Xander sidestepped a Frugalag demon trying on a pair of red silk panties in the aisle, and continued following Spike. He shook his head as Spike picked something off the shelf that could not *possibly* be a Furby, even if that's what the box said. Xander blinked, and the letters rearranged themselves. Oh, *that*.
"We have one of those; we ordered it online, remember?" Another couple steps and Spike had something else. Something very purple. "That, too." Spike, undaunted, proceeded down the aisle, Xander following with commentary. "We've got *three* of the Jellybellyfish, Spike. Nuh-uh, not that thing -- we've gone through five already; they keep breaking."
Spike didn't seem at all put out; he kept browsing the shelves and showing Xander things they might buy. Morrie's had just got their new weekly shipment in, and just like every week, Xander and Spike were here the moment the doors were unlocked. On new-shipment day, that meant 4 a.m. Two hours before sunrise, which gave them plenty of shopping time.
The sunlight itself wasn't a problem, since there was a tunnel that ran more or less from Morrie's back to the hotel, with a couple detours. But it also went past Tony's Doughnut Stand, and they were both physically incapable of passing Tony's when it was open without stopping in for at least a dozen doughnuts.
Doughnut-avoidance wasn't an issue most people, including Xander himself, would associate with Xander Harris. It was the going to Tony's *together* that he'd rather steer clear of. Since Tony opened up at exactly 6 a.m., Xander either had to get himself and Spike out of Morrie's and home by 5:50, or be stuck explaining yet again why Tony's didn't serve the blood-creme-filled kind. After years of being out-of-his-mind about Spike, there wasn't much Xander still found distasteful about vampirism, but blood and doughnuts was on the list. Especially Boston Creme doughnuts and blood.
Not that Xander was about to give up doughnuts over it -- there was out-of-his-mind, and there was just plain crazy. But he'd found that if *he* brought home a box or nine, Spike never even brought up the subject; it was only when confronted with glass cases filled with rows on rows of them that he went all Equal Pastries For Vampires. Thus, no Tony's. At least not before breakfast.
"No, Spike. We *have* one," Xander said again. Spike looked like he was about to break into a pout, then he shrugged and put the chocolate vibrating dildo back on the shelf.
All the new stuff was definitely out on display, Xander knew. Morrie wasn't stupid enough to fail to sell something by letting the stockroom forget to bring it out -- by not letting the stockroom try anything out until after everything but the 'test models' were out on the sales floor. But so far, he wasn't seeing anything that was new to *him*.
Xander looked around, shaking his head at Spike as he held up a glow-in-the-dark French Tickler with remote control. He could see where the new arrivals had been put up, all the signs and display cards pointing out items a less thorough shopper might miss. Nothing he hadn't seen, bought, and used, before. There wasn't anything new, because there wasn't anything *new.*
And none of the old stuff looked appealing.
He stopped dead in his tracks. "Spike--"
The box of Mogtherian Wiggle-Worms that Spike had just pulled from the shelf dropped from his hand as he spun around to face Xander again, face stricken with panic. At least Xander assumed it was panic; it was the same expression Spike had worn the time he found out the hard way that "For External Use Only" was actually a warning on some products, not just a guideline.
Spike grasped Xander's wrists. "What is it? Oh god, it's the kids, isn't it. Goober's got ick, and you didn't know how to tell me..."
"No, right, you wouldn't bring that up in Morrie's where anybody could hear. Can't be Angel, same thing. Unless you wanted to warn me that he's planning to sing at my Deathday party, but I already knew that and you already knew I knew that because there's no way you didn't know I had *that* conversation bugged." Spike pulled his hands away from Xander's and ran one through his hair. "Oh no. It's Battlestar Galactica. They've cancelled it. Shit."
Xander blinked. "Spike, you don't even *like* Battlestar Galactica. The new one *or* the old one. Or the one in the middle."
"Yeah, but you do, and you'll be a right cranky bastard if they've cancelled it."
