Late Night Double Feature by Kimberly

11 The Club

The door didn't look like anything special. Spike was walking straight toward it, but there wasn't a sign or anything. It just looked like a beat up old warehouse door.

Nervous, Xander babbled. "Hey, do you know if this place even has a name? I mean, I don't see a sign or anything, and the postcard didn't..."

They were near the door by this time, but instead of going inside, Spike pressed Xander up against the nearby wall, pressing into him with the entire length of his body. His coat was cool against Xander's bare chest, and he felt his nipples tighten. Then Spike leaned over and breathed against the side of Xander's neck, his lips almost touching the skin.

Not the neck again! No! I'll give you a million dollars, which, okay, I don't actually have, not on my salary, but if I did I'd give it to you if you just ... just don't ... oh ... oh like that ... oh god...

That soft whisper of air against his sensitive skin made Xander shudder. It always did. And Spike knew it, the bastard. Damned vampire didn't even need to breathe. He just did it to make Xander crazy.

He felt Spike's head turn slightly and then that husky voice whispered in his ear, "When we go in there, you're mine. You belong to me, and you do what I tell you. You don't so much as sneeze without getting my permission. Got that?"

Xander blustered, "Hey, I've read plenty of dom/sub porn. I know how it works."

Spike pulled away a bit and looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Dom/sub porn?"

Xander nodded.

Spike's lips curved a bit with amusement, but his eyes were still serious. "Long and short of it is: you do what I say. Tonight, in there, you aren't Xander the bloody carpenter. You aren't some member of the Scooby gang. You're not the arsewipe who always talks during the bloody football match. You're nothing. Nothing except my piece of very obedient fluff. So don't even start to talk back or argue or make smart remarks. You shut up unless I tell you to talk. And you do what I tell you to do." The last words were spoken with a quiet intensity.

Xander gulped. "You're not gonna tell me to ... like ... have sex with ten guys at once, are you? Or ... or ... take off my pants and do the naked macarena on stage? Or ... you know ... I'm not big on wearing wigs and women's clothes..."

Spike clapped a hand tight over Xander's mouth, pressing him tighter against the wall again, and now his face was grim. "Shut up." Spike's face came very close, so close that Xander couldn't see his eyes very well anymore. They sort of smooshed together until he looked like some kind of pissed-off vampire cyclops. And then suddenly Spike was pulling away and his hand was on the doorknob. "Won't make you do anything you won't like," he smirked, and then he opened the door and stepped inside.

Oh fuck.

Xander followed him in.

* * *

Xander found himself in a very small room with white walls and a black-and-white checkerboard floor. A tall bald man in a black leather tank top and black leather pants stood behind a podium -- sort of like a goth maitre'd -- talking quietly with Spike. Xander heard Spike say "Clive" and assumed that must be the tall man's name. It was difficult to tell whether they already knew each other or if Spike was running some kind of scam on the guy or what, since Xander couldn't make out more than a word or two of what they were saying. The one thing he did notice, even from a distance, was that Clive seemed to be wearing an awful lot of black eyeliner.

Very 1980s. Very Duran Duran. Not sure about that bold fashion statement there, Clive. But what kind of name is "Clive", anyway? That's a like ... like a Watchers Council name. Somebody named "Clive" should be wearing a tweed jacket and sipping Earl Grey out of an intellectually humorous novelty mug while discussing the decline of Western civilization.

Or maybe that's just his day job. Tweed by day, eyeliner by night.

Or maybe a guy with a name like "Clive" just really needs eyeliner in order to be cool. Who am I to judge? The shirtless Xander judges not.

Reminded of his near-nakedness, Xander casually crossed his arms in an effort to hide as much skin as possible. But neither Clive nor Spike seemed interested in what he was doing, so Xander took the opportunity to look around him. On the wall behind Clive, above a closed door, flowing black script letters were painted on the wall, as if in decoration:

Bondage ~ Discipline ~ Domination ~ Submission ~ Sadism ~ Masochism

Play At Your Own Risk


For the first time, Xander started to get truly nervous. Because he'd been under the assumption that this club was mostly a domination/submission sort of thing. And the word "sadism" just brought to mind all kinds of things Xander didn't want to consider.

