Xander waited until they were half a block away from the palace grounds proper, before he bounced. Not because Spike would think he was silly, but because he didn't want the guards telling anyone in the palace that he was being silly. Plus, the street lamps were further apart in this section of town, so the silly-visibility for any other stranger-vamps wasn't so much of an issue anyway.

He bounced twice. "She thinks I'm cute! The Queen thinks I'm cute!" He saw Spike stifle a grin, opting for rolling his eyes, instead, trying to affect a world-weary unimpressed air. It wasn't working, because Spike was about to point out that the Queen also--

"She thought *I* was adorable." Spike looked smug.

"Yeah, she was comparing you to *whom* -- Dork-Spike?" Xander nudged him, then ran ahead several steps as Spike growled and made a lunge for him. Laughing, Xander ducked around a few pedestrians and started to put on a burst of speed to tease Spike -- and found himself pulled up short, Spike's hands on his arms. "Cheater. No fair using vampiric speed against me."

"That's not what you say when you ask me to undress you."

"Yeah, well, I'm not asking you to undress me, am I?" Xander was grateful, in fact, that Spike *hadn't* been asking him to get undressed. Not that Xander didn't like being undressed by his husband, glurble, but *not* in the Queen's court. No matter *what* everyone else had been doing.

He'd never known much about English royalty, but he was pretty sure the undead Queen Victoria's court was *nothing* like the one back home had been. He couldn't imagine the little old lady he'd seen in his World History book, with her mourning veil hanging from the back of her head and the profile of an English Bulldog, putting up with her advisors getting naked in the audience chamber, for instance. Or giving reports on the state of trade relations with Paflagonia while velvet-collared humans knelt at their feet and performed other kinds of relations entirely. Not to mention the trapeze hanging a few feet above her throne.

Then again, he couldn't imagine that home version of Victoria in a leather catsuit, holding a riding crop, either. No, wait, he could. It was scarier than... a room full of half-naked, unchipped vampires in a world with no Slayer. Luckily for his mental slate, there was the image of *this* world's Queen Victoria. She looked nothing like a female Winston Churchill, and everything like a well-maintained version of Cathy Gale from The Avengers. With a crown.

"Is it, like, a treasonable offense if I point out that the Queen is hot?" he asked Spike.

"I think it's probably required that you *do*," Spike responded. He hadn't yet removed his hands from Xander's arms. He'd been acting a bit funny ever since they'd met Drusilla -- Xander wasn't sure if he should ask about it, or pretend he didn't notice. Was he thinking about what it would have been like, to have a Dru that wasn't crazy? Wondering if they would have stayed together, or split apart that much sooner?

Xander tried wriggling, though, to see if Spike was gonna let him go. No luck, so he let his head fall back, a bit. The blue velvet against his neck would now be the most prominent thing in Spike's vision. He felt Spike's erection against his leg, and watched as Spike's eyes turned gold, and dilated. Really, the man was *so* easy.

Then again, Spike was probably desperate -- he hadn't so much as hinted to Xander that they join in the courtly festivities, despite the invitation the Queen had extended. Xander had been prepared to use every trick he knew, to fend Spike off -- but Spike hadn't asked.

That might've been because he was too busy hemming and hawing and generally looking like a nervous sixteen year old boy, when they were in the Queen's presence. It wasn't the dominatrix gear, he suspected -- it had thrown Xander a bit, but he couldn't see it bothering Spike -- but just that it was the Queen. The. Queen.

Xander could read it on his face. No matter that Spike's own version would have been the I'm A Little Teapot queen -- short and stout -- and this one looked like something out of every boy's teenage Mrs. Robinson In Leather fantasies. She was still The Queen, and Spike had acted just like Xander would bet his human self would have: polite and a little flustered, but generally charming. In other words, adorable, and not just as compared to the local Spike.

But he had still behaved himself above and beyond the call of duty, in terms of keeping his hands in places that would have been considered polite even in the other Victoria's court. Xander was impressed. It was probably a record for longest time spent not doing *something* vaguely naughty. His Spike, for instance, could never have, and hadn't, managed to go a hundred and hummeda-hummeda years without getting boinked by Angelus.

Then again, that was stupidity, not restraint, on the part of the local version-- and Xander should have known never to underestimate any Spike's capacity for being an idiot. Or for diving into a Good Thing once he'd had it rubbed in his face in a way that he couldn't help but notice.

They'd left the court with Darla and Dru a little later than they'd expected, because the Queen had spent so much time talking to them. She'd asked about local vampire politics back home, which was to be expected. She'd also asked things like who'd won the last World Cup, and had they ever met Count Dracula. Spike had rolled his eyes at that one and told a story involving eleven pounds and a naked three-legged-race that Xander suspected was about three-fourths true. Other chit-chat, and were they sure they didn't want to stay? No? Really? Not even for a foursome? Threesome? Twosome and the other could watch? By the time they'd got back to the Suite-O-Scourges, it was pushing midnight.

Drusilla had gotten a self-satisfied look on her face the minute they'd walked through the door. Darla's expression was more questioning. Spike had twitched an eyebrow at Xander and led him over to the closed interior door behind which Angelus and Sulky-Boy had disappeared hours ago. Darla and Drusilla already had their ears pressed to the wood.

Xander hadn't had to listen for very long to recognize the sounds. He'd made them himself, lots of times, had heard Spike make them, and overheard Angel, Gunn, and Wesley making those noises. He'd even heard Angel yell *that* particular command involving tongues, hands, and a belt, before.

He and Spike had traded smirks, and left Darla and Dru at the door. They'd had to endure another round of 'won't you stay' and settled for accepting an invitation to stop by again before they left for home -- Drusilla had promised to have some gifts for them to take back. While Xander wasn't so sure he wanted to know what those gifts would be, he *did* want to visit again, if only because how red would Cordelia get, once he told her they had standing invitations to visit Buckingham Palace?

"So, you think they'll get out of the room before we visit again?" Xander asked. Not that he was all that eager to see Dork-Spike again, but it would be an opportunity to rub the alternate's face in it.

"Nah. Three days? Four? Angel and *I*-- er, well. Vampiric stamina, you know." Spike glanced away as he spoke, trying not to look nervous, which only made him look -- to Xander, who knew his face so well -- more nervous.

Xander grinned. "Ah, something to look forward to!" The look Spike gave him at *that* surprised him. "Spike?"

