First thing Xander heard was a well modulated and soft spoken "Oh dear. That wasn't supposed to happen," before all hell broke loose.
"Bloody fucking hell!"
And English cursing guy sounded really different when he was English cursing gal but Xander was too busy finding himself two (big big) boobies richer and missing a dick to listen to the rest of whatever Spike had to say. "What the fuck?"
"I asked first!"
And that girly Willow shriek sounded really manly.
"Get him - her! She's getting away!"
That's all the Xand-ma - oh whatever - needed to spring into action - or spring into Spike, colliding in a collision of hard bits with soft bits and "Ow" one struggling female Ethan Rayne on the bottom.
"Could be worse."
Xander looked up from watching the sidewalk go by under his sneakers long enough to fix Spike with his best 'you must be joking' stare. "How?"
"Got great knockers, haven't we? Did you see the Watcher? Flat as a bloody board and got a bit of middle-aged spread around the bum too." Spike tucked his hands behind his back, coat snapping at his heels and nearly brushing the ground with every step.
Xander watched him hop lightly onto a bench, walk along that and hop down.
Okay, so Xander watched Spike's breasts hop, walk and hop. Semantics. Spike was right - they were a pretty great set.
But that wasn't the point.
"That's not the point." Xander wished Spike would lift his eyes from Xander's chest and kinda wished his chest didn't wobble so disturbingly with every step. "The point is that we are women. You, me, Giles, Riley and Ethan Rayne. And the girls - excuse me - ex girls are men. And Ethan doesn't know how to reverse it because it was supposed to be his so long, suckers! sayonara to Sunnydale. Still with me so far?"
"Every word, pet," Spike assured Xander's breasts.
"We are women, Spike!"
"So? What's wrong with that? You like women."
"I also like cream filled doughnuts but that doesn't mean I want to be one!"
"Oh calm down. Watcher and the witches'll get this sorted sooner or later and you'll have all your manly bits back where they belong." Spike patted down his pockets and pulled out cigarettes and lighter, lit up.
"I like my manly bits. In fact, you could probably say my manly bits are the foundations of my self-image."
Spike snorted. "Not been doing a very good job then have they?" Spike flicked ash away from himself and while Xander was busy not watching a perky pair of breasts jiggle to the motion, he continued. "'Sides, you can't tell me you're not at all curious what it's like."
"Huh? What what's like?"
"The other side. The bits and bobs a bloke hasn't got. What it feels like to slide a hand down between your thighs, all that slick and heat instead of hardness, slip up to find that one little spot that'll - "
"I am not listening to this!" Xander sped up - but didn't run. He'd found out the hard way that running was bad and ow with his new anatomy and he was never gonna look at bras the same way again. "And I am not curious!" He jammed his key into the lock - missed because he was aiming too low on the door and tried again, flinging the door open and leading the way into his apartment.
"No?" Spike asked, slipping through the door and shedding his duster as he went. Then he kept shedding, over shirt following the duster and tee shirt following the over shirt and those really were nice breasts and Spike wasn't stopping there, only paused with his hands on his zipper, head cocked to one side. "Best close the door, pet because I am."
And then Spike toed out of his boots and dropped his jeans and Xander slammed the door shut with a gah! and watched the most perfect breasts turn away and the most perfect ass sway away and knew if he still had a dick, he'd be a walking hard-on by now.
And instead - instead -
Xander sagged with a shudder, a warming, tingling, totally alien ache between his thighs and slid down the wall, clamping his hands over his ears at the first moan and fuck yeah! from the open door of Spike's bedroom.
Xander waited for the moaning to stop and the groaning - and the faint wet slippery sounds that he hoped to all kinds of gods he was only imagining because Spike was really getting into it for a while there.
Then, he averted his eyes and hurried down the hall straight into the bedroom with no more than a glimpse of long, pale leg hanging over the edge of Spike's bed and the curve of a nice nice breast with -
There comes a time in a young man's life where the choice is either to face the music - or in this case, face the newly installed indoor plumbing - or wet the bed.
As Xander lay there contemplating the first rays of dawn crawling across his bedroom ceiling, it was a difficult decision.
For all of two minutes.
*Okay. I can deal. It's just parts.*
And with 'it's just parts' as his new mantra, Xander set about his morning routine, took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.
Xander made a mental note that taking a deep breath did great things for his new body.
He took another and turned sideways.
Okay this vacation to bizarro land might not be all bad after all. He could look at it as intelligence gathering. Or inside (ha!) information. Okay, maybe not that. But he could do it - not that he had a choice. And it wasn't as if he didn't know women with ten times bigger balls than he'd ever had. Yeah - Xander would look at it as a - a learning experience.
Not that Xander planned to do as much hands-on learning as Spike was.
At least not with his door open where anyone could walk by and see pale limbs sprawled over tangled sheets, smooth fingers resting on a stomach that curved gracefully inward beneath delicate ribs and above a dark tangle of damp curls that -
Not that he'd looked.
Okay, maybe he'd peeked.
