something he could understand.  He knew Spike wasn't stupid—but seeing how stupid he really wasn't was ... different.  Nice.  Okay, it made Xander feel really stupid, but he was used to that.

"Bronze it is," he said, happy to change the topic.

Once there, the music was loud and the beer was nice and cold. Girls looked interested, but Spike managed to somehow smile and then ignore them. One girl actually started talking to Xander at the bar, but he smiled and just said he was there with someone. He let himself believe that for a minute, even, that he was there with Spike.

He wanted to grab the vampire and drag him out onto the dance floor, bump and grind against him, lick his neck and promise him all kinds of things he'd have no trouble delivering. But he didn't.

Spike won four games before Xander paid attention, and then won three more after Xander actually started to try to win.

Xander was having the best night of his life.

"Refill," Spike commented at one point.  He disappeared before Xander could reach for his wallet.  Okay, weird, but he came back bearing beers, wings, and a tale about how the waitress at the bar had been so enamored with Spike's appearance that she made mistake after mistake.

Chuckling, Xander leaned against his cue stick and watched the way Spike bent over the table to line up his shot.  God, what a position ...

Spike turned and gave him a look. "Nice view, pet?"

He was joking. He had to be joking.

"Yeah, Spike. I'm over here, drooling over the hotness that is your ass," Xander said sarcastically. "Would you just take the damn shot?"

Spike grinned and sank the five, but his shape was shit. "Fuck."

"Fucked yourself over there, huh?" Xander teased.
Spike missed the six completely.

"I think that's ... ball in hand," Xander said with a grin, grabbing the cue ball and setting up a sweet shot. He hit the six and banked the nine into the corner pocket. "Hmm. Looks like I won."

"Smartass."

Xander executed a half-bow, grinning madly.  "It's a sweet one, too.  Your rack."

And why the hell had he said that?  Hastily, gulped his beer while Spike retrieved all the balls.

Xander broke and sunk two balls, but then scratched on the two. Spike looked insanely cocky as he took his shot, but then missed the pocket by about a half-centimeter.

"Ouch," Xander said without sympathy. "You keep this up, I'm gonna break even."

Spike shot him a filthy look and proceeded to sink every ball—and then scratched on the eight.

Xander whooped and quickly sunk the eight and nine, then gave Spike his cheekiest expression. "I think it's your rack again, champ."

Spike was so damn hot when he was glowery.

"You're cheating," Spike accused when he lost another game.

Wha-huh?  Outraged, Xander made the most wounded expression his almost-drunk allowed.  "I am not!  And hey, not like you don't cheat.  You cheat all the time!  I guess I just cheat better then you do!"

Spike half-sat on the table, cue behind him as he lined up a complicated shot.  "Oh yeah?" he challenged, amused.  "Thought you didn't cheat at all, goody-goody.  So how're you cheating better?"

"Well, if I'm cheating, and you're cheating, but I'm winning, then I guess I'm cheating better, huh?" Xander said. Then he stuck out his tongue for good measure.

Spike laughed outright.  "Whatever you say, Harris."  He proceeded to kick Xander's tail in the next game.  "Had enough?" he taunted.  "Or do you want to 'cheat' some more?"

"That's it, Spike. You're going down," Xander said, racking the balls quickly.

"That right?" Spike asked with a smirk. There was something there Xander didn't catch, he was sure of it, but he was intent on ... something. Proving something. Or maybe just getting Spike to laugh again, even if it was at Xander's expense.

"That's right. Just you watch me," Xander said. He stood back and let Spike take his turn, then stepped up when nothing fell on the break.

It was close, but Xander won the game.

"I think I've proven my point," Xander said, draining his mug and putting the stick back on the wall. "Time to go home?"

"Yeah.  Here, gimme your keys."

"What, you're the designated driver now?" Xander asked with a smile, but he handed the keys over without a fight.

 "The amount of beers you've had?  Yeah."  Spike was oddly attentive as they headed outside.  He kept close to Xander, steadying him whenever the ground moved or things jumped in front of him.  "In you go."

It was nice, for a minute, to imagine Spike taking care of him, Spike watching out for him. Sliding into the seat next to him and buckling the belt for him.

"Hey.  Don't fall asleep yet, pet."  Cool fingers lifted his head up.  "Don't fancy carrying you back to the crypt."

"You could," Xander said rebelliously.

"Hush, pet.  Know I could, just don't particularly want to."

"Oh.  How come?"