"What?" Spike had looked away from him, again, looking at the sidewalk as if wondering where he'd left his Doc Martens.

"Spike, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Spike was still looking away. "Just don't think you need to be worried about vampiric stamina. I've got no bloody complaints in that department."

Xander stopped walking, and leaned against a lamppost. He cocked his head, a move he'd absorbed from Spike so gradually that he hadn't noticed it -- until one morning a couple of years ago when Cordy had said something particularly weird, and he'd tilted his head at her. She'd burst out laughing, and danced around, pointing at him and giggling, until he'd had to go look in the mirror to make sure he hadn't put his jeans on inside-out again or something.

"You mean you think I might be worried 'cause Dopey-Boy's getting it on with Angelus? That I'm wondering if you still think about Angel that way?" Spike couldn't be that stupid, could he? Hell, they'd hashed that out years ago.

Spike shrugged. "The thought occurred. Angel's one thing, but that's pretty much the bloke I knew back when, that we met tonight. I just didn't want you thinkin' I was lost in could've-beens." He still wouldn't look at Xander, which made Xander wonder if that was all there was to it.

"Are you?" Xander asked, not because he thought Spike might be lying about it. But Spike wasn't telling him *something*, and the only way to make him spill was to keep him talking until Xander could figure out what he wasn't saying. The other method of making Spike confess a) involved leather objects they didn't have with them and b) required much more lemonade than was sold in Victorian England.

Spike gave him a sharp look. "Just said I wasn't."

"I don't mean about Angel," Xander said quietly.

Spike blinked at him, then his face seemed to very carefully not change expression. "I'm not--" He looked away, and sighed, and Xander could practically see the cigarette Spike wasn't smoking -- held in his hand, taking a deep, delaying drag, then tossing it away in frustration. All just something to do, other than answer.

"You're not still in love with her?" Xander asked. He knew, he finally knew how Spike felt about Drusilla. He'd *never* be out of love with her. But Spike had finally realized that whatever he and Dru had between them wasn't an every day, for eternity kind of thing. More importantly, Xander had realized it. Every so often, like now, with the cold air on his cheeks and the cold iron against his back, and the smell of horse manure in his nostrils, Xander could admit that he knew it, too. Glurble. He tried not to fall.

"You know I'm not leaving you for her, Xander," Spike said sternly. Xander nodded.

"I know. That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying...might-have-beens. Drusilla. Is that where you were?"

Spike looked a little startled. Like he hadn't expected Xander to figure that one out? Or maybe like he hadn't realized, until now, what *had* been bothering him. It wouldn't have been the first time. Spike had been known to be a little less than frisky on the uptake concerning his own thoughts, in years past. It had taken him three months away from Sunnydale and a disastrous fling with a bottle-blond moron named Marc, for instance, before he'd realized that what he wanted was for Xander to come and live in L.A. By that time Xander had already been living in an apartment down the street from Wesley's building for two months, just waiting for Spike to come to his senses. Xander grinned.

Then Spike shrugged. "Maybe. Dunno. Just a little freaked out by the whole experience, I guess."

"Hmm," Xander said, pretending to think deeply about it. "You met your twin and your old girlfriend and your old boyfriend and somebody who's been killed *twice* already in our world, plus the Queen thinks you're adorable. I guess you can't get much more freaked out than that, huh?"

Spike was still looking a bit like he wanted a cigarette, though now the twitch in his fingers was much less pronounced -- like he was thinking about it, but he'd still be able to turn it down if somebody handed him one. Just a *little* bit morose. There *was* a way to deal with Spike when he got like this, that didn't involve tobacco products. Xander took a deep breath, and thought deeply about it for a second, while Spike grinned lightly. "Yeah. I'm utterly unfreakable now. I have reached the pinnacle of freakiness."

That did it. "Oh yeah?" Xander asked, raising an eyebrow. Spike nodded. Xander leaned back against the lamp-post, suddenly aware of just *how* cold the metal was, even through his coat. He grinned, hoping he looked saner than he felt. Whatever it was, was still bothering Spike. If he couldn't get his husband to confess, maybe he could at least make him feel better. Besides, if he were ever going to do this, now would be the time. "Wanna shag?"

"I beg your pardon?" The cigarette that Spike didn't have dropped from his mouth, and the voice that came out was pure Adelaide-Witherspoon's-son.

Xander stood up and slipped his coat off, then leaned against the post again, coat over one arm, the other shoulder supporting his weight. Tilting his head just so, to let the light from the lamp show off the contrast between the skin of his throat and the dark velvet around it. He pulled at one of his suspenders, not slipping it off, just stretching it a bit, then letting it snap against the cloth beneath it. "I thought you might want to, you know. Lift my shirt."

Spike was blinking at him, as if wondering when he'd dropped his husband along the sidewalk and mistakenly picked up a demon in disguise. Yep, there, he even glanced behind him as if looking for the real Xander Harris. Or possibly Skippy, the candid camera. "Er...what? I'm not saying no, mind, just..er? What?"

Xander grinned. "Do...you...." he said very slowly, enunciating for the poor bedeviled vampire, "want...to...shag...me?"

"Er..yes?" Spike still looked befuddled, and he wasn't making any moves towards actually touching Xander. Xander waited a moment for his husband's brain to kick in, then he raised his hand and waved his fingers, encouraging Spike to move forward. He did so, as if tied to Xander's hand by a string. "You're not going to kiss me, then say, sorry, not outdoors, let's go back to the hotel, are you? Because that'd be mean. Well, not the shagging at the hotel bit, but the making me wait bit, would be."

"Spike." Xander reached out and grabbed Spike's lapel, yanked him forward, and planted a very hot, wet, fuck-me-now kiss on Spike's mouth. With his other hand, he reached down to touch Spike's erection through his trousers. Then he moaned as the pain blossomed in his lip, from where Spike had bit him.

The sound seemed to shake Spike out of his dazed condition, and into overdrive. It usually did; any sort of noise from Xander during lovemaking drove Spike crazy. Was it something about being a vampire, that predator's need for prey-squeak transformed into a man's insatiable desire to hear his lover's cries of pleasure? Or maybe Spike was just a vain little bastard. Either way, the sound set Spike's hands scrabbling at the fastenings to Xander's pants, even as his lips moved over Xander's, kissing and licking and sucking, tasting the blood that even Xander could smell, and healing the pain with the same mouth that had caused it.

