A is for Androgyny, Ass...ets, and Angels.

Xander knew that he had fallen into an alternate universe. Usually, these things required careful checking, because you didn't want to run around saying that you were in an alternate universe unless you're sure, because then people would think you were crazy. But this time he was sure, no doubt about it, no second thoughts and no turning back.

Spike was wearing a dress.

Okay, it wasn't quite a dress. It was... like a dress. It was tight, and black, and came down to mid-thigh, and he was wearing it over a pair of obscenely tight blue jeans. The boots were the same, thank god- Xander could only take so many shocks- but Spike's hair was gelled into, well, spikes instead of being slicked back against his skull, and he was wearing makeup- thick black eyeliner painted around his gunmetal gray eyes, and bright red lipstick that caused his mouth to look even more carnal than it had before.

He looked like sin, and it was blowing Xander's mind.

"Spike, what the hell are you wearing?" he said, his voice sort of weak and faint instead of forceful like he intended. "And why?"

Spike sneered at him, which looked obscenely good on those painted lips, and said, "It's a dress, Harris. What are you, blind?"

Okay, so it was a dress.

"And as to the why- I'm goin' to a club tonight, up in LA. Just waiting for the sun to set so I can start driving."

Xander paused to think about this for a minute. "The drive's a couple of hours. If you're gonna do the whole clubbing thing, aren't you gonna get fried on the drive back?"

Spike looked surprised at that, as if he was expecting more shock and disbelief instead of concern. Well, as much as Xander wanted to play to Spike's expectations, it took more brainpower than he had at the moment to keep up the pretense of not giving a damn. Of being friends, sometimes, if Spike was in the mood, but never anything else. It was taking everything he had to just stand there and look at all that temptation that was just a few feet away, staring at him with a slightly confused look on his face, when all he wanted to do was grab Spike and show him what he could do with that mouth of his.

Spike recovered from his surprise then, and twisted his mouth back into the sneer that always made Xander's cock ache. "I'll be fine. Might drop in on the Pouf, see if the family feeling is still going strong, or if he wants to return the favor and play with a few hot pokers."

Grrr... Xander barely prevented himself from growling out loud. Stupid Angel, with his stupid hair and his stupid habit of always getting exactly what Xander wanted... He kept his voice neutral, though, and said only, "What if he wants to do the thing with the pokers?"

Spike shrugged carelessly. "I'll find shelter somewhere. Been around a long time- I can always find somewhere to hide from the sun."

Xander opened his mouth to say- something, he wasn't quite sure, when he glanced to his right and saw that the sun had finished setting. "Hey, it's all dark and stuff," he said instead. "Not gonna be able to do that dancing thing if you don't get a move on."

Spike looked at him, eyes narrowing. "You all right?" he said curiously. "Because you look like Xander Harris, but you sound nothing like him."

"Ha ha, very funny," Xander said dryly. "I'm allowed to worry about you, you know. It doesn't break any Scooby rules."

"Bet it does," Spike teased. "Bet you've got a handbook of rules all written down somewhere, and there it'll be, number three hundred and some: 'White Hats do not worry about soulless fiends.'"

Xander just rolled his eyes, though he wanted to grab Spike and shake some sense into him. Why couldn't Spike understand that Xander actually cared about him?

"Just... call me, will you? If you're not driving home tonight? I don't wanna picture your dust lying in some gutter, and having no idea what happened to you."

Spike looked at him with that funny, intense look that he could do sometimes. "You're really gonna worry about me, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Xander admitted. "Humor me, will you?"

Spike shrugged. "Sure. I'll call you if I'm having a slumber party with Peaches or something. Good enough, Dad?"

No. I want to never hear you call me Dad again, like I'm some stodgy old guy instead of the guy who wants to kiss you, lick you, fuck you, make you beg and scream.

"Yeah, it's good enough. Now get out of here, you're wasting your lack of daylight."

Spike grinned at him, waved, and grabbed his keys from the table by the side door. "See ya later, mate. Try not to do something unbearably exiting without me."

No danger of that. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Xander said, and Spike shot him a look over one shoulder, the kind of look that could make anything with functioning hormones sit up and beg.

"I plan on doing all sorts of things you wouldn't do, Harris," Spike said. "Gonna have me a real good time." He pulled on his duster, dropped his keys in his pocket, and winked at Xander. "Don't wait up."