Was it true that spouses grew to look like each other? Or was that people and their pets? But Spike already looked like a piranha, at least sometimes. In gameface or whenever somebody was unwise enough to let Spike get hold of the bowl of Cheesy Chips during a party. At any rate, Xander was sure nobody would have any problem telling they were a couple at this moment, with his hand running through his own hair in mirror image to Spike's, as he stared at his husband.
"What are you *talking* about?"
Spike's expression changed from worry to confusion. "You haven't asked me that in years."
Xander rolled his eyes. "It's not because I actually *know*, you know. It's just that I've learned that asking the question will not actually make me *less* confused. But seriously now, what-huh?"
"Well, you used *that* voice when you said my name. You said 'Spike--' with the double hyphen thingy at the end, I can tell, and you only say that when somebody's dying or we're completely and utterly out of lube and all the stores are closed and we can't get to them anyway because we're penniless and trapped in the flat with 10 foot high snowdrifts outside that won't be plowed for at least a day."
Xander spoke slowly, as if to an insane vam--- Spike. "Spike, that has never happened. *Would* never happen. We live in California!"
"Yeah, but if it did, that's the voice you'd use!"
Xander shook his head slowly, thinking about how there had been a time in his life when he'd thought Peggy Jackson was the ideal mate in his life. True, he'd been all of ten and Peggy was the lady who sold ice cream from the Yum-Sicle truck. But he'd told Willow and Jesse that he'd wanted to marry her. *Something* had happened to make him end up here: arguing about lube with his vampire-husband in the middle of a sex shop.
Which brought him screeching right back to the reason he'd used the double-hyphen Spike in the first place.
His expression must have changed, because suddenly Spike was right there, holding his arms like Xander was about to fall over, and looking very seriously concerned. "Whatever it is, love, we can deal with it. Just tell me, all right?"
"I'm bored," he said at last.
Spike frowned. "You wanna argue about something else?"
"No." Xander shook his head, and dreaded elaborating on what he meant. "I mean..." He waved a hand at the store.
Spike looked confused, then asked, "You want to go on to the next aisle?" It was clear Spike didn't understand why not liking the 'edible motorized toy' aisle was cause for alarm.
"I've *been* to the next aisle."
"Er.... while I was looking at the Feengler Spray? Didn't see you leave."
"No, I've been to the next aisle *before*. And the one after that. We *own* most of the next aisle. Hell, that's the literature aisle; I even manufacture some of it. We own most of the things in this store. And what we don't own, we've tried, and what we haven't tried, there's a damn good reason for so really you can stop trying to convince me, because I don't *bend* that way."
"Oh, come on -- bit of stretching and some warm-up exercises..."
Xander shook his head. "Not the point, Spike. I just-- There is *nothing* here that's remotely new to me. Nothing. Think about that for a second."
Spike fell silent, possibly even because he was doing as requested. Xander waited, and after a moment Spike cocked his head to one side. Definitely thinking about it.
"Morrie's needs a new supplier?" he finally guessed.
But Xander shook his head. He was beginning to feel a little sick to his stomach as *he* thought about it and tried not to think about what it meant.
"So -- what you're saying," Spike began, speaking carefully, "Is that we don't need to buy anything because we have everything we want."
Xander started to correct him, then his brain took a warm fuzzy moment to say 'glurble' because Spike had done the 'you-means-we' thing. Then he shook his head. "What I mean is -- there's nothing here I want. There's nothing at *home* I want." He took a deep breath, and whispered, "I'm bored."
Spike's eyes widened. "You're bored. Of sextoys."
Xander nodded. "Yes."
"What about the ones off the Plaything Channel? There's that infomercial with Antoinette M'gurbsi where she does that thing with her tongue and the two electric leads, and then--"
"The other end of that thing is designed for somebody with more holes and a higher voltage tolerance than either of us have, Spike." Sure, that was *just* what they needed: the best orgasm of his unlife for Spike, and a bed-ful of dust for Xander to clean up afterwards. "You were too busy drooling over her breasts to notice the three-minute long scroll of species whose body types are incompatible with the product, weren't you."
