LiL Devils

Alex turned and looked at himself from every possible angle in the full length mirror. Even upside down and blindfolded, he’d still look a complete doofus in the leather jeans. Why the fuck had he wasted a week’s wages on them when there was no way he’d have the balls to actually wear the things anywhere? Not that he’d have the balls to go along to that gig tonight with or without pants.

Unfastening the zipper, he tugged at the leather but somehow it had welded itself to his sweaty skin. Alex felt tears of frustration well up as he collapsed down to his knees and looked up at the mocking faces that stared back at him from every wall: Nikki, Tommy, Axl, Duff, he bet a million dollars that they’d never got stuck inside their jeans.

They were his gods. They’d been his salvation through the last five years since he’d been sent from California to live with his Aunt Louisa in Battersea. Their music had kept him sane whenever he thought back to the rejection by his parents.

‘We’re sorry, Alex but your daddy needs to get over his illness and he can’t do that with you around making all that noise.’

Illness. That was a joke. His father was a mean abusive drunk and if it wasn’t for his friends he’d never have got through the first thirteen years of his life. Now there was no more Willow and Jesse. No one to talk to and confide in. He’d not made a real friend since he’d lived in London. His aunt had been okay; unmarried and unused to children she’d pretty much left him to his own devices. Cooking his meals, doing the laundry and handing out money when asked seemed to be the extent of her parental abilities and Alex could tell she found all of those difficult. She hadn’t batted an eyelid when he’d got himself a job in Halfords as trainee manager in the bicycle department and moved out to a bedsit in Tooting Bec.

It had been four months since he’d been living in the luxury of his own flat. 4a Barnaby Terrace was little more than a cellar with a kitchenette inside a cupboard and a shower room partitioned off by a curtain, but it was all his for forty quid a week. The posters of his favourite bands covered every wall and made the place a shrine to all that was rock and roll. Motley Crue, Guns n Roses, Poison, Faster Pussycat, LA Guns -- debauched and slovenly boys with dyed, backcombed hair and smudged lipstick, displaying their tattoos in porn star poses all over his room. Alex had beaten off to them every night, kissed their two dimensional lips, fucked them up against the cold damp walls making sure that he came in a handful of toilet roll so as not to spoil his glossy illusion.

He didn’t do that anymore, not since two weeks ago. Not since he’d fallen in lust deep in the heart of Camden Market.

~/~

It was a boring Tuesday and he had the day off work. With nothing better to do he spent it trawling through the second hand clothes racks and trying to find something that would be cool and still let him be Alex Harris. The baggy jeans and t-shirts may have felt as comfortable as a second skin but they were never gonna get him laid, not in a million years.

“Hello, gorgeous,” said a voice behind him.

He didn’t look at first. That would be dumb. That would make him look like the retard he really was.

“Hey, pretty brown eyed boy.”

He had brown eyes; big, stupid, sappy, pathetic, Bambi brown eyes that instinctively turned in the direction of the low lilting voice.

It was like a bolt of lightning snapping through the heat haze on that muggy summer’s day. Gone were his old Gods, relegated instantaneously to the third division of fantasy wankdom. Here was the future and it came in the shape of a short, skinny guy with blond spiked hair and bleached jeans and a Cult t-shirt that was ripped in half displaying a good sized amount of taut stomach. Alex found himself imagining what it would be like to tongue fuck that slightly protruding belly button.

“Hi, gorgeous, I’m Spike. How are you today?”

Alex was lost for words so he nodded and smiled, then stared blankly at the rack of jewellery in front of the sleepy eyed man.

“You musta had as good a night as I did, mate, you looked knackered.”

“I so wish.”

Oh no. Oh no no no. No, he didn’t really say that, did he? Spike was laughing at him but not in a bad way and, as a warm suntanned arm wrapped itself around his waist, Alex thought he could finally die a happy man – a happy virgin? Not possible. Maybe he could die just a little later on…

“I’m in a band, see? We were playing up at the Royal Standard last night and well, one thing led to another, and I never made it to bed.” Spike grinned and his tongue curled up, sneaking its way over his front teeth “Well I made it to bed but didn’t get no sleep, ‘f you know what I mean.”

Was hyperventilating a cool thing to do? Alex hoped so because he was just about at that point. “What’s the name of your band?” he asked, trying to distract his cock from wanting to make an appearance.

“LiL dEVILs. Hey, have you got your ear pierced?”

Alex nodded. Jesse had done it for him as a memento before he left for England. He’d been heartbroken when he’d lost that little silver stud last year, it had meant the world to him and he’d never bothered to wear one since.

“This is so you don’t forget me,” Spike showed Alex the devil’s head earring then reached up and inserted it into the hole in his left ear, sealing it in place with the tiny butterfly. By the time Alex had remembered enough words to thank him he realised that Spike had disappeared beneath the market stall. The voice was muffled but Alex could still make out a few words “… forgot… got … CD here.” Spike dragged out a cardboard box and rummaged inside it, bubble wrap and polystyrene packing spilling onto the tarmac.

Alex took the jewel case from Spike and looked at the cover. It was a cheap and cheerful production, the print job wasn’t too good but the boys in the band were stunning. He looked from the CD to Spike and back again.

“I look better when I got me face on and I’ve managed to get a couple of hour’s kip,” he said, grinning sheepishly.

Short, rumpled but sexy Spike was rapidly mutating into a full-blown rock god in Alex’s over imaginative mind.

“I’d give it you for free but Angel would string me up by my ‘nads if I so much as thought about it. He’s the bass player.” Spike pointed at a broad handsome man with a boyish grin and spiked long black hair.

“H-h-h-how much?” stammered Alex, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

“S’posed to be a tenner but to you, ‘cause of those pretty eyes, how about a fiver?”

Alex handed over the crumpled note in a daze and took the CD, holding on to it as if it were made of platinum. He blinked owlishly then turned to walk away feeling an immediate absence which dissolved into a surge of happiness when he heard Spike’s voice and once again it was aimed at him.

“Hey, brown eyes, we’re playing the Marquee on the nineteenth. It’s a Thursday which ain’t so good ‘cause everyone’s getting some rest in before the weekend but it’s the Marquee, you know.”

Alex nodded. The Marquee was legendary. All the best bands had played there.

“Angel says I should never have agreed to it ‘cause no one’ll be there, but I say fuck him. Anyway, have a listen to the CD and if you like us, come along and hear us live.”

There was a little boy lost quality about Spike which made Alex feel the need to go along with everything he said. His interest in the man had nothing to with six pack abs and flirtatious blue eyes and cheekbones which belonged on a model. No, it was definitely that plaintive thing that worked best.

As soon as Alex got home he played the CD over and over again until the dickheads in the upstairs flat were banging on the floor to get him to shut up. He turned the volume down but carried on listening, thumbing through the paper booklet and reading the lyrics as he lay on his stomach and humped the pillow, day dreaming about turning up at the Marquee transformed into the kind of Adonis that could easily seduce a rock star god.

~/~

Alex scrubbed away the tears. So where was this big transformation? What had he done in two and a half weeks to get Spike to the point of fainting in his arms, overcome by arousal? He’d bought a fucking stupid pair of leathers that were now superglued to his butt. He looked at his watch and then struggled to his feet. It was four o’ clock and he had a couple of hours left to decide his future. Sucking in his stomach and fastening the jeans back up, he switched on the CD player.

“Take what you want and do what you wanna do.
Don’t let them break you, fake it, make it happen.”

The lyrics were written by Spike and they may have been bloody awful but they were a definite omen. That track was half way through the CD, which either meant someone was trying to tell him something or the disc was bust. He turned the stereo off and on and the CD began to play from the beginning. Yeah, it was the sign he’d been waiting for.

“Hey, Al,” he said to his reflection. “Maybe these jeans look better when you’re wearing a shirt with them?”

Which shirt though? Had to be black for sure, but plain or band? Vintage or new? Motley or Guns? Looped or just plain crazy? He grabbed a beer from the useless refrigerator, popped the top and swigged at the revolting warm liquid. Good thing he never kept any food in there or he’d be dead from salmonella by now. He sighed. Food poisoning suddenly sounded good.

Covering both hands in dollops of firm-hold gel, he threaded his fingers through his longish tangled brown hair hoping that it would instantly give him that sexy spiked look. But it just sat around his face in wet strands looking as if he’d been involved in an explosion at the grease factory. After half an hour he settled for vaguely tousled and refused ever again to acknowledge that he had hair.

To make up or not to make up, that was the question. Anything more than a hint of eyeliner made him look like a sad clown and that was not of the good. He opted for less is more, then went headlong into pure panic mode when he realised he was as ready as he would ever be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Alex peered tentatively at himself in the mirror and he was … well, pleased wasn’t the word, but he looked a little less ordinary than usual. Calming his nerves with another beer, he switched on the portable telly his aunt had given him, twirling the aerial around until he got a halfway decent picture. He couldn’t take in any of the news, just sat there biting his nails and waiting for the time to pass quicker, or slower, or hopefully stop altogether.

