WARNING: from this chapter on, the story is rated M for mature audiences only.
Xander stood pressed against the rough bark of a tree. He could sense the presence of a vampire nearby. He'd already dusted two more strays since he dropped Buffy off at Giles' place, and the night was winding down. He wanted one more kill, though. Just one more, and maybe that would put an end to the niggling, inexplicable urges he was feeling.
A soft rustling noise came from the other side of the tree, alerting him to the vampire's approach. Xander swung out of concealment, stake at the ready, and nearly plunged the piece of wood home before realizing it was Spike. He let out a grunt of annoyance; of all the vampires in Sunnyhell, he had to come across the only one he wasn't allowed to kill. Reluctantly, he backed off a step or two and put his stake away.
"Oh, it's you," he said, his disappointment more than obvious.
"And it's you," said Spike, leering at him, his eyes sweeping over his body in a slow, appreciative assessment. He snapped out of it, though, reminding himself that his dreams were just that—dreams. Despite the steamy nature of his fantasies, the slayer was his enemy…his sworn enemy. And damned if she wasn't wearing the tiniest little leather outfit he'd ever seen!
"Spike, what are you doing here?" asked Xander.
Spike raised his scarred eyebrow at him: "You're standing in front of my home, and you're wondering what I'm doing here?"
Xander's cheeks burned—he was very much aware of the way Spike was looking at him. It was way creepy. And that stupid niggling urge was starting to niggle really loudly. It was as if his body, deprived of a fight, was crying out for release of a different kind.
"Okay," said Xander, stepping even further away from Spike; "you have a valid point. My bad. I'll just be on my way, then." His mind said leave—leave now, preferably at top speed—but his body had decided to stay put.
Spike caught the scent of Xander's arousal and that was all the incentive he needed. Xander's eyes burned into his and he was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
"Maybe your coming here was no accident," he muttered huskily, his mouth inches away from Xander's ear. "Maybe you had something in mind?" It wasn't a question. Spike cocked his head slightly and sniffed at Xander's neck.
"Ewww, God!" Xander said in disgust. "You are so barking up the wrong tree, Spike. I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot stake!"
Spike chuckled softly and brought his hand up to Xander's throat, trailing his black-painted nails over the tender flesh, sucking at his teeth as if imagining the taste of the blood flowing just beneath his fingertips.
"I think the lady doth protest too much," Spike said, and caught a glimpse of an answering hunger in Xander's eyes.
It was insane! Of all the creatures roaming the planet, Xander couldn't think of a single one that pissed him off as much as Spike. Yet the ache he felt… the deep, brain-numbing need…was far too strong to resist. The cool fingers stroking his throat—the lustful, icy gaze of this vampire—completely disarmed him. Huge, klaxon alarms were sounding in his head, but when Spike's cool lips met his, other more urgent alarms went off in his body. Without thinking—without even thinking of thinking—Xander parted his lips and invited the vampire inside.
Spike was frankly astonished at Buffy's lack of resistance. He'd expected a serious staking, or a good ass-whooping at the very least. But when the Slayer's tongue came out to play, he knew better than to ask why. Planting his hands firmly on her hips, Spike dove into the kiss, tasting her, exploring her depths as he undulated against her.
Xander gasped at the forcefulness of Spike's embrace. Every time he rubbed against him, Xander could feel the vampire's straining erection. Instead of sending him into a shrieking panic, however, Xander found himself even more turned on. His entire lower body was one solid, throbbing, lust-drenched mass. His hot breath steamed in the air as Spike's tongue and lips meandered down towards his cleavage, ravaging his skin, at once bruising and caressing him.
Xander's hands clamped to the sides of Spike's head, guiding him to the spots that ached the most for his touch. He scarcely noticed the way his skirt was slowly inching up. Hardly felt the strong hand slipping up his thigh, grabbing—ripping away—his underwear. The only thing he was aware of was the feel of Spike's cool fingers dousing the flames between his legs. It was the most exquisite sensation he'd ever felt, and a moan escaped his lips announcing this fact to the rest of the world.
