*So this is what it feels like to prowl. Nice.*

The music throbbed through Xander, centering in his dick, and every step he took merged unconsciously with the music. He could feel appreciative eyes on him.

Even when he rubbed his hand against the thigh of his jeans, the gesture didn't look like a sweaty-palmed teenager, it looked like-

Xander caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. *Jesus. I'd do me.

Pure sex.

Kinda like when Spike did it.

And speaking of Spike...Xander prowled with a purpose, headed straight to the pool tables where Spike bent low over the felt, lining up a shot.

He'd had his fill of fighting the night before. Now, it was time to try out the second f.

If he was lucky. And, feeling the pendant sizzle against his collarbone, Xander felt very lucky. "Fancy a game?" And how amazing was it that Xander still sounded cool, confident, borrowing one of Spike's phrases that would have made him sound like a pretentious geek a few nights before.

Spike turned slowly, giving Xander the eye, from boot tips to hair. "Oh, it's you."

"You remember me?"

"Y'look a little different without the wild hunter look in your eyes, but yeah. Hard to forget the bloke who carried me half way across Sunnydale last night."

"I thought you'd passed out."

"Well, wasn't exactly going to be running any marathons." Spike gestured to the rack of cues. "Drinks on the loser."

Xander almost said he didn't have ID, but then, he realized that with his new super whatever it was entirely likely he wasn't going to be the loser this time, and if he was, he'd finally be able to charm the bartender into a drink. So instead, he said, "You're on."

Spike shrugged, racked the balls and lined up his shot, sinking the three and the seven.

Was that all there was to it? All it took to get in with Spike was a casual game of pool?

"Your turn, mate."

It looked like it was.

Well, that, and maybe not being a Scooby. Xander refused to feel guilty. It wasn't as if the spell made him not Xander. It just made Spike not recognize him as Xander. And it wasn't as if Spike ever needed to find out the truth.

Three beers later, Xander knew that Spike played kitten poker every Sunday night and that he had a standing invitation to join the game. He also knew that Spike preferred Jack Daniels whiskey but found it easier to steal Wild Turkey. He also knew that Spike had a long-standing dislike of Canadian whiskeys due to an incident in 1967 involving lumberjacks and a log rolling contest.

Xander had lost the game of pool that would have won him the whole story though.

The most important thing Xander had found out though, by the bottom of that third beer and the tenth game of pool was that Spike wasn't just dead sexy, he was fun when he wasn't being a sarcastic asshole. He even laughed at Xander's jokes.

So when Spike turned to him and asked "So, what're we playing for this time?"

Xander answered, "A dance."

"What's the loser get then?"

Xander answered without thinking. "To be the girl."

Spike let out a bark of laughter. "You're on, mate. Got a few moves I wouldn't mind trying on you, win or lose." Spike's eyes swept over Xander and he felt his heart give a nervous double thump.

*Jesus Christ. Spike just came on to me?* "Rack 'em up, Blondie."

*The best part of this game,* Xander thought, *is that I don't care if I win or lose the way he keeps looking at me.*

And when Spike sank the last ball and raised his eyes from the felt, he gave Xander a look he could feel all the way down to his toes, and when he licked his lips, Xander felt that too.

But instead of stammering, blushing, or looking away, Xander felt himself swing his cue back into the rack and circle the table at a slow prowl as Spike beckoned. "Looks like I'm your bitch for the evening."

Spike's tongue curled up behind his teeth and he caught Xander around the waist with an arm, pulling them hip-to-hip. "Lucky you."

Xander was busy turning the tingles in his head into productive words so that he could agree out loud when Spike took his hand and started leading him to the door. "Huh? Where're we going?"

Spike glanced back over his shoulder, giving Xander a truly evil smirk. "Didn't say the dance had to be in here, did you?"

"Didn't say the dance had to be vertical, either," Xander heard himself say, then simultaneously blessed and cursed Halfrek's spell as Spike looked him over with hungry purpose.

At 11:39 PM.

"You don't say." Spike pushed open the back door of the Bronze, dragging Xander out into the night, then pinning him hard against the rough brick of the alley wall, one tightly muscled thigh between Xander's own. He leaned forward, scenting Xander's throat, and then...tasting.

Xander shivered, but instead of doing anything embarrassing like whimpering, or clutching at Spike's arms, he slid his hands under the duster and into Spike's back pockets with a low groan, thrusting up against him. "How's it taste?"

Spike chuckled, tongue swirling in a pattern that Xander was sure meant he was writing words into his skin. "Salty, sweet, earthy. Bit like good licorice."

Xander tilted his head back further, slid a hand up along Spike's side to grip the back of his neck. "Like it?"

Blunt human teeth closed over Xander's throat, and worried a piece of skin between them in a way that sent shocks to Xander's groin. "Could get used to it."