~~****~~

Alex had never been so terrified in all his life. After paying his money at the door he felt this wave of elation/trepidation rush over him and it almost had him running for the bathroom but he calmed himself down and made his way through to the bar. The biggest crush of people was just by the entrance and he had no problem at all getting a drink. Gripping hold of the bendy plastic pint glass to stop it sliding through his fingers, he was suddenly scared for Spike. What if no one else came? What if they ended up only playing to the thirty or so people who were here? They’d be so upset and Angel would be mad and Spike would be in trouble for getting them booked here on a Thursday. Oh God, he was such a loser. He didn’t know these people. Spike wouldn’t even remember him, so why the hell was he wasting all this pity on them when it should most probably be put aside for himself for later on?

Slowly, to his relief, the club filled with a steady stream of pretty girls and prettier boys who pushed past him and on towards the stage. Finishing his second pint, he ran to the bathroom for a piss and then made his way to the front. What if he was here on the wrong night? It had said nothing on the ticket stub or outside. He felt sick all over again until he saw the band logo emblazoned on Lindsey’s bass drum. On a scale of one to ten that rated an eleven for sad. He had their names etched into his memory already. He was just on the point of driving himself insane with this longwinded, internal commentary when the crowd pushed forward, power chords rang out and the show was on.

They were divine. Angel skulked moodily around the stage dressed head to toe in black, glaring impressively at the audience as he thrummed out the bass line with unerring accuracy. Lindsey was a complete contrast to the brooding bass player. Bare-chested with sweat pouring off him, he threw himself into the performance, spinning his sticks and yelling backing vocals into the microphone with this shit eating grin on his face the whole time. But there was no one up there on that stage -- any stage -- who could outclass Spike. Dressed in black P.V.C. jeans and thigh high stiletto boots with a blue gauze shirt buttoned up all wrong, he was awash with chunky silver jewellery and scarves that weaved their way around his wrists and belt loops. He chugged out the riffs and fills on his guitar and screamed the vocals, enthralling the audience for the entire ninety minutes. Alex hardly took his eyes off him throughout the whole set. They played every song off the C.D., a couple of others that Alex didn’t recognise and five or six covers and all the time Spike danced his way across the stage, running around like a wild boy then eventually giving in and lying next to the drum riser for a minute, ‘Just to get his breath back.’ He knew how to work a crowd.

When it was over and the stage had gone dark, Alex was so depressed he wanted to cry. Just for a second he’d felt like a part of everything and had thought that, if he tried hard enough, he’d get that moment of eye contact that would make it all worth while, but there was nothing. He was just part of the circus. One more drink then he’d go back home to his squalid flat and his miserable job and Walter Mitty his way through life.

He was just about to order his fourth pint of the evening and was well on the way to being pissed, when he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck.

“What the fuck?” Spinning around as fast as his head would allow him, Alex rubbed at the sore spot and looked to see what had inflicted the damage.

“I’m sorry, he needs a muzzle,” said a soft Irish voice but Alex wasn’t able to follow where it was coming from, because in front of him was a sweaty, smudged, bare-chested skinny guy with tangled, wavy blond hair who was hopping on one leg trying to pull off his boot and swearing graphically about what he was going to do if someone didn’t help him out of the fucking things soon.

“I apologise again,” grinned the Irish man, “I’m Angel, he’s an escaped lunatic and we’ll be out of your way as soon as I get him sedated with enough whiskey to shut him up.”

Spike wiped down the top of the bar with a towel and, ignoring the complaints from the staff, heaved himself up onto the sticky countertop as Angel struggled to remove the boots.

“Blimey, it’s my brown eyed boy from Camden. Hey, gorgeous… Oh fuck, that wasn’t you I bit was it? I’m sorry, I was gagging for a drink and I get all uncontrollable after a show.”

Just the thought that Spike’s mouth had actually touched his skin had Alex all glassy eyed and grinning.

“Spike, there are three eye colours in the whole damn world and you cannot keep using them as a form of address. It doesn’t differentiate enough.” Angel finally succeeded in removing the boots almost falling backwards in the process. “And stop wearing these fucking things. You should see him later on when he’s trying to get out of the jeans. Stick to his arse like glue they do.” Alex spluttered with laughter and relief and blushed as Angel gave him a conspiratorial wink.

“Oi, stop discussing my personal problems.” Spike reached up and clipped both men around their ears and the touch of those ring clad fingers was almost as exciting to Alex as the thought of Spike’s lips against his skin. He’d got it bad.

“Anyway, Angel’s right for once. I’m Spike, in case you’ve forgotten me, and you’re?”

It was a simple enough question so why was he filled with fear? Maybe because he was talking to the two most beautiful men in the world with the coolest names and he was just plain old Alex -- which sounded really dorky. He began to panic. “Xander Harris,” he muttered in as casual a manner as a person who has just renamed themselves after eighteen years could manage.

“Xander. Pretty name for a pretty boy,” said Spike, showing Alex another hint of tongue, but then he became distracted and began to wave frantically at someone in the crowd. As the spotlight turned off him, Alex wondered whether he ought to go, but then a miracle happened and Spike introduced him to their drummer.

“Linds, this is Xander. He’s the cutey who bought our CD.”

It was like being in the sun for the first time ever. Here he was, Billy-no-mates turned elite in the blink of an eye. Everyone would look at him and say ‘What the fuck are they doing with him?’

“Hi. Did you like the album?” asked Lindsey nervously.

The drummer was American. He might even have heard of Sunnydale. Alex tried to concentrate. “I love it. I play it all the time. I know all the songs.”

“Cool.” Lindsey grinned happily but then the smile faded as he turned his attention to his friends, “Thanks for helping me put the gear away, guys”

“I’m sorry, mate, but Angel had to help me out of my boots and I needed medication for the pain from all the blisters. Buy me one drink,” begged Spike batting mascara’d eyelashes as he changed the subject with guile. “I’m totally skint, haven’t even got enough for a packet of fags.”

“You’re telling me one drink’ll do ya? That’ll be a fucking first.” Lindsey looked thoughtful. “Just one drink and you’ll leave me alone for the rest of the night?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Spike.

“Okay, dude. Anything to keep you out of my face.”

“I’ll have a pint of Jack Daniels, please.”

Angel and Spike erupted into laughter and Alex, Xander, felt Spike’s bare feet brush against his leg and he inched his way closer. Tonight was the best night ever. He was in love with life.

“Shit.” The drummer handed over a fistful of notes to the barmaid, rolling his eyes as Spike and Angel smiled innocently at him. “You assholes just love fucking with my head.”

“Which head?” asked Spike with a snort of laughter.

Why wasn’t he like this? wondered Xander. He had all the quippy quips and witty retorts right there on the tip of his tongue but he was never brave enough to say them aloud.

“I’m going while I still have enough money for take out,” said Lindsey surveying the crush of people at the bar. “I don’t reckon much to the groupies tonight. Think I’ll pick up Eve and have myself a little fun in the back of the truck on the way home.”

“It’s a van not a truck. How many times do we have to tell you?” said Spike all poker faced.

“Damn Yankees,” sighed Angel.

“Dumb Yankees more like,” grinned Spike.

“Texan here, so quit with the Yankee talk. See you at rehearsal on Saturday.” Lindsey slapped both his band mates’ hands then nodded goodbye to Xander. “It was good meeting you. Don’t let them get you down.”

As if. Xander had never been on such a high. He watched the drummer disappear off to the backstage area of the club and wondered how much longer it would be before the bubble burst.

Spike and Angel spent the next two hours blagging drinks off people, always including Xander and making him feel like he belonged. Xander didn’t remember how they ended up lurching along the street, crashing into walls and rubbish skips, heading in the direction of an Indian restaurant, but he was still there with them and that was all that mattered.

“Hello, gorgeous and gorgeous and gorgeouser,” slurred Spike as they meandered their way through a group of micro skirted girls who were obviously out on the pull.

It was like bees around a honey pot. Xander hung back watching Spike and Angel flirt outrageously with the pack of girls, groping them and making out with them until they were panting. He felt so stupid and awkward. He’d never even kissed anyone, except for that one sad press of lips with Jesse just after he had given him the earring. Feeling dizzy and overwhelmed by tiredness and alcohol, he slumped against the wall, wallowing in memory.

“Hey, brown eyes, what you doing down there?”

Xander blinked and shook his head. He could see at least two Angels and three Spikes and the more Spikes the better as far as he was concerned. Laughing at himself, he took the proffered hands and was dragged up into the swirly carnival world of drunken London.

“Where’ve your girlsh gone then?”

“They went home, darling.” Spike hoisted Xander up. “Dark haired one was nice, all red lips and big brown eyes. I’d have done her but she wanted to share me with her dog of a best mate and I was not putting my dick into that. Which one would you have screwed, Ange?”

“None of them kissed good enough for me, too young and inexperienced. I like women to know what they’re doing, the way my Darla does.”

Xander felt Spike’s grip on his arm tighten and it made him feel safe and amongst friends. “I’ve got something sad to tell you both,” he said mournfully. “I’m eighteen and I’m a virgin and I’ve never even been kissed.”

