*****

"So. What'd you call this stuff?" Xander peered at his glass, as if trying to make sense of the colour of the liquid inside.

"Batham's Bitter," Wesley replied patiently.

"I didn't mean the brand, I meant what kind of liquid is it? Gun cleaner? Shoe polish?"

"It's beer," said Rupert, taking it away from him, "and you're obviously too young to appreciate it, as well as looking too young to buy it." He tipped the pint mug up and drained half of it.

"Hey! That was my shoe polish!" Xander glared at him, then swiped the mug sitting on the table in front of Rupert.

"Do you mind?" Rupert asked, and picked it back out of Xander's hand. If only because his glass had had more in it than Xander's had, before he'd stolen it. Which rather belied Xander's claim that he thought it tasted like turpentine. Xander shrugged, and snatched his own glass from where Rupert had set it down. That made them about even, really.

It was still a struggle for Rupert not to snatch it back, though. Xander really *didn't* look old enough to be drinking it, and years of thinking of him as one of 'The Children' didn't help. Plus which, it was Batham's Bitter. There were only four bars anywhere near the Hyperion that served it, and they might run out any time. He had to protect it.

"So... what?" Xander asked, looking at each of them after he'd taken another drink, made another face, and then blinked slowly like he'd suddenly realized he might be getting drunk.

"What?" Rupert tried to pick the thread of conversation back up.

"Three," Wesley replied.

"Really?" Xander looked surprised. "All at once?"

"No, several weeks apart, thus not really answering the question 'What's the highest number of lovers you've had at the same time'," Wesley said with a suspiciously sober-sounding sarcasm. He needed more beer. Just not Rupert's beer. Rupert felt his hand closing protectively around his mug, and he snorted, shaking off the paranoia.

"Oh. That was the question. I though we were still talking about how many ding-dongs you could stuff in your mouth at the same time." Xander sipped at his beer, still frowning at it.

Wesley blinked at Xander. "Ding-dongs? Is that a euphemism--?" He stopped as Rupert sprayed beer over the table.

"It is *not*," he said sternly, upset that he'd been forced to waste precious beer. He considered stealing a bit from Wesley, but he was afraid the other Briton would be as fierce about protecting his, as Rupert was about his own. Besides, there was Wesley's rather over-protective, cock-whipped set of lovers to consider. If Wesley complained about having his beer stolen, Rupert just might find himself ordering a case to be shipped from England. Insured.

"Oh. Because I can do four." Xander was still staring at his beer, as if he expected it to do something to entertain him.

Rupert stared at *Xander.* "Er...four?" He wasn't sure if he wanted to be hearing this.

"Ding-dongs."

"I think we've moved past Hostess products, Xander," Rupert explained gently. In fact, Xander had asked the question in the first place, though he didn't seem to remember having done so.

"Oh. Um... so, three?"

Rupert blinked at him, then realized Xander was probably repeating Wesley's answer. Not giving his own. Wasn't he? "Three?" he asked.

"Not at the same time -- does that mean not *at the same time* or just...not all at once?" Xander shook his head, and how someone who owned a major demon skin magazine could blush at the thought of an orgy, Rupert didn't know. Although, as Xander had pointed out, he couldn't exactly recognize which bits he should be embarrassed by.

"No, it means I was being sarcastic, and they *were* all at the same time. " Wesley stated it rather proudly.

Now Xander was getting redder, while his face was making those little contortions that meant he was trying very hard to either picture something, or not picture it. "If you... no, that wouldn't work.. well what about... no. Oh. No, not like that. Hmmm." Or perhaps the blushing was just ingrained in him. How many years of living with Spike did it take before one became completely immune to being embarrassed about sex? One would have thought it would have taken less than six months, let alone multiple years.

"It works best logistically if one person is simply receiving all the attention," Wesley explained.

"Yes, yes, thank you, no need to go any further," Rupert interrupted. Xander looked disappointed, and Rupert decided they *really* needed to change the topic. Before Xander asked *him*, and waited for details. But Xander had apparently decided to follow a new tangent. Thank God.