Spike eyed the slayer suspiciously—she wasn't acting at all like herself. He played with the thought of backing off to make sure she was all right. Then he reminded himself that even though he'd lost his bite, he was still a vampire—not the pathetic, pussy-whipped poet he'd been a long time ago. The slayer was obviously tired of Mr. Corn Fed and was looking for a bit of dark and dangerous. He swore to himself that when he was finished with her, she'd never go back to her clean-cut soldier boy.
Xander allowed himself to be backed up against Spike's crypt. The feel of the cold stone against his bared flesh was a bit of a wake-up call. The realization that he was seconds away from having sex with Spike was slightly less frightening than the thought of what Buffy would do to him if she ever found out. He grasped on to that thought and held on tight.
"Spike, stop. We can't be doing this," he said, making a feeble effort to extricate himself from the vampire's strong arms.
"It's a little late for that, pet," said Spike.
Xander's head flew back in a shuddering gasp as he felt Spike enter him. The feeling was strange, yet somehow right. Xander dug his nails into Spike's shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist, trying to feel him deeper inside—trying to put out the flame deep in his gut. But pinned as he was against the stone wall, he found that Spike's thrusts just weren't reaching that spot. With a growl of frustration, Xander pushed away from the wall, causing Spike to land flat on his back on the cemetery's neatly-kept lawn. Something primitive took over inside him, and Xander knew he had no chance of controlling it. He was on top of Spike in a heartbeat and he made it perfectly clear who was in charge.
Spike tried desperately to hide his shock. He'd expected Buffy to be all soft and prudish, yet here she was riding him as hard as Dru ever had. A dark smile curled his lips. Two could play at that game.
They grappled with each other for dominance, rolling over graves and banging into tombstones in their lustful abandon. Xander ended up on top, and with a smug grin, he attacked Spike with kisses, ripping his black t-shirt open so he could get his hands on the flat, hairless chest beneath.
The rest was a blur of lips and hands. At one point Xander shouted to the gods as Spike's mouth latched on to his breast, rolling his erect nipple around with his tongue. He also found out, first-hand, just how many orgasms a woman could have during sex.
Xander was starting to think a vampire's stamina was nothing less than heroic, but he never got the chance to find out how long he could keep it up, because the sun was starting to come out.
"Oh, bloody hell!" yelled Spike as his hair started to smolder under the sun's first rays. He pushed Xander off of him and made a mad dash for the safety of his crypt, tripping twice on his own pants in his haste to reach shelter.
Xander lay panting and satisfied on the grass, staring at the gaping black entrance to the crypt. If he went in after Spike, there would be no turning back. He couldn't deny the temptation was strong—the things he'd felt tonight went way beyond his imagination—but the reality was that he'd already abused Buffy's trust, and he had no right to abuse it further.
With limbs heavy with exhaustion and reluctance, Xander readjusted his clothing and started on the long walk home.
"Of course, the most important thing is to make sure it's sharp," said Giles in full lecture mode. "Trust me when I say you do not want to attempt this with a dull blade."
Giles stood behind Buffy in the bathroom, watching her in the mirror as she attempted to apply shaving cream to her cheeks and chin. The two of them were so strung out on caffeine and sugar that they'd spent the entire night chatting and giggling like two kids at a sleep-over party. Giles taught her how to play Canasta, and they'd played cards into the wee hours of the morning. Then they had a huge, early breakfast of eggs, bacon and hash browns, after which Buffy decided she needed to learn guy things.
"It's not like I've never used a razor before, Giles. I've shaved bits of me that have far more curves than a man's face."
"I think you'll find Xander's face much more challenging than your legs," replied Giles.
"Who said anything about legs?" said Buffy, instantly turning so red in the face that she looked like Santa Claus above the shaving cream.