Xander's head knocked against the wall as Spike thrust their hips together, grinding in with a counter beat to the swirls of his tongue and the soft sucking pulses against his throat. "Jesus, take your time."

*Oh fuck. Time.*

Xander tightened his grip on Spike, flipping them over and pinning Spike to the wall with his greater height and weight, and at least for another fifteen minutes, greater strength. "Thought I was supposed to be drivin'." Spike's not-breath puffed against Xander's ear, and he sealed Spike's mouth with a hungry kiss, tongue sweeping past Spike's teeth, curling up against his palette and tasting smoke and whiskey.

"Gotta taste you," he said, sliding his hand from Spike's back pocket, and around to his fly, rubbing roughly at the bulge straining the denim. "My turn to taste." He didn't give Spike time to answer as he slid to his knees, fingers sure for once, on another man's belt and fly.

He'd imagined Spike opening them for him so many times, but the reality was nothing like the fantasy, and Xander felt himself shudder as he eased Spike free. He was neither blood red nor pale, but a vibrant dusky pink with hints of a deeper shade peeking from the tip of his foreskin. "Y'gonna taste, mate, or you gonna just look at it?" Spike's voice sounded rough, husky, and when Xander flicked a glance up at him through his hair, he found Spike watching him intensely, lower lip still glistening where Xander had sucked it into his mouth.

For an answer, Xander kept his eyes on Spike as long as he could, dragging his tongue up along Spike's length, breaking the eye contact only when he could hold it no longer, sucking Spike hungrily into his mouth. The tip was cool like the air outside, and impossibly hard as it bumped and slid along Xander's upper palette, painting slick stripes that tasted of male and musk and salt and a little bit of whiskey there too which was just Spike and made Xander groan, bending his head forward, wanting more.

He could hear Spike panting above him and drew back, tongue sweeping up a bead of pre-come, holding it just on the tip of his tongue as he peeked up at Spike once more, holding his gaze as he drew his tongue into his mouth at last and swallowed. "Buggering hell..."

Xander caught Spike's hands, feeling a flutter of worry as his watch ticked on toward midnight, and placed them on his head, jacking Spike slowly as he spoke, feeling the bump and slide of that slick skin with every word. "Come on. Fuck my mouth." Spike groaned, tightening his hands in Xander's hair as his pupils yawned, so black and wide, Xander felt like they could swallow him whole, and his throat was dry and aching for want of Spike's cock down it. *Nownownow!* "Use me."

With a soft growl, Spike removed one hand from Xander's hair, stroking it over his cheek, then knocking Xander's hand away from his cock, gripping it himself, and slowly, ever so slowly, painting Xander's lips with the tip. "Open."

Xander parted his lips, and for one instant flashed back to half-forgotten communions, waiting to receive the host, and hoped that if anything was going to strike him dead, it'd at least wait until Spike'd come down his throat so he could die a happy man. He had half a moment to wonder if Spike would be harsh or gentle before the grip in his hair tightened mercilessly, and Spike drove into his throat, filling him so full Xander could only clutch at his hips for balance and moan around the thick slide in and out. He was only distantly conscious of the hard asphalt under his feet and the flex and stretch of Spike's muscles beneath his fingertips, the painful twist of cold fingers in his hair and the pounding of his own pulse, roaring in his ears as he struggled for breath around Spike's rhythm.

And all he could think was *Goodgoodgood* and *more* and then Spike growled, and Xander yanked his head back with a gasp as he felt several strands of hair pull loose, just in time to catch Spike's come on his tongue, swallowing, swallowing, and closing his eyes with a moan, drinking down all he had to give.

He wasn't even aware when the harsh grip in his hair turned to gentle stroking, and Spike drew him to his feet, tongue sliding past his stretched and tingling lips to slide along his own, sharing breath until Spike drew away, letting his head come to rest on Xander's shoulder as his body shuddered.

"God, pet what are you?"

"I dunno," Xander heard himself answer, buttoning Spike's jeans absently, and sliding his arms around his waist, licking his lips. tobacco, whiskey, salt, musk, Spike. "Does it matter?"

"Nah. Bugger that."

Xander felt Spike's hands sliding up along his spine, and sighed. "I have to go."

"Eh? Night's still young. Plenty left to do."

Reluctantly, all too conscious of the minute hand creeping up toward twelve, Xander pulled away. "I really do."

Xander felt the air freeze in his lungs as Spike turned his face away, looking down at himself as he patted his pockets for cigarette and lighter, pulling one out and lighting it with a soft snick and flare. "'M I gonna see you again?"

Xander let his breath out, feeling the relief flood him like adrenaline. "Count on it. Same time. Same place. Tomorrow night."

11:55.

Spike leaned back on the wall, cigarette clamped between his lips as he looked Xander over one last time from head to toe, then took a long drag. "It's a date."

Xander flashed him a grin.

And ran.