"Well, there's *six* of 'em! And I didn't notice all the drool puddling on my side of the couch."
"Luckily for both of us, and apparently unlike some of us, I can drool and comprehend safety warnings at the same time."
Spike waved that off and frowned, obviously thinking hard. "What about cross-dimension? They had some nice bits and pieces in Victorian vampworld that we didn't end up buying on our honeymoon."
"No to the coddling-grinder and again no. I don't *care* if they replaced the ouchy parts with feathers. Just no. And we've ordered most of the rest by catalog -- the ones your mum didn't send in her Christmas hamper, and thank you for undermining my attempt to block *that* image out of my head forever."
"Not so much the hamper as her *shopping* for them." Despite his best intentions, Xander remembered Christmas Day. Opening the card first, and thinking she'd sent clothes. Who could blame him, when the card had mentioned not knowing his size for "the black one" and that she could exchange it if it didn't fit, and that she'd had Other Spike measured so she knew everything would fit His Spike.
Spike had tried to say something polite in the face of apparently getting socks and underwear from his mum for the holidays. Then they'd opened the hamper and found sex toys.
Then they'd shut the hamper and channel-flipped until they landed on a Lawrence Welk marathon, which they'd watched until they could each glance at the other without turning colors that vampires, at least, weren't supposed to have the blood circulation to be *able* to turn. It'd been a whole day before Spike could bring himself to open the basket again, and a week before Xander would even consider using the contents.
And even then the pre-sex warmup had required fifteen minutes of chortling together about the look on Alternate-Spike's face when his mum asked him his size -- or god help the poor idiot, dragged him into a fitting room.
Spike grinned a slightly evil grin. "Just picture her standing outside the fitting room door in Ambercrombie's, asking if everything's all right in there and does dork-me need any help getting things fastened."
"Porn?" It wasn't entirely clear whether Spike was deliberately mishearing the word or offering another option, but either way, it wasn't remotely helpful.
"Bored." Spike repeated it slowly, like he was just now processing the word. "You're bored. How can you be bored? I'm a hundred and thirty mumble whatsis and *I'm* not bored. *You're* just a babe in arms!"
"I know!" Xander looked around him, trying -- desperately -- to find anything that looked remotely like something he wanted to use when they got home -- or better, in the trying-out rooms at Morrie's. But there was nothing. He racked his brain trying to figure out what he wanted -- he knew he could describe what he was in the mood for to any of Morrie's salesthings and they would instantly be able to offer a selection of applicable purchases.
Xander's brain reminded him that Angel -- not that anybody was supposed to know it, but that Naga clerk of Morrie's was a total gossip-hound -- had once held that job.
Xander's brain came crashing to a halt.
At some point after that he became aware that Spike was saying his name and waving a hand in front of Xander's face. "Xan, love? Reboot, please. Look, do you want me to call Morrie? Maybe he knows about something he hasn't bothered offering for sale. What am I saying, Morrie offers everything for sale through his interdimensional catalogue even if it's not on the shelves. Xan? Xander?"
"Spike? What's wrong with me?"
Spike looked truly concerned, now. "Maybe it's a spell? Wes still hasn't got back at me for that turning his beer green this March."
"Yes, he did -- he had Willow hack our network and replace our desktops with those naked pictures of Ethan, remember?"
Spike shuddered. "Oh yeah. It wasn't the naked; don't mind the naked. Hell, the naked would've been fine."
"Please don't remind me. Or say 'fluffy'." Spike rubbed his chin. "Maybe I did something else to piss him off and I don't know about it?"
"You're implying you might have gone a day without pissing off Wes, or Angel or Gunn? You do remember that he likes them better than he likes us?"
Spike frowned. "There's no way I could have been caught yet for anything I haven't been turned into a newt already for. Can't be Wes, unless he's gone to pre-emptive strikes, and he likes to pretend he's too good for that."
