Donut Boy 7




Xander kept his head down, listlessly turning pages in his book. He shouldn't have suggested a research party to Buffy last night, because when he'd turned up at the Magic Box that morning, he'd walked in on a pile of books, an empty donut box, and the sound of Buffy beating the hell out of the punching dummy in the back room.

She really
really didn't like Demony Guy.

"Who -
uh! - does he think he - ugh - is lecturing me about - uff - staking Spike?!" Xander winced at the sound of the punching dummy flying across the room to land, from the sound of it, on the pile of folded practice mats.

"Are you quite certain you don't have any idea why he might have felt the need to do so, Buffy?" Giles asked, and Xander tightened his grip on his book, because Giles had asked that question
before and the answer had been the same each time.

"No. Some kind of - demon who likes vampires, I guess. And if you ask me, that
can't be a good demon. Cause I'm on board with the good demons. But vampires? Not good demons." Buffy stomped through the doorway, grabbing a bottled water as she went, then pouted over the table. "We're out of donuts?"

Xander hunched over his book, feeling that prickly tingle he now recognized as
'pissed off Slayer'. "Um. You know, what? I'm just gonna," he said, gesturing to the door while trying to gather his coat without taking his eyes off of Buffy, "get those donuts and come back later."

Much later.

Like maybe when Willow was out of class.

He could feel Anya and Giles watching him strangely as he hurried out of the shop, hearing Buffy's loud question before the door closed behind him. "
Now do you believe me when I tell you Xander's been acting weird?"

*Buff, you have no idea how weird.*

As soon as Xander turned the first corner, he slowed down, stuffing his hands in his pockets and just - thinking. And when he closed his eyes, he could feel Spike's fingers in his hair again, stroking. He knew that Spike saw someone who was Not Xander when he looked at him, but he didn't know what, because when
he looked, he still saw Xander. Sexy and confident, sure, but still Xander. So he wondered if his hair felt the same to Spike too or if the spell even changed that.

He wanted to stop by Spike's crypt to see how the vampire was doing, but he doubted Spike would want a visit from Xander "Donut Boy" Harris, not when his head was full of Demony Guy.

Who was so
not Xander Harris that it was beginning to depress Xander to think of him.

Because it was
nice being able to - not be the hero the way he thought he had at first, but being able to make things happen instead of having to react to the things other people made happen. It was nice knowing what to do, and not doubting himself.

Okay, so it hadn't been quite so nice setting Spike's leg with nothing but a bottle of Wild Turkey for anesthetic, but he'd done it
right, and it'd been very nice after when Spike curled up against his chest with that slow sweep-sweep of his hand, and the naughty fingers that slipped past his belt buckle, and-

Xander had to stop and lean against a tree, feeling the roughness of the bark in his hair to bring him back from the cool smooth tug-and-slide of Spike's hand around his dick, and how
satisfied Spike had looked bringing that hand to his lips and licking off every trace of Xander's come like it was chocolate.

Or blood.

"What do I taste like to you?" He hadn't been able to not ask, the question slipping between his lips like a wriggling fish.

He'd only meant to ask if he tasted like a human, a demon, or a vampire, but Spike had pressed a slippery fingertip into Xander's mouth, eyes flaring dark as he'd watched Xander take it in.
"Spicy sweet. Like Christmas eve, pet." And Xander had been able to taste it too, faint, like an aftertaste he'd never noticed before. "Feel like Christmas eve too. Like I'm waitin' till midnight to unwrap my pressie."

Xander's stomach did a little flip again at the memory of Spike's words. They had to be coincidence, but he hadn't been able to hide his reaction as Spike had lifted his head, looking at him closely, truly closely with an expression not entirely unlike disappointment.
Gonna leave me at midnight again, aren't you?"

"I have to." It'd been so hard looking at Spike's battered face and lying to him. At least by omission. But it really wasn't Xander he wanted, or had. It was Demony Guy. And Demony Guy had a non-negotiable midnight curfew. "We've got a few hours. I won't leave until I've got to."

He'd been so relieved when Spike smiled, uncoiled, and lay back willingly, letting Xander return to the long job of cleaning up his cuts and bruises from the fight with Buffy.
"Thanks, pet."

And then, when Xander really had to leave, or risk being caught in the cemetery without Demony Guy reflexes, Spike had caught his hand in a grip surprisingly strong for someone who still couldn't even walk and was half drunk on whiskey.
"Meet me tomorrow?"

"Sure. Same time at The Bronze?"

Spike had shaken his head, and drawn Xander's fingers to his mouth, lips closing around each knuckle in turn in a way that made Xander shiver to remember.
"Meet me here. Same time. I don't want the Slayer interruptin' us"

Xander let out a shaky breath, rubbing his hand over the butterflies that seemed to have taken up long term lodging in his stomach. He was pretty sure Spike inviting him to come back to his crypt was the vampire equivalent of the infamous post-date cup of coffee. He was also pretty sure he was crazy, but
god he'd have to have been even more crazy to turn Spike down.

And playing pool with Spike, as much fun as it had been, couldn't hope to compare to what he hoped would happen during some private time together in Spike's crypt. Without Buffy.

Who he really,
really did not want to run into with Spike again. Because even during the daylight hours, he was about one sentence away from taking a swing at her. And he had a lot better ways in mind to spend the night with Spike than tending each others' wounds and wondering how far the $37 in his bank account would take them from Sunnydale before Buffy brought out the big guns.







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