Spike started driving, the deep thrum of the engine making his body vibrate.  "Because if you're drunk enough to pass out, you're drunk enough to puke."

Xander straightened up. "I'm not that drunk. I'm not passing out, and I'm not puking. Geez. I'm in the happy netherworld between tipsy and shit-faced. It's a nice spot, and I hope to stay here for as long as I can."

Spike chuckled and drove. Not nearly as dangerously as Xander feared.

Back home—the crypt, not home—Spike slipped an arm around Xander's waist when Xander pretended to trip on a broken headstone, then walked them both inside.

Gently sitting him down on the sofa, Spike knelt and removed his shoes.  "You want to hit shit-faced, or do I give you one of the water bottles you brought?"

Xander smiled up at Spike. He looked so nice and ... nice when he was helping. Now, if he was shitfaced, he might have said that out loud, and he was smart enough to know that wasn't such a great thing. "Water's good. Don't feel like spilling all my secrets and then passing out in a puddle."

Light touch to his hair and Xander blinked, not knowing if he imagined that or not.

"Got a lot of secrets, pet?"

Spike didn't look like he was fishing.  Mostly he looked like he was amused.  Xander smiled back.  "No," he lied.  "Why would I have secrets?"

Spike's smile widened.  "Naughty, pet.  Asked if you have many, not if you had any at all."  Rising gracefully, Spike retrieved dinner for him and water for Xander. 

Watching Spike eat reminded Xander that his dinner had been popcorn, candy, and various fried foods at the Bronze.

Standing, he managed about three steps towards the fridge before he stumbled and—whoa!  Spike had good reflexes, catching him a foot before he hit the ground.  "Xander!  What the hell're you doing!"

"Um, hungry?" Xander said sheepishly. He leaned back a little against Spike. Just for a second. Just ... gah. So good. Right there in his arms. He swallowed and tried to right himself. "Sorry, guess I'm a little drunker than I thought."

Spike stepped forward with him, crook of his arm still cradling Xander's neck.  "Yeah.  Back you go.  Just sit and sip that and I'll fix you something."  He made a face at Xander's expression.  "Not gonna be gourmet, but I can handle a bloody sandwich!"

"Don't like blood on my sandwich!" Xander said petulantly.  A blanket was tangled around him, effectively trapping him to the sofa.  "That'd be gross!"

Spike chuckled.  "S'why I'm not making one for you.  Hold tight."  Xander held the pillow and then—hey, a cheese sandwich!

Xander was acutely aware of how the alcohol was affecting him tonight. No hot, sexy Xander. No loose, funny Xander. He was more like childish, needs-taking-care-of Xander. He hoped Spike didn't laugh at him too badly tomorrow morning.

"Thanks, Spike," he said. Maybe a little too adoringly, but maybe that could be chalked up to heavy beer consumption.

Spike shrugged awkwardly.  Even through the alcohol he could see Spike was uncomfortable with thanks.  Okay, no more thanking then.  Just eating. The sandwich really was good.

He didn't react when Spike sat next to him, remote in hand.  "Mind?" Spike turned on the TV without a response.  "It's not that late, yet.  Think I'll skip patrol, though.  Don't want you to drown in your own puke," he added nastily.  Fake nastily, but Xander wasn't going to mention that.

Xander finished his sandwich and washed it down with the bottled water. "You're all heart," he said, comfortably sarcastic this time.

Spike snorted, stretching his arms over the back of the sofa.  He flipped quickly.  Xander grew dizzy watching the channels fly by so he let his eyes fall shut.

He didn't start when he felt cool fingers against his neck.  The skin there was hot and sweaty from his drunken state, so the gentle brushing back and forth felt nice.  He did murmur when Spike started toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, but a soft word from Spike quieted him.

There was a Spanish soap opera running on the television, and cool, caring fingers lulling him into a very happy place, and all Xander could think was that he only had one day left, and then it was back to being Spikeless.

He had to manufacture another excuse.  Or something, because he really, really liked this.  Especially when Spike just shifted when he listed to one side, allowing Xander's body to stretch out, head on Spike's thigh.  "Nice," Xander muttered.

He hadn't meant to say it out loud though.

Wondering how much damage he'd done, trying to force himself awake and sober at the same time, he wasn't prepared for Spike's chuckle.  "You just like the cold, you drunken sod."

"And you're only using me for my body heat, you whore," Xander snickered back.

"Works out well, then."

