• Rating: NC-17; Het, M/M
  • Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
  • Pairing: Buffy/Spike, Xander/Spike (Cameo: Methos)
  • Date Finished: August 24, 2003
  • Disclaimers: The characters herein legally belong to other Authors and Corporate Entities and are copyright by same.
  • Dedication: To C.M. Decarnin, without whom, etc.
  • Special thanks to Tehomet, for a super-duper beta job and for her patience beyond the call of duty
  • Summary: Someone's messing with the script, but who?
  • Feedback: carene@pacific.net

Taking Liberties

Bull and Mare (+Hare)

by Carene



 

Buffy and Spike strolled along in companionable silence. It was late, and dark, but no one, on either side of the law, bothered them. Buffy crossed her arms in front of her pensively.

"Did that feel, like, scripted to you?"

"No more than usual."

"It felt a little weird to me."

"Rated X," Spike agreed. "Not usual."

"More than that." She hesitated, trying to put her finger on what was bothering her. "Old."

"Barely middle aged, Buffy," Spike admonished her.

"I don't mean Mulder and Scully." She couldn't help adding, "They're remarkably well-preserved for characters in such a long-running show."

"Meow."

Buffy swung around to face him, walking backwards. "I mean old -- as in Ancient. Antediluvian. Days of yore." She turned around again, rubbing a hand on the back of her jeans. "Talk about getting Medieval on your ass."

"Medieval?"

"Last time I let you play with toys. Where'd you get those pincers, anyway? They should be outlawed."

"Pincers?"

Buffy turned sharply and stepped in front of him. He stopped a hair's breadth before running into her. "Stop with the parrot routine. Pincers. On my butt. Like this." She reached around and gave him several sharp hard pinches.

Spike just stood looking at her. "Sorry, love. Haven't a friggin' clue what you're on about."

Buffy peered into his face. "You really don't. Weird." Stepping back, she turned to look down the street the way they had come. Along the dim sidewalks neon signs flickered and fritzed over shop windows and pale fluorescent light spilled out from windows, now and then illuminating for an instant a solitary man or woman bent on some shadowy errand.

"We went into this place, a -- a -- kind of coffee bar, cafe." She paused. "Not your usual double cap and sprinkles place, but, a -- you know --" she threw up her hands in exasperation. "Aagh."

Spike reached into an inner pocket of his coat and took out a pack of cigarettes, tapped one out and put it between his lips. He scratched a wooden match on his jeans, and holding it cupped in both hands, bent his head to light the cigarette. He took a deep drag on it and tilted his head back to exhale a long stream of smoke into the night air.

"Don't remember a coffee bar," he said.

Buffy took the cigarette out of his mouth and threw it in the street.

"It was over there, near that corner, kind of in an alley," she said, then frowned. "Which is not where you expect a coffee bar. Right."

"Oh yeah," Spike reached into his coat pocket for his cigarettes. "One of those places. Weirdly nondescript, common but a little off, wasn't there yesterday and won't be there tomorrow."

"Yeah." Buffy paced back and forth, then stopped in front of him, looking up at him curiously. "And you don't remember any of it?"

Spike shrugged. He tapped the cigarette pack on his palm.

"Not the pincers or the, the -- statue or the elixir that like takes the top of your head off but," she felt her forehead thoughtfully, "Doesn't seem to whack you with aftereffects?"

"Sorry." He scratched another match on his jeans.

"Or the raving hard-on you had?"

Spike's eyebrows rose. His hand paused with the lit match an inch away from the end of the cigarette. The flame flickered and went out. "No. Hell, I am sorry."

"Oh. This is annoying."

"Annoying. Yeah." Spike rummaged in his pockets for another match.

"Look, we can find it again. Maybe if you see it you'll remember." She started to drag him back down the street. Total recall of the adventures in the mysterious cafe hit her like a tumbling ton of bricks and she turned sharply in the other direction. "Or maybe not. We can just go home and watch Hollywood Squares."

"Wait just a minute," Spike spun her back around. "I think we'd better find this mysterious cafe of yours."

"It's not my cafe."

Spike tilted his head meaningfully, keeping his grip on her arm.

She sighed. "Okay. Back that way."

But Spike stopped her and pointed. Just up ahead, tucked around the corner in a small alleyway, soft light glowed from the windows of all-night cafe.

 


 

Buffy and Spike stood at the door of a rather odd and anachronistic building. The windows on either side were luminous and welcoming, but opaque, and overhead, an old-fashioned carved wooden sign creaked slowly in a gentle breeze. As Buffy looked at it, the carved script rearranged itself to read "Bull and Mare."

Spike grabbed her arm. "That thing said 'Horse and Elephant' a minute ago," he whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" Buffy whispered back. She rolled her eyes. "Let's go in," she said in a normal tone.