Xander stepped into the (cold) shower quickly before he could get a little too accepting with the new equipment. It was like studying French - you had to start with the little things. Le chat est sur la chaise and work your way up to watching La Cage Aux Folles without subtitles. There were some things a guy's psyche just wasn't designed to deal with without a warm-up period because come on - boobies were one thing. Missing a dick was a whole different ballgame.
*Ha. I crack myself up.*
And if Xander shuddered with anything but loss and wiggins when he glided soapy fingers between his legs, that was one of the things he wasn't going to deal with yet. Or ever.
Because hey - Willow and Giles wouldn't want to stay all Freaky Fridayed so this spell would be reversed. Quickly. Extra super quickly and Xander could go back to nice familiar things - like boobies which weren't attached to him. Why take French when all the good movies came out with subtitles?
But a little voice - and god how Xander hated that little voice - asked him if this was his last chance in the land of feminine masturbatory opportunity, one he should take advantage of. But no - no way - the Xand-man didn't take advantage of the women-folk. Even when he was the women-folk.
Xander's psyche rebelled at that and wrote M-A-N in big letters on the inside of his skull, then circled it twice in a manly shade of hunter green.
But hadn't Spike sounded like he was having fun? That little voice whispered. 'Multiple orgasms,' it said.
Xander fumbled the water off, dried quickly and wrapped the towel around his waist. Right. That was it. Spike had sounded like he was having too much fun. Too much naughty, tingly, multiply orgasming fun...that was going to fuel Xander's fantasies for the rest of his natural life.
Head dropped, fate resigned-to, Xander pushed the bathroom door open and froze.
Their eyes tracked down and locked into position.
"Are you staring at my breasts?" Xander asked Spike's breasts.
Spike's nipples were redder - brighter - more sore looking this morning with pale blue of bruises on the creamy-soft sides that spoke silent volumes for Spike's enthusiasm the night before - all night - and was that smudged makeup around Spike's eyes or exhaustion from staying up all night - except he didn't have anything to up, like Xander - staying in all night? And Xander wasn't ready to think about Spike and in together.
That was way beyond the cat on the chair - it was learning to tell time and asking where to find the best restaurant.
*Boobies.* Marginally safe. Only really not.
Because Xander's mouth watered to lick, nuzzle, suck away the soreness -
And this was his only excuse for missing Spike's approach until cool fingers feathered over his left nipple in an electric touch hotwired to his groin and Xander jumped back into the wall with a crack of bone on plaster where he stayed, shaking and unable to decide if he was relieved or kinda insulted when Spike didn't try to touch him again.
Because Spike touching him? Weird.
Spike touching the breasts Xander was not supposed to have? One way trip to the padded cell.
"It's a nice set," Spike said. And did he sound wistful? "Big and firm. Like a big blonde lass me an' Dru shared once in Germany. God, couldn't tear Dru away from those tits with dollies or pearls, not even once the bint was dead." Giving himself a shake, Spike skirted Xander on his way into the bathroom. "Hope you left me some hot water, mate. I fancy a long, hot soak. Don't let the cold air in, yeah?"
In the bathroom, Spike started to sing.
And Xander made his way to the bedroom to search for his Ace bandages because he could accept Spike singing soprano and he was beginning to think he could even accept draining the bucket instead of the snake. And maybe he'd even explore a little Intermediate French and take his hormones for a walk - but a guy had to draw the line somewhere.
Xander drew his line at jiggling.
There was just no manly way to jiggle.
Enlightenment wasn't walking a mile in someone else's shoes.
Enlightenment was walking a mile in his own shoes which had never seemed so big when he had guy feet.
Big guy feet.
Though he still had guy-sized hips, only really not.
Whatever. At least his jeans weren't falling down.
Xander flip-stomped his way to The Magic Box thanks to the gods of Ace Bandage and Hanes Extra Thick Workman's Socks. "Okay. Research guy reporting for work."
Four pairs of eyes slid down Xander's body.
"Guy?" Willow asked.
"If you can still do little girl voice with a pair of testicles, I can still use masculine pronouns with boobies." Xander threw himself into a chair. "Bring on das books!" He banged the table for emphasis - because let's face it, beating his chest was currently out of the question.
"I'm afraid it won't be quite that easy, Xander."
Xander looked at Giles. Giles and his classic jeans and a sweater - that fit. Really fit. Christ, it almost flattered and that was wrong. Also unfair. Giles looked as comfortable in his clothes as he had before it all went balls up - to borrow Spike's very very ironic turn of phrase. Either there was more to Watcher training than met the eye, what they said about English guys and cross dressing was true (and he'd ask Spike but Spike wasn't doing much dressing at all these days) or you could accomplish anything with a credit card and a red BMW convertible. And maybe a Wonderbra but that was territory Xander really didn't want to venture through.
And Giles was still talking.
"There are no books on this subject."
Xander processed that quickly - too quickly - raced through all of the possibilities until he reached the solid wall of oh shit at the end of the tunnel. "That's what I heard you say - but what you meant is that there are no books on this subject in your collection and one is being FedExed from LA as we speak. Right?"
