Sweet Revenge
Part 24a
Xander stared at his reflection. It looked wide eyed and, frankly, terrified. He'd slept with Spike. Fought with Spike. Seen Spike naked and sucking his cock, so really, he should have passed the 'being nervous' stage. But this was different. This was a date.
A date, with the drinking and the talking, maybe the eating.
Maybe not the eating.
Was he *insane*? After everything Spike had done to him, and now they were going out on a *date*? /Can we say 'twisted' boys and girls?/ he thought with rising hysteria.
He shouldn't be dating *Spike*. Whatever it was that he and Spike had, it was based solidly on fighting, misery and sex. Dating just didn't fit in with it. Dating sounded so normal, so safe, and just about as far as you could get from the mass of misunderstanding and pain that had characterised his and Spike's relationship so far. Besides so much was going on right now. Glory, Dawn, Joyce, This was just the worst possible time to start thinking about his love life.
But, here he was, staring into his mirror, as anxious as any teenage girl, trying to look good, but not like he'd tried too hard.
Xander groaned. His reflection had turned deathly pale with a hint of green. "Oh that's attractive," he said aloud in despair. Even his voice sounded weird. Too loud and shaking. /Okay so I won't talk too much. Or let him look at me - which basically means a date where we stand back to back in silence for a couple of hours. Perfect./
His hands just wouldn't stop trembling, all of him felt shaky with nerves, anticipation and a flicker of . . .self reproach? Because *again* despite his own better judgement and good sense, Spike had convinced him to do something that was pretty damn stupid. He shook his head. He needed a drink.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the couch. He took a swallow of beer, which turned into him draining the can without pausing for breath.
/*What* was I thinking?/ he thought desperately. /Okay things weren't perfect before but at least I didn't have to worry about what to wear or if we were going to run out of things to talk about. I can picture it now, so Spike tell me tales about people you've killed. Oh God. I'm going out with a murderer./
Okay, he had to calm down, if he didn't he was probably going to throw up with nerves. He drummed his fingers on his thigh. /Relax, relax, relax, relax,/ he took in a few deep breaths and his stomach responded by tightening up an extra couple of notches.
Okay. Relaxing didn't seem to be working. It was hardly surprising, he'd spent the past couple of days swinging between a crazy, wary happiness that Spike wanted him, a helpless despair with himself that he was still tangled up in all this, and a crushing guilt that he felt happy at all when Joyce was dead and Buffy and Dawn were suffering so much. He missed Joyce too. Missed her desperately, but if anything didn't this mean that life was short, that you had to grab your chances when you could, because you never knew when . . .or if they would come along again? Or maybe he was just deluding himself with any excuse because he wanted to try this so badly.
Apart from all the other stuff, something else was giving him a major wiggins. He was going out on a *guy* date. It seemed so . . .*gay*. Like he couldn't pass it off as curiosity or hormones anymore.
In short, he was a mess, and really needed a moment, a month, a year, whatever, just until his head was straight.
Unfortunately he didn't have a moment, his issues would just have to wait. He checked his watch for - oh about the millionth time in the last three hours. Two minutes to eight. He was going to be here at eight.
If he was on time. He'd probably be late, this was Spike after all.
He managed to still his fingers and the next second was up and pacing the room, if he only knew what to expect tonight it would help but he didn't have a clue. When he'd agreed to this Spike had hardly said anything, just suggested tonight at eight then left hurriedly without so much as a goodbye kiss, like he was scared if he hung around Xander would change his mind.
What if Spike was expecting him to sleep with him? Did he want to sleep with Spike tonight?
*Yes*.
*No*.
He did want to, oh God how he wanted to, but at the same time everything felt so jumbled and confused right now, the hurt still too raw to just fall back into bed with him.
/Yeah, but outside in a thunderstorm is okay huh?/ A little voice in his head pointed out.
/That was different!/ He snapped back defensively. Those had been exceptional circumstances. It might be stupid but if they could have a night just hanging out without it being about sex, then maybe it would help. Prove that Spike was right, that there was something between them and things had changed, it was him that Spike wanted. Him, *Xander*, not just a warm body and a hard on. Not just a substitute for Buffy. And yeah, maybe it wasn't as clear-cut as that and he wanted to push Spike, just a little, to see how much he'd take now that the balance of power was hovering uncertainly between them, and maybe even under that there was a voice he didn't want to listen to, whispering to make him suffer, make him ache for it, payback for using him.