Lulled by the sound of chattering Spanish voices, Xander let himself drift off.  Spike's thigh was hard underneath his ear, but not uncomfortable.  Fingers toyed with his hair and rubbed gently over his sweaty back, calming him.

Xander was so happy.

* * *

Xander was sore when he woke up. Not sore in a 'I worked out all day' way, or a 'I had the best sex of my life' way, but more like a 'I slept so hard it hurt me' way.

It felt good.

Lifting his head a little, Xander got his bearings. Bed. Crypt. Wait, not his little air mattress, but Spike's bed. He put his head back on his pillow and ... realized the 'pillow' was actually Spike. Oh, sweet double-dutching jeezus.

Spike grunted at the returning weight of Xander's head on his chest and shifted irritably.  "Stop moving," he mumbled, clearly ninety nine percent asleep.  Arms around Xander's body tightened a fraction.  "G'back to sleep."

Xander froze. He didn't mean to tense up, really he didn't. But it was good, and how could he possibly relax, let alone go back to sleep?

"Oh, for bloody ... "  Muttering in annoyance, Spike rolled over, forcing Xander to move with him.  Now lying half on top of Xander, Spike, well .... snuggled.

"Sodding limpet," came the sleepy murmurs.

Xander didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but coming from Spike's sleepy lips—lips that were close enough to kiss, if he was so inclined—it sounded like an endearment.

"Sorry?" he whispered.  He could undo his arms, which held Spike as tightly as he was being held.

"Shut. It."  Spike turned his head with the sharp, abrupt movements of a body mostly asleep and trying to get back to 'fully', so he was facing away from Xander.  His ear was nearly over Xander's heart.  "Shut your mouth, or I'll bloody well make you."

Speaking of Xander's heart, it was starting to pound. Not in fear or anxiety or anything Spike would probably expect, but full on, oh-my-god-did-he-just-say-that lust.

"Yeah?" Xander said. Stupid to say, stupid to think, but he couldn't help it. He had too many fantasies of ways Spike could make him shut up.

Spike gave a mournful grumble.  "Pet, if you don't shut up, I'm gonna regret letting you stay here."  He still sounded mostly asleep.  Like the part of people's brains that controlled what they thought and what they said was faulty—kinda the way Xander's was, all the time.

Xander sighed. You give a man an opening like that and he doesn't take it, then he must not want it at all. Figured. Xander was just glad Spike was a little too groggy to realize.
"Go back to sleep, Spike," Xander said, slipping out of the bed.

"Oi!"  A flurry of blankets being tossed and Xander was flat on his back, a very strong vampire wrapped around him.  "Didn't say you could move wanker."

And then Spike rubbed.  It wasn't a sexual rub, Xander told himself.  Just the way a guy would snuggle up to a warm teddy bear.  Except the electric blanket was on, so Spike probably wasn't that cold, and oh, wow.

Spike's dick was pressing into his thigh.

Probably didn't realize he was doing it. Probably wasn't for Xander, just a normal morning erection. But that didn't stop Xander from dreaming.

His own cock filled and swelled, and Xander turned, just a little, to press against Spike.

Now, he knew Spike was half asleep. If he were awake, this wouldn't be happening. But when Xander tried to drag up the guilt he should have been feeling to give himself the strength to pull away, well—it wasn't there. And Xander moved a little more, shifted his body against Spike's cock. Accidental, slow caress.

Spike rumbled low in his throat.  It was an incredibly sexy, wanton sound and Xander's cock got a little bit harder.

If he moved his hand down, slipped it there between their bodies to touch Spike, then it wouldn't be 'accidental', and Spike would stop him. So Xander just held on and moved a little more, arm slung around Spike's neck now, his face in messy, platinum curls.

Another rumbling, almost yowling sound.  Like a cat getting its belly rubbed.  Spike shifted against him again, moving even closer, with his thigh slipping between Xander's legs.  Right over his cock.

It felt too good, Xander knew if it went on he was going to give himself away and then it was back to living the life of the Spikeless. And he'd give up just about anything to keep that disaster from happening.

He knew he had to move.  Not arch back and swallow a groan as Spike's hand rested on his belly, rubbing lightly.  "You," Spike pronounced slowly, "need a shower, pet."

Xander blinked, surprised at how awake Spike sounded.  Had he—did he know—was he gonna—but Spike was smiling up at him, eyes clear and calm, not the least disturbed about their positions.  He didn't sound like he wanted Xander to roll out of bed that instant and into the shower.  Mostly he sounded ... teasing.