"What I meant is that Ethan created a unique spell for our benefit and does not know how to reverse it."
"Have you tried thumb screws?" Xander asked weakly. "I hear thumb screws are really popular for making people talk."
The shop door slammed on a cloud of smoke and Spike casually dropped his blanket into a display of fetishes. He strolled the length of the shop and hopped up onto the counter, crossing his legs. "Thumb screws are overrated, pet. Now, bamboo under the fingernails, that's a classic for a reason."
They all stared.
Tight black jeans looked a lot different on girls.
And that tight black camisole looked a lot different on Spike.
"I'm confused," Willow whispered to Tara, so quietly Xander almost didn't hear it - and then wished he hadn't. "I think I have an erection - does that mean I'm still gay or does it mean I'm straight now?"
"It means you're horny, sweetie." Tara petted her hair, the gesture no less natural to big man hands than it had been to slender girl hands.
Xander dropped his head onto the table and covered it with his own (please god, temporarily) girl arms.
Spike lit a cigarette. "His bird left a box of clothes in the closet."
Xander closed his mouth - quickly - before he could say anything that might imply Spike filled out Anya's clothes a whole lot better than Anya did - or that Spike was clearly a little bigger than Anya the way the clothes stretched. Either way, it was not something that should come out of Xander's mouth if he wanted to see another morning. "Those clothes were for charity," he said instead.
Spike shrugged. "I'm charity, luv. Think of the poor naked vampire with no clothes to call his own."
Xander tried to think of anything but the poor naked vampire.
The poor naked vampire with busy hands and no earthly inhibitions.
He heard Willow whisper about wishing she'd worn looser pants.
Xander moved very very far away from Willow and leaned against a book shelf in what he hoped was a casual pose. "So!" He said loudly before any more very disturbing whispers could reach his ears. "What are we going to do about this? This is where we break out the Scooby power, right?"
"This is where we wait." Giles took a seat on one of the benches and removed his glasses, tapping the stem against his teeth. "Ethan insists the spell is designed to wear off if we wait. I don't feel particularly inclined to trust him but it may very well be our best course of action until we learn differently."
"And when you say wear off - you mean when? Exactly."
"We don't know."
"And you are going to learn differently - right?"
"If there is a different option." Giles did not sound hopeful for the possibility.
Xander stood - a man with a plan - boobies too, but most importantly: a plan. "Who's up for drinks at the Bronze?"
It was a really popular plan.
"I'll - er - break out the books then."
Having girl parts didn't seem to impair Spike's ability to drink. In fact, it seemed to encourage it as a steady stream of college type guys bought Spike beer after beer and Spike drank them all. Within an hour, Spike had learned just how to bat his eyes and angle his body and dear god in heaven, was he flashing boobie on purpose?
This had to stop.
And not only because nobody'd given Xander a second look except for one of the girls from Willow and Tara's old Wicca group. He didn't think she'd like waking up with him the next morning if the spell happened to end.
It was really wigging Xander out.
Xander looked around to find a tall frosty glass of oblivion in front of him on the table and Spike sitting down on another stool. "What's this for?"
"To drink, pillock. Drink. Get drunk. Stop being a sad moping git while there's fun to be had."
"You call this fun?"
"Well, yeah. Been drinkin' free beer all night, pinched four wallets and had sex twice."
Xander paled. *Warp core breech is imminent!*
"Wasn't the best sex, mind. All that condom nonsense and the last bloke had a small - "
*Eject warp core!* Xander drowned out Spike's words with long, long gulps of bubbly frothing goodness and a quicker buzz than he'd had off one beer since he was twelve. "Excuse me, Spike. Time to dance the cares away. Right now." He pushed away from the table and staggered into Buffy - big Buffy. Big buff Buffy with muscles he was pretty sure she never had as a girl. "Hey, Buff. How about some crazy dancing?"
"Not exactly in the mood for crazy dancing, Xan."
Xander changed tactics. "Slow seductive dancing?"
"Non-dancing," Xander concluded, sitting down again.
"That's the one." Buffy slumped onto the third stool and leaned her elbows on the table.
"Not coming." Buffy grimaced and looked around. "I want a drink. Do you want a drink?"
"I want a drink," Spike said, lifting his empty hopefully.
"I wasn't asking you." Buffy snapped, climbing off the stool awkwardly, as unused to her extra height as Xander was to lack of the same - he put out an arm to stop her.
"Okay Buff - what's wrong?"
"Nothing." Buffy rolled her head on her shoulders, loosening up for a night of Bronzey fun. "I feel the need for beer."
Spike snorted and tilted back his beer, and Xander did not watch the way that smooth smooth throat worked the last drops from the bottle. Spike wrapped both hands around his bottle, toying with it in a way that made Xander...tingly. "I'll tell you what happened, mate. She went to make sweet love to Captain Cardboard and he crossed his legs tighter than a virgin on a pirate ship." He turned to Buffy and raised the bottle back to his lips. "What's the matter, pet? Wouldn't let you stick it in him?"