Xander tightened his grip and squeezed lightly, and he felt Spike bite down again. "Fuck, what'd you do to these things, glue 'em shut?" Spike asked, pulling his mouth free for a second.

Xander knocked Spike's hands away, and reached down to undo his trousers himself, leaving those Spike-hands to roam freely over his shirt, popping a button here and wrinkling it beyond any hope of repair, there.

Quick-like-a-bunny, he thought. The faster you do it, the less time you'll have to think about just what the hell you *are* doing. Oops. A bit too much thinking, there; Xander bent his head quickly to Spike's neck and began to suck, letting the sudden startled sputter of purring drive any second, third, or fourth thoughts from his mind.

It wasn't that he got rid of the awareness that they were standing outside on a sidewalk in London, late at night which for vampires meant everyone was still out, doing whatever they did. Like step around a pair of sex-crazed newlyweds, going a bit farther than making out, against a lamppost. But the more he thought about Spike's hands, and Spike's mouth, and Spike's skin, and Spike's cock, the less it seemed to matter. Or so he reminded himself, as Spike's hands slid into his trousers and started doing things.

Happy things, which made Xander moan louder, and rub his own hands harder on Spike, which made Spike purr and rub and grind and suck. A vicious circle, Xander had once gasped in a rare moment of being able to breathe in the midst of such circular activities. All it meant was the chance he had of telling himself this was a bad idea grew exponentially smaller, until the voice in his head that was saying "We can't!" was shouted down by the five or six shouts of "who the hell is gonna care?" and "yes, oh, god, yes, do that again!"

He was still surprised he'd said it. Even as Spike's teeth did things to his lips that made him forget his name - first, middle, and all the lasts - he could spare a thought to be surprised. That he was actually kneading his hand over the hard, bared length of Spike's erection, that his own was out in the wind and the night air and the cool, firm grip of Spike's hand. He was doing this, he had asked for it, he had actually given in to the lust he'd been barely able to repress there in the Queen's court watching, hearing, smelling everything he had forced himself to pretend he hadn't noticed.

Even his determination could be turned to jelly after a few hours of watching and not watching uninhibited sex. Add to that the revelation that no one *knew* them. Total strangers who would never see them again, who could -- the fatal blow to his insistence that he couldn't do this -- care less if a mortal man was getting ravaged by his vampire lover-cum-owner. They probably rather expected it.

Xander, on the other hand, was not expecting to feel quite so reckless. He hadn't thought the exposure would make him want to groan louder, or clutch at Spike harder and scream. He could feel himself riding higher, faster, than a simple hand-job and suck-fest was supposed to do.

His own noises, as always, had Spike going crazier. Another vicious circle, like the circles Spike's left hand was making on his back, pulling at his shirt until the tail came loose from Xander's trousers, and there were cool Spike-fingers against his spine. Rubbing up and down in the same rhythm as Spike was grinding against him, traveling further into shirtlifting-land with every pass. Xander could only nod his head against Spike's shoulder, could only make noises that sounded vaguely to his own ears like yeah, uh-huh, do it, yeah, yeah, grr... but might've been Welsh or Swahili for all he knew.

Then there were fingers doing things to him that would've made poor little William Witherspoon stammer and blush and have to wipe the steam from his glasses, so wasn't it lucky that Spike wasn't wearing those glasses, and wasn't it a bad, bad idea to think about Spike wearing them, considering the case was still in Xander's breast pocket from yesterday.

But they were in Xander's coat, which was lying on the pavement next to him, and Spike would have to move at least one of his hands, the one doing things in front or the one doing things in back, and Xander didn't particularly want either of them to move anywhere. Except possibly there, or there, and the glasses would just have to wait for another night, because there wasn't any way either of them was breaking this circle until they both flew straight up out of it.

"Close your eyes and think of England," Spike whispered suddenly, and moved the fingers of his left hand.

Xander didn't scream. He didn't scream only because his mouth closed on Spike's shoulder, and he bit down hard enough through the fabric of the shirt to make Spike gasp, and cry out.

Spike came all over Xander's hand, something Xander only noticed later, when he was able to breathe, then open his eyes, then remember what his name was and that he *had* hands and a husband's cock in one of them. When he *did* open his eyes, he realized he was braced against a lamppost, and Spike was braced against *him*. He wrapped one non-sticky hand around Spike, and held him close.

They stood there for several moments, neither moving beyond a shuffle for balance and a surreptitious wipe of a hand on someone else's shirt. Xander bent his head once to kiss the tip of Spike's ear. Spike made such an interesting noise that he did it again. He was about to give it a third, good lick, when Spike raised his head and looked at him. His expression was far too serious for someone who'd just been having sex on a London sidewalk.

Xander suddenly wanted to thump himself. Not even an *alleyway*. No, this was a 'pardon me, while I step around you' sidewalk. At least he couldn't recall having heard any applause. He did glance down to see if anyone had left coins. When he looked up, Spike was still staring at him with that same expression.

"What?" Xander said, almost defensively. "Do I have something on my face?" He was reasonably sure he didn't. Mostly sure. Sure enough that he managed not to remove his not-at-all-sticky hand from Spike's back to reach up and wipe at his forehead.

"What the hell got into you?" was Spike's response, in a tone that demanded some answer besides 'Huh?'

Xander grinned. "You did, or at least a couple of fingers worth."

Oh no. That really *was* a let's-be-serious scowl. Spike's eyebrows furrowed dangerously. "I mean it. What turned you from Puritan Boy to 'Dear Penthouse, my husband and I just shagged on a streetcorner,' in two minutes flat?"

"It took longer than two minutes." Hadn't it?

When Spike simply continued to glare at him, Xander shrugged. He wasn't about to explain that it had been *Spike's* sudden case of the moody blues that had prompted him to cheer his husband up. Besides, that was really just the catalyst for it happening, not the reason he'd been willing to let it happen.

"It just kind of dawned on me, I guess. Seeing all those vamps doing whatever, and then some, in plain sight. *They* weren't worried about who might see -- they were getting it on in front of the Queen, for God's sake. And then there was you. I mean, the other you. All hung up for a hundred years on whether admitting he liked guys would make him look like a sissy. Geez, it only took *me* six months."