"Oh…I…erm…" Giles sputtered, completely unable to meet her eyes in the mirror. He gave himself a mental kick—he'd been acting like an idiot ever since she'd arrived on his doorstep. Why hadn't he just given her his patented glare and moved on? Deep down he already knew the answer: Buffy had looked at him differently tonight, and it had taken him by surprise. He kept trying to convince himself he was delusional—after all, Buffy wasn't wearing her own face, so maybe he'd simply misinterpreted the look. On the other hand, it was the fact that she was wearing Xander's face that made it more likely he hadn't misinterpreted the look. Xander's expressions were so unguarded that his feelings were very easy to read. Buffy obviously didn't know that, or at least didn't know how to control it, so her feelings showed plainly on Xander's face. And what he'd seen there made his heart trip in his chest and his tongue trip all over his teeth, so that instead of glaring and moving on, he blushed and stammered like a schoolboy with a crush.
His discomfort didn't go unnoticed by Buffy, and she cursed herself for making him uncomfortable. She was worried she may have scared him deeper into that impenetrable British shell of his. Or worse—he might think she was just teasing him, which would give him a nice, comfortable excuse to dismiss any future advances. And even though she hadn't intended to let her feelings for him slip, she couldn't bear the thought of being rejected by him. She'd already lost Riley…she'd be damned if she would lose Giles as well.
And that meant putting an end to all these awkward silences.
Buffy scraped the razor up her cheek, purposefully cutting herself in the process.
"Ow," she murmured quietly, drawing Giles' attention. "Okay…maybe not as easy as it looks."
"Would you like me to show you?" he asked shyly. Their eyes met in the mirror again, and Buffy smiled a big, goofy Xander smile, made even goofier by the absurd amounts of shaving cream on her face.
Giles risked a brief smile in return, and took the razor from her outstretched hand. He stood facing her for a moment, trying to find a decent angle, but he'd never shaved anyone else before, and it was proving more difficult than he'd anticipated. After a couple of unsuccessful approaches, Giles decided the easiest way to do it was from behind. So he positioned himself behind her, reaching around with the razor in his left hand and began to shave her. However, the only way he could see what he was doing was to lean over Buffy's right shoulder, and it soon became clear that this maneuver had brought them very close indeed. Giles could feel the heat rising off of her in waves, and he was finding it hard to keep his mind on the razor.
Buffy couldn't have been happier with the way things had worked out. Granted, she hadn't really sidestepped the awkwardness, but she found it hard to feel disappointed while his breath was tickling her ear. It felt as if he were holding her the way he sometimes did in her dreams. Buffy closed her eyes, savoring the fantasy, until the tapping of the razor against the porcelain sink brought her back to reality.
Giles knew he should have stopped the moment things got…tense. But he didn't want to draw attention to the fact that she was affecting him. So instead, he continued to shave her, ploughing through mountains of foam and slowly unveiling Xander's youthful features.
When at last he'd finished, Giles handed Buffy a face cloth to wipe away the remnants of shaving cream, and stood back to give her some space. He dug his hands deep inside his pockets, then pulled them out again quickly—the less stimulus down there the better, he thought.
Buffy cleaned herself up, but couldn't move away from the sink, which was hiding Little Xander's enthusiasm.
Stupid thing.
Giles was watching her expectantly, and Buffy wasn't sure what he wanted her to say or do.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, finally.
"Much better. Smooth as a baby's tushie."
"I meant your head," said Giles. "Any dizziness or grogginess?"
"Nope, just a bit of a headache. But I think I'll live," she answered.
"Well, then, I'd say you're safe to get some sleep. You can use my bed if you'd like."
"What about you?" she asked.
"I have to go to work soon," he answered. "Besides, I'm hoping Anya and Willow will have some good news for us—and if they don't, then I'll have a full day of research ahead."
"I should come too," she said. "I want answers even more than you do."
"You should sleep. You've had a rough day, and you need your rest to recover from your injuries. But if you'd like, you can come by The Magic Box at closing time, and I'll ask the girls to wait until you arrive to fill us in on their progress. And don't think I've forgotten your training."
"Can't we forget the training and go for chocolate ice cream?" she whined.
Giles responded with his usual frown and said; "No chocolate ice cream until you've done your training. Oh, and my aftershave is in the medicine cabinet. Use it sparingly, though—it's strong stuff." With that, Giles left the bathroom and stood just outside the door, waiting for it.
A couple of minutes later he heard Buffy swearing up a storm as the aftershave stung her face. He smiled quietly to himself and went off to get dressed for work.