"Shut up, Spike!"
One moment, Spike's lips and tongue were doing casually obscene things to the neck of his beer and the next they were gone - along with Spike - down on the floor in a sprawl of limbs and broken glass and blood.
And angry young men coming closer with clenched fists and pool cues scarily erect.
Spike lay where he fell and smirked, wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. He looked - happy. Scarily happy. "Shouldn't have done that, luv. People frown on this sort of thing when it's the tiny little girl who gets hit." Oh god - that was an unholy look of satisfaction in his eyes that looked way too much like Spike's expression after many orgasms.
Which was not an expression Xander had ever expected to know well enough to compare.
"Spike?" Xander crouched down, took Spike's hands in his and pulled until they were both unsteadily on their feet. "I think we should go home now."
"Why's that, pet?" Spike wiped at his bloodied nose once more and licked absently at the blood with a feral grin. "Floor show's just about to get started. Been waitin' for this all night."
"That was bloody satisfying, it was."
"Spike - "
"Seeing her high and mightiness brought low by a pack of angered Neanderthals defending my dainty virtue. For shame, Slayer."
"Spike - "
"A true gentleman never hits a lady."
That stopped Xander. "Okay, there is so much wrong with that. First? You're not a lady, Spike. You are a man under a spell that gave you girl parts." Spike waved him off dismissively but Xander was not to be silenced. "And second, you hit girls all the time. Including Buffy. Especially Buffy."
"Never said I was a gentleman, did I? She's a white hat." Spike was inspecting a breast down the front of his camisole. "Reckon these would look good with rings through 'em?"
Xander's brain whirled through the subject change and threw a cog when it got there. He stumbled over his boots.
"Don't seem to be any more sensitive but I've always fancied bints with metal through the tits." He gave a nipple an experimental pinch but Xander was too busy denying the hot and wet throb of interest in his loins to answer - or tell him to shut up. In hindsight, this was a mistake. A big one. "Think I'm gonna do that. You toddle on home, mate. I'll be in by dawn."
And Xander found himself standing on the street in Sunnydale so far after dark the nightlife was having its lunch break.
As a recently smaller and more tender than usual member of the species most likely to be lunch, Xander decided cowardice was the better part of valor and hailed the first empty cab that came by.
Because the sooner Xander got home unmolest - uneat- alive, the sooner he could drink himself into that happy place where he couldn't feel anything from the neck down.
Or the neck up.
There would be no feeling - up or down.
He stomped up the stairs to his apartment. Stomping felt good. Stomping was manly.
Stomping distracted him from the tingle that wouldn't go away every time he thought Spike, boobies, needles - three unmixy things that were currently doing a lot for him.
He unlocked his door, kicked it shut and headed straight for the fridge and cool, foamy oblivion.
Beer was manly too.
Beer good as a wiser woman once said before hauling off and kicking ass.
Why couldn't he be an ass kicking guy with boobies?
Xander's brain tapped him on the shoulder, rewound the conversation and pointed out the many levels of wrong in that thought.
Xander squinted at the label on his beer. Either they were makin' the Bud stronger these days or the lack of oxygen to his brain was starting to get to him.
He tested the ace bandages.
Okay. Time to feed the Xand-man's brain and if Spike walked in on him, Xander would strangle him with the bandages.
It was a plan.
Death by brassiere.
He slugged down the beer, steeled himself, shucked his shirt and began to unwind the bandages.
Because holy pantheons his nipples hurt.
Cradling his nonmanly parts with a protective arm and grabbing his beer with the other, he shuffled his way across the room and collapsed on the couch.
He looked down at boobie A, nestled against his palm, feeling way too good there for a boobie where it wasn't supposed to be. It was in restricted territory without a pass. "This is your fault," he told it. "And don't think you're innocent either, buddy," he told the other before gingerly letting go and lifting his beer to his lips.
They throbbed back at him vindictively.
Now he knew why girls didn't do the ace bandages thing.
He was glad he hadn't gone to plan B: duct tape.
Boring. Boring. Boring. Law and Order - seen it. Boring. Boring.
Television was out to get him.
And he was almost out of beer.
It could have had to do with the five empties. Or the fact that it was three in the morning and except for a brief flirtation with striking it rich in the real estate market in only two hours a day, the infomercials failed to hold his attention.
Maybe he should upgrade to digital.
Xander scratched casually under a breast.
Oh, yeah. Success.
Operation feed the mind? Less successful.
Boring. Boring. Aerobics.
Xander's finger hovered over the remote. Oh yeah. Boobies still did it for him. Spandex was a gift from the gods.
"Okay, Denise. Make me sweat."
Self-gratification was the hobby that never got dull.
And there was something wrong with that thought but around the fourth beer, he pretty much stopped caring.
Then Denise started to bounce - all of her..
Okay, bubbly bouncing boobies less appealing now. Ow.
He cradled his own and assured them there would be no more bouncing.
Xander clicked the remote.