"I'm not going down a bloody rabbit hole."

Buffy opened the heavy door and stepped over the threshold. Spike hesitated, looking around suspiciously, then followed.

 


A moment later, another figure walked slowly up to the entrance of the cafe, and the sign changed again to add "And Hare."

 


 

The interior of the cafe was dimly lit, by candles flickering on four small tables, a solitary lamp on a bar half in shadow, and by another source Spike couldn't determine. He and Buffy were the only patrons, and they stood a little uncertainly in the center of the tiny room. A figure emerged from a deeper shadow that must have been a doorway, and Spike felt Buffy tense for fight or flight.

The figure resolved into a tall, slender man dressed in what looked to Spike like loose pajamas, white trimmed in gold. He flashed a broad smile.

"Will this be a private party?" he asked in a soft, pleasant voice.

Buffy and Spike looked at the empty room. Spike's eyebrows lifted.

"Uh, yes. Sure. Private," Buffy said, jabbing Spike with an elbow before he could speak.

The man gestured toward the shadowy doorway from which he had emerged. Spike had a brief impression of a deep shimmering blue in the shadows. Buffy moved towards it as if mesmerized. Spike followed, frowning.

"Rabbit hole," he muttered.

As they stepped through the doorway, Spike felt a tingling sensation, but before he could analyze it, they had passed through into a room much bigger than it had any right to be. Spacious, elegant, lushly furnished with low couches, carpets and pillows, and a long, low bed that rose on either end in a graceful, sinuous arch. The light was brighter, warm and golden, its source as mysterious as that of the outer room, accented by scores of candles and lamps. A pleasant perfume of flowers and spices filled the air, and flowers were hung in garlands, strewn across the carpets, arranged in vases and bowls, and piled everywhere in cheerful profusion.

"Bigger inside than out," Spike said, a little abashed by the opulence. "Definitely one of those places." He glanced down at Buffy. His lips quirked briefly and his eyes glinted, but that was all he showed of his double-take.

"Nice outfit."

Buffy looked down. In place of the jeans and t-shirt she had been wearing was a softly clinging dress that wound around her body and fell in graceful folds to the floor.

"Usually one wears a bit more on top," he continued smoothly.

"Aahh!" Buffy hastily folded her arms over her bare breasts.

Spike grinned and examined his own outfit, which consisted of a pair of loose trousers sashed at the waist, and nothing else.

"This could be interesting," he said, and sauntered into the room. Buffy, arms still clasped across her chest, followed a little more warily.

People emerged from the corners of the room, through no entrances that Spike could see. There seemed to be a lot of them, and they moved around the room in casual but practiced movements, as if in a dance. Their elegant and ornamented dress put Spike in mind of guests at a wedding. Buffy smiled nervously as a trio of laughing women draped garlands of flowers over her shoulders. Spike was getting the same treatment from a gaggle of men, who were clapping him on the back and making gestures that he had no trouble at all interpreting. He and Buffy were led to a sort of low, throne-like couch, strewn with flower petals.

They sat on the couch awkwardly. Seeing their confusion, their helpers prodded and pressed them into place, Buffy snuggled up against Spike, his right arm circling her waist, and his left hand holding the end knot of her dress. A smiling woman gently took Buffy's hand and placed it on Spike's thigh. He smiled.

Buffy smiled at her helper-captor. Through her teeth she said to Spike, "Pull on that knot and you're dust." Spike just grinned.

Obviously pleased with their handiwork, the party-goers next plied their guests of honor with refreshments, covering low tables with sweets, fresh juice, sherbet, mangoes and oranges. On a round table next to the couch, they placed pots and jars of ointments, oils, and baskets of delicate and exotic leaves and flower petals. Last, they poured amber wine into goblets, and handing them to the couple, entreated them to drink. Spike cockily wound his arm through Buffy's and offered her his goblet. Making a face at him, she drank, and Spike drank from hers, licking his lips and leering slightly. This delighted their audience, who smiled and swirled away in a sensuous, graceful dance towards the four corners of the room.

"Here, take some of this stuff with you," Spike called out hospitably.

But they were gone.

"Well, well, well," Spike said.

Buffy started to crawl away from him, but reeled dizzily and collapsed back on the couch. "What was in that drink?"

Spike took a swig from his goblet. "Not Mogen-David."

Buffy giggled, then sobered. "Oh, no," she said seriously. Then giggled again.

Spike raised his goblet. They drank. Buffy giggled. She put her hands over her face. "Think. Serious. Thoughts." She laughed helplessly into her hands.

"So what's all this stuff?" Spike was poking among the pots and jars on the smaller table. He picked up a silver dish and offered Buffy a single succulent green leaf. Smiling a bit goofily, she took it between her teeth. Her eyes widened and she clamped both hands over her crotch.

