Chapter Four
Music roared, the floor pounded with a hypnotic bass line, beautiful men writhed in steel cages in time to the beat, the dancers' worshipped leader, Sex, was almost a tangible presence in the club as the slicked bodies twisted against one another …
… and Xander wanted to go home, watch some West Wing, take a couple painkillers and crawl into bed. Boring? He'd lived through too many apocalypses to want anything more.
Jenna was always trying to bully him into meeting someone when he had time off, and it wasn't as though he didn't take more than one or two men on their offers – but it never lasted more than a night. Who knew? Doughnut boy would one day end up Mr. One Night Stand – it wasn't as though he was unattractive, after all. The mismatched shirts and khaki shorts of his youth were abandoned for obscenely tight jeans and designer tops when he turned 22 … or, as Spike put it, When Harris Realised He'd Never Get A Decent Shag Looking Like A Right Wanker.
Depressingly, Spike was on the right lines.
"Two cosmos," someone yelled over the din and Xander despaired – long gone were the days of beer and Jack. He was in Queer territory now, where there was naught but cosmos and margaritas as far as the eye could see. Money was slapped onto the bar, Xander slid the drinks over, feeling more than a little old as the young man bounced away, high on poppers, E, a good fuck or something. The last time Xander had been clubbing when he wasn't on the job was … four years ago? Five?
He found himself yearning for a seat, for his headache to ease, for someone to turn that goddamn music down … but no, Xander was working and Willow always said you have to have a work ethic. In fact, he was technically working two jobs at once – serving fru-fru drinks to men who were too fascinated by their own dicks to even notice if a Gurunga demon grabbed the mic and started belting out Whitney Houston … which lead to his thinking about his other job. Jenna had said to keep an eye on the Hellmouth – which was what, exactly? Wait until something scary came along and said, "Why hello! Don't mind me, I'm just going to open up an inter-dimensional hell underneath this mass of writhing bodies. Oh, you need to call your boss? Right-o, I'll wait here for you to finish, then."
Xander paused mid-mental-rant and considered. Actually, judging on the types of supposed evil masterminds he'd encountered in Sunnydale, that probably wasn't too far off the mark. After all, the Mayor was many things, an evil snake beast being one of them, but he was defiantly the most polite guy Xander had ever met. On the other hand, Spike, the supposed socially and morally sensitive vampire, was the rudest and single most irritating person he'd ever come across. So. Overview, conclusion, analysis?
He really, really wanted some painkillers.
"Hey, Alex!" that voice, that voice, called from somewhere over his left shoulder. Xander shut his eyes, breathed, plastered a blank look on his face and turned - to see Spike leering at him, flanked by the blonde from the diner and two other men he didn't recognise. The man on Spike's right was quite tall, with dark hair, gorgeous features and fuck me eyes. Trust Spike to pick up beautiful men like loose change.
Spike, noting his intent look, winked, "Not got a kiss for me, love?" I hate Spike, I hate Spike, I hate …
Xander grinned, grabbed Spike's shirt and pulled him over the bar with a little more force than was necessary. Well. Maybe a lot more force than was necessary.
"Always got a kiss for you, Will," vindictive pleasure flashed through him in the subtle narrowing of Spike's eyes before Xander attacked his mouth with a kiss that had some of the patrons cheering.
'Alex' was kissing Spike for all he was worth, putting on a show for the onlookers. That what deep undercover work was – shows, deception and brief snatches of honesty thrown in just to make it all the more confusing. Sometimes the lines became blurred, the definitions of relationships were questioned – sometimes in moments like this, when Spike was burning, scorching, blinding him with his touches it was easy to forget. Easy to believe for just a moment that they had something like love – but love can't exist when it's all a lie. So, Xander reminded himself that he wasn't kissing Spike, Alex was kissing Will. Things were simpler that way – usually.
But right then, with Spike's tongue in his mouth and Xander's hands tangled in Spike's hair he allowed himself to forget, if only for a second. After all, he reasoned, it had to look like they really loved each other.
As Brian looked on at the two men, groping each other with desperate abandon on top of the bar – bleach hair clashing with black, tanned skin sliding over unnaturally white, he came to a realization.
His Really Shitty Day? It had just got a hell of a lot worse.