"Maybe it was Willow?" Xander seized on another likely possibility. "Except -- why would Willow want me to not want sex? Willow likes me -- not that way, but she wouldn't want to do this to me."
"She did help Wesley with the hackery business," Spike pointed out.
"Yeah, but that was because we didn't send her copies of your baby pictures until she found out Angel had one. She's happy now; I sent her a full set of honeymoon pics, plus those and minus the nekkidity."
Spike shot him the glare of It's A Good Thing I Love You Or Else You'd Be So Dead Right Now, but didn't take the opportunity to complain about the spreading around of evidence that he'd once been three years old, as he usually did. "What about a competitor? Daily Doings has been sending around those Grugian demons a lot, ever since last quarter when they barely posted a 5% increase in sales."
Xander stared at his husband. Spike stared back, obviously clueless. "Spike? How do you know anything about anyone's quarterly earnings?"
"What, you think I just lie around all day eating bonbons and reading trashy romance novels while you're at work? Why shouldn't I pay attention to the business that's keeping me in the manner to which I've become accustomed?"
"Paying for your bonbons and trashy romance novels, you mean."
"Exactly. If by romance you mean porn and by bonbons you mean bonbons. Anyway, behooves a man to pay attention to the rise and fall of his bread and butter, doesn't it?" Spike asked.
"Did you just say 'behooves'?"
"Er," Spike said. "My point is I bet there's a perfectly logical reason why nothing in this store looks like fun." He reached over and picked up a Pixie Wand. "Not even--?"
Xander shook his head. They'd once spent two weeks doing nothing but sleep, grab snacks, and use that thing. Well, a blue version, not the neon green one Spike was holding. "No, Spike."
"So, we go home and corner Wes and find out what's been done to you by who-*ever*, and we get it undone."
"I hope you're right." Xander dropped his empty shopping basket on one of the stacks at the end of the aisle.
"Of course I'm right. When am I *ever* not right?" Spike asked as they left the store.
Xander tripped over the doorframe while trying to walk and stare incredulously at Spike at the same time. "You -- I -- you asked me that just to distract me so I'd take up the entire walk home with listing out the examples, didn't you."
"Of course not. That would be wrong."
"You think I did *what*?" Wesley was going to laugh, and Spike was going to have to hit him with something, and then there'd be all kinds of trouble, because Angel and Gunn had this invisible and supposedly completely non-magical someone's-hitting-Wesley sensor, so they'd be here in seconds, and then all hell would break loose.
Then again, he could confront all the local suspects at once that way. Except for Cordelia, but she'd likely show up just to watch the fireworks. Hmm.
"Put a spell on Xander so he's bored with sex," Spike repeated, waiting for the laughter.
Wesley stared at him for a second, then he stared at Xander. Xander did a pretty good job of staring back at him, but Spike joined in the 'don't piss us off' stern frown-a-thon. His hand twitched to grab Xander by the arm and pull him behind Spike, so he could protect him from whatever Wes was about to do -- except Wes probably needed to have a clear line of sight to undo whatever nasty spell he'd done.
"A spell," Wesley said thoughtfully, looking at Xander like he *wasn't* about to burst into laughter. Spike didn't relax, even when Wesley got that cute little scowl he always got when he was thinking really hard.
Spike reflexively looked around for any signs of Angel, who not only had mysterious Wes-picking-on radar, but had a not-so mysterious 'someone's-thinking-Wes-is-cute' radar. Both of which ended up with the same result for the someone.
Privately, Spike thought Angel was a dork -- no, Spike corrected himself, still waiting for Wes to say something other than 'hmm'. Everyone knew Angel was a dork. Privately Spike thought Angel was a dork times infinity plus one, neener neener, no tag-backs.
"Well?" Xander demanded, and Spike heard that note in his voice that meant he needed to have something torn apart so it would stop upsetting him. Except the something was Wes, and back to the Angel radar thing.
Wesley shook his head. "I don't detect any signs of a spell on you. Other than the usual ones."
"Well, you would say that, wouldn't you, if it was you put it--" Spike stopped short. "Hang about. Which usual ones?"