Sweet auxiliary channel and budget DVD player. Which meant either Andromeda or Dorm Lockdown III: Pajama Party which was a movie Willow was never going to know Xander owned.
Good deal. He fished for the right remote - wondered if they sold the Universal Remote thing at the Made For TV store in the mall - and found it nesting with the spare change, extra thick unscented hand lotion and chip crumbs under a couch cushion.
And if it came up Dorm Lockdown III: Pajama Party, Xander was going to do what came naturally - or unnaturally.
Because damn it, he was tired of being nun boy with the amazing locking thighs.
He popped the button on his jeans.
It was his body.
He needed another beer before he thought too hard about that one.
Xander kicked his boots under the table and toed off the layered socks, ignored the way his unbuttoned jeans hung off his hips and helped himself to another beer.
Behind him, the girls of Eta Alpha Tau locked their dormitory doors and dropped the key out the window.
With a crack of wooden paddle to bare, round, smooth ass cheek and a breathy blonde squeal, Initiation week was on.
And so was Xander.
See: on, turned.
He settled in with beer and remote to follow the usual plan. A fast-forward montage of slap and tickle - literally - to get to the good stuff, which involved a redhead with a strap-on and later, a janitor who'd accidentally been trapped in the dorm when they locked it down.
*And how come I never got that job?*
Except - except -
Xander tilted his beer vertical before realizing he was sucking desperately on an empty bottle and the fast montage was a slow montage.
Because there was a smack of the paddle, a quiver in her skin, flush and swell of blood to her folds that made his throb in sympathy.
'Too hot?' Redhead asked. 'Cool her down, Audrey.'
And then there was tongue - tongue like a taser to the spine, teasing its way across reddened cheeks and thighs, flickering in and between and freshman initiation girl spread her legs with a practiced moan as the tongue tip traced around and around pink skin until everything gleamed.
Lot of throbbing. Tingling.
Fingers and tongues and -
Xander dropped the beer bottle and glanced to the windows (covered) and door (locked) and hit slow just as glossy fingertips began to slide up blonde's thighs.
Phantom fingertips up his making him shiver - bringing on that hot, wet, heavy feeling - *Okay. Less thinking. More - right.*
He raked his nails up the seam of his jeans - clench and shudder, slick feeling when he squirmed.
And with a *wrong, wrong, wrong - fucked up* he slid shaking fingers into his jeans and - arched. "Fuck. Right." And his voice in no way sounded shaky and breathy. Manly. All man. Getting off on lesbian porn. All man.
And men want - more. Right? Greedy. Greedy man even if he's fingering really girly parts - and they happen to be his.
The ache spread, skittering through his pelvis, down opening thighs, fingers in and out on the screen - hotslickwet - *Watch the screen.*
Close-up on the blonde, fingers teasing in and out - Spike is a natural blonde.
*Okay. Okay, not bad.* And rhythm, Xander decided, was a good thing - a nice thing. An in-out-ache-in-arch thing - hot and fluttery - and holy fuck! no wonder Anya had liked that move.
*Okay. Yeah. Yeah, more of that.* Xander slouched down on the couch, found putting his feet up on the coffee table, knees spread gave him more room and a good view and tried out a little moan of his own and a thumb across the nipple - which had apparently forgiven him for the ace bandage and was ready to party.
And who knew dexterity came so easily when a guy was motivated?
He dropped his head back to the couch, soundtrack of wet sounds and moans, only some of which were coming from the TV. Nice sparks and tingles and a slow burn like those icy-hot packs he used after a hard day at work making everything from navel to knees want.
*Jesus...fuckin'....come on already!*
Panting. Harsh panting he was pretty sure wasn't coming from the screen cause Dorm girls moaned and squealed. They didn't pant.
Hey! Great! Panting was manly. Panting was - whoa - panting was making him dizzy and there was the whimper. And a scrapescrape - *cheapass DVD player*.
"Come on, come on, come - Fuck!"
The door crashed open - crashed shut and Xander whipped his hand out of his jeans fast enough to give himself fabric burn. He scrambled for the box of Kleenex next to the couch - and Spike was laughing.
Like a hyena.
And Xander knew from hyenas.
The burn in his thighs - and elsewhere he didn't have any words Willow wouldn't lecture him for using - was spreading to his cheeks, concentrating, burning. And suddenly he got Anya because an orgasm was not something denied lightly to a horny woman.
He stood up, braced his hands on the couch and glared at the heap o' Spike giggling against his front door. "What?"
Spike's head dropped back, pupils enormous, lips swollen and red and *Oh, holy fuck* absolutely bare-chested under his duster, which was splayed out around him, slipping down one shoulder and framing Spike's pierced nipples in a way that made it really hard to be mad at him.
Harder to be mad at him when Spike rolled his head against the door to stare at Xander as if he'd never seen him before. "You're up? What're you doin' up?"
"Up? I'm - I don't have bedtime Spike and - "
Spike tilted his face, nose to the air and his eyes half closed. "Oh. Someone's been gettin' naughty," he sing-songed and the angry flush came right back to Xander's cheeks.