/Don't think about that. I'm not ready to sleep with him just now and that's all there is to it. Stay calm, I'm not nervous, not nervous, not nervous . . ./
The sound of a door slamming down the hall made him jump so violently he practically had to pry himself down from the ceiling.
"Okay that's it. I'm officially snapping."
He grabbed the phone. This was crazy; he couldn't go through with it. There was just too much stuff happened between them too ever make this work. He'd call Spike right now and tell him not to come. Except he didn't know Spike's number. Or if Spike even had a number, and Spike wouldn't be there, he'd be on his way here.
Okay when Spike got here he'd tell him this was a stupid idea. He replaced the receiver and checked his watch again. His stomach gave an extra strong lurch as his skin began flashing hot and cold.
Eight o clock.
He wasn't here.
The sick tension increased ten fold. He forced himself to stay still and refused to go to the door and peer outside, trying to ignore the fact that he was feeling pretty wretched for someone about to call this date off.
Ten seconds past eight.
/He's not coming./
Fifteen seconds.
/He's stood me up/
Twenty seconds.
/That bastard/
Twenty-five seconds.
/That *bastard*. That complete, utter, total . . /
The sound of a knock at the door stopped his rant in its tracks as his heart leapt into beating treble time.
./Oh God./ he thought in disbelief. /He's here. He's actually here./
For a moment he couldn't get his feet to move his knees were shaking so badly. /Come on feet, work with me here. I've faced down *Angelus*. This is just a date. With Spike. Shit./
He took a deep breath. Wiped his hands on his jeans, ran his fingers though his hair. Toyed with, and dismissed the idea of hiding under the bed. Walked over to the door. As his hand reached for the door handle he suddenly froze. /What the hell am I *doing*?/
***
/What the hell is he *doing*?/ Spike cursed internally, as his nerves increased with every second that ticked by. How long did it take to open a door? He wasn't feeling his usual cool, confident sarcastic self right now, in fact he'd never felt further from it - thank you so much Xander Harris - and the delay wasn't helping. It had taken him at least a minute of just staring at the door and trying to still his shaking hands to even get the nerve up to knock. His hands were still trembling so badly he had to shove them deep in his pockets to hide it and the little bastard didn't even have the manners to open the Goddamn door!
/*Calm down*/ The tiny part of his old self that was left, still clinging on against the rising anxiety, snapped out, disgusted at himself and the blind panic he was heading for. /It's just a bloody *date*/
Shouldn't think of the word date. That just made it worse. He could deal with sex, he could deal with hate, could deal with anything that required a quick response, either with sharp words or a hard hit, he knew about sex and violence and blood and bitterness, but this being gentle, taking it slow, dating thing, this was new. Even with Dru - especially with Dru - he hadn't tried anything like this before, and to be honest he was pretty fucking freaked about it. Falling for Xander Harris was tying him in knots in more ways than one. How the hell had this happened? The most sensible thing he could do was to get the hell out of town, as fast as he could, but then being sensible wasn't exactly his speciality. So here he was, about to take out Mrs Harris's baby boy. No more game playing, just being himself, whoever the hell that was, he barely knew anymore. Demon, poet, man, or all three. It felt like he was on the roller coaster, looking down, right before the big drop, terrified and exhilarated and all he could do was wait and see where the ride would take him, cos there was no way he was getting off now.
The pause stretched on and no Xander appeared. Spike began to feel sick. Not feeling so big and bad right now, more like tiny and scared, and strangely naked. Feeling insecure and uncertain was something he hadn't felt for a long time. He definitely didn't like it.
He wasn't home.
He'd changed his mind.
/Must have come to his senses/ A voice that spookily sounded a hell of a lot like that bitch Darla, spoke up in his mind, sounding coldly amused. /Can't really blame him. Why would *anyone* want you?/
Spike wished briefly Darla was actually here so he could give her a smack in the mouth. He stared blindly at the door, *willing* it to open, trying to beat back the rising panic, Xander had gone out. He'd stood him up; he . . .was opening the door.