"Oh. Ah. Ah ha. Oh."

"That sounds promising." Spike grinned.

He picked up a small jar and examined it curiously.

"Oh, I bet I know what that is," Buffy said brightly. "You'll need it," she added rather cryptically, and dipped her fingers into the pungent cream. Before Spike realized what she meant to do, Buffy had thrust her fingers through an opening in the front of his loose trousers and drew out his cock, which was already hardening. As she lathered it with the cream, it hardened fully, and seemed to radiate masculine sexual energy along the shaft, to the tip, and for several inches into the air beyond.

"Good-- God," Spike breathed. He reached for Buffy.

But she, cruelly, had lost interest in him and was gliding across the room abuzz with a bright, hot feminine sexuality of her own, bending and twisting her body in an intricate and lovely dance. Spinning around the tables and pillows, she came slowly to rest before a stone sculpture. It wasn't much to look at, just a simple straight cylinder, rounded on top and rising from a bed of flowers. But it held Buffy entranced. She approached it as if hypnotized and laid the palm of one hand against it. She stood puzzled, then stroked it with lightly with the tips of her fingers. What had seemed solid stone was really a pillar of shifting sand, which moved under her touch as if alive.

Buffy wrapped her arms and thighs around the sculpture, holding herself perfectly still as the sand moved and shifted and spun and hardened into stone, sliding smoothly against her skin. She clung to it, vibrating with the male-female sexual energy moving back and forth between stone and flesh. "Love... God... Dance..." she whispered.

As if in answer, she was lifted from the stone by a pair of powerful arms and spun around. Wildly, to keep her balance, she twined her legs around Spike's waist. Turning, dancing, mouth on mouth, sex pressed against sex, they glided across the room towards the big bed.

Spike bent and eased Buffy onto the bed and reached for the end knot of her garment. He gave it a tug, asking the question with his eyes, and Buffy rolled away from him, causing the knot to unravel in his hand and her dress to unwind across the bed. Spike had lost his trousers and was naked.

Moving as if in a dream, they slid into an embrace. Spike eased himself between Buffy's legs and she slowly opened her thighs wide, bending one leg up to place a foot against his head. Turning his face to kiss her ankle, Spike thrust deep into her, and she placed both hands on his chest, fingers spread. Spike thrust again, and again, and Buffy made a noise through her mouth and nose -- "hin, hin, hin." As Spike thrust faster, harder, Buffy beat her fists against his chest, taking deep great gulps of air and breathing out, "Hah, hah, hah." Spike, still thrusting, reared almost upright, freeing his hands to rain down soft blows on Buffy's breasts and shoulders, until she climaxed, moving under him in a series of flowing, liquid waves and hissing, "Shish, shish, shhh....ssss." Spike thrust deep into her one last time, came, and collapsed, moaning, his body feeling strangely incorporeal, like a pillar of crumbling sand sinking into the floodwaters.

"Um," Buffy said. Her body was luminous, radiating heat from a place deep in her pelvis outward through her skin and making the air around her shimmer. "Ah. Wow."

Spike slowly slid off her, over the edge of the bed, and onto the floor. After a moment, Buffy peered over the edge. Spike lay face down in a pile of flowers. He breathed in their warm scent and wondered why he still had a hard-on.

"Spike," Buffy whispered. "You okay?"

Spike was silent. He turned this head to lay his cheek on a velvet orchid blossom. A real hard hard-on.

Buffy struggled off the bed. Not looking at him, she stumbled to her feet and made her way behind a screen.

After a moment, Spike crawled behind another screen.

They emerged from their separate compartments clean and freshened, with new clothes clinging to their still thrumming bodies.

Feeling suddenly shy, they covered their awkwardness by turning their attention to the food. They sat cross-legged across from each other on a comfortable mat, and Buffy arranged bowls and cups, while Spike arranged and rearranged the front of his trousers to cover up his erect cock, which kept escaping from the folds of the material. They refreshed themselves with sweet cakes, and sherbet, and drinks made from mangoes.

"This is good," Spike said through a mouthful of nuts wrapped in dates.

Buffy bit into an orange, skin and all, and juice dribbled down her chin. Arrested by this, Spike leaned over and kissed her softly, running his tongue across her lips and down her chin, capturing the errant juice.

Buffy sat still for a moment, her eyes half closed, and then kissed him back, taking his lower lip between her teeth, and biting gently.

Spike softly bit her upper lip, just barely pressing his teeth into the soft flesh of her mouth, then releasing it.

Buffy jerked her head back and gave him a warning look.

Spike smiled unrepentantly and gave her a quick peck. She looked at him sideways and pursed her lips. He gave her another quick peck on the cheek.