"Okay. That is it. I'm not gonna stand here and be mocked in my own living - what the fuck are you doing?"
Spike looked up from the battle of the coat. The coat seemed to be winning. "'M stuck."
"I hope you don't expect me to help. And what the hell happened to your shirt?"
Spike blinked, big black eyes - stoned eyes - didn't there used to be blue there? He looked down, lifted a nipple ring as if the shirt might be under it. "Dunno. Lost it."
Xander collapsed back onto the couch with a groan. "Great. Look - can you just...go into your room and - not mock me for a few hours so I can get off like a normal young American male and go to bed?"
"Wasn't gonna mock you," Spike said, a lot closer which meant he'd probably won his battle with the coat. It also meant bare!boobies!Spike was free and headed his way instead of into his own room.
It also meant Spike could see the TV where Audrey had moved on to three fingers and he reached for the remote.
Mood? Definitely killed.
Spike got to the remote first. "Leave it on."
"You've already seen this, Spike. In fact, you left it in the Andromeda box set."
"Not gonna watch it." Spike lifted Xander's hand and placed it palm down on the couch, holding his gaze with those big, dark - *Great. He's stoned.* - eyes.
That Xander couldn't quite look away from.
"You are." Little fingers found their way through Xander's belt-loops and tugged.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Spike tugged again, pulled himself up with a hand on Xander's shoulder to straddle his thigh. Then he plunged his other hand straight into Xander's jeans - into Xander despite the awkward angle - holding on when Xander struggled, fingers curling just there and they both froze. "Fuck." Xander said - as a big vortex of wrong sucked all the air out of the room. Spike wriggled his fingers, a cool, soft, fluttering tease. Rocked hypnotically on his thigh while bolts of crackling electricity froze him in place.
"Lending a helping hand, luv. God - you're so fucking warm. Haven't had human cunt in years."
Xander jerked, clutching at the couch pillow - and he was going to remove Spike's hand - oh god - any time now. "The PC term is - is - " He racked his brains.
Spike had lifted his head - but not his hand, wet pressure, slick slide, shaky bolts of holy cow skittering away from ground zero. Spike raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, there is no PC term." Only bad porn on the TV. A half-naked male vampire with boobies and - and really talented fingers really in his lap - and this was all a hallucination brought on by...by...by... "Fuck," he said again, slammed his head back and closed his eyes.
The DVD was still playing somewhere. But now he had a soundtrack of Spike. A soundtrack of nasty bad wrong and twat, pussy, cunt and bet you taste fuckin' sweet, luv. And cold fingers, thrusting, wriggling, circling - rubbingrubbingrubbing until he was gasping, grinding up into them and they could have been anyone's as long as they'd keep going - and - and -
Something white and hot and tight in the back of his mind, in the bottom of his spine drew in on itself and exploded along his nerves, lifting him off the couch, clutching at Spike - the couch arm - anything he could reach because it kept on until it was too much.
And then Spike - stopped - stilled and Xander...floated. Soft, fluttery rhythmic clench around Spike's fingers, barely moving in him then slipping out and he wasn't gonna think about the feeling of empty left behind.
He wasn't gonna think about anything. That was the rule. No thinking for at least thirty minutes post orgasm. Or the next morning - still man enough to want to roll over and sleep.
Xander pushed himself upright with a grunt, legs too watery to try standing and pried his eyes open to find - Spike.
Eyes dark and fingers up to the knuckles in his mouth - staring at him as the fingers came out, centimeter by centimeter, followed by a curling tongue and a groan. Then he slid them into his own jeans, toppling sideways onto the couch, legs splayed, eyes slitted and turned to the TV - rise and fall of his hips.
"I'm just - gonna..."
Shower? Asked a voice in his mind, conscious of the heavy musk in the air, on him. The voices were finally returning. Oh joy. And Spike was watching him through lidded eyes to the rasp of skin under denim.
"Sleep," he said out loud, overruling it. He sent a stern memo to his knees demanding cooperation - and bailed.
Xander lay in bed with his eyes closed and an arm thrown against them - and quietly waited to freak out.
The problem was how many things he had to freak out over.
A guy could stay up all night listing them all - or keep himself up all week trying to decide what to freak out over first.
Or fall asleep counting reasons to freak out like they were sheep.
And wake up to something that felt suspiciously like a blow job only...not.
Xander stiffened everywhere but the usual and dug his fingers into the blankets. "Spike?"
"Mmm?" The consonants vibrated between his legs with a buzz that went straight to his brain and Xander's throat clicked when he swallowed.
Reason eight to freak out was coming back to haunt him: Spike had access to his apartment.
Xander yelped, scuttling back into the pillows when Spike's access got a whole lot more personal and they reached an impasse.
One where Xander clutched a pillow to his chest with his knees pulled up, thoughts pinging off each other like over-excited atoms, and really naughty tingles banging through his nerves to the rhythm of his pulse - and Spike sat back on his heels, naked, and looking offended.
"What? You can't say you weren't enjoying that." Spike stuck a glossy finger into his mouth, frowning around it.