"Well," said Willow to the entire group, "the good news is we know who did this."
Xander nodded at her encouragingly. Willow and Tara were the only ones in the store he could comfortably make eye contact with. Despite his new slayer healing, he still felt a little sore from the previous night's…activities. He couldn't quite believe it actually happened. With Spike, of all people. Scratch that—not 'people'—'things'.
He felt dirty and guilty, and yet he couldn't help thinking how good it was, and that made him feel even guiltier.
"The bad news," said Anya, "is that it was Bob."
Everyone's heads swiveled in her direction.
"Bob?" asked Giles and Buffy together, and they cast a furtive smile at each other.
"Well, his name's Bobrachnilothtot, but everyone calls him Bob," Anya explained.
"So…great!" said Xander eagerly. "You know this guy, right? Just ask him to undo it."
"Bob can't be reached," said Anya.
"Is he from a different dimension?" asked Giles.
"No. He's on vacation," she answered. "No one knows where he goes or how to get a hold of him when he goes on vacation. It's not like he carries a cell phone."
"So…we just have to wait 'til he comes back, then," said Buffy.
"I'm afraid so," said Anya. "I'm sorry—there's no other way to reverse what he did."
"No biggie," said Buffy. "I can survive a couple of weeks in Xander's body."
Anya grimaced.
"What? Longer?" asked Buffy. "A month? Two months?"
"Try ten or twenty years," Anya said and plopped down heavily in a chair.
Buffy looked at Willow and Tara, hoping to find them laughing at what she assumed was a joke. They both avoided looking at her.
Xander got up and started pacing. He was starting to feel anxious and hyper, and he very much wanted to punch something.
"Ten or twenty years!" he yelled, and they all stared at him like he'd completely gone off the deep end. "Who the hell goes on vacation for ten or twenty years!"
"Bob does," answered Anya simply. "He's been around for countless millennia—a twenty year get-away every now and again hardly seems unreasonable. Anyway, I left a message with his wife Marcy—she promised to pass it along if she sees him."
Buffy and Xander both seemed to deflate with the news, and Willow and Tara looked so sympathetic, it made Xander want to run screaming from the room. He had just decided the day couldn't get any worse, when a thin, blond figure appeared at the top of the basement stairs.
"Thought I might find you here," Spike said, strolling seductively towards Xander. "We have some unfinished business to take care of."
"Get lost, Spike," said Buffy. "This is a private meeting."
Spike looked at Buffy dismissively and continued his way over to Xander.
"Buffy's right, you should leave," Anya piped up. "What?" she asked as everyone glared at her.
Spike perked up, immediately aware that she'd inadvertently told him something he wasn't supposed to know. He eyed Buffy carefully—her head was bowed low and she looked like she wanted to disappear into the background. Xander, on the other hand, was staring him directly in the eye, looking like he wanted any excuse to pummel him. That's when it all fell into place, and a wicked grin spread across Spike's face. He saw an opportunity to take the slayer down a notch, and pounced on it.
"Buffy, sweet—I thought after last night you'd at least invite me to your little meetings. You didn't think you could keep our sex-capades a secret from your pals, did you?"
Xander's face burned with shame as Giles, Buffy, Willow and Tara all gawped at him.
Anya laughed. "That's absurd!" she said, more to convince herself than the others. "Because if Spike had sex with Buffy last night, then Xander…" Her voice failed her as she caught Xander's eye. He had guilt written all over his face.
"I don't see what's so absurd about it," said Spike, casually draping his arm around Xander's shoulders. "A girl's gotta have a little spice in her diet."
Xander grabbed hold of Spike's arm and flung him to the ground with a loud thump. A stake appeared in his hand as if by magick as he straddled the vampire on the floor.
"You can shut up now, Spike," he said through clenched teeth. "Or, you can give me an excuse to use this thing." Xander pressed the stake into Spike's chest hard enough to draw blood, and he saw genuine fear flash briefly in the vampire's pale blue eyes.
The others had all turned to watch Anya, whose eyes were glassy with tears. A deep furrow of pain creased her brow. No one knew quite what to say, but they were universally relieved that D'Hoffryn had fired her from her vengeance gig.