Buffy reached out and softly covered his eyes with her hands, and closing her own eyes, touched her lips to his and thrust her tongue into his mouth, moving it slowly in and out, suggestive of another and higher pleasure.

Spike moved his head back suddenly and looked at her through half-closed eyes.

Buffy moved close to kiss him again, but he turned his face away at the last moment. She brushed her lips, just barely, against his cheek. He turned to kiss her and she moved away quickly, one side of her mouth quirking slightly. He tried again and again she moved away. With an exaggerated sigh, he bent his head as if in surrender, and she reached down and tilted his chin up. Taking his lips between her fingers, she first ran her tongue over his lips, then her teeth.

Spike brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them one at a time. Still holding her hand he rose, pulling her up close to him. With his free hand he smoothed her hair back and held it, stroking it and letting it fall through his fingers. They stood that way for a long moment, their feet crossed together, their bodies beginning to tremble, electricity coursing between them, through them and around them like something alive and seeking incarnation, seeking the bliss in flesh.

Buffy stood on Spike's feet and placed a hand on his chest, looking into his eyes for a long moment, not quite smiling. With a deliberate, almost ritual movement, she pressed her thumb on his left nipple, and dug her fingernails into his skin, drawing them slowly across his breast in a waving pattern, leaving a series of fine red lines.

Spike closed a hand around her wrist. His lips drew back in a smile that showed all his teeth, and he bent his head to her neck to place his teeth on the soft hollow of her throat. Lust mingled for just a second with the old, old bloodlust until Buffy brought him back with a sharp dig of her nails into his sensitive skin, making a pattern of four red marks below his collarbone. Letting his breath out in a low hiss, Spike wrapped Buffy's hair around his fist and pulled her head back, bending again to take the soft skin of her throat between his teeth. He bit softly, then harder, again and again, down her neck, across her shoulder, in his mounting passion barely feeling Buffy's nails slashing across and down his back. He growled once, softly, and Buffy stiffened and pushed him away. Spike lunged at her throat in mindless, furious lust, but she deftly lashed out with one foot, knocked him off-balance and canted him over a hip, flipping him headlong onto the floor. Landing on top of him, she slashed his face with her fingernails and then, abandoning finesse, grabbed him by both ears and pounded his head into the carpet.

"No more biting!"

Spiked grinned and heaved and they tumbled over and over each other across the floor, until they bumped up against a polished wooden chest. Without seeming to move, the chest caught Spike a glancing blow to his shin. Cursing, Spike sat up, straddling Buffy, and tried to push the chest out of the way. Its lid snapped up, then snapped down again on Spike's fingers. Spike cursed again and flung the lid back. He stared into the chest.

He reached in and pulled out a pair of pincers.

Buffy's eyes widened, and she pinched Spike hard in the groin and flung him off her when he doubled over. As he hobbled out of reach, Buffy reached into the chest, and pulled out a pair of miniature scissors. With a triumphant cry, she flew up gracefully into a fighter's stance to face Spike.

They grinned at each other and moved into a reckless, frenzied embrace, all knuckles and elbows, jabbing fingers and scratching nails, slashing at each other's bodies as if to claw their way inside each other. Spike pulled her to him roughly, nipping with the pincers along the side of her body, across her back, and downward.

Biting her lips against the pain, Buffy twisted and struggled, finally freeing one hand to stab him once in the shoulder with the scissors. Spike yelped and knocked them out of her hand. Buffy grabbed the pincers from him and flung them away. Circling each other warily, they moved in a dance of advance and retreat, until Spike found himself with his back up against a pillar.

He braced himself, his fingers clenching and flexing, but the violent torrent of carnality that had overflowed its banks receded, and they drifted back into the gentler currents of passion. Buffy pressed against Spike, and he closed his eyes as she kissed the places where she had wounded him. He put his arms around her and lifted her slightly, holding her close. Their lips met softly and their breath mingled together as they breathed as one, male to female, female to male.

Slowly, Spike let her slide down his body, over his erect cock. Buffy half stood, half hung from him like a vine twined around a tree, with her arms clasped around his neck, one foot resting on his, her other leg upraised with her knee at his hip. The now rather tattered fabric of her dress fell, veiling their coupling, and they leaned into each other, their bodies mingling as closely as sesame seeds and rice, as they stood together in an unmoving dance.

For a long time.

"The top of my head is about to come off, pet."

"I -- think I'm -- stuck."

Spike locked his arms under Buffy's, and she rested there as if in a swing. She flexed her legs a bit to get the circulation going, and placed her feet against the pillar. She used her toes as leverage to move up and down, as Spike pulled her against him, over him, pushing into her. Her breasts slid up over his chest and he buried his face in them, licking and sucking and tasting the sweetness of her skin. Buffy came quickly, and came again, and Spike felt something like ball lightning hit him and come to ground in his cock and then rush out again as he came deep, deep inside Buffy.