The door slammed shut behind him, and Xander collapsed onto the couch. He's killing me. God. What higher power hates me enough to put that much temptation in my reach and yet put him so far out of my league that I'll never be able to touch?

It was just another example of the Xander Harris brand of bad luck, he decided. His life was a fucking tragedy- or a comedy, if you liked to laugh at other people's misfortune.

Fucking figured that he would have the bad luck to fall in love with Spike.

Maybe if Spike hadn't been so distracted by Xander's odd behavior, he wouldn't have noticed. He would have been too wrapped up in the music, too absorbed in dancing, to see Angel, lurking in the corner.

But because he was distracted by Xander's behavior, he did notice Angel lurking, and he decided that if Fate was going to hand this opportunity to torture Angel to him on a silver platter, than he was, by God or whatever, going to take advantage of it.

The song that came on just as he came to this conclusion just reinforced his belief that Fate was laughing at Angel, and smiling down on him. It was just so damn perfect. He spun around in a quick flash of black against pale skin that drew Angel's gaze to him, and once he was sure that Angel's eyes were on him, Spike caught and held his gaze, and began to dance.

"Wash off those scabs dear/ or fingernail pick them clean/ pray to all your long-lost demons to justify your means."

Angel wasn't just looking at him now. He was staring.

"Devil has a new shape/ Devil has a new ride/ Devil has a problem but he locks it up inside."

Oh yeah, this was fun.

"Kid's sure like the devil these days/ and I'm the devil with the black dress on/ Do you want to own me Angel/ cause I own you now you're gone."

He put an extra twist into his hips on the word "own," and raised his arms, crossing his wrists like they held by chains. Even all the way across the room, he saw something flash in Angel's eyes. Poor baby, still trying to pretend that he didn't like what he was seeing. Well, Spike would see how long that would last.

"Did you believe it 'cause I said so/ did you believe it was true/ I'm eternal and infernal and I sure lied to you."

Well, he couldn't remember the last time that he'd lied to Angel, and he sure as hell couldn't remember the last time Angel had actually taken anything he'd said at face value, but two of three were right.

"Good girl with the black eyes/ Believe in future past/ Everything that I want happens/ See how long that lasts."

He faltered, very briefly, as that line hit home. Why did that first line make him think of Xander? And wasn't it just fucking typical of his life that everything went wrong?

He cast the thought aside, though, and did what he did best- living in the moment, no thought of the future or the past. Nothing to think about but what he was doing right now, which was seducing Angel with little more than a dance.

"Devil has a hot rod/ Devil high on speed/ Devil has a black dress/ So her arms can bleed."

At the last line Spike scored his arms with his fangs, then shook away his game face as he lifted his arms and let the blood trickle down in dark streams over pale skin. Even from all the way across the room Spike knew the moment the smell of blood hit him, and Angel's face shifted almost helplessly to his vampiric features.

"Kids sure like the Devil these days/ And I'm the devil with the black dress on/ Do you want to hurt me Angel/ 'cause I'm hurting now you're gone."

The song wasn't over, but as the last words screamed through the speakers, Spike gave one last twitch of his hips and slipped through the crowd, disappearing from Angel's view and moving along the outside of the crowd. Silence descended for a brief moment between songs, and in that split second of silence and darkness, as the strobes stilled with the music, he came up behind Angel and slid one black-nailed hand over the taller man's stomach.

"Been keeping fit, haven't you, Angelus? How's tricks?"

Angel kept very, very still. "Spike. What the hell are you playing at?"

"Missed you, ducks," Spike said casually, and slid his hand oh-so-slightly downwards. Not far enough down to actually do any good for Angel's straining erection (what, was Spike supposed to just not notice? As Dawn said, shyeah, right) but definitely far enough to tease.

"Yeah, pull the other one, it's got bells on," Angel said, startling Spike into laughter and causing him to step away, removing his tormenting hand.

"Why, Angelus! You picked up a sense of humor somewhere! Who would've thought?"

"It's Angel," he said through gritted teeth. "Not Angelus."

Spike shook his head mournfully. "I still can't get over it. The mighty Angelus, brought lower than a worm's belly by a pesky soul." He cocked his head, considered. "This might even call for a drink. C'mon, Angel, you're buying."

"I'm not buying you a drink, Spike," Angel said with that awful patience in his voice that always drove Spike batty. "The only reason I came here at all is because Cordelia had a vision of a girl in trouble."