Yeah, trust Spike to go in for the violence and pain gig -- William the Bloody and all that -- but getting whipped and burned and hit and cut and ... and ... whatever ... all that stuff ... that's just not my thing.

Okay, so maybe I've had some stray ... thoughts ... about Spike ... and biting ... but ... but only when he does that neck thing! And he only does that because he's evil.

Oh god. Does he know about the bitey thoughts? Is that why he does the neck thing? That bastard!

Xander looked over at Spike, who was leaning on the podium with one hand, his hips cocked at a suggestive angle. A pang of jealousy ran through him as he wondered whether this quiet conversation was actually Spike flirting with another guy, right in front of him.

Would Spike do that? Flirt with somebody else, with me standing right here?

Yeah, he probably would. It's just sex. He's made that pretty clear.

Hell, maybe he brought me here specifically to show me. To ... I don't know ... is he going to mess around with other people here? Where I can see him? Does he come here all the time, when he's not with me, and fuck other people?

He could feel tears stinging his eyes and he turned his head away, wondering if he should just leave. Spike certainly seemed happy enough over there with "Clive" ... he hadn't even glanced Xander's direction since they came in.

He blinked rapidly, trying to get himself under control. Things were complicated between him and Spike, but he could still remember the feel of his soapy hands on Spike's skin, he could still remember the feel of Spike's body along the length of his as they spooned in Xander's bed, he could still remember how soft Spike had been. How soft.

There is more there. I'm sure of it. And we are going to have that serious talk. Probably not at a sex club, but ... still ... we're going to have that talk. And I'll tell him everything.

"Okay, then. You are okay." A heavily-accented voice rang out in the tiny room and Xander jumped and looked over at the other two men. Who'd have thought Clive would sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger? Are you Sarah Connor? I'll be back. Clive was looking at him. "You read the rules, and you go in." He pointed at a small, tastefully printed sign on the wall to Xander's left.

Club Rules

1. Do not GRAB or touch others without permission
2. Do not join a scene without an invitation from those involved
3. Do not interrupt a scene in progress
4. Clean your play space with the materials provided
5. Do not touch toys that do not belong to you without permission

Any violation of these rules will result in
immediate dismissal and removal from the club


Scenes? What scenes? We're putting on a play, here? Because I've gotta say this really isn't what I always imagined when I heard about "Summerstock". And what's up with the "play spaces"? Like sandboxes and playpens? Because that's just a little too kinky for me. If Spike tries to make me wear a diaper, I'm outta here.

He also felt vaguely distressed by the "GRAB". It seemed to indicate that random vigorous groping was a problem requiring capital letters to describe. He found himself suddenly torn between holding his hands behind him to protect his ass and holding his hands in front to protect his ... front. Which side was more likely to be GRABBED? He wished he could be sure. He considered asking, but didn't want to look stupid. Just to be on the safe side -- Ha ha ha! -- to cover all the bases -- Hee hee! Look! I can still be funny, even when I'm freaking out about strange men groping my butt! -- he held one hand in front and one hand in back. Clive looked at him a little strangely, but Xander just smiled nervously and kept his hands where they were and silently vowed not to touch anyone's toys without permission, praying that they'd keep their hands off his toys, too.

Clive opened the door, and loud music came pouring into the tiny room. He gestured with his arm, Spike looked at Xander expectantly, and Xander took a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.


* * *

As they stepped through the door, Xander felt one of Spike's hands on the back of his neck, thumb extending along one side, under his ear, and fingers wrapping around the other side. Not gripping, really, but holding. Firm, without hurting. He wasn't sure if the contact was meant to be reassuring ... or just some kind of symbol of control. What it felt like to him, though, was connection, which was good. Unexpected, but good.

The club itself was remarkably similar to the few other clubs Xander had visited. The lighting was ... well ... it was club-like. Sort of dim, but with enough light to easily check out the other clubbers. The music was club-like, too. Thumping. Volume up high enough that you'd need to talk a little loud to be heard.

