Xander kept his head tucked in against Spike's shoulder, breathing in deeply, the mingled scents of leather, desert dust, and Spike, as soothing and calm as the roar of the wind in his ears and the motorcycle beneath them was disorienting. "Where are we going again?"

It had taken Xander one hundred miles, just under one third of the distance between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, to learn that even above the roar of the wind, he didn't need to shout in Spike's ear to be heard. In a spot where the windmills turned, and the wind made Xander's newly-sensitized skin feel weirdly numb, Spike had pulled over the motorcycle, swung a leg off, and stood looking at Xander with his head tilted to one side.

"Why're we stopping?" Xander had started to swing a leg over the bike too, when Spike stopped him.

"Budge up," Spike had said, shoving at Xander's hips until he scooted along the seat, then swung onto the bike behind him. "You're gonna drive."

"I don't know how to drive a- ohhh, okay," Xander had said, leaning back into the nice, nice teeth that were nibbling patterns along his neck.

"Just like ridin' a bicycle."

"Pretty sure nobody had their hands down my pants when I rode my bicycle." Xander had bitten his lip, gripping the handlebars nervously. "Except Jesse. Um. Once."

Spike's teeth had closed over Xander's earlobe, and given it a tug then. "Drive, pet."

Xander had, and he'd even driven pretty well, until Spike had gotten around to making his point, shouting directions for the next turn-off into Xander's ear. Loudly. And Xander had run them off the road and into a stand of scrub brush, ears ringing.

He hadn't shouted in Spike's ear since, but he had learned that Spike could drive just fine with Xander's hands down his pants.

Coming back to himself, Xander realized that Spike had answered, and he'd missed it. "Um?"

"Weren't listening, were you?"

"No?" Xander asked, snuggling up in a way he hoped was appealing enough to convince Spike to repeat himself. Fortunately, that hadn't been difficult so far. Even if Spike hadn't been too upset over getting to Sunnydale too late to save Xander's life, and too relieved to have Xander ali-

Well, okay, not-completely-dead, to-

Xander's train of thought suffered a derailment as he lost his place. The point was that Spike was taking it easy on Xander because he was glad Xander was there, and knew first hand what it was like to wake up suddenly and utterly overwhelmed by senses so acute that his eyes and ears and skin burned with them.

*Shit. Missed what he said again.* Xander smiled his best goofy smile at Spike and hoped it was cute enough for Spike to say it one more time.

Spike sighed, pulling the bike over again, twisting in his seat, and cupping his hands around Xander's face, thumbs pressing in beneath his cheekbones as he gave Xander's head an affectionate shake. "Pay attention this time, my little spaceman. We're collecting a debt from a mate of mine in Vegas."

"Vegas?" Xander looked around the nearly deserted highway.

"Haven't been paying attention, have you? See the glow in the sky where we're headed?"

"Uh. Yeah." Because to Xander's new, and improved senses, it could have been the Northern Lights.

"That," Spike said, "is Vegas. Vamp paradise it is. 24 hour service, and loads of people who'll never be missed till we are long gone." Spike nipped at Xander's full lip, silencing his protests. "And loads of cheats, murderers, and nasty folk just waiting for you to learn to make a meal of 'em."

Xander caught in an unnecessary breath, pushing up closer to Spike on the motorcycle, because the thought of biting people shouldn't make him hard, but honestly, it made him want to find one now then have lots and lots of sex with Spike. Xander dropped his head to Spike's shoulder with a shudder and felt Spike shake with a chuckle.

"Meets with your approval, does it?"

Xander's fingers dug into the leather of Spike's coat. "Spike..." Okay, and thinking too much about food was bad. He was so hungry. Well, Xander had been hungry and horny all the time as a human too. Hello, teenaged hormones! It just seemed unfair that when he was hungry and horny as a vampire, he couldn't think of anything else.

Spike's fingers slid back and forth along Xander's arm, soothing. "Shh, pet. Shh. It's all right. Hard to think of much else yet, innit?" Spike waited until he felt Xander's nod, then gave his hands a squeeze, returning to grasp the handle bars and pull back onto the freeway. "We're only half an hour out yet. We'll stop by one of the off-strip dives and find you a little something. Yeah?"

Xander nodded again, pressed his face into the smell of smoke and leather and Spike, and held on.

Xander had expected the lights of Las Vegas to be the hardest thing to deal with. The lights, and confusing glare of colors never seen in nature. And if not the lights, then the noise, noise of a thousand thousand heartbeats, clattering slots, dealers with their rapid-snap patter.