"And did you save the damsel in distress?" Spike inquired.

"Well, yeah."

"Then there's nothing to stop you from getting drunk, is there?"

The worst thing, Angel would think later, was that even as Spike was towing him by one hand to the bar, he couldn't think of a single damn thing to say in protest.

A couple hours later, and they'd moved the party back to Angel's place. Spike burst out laughing when he saw where Angel was hanging his hat these days- a bloody huge hotel with more rooms than Angel probably even knew about, much less used. Figured.

Turned out that Angel kept a decent stash of the old Irish locked up in his room, where his little humans couldn't get ahold of it, so Spike stopped laughing long enough to pour himself a drink with very slightly unsteady hands. He'd had a good bit of vodka at the bar, as had Angel, but he was a vampire, with a vampire's constitution, and he'd had over a century to build up his tolerance to alcohol.

Another hour saw Angel sprawled out over the couch and Spike stretched out on the floor, both of them with a bottle of good Irish whiskey in one hand. Spike was giggling at something Angel had said, though neither of them could quite remember what it was.

Remember... remember... Suddenly, Spike sprang (well, wavered) to a vaguely upright position. "Shit. Almost forgot. You got a phone, mate?"

Angel, who felt dizzy from watching Spike sway on his feet, nodded and pointed to the portable on the bedside table. "Who you callin'?"

Spike ignored him and dialed. A couple of rings later, and there was a worried voice on the other end of the line. "Spike? That you?"

"Yeah, it's me. Seems like me and the Spud, here, are having that sleepover after all."

There was a pause. "Spike, are you drunk?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm right pissed. Same for the Poof. He has- well, had- a great many bottles of the finest Irish whiskey. Good stuff."

Xander sighed, and Spike could picture him rolling his eyes. Spike grinned foolishly, feeling a rush of affection for the boy that he would have violently stomped on if he was sober. "Take care not to wander out into the sunlight, okay? And call me before you leave."

"Yes, Da," Spike said seriously, then burst out laughing. "Can take care of meself, mate, been doin' it a good sight longer than you."

"Spike, you're completely blitzed. Go sleep it off. Call back when you're sober."

"Sure thing, Xander," Spike said, and stood there even after the click that signaled that Xander had hung up, staring at the phone with that same foolish smile. It was good to have someone to look after him.

"You called Xander?" Angel said with disbelief. "I thought you two hated each other."

"The fuck you been, Angel? Been living in his place ever since the little demon dumped him to move on to greener pastures. Fucking bitch. Anyway, Xander was all worried that I'd get toasted by the sun or somesuch, so I was just callin' him to check in, ease his mind a little, see?"

Angel did see, much better than Spike did, despite the vast amount of alcohol swimming through his bloodstream. "Does he always check up on you like this?"

Spike shook his head, picking his way unsteadily across the floor to collapse on the floor at Angel's feet. Almost against his will, Angel's hand came up to comb through gelled blond hair.

"Nah. He's usually pretty laid back. Doesn't bitch about vampire hours. Doesn't get a stick up his ass when I'm takin' the piss. Good mate."

He's in love with me but I'm too much of a moron to realize it or the fact that I'm in love with him too, Angel translated. Yeah, that was Spike all over. Angel didn't get why Xander, of all people, had fallen for Spike, but it was very clear that he had. And it was equally clear that Spike had fallen right back.

Angel was a little jealous, though he'd never admit it. Spike was still Spike- and infuriating, gorgeous, mouthy little punk with a face that angels must have carved. Only look how fast Angel had fallen into his trap tonight. Some was old habits working on him, and some was just Spike. Still as hateful and seductive as ever.

"It'd be nice to do something for him," Spike was blathering on. "He's been taking care of me. Never lets me do anything for him, though."

"You know, his birthday is coming up in a couple of days," Angel suggested. "Maybe you could get him a present."

Spike perked right up at that. "Yeah! Something he really wants but won't buy for himself 'cause it'd be 'a waste of good money,'" Spike said, in a pitch-perfect impression of Xander's voice. "Good idea, mate."

You knew Spike was drunk, Angel reflected, when he paid you a compliment without it being sarcastic.

"I'm really glad that I came up to LA, so we could have this little talk."

"Yeah," Angel said, and there was only a hint of irony in his voice. "Me too."