"Counting from when -- the first time Anya popped into your flat unannounced and caught you watching 'Muscle Studs of the Internet' ?" Spike's mouth was grinning, but his eyes were still serious.

"It was 'Carnival in Rio,' thank you very much."

"Oo, with that one bloke in the bandanna?" Spike's eyes never lost that questioning stare, and his mouth caught back up with them while Xander was trying to remember what the guy in the bandanna had looked like. "Really, though? That was it, going to London to see the Queen did it for you?"

Xander shrugged. Sure. Mostly. That and the thought that he might want to get used to wanting to do that kind of thing, if he was going to become one of them, even a souled one.

"The vamps didn't make you nervous?" Spike asked. "Not even Darla?"

Xander shook his head. He'd got over that whole eek-a-vampire thing sometime between being fitted for his collar and actually wearing it out the door of Ambercrombie's. "Why would they? I was in your arms the whole time, bubble-head."

"Yeah?" The question left Spike's eyes, to be replaced by something else, something more familiar. Something that, if it had a name, would probably be known as glurble.

"Yeah." Then Xander was back in Spike's arms. Well, more in Spike's arms. To the point where his face was pressed against Spike's shoulder and he had a sharp chin resting on his own shoulder. "Besides," he added, "I knew if one of them even tried to go after me, you were closer. If it got that far, you could always turn me before any other vamps got near."

Xander wasn't sure why what he'd said made Spike squeeze him like his own vampire had forgotten he still had to breathe, and bury his face in the crook of Xander's neck, but he wasn't going to question the position. He just held on tight, and hoped they'd both have the strength to make it back to the hotel. Eventually.

*****
Part 12:

Spike bounced on the bed. It wasn't so much that he wanted to put off getting up for as long as he could -- because they still had a night left to do anything and everything, so he didn't *have* to get up if he didn't want to. But getting up off the bed--even to join Xander in whatever he was doing over there in the corner -- would make him think about the fact that there was *only* one night left. Instead, lying here bouncing, he could pretend his life of decadent eat, drink, and shag, would never end.

"Xander? What the bloody hell are you doing?" He watched with some surprise as Xander moved from the dresser to their bags, engaged in some silly activity that didn't involve being on the bed with Spike. And that silly thing was? Packing. Packing? "Xan? We don't leave 'til tomorrow. Unless you're tired of me already." He leant back a bit, trying for a somewhat dramatic pose. In truth he was just waiting for Xander, who was dressed only in breeches and looking quite delicious about it, to notice how *he* was dressed.

"I'm packing. You know if you leave it 'til the last minute you always leave half your stuff behind." He was rummaging around in a drawer, now, muttering about whether this was something the hotel had provided or something of theirs. Like it mattered?

"So? The hotel can send it after us." Spike shrugged, and propped himself up on an elbow. Not quite a dramatic pose, but a good one, he thought. If only Xander would look *over* at him.

But Xander just kept packing. At this rate, he'd have them both completely packed and ready to go in another half an hour. That would leave him with nothing to do, after, and would allow them to stay in bed naked tomorrow until the very last second. Spike considered approving...but he wanted to shag *now*. Not watch Xander scurry around the room, ignoring him.

He considered whining. 'Xaa-aannnn' was always a good opening gambit. But he wanted to do justice to his ensemble, and it really wasn't a very whiney sort of outfit. What there was of it. So Spike cleared his throat, very gently, and said, "Er, Xander?" in his best 'May I speak, Mr. Partridge, or would you rather I just stood in the corner like a good boy' voice.

Yet another one he'd learned from his schoolmaster, though perhaps Mr. Partridge would be more flattered that Spike had picked up the stern-teacher voice, than that he still remembered how to be William Witherspoon, the timid student. Spike didn't care about his long-dead teacher, however; he cared about the man standing in front of an open suitcase and dropping a folded pair of trousers in, before finally turning around to look at Spike. He also cared about getting shagged, of course-- but that was pretty much a forgone conclusion, once Xander stopped blinking.

"Um...huhwhahuh?" Spike's husband finally burbled.

"I was thinking, perhaps...if you had a moment free..."

"Uhwhuh?" Xander seemed to be having trouble with his packing, Spike saw. The shirt he'd picked up was sliding from his hands, and would drop on the floor in another moment. How terrible.

Spike leant back a bit, and moved one leg, just so. "Are you finished packing, yet?" he asked, almost sounding guileless. He didn't have to sound like *anything*, because he doubted Xander was listening. "Should I put something else on, and help?"

Xander nodded, still staring. Bemused, Spike rose to his knees. The bedsheets were still wrinkled, messed from their earlier attempts to wear themselves out. They'd managed to lie there for an hour before Xander had jumped up, put on his breeches, and begun his insane activity of packing.

Spike had lain on the bed and watched, until he hadn't been able to take it any longer. Then he'd reached over and picked up his doppelganger's pair of spectacles, and slipped them on.

Now, naked except for the wire frames, he asked his brain-fried husband, "You *want* me to put some clothes on?"

Xander started to nod again, then he blinked, and shook his head. "No! No clothes. Clothes bad...um...gah. What was the question?" His eyes were losing their focus, once more. The shirt suddenly slipped completely out of his grip. Somehow, its silent fall startled Xander, and he quickly bent to pick it up. Spike scooted off the bed, and walked over towards the closet - away from Xander.

"Right, then, I'll just get a robe--" He stopped as he felt the hand on his arse. "Yes?" Then he yelled, rubbed his butt-cheek, and turned his head to give Xander a stern glare, for pinching him.

Xander laughed. "Don't try it, buddy -- for I am Packing Man, and Packing Man is immune to the Glare of Dea--" Xander stopped, and swallowed. "Ulp."

Spike let his lower lip slip further out. "What?" he asked sullenly.

Xander backed away, towards the bed. "No. Stop. Don't do that. Please."

"What?"

"I'll do anything. Just don't pout at me with those glasses on!"

'Note to self,' Spike thought. 'Keep glasses handy when I want to get my way.' In other words, start wearing them all the time. Maybe with plain glass lenses, since he really *didn't* need them to read, anymore.

He didn't do anything so silly as stop pouting, though. Instead he turned fully around to face Xander, moving forward until his husband was backed up against the bed, both hands out in a warding-off position. Spike tried to look as innocently put-out as possible. "I don't understand. What is it you think I'm doing?"

"Stop that! You look like a Precious Moments figurine. If they made naked, well-endowed ones."