He was very very drunk but sober enough to regret those pitiful words as soon as they’d emerged from his mouth. A moment later however, he was lurching in a sideways direction then his back was up against a cold hard something and regret was the last thing on his mind.

“Oh baby, you’ve never been kissed? I don’t believe you.”

Xander’s heart thudded inside his chest as a warm body pressed up against him and he breathed in the scent of leather and make up and pheromones.

“Who’d not want a taste of you?” murmured Spike.

Xander was all confused now. He didn’t know who was gay or straight and which way was up or down. He didn’t know anything except that Spike was leaning against him, mouth two inches away from his and he wanted him more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, but he had to go and ruin it. “No one wants to kiss me ‘cause I’m a dork and a dumbass and I don’t know how to kiss anything that’s not flat. And anyway I don’t want to kiss ‘cause kissing’s for girls.”

“Kissing’s for girls and boys and everyone,” said Spike happily, his breath warming Xander’s skin. “Lemme teach you how good it is.”

For the first time in his adult life, Xander felt lips brush against his own. He tried not to pant and he tried not to panic, but when Spike sucked at his lower lip and locked his fingers around the back of Xander’s neck, he couldn’t stop his knees wobbling like a geriatric.

“It’s okay, Xan, I got you,” murmured Spike, peppering Xander’s face with soft kisses then licking a path back to his mouth, tongue pushing demandingly between his lips.

French kissing was better than Xander had ever dreamed. If this was kissing, how good would it be to fuck? He let Spike explore his mouth, sliding his tongue over Spike’s, every now and then as he became brave enough to take the lead and discover the inside of Spike’s mouth. He was now a fully paid up member of the kissing club and by rights he should be at the top of the league table having been orally deflowered by a rock god.

“Put the baby down, Spike, and let’s get going. I’ll starve if I don’t get a vindaloo soon,” said an evil Irish voice that was trying to interrupt kissing lessons, a class Xander never wanted to graduate from.

He sulked when Spike held onto his hands and pulled him away from the wall, which was the only thing holding him upright. But then Spike was holding him up instead, all barefoot and sexy and there was more of the kissing, up against bus shelters and lampposts, cars and restaurant windows. Xander was so happy.

~~****~~

Xander was so not happy. He was huddled beneath a fleece blanket on someone’s couch, but the worst thing was that he had no idea whose couch it was. His mouth tasted as if he’d been drinking petrol all night and his throat was so sore he figured he must have smoked at least two hundred cigarettes.

Moving shakily forward, he managed to get his foot stuck in a bucket that was strategically placed beside the strange sofa. Thankfully the bucket wasn’t full of sick, although by the feel of that stampede of elephants inside his head it might have been a good idea if he had vomited at least some of that alcohol back up.

‘Memory, please return to me, I promise I’ll never drink again,’ he prayed as he lay back down and pulled the fleece up to cover his shivering body.

“Fuck off, Angel,” said a voice which got louder and nearer and Xander peered out from a crack between the blanket and a convenient cushion. This was scarier than the scariest horror movie. He was stuck in an unknown land with only a blanket and a bucket to protect him from… He peeped out for a little longer this time, his eyes on stalks. Apparently he was stuck here with only a blanket and a bucket to protect him from a naked sex god who was stood no more than six feet away from him. Everything came back to him in a flash of blinding light and it was a good everything, a great everything, the sort of everything that never ever happened to him.

“For fuck’s sake, Spike, I just asked you to get dressed before Darla gets here. Is it totally impossible for you to show a little decency? I don’t expect your new groupie will want to see your bollocks first thing in the morning either. Although, on the other hand-”

“Leave him out of this, you cunt. This is about you showing me some respect in my flat. If you don’t like me naked then get the fuck out and find somewhere else to live.”

Xander wasn’t paying attention to the argument; he was too busy watching Spike’s beautiful cock and Spike’s gorgeous ass to care about anything else. Naked man. His first real live naked man. He should grab this opportunity to play Caveman Xander and take what he wanted. And he would if he wasn’t feeling so violently ill.

“Spike,” Angel’s voice had turned wheedling, “You know I don’t wanna move out but please put some jeans on, just for me.”

“I’m going for a shower. If she takes long enough to get here I might be dressed but if she’s too fucking keen then she’ll get to see my dick.” Spike stomped off just as Xander dared to brave the world once more.

“Morning, Xander. How are you feeling?” said Angel with a sympathetic wince at the look on Xander’s face.

“Fine. I’ll be on my way as soon as I’ve… As soon as I’ve…” Where did words go when you had a hangover?

“If you want to wash you’ll have to stick around for a while. Spike’s in the bathroom at the moment and God alone knows how long he’ll be. He’s PMSing, you know. D’ya wanna cuppa tea?”

“Thanks.” Xander looked up shyly wondering why he never looked as good in the morning as Angel did, then he stared around him stunned by his first taste of true rock and roll lifestyle. It was a great flat. A whole lot nicer than his basement. There was a big TV and a cool stereo system and if you looked beneath the surface layer of garbage you could tell that the carpet and furniture were expensive.

Angel handed him a mug of tea and then wandered off towards the bedroom exchanging a few quiet words with Spike who’d emerged wet from the shower and dressed in a pair of tighter than fuck black jeans and nothing else, literally nothing else. You could see exactly what was going on beneath those trousers.

“Morning, love,” he said sitting next to Xander who mumbled something in reply and hurried to the bathroom feeling more worthless ever. He really wanted a shower but he’d never get those wretched pants off and if by a miracle he did they’d never go on again so all he could do was have a quick wash, going over all the important bits.

Please let the mirror be lying. He didn’t really have hedgehog hair and green skin and bits of rice stuck in his teeth, did he? Hunting through the bathroom cabinet he found a new toothbrush and an unused disposable razor and after ten minutes work he looked like a clean shaven, green alien with red eyes and plastered down hair. Oh fuck, how could he sit in that living room surrounded by Adonises? Adonii? Really attractive men who never got rice stuck in their teeth. Plan A was to climb out of the window but that seemed kinda drastic. Plan B was to politely say goodbye and retreat off to normal life inhabited by normal people who looked like crap after a night out the way they were supposed to.

Swallowing down a couple of painkillers, Xander cracked his knuckles and dusted himself down then opened the bathroom door to peer into the living room. There was a small, semi-naked, blonde girl sitting next to Angel on the couch. Maybe sitting on Angel on the couch was a better description. If she was any closer she’d be inside his clothes, which was probably where she was heading any second now.

“Xander, this is Darla,” said Angel, proudly waving an arm at the girl as if she were a game show prize and he was the hostess.

Xander wondered what was the polite way to address a groupie. Should he shake her hand or kiss her? Maybe he should fuck her in an introductory manner; she looked like she was used to it. He suppressed the grin and opted for a plain old insignificant ‘Hi,’ then he turned to Spike. “I better get home and phone in sick,” he said trying to ignore the sounds of passion emanating from the other couch, hopeful that he wasn’t looking as bashful as he was feeling.

“Don’t go, Xan.”

Uh oh. It should be illegal to be that pretty and that pouty all at the same time. He slumped down onto the sofa next to Spike, trying not to look at the slurping couple who were busy practicing clothed copulation.

“Bedroom!” yelled Spike, “Is it totally impossible for either of you to show any decency when we have a guest?” Angel turned to glare at him and no way was Xander going to try and decipher that look. There was enough tension in the room to... fly a kite or do some other more appropriate tensiony thing that he’d be able to think of if his brain wasn’t pickled. Xander gulped. He was an innocent in this brave new world and he had a funny feeling he was slowly doggy paddling out of his depth.

Once the prolonged look of death was over, Angel picked Darla up and carried her somewhere more private. Xander heaved a sigh of relief. “Christ, I thought we were gonna get a free peep show for a minute,” he said.

“I wouldn’t be bloody surprised if Darla does the live action sex shows in Soho,” said Spike gloomily. “Thanks for staying, Xan. That bitch makes me so angry. I mean, we all fuck the groupies but you’re not supposed to get attached to a slag like that, are you?”

Xander shrugged noncommittally. He’d definitely swum into deep water with a side helping of rip tide.

“Drink?” Spike asked, not waiting for an answer as he poured whiskey into the two empty tea mugs on the table. “She’s no good for him. She’s just out to take him for a ride. That’s why I like you so much.”

Xander looked up in shock -- gay or straight, up or down, left or right, Motley or Guns shock. “You like me?”

“You’re so sweet and innocent and pretty and can I teach you how to kiss some more?”

“Mmmm hmmm,” replied Xander, finding it hard to speak with such a wonderful tongue to play with. Kissing good. Kissing very good.

They slid down on the sofa, legs entwined and bodies rocking and rubbing as they made out to the screeches and yowls of Darla and Angel sex. After one particularly bestial roar Xander looked up.

“They’re very, um, animal aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Spike, delving back into Xander’s mouth and pulling a blanket and three cushions over their heads to muffle the sound.

By now Xander was too confused and too hard not to ask the question that had been preying on his mind. “Spike?”