"All the attention. Oh yeah, I like that. Make-up sex. Mmmm..." Xander's eyes glazed over a bit, though that might have been partially the effect of the beer. Beers. Then they were suddenly sharp for a moment. "That was make-up as in 'Had a fight, Spike does all the work to make it up to me.' No mascara or lipstick involved. Ever."

Xander looked down at the table suddenly, and Rupert tried not to picture the scene he was denying had ever occurred. He wasn't sure he was ready to tell Xander what *his* maximum number of at-the-same-time lovers was. He focused on something else, instead. "There's nothing wrong with make-up. Actors and...what are they called? Goth boys? Wear it all the time."

Xander was giving him a look, now, that made him want to sigh and ask Xander if he had *really* been that sheltered, growing up.

"Oh, yes, and men who like to wear fishnet stockings," Wesley added, unhelpfully. "I have that picture, you know -- Nigel gave it--"

"What?"

"In just seven days...I can make you a ma--aa-aa-aa-an..." Wesley crooned. Xander's eyes widened. Apparently he hadn't been *that* sheltered in his upbringing.

Rupert groaned. "I was young. I needed the money." Wesley raised an eyebrow. "All right, I was young and I did it for free, so just shut up about it."

Xander turned his wide-eyed gaze on Wesley. "You have a picture?" Wesley nodded. "I'll take Spike away for a week."

"Deal!" Wesley held out his hand.

"Excuse me," Rupert tried to interrupt them. That turned out to be a bad idea.

"So, G-Man, what about you?"

"What about me?" he hedged.

"Wes has answered, now your turn." Xander looked at him sternly.

"What about *you*, Xander. You haven't answered yet either." Wait, what had he just said? The correct response would have been 'Don't call me G-Man, Xander,' which would've led off on a safe, nostalgic path. Now he would be forced to find out the answer to his own question.

"Just one." Xander looked pointedly at everywhere in the room except Rupert or Wesley. "So far."

Rupert relaxed, and took a sip of his beer. Thank God. He wasn't sure he could take hearing Xander Harris talk about multiple partners. Or any partners, come to it.

"Spike wants to have a threesome with Dru, though."

They stared at Xander for a moment. Carefully, Rupert asked, "Ah, and...this would be why you brought the matter up?" Xander shrugged, then nodded quickly.

"There's nothing odd about a threesome," Wesley said. "Takes a bit of communicating, but it can be rather nice."

There was another tiny nod, but Xander didn't look up at either of them. Rupert sighed. "I've never done a threesome, before. Five, yes--"

Now Xander looked up. "Um... five?"

Rupert couldn't tell if he was surprised that the number was so high, or that it was so low. He refrained from commenting that actual orgies didn't count, he was talking about how many people had been touching him at one *time*, not, for instance, in the space of an hour. "Well, it was hardly... It wasn't an ongoing thing, of course." He nodded at Wesley.

"This wouldn't be either," Xander said quickly. He looked down at his beer again, then looked up. "Spike's mine. This would just be... like, once, maybe." Rupert was trying to figure out how to respond to that. He'd figured out that Xander wanted some sort of advice, perhaps something as simple as reassurance that it wasn't a particularly odd thing to do. To want to do.

Then Wesley said, "I was given to understand those orgies were quite regular. Every other month, on the fourth Saturday."

"Orgies?" Xander squeaked.

Rupert sighed. "There was *not* a regular orgy. It was *once*, and anyone who says otherwise...was at a different orgy than I was." It didn't sound quite like he'd wheedled his way out of it, but Xander looked a bit calmer.

"Oh." There was less of a squeak this time, but it was still there. "Orgy?"

"Yes, well, it was in my electric kool-aid funky Satan groove days." Rupert drained the last of his beer and looked desperately about for another.

"Aw, G-Man, you remembered something I said. I'm touched."

"If only you'd return the favor, and stop calling me that." A full mug materialized in his hand. He blinked at it. Then looked up at Wesley, who was smiling smugly.

"It's a very useful spell. Would you like to learn it?"

"You can do it without it going flat?" Rupert tentatively took a sip. Yes, indeed, still carbonated. Wesley had mastered an extremely useful spell.