And it was wrong - wrong wrong wrong - to have naked Spike in his bed with boobies and curving places and parts it was too early in the morning for Xander's brain to put into context and his fingers in his mouth - his very up close and personal fingers - and a pout - and -
Then context happened.
Spike helped it along.
The number one reason to freak out:
"Enjoyed it enough last night."
Xander was never - ever - going to drink again.
Until he got his own body back.
And then he was going to get very very drunk.
And if he was a good boy, maybe that time he wouldn't wake up in bed with Spike looking like a wet dream -
Which he so totally did not just think.
While Xander made a run for Denial, Spike was sniffing the air, smiling, looking pleased and prowly and wrapping cool hands around his ankles and tugging and Xander told himself he was no match for vampire strength.
No match at all.
And really, there was no point in fighting because it would only give Spike a headache and it was only natural to - to -
"Nothing I haven't felt, pet. Nothing I haven't done." Spike's words buzzed and hummed up the nerves of Xander's inner thigh that he's pretty sure he didn't have a week ago and Xander's spine tried to bend like Mr. Santiago's cat's. "Nothing I haven't seen. Nothing I haven't got, come to think of it."
Xander lifted his head. It took effort but he fought the gravity of the mattress and his traitorous parts that were saying yes, yes, yes! and singing hallelujah when Spike's thumbs skimmed way too sensitive, way too swollen flesh. "Huh?"
Apparently, his brain hadn't been able to fight the gravity as well as his head and was lodged down between his thighs, lost in unfamiliar territory without a road map.
And Xander was clearly a passenger for this ride.
"Haven't you always wanted to know what it feels like?"
Then, while Xander was still trying to form a reply that wasn't god, please yes! and wasn't quite enough no to put Spike off - he found out exactly what it felt like and wondered if it was too late to call Giles and tell him to hold off on looking for a cure - yet.
And he would have - if his brain hadn't dissolved like a cheap lollipop under every lick.
So he'd come to some time in the afternoon. After the orgasms - after the - okay, he had no metaphors but his legs were numb and the phantom lashings of Spike's tongue really weren't helping Xander through metaphor man territory.
"That's right," he told the bricks, taking a sharp right into the alley behind The Magic Box to gird his metaphorical loins, "man."
Even if he had given up on the Ace bandages thing. And if he had been whistled at by a couple of guys he was pretty sure he worked with on site during the summer.
But damn it! He was a man! He was confident! He was a man while Spike ate him out and he was confident that he would still be a man while jiggling and being whistled at in public places.
And - and - his manliness was in no way threatened by Spike getting him off with womanly parts because he was man. Orgasms good.
Okay, orgasms great because that over a hundred years' experience promise? Spike so delivered and - well, it hadn't been bad. It'd been so far from bad, it'd have to call bad long-distance.
And his friends would in no way be able to read evidence of happy naked time with Spike on his face the moment he walked into the 'Box.
Xander let himself in through the back door of The Magic Box and everyone stared.
Of course, by 'everyone' he meant big manly Buffy and Ethan and Giles - who was actually pretty hot in an 'oh my god, I did not just say that out loud, did I?' way.
"Er. Yes. Thank you, Xander."
But there was no yelling and no recriminations. So score one nonchalance point to the Xand-man.
Xander helped himself to a chair and sat down while he could still feel his knees.
"Did you - um - go shopping?" Buffy's fingers wiggled in Xander's direction and he looked down. Into cleavage.
And a shirt that said Angel on the front in sparkling blue.
"It was in Anya's charity box."
"What happened to Xand the Man with the Plan and an Ace bandage?"
Xander resisted the urge to rub his sore nipples.
"His new plan is lettin' it all hang out. And Spike took her Devil shirt."
"Oh dear god."
"Hey, I'm a believer in listing the contents on the package. Ever since that Tijuana chocolate bar incident - ." Xander was being stared at in ew-face, horror and vague interest respectively. "Which you don't want to hear about."
Boy was the packaging accurate on Spike.
In the shirt or out of it and curled up in the middle of Xander's bed with tousled hair and soft skin and - Xander took the kind of deep breath that'd gotten him through Sophomore year with a minimum of humiliation. "So when do we make with the presto changeo backo mojo?"
Giles kept polishing.
And kept polishing.
"I'm - afraid it could be some time."
Another of Anya's shirts said Trouble.
Yeah, truth in advertising.
And that shirt was tighter and hello, nipples! thin.
He loved that shirt.
And Xander was going straight to hell.
He accepted that.
"Spike?" Xander asked. "Spike." He put a spin on it for emphasis. "Hands!" This time he jumped away from the vampire with busy hands, hastily tugging his shirt down and holding a warning finger between them. "What did we say about the hands in private places outside of the apartment?"
Spike snorted and lit a cigarette, squinting at Xander through the smoke. "We didn't say anything about it, mate. You said no hands in private places outside the apartment and I said - "
He squinted and Xander tried really hard not to think about how good Spike looked squinting and how obscene that thing Spike did to the filter of his cigarette with his tongue really was.
