Tuesdays

Crack ... taptaptap ... tap ... thunkthud.

Rustle.

Tip crack ... thud. .... thud.

Rustle.

...

Rustle.

"Well?"

Xander looked up from his newspaper, rubbing at his eye until he could focus properly on Spike. "Huh?"

Spike leaned his cue against the wall and his hip against the table. "Aren't you gonna say 'Hey, Spike, listen to this'?"

"Uh. No?"

"Not coming down with anything, are you? Feeling all right? No fever?"

"Uh. Yes, Spike."

In spite of Xander's words, Spike pressed a hand to his forehead. "Not like you to keep a perfectly good newspaper full of all sorts of strange little bits and bobs to yourself is all."

Xander peered up from beneath Spike's hand. "That'd be because there's nothing good enough to read out loud."

"Sure there is," Spike said, slipping into what Xander thought of as the consoling tone. Spike nudged the newspaper away and perched in Xander's lap, making a chair of him and shaking out the newspaper. "Let's see, then."

"Evacuees flee New Orleans Ahead of Ivan? Barrel of laughs, that one."

"Actually, could be in a few days, after everyone's coming back home. Coffins tend to float up there, y'know, drift all kind of places. Lots of dead hijinks after a good..." Spike trailed off. "Er. Right. Maybe not so much for you lot. Let's see, then. Well now. Here's one I'm surprised you passed up: 'Court denies 'Sex Bail' for Prisoner.'"

Sliding his arms around Spike's waist, Xander rested his chin on his shoulder and closed his eye. "Read it to me?"

Spike's scarred eyebrow lifted, and he graced Xander with a skeptical look. "Uh huh. Beginning to catch on to your scheme, pet. Nice try."

"What?" Xander's voice was pure innocence.

"Trick me into thinking there's something wrong so I'll read the newspaper to you for a change."

"Would I do that?"

"You just did."

"Maybe I did," Xander admitted, eye still closed while his hands wandered over Spike's thighs, and up to frame his crotch. "But maybe I did so that I'd have both hands free this time to return the favor."

"Is that so?"

"One way to find out." Xander toyed with Spike's zipper, and lifted his head to watch Spike. "Better start reading or you'll never know."

"Gonna turn you over my knee one of these days, see how well you can read the sodding newspaper while I'm smacking your arse so raw and red you'll be sitting on pillows for a week."

Xander's breath hitched. "Spike--read."

Spike slowly folded the paper, grinding back against Xander with a concentrated roll of his hips. "Nah."

"Spike!"

Spike tossed the newspaper away, and brought Xander's hands to his groin, folding their heat over straining denim with a hiss. "Like this better."

"Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck." Xander fumbled for Spike's zipper, yanking it down, and shoving Spike's jeans down after it, pulling him back sharply into his lap. "This isn't the way it's supposed to go. We're supposed to read the newspaper, find something funny, then, fuck- Spike!"

Reaching behind him, Spike had jerked Xander's fly open, and impaled himself in one sharp move that made them both groan, and Xander's hands flex on his hips. "It's Tuesday. Ah, yeah, pet, like that. That's good. Everybody knows - bloody hell, do that again - everybody knows nothing funny ever happens on Tuesdays."