“Yeah, what do you want, gorgeous?”

Xander was glad it was so dark under all the sound proofing.

“When you talk about shagging groupies, it’s always girls you talk about.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a girl. Do you ever screw boy groupies?”

“Nope, never.”

Xander fell silent. He was more confused than ever.

“So I better employ you then, hadn’t I? Make you our tour manager so you can keep an eye on me and stop all those evil bitches trying to dig their claws in.”

Xander was happily distracted by that skilful tongue and, as he was mouth-fucked by a warm and writhing Spike, he thought about his aunt and his bedsit. Then he thought about his job as a bicycle store trainee manager. After that he thought about rock and roll gods, then finally he thought, ‘Why the fuck not.’

“Did you mean it about that job?” he said, wriggling away from Spike and pulling back the blanket so he could look into those sinful blue eyes and try to read what was going on inside the blond head.

“Course I did. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather come on tour with.”

This time when Spike raised his eyebrow and showed him that naughty hint of tongue Xander knew exactly what it tasted like. The yowling from the bedroom increased in volume and Spike covered them back up with the blanket and cushions. When they began kissing again, Xander listened to his hard cock nagging away at him from the confines of his leather pants and wondered when would be the right time for he and Spike to start learning the ins and outs of boysex.

~~****~~

Xander didn’t see much of Spike over the next couple of weeks as he was too busy working out his notice, getting his stuff into storage, saying a curt farewell to his aunt and enduring an emotional outpouring of grief from Mr Sharmian. Xander was faintly suspicious that his landlord was only upset because he had no chance of finding any other sucker willing to pay forty quid a week to live in a cellar but he decided to take the tears at face value and put it down to the fact that he was now the tour manager of an almost successful rock band and the almost boyfriend of a rock god. He had obviously acquired status.

The first morning of the tour things started out a little awkwardly. Xander arrived on the doorstep of Spike’s flat in St John’s Wood and was greeted by rumpled, boxer short wearing Angel yelling “What’s he doing here?” to rumpled, boxer short wearing Spike, with rumpled Spike shouting “He’s the roadie,” back at rumpled Angel and a tousled, clothes wearing Xander coughing and jumping in with, “Tour manager actually.” Finally when a sleek, plaid shirt wearing Lindsey added “As long as he’s a tour manager who carries heavy gear and doesn’t get paid a lot, I’m happy,” they all shut up.

Xander was a little confused to see Spike and Angel drag each other into the bedroom but he assumed it was to do with packing issues. He made four cups of tea and dodged his way round an assault course of guitar amps, speaker cabs and suitcases until he finally discovered Lindsey. The drummer was sitting cross legged on the floor reading Kerrang and beating out a rhythm with his sticks on a stack of porno mags accompanied by some strange noises from elsewhere in the flat.

Xander put the mugs down on a large trunk with the words ‘SPIKE’S MAKE UP’ and ‘HA BLEEDIN’ HA’ scrawled across it in marker pen. He watched Lindsey drumming for a while, trying to think up something cool to say and just when he’d finally remembered the word ‘paradiddle’ and was about to ask what it meant, his train of thought was interrupted by a familiar howl.

Lindsey looked up and rolled his eyes. “Better get used to that,” he said dryly, “You’ll be hearing enough of it. I use ear plugs.”

Xander nodded thoughtfully. It was apparent that Angel needed a lot of sex and if he didn’t have a girl close by, who could blame him for taking matters into his own hand.

“We need to get packing, we’ve got our first gig in Birmingham tonight,” said Lindsey pointing at one of the larger boxes then helping Xander carry it down two flights of stairs. “Fuck, I’m glad you’re here, man. I hated carrying all this crap on my own.”

Xander supposed it must be status thing; last man in the band carries all the equipment or something like that. It seemed a bit unfair, but it wasn’t right for senior rock stars to haul drum kits around.

An hour later they were all done. The list was checked twice, the tours details and maps were all in the front and they were sat listening to some whiny music on the stereo and eating peanuts while Lindsey beeped on the horn to hurry the other two up. Finally a dishevelled Spike and Angel emerged, all over each other like a bad rash, practically falling down the iron staircase as they tumbled into the back of the van and slammed the doors closed.

Xander tried to make sense of it in his head, but he wasn’t getting very far. Angel liked girls. Spike liked girls. Angel liked Spike and Spike liked Angel and him.

“You’re not sleeping with them too?” he asked pointing an accusing finger at Lindsey.

“No way, man.”

“Good. Less complicated calculations,” replied Xander and Lindsey laughed.

So that meant that Spike hated Darla because Angel fucked her and Angel didn’t like the Xan man very much because Spike fucked him… didn’t fuck him… nor had he ever implied that he wanted to or was ever going to fuck him. Xander folded his arms and sulked, stopping every now and then to offer Lindsey snacks or a drink from the cool box.

When the banging in the back got overly loud Lindsey took a roundabout a little too fast and the sound of falling equipment and shouts of annoyance were music to Xander’s ears. He and Lindsey grinned and turned up the stereo which was still stuck on the same old same old song where some prick kept howling about his wife running off and leaving him with four disabled children and a windmill to look after. Still Xander wasn’t complaining because at least he had a friend even if he no longer had an almost rock star boyfriend.

Two C.D.’s of whining music later there was a repeated thumping from the back of the van.

“Fuck off,” yelled Lindsey happily.

“I’m starving,” shouted Angel.

“Fuck off,” yelled Lindsey again.

“I could do with a pee,” muttered Xander.

“And I need coffee” said Linds, “but we won’t tell him that,” and added a loud “Fuck off,” for the benefit of his band mates in the back.

Why wasn’t it Lindsey he’d met in Camden Market, wondered Xander ruefully. The guy was short and gorgeous with big blue eyes and a cute smile. If you said it quick enough he could be Spike’s double and on the definite plus side he was a nice guy with no hint of lying prick about him. And he was American.

“Are you gay, bisexual or maybe even curious?” he asked thoughtfully as they pulled into the motorway services.

“No. I’ve never wanted to play with any cock other than my own,” answered Lindsey parking the van as close to the entrance as possible.

Well, that was a big minus on the ‘design a perfect gay boyfriend’ front and anyway Xander wasn’t attracted to Lindsey. He was a one man man, as man-ogamous as they come. If only his one man was interested in him.

Following on behind Angel and Lindsey, who were heading for the restaurant, Xander tried not to walk like a four year old who was about to wet his pants. It was very hard to resist the urge to run whilst trying to look cool and at the same time moodily ignore the plaintive little voice that was crying “Xander,” somewhere over his right shoulder.

He opted for a sulkily distinguished scurry and made it to the urinals just in time.

“Xander, I need to talk to you.”

Xander carried on washing his hands; if he didn’t look or listen or think about Spike he was totally immune to the evil superpowers so he lalalala’d in his head and turned on the hand dryer.

“Xander, stop ignoring me, please,”

It was all going fine until the undignified tussle just by the entrance to the toilets when somehow Xander lost ground and found himself locked in the parent and baby room with a very apologetic and melancholy Spike who was nuzzling up to him like a sexy cat. Pressed up against the changing table with his butt resting on a padded plastic mat, Xander was finding it hard to keep with the lalala program.

“’M sorry, Xan, I was doing it for us. If I hadn’t distracted Angel, things would have got nasty and he wouldn’t have let you come.”

That was a lovely trash can, all pretty and cream and plastic. Xander looked around trying to find something slightly more interesting to distract himself with. He was not giving in to the allure of the mesmerising kisser. There were tiles. He could count tiles.

“So I took him in the bedroom.”

‘Dragged him into the bedroom more like,’ Xander thought, trying not to picture who was taking who and failing miserably. One tile, two tiles, three tiles.

“Well, we started arguing and he said we couldn’t have you on tour with us because we couldn’t afford to pay anyone and so I said I’d pay you out of my own money.”

Twenty-six tiles, twenty-seven tiles, twenty-eight tiles.

“And then he said it wasn’t a legitimate job and I was only paying you because I thought you were gorgeous.”

One tile, ten tiles, thirty-nine steps.

“And I wanted to spend all my time on tour in bed with you, kissing that beautiful mouth and touching you.”

Ninety-nine red balloons, seventy-six trombones, take me.

“Sliding my hands over your body and finding out just what it would be like to make love to a man.”

Take me. Take me. Take me down to the paradise city.

“Angel was real angry by this time so I did the only thing I could think of and I distracted him with what was available. But all the time I was thinking of you.”

Xander was so going to push Spike away. He’d had enough of the kissing game and he wasn’t as easily distracted as other peop…

The kisses were going lower and his t-shirt was moving higher and his jeans were falling off him and his shorts were slipping southwards and when he dared to look down, the blond rock star god was kneeling at his feet, his mouth about to get friendly with Xander’s very excitable cock. The lightning hit harder this time.

Xander was almost glad that Spike had practiced on Angel. He’d learnt a lot in a short time and was very good with his tongue. When his cock disappeared into Spike’s mouth, Xander had to concentrate hard on counting tiles otherwise his first experience of inverted groupie sex was likely to end quickly.