Xander blushed and unwound his arm from around Spike's neck. "Yeah," he managed. He smacked his mouth a little and made a face. "Need to brush my teeth, too."

"Hm."  Spike was still rubbing his belly.  Xander didn't know if he was supposed to ignore it completely—the way Spike seemed to—or curl up into the caress the way he desperately wanted to.

"So, I should go and do all that."

Was he imagining Spike's flash disappointment?  He definitely saw the return of the sneer, but was it hiding something?  Xander pondered those and other questions as he did his morning business.

Was cuddly, snugly Spike an accident? He'd seemed different recently, and Xander didn't know what to make of it. Were they just friends? Xander was more than happy to settle for that. Just being near Spike made him happy, and ... well, he had his hand when the oversexed fantasies started running through his mind again.

Like now, when only a few pulls of his cock under the hot water of the shower made him come. He didn't even need to think about it, because the feeling of SpikeSpikeSpike was so fresh in his memory. He could still feel the hard press of Spike's cock against his thigh.

Minty fresh, deodorized, and wrapped in a damn towel, Xander exited the 'bathroom' and went in search of clothes.

Spike was still lounging in bed.  Hands tucked behind his head, framed by black sheets and the red blanket bunched over his feet, he looked beautiful.  Statue of David beautiful.  It made Xander's throat go dry.

"Back?"  Spike sat up and grabbed at his own towel.  "Good."

It hit Xander, then, watching Spike head towards the shower, that they'd been in bed together.  Naked.  That Spike had undressed them both and put them both into bed.  Naked.

Xander blinked and sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to figure out what being naked in bed with Spike meant, but he was having a hard time getting past the words naked, bed and Spike.

He realized he knew nothing about vampires and sex. Was there such a thing as platonic nudity in vampire, er, society? Because as much as he tried, Xander was having a hard time reconciling naked bed-sharing with the whole 'just buddies' thing he had going on with Spike.

He knew that Spike didn't like him.  Well, Spike didn't really like anybody, so Xander wasn't daunted by that.  Spike didn't seem to mind him too terribly much—if Buffy had tried the whole 'fumigation' trick, Xander really doubted it would've gone over as well.

Also, he really doubted Buffy would try something like that.

Confused and distracted, Xander tugged clothes onto his damp body.  Sitting on the corner of the bed to put on his socks, he distantly noted that the shower had turned off.  That meant Spike was done.

Of course, it didn't mean that Spike would stand right in front of Xander, wearing nothing but a really skimpy towel, when Xander—still bent over—looked up.

"Uh, hi," Xander said. Then closed his eyes and berated himself, because 'hi' was just about the stupidest thing he could have said.

But Spike wasn't laughing.

"Hey."  Spike was smiling at him curiously.  "Wanna go upstairs while I change?"

"Oh! Right. More nudity. I'll ... just be going now." He didn't wait for any reply, just scrambled up the ladder in his socks.

Man.  Man oh man.  Xander was ... 'weirded out' was probably a good description.  Flying was another.  He'd slept in Spike's bed.  Naked!  And Spike had freaking cuddled with him, and was giving him weirdly soft and friendly grins, and okay, this probably wasn't going to lead up to the hot, dirty sex he fantasized about.  But that was so okay.

Humming contentedly, Xander set about making breakfast for them both.

By the time Spike poked his head out of the hole like some bleached blond rabbit, Xander had breakfast for himself ready, with a bit put aside for Spike if he wanted, and Spike's blood heated to just the right temperature. Xander knew it was the right temperature because he'd spent so much time watching Spike and learning Spike and ... he was hopelessly obsessed. And doomed. So very, very doomed.

Spike wasn't wearing a shirt.  Just jeans, no socks, even.  Guh.

"Ta," he thanked, picking up his mug and a few slices of toast.  "So you go back tonight?"

"Back?" Xander echoed. Oh, right. Shit. "Uh, I guess? Maybe tomorrow morning, just to be safe." That's right, Xander, buy yourself a few more hours worth of time so you can come up with an excuse not to go back. Okay, the original plan had been to just stay and then go, leaving Spike with ... an electric blanket. But. The new plan was now apparently to stay as long as possible and to see if there would be more naked snuggling. If Spike let him. "If ... that's okay."

"You've made yourself pretty at home already," he said with a wave at the redecorated upper level.  Then he started fidgeting.  Had Spike ever fidgeted before?  It was cute.  "Not, uh, kicking you out, if that's what you're asking."