A rush of overpowering relief and joy flooded through Spike's veins, and if part of him was slightly appalled at how his mood changed so quickly at the mere sight of Xander he ignored it because Xander was *here*!
He was wearing black jeans and the tight blue sweater Spike had seen him wearing that night in the magic shop while he'd been outside, watching him, wondering what the hell it was about him that had his insides tied up in knots. And oh hell. He was beautiful, and he was here to go out with him, Spike. A surge of want hit him in the chest with a painful thud.
He hadn't been nervous like this for a long time, not pure stomach churning, tongue tied, cold sweat nerves that somehow tonight would go wrong after they'd fought their way so painfully to an understanding. It wasn't any consolation that Xander looked like he was feeling the same thing. He was deathly pale and looked on the verge of saying something, but stopped as his eyes travelled over Spike, taking in his appearance.
Spike shifted uncomfortably slightly embarrassed to have tried so hard with his clothes, his confidence wasn't increased by the fact that he didn't have a clue what he looked like, it was hard buying new clothes when you couldn't see yourself. He wondered if he should kiss Xander, that'd put a quick end to all this date stuff that was messing with his head, forget the beer, forget the chat, just hot skin and hardness rocking against him and sweet noises whimpered into his mouth, but the way Xander was watching him, half defensive, half wary warned him that it might not be the time to suggest it.
"Hi Xander" Spike said at last.
"Hey."
Xander knew he was staring but he couldn't stop. Spike, in a momentous break with tradition wasn't wearing his duster. He was wearing a three-quarter-length leather coat, obviously he couldn't bear to make a complete break with leather, a green shirt and a pair of black pants. The clothes were smart, brand new, and it was somehow incredibly touching that Spike had tried so hard for him. Even more touching was the fact that they didn't really suit him, the colour was somehow more draining than his usual battered black gear, making him look even paler, his hair even harsher and blonder.
"Image change." Xander stated awkwardly. /Yup it's true. I am an incisive, witty and intelligent conversationalist, with verbal skills like this why didn't I go into politics?/
Spike attempted to shrug casually. "Yeah well I thought I'd make an effort."
"It looks very um . . .different." Xander stammered. /Oh that's good. Way to compliment the guy. Smooth talking Harris, that's what they call me./ A flush of embarrassment began to rise. Oh this just got better.
"Different. Yeah thanks." Spike muttered stiffly, wishing he hadn't bothered with the new clothes.
"I'll just get my coat" Xander said hurriedly changing the subject, and forgetting all about his resolution to cancel. Somehow the look on Spike's face as he'd opened the door, all relief and nerves and uncertainty, so different from his usual effortless confidence had stopped him cold. As bizarre as this felt - and it felt pretty fucking bizarre - it was going to happen. Spike followed him inside while he grabbed his coat. It felt very strange to have Spike in his home when they weren't screaming at each other or ripping their clothes off.
But he was trying not to think about ripping their clothes off.
"Spike." He began nervously.
"What?" Spike replied warily.
Xander cleared his throat, and examined his fingernails minutely.
"You know how I said the other night I needed a moment because this was all happening a bit fast? Well I'm still kind of there, needing a moment I mean. So I'm kind of needing tonight to be a no naughty touching deal." He looked up at Spike, trying to read his face, wondering what would come first, the laughter, the anger, or maybe just some casual cutting response tossed over his shoulder as he walked out like: "Whatever mate, give us a call when you're ready to stop acting like a kid and play with the big boys."
Spike almost laughed. He hadn't seriously been expecting Xander to just fall back into bed with him without batting an eye. Hoped maybe, but not expected. Xander little speech, so serious and nervous sounded like some 16 year old girl explaining to her boyfriend that she just wasn't ready to go 'all the way', but the laughter died in his throat at the look on Xander's face, uncertain and worried, just *waiting* to be kicked in the teeth and once he might have actually revelled in it, looked for it even, but now, it just makes him want to be all baby soft and make it better. Weird feelings, feelings he's not used to having and doesn't really know how to deal with, but somehow, okay feelings.
"Alright." He said gently, and when did being gentle become so easy? He'd thought all that had been knocked out of him. "If that's how you want it. I won't try to change your mind."