"Took a bit of practice. Practiced on Diet Pepsi, of course. Cordelia was not amused...."

"Every time she made him buy her another six pack, he'd practice with it." Xander was grinning. Looking relieved to have something other than orgies to discuss.

"But you seem to have it down. Yes, I would very much like to learn it." A thought occurred. "Where did it originate?"

Another smug smile. "My cousin in Stoke-on-Trent keeps some for me in his flat."

Rupert goggled. "This is fresh? From *England*?"

"Well, fresh if you mean that the cat it was filtered through was probably only two or three months old," Xander commented, again belying his assessment by taking a large swig from his own suddenly-full glass.

"I can always replace it with Miller Light, if you prefer," Wesley said warningly. "Or possibly shandy."

"Who's Shandy?" Xander asked. "And are you thinker than I drunk you are?"

Rupert rolled his eyes. "It's beer and lemonade, and it's about weak enough that you *could* feed it to a three month old cat."

"Beer and lemonade? That's *disgusting*." Xander took another drink of his Batham's. "OK, so, it couldn't be any worse."

Rupert sighed. "For god's sake, Xander, what *do* you drink? Besides soda?" Xander gave him the kicked-puppy look that made him look four years old. *Definitely* not old enough to be drinking. And he'd obviously been living with Spike too long, because this was a much more refined pout than he'd ever had, back in Sunnydale.

"Oh, that's nice. Number Seventeen, isn't it?" Wesley asked.

"Seventeen Point Five. Specially reserved for having insulted his taste in beer or laundry detergent." Xander gave Rupert a tiny grin. "He's allergic to Tide. Makes him break out in interesting places." Yet another thing he had never wanted to know about William the Bloody. Rupert filed the information away in the back of his mind, however. One never knew when something like that might be useful. "And I like Rolling Rock," Xander continued.

"Grain-flavoured water," Wesley muttered. But he waved his hand, again, and there was a second mug sitting next to Xander's mug of Batham's -- which Rupert rescued immediately.

"Cool! Thanks." Xander accepted his new beer happily, and Rupert looked at Wes.

"What happens if you try that spell when you're drunk?"

Wesley blushed, slightly. Didn't answer. Xander snickered. "Next time you see Cordelia, just say the word 'sample' to her. See what she does."

Wesley turned a glare on him. "It was *not* my fault." To Rupert, he muttered. "My cousin is a medical student." Rupert wondered idly what might be in a medical student's refrigerator that looked like beer, but wasn't... And then wished he hadn't. Suddenly he'd rather be talking about orgies.

"Perhaps you should transport a few bottles here, now. While you're still...able."

Wesley nodded, and a moment later, two bottles appeared. Wesley looked at them, then frowned. "He hasn't purchased any more. Sorry."

"That's all right," Rupert waved a hand. He reached over and picked up the bottle. Looked at it. Real beer. Thank God.

Xander waited until Rupert had the glass to his lips, almost drinking, when he said, "So. Orgy."

Rupert gave the young man a glare that would quell Slayers. Mostly. Sometimes. Well, they'd told him it would, during training. "Yes?"

Xander rolled his eyes. "That was a polite way of saying 'Give me details, without actually giving me so many details I can't ever look at you again."

"Ah, so, you don't actually want to picture me naked, surrounded by half a dozen men and women?" Well, that shut him up. Though once upon a time, the word 'orgy' itself would have been enough detail to guarantee at least a week of no direct eye-contact from Xander. Wesley, however, was looking at him...appreciatively. Rupert raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he had the balls to ask.

"Wait a minute! You said 'five'!"

"What?" Rupert turned back to Xander.

"You said 'five' -- now it's half a dozen!" Xander glared at him, accusingly. "How many *was*-- do I really wanna know?" That last he asked, as if talking to himself. "Giles, naked, lots of other-- no. Nope, not wanting to know actual numbers."

"Perhaps we should move on to a new topic," Rupert suggested. Xander glanced at him again, and he sighed. "I was rounding up. The second time. *Now* can we move on to another topic?"