And you didn't need vampire senses to notice that the place smelled like sex. Sweat and musk were thick in the air.

As they walked, Spike kept that hand on the back of Xander's neck, perhaps to keep from losing him in the crowd, perhaps for some other reason. Xander couldn't even see very far into the room, mostly because of the crush of people, but there seemed to be a bright light on some area further in. Around him there were couches here and there with people sprawled on them, some just sitting and talking, some watching the crowd, and others ... well, others were a bit more occupied. Everyone seemed to be wearing black, most of it shiny. He couldn't tell if it was leather or vinyl or rubber or plastic or what, but it was all definitely tight. One very tall guy was walking around in some kind of black bustier thing with garters hanging down, attached to thigh-high stockings. He was also wearing very high heels.

Where does a guy find high heels in that size? Frankenfurter's Big & Tall Transvestites' Emporium?

A guy on one of the couches was wearing a kilt, which his companion seemed to be enjoying immensely, since aggressively wandering hands flashed glimpses that verified what they said about guys and their kilts and what they didn't wear under them. Xander averted his eyes, which seemed kind of silly, since the guys were purposely doing this where people could see them, but staring just made him feel squirmy.

Most of the club's patrons seemed to be men, but a Xander noticed a few women scattered in the crowd. Two women were dancing to the throbbing beat of the music, just right there in the middle of the floor between two couches, swaying and rubbing against each other. They seemed like an odd pair, because the brunette was wearing a very prim skirt and long-sleeved blouse, while the blonde was topless and wearing a black leather skirt so short that she gave frequent glimpses of pale pubic hair as she writhed nastily, rubbing her small breasts against the brunette in an aggressive display of dominance, whispering often in her ear. The other girl seemed to do whatever she was told, though she moved with stiff, embarrassed movements and seemed very nervous.

Xander found himself wondering if the brunette was really so shy and prudish, or if it was just some kind of game the two girls were playing. The idea that someone might have a nerd-girl fetish made him think of Willow before he could stop himself. Would these girls get turned on by 9th-grade Willow in her corduroy jumpers and round-collared blouses? Xander was distressed to find that the idea was vaguely arousing, and he quickly looked away.

He turned to Spike to make some comment, but it immediately fled his brain when he saw the expression on Spike's face. He looked ... vulnerable. It was only for a second, and then Spike tilted his head, all attitude and arrogance. They were standing close, people crowded all around them, and they were facing each other now, but Spike's hand was still cradling the back of Xander's neck, his arm stretched around Xander's body in a parody of an embrace.

Spike's chin tilted upward at a stubborn angle, and Xander could only stare. He knew that gesture. He'd seen it often enough during the time loop.

Man, they really needed to talk.

"Spike..."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Did I say you could speak?"

Xander frowned. "Knock off the crap." He wasn't finished, but Spike interrupted him.

"All right." Spike used his hand on Xander's neck to turn him around, facing the crowd. "Tell me what you see."

Frustrated, Xander sighed impatiently, "What I see? It's a club, Spike. With people."

"Just an ordinary club? You don't see anything besides that?"

"Well ... yeah. The sex stuff. But ... isn't that what this is all about?"

"Yes. Sex. That's what this is all about."

Xander frowned, turning around. Spike let him, though the hand remained where it had been, still holding Xander's neck firmly. Watching Spike's face, Xander looked for something ... trying to figure out what was going on in that stubborn head. And then something clicked. "Is that what you're doing? Bringing me here to prove something? Make sure I get the message that it's just sex? Because you're afraid..."

The hand on the back of Xander's neck tightened suddenly, squeezing him enough that he broke off what he'd been saying with a yelp of pain. Spike's face showed only the slightest wince to indicate the firing of the chip. And he squeezed harder, staring into Xander's face with eyes that were dark and filled with something that looked like hate.

But it's not hate. He's afraid. He's afraid that nobody can care about him. He's afraid that if he wanted it to be more than sex, then I'd be the one to reject him. So he puts on the tough guy act and rejects me first. But how the hell do I get him to cut the act long enough to even listen to me?