Xander nodded. "Good. It's uh, still a crypt though." He noticed when Spike's face seemed to fall a little. "But you know, home is where the heart is and all. Bet I could make this place look like a posh apartment with a few things. Some drywall, a few beams," he said, looking around. "Spackle, paint, maybe a little hard wood for the floor. Or wall to wall carpeting. How do you feel about berber?"

"No carpet in a crypt, pet.  Doesn't go with the ambiance."  Finishing his blood, Spike stole a few forkfuls of eggs.

Xander waited.  He knew Spike had more to say—he'd just gone all Bob Villa and if nothing else, that was prime mockage material.  But Spike didn't say anything, cleaning up his stuff and wiping down the hotplate.  Then he sat down in front of the television, and that was apparently that.

Xander had no idea what it meant.

"Yeah. Maybe I should look into buying a house to get this interior design bug out of me," Xander said after a while. "Just doesn't seem right to buy a house just for myself. Not really worth it if I can't share it."

He sighed and sat beside Spike, suddenly wishing that this could never end, and he'd never have to go back to being lonely and pining again.

"Bloody sci-fi marathon," Spike said after a few moments.  Battlestar Galactica continued playing in all its cheesy glory, the remote sitting on the arm of the sofa.  "And you should do that.  Don't like your apartment much."

"Yeah, me neither. Not very cozy, you know? Too much of that whole modern feel to it. That was Anya's style, not mine. I feel like a complete girl, but I kinda want the white picket fence."

"And she wanted the deluxe penthouse, didn't she.  All cold and metal."  Not a question, but the amount of antagonism was surprising.  Not directed at Xander, though, not since Spike was currently patting his thigh and saying, "Not girly, wanting to put down roots an' all.  Plus, you like that stuff, putting things right.  Should look for a fixer-upper, something you can really make yours."

Xander smiled, suddenly feeling embarrassed and a little nervous. "There's a place I've been looking at for a few months. It's a two bedroom, kinda small, but it's got a little yard and these great windows, and a nice big kitchen. There's room out back for a nice little patio and a hot tub, and ..." He sighed and leaned back against the sofa. "And way out of my price range. Fucking California real estate."

Half-turning so he could see Xander better, Spike cocked his head.  His expression was totally unreadable.  "How much out?  Thought you were making good money at the construction gig."  A flicker of something was in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm making good money. Not that good. Do you have any idea how much a house around here costs? You'd think the value of property on the hellmouth would be a little on the depreciating side. But you'd be thinking wrong. Bank won't even give me a loan that big, not with me being as young as I am and with my past job history. Maybe in a few years, after I've been working steady."

"Yeah, true enough.  Could show me the place, later?  Two bedroom ... sounds nice."

No way, no way was Xander reading anything into that.  He wasn't.  Really.  Nuh uh.  But it really did sound like ...

"You need a workroom," Spike was continuing.  "Know you like carving stuff.  Bet you could make some nice tables and chairs and sell those off.  I know you've been carving all the Slayer's stakes—the scroll work's a nice touch."

Xander blushed. If heat was a color then what he was feeling was fire engine red. Or maybe scarlet. "I ... dabble."

The eyebrow went up.  "You forget, pet, I've seen master carpenters before.  My furniture wasn't bloody mass produced, back in the day.  You do good work.  There's gotta be a market for the high-end stuff."

More blushing. He almost wished Spike would stop, because it was so embarrassing, and then the embarrassment itself was embarrassing.

"It would be nice to make a little cash from it. I mean, it's just a hobby, and I don't know if anyone would pay, but ... it's a good idea. I'll think about it." He smiled and ducked his head. "And if you want to see it, I could ... call the realtor. See if she'll meet us later, after sundown. Tomorrow, if you wanted to."

"Tomorrow?  Sure, sounds good.  Can go with you before patrol.  Are you coming tonight?  Since you're, uh, staying tonight and all.  Don't have to take all the stuff back yet."

Xander grinned. He'd been so caught up in Spike, and Spike's crypt, and Spike's shower head and Spike's blood and Spike's water heater and Spike's bed and ... yeah. Anyway, he hadn't even thought about patrol.

"Yeah, I'll come tonight. Just you and me, or are the others coming to make an event of it?"

"Slayer should be around," was the noncommittal answer.  Then Spike grinned at him and Xander was afraid his heart could stop.  "But don't worry, we can avoid her."

Xander found himself smiling back, and suddenly the moment felt special, like they were sharing something, just the two of them.

* * *