Buffy slid down, her feet sinking into a drift of flower petals. Spike still held her close, and bent his head down to touch his forehead to hers. They stood together without moving, until Buffy sagged against him and Spike realized she had fallen asleep. Smiling a bit ruefully, for the ointment was working to give him another erection, he carried her to the bed and laid her down gently. He watched her as she slept, smiling as she started snoring in an unladylike fashion. He thought about magic potions and supernatural hard-ons, and after a moment, moved around to the end of the bed and carefully pressed the bottom of her left foot against his cock, so that some of his semen rubbed off onto it. A charm to bind her to him.

He lay down next to Buffy and tried to think relaxing thoughts. There was some way of breathing, wasn't there, that would calm a person down. He hadn't seriously breathed in a long time, but what the hell. He sat up cross-legged on the bed and placed the fingers of one hand over his nose, his thumb on one side, his ring finger and little finger on the other, his two middle fingers together on his forehead. He exhaled, then pressed his thumb against his right nostril and inhaled, counting slowly to eight. He pressed his nostrils closed and counted to four. Then he exhaled through his left nostril, counting again to eight. Without missing a beat, he closed off his right nostril and breathed in, counted to four, and breathed out again. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. One, two, three, four...

Buffy snorted and snuffled next to him.

Spike let his breath out irritably. "Oh, bugger that." What he really wanted was a smoke, but they were in his coat pocket -- wherever his coat was at the moment. With a sigh, he slid off the bed and pulled on a pair of trousers folded neatly and conveniently on a carved stand. He prowled restlessly around the room, poking into baskets, peering behind screens, kicking through flower petals.

Making yet another wide circle around the room, he became aware of the sound of water being poured from one vessel into another. Following the sound, he came to a curtain he'd managed not to notice on his previous three trips around the room. He drew it back to reveal a pleasant alcove, with arched windows looking out over a garden with a small pond and peacocks. There was a man in the alcove, fussing among pots and bottles, sponges and brushes. Spike knew from the man's dress -- though he couldn't say why -- that the man was a shampooer, a eunuch.

A calculating smile played around Spike's lips as the man motioned him to lie back on a wide couch, which was covered in soft cloths and surrounded by small tables, piled high with soaps, perfumes, oils, and other tools of the shampooer's trade. He let his trousers fall to the floor and relaxed naked on the couch, smiling, his hands behind his head.

The eunuch dipped a red cloth in clear scented water and began expertly to bathe him, beginning with his face and hands. Wiping down his neck and shoulders, he admired the scratches on Spike's chest. "Great set of the Five Peacock Tails," he said. "Your lover has a good strong hand."

Spike grimaced. "She does, yeah."

The eunuch busied himself with Spike's bath, vigorously rubbing down Spike's sweaty body to his rather sticky crotch, where his ministrations slowed. It seemed to Spike the man was touching him a little more than absolutely was necessary for purposes of cleanliness. He shivered a little as the other man ran a finger softly across his thigh.

"What's your name?"

"Xander." He snapped a cloth smartly. "At your service."

"Xander." Spike rolled the name around on his tongue. "Are you one of those poofs who make a practice of the Auparishtaka?"

Xander paused with the cloth poised over Spike's crotch. "The what?"

"Auparishtaka," Spike said the word for the second time in his long existence. "Mouth congress."

"Mouth congress? You mean, cocksucking?"

"Yeah, whatever you call it here."

Xander let the cloth fall. Spike jumped a little at the soft whisper of material was followed by a not-too-gentle rub down.

"Me? Nah. Just my brushes, my rag, and my empathy face." He paused. "But you've got a real serious hard-on, pal."

Spike leered at him. "I'll bet you are. I'll bet you're good at it, too."

"Wrong, and wrong. Just because I'm a shampooer doesn't mean I'm easy."

"Bollocks."

"Wrong again, bleach boy," Xander said bitterly.

Spike sighed. "Look, help me out here. First they gave us a weird drink and then she smeared my prick with something, and now I've got a hard-on to the middle of next week."

"Tough for you," Xander said unsympathetically.

"Come on, be a sport."

"You're not my type. Roll over so I can get your back."

With a grunt of displeasure, Spike lay on his stomach. Xander continued his ministrations and Spike began to relax under the warm cloths and scented towels. With Spike's face turned away from him, Xander smiled. He worked down Spike's bare back to his tailbone, and when Spike tensed a little, Xander suddenly switched his attention to Spike's feet, lightly brushing the bottom of his left instep. Spike twitched.

"Ticklish, are we?" Xander smirked and gave the soles of Spike's feet one last swipe and then started washing steadily up the back of his legs to his thighs. He rinsed and wrung out the cloth and ran it smoothly over Spike's buttocks and down into the cleft between his cheeks.