Xander’s knees began to buckle and Spike pushed him back until he was sitting on the changing table. Then he had a blond head in his lap and his fingers were twisted into long wavy hair and all the time Spike’s tongue doing very naughty things to his cock. He was being fellatially deflowered by a rock star. He was coming in Spike’s wonderful mouth. He was flying, flying through the air. He was landing on the ground. He had a plastic baby mat on his head. He was in Heaven.

~~****~~

“Xander. Xander?”

“Hello,” he said looking up at three concerned faces then looking down to see if his cock was hanging out with them too but luckily it was tucked away safely.

“You must’ve hit your head and passed out,” said Spike. “I heard something and came to find out what was happening then I went to get the others.”

Xander didn’t think he’d hit his head. He thought he’d been flattened by a force ten on the Richter scale Spike induced orgasm. How embarrassing.

“What were you doing standing on the baby changing table?” asked Angel.

“I. Was. Just… Thinking. About…. What. A. Really. Good…. Idea. It.” Xander stared in desperation at Spike who was looking as interested as the other two. Panicking now as he tried to drag an answer out of thin air he struck gold when he put his hands in his pockets to try and look nonchalant. “Would be to pin up some flyers in here,” he said in relief, producing a handful of crumpled LiL dEVILs leaflets. “But I didn’t have any pins,” he added not liking the suspicious look on Angel’s face.

“That is such a cool idea,” yelped Lindsey leaning down to hug Xander. “I’ll see if they’ve got any pins or tape in the shop.”

By the time Xander had pulled himself together and was up on his feet, Lindsey was back with a bagful of sticking stuff.

“But we agreed not to use these flyers, remember,” said Spike coldly.

“No. You had a tantrum because you didn’t look as pretty on red paper as you thought you were going to,” said Lindsey, tacking up some leaflets on the wall. “I paid for the printing and I say we use them.”

Oh no. Xander didn’t know what to do. Spike was miserable and it was all his fault. Nice way to thank someone for a blow job, Xander. Way to go.

“I think you look good,” he said casually, “I think you all look good.” He didn’t want to be too obvious about his attraction for Spike; after all he was determined to be a legitimate tour manager, whatever one of those was.

“Image is everything,” said Spike in a petulant voice, “I need a Curly Wurly.” And with that he disappeared into the shop with Angel at his heels.

“Don’t worry, they’re just work shy,” said the drummer as he pasted up leaflets. “How many of these did you bring?”

“Both boxes and the ones on the tables,” replied Xander hoping that was right answer.

Lindsey grinned happily and they moved to the outside of the building advertising LiL dEVILs in every strategic place they could find.

“Excuse me, lad, but what d’yow think yow’re doing?”

Oh no. Man in scary uniform standing beside him. Xander blinked a couple of times before saying, “Joining the Automobile Association? Possibly, maybe, definitely. If you want me that is.”

Xander scraped the flyers off the kiosk while the A.A. man took down all his personal details. He was nervous as he filled in his bank account information knowing there was no money in there nor was there likely to be for the foreseeable future. Did this count as fraud? Could he be arrested and spend time in jail banged up with an eight foot gorilla of a sex offender called Ron who’d tickle him to make him drop the soap in the showers?

“What type of cover do you require?”

“Oh, the best; we breakdown a lot,” said Xander nodding thoughtfully.

“Well that’s all done then. Thank you very much, Mr Harris.” Mr A.A. handed Xander a copy of the registration details. “You’re covered from now. Any problems just phone up and give the number at the top of that form and we’ll be there to assist you.”

“Okay, thanks.” Xander hurried away feeling like such a loser. He was supposed to be wild and dangerous, a heavy metal anarchist who stuck a finger up at authority and what had he done? He’d been so scared of a man selling breakdown insurance that he’d cleaned the little kiosk and signed up for premium cover.

Secreting the telltale forms away in his back pocket, he climbed into the van and waited for the others. Maybe Spike would forgive him and drag him into the back to teach him more tricks for tongues. But no, apparently Angel was in need of distraction again. By the time Lindsey returned the van was a-rocking and a-rolling and Xander was feeling quite seasick.

“You can choose the music if you like,” said Lindsey sympathetically as he started up the engine.

It was time to resurrect some of his old metal gods.

“Ten seconds to love
Ten seconds to love
Pull my trigger
My gun’s loaded with your love.”

Xander sang along with Motley for a while and then felt a little embarrassed that his own staying power might not have been much better than that so he shut up quickly.

They stopped everywhere they could, plastering Birmingham and its suburbs in flyers. Correction. He and Lindsey plastered Birmingham and its suburbs in flyers while Spike and Angel were busy plastering each other in spunk. Xander didn’t know how to feel. He was still on cloud nine hundred and ninety nine about actually breaking his blow job duck, but it was kind of disheartening that said blow jobber was happily making out with his bass player in the back. Still, however depressing his love life might be at least he had an amoeba of one now and working with a rock band was so much more fun than ordering kids’ bikes for a living.

Everything was going great time wise and, as he navigated Lindsey around rush hour Birmingham, Xander was starting to feel like a real tour manager. It was brilliant. They were on the A38(M) heading into the city with three hours to spare when Lindsey stopped the van on the hard shoulder. “Fly post the signs,” he yelled with glee and Xander jumped out gluing and taping LiL dEVILs leaflets wherever he could find a space. They made their mark all the way down the motorway, then Ash had the bright idea of stopping in the outside lane and leaving the hazards flashing so Xander could do the northbound side without them having to go back round again.

It wasn’t the easiest thing, crossing the carriageway just to deface an A.A. emergency phone, but he did it and vengeance was sweet. Anarchy at last. Jumping into the van and panting from the exertion he looked across at Lindsey who was staring at the steering wheel.

“Well, come on then. If we get to The White Swan soon we can get set up and chill for a while.” Goddamn, he was sounding almost manly. Which made a welcome change from mousely.

“That would be great. Just great. If only THE FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT VAN WOULD START.”

“Try it again,” squeaked Xander twenty minutes later.

“Don’t tell me you’re having another one of those ‘This time it’ll be fine’ feelings?” asked the drummer sarcastically as he guzzled his fourth Mars Bar in a row.

“No, it’s just getting really busy and I wanna get out of here before we’re flattened,” whined mousley Xander.

Just then there was a synchronised scream from outside that put his mousiness in the shade as Angel and Spike came hurtling in through the passenger door. “What the fuck” Angel mouthed breathlessly, “are we doing parked up in the middle of a fucking motorway?”

“We figured you’d be hungry so we stopped for a break,” answered Lindsey.

“Good thinking,” said Angel pushing Spike out of the way and delving into the cool box.

“There’s no room for me,” grumbled Spike, sliding onto Xander’s knee and making him the happiest and horniest tour manager in the world.

What was it about Spike? wondered Xander as he watched the singer demolish a Flake, wanting nothing more than to lick away all the crumbly bits of chocolate from pouty lips.

“So, can we go now then?” asked Angel, giving credence to the myth that, however intelligent they were, Irish people were invariably thick with it.

Lindsey sighed deeply, “We are stuck,” he said, annunciating slowly and clearly for the benefit of the none-too-quick. “On the motorway. Truck no go vroom. Period.”

“Fuck,” said Angel despondently.

“I second that fuck and raise you a blow job,” said Xander and then gasped. He’d never dared to make a quippy quip before, especially not to Angel who he was a little bit in awe of because of his size and a little bit in hate with because of his Spike.

Then Spike laughed. Spike laughed at his quippyness, and right now Xander couldn’t have cared less if they were stuck on the summit of Mount St Helens.

“I think there’s one of those A.A. emergency phones there but I’m not entirely sure ‘cause it’s covered all over in red paper,” said Angel looking out of the windscreen over towards the other carriageway. “I don’t s’pose any of you dicks had the foresight to take out breakdown cover did you?”

Xander felt itchy. The A.A. forms were burning a hole in his pocket but he still felt a bit dumb about being bullied by that tall guy, short guy, guy in scary uniform guy.

He listened to the mumbles of ‘no’ and ‘fuck off’ and then coughed a bit and wriggled around to free up the registration document, a process which felt goood with a deliberate three O’s seeing as Spike was still sitting on his knee, so he wriggled around for a while longer but then remembered his fears about being flattened by large lorries and yanked the paperwork out of his pocket. “I might be a member of the Automobile Association,” he said sheepishly.

“See? Gorgeous and clever,” said Spike, bestowing Xander with kisses. “What did I tell you, Angel? I said he’d be an asset.”

If he was three, Xander would have poked his tongue out at Angel and sang the ‘nyah nayh nyah, I got to smooch Spike,’ song.

“I think you definitely mentioned the ass part,” sniggered the Irishman.

But being eighteen Xander sang it under his breath against Spike’s neck and flipped a very subtle bird in Angel’s direction.

“That’s because his ass is lickable.”

Having a lickable ass was a pretty incredible feeling and now that Spike had swivelled around, all the compliments in combination with some serious cock to cock contact and a tongue fucking were making Xander very happy indeed.

