Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project
Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project

Shoulda Gone To Europe
By Wendy
For Morrigushout

Xander didn't really want to see Spike again. Ever. Quite a reliable position to hold to. Spike was a vampire, an evil, bloodsucking vampire, who was (except for the few times he'd saved the world) mainly someone who'd end the world tomorrow. This was why the sight of Spike on his doorstep was something not to be desired. Also, it was three am.

Xander leaned against the door jam, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He ran his hand through his tangled mess of hair, and smirked as he realised he'd never, ever, invited Spike inside. "Aren't you dead?"

"You bloody well know I'm not." Spike's temperament obviously hadn't been improved by being dead. And of course, he'd had to work in close proximity to Angel for months. Xander knew how that could sure aggravate a fellow. "Andrew couldn't keep his mouth shut if you tried to pay him."

"All true." Xander stood quite still, waiting to see what Spike was up to.

"Well, isn't this a pretty parley." Spike pouted his lips and regarded Xander through hooded eyes. "I only came to you as courtesy, like."

Xander realised he was getting no begging from Spike. "What do you want?" End of patience, end of tether, end of rope, end of more things that tie...

"Invite me in and I'll let you know." Spike folded his arms and tried to lean against the outside of the door in an obvious mockery of Xander's pose. All nonchalance was, however, destroyed by coming a little too close to the door. Once he picked himself up off the floor, and Xander had stopped laughing, the act was dropped. "Seriously, I didn't know who else to go to."

"And I can always ask Willow to uninvite you later, as you are about to say." Xander forestalled any argument. He wasn't the carefree loser he'd been in Sunnydale. Responsibilities to way too many Slayers were aging him faster than anything else ever had. And he'd had his fun. "It is actually quite good to see you, in a weird evil way." He stretched his hand out to let Spike by.

"Need a bit more than that, mate." Spike's eyes shifted around, refusing to meet Xander's. "But I did bring beer."


Beer was cold and yummy. The faint fuzz of alcohol furring the corners of his brain was even better, especially with the bombshell Spike had dropped. End of the world -- this time it needed alcohol.

"You're joking right? I mean, not even Angel is that stupid. Are you sure he's not evil again? LA and Angel haven't really, you know, meshed or something." Xander regarded the level of drink in his beer bottle for a second, and then swigged it back. Spike sat back, not quite enjoying the panic.

"No, not evil. I think it's something to do with that redemption thing." Spike leaned forward and opened his mouth to speak.

"It's just, you know, with the easy lose clause on his soul. How does that soul thing work for you too? Does it have a losing it clause too," babbled Xander, still trying to get a grip on his runaway mind.

"Not as far as I know." Spike was grim. "But that's why we need to know e have the Slayer's to back us up if something goes wrong."

"Perhaps, it requires special sex. You know, a... blow job or something." Xander shifted uncomfortably. "Anya used to give the best... She had this thing she'd do with her tongue."

There was a morose silence.

Spike decided to keep it light-hearted. "Best blow job I ever got was from..."

"Buffy?" Xander's face twisted. His self-control was rapidly fraying.

"Not a chance. This tuppenny whore round the back of the Tivoli Gardens. I miss Europe." Spike spoke plain. "Finest tongue I'd ever felt. Shame 'she' turned out to be a 'he'. Must have been the prettiest boy in the whole damn city."

Xander sputtered his beer. "Huh?"

"I wonder how many blow jobs he'd had to give to get the technique that perfect. He did this thing with breathing and flicking -- I should see if it works." Spike snaffled a beer from Xander's case.


A hell of a lot more beers later, and a lot of morose silences and navel gazing led to Spike wondering where he was going to spend the day. "I should be heading back to the car. It's still got the blacked-out windows, for the sun."

"Nah. Stay here -- got the bedroom nice and dark in case of nightshift, or sleeping Slayers who've pulled a nightshift." Xander heaved himself up off the sofa. "Bed for me too."

"So you can have your wicked way with them too?" Spike waggled his eyebrows.

Xander rose to the bait easily. "I'll have you know that room is a sex-free zone. No 'shagging' going on in there."

Spike merely stood and pursed his lips in such a way that it looked like he was laughing wildly at Xander. He stalked towards the room, throwing a little swagger in his walk. In a high falsetto, he mocked, "Come and get it, big boy." Xander leapt across the room, hands outstretched to grab Spike around his scrawny little neck. The ever unfortunate Xander naturally connected with a low side table on the way and flew the rest of the way rather less gracefully. He landed in a heap at Spike's feet.

Spike picked his up, and looked thoughtfully at him now. "Sorry about that, mate. I shouldn't be winding you up when we really need your help."

Caught short by the courtesy, Xander's quick mouth momentarily short-circuited. Then before his brain had a chance to reconnect: "You could always thank me by trying out some of those blow job moves on me."

There was silence.

Spike closed the distance between them, and planted his lips firmly on Xander's. Then, without allowing Xander to catch his breath, he fell to his knees, tugging hard at Xander's pants. The hand grasping was oddly gentle and Xander felt himself aroused by the merest suggestion of breath on his exposed stomach. He felt himself pushed back against a wall as Spike's tongue made the first of many circuits around his balls.


As the buzz faded, and Xander rearranged his clothing, he turned to Spike. "What was that all about?"

"Best way to make sure you'd help us." Since he'd been dead, Spike's poker face had never been as secure as it once had been. And the slight quavering of his voice and the refusal to meet Xander's eyes suggested other reasons.

"Ah. Well, if saving the world, with Slayer help, of course, doesn't work out for you, you could always move to Amsterdam and start dressing like a girl." Xander offered his hand to help Spike up.

Spike took the hand. "I'd look fabulous in a dress."

Xander needed no further response.