"How 'bout them Redskins?" Xander ventured.

Wesley rolled his eyes. "He doesn't really watch it, you know. He can actually hold a halfway decent conversation about real footy, after living with Spike for so long."

"Yeah, Man U can beat the crap out of Arsenal any day," Xander said with enthusiasm.

"They most certainly can *not*," Rupert protested. Wesley snickered.

Xander gave him a grin. "You were right. Wow."

"What?" Rupert had the feeling he was saying that rather a lot, tonight. "Right about what?" But he twigged, a second later. Frowning, he said, "Perhaps we should discuss cricket?"

"Jiminy?" Xander asked.

Perhaps they should discuss orgies after all. He sighed. "Right, then, we can cross sports off the list."

"No, really, I'm always interested in sports where guys throw balls at wooden stakes and then run back and forth for no apparent reason." Xander snickered into his beer-flavoured water.

"Philistine."

"Don't bother," Wesley told Rupert. "I've tried. I even taped it and showed it to him in slow-motion. Didn't help."

Xander tried to look offended, but he was grinning too hard. "The tape was put to good use, though."

"Oh, god." Wesley groaned, and his head hit the table top.

Intrigued, Giles looked from Wesley to Xander. "What happened to the tape?"

"Spike. Macintosh. Movie editor," Xander explained

"Oh, god," Wesley groaned again.

"You said that," Xander reminded him helpfully.

"All right, so Spike put something no doubt exceptionally pornographic on the tape that used to have a cricket match on it. So what?" Rupert looked confusedly back and forth between Xander and Wesley.

Xander snickered again. "I gave it back to him. And he doesn't remember which one it was."

Wesley groaned a third time. "I haven't watched any of my cricket tapes in six months, for fear that I'll be sitting there studying somebody or other's superb bowling technique, and..."

Rupert tried very hard not to laugh. It was a horrible thing to happen, truly, but.... He laughed.

Wesley's head came up fast, and he glared. "*You* laugh. You have no idea what sort of things Spike can do with a movie editor. Last year when he asked for all the classic Disney animated movies?"

"Yes?" Rupert remembered, the entire group up in Sunnydale had chipped in to buy them the set. They'd laughed over it, but had been happy to give Spike and Xander something...they'd... oh, dear. "Oh, dear."

Xander was laughing. "Wanna borrow 'Dumbo'?"

"Say 'no'. I beg of you," Wesley said.

"You've seen it?" Rupert asked.

"There's a reason we've spelled our quarters to keep those two out. Thanks to a certain party's expertise with hidden cameras..." Wesley shot a dark glare at Xander, who looked resolutely innocent, "I was *in* it. "

Rupert tried *very* very hard not to laugh, but he had even less success this time. "Oh...dear."

"But he looked really cute flapping his ears and flying over the circus grounds," Xander said comfortingly.

"I am going to kill you one day," Wesley said calmly. "It will involve red ants and honey." He took a long drink of his beer. "And woodchuck cider."

Xander just kept grinning. "You say the sweetest things. Don't let Angel and Gunn catch you saying things like that to me."

Wesley blinked. "Where do you think I'm getting the ants?" Xander stuck his tongue out.

"Yes, I see the maturity rating in the room has reached new depths," Rupert observed, eyeing the unopened bottles of beer. Not that his own glass was empty. He just wanted to be sure they were safe. Protected.

"Okay, this from the man who not all that many years ago tied Spike up in his bathtub, and just because he was being a *little* annoying, made him listen to the entire London soundtrack of Chess, on permanent replay, for 24 hours straight?" Xander challenged him with humor in his eyes.

"Ah yes. Those were the days."

"Spike says he *still* can't listen to Murray Head without wanting to bang his skull against the nearest porcelain surface."

Rupert was affronted, though he wasn't entirely sure by what. "I *like* Murray Head." Xander just raised an eyebrow, as if Rupert had just proven his point. "Now, look, you can't tell me that torturing Spike isn't a worthwhile past-time."

"I would *never* make him listen to 'Chess'!" Xander looked honestly scandalized. "Put cucumber seeds in his blood, sure! But...but...." He blinked. Looked thoughtful. "Actually, that might be a good way of keeping him off the roof...."