"Stop what?" Spike asked again, though he was suddenly hard pressed not to laugh. He had an image in his head of a Precious Moments figurine Angel, dressed in leather pants. Or the Precious Moments Xander, bent over for a spanking; all of a sudden it was easy not to laugh. "M'not doing anything," he repeated, pouting.

"You are intentionally trying to make me shag you!" Xander accused, pointing one finger at him.

Spike paused. He ran the words through his head again, just to make sure he hadn't misunderstood. "Um, yeah?"

"I...I forget why that's bad." Xander looked confused. But, Spike noticed, he was *not* shagging Spike.

"How could it possibly be *bad*? Haven't heard you complaining, ever, in the last six years. Er, except for a couple times I tried doing it in the magazine's lobby."

"You tried seducing me *four* times, in the lobby. I've had to give my security guards permission to shoot on sight, you know. If they ever see any part of your naked butt--" Spike gave Xander a look of shock - which then quickly became a pout. Xander screamed in frustration. "I am *not* shagging someone that cute!"

Spike blinked. Maybe Xander needed food? Sleep? He certainly wasn't making *any* sense. Maybe he needed a good shagging. Spike moved a bit closer -- now he was standing about three feet away, and Xander had those hands up again. If he'd had a cross in his pocket (as opposed to just being happy to see Spike), he would've undoubtedly been holding it up. As it was, he was creating a makeshift version with his forefingers crossed in front of his face.

"Back, evil cute demon!"

Well, the last three words made sense, at least. Spike understood them perfectly, and agreed with them a hundred percent. Especially the cute part. But he didn't quite get the first word. Or at least he was going to pretend he didn't. He cocked his head to one side, and frowned slightly, as if trying to translate what Xander had said into normal-people-speak.

Xander sat down on the bed with a thump. Spike tilted his head the other way. Xander dropped the finger-cross, and just groaned.

"You know, for your own safety," Spike informed Xander as he moved to stand in front of the frowning, blinking man, then put his hands on his hips, "I think you should know that the finger thing only works to ward off cooties. Not vampires."

"Obviously." Xander stared straight ahead, not up at Spike's face, not down at anything else that might've done almost as good a job at capturing his attention as the glasses. There was a solution to that, of course. Spike sank to his knees in front of his husband, rested his arms on Xander's breech-clad knees, and looked up into a silly, discombobulated face.

Xander avoided his gaze at first - looking at the wall, staring at the bed, finally settling his gaze on the top of Spike's head. Spike waited. Xander should almost be ready to pounce him, and *he* was more than ready to be tossed onto the bed...floor, whatever...and pounced.

But Xander didn't move. Nor did he meet Spike's eyes. Spike suddenly realized that Xander was...nervous? What the hell? He rubbed his hand along Xander's leg, just to get his attention, not to seduce him into getting pounced. "Xan? What's up? Why *are* you packing, anyhow?"

"I'm not packing anymore, bubble-head," Xander retorted.

"Yeah, whatever. The last time I had to try so hard to get you to have sex with me, in private, while I was naked, I... Actually, I've never had trouble getting you to have sex with me under those conditions. Maybe back when I was still trying to kill you."

"I never saw you naked, then," Xander reminded him.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly. Xander shifted on the bed, not trying to move away from him, but not trying to actually answer him, either. Spike reached up and touched Xander's chin, placed one finger alongside his jaw and pulled his face gently back to look at Spike. "Xan? What's wrong?"

"You...you haven't...this is our last night here, Spike."

Yeah, he'd noticed. That was sort of the point of wanting to get in as much honeymoon sex as possible. After all, in a few days, they'd be an old married couple, and only be fucking four or five times per diem. Or so he'd heard. "What haven't I done?" he asked, trying to figure Xander out. "Had tea with my mum. Met the Queen again, and gave her an extra pair of Mickey Mouse ears. Bought all sorts of pressies for the folks back home, picked up some packages from Dru that truly frighten me, especially the ones *for* Dru. Shagged my husband against a lamppole. Not listed in order of importance. I miss something?"

Xander closed his eyes, which was cheating, and only fair if you were the evil one, which Xander wasn't. "Yeah. No. I don't know. Maybe I did. I kinda thought..."

"Thought what, love? Tell me."

Xander sighed, then nodded, but didn't open his eyes. After a second, he said, "I was talking to that little vampire maid girl, when she came with breakfast. You were still asleep, and she was kind of looking at me funny, so I asked what was up, and she started telling me how romantic it all was. How they all thought you were crazy, shacking up with a human in the Honeymoon Suite, until they realized."

"Realized what -- that I'm not their Spike, and we really are married?"

Xander shook his head, eyes still closed. "No. Not that." He was quiet for another moment, then continued. "She said now the girls can't stop ooh-ing and ahh-ing. It's sort of the biggest compliment you can give around here, I guess, 'cause nobody dies except the humans, and there's only so much room..." Xander *really* wasn't making any sense now, and Spike was about to interrupt him, but the look of intense concentration on Xander's face stopped him. Made him hold his tongue lest Xander freeze up all together and never explain what was bothering him.

Even if maybe, just maybe, Spike had something of an inkling, that he wasn't willing to admit to anyone, least of all himself. He was holding fast to the hope that Xander was talking about something completely silly, though, like the fact that they hadn't yet mooned anybody from the hotel room window. That was fairly romantic, wasn't it?

"So they've got a poll going. What night would it be. And this is the last night, and she picked tonight, because it would be so damn romantic, but she wanted to make sure it hadn't already happened and they'd missed it somehow..." He trailed off, and Spike tried to think of something to say. Something that would sound like he still didn't have any bloody idea what Xander was on about. But Xander picked up again, softly. "I told her to mind her own beeswax, and she could find out in the morning, like everybody else. But... is anything gonna be different in the morning? I thought it would be tonight, too, but... You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?"

He sounded tired, or maybe it was miserable. Spike hadn't ever heard Xander sound really miserable, so maybe it sounded like worn out don't bother me anymore I just wanna go to bed.

"Xan..."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Spike. She was listening for a heartbeat. Checking out my neck. Trying to make sure I was still alive."

There it was. Not quite out in the open, but open enough that Spike could only find two options for a response. Pretend he didn't understand why that was so important, and piss Xander off and they'd spend their last night -- and possibly the next several days -- not speaking to each other. Or he could acknowledge that he knew exactly what Xander was talking about, what everyone in the whole bloody hotel was talking about, what even Dru had asked him about the last time they'd visited the Palace.