“Xander, for Christsake go phone the breakdown recovery people then you can nail Spike on the hood for all I care.” Lindsey was getting fractious and looking at his watch and Xander knew he needed to be the man again and lead his rock band out of danger.

“I’m on my way,” he said, gently easing Spike off him in the direction of drums rather than bass.

After squeezing in between Lindsey and the steering wheel, and climbing down into the cacophony of rush hour, Xander stood by the central reservation and stared at the oncoming northbound traffic.

“Run. No don’t run. Yeah run. Noooo. Now. NOT NOW,” instructed Spike helpfully as he leaned over Lindsey and peered out of the window.

“It may be better if I choose my own moment,” smiled Xander and then made a mad dash for the hard shoulder, screaming all the way like a possessed banshee.

Five minutes later he was back in the van, panting so much he was hardly able to speak. “Next time you need something from the other side of the motorway, can someone else please go?”

“Course they can. You were so brave,” soothed Spike.

Xander didn’t feel exactly brave at the time, in fact he’d had to relieve himself whilst making the phone call, but retrospectively it felt so damn good to be a hero. He was Starsky and Hutch all rolled into one without the bad hair and strange taste in clothing.

“Well?” asked Angel.

“What?” Xander had gone blank. “Oh, the A.A. They’ll be here in about half an hour.”

“Great. Good job, Xander,” said Angel reluctantly then he rubbed Spike’s thigh. “Are you coming in the back with me to check our gear for this evening?”

“No. I think I’ll stay here.” Spike was doing a little rubbing of his own, working his fingers against Xander’s fly.

“You’re such a whore for butch,” sulked Angel. “I could have done the all action thing but I wasn’t a member like Xander.”

“Drama queens, children, tarts and bitches, just shut the hell up,” yelled Lindsey looking green with frustration or was it from too much chocolate?

Forty two minutes later - not that Xander had been timing or anything - there was a knock at the driver’s side window.

“Mr Harris?” yelled a man, trying to make himself heard over the roar of the traffic.

“Yeah, that’s me” answered Xander with a distinctive tone of authority. He ‘da’ man.

“Strange place to break down in, lads.”

“We had a vomit emergency and needed to stop immediately,” said Xander.

“Oh, so it had nothing to do with these leaflets that match the distinctive paint job on your van?” The man waved a handful of sticky crumpled red flyers through the window.

“Where did you find those?” asked Spike. “A box load of them fell out of the van when the back doors flew open accidentally like.”

“I found it and several others glued to the emergency phones.”

“Self sticking,” said Spike, “Like them new post it labels. Clever idea, huh?”

“Clever’s not the word I was thinking of but never mind, we were all young and stupid once so pop open the bonnet for me and I’ll see if I can get you started.”

~~****~~

“I love you, baby, you’re sleek and racy and you look so hot.” Lindsey petted the new van that was sat outside The White Swan with loving caresses.

“You do know we’ve only got her for a couple of days and then we have to have to give her back,” said Angel, laughing at Lindsey as the drummer did everything but fuck his shiny new toy.

“I know but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s like being in the A-Team.”

Unable to get the old van going, the A.A. man had arranged for it to be towed to the pub then he’d driven them all there to meet up with it, helped them unload the gear, had the van towed to a garage and come up with a replacement vehicle for them for the next couple of days for the West Midlands leg of their tour.

“Bloody hell, that’s serious fucking service you guys give,” grinned Spike, actually putting his hand in his own pocket to buy George, the A.A. man, a drink, after he’d helped them set up all the equipment and they still had an hour and a half to spare.

“Used to do a bit of this meself. Played drums in a band called Brum Boys but then we started getting the wrong sort of crowd and the lads and I jacked it in. Anyway that’s why I called in a few favours for you boys.”

“You’re a star,” said Spike patting George vigorously on the back and making him choke on his pint. “You gonna stick around and watch the gig?”

“No, I’d like to but I gotta get home for my tea. Wife’ll have me guts for garters if I’m late back. You boys break a leg and I’ll bring back the van back on Monday, a’right?”

“Thanks, mate,” replied Spike.

“Spike, you need to start getting ready,” muttered Xander who’d been checking his watch every five seconds for the past hour.

“Yes, mum,” answered the singer as he rolled himself a fag and sipped at his beer while he listened to George tell his stories about Black Sabbath and Judas Priest and other up and coming bands who were working the pub circuit of Birmingham when he was a struggling musician.

Finally the mechanic swilled down his pint and left them to it, and Xander was able to lead Spike away to the dressing room. He then went off on a search for Angel and Lindsey but, by the time he’d rounded those two up, Spike was back out at the bar, still as rumpled and grubby looking, flirting outrageously with the prettiest barmaid. Christ it was like being a sheep dog with worse pay and conditions.

“Come on,” he said, pushing a protesting Spike after the other two into the little cave of a dressing room.

‘Some rock star lifestyle,’ thought Xander half an hour later as he stood in a toilet cubicle holding Angel’s hair back as the bass player threw up for the fourth time, apparently suffering from severe stage fright. Leading the shivering man back to the dressing room, Xander watched in despair as Angel as paced the floor dressed only in a pair of boxers muttering “I can’t do it, I can’t do it,” over and over again. Xander checked his watch, “Yeah you can, but you better hurry up ‘cause you won’t look half as menacing as usual if you’re on stage in just those Bugs Bunny underpants.”

Angel looked down in fear as he checked out the design on his shorts. “Not the Bugs Bunny ones,” he mumbled giving Xander an inkling of an idea that the ‘oh so cool one’ wasn’t so cool after all.

“Come on, Ange, you get dressed and I’ll do your make up and hair,” said Spike sauntering in from the loos and Xander wondered how he’d ever thought these guys were anything special.

He watched a green tinted Angel struggle into his clothes and sit on a wobbly wooden chair. He watched Spike straddle Angel’s knee and paint a ring of eyeliner around each dark eye whilst chatting away nine to the dozen to take the bass player’s mind off his nerves and he finally saw them for what they were. Just ordinary people.

Unhooking Lindsey from his personal stereo and watching as Spike finished backcombing Angel’s hair, Xander checked his watch. “Time to go, guys,” he said, opening the door of the dressing room.

Making sure they found their way all of the twenty feet down the corridor to the back entrance of the little stage area, Xander then watched them muddle around griping and moaning to each other until in the end they were making him so nervous he left them to it. Ordering a pint from the bar, he tried to push his way into the huge back room of the pub but he couldn’t get through the doors. Jesus, the place was heaving. Running as fast as he could through the private area of the pub he pushed his way past the jumble of grumbling band members and then leapt off the small stage, spilling beer everywhere as he tried to find himself a good vantage point. Oh God, s’pose Angel threw up or Spike fell off his stilettos. He was terrified for them. They were so helpless. They were so useless. They were….

Fucking Rock Gods!

Xander yelled and sang and cheered along with the rest of the crowd. He was not worthy of even talking to them and yet they were his boys and he was their tour manager and he was so proud. In fact he was barely able to restrain himself from telling everyone near him that the singer had given him a blow job. Him! Spike sucked him off, not the other way around. Would it be uncool to have a sign made up?

“G’night everyone, we’re LiL dEVILs and you guys rock,” yelled Spike after the third encore and, as the whole crowd screamed for more and stamped their feet, Xander raced to the backstage area, overwhelmed with euphoria and bursting with emotion. He felt moronically shy as the three guys bounced into the dressing room, high on adrenalin and chattering away about how Spike had fucked up and sang three verses the same in Dirty Bitch, and how Angel had tripped over his lead and almost knocked the drum kit over during Rock Hard, and how Lindsey had dropped so many sticks he was on his last set by the end of the show, and how fucking amazing it was.

It was totally fucking amazing and Xander wanted to tell them that but some frigging cat had ripped out his tongue and instead he just watched as they stripped out of their stage gear and washed down as best they could.

“So what did you think, Xan?” asked Spike, turning him to a puddle of melty stuff with those big blue eyes.

“I thought you were great,” he mumbled.

“Of course we were great. We’re always great, but tonight we were better than great, tonight we were fan-fucking-tastic,” yelled Angel draping an arm around Spike and Xander and grinning from ear to ear. “Come on, come on, come on, hurry up, I wanna go get a drink.”

Xander found it hard to reconcile this man with Terrified Vomiting Guy from two hours ago and found himself hanging back, allowing the three guys from the band to lead the way. He knew his rightful place as he lurked at the side of the bar.

“Xander, you’re a fucking genius,” grinned Lindsey untangling a slutty girl from around his neck and wiping away the smears of lipstick. “We had a full house ‘cause of these.” He said waving a red piece of paper in Xander’s face. “I had all the tour dates printed on them and these guys said Birmingham’s never been blanket bombed like that since WW2 and so they came along to see what was happening.”

Xander was well and truly silenced. He’d done something good and no one ever need know it was by accident. Next time he vowed it wouldn’t be an accident. Spike was sitting up on the bar in his customary position, selling CD’s and leaning down to snog the most attractive girls when suddenly inspiration struck Xander square between the eyes. Well it wasn’t incredibly inspired but it was a good and steady idea.