Now Rupert was confused. "Why would you want to keep him off the roof?"

He glanced over at Wesley who said 'oh god' again, before answering. "Spike volunteered to do the Christmas decorations last year. It seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, there was always the possibility that he could fall off the roof and break his neck." Xander stuck his tongue out at Wesley again.

"And what's wrong with allowing him to decorate for Christmas? Sounds exceedingly wholesome, for Spike." The moment the words were out of his mouth, Rupert's imagination started to provide its own answers. Why did he ask these questions? Was he doomed to be the straight man in the Xander-and-Wesley-Comedy-Hour all night?

"Yes, so we thought. Until we saw the eight-foot-high naked statue of Spike, picked out in multi-coloured lights. Facing the road, where everyone else could see it as well. There was a news crew there." Wesley mouthed the words 'Honey. Ants. Cider.' at Xander, who merely whistled something that Rupert suspected came from the soundtrack to 'Dumbo,' and took another drink. "Spike was also there. Next to the statue. " Wesley took rather a large drink, himself. "Naked. When we got him down --with a net, mind you, because he was suddenly afraid of climbing down the ladder, probably because Angel was waiting at the bottom-- he said it was because he needed inspiration."

"Inspiration for-- No. I'm not asking. Why are we talking about this, anyway? What happened to the orgies?"

"You chickened out telling us details," Xander replied.

"Ah, yes, I--" He stopped himself again. Surely there was something they could discuss safely. Something that didn't involve sex, or Spike. Not sports, not beer. Not business - he and Xander could talk, but Wesley would be left out. Magic, Xander would be left out. If they tried talking about the wedding, they'd have to mention Spike again. "You really want to hear about the orgy?"

Xander blinked. As if he weren't really sure if he did or not. As if--and it was probably true, knowing Xander-- he'd just been seeing how far he could push, and was now faced with having to either own up, or hear the answer.

"Sure," came the cheery response. Then again, this was a man whose fianc� walked about naked on the rooftop... He really had to stop underestimating Xander's capacity for perversion.

"It was... nineteen something and something. Which is to say I remember which decade it was but don't care to elaborate."

"I don't care if it was eighteen ninety-five. I just want to hear about the multiple naked people," Xander replied.

"Well, there were multiple naked people..." When he didn't immediately elaborate, Xander leaned forward and stole the last two bottles of Batham's. "What on earth are you doing?" Rupert tried to grab them, but Xander had them under the table, out of reach. He scowled. He ought to have Wesley re-teleport them onto the table.

"Details."

He sighed. "Fine. Details? The difficult part is knees and elbows. Moving without hitting anybody where they don't wish to be hit--"

"Excuse me," Wesley interrupted. He handed Rupert a bottle of Batham's.

"Hey!" Xander looked down at his hands. "You...Briton!" Rupert and Wesley just looked at him. Xander frowned back. "Yeah, well, I live with one, remember? And he's *met* the queen."

Rupert gave him a hard look. "*Which* queen?"

Xander grinned. "I'm not sure. Knowing Spike, he could've meant Elton John. But I think he meant Victoria. Something about letting a bag of ferrets loose during the Great Exhibition?"

"How typical. No, wait. If Spike was...how old, when he was turned?" Rupert tried to do the maths, and ended up staring brainlessly into the depths of his beer.

"I don't know. 20-something, obviously. Unless he's as bad off as me, in beer-buying terms. He's told me six different ages, so take your pick."

"The Great Exhibition was in 1851. He would've been... er..." Rupert picked a number out of the ether and hoped it was right, "eight years old, at most."

Xander didn't even blink. "And you're saying an eight-year-old Spike couldn't have let loose a bag of ferrets at the Great Exhibition?"

Rupert tried to picture an eight year old Spike. And for once, he didn't have to push his imagination into a dark, beer barricaded corner. Eight year old imaginary Spike was frighteningly cute. He found himself smiling, and Xander said, "Yeah. If you ever get him sopping wet and offer him a lollipop, you can get that same effect."

*****