He could acknowledge it, and then Xander would ask why he hadn't done anything or said anything and Spike would tell him, and Xander would get pissed off and they'd spend the last night and possibly the next several days not speaking to each other.

He'd told himself three weeks ago he was a bloody moron, but he hadn't listened. Hadn't listened two weeks ago, one week ago, two days ago, or even three hours ago when Xander had been sleepily murmuring in his ear. Not that that wasn't excuse enough -- how could *anyone* be expected to think clearly when they had a naked, sleepy Xander blowing in their ears? Xander was staring at him now, exasperation and frustration clear on his face. It would soon be followed by anger, and then yelling and storming out of the room and not even naked glasses-wearing pouts would stave it off.

"Er, I--" Spike began, not knowing why, because he still had no clue what he was going to say.

Xander's face suddenly fell, then became almost instantly expressionless. "You've changed your mind, haven't you?" he asked, his words quiet and uninflected enough to completely shatter the room.

"No. No, of course not, I haven't--" Spike shook his head wildly, but Xander seemed to just be looking *through* him, now.

"I mean, it's been a long time. Since you asked. You've had the chance to think about it. And maybe you're right. I mean, I guess I wouldn't make a very good vampire. I'm too polite. Even your *mom* likes me. People's moms aren't supposed to like you, if you're gonna be a vampire."

"Xander..." Spike searched for something truthful to say, but all he could come up with off the top of his head was "You're babbling." While it was true enough, he doubted it would help much. Eventually, he thought of something else. "Don't be silly. Buffy's mum likes *me*. Mums are a law unto themselves."

"I know that." So Xander was listening to him, at least. At some level. Even though he barely seemed to be in the room, eyes focused somewhere above and behind Spike now. Second star to the left and straight on 'til morning. Spike picked up the hands that Xander had let fall limply in his lap. At least Xander didn't pull them away. That was a good thing, right? Xander looked down at them for a second, as if just now realizing that he had something attached to the ends of his arms. "So what was this? This trip? The wedding?" Xander asked quietly. "Just something to keep me happy?"

Spike's mouth opened, and he stamped down the wise-arse remark that had popped into his head. Now was not the time. He gave Xander's hands a squeeze, and said quietly, "Don't want to lose you."

Xander started, and suddenly looked directly at him. "Won't you do that anyway when I die of old age?" There was a hint of bitterness in his tone, but only a hint.

"What if I lose you when you're turned?" he whispered. The same day he'd asked Xander, locked there in a closet playing mind games and groping each other, he'd thought about it. He'd considered the vampires he knew -- but he hadn't known any of them, before they'd got vamped. Spike couldn't tell if he'd become a different person, himself. He'd tried to remember what he'd been like before, what he'd been like, after. He knew there'd been *some* change -- but he changed when he got mind-blastingly drunk, as well. He couldn't be sure. For all he knew, if he turned Xander, the man he loved would be gone when the vampire awoke.

That wasn't all of it, but it was the part that every moment he'd had with Xander on this trip had tossed back in his face. Every time he'd watched Xander laugh at something silly, seen him charm a middle-aged vampire lady into adopting him, or give in to his own desires and what he knew his lover wanted, and make love to Spike in the middle of the city in front of God and everybody... It had struck Spike harder than Angelus' closed fist ever had. What if he lost this?

He wanted to keep it forever, but what if the world was laughing at him, as it had laughed at Angel once? What if it took the one thing he loved more than anything, more than himself or his fish or his Johnny Rotten whiskey decanter, away from him forever?

"Like *I'm* gonna change my mind? You think I'll leave you, like Dru did?" The words were blunt, but Spike had thought them himself too many times, early on, to wince at hearing them in Xander's voice now. "That I'll get bored with *you*? I thought you trusted me more than that."

"S'not what I mean. I mean, maybe you won't be *you* anymore."

There was a moment of silence, where Xander looked at him like maybe Spike wasn't speaking the same brand of English that Xander was. Then he just said, "Oh. Isn't the soul-spell thing supposed to take care of that, though?" he added. All signs of frustration and anger were gone, now. Just confusion, and a little bit of Spike-induced-patience. Somewhere underneath, there were still traces of misery, though.

"What if it doesn't? Just because you don't go all evil...what if you aren't you? Didn't you say Red turned into a dominatrix when she got turned in that other universe?"

There was a twitch in the corner of Xander's mouth. "No, actually I didn't. She *did*, but I never said it. But -- that was alter-Willow. You've seen *your* doppelganger, here -- is he exactly like you?"

"He might've been, before he got eaten by Dru."

Another subdued, "Oh," and Xander sat quietly, again. He didn't try to pull his hands out of Spike's grip, but neither did he give Spike that little tug that said 'climb up here and lie on top of me'. As Spike waited, Xander diverted his gaze and still said nothing.

"Xan?"

"Why didn't you say something? I was...all excited. I thought this was gonna be it, you were gonna turn me and teach me how to be a vampire and we'd go home and unlive happily forever after. I even--" He sighed. "It doesn't matter." He shook his head.

"Even what?" Spike prompted.

Xander sighed, then looked at him once more. "I kinda made some changes to my office. It was already vampire friendly, but...I figured if I was gonna be a vampire, I wanted my office to be...comfortable." There was a half-smile, and it looked fake.

"What, you made it all red and plush? Velvet everywhere? Or did you go for the 'I have a soul, and I must brood' decor?" The words were hard to force out, but Spike didn't want to be having this conversation. He didn't want to think about any of it, but he especially didn't want to be talking about losing Xander - losing his soul, or losing him completely, as he died.

"I...um...put in a blood fountain. It's like a water fountain, only it's blood, and you have to bite the dispenser to get it to work... It's kind of a novelty thing; Morrie found it for me."

Spike had seen them in a catalog; they came with little replaceable dispenser-covers, so you could pretend you were biting off the head of somebody you didn't particularly like. He almost wanted to laugh. Almost. "I thought about gettin' one of those for home, but I figured you'd complain about the blood on the carpet."

Xander closed his eyes again, and did laugh. Just a little. Not as if he really thought it was funny, though. "And that's different from now, how exactly?"