Wesley ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. "The anti-squirrel spell you had me put on the both of you, the geas Lorn had cast to keep you two the hell away from his equipment--"
Spike snorted. "Like I'd *want* his equipment."
"His karaoke equipment. He thought it prudent, after the last time."
"It's complete coincidence that the thing decided to play Mannheim Steamroller Does Pachelbel's Canon for five hours straight, right after Lorn cut off our rendition of the Time Warp," Xander protested. "It's possessed. I *said* it was possessed..."
Wesley merely raised an eyebrow, and kept going. "The spell that's set to turn Xander into a leprechaun the next time he touches my beer-- no wait, that's Spike."
"What're you, daft? No such thing as leprechauns!"
"Not *yet*," Wesley said, pointedly. "Then there's Willow's soul spell, of course. For whenever the two of you decide..."
"That Xander's old enough to buy beer," Spike interrupted smoothly.
"*Look* old enough," Xander interrupted *him*. "I'm already old enough. Heck, I could buy a beer company if I wanted to."
Spike was about to tell Wes to get on with it, when he realized what his glurble had said and turned on him. "And you *haven't*?"
Xander shrugged. "The only ones in my price range were froo-froo small breweries that make elephant piss in a bottle. And I mean that in a bad way."
"You didn't buy me a beer company?" Spike repeated. What had he done to piss Xander off, last Christmas, birthday, St. Vigeous Day?
"Hello? Spike? Froo-froo?"
"You're married to me, and you're worried about a beer company being too froo-froo?"
"No, I was worried about you saying 'do I have to drink this crap?' when I pointed out the free lifetime supply."
"You're supposed to say 'Spike, you're too manly to be considered froo-froo'." Spike crossed his arms, and decided that someone was going to get spanked for this. He'd just have to figure out which of them it would be.
Xander crossed his arms right back, and said, "Spike, you bleach your hair, paint your nails, and sing along with Bambi Wilson."
"If this is going to take a while, I do have some research I need to get back to," Wesley said, calmly.
Spike turned back to him. "So you're saying there's *nothing* on him that's not supposed to be there? And you're not lying because you did it to get back at me for something you haven't figured out I've done yet?"
"I'm saying there's nothing on him that's not supposed to be there, and if I were to do such a thing, I certainly wouldn't attack you through an innocent bystander."
Spike grinned. "Oh, Xander's not innocent. He held the bag while I--"
"Spike!" Xander elbowed him in the ribs, and Spike nodded.
"Right. There was no bag. And Xander didn't hold it even if there was, which there wasn't."
"Spike..." Xander had that needing something-or-body squished for him look again, except now they didn't have a body for squishing. Which was probably what he was Spike-ing about.
"Well, if it's not a spell, Mr. Didn't Put A Spell On Xander Pants, what the hell else can it be?" Spike found himself asking Wesley.
Wesley blinked at him for a moment, obviously trying to turn the gears in his brain to follow the conversation. Why a bloke who could sing I Am The Very Model of a Modern Major-General in Sumerian, Grrrrrrrrrrrr'ashtak, and Esperanto couldn't instantly translate Spike-and-Xander-speak by now, Spike hadn't a clue.
But then Wesley said, in a rather serious tone, "Are you asking me for advice?"
Now Spike was blinking. "What? Of course! Spell-Putting-On-Er Advice! Weren't you here for the conversation we just had? What's the matter, Angel not boinking you often enough? Your brain full up with--"
Xander elbowed him again, and Spike gave his husband a glare.
"Testosterone, I was going to say," he said severely. "Besides, it isn't like I'm not allowed to say s--" He stopped as Xander elbowed him again. Spike looked around. "What, did the hotel get a PG rating while we were gone to the sex shop?"
"Don't be a moron, Spike," was all Xander said. Spike had to think about it for a moment before he realized he really didn't get what Xander was on about.