“T-shirts,” he said in the new determined Xander way.

“What?” said Lindsey extracting his head from between a pair of breasts and ordering them both a pint.

“Look at the amount of money Spike’s making from selling those C.D.’s. If we had t-shirts as well it would be even better.”

“But where do we get the money to have them made up? Spike’s always broke; the only money he gets is from when he does the odd day helping out a buddy on a market stall. Angel’s worse than broke, if he has money he loses it, and me… I’m worse than Angel, I give it away. ”

“Well here’s a thought, maybe you could not spend the C.D. money on partying.”

“Where’s the party?” asked Angel turning round to join in with their conversation, his ravedar malfunctioning.

“No parties,” pouted Lindsey. “Xander thinks we should save up and get t-shirts printed and I guess maybe he’s right.”

“Why? Rock music’s about the lifestyle not fucking t-shirts,” yelled Angel.

“But they’ll make a profit and they’re free advertising.” Xander was so proud of himself now. Coming up with that reasoning on the spur of the moment when confronted by a belligerent, tall and gorgeous bass player was a miracle.

And he’d managed to shut Angel up. Yet another miracle.

“Money, money, money, money, money,” sang Spike, the pockets of his black jeans and leather coat overflowing with fivers and tenners as he approached his friends followed by a throng of girls.

Xander quickly appropriated as much of it as he could lay his hands on with Spike slapping away at him. “Why’re you stealing our dosh, Xan?”

Don’t look at that pout. Use the force, Luke. Don’t be dragged in by that tractor beam.

“It’s not ours anymore, babe, apparently it’s a clothing slush fund,” sulked Angel.

“Merchandise maketh money,” insisted Xander ignoring the grumpy looks from the tantrum twins.

“Good show, boys. Your gear’ll be safe here for the night and you can pick it up tomorrow if you like,” yelled the manger from the other side of the bar. “And anytime you want to play again, you’ll be very welcome, a’right.” He handed Spike a fistful of dollars which Xander immediately took possession of.

“Looks like it’s a private party back at the B&B then,” said Spike and Xander was caught up in the avalanche of bodies that hurtled in the direction of Lindsey’s new love. Unwanted strays were weeded out and soon Xander was lying in the back of the van with Molly on one side of him and Cassie on the other and there was just nowhere to escape to.

Girl kisses were okay; softer than Spike kisses, too soft for his liking, but if he closed his eyes the lipstick tasted the same. However when they started to investigate his pants and, worse still, wanted him to investigate theirs, Xander began to feel a bit threatened. He’d never wanted one girl, let alone two!

It turned out to be less of a problem than he thought because, by the time petting was pushing towards porny, the van pulled to a halt, the door slid open and Molly and Cassie had suddenly lost interest in a lowly tour manager when there were rock stars to paw.

The landlady of ‘Floribunda,’ the little Victorian Bed and Breakfast, was none too happy about letting them in at this hour of the night and it took a large dose of flirtatious Spike to sweet talk her into allowing them to stay. By the time Xander had checked in, fetched the luggage and locked up the van, he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed.

Listening outside room fourm, Xander sighed sadly. The animal impressions and mockney screams of pleasure indicated that Spike and Angel had herded a gaggle of girls into the room and were proceeding to mate with them as energetically as possible. He was about to knock on the room next door when the bouncing bedsprings and moans of pleasure put him off. He did not want to spend the night with his head under the duvet frantically jerking off to the sound of Lindsey getting laid.

Xander waylaid the landlady on her way back up the stairs with a cup of cocoa and a packet of chocolate biscuits. After staring longingly at her snacks for a while, he popped the question. “Mrs Bingham, you haven’t got you’ve got any other rooms available, have you?” He didn’t know how he was going to pay for it but he was desperate enough to use the old empty bank account trick once more. After all, even Ron the eight foot rapist had supper and a place to bed down in.

“I’m sorry, love, but I’ve none free,” she said pouring the slops of cocoa from the saucer back into her mug, “Why? Does one of your friends snore?”

Jesus, was she stone deaf? Xander could hear the howls of Angelic copulation as clear as a bell.

“No, yeah, never mind. I’ll think of something.”

“Okay then, n’ night, love.”

Xander watched her shuffle upstairs in her slippers and then snuck out of the front door. It was lucky he had the keys to the van. Yeah, he was the luckiest tour manager in the world.

Curled up in a ball, he tried his best to think positive. At least it wasn’t the old van which had more rust holes in the floor than floor itself. This van was not only floor intact, it also had a rough nylon carpet to lie on. ‘Yeah, life was good,’ he convinced himself, pulling the old blanket that they used for packing up over his shoulders. Life was totally fucking amazing.

~~****~~

Oh shit, what was that? He’d only been to sleep for a little while and already he was woken up, scared out of his tiny pea-sized brain by the sound of a door banging and footsteps circling the van. It was Ron the serial rapist. It was an American Werewolf in Birmingham. It was that little scary girl with the disconnected neck from the Exorcist. It was a West Midlands Chainsaw massacre-er. It was…

“Oi, Xan, you in there? Please say you’re in there?”

It was his hero, Spike. Throwing open the slide door, Xander almost sobbed in relief.

“What are you doing out here, gorgeous?” said Spike looking his usual dishevelled self and altogether too sexy in the mood street lighting.

“There was much of the shagging and none of it was of me and so I had to find somewhere to sleep. Can we go back inside now? It’s scary out here, there’re rapists and werewolves and possessed girls and slashers.”

“We could,” said Spike dubiously and Xander could see the ‘but’ face even in the dark.

“If only I hadn’t slammed the door closed,” continued Spike. “So it looks like we’ll be bedding down here for the night.”

There was a long pause and then a sniff and then a “Sorry,” and Xander could see that little boy lost face even in the dark.

“That’s okay, as long as you’ve brought your own moth-eaten army blanket ‘cause I’m not sharing mine.” Be strong, Xander. Always remember to live long and prosper. Remember that Vader is your father. Remember not to fall into the arms of the nearest and prettiest slut boy even if said slut boy is the gorgeous rock god super hero who saved you from the powerful death-inflicting bite of evil lycanthropes.

“Oh, and there I was thinking we could snuggle up to conserve body warmth,” said Spike in his best seductive boy voice which apparently had the ability to strip Bambi-eyed tour managers of their self respect and clothing in ten seconds flat.

It was hot under that blanket, especially since they were now lying on a nest of jeans, sweatshirts and boxer shorts. Direct skin to skin contact was the best way to keep warm or so Spike said. And he’d watched a program on TV about lost rock climbers who’d survived for months in Nepal by immediately getting naked. Xander wasn’t entirely convinced but could see no harm in trying it.

“Xander, do you want to practice kissing some more?”

No. Absolutely… "Yes, please."

It wasn’t fair. How come Spike could drink, smoke, abuse his body in every way known to man and still taste as sweet as nectar? Xander suddenly had the horrible feeling that those were the kind of words that a man in love might think.

No. Erase that thought from your mind. You do not fall in love with slut boys. No. No. Not even if they kiss like Gods and their hard cocks are rubbing up against yours and it’s the first time your penis has ever been in contact with a member of any sex’s sex parts.

‘Help!’ he cried internally as his body disobeyed him and he gave in to the lure of those kisses that made every expanding inch of him ache for more.

“That’s my boy, my gorgeous brown eyed boy,” whispered Spike, wrapping his arm around Xander and pulling him closer until their bodies were locked together and they were making out, grinding and thrusting against each other on the floor of that van. By now Xander was nothing more than a whimpering gibbering wreck. Shivering with panic he hid inside Spike’s arms wanting something to happen before he embarrassed himself and covered Spike with a whole load of evidence that proved his incompetence.

Gradually Spike moved from mouth to neck and from neck to nipples and Xander wished more than anything for some light so that he could see that this was for real and not just another depressing wet dream. Pinching himself on the back of the hand to try and wake up before his underpants became soggy, he felt Spike’s lips, soft as feathers, brush across the skin of his belly. Then the tip of that wicked tongue dipped into his navel and traced the fine line of hair downwards until it reached …

“Oh Christ.”

Spike’s mouth felt like silk to his cock which was twitching fiercely and telling both he and Spike just how much it was enjoying this game. Second time around blow jobs were even better than virgin ones - if that were possible.

Spike pulled away, then stood up to slide open some sort of blind and the van was illuminated just enough from the street lights for Xander to see Spike’s thick cock curving up from his groin. It was more exciting and more terrifying than he’d ever thought it would be. How far would Spike want to go? How far did he want to go? Who would put what where? These were all very important questions but Xander had a feeling they might be definite passion killers, so with great difficulty he kept his thoughts to himself.

Lying down next to Xander, Spike covered them back up with the blanket and gently took hold of Xander’s hand placing it over his cock then he wrapped his own fingers around Xander’s erection. Spike squeezed gently, rubbing his thumb over the tip of the circumcised prick until a dribble of pre-come oozed out, which he slicked over the head in a slow circling motion.