"Er... the splash-patterns would be different?" Spike almost thought he had him, for a second. Thought they could get off into a kvetching-match about housekeeping and Spike's lack of skills therein, and how club soda really did jack shit to get out the kind of stains Spike was always leaving all over the place. He saw Xander open his mouth, and he was sure the next words would be, 'I suppose we could solve that by getting a rust-colored carpet...'

But they weren't. Xander closed his mouth again, and didn't say anything.

"I would rather have you with me for a few short decades, and watch you leave me, than to lose you tonight and know I'd killed you, myself." Spike spoke clearly, but softly, knowing the harsh words were probably over-done. But he didn't care -- he had to make Xander understand.

Xander's gaze flickered, slightly. "What if it is me, when I wake up?"

"What if it isn't?" Spike countered.

Xander frowned, ever so slightly. "How do you know I won't be me? I'll still have my personality, I won't be evil -- how do you know I'll have changed?"

"How do I know you won't?" Spike countered again, his voice rising in desperation.

"How do you *know*?" Xander repeated, voice rising as well until he was nearly shouting. "Haven't you *asked* anyone?"

Spike blinked. He didn't answer. He *hadn't* asked, hadn't wanted to broach the subject with anyone who knew enough about it to get to root of his questions.

Xander, however, was suddenly staring at him. "You didn't ask? Spike, did you research this at *all*?"

"Er. No?" There was a light thump as Xander hit him with a pillow. Spike looked at his husband, hopefully.

"Bang -- zoom. To the moon, Bubble-head. Straight to the moon. You didn't even ask Angel or anyone?" The rest of the anger had melted away; even the misery seemed to be gone. Only thing left was a bit of frustration, and that, Spike was used to jollying his husband out of. Or seducing.

"No?" Spike kept looking cute. It seemed to be working -- he was, after all, still naked but for his glasses. He was also on his knees in front of Xander, a position which often made Xander's eyes do that funky thing where they lost all colour and rolled back into Xander's head.

"So you just assumed I'd wake up somebody else?" Xander was almost smiling now. His eyes were beginning to get a little dilated, too.

"Well, everyone always *says*...." Spike did the cute-dumb-me look, and waggled an eyebrow. "Am I out of trouble?"

"No." Though Xander's sudden frown was Mr.-Partridge-stern now, not angry. "You didn't tell me. We never talked about it; you just kept laughing it off, and I laughed it off too, because I thought everything was okay. You can't *do* that."

Well, obviously he *could* -- he did things like that on a regular basis; it was called being male. Xander should know that. Still, Spike thought it was worth trying the cute look again. Precious Moments, he thought. I'm a Precious Moments figurine. Those kids *never* get in trouble. "We do it all the time," he finally ventured, when Xander's stern look faltered, then held firm.

Xander blinked at him for a moment, then nodded, slowly. "Okay. Fair enough. But not about stuff like this. Not anymore."

"But it's okay if I don't tell you that I ruined your favorite pair of Snoopy socks last time I tried doing the wash, right?" For that he got his nose flicked. Spike didn't let his expression change. 'Cute. I'm cute, I'm adorable, I'm wearing my glasses.' How could he possibly still be being frowned at? Well, because he'd seriously fucked up and hadn't actually let Xander know he knew it, yet. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Er, I won't *mean* to do it again."

"When we get home, we're gonna research it, right?" Xander folded his arms and looked stern, some more. Spike nodded. "And if it looks like I'll wake up as myself, you'll turn me?"

Spike hesitated. Then, carefully, he asked, "How much 'looks like' is looks like? If we're only sort of sure--" He stopped because Xander's finger was on his lips. He gave them a lick, which Xander apparently ignored.

"We won't decide now, Spike. We'll do the research, and we'll talk to everyone who knows. I don't want to leave you, either, but I don't want to die of old age because we're too scared to do this. *Besides* -- every vampire I know, didn't change personalities. They just got evil. Even Leatherwillow was a lot more like our Wills than we knew at the time. Except for the not liking pink thing. And Harmony..."

Spike licked Xander's fingers again, then moved his mouth away. "Xan, if you're gonna turn into *Harmony* after you get turned, I'm not turning you. End of discussion."

Xander grinned. Just when Spike was going to try licking his way up Xander's body and back into his good graces, Xander said, "Not end of discussion. You did *what* to my Snoopy socks?"

"Bought you a new pair," Spike reminded him.

"You told me they were a surprise gift, for being so cute while wearing them."

"And you are!"

Xander narrowed his eyes, then whapped Spike with the pillow again. "Not the point. And Harmony's not the only person I ever knew before and after they were vamped. Just the only one I've ever got the chance to play strip-Yahtzee with. And *she* didn't change -- human, vamp, evil, soul, she still can't add two numbers together without counting on her fingers."

"Yeah, too bad Red and wife won so quick -- I wanted to see the Slayer naked. Again."

A familiar accusatorial tone: "When did you see Buffy naked before?"

"Red's wedding, dork-boy."

"That was a solemn and holy occasion. You weren't supposed to be checking out the naked chicks."

"Xander, she was standing on a table singing 'It's raining men, hallelujah, it's raining men, amen."

The tone softened. "Oh, you mean *after* they served the wine."

"Yeah. Well, what else was I supposed to do? *You* wouldn't take your shorts off, so I couldn't stare at you."

"You're supposed to love me for my mind."

Spike blinked at him. "I'm what?"

Then he laughed, because Xander was whapping him again with the pillow, and this time -- finally! -- he meant it in a someone's about to get kissed way. Spike rolled back onto his heels, almost out of Xander's reach, and let go of Xander's other hand. Xander responded by whapping him again, then sliding off the edge of the bed and onto Spike. Spike caught him, and let himself fall easily onto his back, carrying Xander along with him. When they landed, Spike on the soft carpet and Xander lying fully on top of him, Spike reached up and cupped Xander's cheek before kissing him.

"Spike?"

"Yes, luv?"

"You know, when you wear those glasses, it *really* makes me want to fuck you."

Spike raised one eyebrow. "Does it?"

It wasn't wrong to start thinking of ways to integrate those glasses into their everyday life, right? Like...er...pretending he was going blind? Spike blinked a bit, experimentally.

Xander blinked too, then said, "Stop that. You don't have to bat your eyelashes at me. I told you you're getting fucked."