"Thanks." Xander said uncertainly as relief, exultation, and, perversely, a faint flicker of disappointment that Spike didn't seem to want to argue about it mingled inside him.
Spike pointedly hovered by the door, and Xander suddenly realised he was desperate to pee. Shouldn't have had that beer.
"Ready?" Spike asked impatiently.
"Um . . .yeah." Xander replied, wimping out of telling Spike he needed to pee.
"So what are we doing?" Xander asked, as he locked the door behind him.
"Beer at the Bronze? " Spike asked. "Um, what do you want to do?"
Xander looked at him for a moment then began unlocking the door again. "I want to pee."
***
The short walk to the Bronze seemed to take at least three times longer tonight, and despite Xander's fervent hope that maybe a vampire would attack them on the way or something, just to break the tension a little, nothing happened and the silence continued to hang heavy between them. All in all they were both relieved when they arrived at last.
As they went in, they both took a quick glance around, although neither of them mentioned it, they were both checking that none of the Scoobies were there, but Wednesday nights at the Bronze were pretty quiet, no bands, just records. It might not be the most adventurous place for a first date but Xander was glad they had come here, anywhere more exotic would have had him running screaming for home.
Spike ordered them a couple of beers and they sat down in a dim corner, looking pretty much anywhere except at each other.
"So" Spike asked, staring at the table "how did the funeral go?"
Xander tensed instantly and Spike could have kicked himself. /Great. Just perfect, get him thinking about pain and loss and death. Why don't I just start reminiscing about the days with Dru and Angelus, that'll really get the evening going nicely./
"It was hard." Xander said stiffly, as he watched the bubbles rise in his beer. He really didn't want to talk about Joyce's funeral right now, or actually *ever* and if Spike hassled him about it then he just going to walk.
But he didn't. All he said was; "Yeah." Quietly. Like he understood.
No escape quite yet then.
"So what have you been doing?" he asked awkwardly.
"Um . . ." Spike recalled his activities of the last couple of days. Frightening passer-by's into giving him the money so he could afford to take Xander out, using a combination of threats, bribes and blackmail on Willie to get him to 'loan' Spike the money for the clothes. "Not much."
"Oh."
For a moment they sat in silence then Xander took a large gulp of beer. If nothing else at least he could get drunk. But then he might end up doing something stupid, like giving into the sudden crazy urge to remind himself that yes Spike's skin really was as silky as it looked. No - definitely not going to get drunk.
Spike took a long swallow of his own beer. Not bad as American beers go. Had better. Also had worse, like the night he was here with Buffy. He shot a quick look at Xander, suddenly worried that somehow Xander might have noticed as the thought of Buffy had passed through his head, and that would probably be all that was needed to put their date to an abrupt end, but Xander wasn't looking at him. He was gazing around the Bronze and drumming his fingers nervously on the table. Spike wanted to reach out and still his fingers but didn't dare. Weird that. He had no problem with fucking Xander until he screamed, but didn't dare reach over and touch his hand.
Mustn't think about fucking Xander until he screamed.
As the silence stretched out Spike picked at his black nail polish. His nails were going to be a state by the end of the night at this rate. This unaccustomed formality was shredding his nerves, for the first time in his unlife he was completely lost for words. /For fucks sake. I've known him for years. I know his friends. I lived in his basement. I've had sex with him. I've fought against, and alongside him. There's got to be *something* we can talk about!/ A cold trickle of sweat was inching down his spine as he tried to think of something, *anything* to say.
/Ask about patrol? It'll lead to Buffy. Ask about Glory? It'll lead to Buffy. Ask about *anything* it'll lead to sodding *Buffy*!/
Spike shifted uncomfortably and Xander was staring at the fire exit like it held the answer to the mystery of life, or maybe he just wanted to make a dash for it and was planning his exit.
Shit. He needed a smoke. Spike took out his pack. "Do you mind if I . . .?"
Xander jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, glancing up as Spike waved a cigarette vaguely in the air.
"No, uh, go ahead." Xander said, taken aback. Spike had always taken the attitude that he could light up whenever the hell he wanted and if anyone didn't like it then they could fuck off and die, and it was only a pity he couldn't assist with the second.