"Spike, if you are asking if there is any magical reason for Xander to be bored with the idea of sex, my expert opinion is 'no,'" Wesley interrupted. "If you want advice on non-magical reasons--" He stopped, looked from Spike to Xander and back again, looking distinctly and suddenly extremely British. Not Spike's sort of British, either, unless it was the Spike-when-standing-in-front-of-a-basket-of-sex-toys-from-his-mum sort. "I think you should ask...er... Um. Anybody. Other than me."
"Who would I ask other than you?" Spike cocked his head. "You think I'm asking *Angel* for sex tips?" He blinked. "Wait, I'm not asking you for sex tips."
"Good." Wesley nodded, and looked back down at his research. "Glad we've cleared that up."
"I'm not asking anybody for sex tips." Spike looked at Xander. "Am I asking anybody for sex tips? Good lord, do I *need* to ask anybody for sex tips?"
"Not in my library, you don't," Wesley said. "Get out."
"Spike." Xander's voice was low and the hand on his arm was tight, but no longer jabbing. "Come on."
"All right," Spike said, "but I'm not asking Cordy for sex tips either. She'd never stop laughing."
"Actually she'd probably check you for a fever and offer to drive us both to the hospital," Xander corrected.
Spike started to nod, then he stopped. "Er -- do you think we should?"
Xander gave him a look like he'd lost his mind. Not the usual level of 'Spike you're insane' but the higher level of 'Spike, you have obviously suffered damage to your brain in a bad way, and I'm ten seconds away from calling Giles or Angel or both.'
"Go to hospital, I mean," Spike clarified, before Xander could think he'd actually meant asking Cordelia for sex tips. Even though if it came to asking Cordy or going without sex with Xander, he'd be buying Cordelia lunch for a week at her favorite restaurants -- in Paris, London, and Rome.
"This is not a hospital matter," Xander said firmly, but there was the tiniest quiver in his voice that said he wasn't really 100% convinced.
Spike really didn't like that quiver. He liked a lot of Xander's quivers, like the one he made when you slid an ice-cube across his naked back, or the one when you tickled the soles of his feet, or the one just before he came, or the one hanging on the wall in their suite, full of Nerf arrows, but he didn't like this quiver.
"Er...headshrinker?" he offered diffidently.
Xander's eyes grew wide. "You think I need to see a *psychiatrist*?"
"Um. No? No, obviously not. No, I meant--"
Xander held up one hand in Spike's face. "Do *not* tell me you meant that Witch Doctor on La Brea with the Mayembe demon for a familiar. You've *seen* what happens to people whose heads he just 'oops!' can't unshrink."
Spike tried to look innocent, but he could tell how badly he was failing by the twitching of Xander's eyebrow. "Okay, no, I meant the psycho sort."
Xander was glaring at him, now, which a) wasn't anything he wasn't normally turned on by and b) a lot better than the almost-not quiver. Had this been any other sort of argument, discussion, or anything else at all, Spike would have gone with the impulse to kiss Xander silly and drag his clothes off for sex.
But as that was rather the problem, Spike didn't think--
He stopped thinking for a second, and thought. He turned the whole situation upside-down, then around, then gave it a good, hearty shake.
"Spike? Now you're scaring me," Xander's voice interrupted the train of thought Spike had got going. No matter, because he'd discovered one small logical flaw in the whole kit and caboose. Or caboodle, if you didn't want to mix metaphors.
He gave Xander a kiss.
Xander kissed him back reflexively, then pushed him away. "Spike! That's not going to help!" The quiver was back and so was a really awful scared look in Xander's eyes. But Spike shook his head.
"No, it might. Pay attention." And he kissed Xander again, ignoring the soft 'ahem' which was supposed to remind him that somebody was standing there, watching.
He concentrated on kissing Xander. After a moment, Xander kissed him back -- though he could tell Xander still had no clue what he was doing. Rather *why* he was doing it. Spike stopped for a second and checked -- confusion and annoyance looked back at him, so he put his hands on either side of Xander's face, and stared at him for a bit with every ounce of sappy glurbleity he could muster. It wasn't difficult, since he'd given up on being anything dignified when it came to Xander, a long time ago.