But he wasn't. At least, not yet he wasn't. He just had a nice warm husband lying on top of him, looking at him like he was a Super-Duper Belly-Buster Triple Scooper Sundae and Xander couldn't decide which part to bite first. Spike obligingly offered his throat.

He didn't miss the symbolism, but it was all that he could offer, right now. Just himself. Xander hesitated for a moment, as if he, too were thinking of fangs he didn't have. But then human teeth, rough and slick at once, were sliding across Spike's skin, to lodge just above his collarbone in a sharp, hot bite.

"Ow," he said calmly, pretending his body, brain, libido weren't screaming at him.

Xander froze, then, without letting go of the fold of skin between his teeth, began laughing. Spike was laughing already, holding most of it in, but grinning as widely as he could without splitting his face in two. Xander was bouncing on top of him, now, from the rapid rise and fall of Spike's chest as unneeded air was pulled in and pushed out by the reflex of his laughter.

Xander's tongue reached out from behind his teeth, and laved the spot of skin. Spike groaned, laughter dying quickly, and arched into the touch. Xander let go, kissed his neck, then looked up at him. "Spike?"

"Yeah?"

There was an odd look on Xander's face -- one which Spike had been seeing rather often, these last few months. He still wasn't exactly sure what it heralded, but he *thought* it might be the glurble face. Xander leant down and kissed him softly on the mouth, and said, "I love you," his warm breath coating Spike's lips before he moved away and left them tingling.

Spike considered this for a moment, as if it were a new piece of information finally added to the puzzle at the last minute, and now everything was starting to come clear. "Oh. That explains a lot." Xander frowned at him, and Spike grinned, then darted up to steal that frown away. One hand in Xander's hair, he tugged lightly, and whispered, "Git. Don't you ever think I don't love you. That I don't want you for always. Hell, I'd swallow you whole an' carry you round inside me all day if I didn't think you'd bitch about the cramped conditions."

"Mmm. Phenomenal cosmic powers, eeeeety-bitty living space."

"Which phenomenal cosmic powers would those be, then?" Spike challenged as he scraped a fingernail deliberately down Xander's bare back.

"Er...ooo...aaaaaaaaah, that one."

Xander blinked too, then said, "Stop that. You don't have to bat your eyelashes at me. I told you you're getting fucked."

But he wasn't. At least, not yet he wasn't. He just had a nice warm husband lying on top of him, looking at him like he was a Super-Duper Belly-Buster Triple Scooper Sundae and Xander couldn't decide which part to bite first. Spike obligingly offered his throat.

He didn't miss the symbolism, but it was all that he could offer, right now. Just himself. Xander hesitated for a moment, as if he, too were thinking of fangs he didn't have. But then human teeth, rough and slick at once, were sliding across Spike's skin, to lodge just above his collarbone in a sharp, hot bite.

"Ow," he said calmly, pretending his body, brain, libido weren't screaming at him.

Xander froze, then, without letting go of the fold of skin between his teeth, began laughing. Spike was laughing already, holding most of it in, but grinning as widely as he could without splitting his face in two. Xander was bouncing on top of him, now, from the rapid rise and fall of Spike's chest as unneeded air was pulled in and pushed out by the reflex of his laughter.

Xander's tongue reached out from behind his teeth, and laved the spot of skin. Spike groaned, laughter dying quickly, and arched into the touch. Xander let go, kissed his neck, then looked up at him. "Spike?"

"Yeah?"

There was an odd look on Xander's face -- one which Spike had been seeing rather often, these last few months. He still wasn't exactly sure what it heralded, but he *thought* it might be the glurble face. Xander leant down and kissed him softly on the mouth, and said, "I love you," his warm breath coating Spike's lips before he moved away and left them tingling.

Spike considered this for a moment, as if it were a new piece of information finally added to the puzzle at the last minute, and now everything was starting to come clear. "Oh. That explains a lot." Xander frowned at him, and Spike grinned, then darted up to steal that frown away. One hand in Xander's hair, he tugged lightly, and whispered, "Git. Don't you ever think I don't love you. That I don't want you for always. Hell, I'd swallow you whole an' carry you round inside me all day if I didn't think you'd bitch about the cramped conditions."

"Mmm. Phenomenal cosmic powers, eeeeety-bitty living space."

"Which phenomenal cosmic powers would those be, then?" Spike challenged as he scraped a fingernail deliberately down Xander's bare back.

"Er...ooo...aaaaaaaaah, that one."

"I've been calling you a bubble head because you remind me of the bubbly diver in the piranha tank."

Each separate puff of air that accompanied Xander's words was doing its level best to turn Spike into a bubble head if he wasn't one already, since all thought was fleeing from his mind. Still, he managed an "Erk?" that might have been a question.

"Why? Because," Xander dipped his mouth closer, and Spike felt what might have been a very moist puff of air...or possibly a tongue. It had been too brief to tell, but he was willing to have it happen twelve more times so he could decide. "I wanna bite your head off," Xander finished, before doing just that.

Xander's lips closed on him, and Spike yelped as teeth grazed his skin, and Xander's mouth began pulling and sucking and Spike was pretty sure someone was screaming. The tip of his cock was on fire, his entire body pounding with burning sensations that he'd felt a thousand times, and never, ever, could remember feeling quite this way before. Each time Xander touched him, everything else just faded into nothing -- even all the other times Xander had touched him.

He heard someone --himself? -- murmuring in a foreign tongue, while a very familiar tongue did things to his cock. He could almost detect a pattern, before the swirl of contact brushed thought aside, again, and he just wanted more, now, and couldn't manage to make his voice work enough to give the command.

That was okay, though, because Xander knew all about what he wanted, always seemed to know, and gave it to him, pulling and stroking, one hand firm around his length, one wandering about, teasing him. Now holding his hips down from pushing up, now stroking the inside of his thighs, the back of his balls, the place behind them that always made him shout things out in French even though he swore in public that he didn't speak it.

And if there was a thought left in his head, it was being sucked out of him by that beautiful mouth. Perfect, in the way he did things, in the way he pulled everything that Spike could be out of him -- like he was sucking a soul out of some dark place where it had hidden for the century plus before he'd met and somehow tripped and fallen over this silly human person who was... sucking the unlife out of him.

And Xander thought he wouldn't make a good vampire? Lord, he already was. Spike thought about telling him that, but then his brain exploded and he couldn't remember how to speak, at all.

*****