"Suck me off."

The harsh words interrupted Xander's thoughts. Spike was watching him with an expectant glare.

Xander just stared at him. Here? With everybody watching? Why? He didn't have to decide how to reply, though, because another man approached them and shouted over the music, "Spike!"

Spike dropped his hand from Xander's neck, leaving a throbbing ache that would probably mean dark bruises tomorrow.

A tall, muscular Hispanic guy was clapping Spike on the shoulder, smiling broadly. Spike smiled back, but his face was still tight, his mind no doubt still focused on the conflict that had just been interrupted. As he and the stranger shouted back and forth, though, Xander could see Spike gradually relax, his smile growing more natural, more genuine. Apparently Spike knew this guy. Xander couldn't hear anything they were saying -- the music was too loud and recent events made him hesitant to interrupt them -- so he just stood patiently and waited to find out what was going on.

And then the guy was turning toward Xander, smile still bright, his teeth white against his brown skin. "I'm Jeremy," he shouted into Xander's ear. "Spike says you're a newbie."

Xander glanced at Spike, but his face was turned away, his eyes stubbornly averted, as if watching the crowd was some kind of duty he was determined to perform. Xander glanced back at Jeremy and just nodded. "I guess so."

"Any questions?"

Xander looked around, then pointed over toward the brightly lit area he had noticed before. "What's over there?"

Jeremy's grin broadened. "That's where it all happens." At Xander's blank look, he said, "Come on." He glanced at Spike and must have received some kind of agreement, because Jeremy turned around and began threading his way through the crowd.

Xander looked at Spike uncertainly, but Spike just jerked his chin in the direction of Jeremy's retreating back and said, "Go on."

When they caught up to Jeremy again, he was leaning against a low wall that reached only to about chest height. He gestured to Xander to come closer, and Spike nudged him from behind.

A circular area was cordoned off by curved chest-high walls -- with openings at either side for people to go in and out. But inside the circle, bright lights illumined what looked like a torture rack, along with two low, padded tables that looked sort of like the pommel horses at the Olympics. Xander couldn't help imagining Mary Lou Retton running through the shadowy crowd of sexual deviants to perform a perfect vault, sending the leather-clad, dog-collared, nipple-pierced club patrons into a furor of patriotic applause and whistles.

Spike glanced at him, and he realized he must have chuckled out loud. He just shrugged.

But the people in the circle weren't doing gymnastics. Or, at least, not the Olympic kind. Mary Lou Retton would surely have been scandalized right down to her very muscular toes.

A nude woman was lying face-down on one of the pommel-horse-looking-things while a slender black man buckled her wrists and ankles to the sides, leaving her spread open, her genitalia clearly visible to the on-lookers.

Xander glanced over at Jeremy, who was now leaning his forearms on the top of the wall, watching the people inside the circle with interest. His biceps bulged, and the sleeveless black mesh shirt he wore showed muscles bunching in his back, as well. When his eyes found Jeremy's face, Jeremy winked.

Xander's eyebrows went up, and he glanced back at Spike worriedly, then back at Jeremy. The music wasn't as loud here -- further from the speakers -- so he didn't have to shout to be heard. "I wasn't ... that is ... I was just ... I was wondering what's going on," he finished lamely.

Jeremy shrugged. "Lydia and Patrick are doing a scene. Oh, and Craig's going to help out."

"A scene?" On the torture-rack-looking thing, a naked 30-something guy with graying hair was being whipped by another man who was dressed all in black leather. The guy arched with each blow, crying out. Xander's stomach did a funny little dance of fear.

"Don't worry. It might seem like the dominant is in control, but really that's just an illusion. The game is often the submissive's idea. Maybe you might even be interested in trying something out, yourself. You finally get Spike to come to my club ... it'd be a shame if you didn't take advantage of the facilities we have to offer." Another grin.

Spike stiffened behind him. They were barely touching, but Xander felt the movement.

Spike hasn't been here before? But ... he seemed so ... I mean ... why wouldn't he? All these people, doing all this twisted stuff and getting off on it, some of them even hurting each other, making each other bleed...