But what he hadn't even imagined, hadn't even counted on was the heat and scent.

Scent of thousands of bodies, blood, and spice, and soap.

And hope and misery and lust, greed, excitement, need. Sharp and warm and rich and rotten until Xander had to remember that he didn't need to breathe, and stopped, but still, the pheromones and emotions crawled over his skin like a tide of bugs, and he wanted to cling to Spike, but what kind of embarrassment would he be if he couldn't even stand in a hotel lobby without clinging to Spike's leather coat tails?

They'd passed a poker table on the way through that first casino, cheap and ugly, but one man, one fat, hideous, balding sweaty man in a shirt even Xander wouldn't have worn was one card away from a royal flush with a pile of chips on the table bigger than his head. The pounding of his heartbeat and the waves of lustful greed and pure pheromones emanating from him had left Xander staggering, dizzy, salivating.

Then Spike had caught him, warm strong arms around his waist, cold lips against his ear. "Want that one, pet?"

Xander'd only been able to shake his head, gasp something about feeding only on the evil that made an old woman at the nearest slot machine glare at him.

But Spike hadn't been done. "Oh, he's evil pet. That one. Can smell half a dozen whores on him."

"N-nothing wrong with that in- in-"

"And their blood," Spike had finished. "Smell."

As if the command had a direct line to his brain, Xander had drawn in a deep breath, and there beneath the excitement, the greed, the stench were a dozen sweet spices, laced with a heady richness that made Xander's head spin.

"Want him?" Spike had asked again.

And all Xander could do was nod.

They'd caught up with him in a room that stank of cheap gin and cigars, and smelled like Xander's father, which he wasn't going to think about, and Xander had never dreamed that a man like that would taste so good.

He'd come to himself on his hands and knees beside the body with Spike removing the man's poker winnings from his wallet and pulling Xander to his feet. "Good, wasn't he?"

"I need a shower," Xander gasped, though his tongue was still darting between and behind his teeth, greedily chasing down the last dwindling drops of that rich thick blood.

Then Spike's tongue had shoved his aside, claiming the last drops for his own until Xander's lips tingled and his groin throbbed, and everything seemed so bright with odd halos around the edges, and he wished he could see himself in the mirror, sure he looked drugged out of his mind.

But Spike had only laughed, brushed away a drop of blood from Xander's lips, and half led, half carried him out of the room. "Our lad back there is treating us to the high life while we're here, pet."

Xander hadn't understood what Spike meant until they pulled onto a long, curving drive to the splash and roar of fountains and Sinatra, and Xander had been bundled off the motorcycle and into a world of spun glass flowers, white columns, and gilt edges...everywhere.

"Smell that, pet?"

Spike's voice wound through Xander's senses the way Spike's arms wound around his waist, and Xander drew in an obedient breath, overwhelmed by sweet and spicy and green and wet beneath the ever present scents of sweat and blood and human lusts. "What is it?"

"The conservatory." Spike rested his cheek against Xander's.

Xander was aware, distantly, of some people looking at them in wariness, curiosity, disgust - but all he could feel was smug - *Mine.* - and lean back against Spike possessive and possessed - and, oops, distracted again. "Huh?"

Spike chuckled against his ear. "Got a dreamer, have I? That's the conservatory. Thousands and thousands of flowers in bloom, all year 'round. Took Dru here when she was ill. Spent all night sitting with the flowers. Talkin' to them." Spike paused thoughtfully, but all Xander could think about was the slow rub of Spike's thumb just beneath his ribs. "Eatin' them too," Spike finally admitted. "The flowers. Well, and the security guard they sent to stop her eatin' the flowers."

"That's - that's not gonna get us in trouble?" Xander tried to twist in Spike's grasp unsuccessfully, so went back to leaning against Spike's body.

"You planning to snack on the posies?"

"Uh. No."

"Then no trouble." Spike spun Xander around, claiming his lips in a swift, bruising kiss, then released his waist for his hand and dragged Xander into the chaos of the casino and kept a very tight grip every time Xander swayed hypnotically towards the soon to be winners.

He was just leaning in to the nape of a woman at the slot machines who smelled so delicious when Spike jerked him upright, and Xander realized that they were faced with a bank of mirrors, floor to ceiling, and that he and Spike were standing in the one spot they didn't reflect. "Rules of the road, pet. Don't feed in your home, no matter how good it smells, and pay attention to the bloody mirrors," Spike murmured under the guise of kissing Xander's cheek, then inserted a golden room key into the little lock next to the elevator.