The confusion started melting out of Xander's eyes as Xander's own level of glurbleiousness rose. They stood there for a moment, being mushy and sappy and he noticed that Wesley was not trying to leave. Then Spike kissed Xander again, softly, on the lips. Then again, and he nibbled a bit. Licked Xander's lower lip to make him open his mouth, then gently placed his tongue on top of Xander's, rubbing slightly.
When he pulled back, some hours or days or something like that later, he felt dazed. From the look of it, Xander felt a little dazed, too.
"So," Spike said, clearing his throat a couple times to say it clearly. "Feel at all aroused?"
"Mip?" Xander said.
"No. Get out," Wesley said, and Spike could tell by the hitch in his breathing that he was lying, and Spike didn't care at all. He just stared at Xander, grinning.
"Can I take that as a yes?" he asked.
"You can take that as a do that again. Now." Xander brought his lips to Spike's, and this time there wasn't anything resembling softness in it -- just heat and wet and hungryhungryhungry. Funny how Spike had always thought the kids took after *him*, when it was obviously Xander who'd passed on to the piranhas the genes for stripping you raw with just the power of his mouth.
"You can take that as a promise," said Wesley, rising and crossing his arms, "that if you two have sex in this library I'm not only going to make you clean the carpet with your toothbrushes -- and I refer to the electric Mickey Mouse ones you bought on your honeymoon which you seem to love so deeply -- but I'm going to get Angel and Gunn in here to *watch*. And I mean the toothbrush cleaning, not the sex, before you ask, Spike."
Xander finally pulled away and looked at Spike. He smiled widely, if shakily. "Whoah -- talk about your instant cure!"
Spike rubbed his chin. "Hmm. Dunno. How d'you feel about that thing with the squirt bulb and the fizzy powder?"
Xander scrunched up his nose. "Eh. Been there, done that." Then he frowned, looking troubled. "Oh. Damn. Not cured."
Spike traced a finger along Xander's jawline, then blew softly on the skin he'd just touched. "And how do you feel about that?"
Xander's eyes went dark and woozy. "I can state for the record and without a doubt -- or much of anything else -- in my mind, that I am completely and utterly not not interested in *that*."
"Excellent. I'll notify the authorities immediately," Wesley said, still trying to sound stern and determined. Still failing, but Spike didn't care. Or he did care, but it wasn't about whether or not they were going to put on a show for Wes. This was just about making that look in Xander's eyes stay there for as long as possible, and seeing how many times Spike could make him make *that* noise.
"So, we'll just have to try having normal-- er, unkink-- er. Sex without any add-ons, extra bits, or...or..." Spike tried to figure out what classification of sex toys he was missing. Xander distracted him by giving him a kiss -- the slow, gentle sort that didn't make anyone need to lose their clothes *right* *now*. Except Spike still wanted to.
"Just you," Xander said, and Spike felt something inside his chest-cavity go thump-squish down into his boots.
"Dear *god* you two are morons. Will you please get away from my books before I have to turn you into something that's incapable of mating?"
They both turned their heads towards him. Sort of. In the way where they could each see him out of at least one eye. "You wouldn't," Xander said, and sounded almost sure.
"He *couldn't*," Spike corrected. "Not that *we're* incapable of mating while being."
"End tables," Wesley said shortly.
"End tables can mate. Where d'you think lap desks come from?" Spike asked.
"I fear trying to explain basic genetics to the humanoid grandparents of a school of piranha would only make my head hurt. More. Before we even got into the fact that inanimate objects don't have genetics at all. Please go away."
Spike tapped someone's nose that was not Wesley's, and not his own. "Hey Xan, wanna--"
"You didn't let me finish the question."
"Go up to the suite and peel your clothes off with my teeth, then have long, slow, passionate sex where nothing beeps, buzzes, whirrs, thwacks, sprays oil or counts to ten in German, and the only thing in the bed besides you, me, and a bottle of lube is a big comfy blanket to snuggle up in afterwards?"