"Don't remember what I said, actually," Spike said with the air of a man who didn't know what he'd said but knew he wouldn't agree to something silly like that.
Unfortunately, he was right.
"Point is, you like it."
And right again.
Really raking in the right points for Team Vampire.
Xander smoothed his shirt and tried to look like a guy who hasn't been enjoying a vampire with benefits in the comfort of his own home all weekend. "Yeah, well not when your hands are cold, buddy. Cold hands, no nookie."
Spike twitched an eyebrow upward, did that thing with his tongue and Xander sent up the danger flares. "Didn't mean no nookie last night, mate."
The eyebrow mocked him.
"Whatever you say, pet."
And the eyebrows stood down and Xander lowered the threat level and they started walking again, taking a turn into the alley behind The Magic Box.
But not together.
Okay, not together in any way that'd lead to uncomfortable discussions.
Because at some time in the last week, Xander had caved and naked fun with boobies!Spike had become less about plausible deniability and more about Spike's really really rational suggestion. How had it gone?
'Listen, mate. I've got great tits. You like tits.'
It was something Xander hadn't been able to argue with - it was something Xander hadn't wanted to argue with. It'd opened the floodgates of possibility and the wiggy naked fun had kept on being naked fun and got less wiggy and lots more participatory and exploratory and other tories that were of the good.
And there was something endearing about the way Spike grabbed his hair and squirmed when he came against Xander's tongue but never crushed Xander's head like a grape with his thighs. Restraint. Xander appreciated that.
And showed his appreciation with repeat performances.
And Spike seemed pretty appreciative of Xander's appreciation.
It was a whole big appreciation-fueled orgy.
Which had absolutely nothing to do with -
"The point," Xander said because when you said 'the point' there had to be a point and people were supposed to pay attention to that and not to the way you were staring at their nipples through their really skimpy tops, "is that we're standing behind The Magic Box - where we are expected, okay ten minutes ago - and any one of the people in there could come out here any second now and I do not want them to come out to find your hands - " Xander held up the magical hold on there, buddy finger again, "or any other part under my shirt."
Spike tilted his head the other way and folded his arms the way that made his breasts swell up and spill over the top line of his shirt. "Why?"
"I'm a coward," Xander said and beat a heroic retreat into The Magic Box - or as he affectionately liked to think of it: the place where reading was not optional. He got ten feet before Giles passed by and handed him a book. He tucked it under his arm unchecked. Because the day Giles handed him the important book was the day Giles was a lot more desperate than this. "So what's the what, my gender-challenged friends?"
"The what is Giles and Ethan are hot on the trail of our solution." Buffy stood up and stretched, cracked her neck from one side to the other. "And I have a date."
"A what now?"
"What? I'm not good looking enough to date?"
"As a card carrying - if not hormone-carrying - member of Club Guy, I reserve my right not to answer that." Xander sat with his book and checked out the cover. Magical Practical Jokes And You.
"Come on, mate. Slayer's a good enough looking bloke. Bit on the puny side but there's some who like that kind of thing."
"I'm dainty, pet," Spike said and leaned forward and showed off his dainty wrists and fingers and Xander thought it'd be impolitic to mention any of the really really not dainty things Spike got up to behind closed doors.
"Oh, good lord."
And Xander had seldom been so glad for Giles' exclamation before he could say something out loud he really shouldn't.
"Is this good lord of the good or is it kinda more like get used to lifting the toilet seat, Buffy?" Buffy winced. "Um, not that that's been an issue - or anything - in the middle of the night. More than a couple of times."
"I believe you won't find that news shocking to anyone in present company, Buffy." Giles slipped off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It appears there is a reversal spell."
"Where's the bad?"
"The bad is, well see for yourselves." Giles offered Willow the book.
"Oh. Ooh, this is bad."
And bad was a really good way to get Xander's attention. "What's bad?"
"Well, the reversal's really easy." Willow turned the book so Xander could see. "Or it would be if Riley hadn't shipped out a few nights ago. Because everyone who was there for the spell's gotta be there for the reversal or - poof - no presto change-o."
Which is how Xander found himself in Giles' hot new car with Spike and a CD player blaring The Cramps.
Spike thought that was funny.
Xander didn't. "And if you say one word, one word of Thelma and Louise, this trip is over."
"Where's your sense of adventure, mate?"
"In my dick."
Spike tutted - tutted - and in Xander's stunned posttut silence, he went on. "Look, we've got a mid life crisis car, two credit cards and the open road. What's not to love, mate?"
It was a good question. It was a great question.
It was a question Xander had a perfectly good answer for and he'd sooner dance naked across the 'last rest stop for fifty miles' than hand it over.
Because he couldn't think of a way to put it that didn't sound like he kinda wanted to keep the tits.
Which he totally didn't.
Strictly a loan. Borrowed goods. Happy, horny multiorgasmic experience never to be spoken of again once his dick was reclaimed.
But there was no way to ask 'will you still want me when I've got a dick' that didn't sound girly.