When did Xander Harris learn how to smirk?
Spike got a lot of harassment over his smirk. He used it often, to keep people on edge – uncertain of his intentions. With that bleeding chip in his head, he was limited as to his actions, but even this little bunch of do-gooders he’d got thrown in with flew into a flutter when he launched his world-famous smirk.
He may not have the ability to see himself in any reflective surfaces, but he had no problem seeing the reactions of others when he gave them a sly smile, or a set of cheekbones to die for – and Spike was always quick to mention that many had. When the scent of musky want wafted his way, he knew that he still had it. Even if Spike no longer could, he knew that his looks could kill.
Besides, he could still get up to a lot of trouble, even if he were no longer capable of draining his victims dry. Blood wasn’t the only thing of value one could obtain from a body, whether that body was dead, or alive. He did well enough; he kept himself in blood, smokes, and whiskey, and what more could a vamp ask for, right? Well, aside from sex.
And that brought Spike right back to Xander-bloody-Harris, and that sexy smirk. The tight-fisted Watcher, or that whiny, little Slayer always managed to find something ugly to say when Spike let loose his smirk, but did they even acknowledge Harris’? Well, that might have something to do with the fact that Harris managed to keep his smirk under-wraps until he was alone with Spike. And what was that all about, anyroad?
Spike did have to admit that the look was appealing; he always had been a sucker for dark hair, and dark, expressive eyes. The problem was, the smirk gave Harris the look of a predator, and while Spike was more than a little attracted by the idea of being pursued by an equal, he had never even imagined that Harris might have what it took to give him a good run for his money. He didn’t even mind being the quarry, as long as the end result was a good buggering, and not a dusty fatality.
They were on the usual gang-bang they laughingly called a patrol. Everyone was working together tonight, due to the size, and quantity, of the demons they were hunting. It was going to be a tough fight, and Spike was looking forward to it. He couldn’t wait to rip the head right off one of these buggers, and shove it down the thing’s throat – even if he’d have to wait until it bent over before he could reach its neck.
It was a good night for a little plunder. His senses were all on edge. He could tell that he was being watched. Harris had given up the chatter that the Slayer and her groupies usually engaged in, and he’d been dragging behind them all, making Spike look over his shoulder regularly to make sure nothing had gobbled him up while they’d randomly cruised the cemetery looking for trouble.
Spike was, under no circumstances, glancing behind himself to catch sight of the easy, loose-limbed prowl that Harris seemed to have developed overnight. That, and the slow, sexy smirk he kept throwing Spike’s way whenever no one else was looking, were about to drive Spike spare. It was enough to give credence to the whispers and rumors he’d heard about town that there was more to the boy than most gave credit to – a darkness that had lingered past its time.
When the economy-sized buggers they’d been hunting for finally found them, the fight was fierce and angry. The sexual heat Spike had built up exploded into rage, and he thoroughly enjoyed taking out more than his share of the wankers. He stopped in surprise to discover there were only two left. The Slayer was finishing off her opponent, and from the corpses scattering the ground around her, she’d held up her end of the fight.
The surprise was Harris. He was working with an axe, and he moved smoothly, not a spare, flailing limb to be seen as he methodically dismembered his adversary before lopping off its head with a growl that sent shivers up Spike’s spine, and hardened his cock. The witches were all over Harris immediately, rightfully impressed with his new skills. He shrugged it off with a story about a friend on his construction crew that was teaching him a few moves.
Spike half-heartedly grouched at the Slayer when she asked him to see Harris home, but the fact of the matter was there was no way Harris was getting anywhere near his apartment without old Spike tagging along for the ride. Spike lit a cigarette, and rolled his eyes while the bunch of them all hugged and squeaked their goodbyes at each other. Finally, the women bounced off towards their dorms for the night.
Once they were gone, Harris stared a challenge at Spike, who found himself straightening his spine, and adjusting the collar of his coat in response. With a smirk, Harris turned his back on Spike, and strode away, his axe propped casually on his shoulder.
“You coming?” he called.
Spike flicked his fag into the bushes, and headed off after Harris. “Hell yes, I am. More than once, if I’ve got anything to say about it.”
A high-pitched laugh echoed back at him, and Spike shivered as that thin, eerie sound sent another cold chill racing up his spine. Oh, yes. The night had just begun.