Spike ground his teeth, but didn't move. Xander pressed the cloth into the cleft again, and swept downward, at the same time letting one finger trail across Spike's by now over-sensitive skin, raising goose bumps.

With an irritated growl, Spike flipped over in a quick movement and grabbed Xander by the throat. Xander dropped the cloth, which draped over Spike's hard-on like a flag on its pole. Their eyes locked.

"Okay, okay," Xander choked out, "don't get your nuts in a bunch."

Spike let him go and flopped back on the couch irritably. "My nuts in a bunch is exactly the problem."

"I feel for you, buddy." With an exaggerated, resigned sigh, Xander lay on the wide couch, and took Spike's cock in his hand. He placed it between his lips and moved his mouth slowly up and down the shaft. Then he stopped.

"What the fuck are you stopping for? Keep going!"

"I don't know -- are you sure this is what you want? Maybe you should just wake up the girl in there and have another go."

"Another go with the girl will kill me."

"A little late for that, isn't it?"

"It was a fucking figure of speech. Just keep doing what you're doing."

Xander covered the end of Spike's cock with his fingers collected like the bud of a flower, pulling gently. He pressed the sides of the shaft with his lips, working around and up and down and running his teeth along it gently. Spike moaned and Xander lifted his head.

"What?"

"Don't stop."

"Okay, but if you have something you want to say, buddy, spit it out."

Spike gritted his teeth. "Shut. Up."

"Right. Shutting up now." Xander went back to work. Pressing the end of Spike's cock with his lips closed together, he kissed it as if drawing it out. He did this several times, and several times more, and seemed bent on doing it for the next several hours, but suddenly Spike's hand was in his hair, pulling his head back.

"Do go on," he snarled.

Xander took Spike's cock deeper into his mouth, pressed it with his lips once and took it out.

Spike looked ready to explode in a sexual apoplexy of frustration and lust.

"Damn you to bloody hell you bloody poof, DO IT."

"What, this?" Xander gave Spike's cock a tender kiss along the side.

"Yeah -- aagh."

Xander touched Spike's cock with his tongue all over, and passed his tongue over the end of it, causing Spike to squirm and thrust his pelvis into Xander's face as if he wanted to grind it straight through the back of his head. Xander ran his fingers under Spike's balls and dug his fingernails a little spitefully into the soft flesh there.

Spike, thrashing and cursing, glared at Xander. "SUCK it, monkeyboy!"

Xander took Spike's cock halfway into his mouth, sucking and kissing it forcefully. "Like that, you mean?"

"Hey, Special Ed remembers! Yeah, like that! DO it." In frustration, Spike pulled on Xander's hair, then dug his fingernails into his scalp.

Xander glared at him. "May I remind you that I will -- at your insistence -- have your cock between my teeth?"

Spike let go of Xander's head and lay back gasping.

"Should I go on?"

"Should he go on?" Spike asked the ceiling. "Or should I put some nice deep toothmarks in his friggin' throat?"

"Yeah right, like you could ever hurt me."

Spike thought of six separate and distinct ways to hurt him. He wanted to hurt him. Why couldn't he hurt him?

Well, to start, he'd never get rid of this hard-on.

"What's the magic word?" Xander coaxed him.

Spike considered four more ways to hurt his tormenter.

"Please," he said through clenched teeth.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"If you still had your balls, you bloody fairy, I'd--"

But Xander had bent his head and took Spike's cock in his mouth whole, as if swallowing it up, and Spike's breath left him in a whoosh. Xander sucked it to the end, and then swallowed it up, again, again, rhythmically and steadily, driving Spike to the very edge, then holding back just a little, then driving on again, and finally, blissfully, over the brink into a hard, hot release. Xander kept Spike in his mouth until the last spasm, swallowing the sacred fluid and softly kissing the softening flesh. Spike sighed, finally content, and they remained that way for a long moment.

Then Spike slid away from Xander, pressing him down on the couch and smiling in a way that worried Xander. He tried to get away, but Spike pinned him suddenly, grabbing one ankle. Realizing too late what Spike had in mind, Xander struggled desperately, but Spike was stronger. Flipping Xander over on his stomach, he sat backwards on his thighs. While Xander howled in protest, Spike ran a finger down his own thigh where it was sticky with come, and then rubbed across the bottom of Xander's left foot. A charm to bind the bloody idiot to him, but good.

"Doomed," Xander complained. "More demon lover crap. And now it's guy-type demons too. Why me?"

Spike lay back on the couch and smiled lazily at him. With a sigh, Xander moved to lie along the whole length of Spike's body, and kissed him fully and warmly on the mouth. Spike grinned.