"Wasn't gonna," Xander mumbled, leaning into Spike's grasp, still feeling the tight fullness in his belly after gorging on Mr. Poker Winnings. It just all. Smelled. So. Good. Xander nuzzled into Spike's neck again, wondering if this was just a vampire thing or his teenaged brain taking 'necking' to new levels. Wait. Key. Elevator? "No elevator buttons?"

"Not for the penthouse, luv." Spike said, slipping the key back into his pocket. "Buttons are for the lower classes, see."

"For a guy who works so hard at sounding like Johnny Rotten, you're really a snob."

"Sid Vicious," Spike corrected, guiding him into the gilt (*surprise, surprise*) elevator, and shutting the doors before anyone could get in with them and recognize their lack of reflection.

Xander closed his eyes as he realized that the sick feeling of the elevator going up was also stronger now than it had been when he was a human, and he dizzily clung to Spike, the rest of the way to the room passing in a blur of stumbling steps, pine fresh cleaning fluid on every shining surface, and the perfume of a refined, distilled, concentrated greed. Those who had money, and fully intended to get more.

Then Spike was putting his key in another lock, opening the room to a world of muted colors and scroll-backed chairs, plush carpets, and- okay, it looked like somebody's living room. Xander didn't want a living room. He wanted a bed.

Or was it a shower?

He swayed on his feet, trying to think around muzziness like he hadn't felt since he was possessed by the hyena, full on a belly of pig-

Which actually didn't disgust him as much as it used to.

"Where's the bed?"

"Thought you wanted a shower, pet."

Oh. So it had been the shower he wanted. Xander lifted a sleeve to his nose, sniffing, then reeling from the stink of gin, and smoke, and the rank rot of blood that'd gone off, but- "Tired," he muttered, sagging against Spike as it all caught up with him, the tingling of his skin left so sensitive by the wind on the trip from Los Angeles that it was like a sponge to the noise that vibrated the very air of Las Vegas and every confusing scent put off by the humanity below.

"Overwhelmed," Spike answered, kissing the point where Xander's neck tapered into his shoulder, the point that still tingled from that bite in the hospital and made Xander stiffen every time.

Xander yelped as Spike picked him up, flailing for a grasp as his mind told him that Spike was too small to- to-

"Vampire, pet."

Xander folded his arms. Spike didn't have to sound so amused at his panic. But it was nice not having to walk all the way to a bathroom, wherever it was in the blur of gold and cream and peach that was their - *oh. Suite. Penthouse...suite? God, it's boring.*

Feeling Xander's snort against his neck, Spike glanced at him. "What's got you all derisive, pet?"

"People pay for this kind of decoration?"

"S'not the decor people pay for, luv." Spike set Xander briskly on his feet, stripping off his clothes with methodical swiftness until Xander was rubbing mindlessly, soft skin against rough denim and old leather. Spike chuckled, holding him back. "Thought you were tired pet."

"Huh?" Xander asked, confused until Spike gently eased him away and down onto a little brocade-covered stool that scratched at Xander's too-sensitive skin, and he squirmed.

"Stay," Spike ordered, but gently, sitting on the rim of the enormous tub and letting it fill as he stripped off, pale cream and gold to match the decor of the room, and okay, maybe boring wasn't the word to describe that color combination.

At least not on Spike.

If only he could...keep his eyes open long enough to appreciate it and-

Xander mumbled a protest as he was lifted again, and carried into the warmth and stillness of the bath, letting out his breath and sinking beneath the water, eyes closed, and his head in Spike's lap.

And only then was there relief from his senses as all became still, and warm, and calm, and quiet. Xander's last breath bubbled out of him in a sigh, and he nuzzled his way into the skin where Spike's thigh joined his hip, wrapped his arms around his *lover, sire, Spike*, and wanted. Parted his lips, and took him in, the water tasting of chlorine and chemicals, but giving way quickly to the taste of Spike as Xander sucked, feeling the slow, cool swell of Spike's cock growing erect, but no pulse.

No throb that he remembered so well, just cool and quickly-hard flesh filling his mouth, filling his throat as all of his other senses had been shut down, shut out by the warmth and weightlessness of the water, and Xander moaned around Spike's flesh, tongue sweeping hungry licks of warming flesh that tasted like new pennies and musk.

Throat stretched, scalp tingling with the scratch and scrape of Spike's painted fingernails, senses closed down but for the warmth and touch and swell of Spike's thrusts, Xander closed his eyes, and drifted, and let himself be tenderly, gently, lovingly used, and for the moment at least, free of the chaotic, dizzying blare of the demon's senses.

Safe.

Wanted.

Full belly, full throat.

And loved.