Spike looked at Wesley. "Did you put a mind-reading spell on him?"
Wesley pushed his chair into the table and stalked past them, out the library doors. "Fine. *I'll* go away."
"You left your book," Spike called after him.
"Don't need it," Wesley called back.
"Going upstairs to jump the muscle boys?"
"God, yes," came the faint reply, moving away from them.
Spike returned his full attention to kissing Xander. When he had to stop to let Xander breathe, he raised an eyebrow. "Wanna have sex here?"
But Xander shook his head. "You, me, bed. Now."
Spike *could* have argued. He was capable of it. But there was no reason. Spike grabbed Xander, thought about flinging him over his shoulder and carrying him, but decided maybe they'd just walk for a change. One last, quick kiss to last the journey, and together, hand in hand, they left the library.
A week later, Xander leaned back against the counter at Morrie's, and smiled fondly at the back of a certain Pixie-Wand-holding vampire, three aisles away. Well, as fondly as he could smile with a mouth stuffed full of blueberry-banana doughnut with rainbow sprinkles.
When Spike turned around and held the toy -- Now with auto-warming gel! -- up, Xander shook his head, but didn't stop smiling.
"Still not doin' it for you, huh?" Xander looked to his left to find round black eyes appraising him, over a large orange bill. The mouth kind, not the kind that he wasn't paying because he hadn't *bought* anything here in an entire week.
"Hey, Morrie." Xander swallowed crumbs and shook his head. "Nah. I think this is for real. I've actually kicked the sex-toy habit."
The five-and-a-half-foot tall rubber duck tilted its -- his -- head at Xander. "Habit? Like it's an addiction? Last Tuesday you were high-tailing it outta here like you thought you'd come down with leprosy of the brain because you weren't interested in any of the new merch, and now it's a *good* thing?"
He sounded... well, Morrie was sort of incapable of not sounding jolly; it was something about the built-in squeak in his voice. But he sounded kind of miffed, now, on top of the jolly. Mifolly. Jiffed.
Xander held up his half-a-donut-containing hand. "Hey, this is *me* here, Mor. I'd never knock the spiritual and moral value of plastiflesh and D-rings. And it's still fun to hang out here. Just seems like maybe the personal attraction's worn off." He was... surprisingly not all that worried about it, anymore. Or, he thought, as he watched Spike bend over to look at something on a bottom shelf, maybe not so surprisingly, after all.
"So *none* of the new stuff catches your eye?" Morrie was saying, as Xander finally tore said eye, and the other one, away from his vampire's ass.
"Actually, yes. *This* is the best idea you've had in the history of history." Xander grinned, and chomped down on blueberry-banana goodness, while pointing to the box of doughnuts on the counter. He swallowed, and continued, "Free doughnuts on new stock day means Spike gets to shop for as long as he wants, and *I* get breakfast without having to listen to him bitch about Tony's not baking flavors no mortal man should ever have to think about. Sheer genius, man. Er. Duck."
Were Morrie's black cartoon-eyes... glinting? "You missed the sign on the box lid, didn't you."
Xander blinked, then reached for his wallet. "They're not free? Oh, sorry. Well, still a great idea; one-stop shopping."
Morrie shook his head. "Oh, they're free. *This* week. Got to let people sample the new product, right?"
"New product?" Xander had figured Morrie ordered the doughnuts from Tony's; they were warm, and certainly tasted fresh. He flipped down the lid of the open box, and read the bright yellow Morrie's label attached to it. "You-- they what?" Xander looked up. "No, seriously. You can *do* that with doughnuts?"
"Ain't technology grand?" Morrie said, grinning even wider than usual.
"But how would you even-- well, maybe if... Huh. Oh. And then... Yeah! Oh wow." Xander turned and waved wildly. "Spike, you've *got* to come see this!"
"Kicked the sex-toy habit, my fluffy yellow ass!" Morrie muttered smugly, and waddled away towards his office.