Xander pulled back and ran a hand across his face. "Yuck. Vampire lips." His left foot tingled and he kissed Spike again. Spike stuck out his chin, puckering his mouth into a little sneer that made Xander roll his eyes. Unwillingly, he bent his head for another kiss.

"Spike?" Buffy stood sleepily in the entrance, holding back the curtain.

Xander sat up quickly, but Spike just grinned and pulled him back down on the couch.

"Oh. Hey, Xander." Buffy yawned. "What are you guys up to?"

Xander and Spike exchanged glances. They both looked at her.

"Oh," she said, finally taking in the scene. "That again."

 


 

Buffy and Spike strolled along in companionable silence. Xander followed a few steps behind, pensively.

"Did that feel, like, scripted to you?" Buffy asked.

"No more than usual."

"It felt a little weird to me."

"Rated X," agreed Spike. "Not usual."

Buffy stopped. "We've had this conversation before."

"Oh god, a bloody rewrite." Spike twitched his shoulders irritably. "I hate those."

"It felt-- old," Xander said, catching up. He had both hands in his front pockets, moving them around.

"Pocket Pool?" Spike said.

Xander looked pained. "Just checking."

Spike's eyebrows rose. "So what did you think of Buffy's mysterious cafe," he said, putting a suggestive leer into the final word.

"It's not my cafe. It was just there. Mysteriously."

"Twice."

"Twice." She grimaced. "My butt hurts. I'm going to be sore for a week."

"You're going to be sore?"

"Not my fault. If you'd remembered it the first time, we wouldn't have had to do it all over again."

"Yeah right, it's got to be Spike's fault." He rubbed at a shoulder. "She stuck a pair of scissors in me," he complained to the world at large.

"You started it." She turned to Xander. "Don't let him come near you with pincers."

"I don't plan to let him come near me at all."

"You loved every minute of it, you sodding sadist."

"Yeah, right."

"You'd just love to do it again."

"Don't get your hopes all carbonated," Xander said, frowning and scratching his left foot against his right. Spike looked sidelong at him.

"Poor Xander," Buffy said.

"Yeah, well, I didn't get as much out of that little trip through the looking glass as you guys did." He reached in his pockets again to reassure himself he was still all there. "Less."

Spike smirked at him. "Give us a kiss."

"Gee sorry, but I left my gallon jug of mouthwash in my other coat." Suddenly struck by something, he turned to Buffy. "What did you mean, 'that again?'"

"What again?"

"When you came in and we were, uh, you know, you looked at us and said, 'Oh, that again.' So? I don't remem--"

Both Buffy and Spike pounced. Xander found himself in a double hammerlock with four hands clapped over his mouth.

"Shutupshutupshutup," Spike hissed.

"Now, listen, Xander," Buffy said. "Nice and easy here. We let you go and you keep your lip zipped, okay?" Xander nodded, shakily making a zipping motion in front of his face.

"No R word," Spike added.

"Right," Xander said as they released him. "I mean, Okay." He rubbed his neck. "You didn't have to jump me like that. A simple 'hush your mouth, Xander,' would have sufficed."

"C'mon, Xander," Buffy said, touching his cheek. "Kiss and make up, okay?" She gave him a peck.

He grumbled, not altogether mollified. Spike stepped close and before Xander could protest, gave him a peck on the other cheek. Xander glared at him. Buffy locked arms with him and Spike captured Xander's other elbow in his.

"Let's go home," Buffy said.

"Yeah, no place like it," Xander grumbled. But he relaxed slowly as the three of them walked down the street, each becoming lost in their separate reveries, Buffy and Spike smiling a little, Xander looking bemused.

"What did you mean, it felt old?" Buffy said suddenly.

"I don't know, Medieval, like something out of one of Gile's books. Only," he added, "without the regurgitating Frovalox demons."

"Older than that," Spike said. Right. Bloody immortal. Older than a vamp. Not a demon, but every bit as twisty.

"You think?"

"Much older." Of course, a lot of people knew the book. But Mr. Sodding Older Than Dirt knew it all firsthand. Probably went clubbing with Vatsyayana, hitting all the shampoo parlors or whatever they called them then, knew where all the best orgies were, all the wives who'd share out with their husbands' mates. Gave Ol' V. pointers, no doubt. The people in the Southern countries fuck each other up the ass, don't forget to put that down. Call it the 'lower congress.' Sounds more tony.

"You know what it is." Buffy tugged at his arm.

"Yes," he said, as if tasting the word on his tongue. And wouldn't he be a feed for the books. "Oh, yes."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, I know," Xander said, wagging a finger at Spike. "It's the-- whatsit, the-- you know, the Kamasutraofvatsyayana."

Spike looked at him suspiciously. Was the boy reading his mind, now? "What would you know about the Kama Sutra?"