I'd think this would be vamp heaven. So why hasn't he been here before?

Surreptitiously, he turned to eye Spike, whose face was partially turned away as he talked with Jeremy. But Xander could still see his profile, the paleness of his skin so bright in the dim club. His hair was slicked back in its usual rigid style against his head ... none of that fluffy, curly after-shower mess Xander liked so much ... this was totally under control.

Because, yeah, Spike likes to be in control. Um ... yeah. I think we've seen that proven beyond a reasonable doubt. God, before the chip, when nothing was holding him back, he must've been...

Oh. Oh fuck.

The chip. Of course. That's why he's never been here before. The chip. He wouldn't be able to hurt anybody, but he'd have to watch all these other people, getting to do what he can't. What he wants to do, but can't.

God, it must make him feel like shit.

The slender black man was now fucking the girl who was strapped to the pommel horse. With her strapped down on her belly, legs spread, he had his hands on her upper thighs, thrusting into her with deep strokes, his buttocks clenching and unclenching rhythmically. Whenever he pulled out, it was obvious that he wasn't fucking her in the orifice approved by the Catholic Church. She really didn't seem to mind.

A meaty red-headed guy with a lot of freckles had joined them and was thrusting his dick into her mouth in unison with the other guy's strokes. The girl writhed between them, her pale skin rippling under the bright lights. A dark-skinned hand slapped down on one of her buttocks occasionally, which seemed to make her buck her hips upward even more, straining against her bonds.

She looked pretty damn happy to be there, actually.

Xander realized that Jeremy was talking again, though he'd missed part of it.

"In scenes, people play roles. Lydia's a submissive, and she wanted to be taken by two men at the same time while she was helpless to resist. It doesn't mean she wants to resist but can't, or that she wants to be helpless. She just wanted to play that role. Good clean fun for everyone."

Xander looked at Jeremy and asked slowly, "So ... people sort of act out fantasies?"

Jeremy nodded. "It's a bit more complicated than that, but yes."

Xander watched the 30-ish guy weeping as his back was whipped with a multi-strand flogger. Heck, maybe that guy couldn't get that kind of emotional release any other way. There were red stripes on his back now, some of them bleeding. But as the leather-clad dominant ceased his blows and released the man from his shackles, there was a sort of peaceful joy shining through the man's tears as he was led away.

Xander felt intensely aware of Spike's body behind him. And the unresolved conflict from earlier.

It could all be so easy. Could it? Could it really be that easy?

"Like ... if I maybe thought about what it would be like if ... if somebody cut me" -- he could almost feel Spike's surprise behind him, like a shiver of excitement -- "not a lot of cutting, you know, 'cause I'm not really into pain" -- I can't believe I'm actually saying this -- "just cutting a little, just enough so I'm ... so I'm bleeding." Without turning his head, he could tell he had Spike's full attention. "Just bleeding enough ... enough so that somebody else ... somebody else could taste my blood. Drink my blood." There. It's out. Wait ... can I take it back? Because ... knives ... not really a Xandery happy thought. But the words were out and he couldn't take them back. Didn't want to, really. That didn't stop his stomach from doing that dance some more.

Around them, the club was as much of a chaotic kaleidoscope of activity as before, but Xander felt like he and Spike were standing in some kind of eye of the storm. Everything frozen in that moment, waiting for ... something.

But Jeremy just nodded casually, seemingly unaware of the tension, and said, "We don't do a lot of blood play here, but if everyone involved is okay with it, then sure ... that's just the sort of scene people do."

Xander heard Spike's voice from behind him. "Make the arrangements." Jeremy nodded and smiled, then walked away through the crowd.

He's gonna ask why. Why I'll let him. Why I didn't say anything before. And, well, obviously, there's the chip. I mean, he can't bite me. And I'm just way too squeamish to go slicing myself up for his dining pleasure.

But Spike didn't ask any questions. He moved from where he'd been standing behind Xander, sliding into the spot Jeremy had just vacated. He leaned his arms against the top of the wall and watched the pale girl getting fucked by two guys.

And he didn't meet Xander's eyes. Not once.




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