Spike fumbled to light up and Xander, who had never tried smoking wondered if now was the time to start. He knew Spike was trying his best, but somehow it wasn't helping, he still felt edgy and as tense as hell. Spike being polite was unnatural. This whole deal felt unnatural. Maybe they should have just stuck to what they were good at. Sex and fighting.
Spike finally managed to get his lighter to spark and lit up, taking a deep drag and exhaling. Okay. That killed a few seconds.
The silence fell again as they both looked aimlessly around at their surroundings. Xander shifted in his chair, and looked down at his hands. "I guess we're not so good with the talking huh?" he said softly.
For a second Spike froze, then let his cigarette continue on it's leisurely journey to his mouth.
"Well don't give up yet luv, we've not exactly given it a fair shot have we?" Cool, casual, calm, and he didn't have a clue how he was doing it, because the nerve endings were rippling in his stomach.
"As long as you don't mind the awkward pauses. In some cases longer than the actual conversation. " Xander joked, hiding his fear behind a flip remark, but Spike could see through that like glass and recognised it for what it was. A plea for reassurance.
"I'm not going anywhere mate, how about you?"
"No."
"Alright then, we're not gonna be having any sex and we both want to be here. Anything else you want to get straight before we start?" Spike asked looking at him directly, maybe at least they could cut through some of his insecurities and get the damn night at least moving.
Xander actually managed an awkward half smile. When did Spike learn how to read him so easily? "No. That's all for now."
"Good."
For a second they looked at each other, and there was something just *burning* in Spike's eyes, something Xander could feel reflected right back at Spike in his own face. Something almost like hope, a desperate desire, and frustration that whatever it was happening between them, they couldn't stop it, they were tied in for the whole ride. Almost making a mockery of this date, because in the end, a beer and a talk wouldn't change it. It was far to big, far too *powerful*.
Then Spike dropped his eyes, and Xander sucked in a quick relieved breath. Woah. That had been . . . intense.
"I'm glad we came here." Xander offered slightly panicked, suddenly desperate to fill the silence, and distract himself from the charge that was building between them.
"Yeah" Spike's voice sounded a little tight but it levelled out at he carried on talking to Xander's relief. "Thought we'd keep up the tradition, since you and yours practically live in here." Spike began flipping his packet of smokes over in his free hand.
He paused then carried on. "The first time I saw you was in here."
"Was it?" Xander asked surprised, his eyes drawn to the movement of Spike's hands. Watching his pale fingers toy with the packet. Fingers that had held him steady, slid over his skin, been inside him . . .
He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away, trying to concentrate on what Spike was saying.
"Yeah, you were over there." Spike gestured at the dance floor.
"You saw me dancing?"
For a second Spike's mind kind of flipped on him, and he had a sense memory, of their own private dance, Xander clenched around him, under him, could taste the sweat, smell the musk, hear the moans. . .
He shook his head slightly, slamming himself back to the Bronze, where they sat, opposite each other, not touching. "Um yeah."
"How embarrassing." Xander groaned.
"I thought you looked pretty good." Spike said seriously, this time recalling the right night, the right dance, alright at the time he had barely noticed Xander, too busy sizing up the Slayer but he was projecting back okay?
"I did? I mean, no I didn't. But thanks." Xander stuttered, unable to look Spike in the eye. An actual compliment, and from Spike as well. It was weird.
And kind of nice.
And weird.
He could feel Spike's eyes on him and he looked up to see Spike looking at him, a touch of amusement at his embarrassment, but mostly just . . .entertained, uncertain, appreciative, he didn't know why he'd ignored his sensible side and come out on this date, but that look was making him feel all kinds of glad that he had. Now that really was bizarre. But kind of okay.
For the first time he took a breath that actually felt like it was going all the way down to his lungs, and managed to drop his shoulder rigidity a couple of notches. Smiling properly, although a little shakily at Spike. Spike tentatively smiled back. There was something weird about the smile that took Xander a moment to trace. It was . . .nice. No raised eyebrow or curled lip or any other Spike extras, just . . .nice.
Spike dropped his eyes, and cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"So. You see Passions last night?"
Continued in the next part
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