"Hello? Auparishtupa?" Xander cocked his head as if listening. "But it's very possible I'm being-- prompted here."

"The authorial voice is bleeding through into the text," Buffy said.

Spike stopped and stared at her. "What?"

"The real-world voice of the author is entering the text, causing the reader's suspension of disbelief to falter, breaking the flow of the narrative by the sudden introduction of new elements into the story, slight changes in the characters, possibly even a deux ex machina." She paused. "We've got to find that cafe again."

"Like bloody hell!" Spike yelled.

Xander put his hands in his pockets.

"We have to," Buffy insisted. "Before I start using phrases like 'meta-text'. Oops."

"Well this is just fucking brilliant. Just what I've been wanting to do, slog though the streets of-- of-- where are we, anyway?-- with two fucking nut cases, one being prompted from somewhere offstage and the other doing a fucking critique of the story we're standing in, talking about authorial voices and bleeding text, looking for a fucking magic cafe that takes over your fucking mind and makes you-- that causes you to, to--"

Buffy smiled.

"Well, all right," he said grudgingly. "But how do you think we're going to find it again? Whistle it up? Say 'abracadabra'? Just cross the street and there it is?"

"There it is." Xander pointed. "Across the street."

Buffy shrugged. "Abracadabra."

 


 

The three of them stood at the door of the rather odd and anachronistic building. The windows on either side were luminous and welcoming, but opaque, and overhead, an old-fashioned carved wooden sign creaked slowly in a gentle breeze.

"The House of Pain?" Xander made a face. "I so do not want to go in there."

Smaller letters at the bottom of the sign read "Mi casa es su casa."

Spike made a growling noise deep in his throat and flung the door open. Buffy and Xander trailed after him into the dimly lit room. The tall man in pajamas emerged from the inner doorway, and Spike grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

"I want to talk to the manager," he said reasonably.

The man just smiled, and faded abruptly into the wall. Spike stumbled forward, then hit the wall with one hand and spun around.

There was another man standing behind the bar. He moved out of the shadows and smiled. "Have a beer," he said, tossing a can in Spike's direction.

Spike caught it in one hand and looked at it.

"Methos?" Buffy said.

"Methos!" Xander said with a shade more feeling.

Methos smiled a small, slow smile.

Spike flung down the beer and started across the room.

"Spike, no!" Buffy grabbed him. "Do you know who this is? He was Death!"

But Spike had been pushed to his limit. "I'm not afraid of death." He lunged at Methos, his face in full-bore vamp, fangs bared and eyes flashing.

Methos calmly reached under the counter, pulled up a gun, and fired. Spike fell to the floor with a thud.

"You shot him!" Buffy cried, falling down on her knees next to the wounded vampire. "Spike! Spike! Speak to me!"

Xander slumped over a barstool. "I'll have one of those beers." Methos handed him one.

Spike began to stir. Buffy crouched beside him, holding a length of heavy chain and letting it run through her fingers. "How do you feel?"

Spike coughed. "Like I left my heart in San Francisco."

"Oh, I remember that one." Xander tipped his beer can towards Methos in salute. "Didn't know you had a heart," he called out to Spike.

"He has one," Methos said quietly.

Buffy looked down at the chain in her hands and made a face. She flung the chain away and whirled around to face Methos.

"Okay. Fine. Nice to meet you. Give my regards to Kiltboy. What do we have to do to get out of here?"

"You can leave anytime you want," Methos said, shrugging.

"Good. Spike. Stand up. Xander, come on. We're leaving. Now." She whirled towards the door and stopped. "Problem. Door is gone."

Methos pointed towards the inner door. "You can get out that way," he said pleasantly.

"Oh, crap," Xander said. "I go through that door and come out the other side as Captain Peroxide's nummy treat."

"Maybe," Methos said. He eyed Xander speculatively.

"Yeah?" Xander said, blushing. "Well, listen, this time, could you--? You know. It'd be nice to have the complete set. In mint condition. In shrinkwrap if possible."

"Maybe," Methos said again.

"C'mon Xander, we're going," Buffy said, grabbing his arm. Spike leaned on her other shoulder and the three of them walked towards the strange shimmering doorway.

Methos watched them disappear, sipping his beer and smiling a little. After a moment, he rose and followed them.


End note: The Kama Sutra can be found online in various places, including http://www.sacred-texts.com/sex/kama/index.htm. Part II has all the good stuff. All of the positions (and title, charms, food, toys, noises during sex) in the "Bull and Mare (+ Hare)" section comes directly from the Kama Sutra, so if they seem impossible, don't blame me. The sand lingam which turns into the god himself is from a Shiva/Shakti story, and the breathing exercise Spike does comes from Yoga For Fitness and Health by Richard Hittleman.


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