Unable to even dare taking a breath, Xander copied everything to the letter, wanking Spike’s cock with trembling fingers, completely enthralled by the wide eyed look on that pretty face. Leaning in, he slid his tongue over Spike’s then, slipping an arm around Spike’s neck, he deepened the kiss as they stroked each other off faster.

It suddenly dawned on Xander that at last he had a real live cock in his hand that wasn’t his own. Spike’s prick was solid and warm and smooth and it didn’t feel anything like the same as having a wank. It was so much more enjoyable to make someone else moan with excitement for a change.

So good. So freaking good.

Xander was fucking Spike’s fist hard now, kissing, panting, bucking, higher than he’d ever been in his life. Pulling the blanket off them, Xander looked down at the combination of hands and cocks in places that he had never ever thought they’d be and he sucked in a deep breath and rocked harder, stifling his cries into Spike’s mouth as he came and came and couldn’t stop coming.

“That’s it, my gorgeous one,” said Spike licking the semen off his fingers.

“What does it taste like?” asked Xander and Spike offered him his hand, grinning as Xander shied away.

“Salty, kind of bitter. I like it. Yours is sweeter than Angel’s which is pretty much to be expected,” he said with a grin and a peck on Xander’s lips.

Xander was confused. He should hate hearing about Angel when he was in bed with Spike but he felt such a sense of belonging that it didn’t matter anymore. He was fine inching his way down Spike’s body but then he totally lost confidence when his tongue made first contact with that lusted after cock. Pressing his lips to the tip he eventually summoned up enough courage to open his mouth, tasting the gloss coating of fluid as it seeped onto his tongue. It wasn’t scary at all. He liked it a lot. Laying his head on Spike’s belly he eased inch after inch of swollen cock into his mouth, stopping when he hit overload point. It would so not be cool to throw up on his almost boyfriend. Tentatively he began to lick and suck, experimenting, testing the way the ridges and veins felt in his mouth. Everything seemed enlarged; the tiny slit felt huge to the tip of his tongue and it took an age to roll his tongue all the way round the head. When he teased that little pleat of skin with his teeth, Spike hissed, and when he sucked hard, Spike yelped. It was a symphony of sex noises and the thought made Xander want to laugh in delight but then he remembered just who was making those sex noises and that made him want to come instead. Harder than steel already, he rubbed himself off against Spike’s leg, panicking when he was pushed unceremoniously away. Had he done something wrong? Broken some rule of gay sex that was written in stone?

“Lie on your back,” said Spike and Xander obeyed immediately, shaking with a combination of fear and anticipation as Spike knelt over him over him and buried his face between Xander’s legs. The licking and nibbling was driving him crazy and Xander would have begged for mercy if he hadn’t had a mouthful of cock at the time. Soixante neuf - another new experience for today’s page of the diary. The steady sucking kept him floating on cloud sixty-nine and he was in happy-happy land until a surprise finger starting rubbing erotic little circles on his hole.

Okay. He was getting a vivid picture of what Spike wanted to go where now and he was pretty damn sure that he wasn’t ready for this game until…

“Fuck.”

That finger had pushed in and it wasn’t totally unpleasant. Having his cock sucked was much nicer, but then he had the added benefit of enjoying that at the same time. He concentrated on the Spike suckage and tried not to imagine what a large prick would feel like up his bottom if this was just a finger.

When it withdrew, Xander felt a sense of relief tinged with this odd emptiness. Surely he didn’t want to be fucked up the arse did he? But then the finger was back and this time it was all smooth and slick and Xander wondered how Spike had managed to find some lubrication so easily in the dark.

The combination of finger fucking and fellatio was making Xander feel good, then all of a sudden, Spike twisted his hand and he was feeling more than good. It was like a buzzer going off inside him and Xander was sure Spike must be swallowing a mouthful of sperm but he could see the silhouette of his cock harder then ever sliding in and out of Spike’s mouth.

Wasn’t he supposed to be doing something?

One finger became two and Xander pushed back, wanting that wild fake orgasm thing to happen again and, oh God, there it was. Delirious with excitement, he fucked himself into Spike’s mouth and onto Spike’s hand remembering at last to do something with the neglected erection that was nudging insistently at his lips.

Sex was fun; he’d always known it would be, so why the hell had he waited eighteen years to try it out? Next thing he knew the fingers had gone and Spike’s mouth was now nibbling away at his lips, licking and kissing and petting him until he was a big bubble of need that was about to pop.

“Xander, baby, can I fuck you?”

The kisses were deeper now, tongue drifting between Xander’s lips filling the spaces between the words.

“Yeah,” he answered straight away. There was no need for his usual meandering thought process with Spike gliding over him like liquid, fingers rubbing and soothing and tweaking until Xander was one huge erogenous zone, every millimetre of skin begging for more of those touches.

He didn’t want to be a virgin anymore. He wanted to be a grown up.

Wrapping his legs around the slim body he bucked his hips urging Spike on with every thrust and shimmy. “Want you. Want your cock in me. Will it hurt?”

“It will a bit at first but you know how good a finger is in there? Well, a cock feels ten times as good as that.”

The truth was more seductive than if Spike had just kissed him and lied. Xander felt the tension ease away as he relaxed and spread his legs wide open. Spike lay next to him leaning up on an elbow and dusting Xander’s face with more kisses as the fingers of his left hand worked their magic, alternating between his arse and his cock.

“Please,” begged Xander as he arched up into Spike’s touch, staring unblinking at the shadowy man above him, “Please.”

After another long kiss, Spike knelt up and tore open a foil wrapper and Xander watched as he slid the condom over his erection. It was gonna happen. It was finally gonna happen.

“Lift up,” said Spike pushing at Xander’s butt to encourage him and Xander pressed his bare feet against the rough carpet wondering why Spike was raising him up on the bunched up blanket and a sweatshirt.

“It makes it easier this way,” Spike explained in between yet more of those kisses that made Xander give in to just about everything.

The first nudge of Spike’s cock was so painful Xander wanted to cry but he bit his lip to stop from yelling.

“S’okay, pet. I’ll push hard just to get it in and then we’ll take it nice and slow I promise.”

Xander didn’t have time to argue because one earth shattering paingasm later, Spike’s slick cock was embedded inside him and his wet eyes weren’t entirely caused by the throbbing in his arse. Throughout his years of fantasy, he’d never once got around to imagining what it would feel like to be joined to another person and, agony aside, it was the best. Spike petted him and told him how amazing he was and Xander buried his face in Spike’s neck waiting, hoping, it was going to become more than good again.

When it did, it hit Xander like a bomb, in a stomach-tingling, arse-clenching kind of a way. “Fuck me now,” he begged pushing up against Spike’s body.

For just one moment he regretted everything and wanted to be back in his bedsit jerking off on posters. It was too big and it felt like he was on fire with the friction. ‘No’ he was about to scream as he tensed up but then Spike bent his head and sucked at each nipple in turn then thrust hard.

Stars, light, heat, everything just exploded in Xander’s head and he made this mewling sound which was probably more animal than Angel ever got, although more of a kitten than a tiger.

“S’my good boy,” murmured Spike and he began to fuck Xander slow and hard, reaching down to twist his fingers around his soft cock, sucking hot wet bruises into his neck that Xander knew would mark by morning.

“Christ, you’re so fucking tight, I can’t…”

With a groan Spike gave in to his orgasm and Xander wanted more than anything to see the look on Spike’s face and know what it was like to have his insides full of come.

“I’m sorry,” said Spike, “I didn’t… you didn’t … I don’t…” He sighed and then reached over for another condom, taking Xander into his mouth and sucking him hard then pulling away with a popping sound and rolling the rubber sheath over Xander’s cock. Xander was silent while Spike slicked him up with lube. He didn’t have a clue what to do to make someone ready or where to find that magic button inside, but then he was straddled by a lithe body which enveloped his cock without any need for fingers.

Oh god, oh god, oh god times a million. He was in Spike’s body, which not only looked amazing on the outside, it felt freaking incredible internally as well. He was a real live fuckee and suckee and a fucker and sucker. Maybe he should rephrase that. Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking banal thoughts when he had a rock star bouncing up and down on his erect penis.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” With a long drawn out howl Xander released his load into the condom. Maybe he should have carried on thinking about the banalities.

Spike collapsed onto his chest shivering from the cold and Xander dragged the blanket out from where it was bundled up beneath him and wrapped it around them both.

“It can be better,” muttered Spike. “I can be better.”

Xander didn’t know what to say. The only word he could think of was ‘perfect’ and that sounded totally pathetic.

~~****~~

Xander shivered and rolled over bouncing off a foreign object in his bed. Ouch. A bed that was a lot more uncomfortable than usual. Opening his eyes with difficulty he looked around him and then over in the direction of the foreign object which was snoring gently and appeared to be made up mostly of tangled blond hair.

Xander looked down at his naked self. Today he was a man, a fully-fledged man with a sore arse and a burning desire to go for a pee. The world was beckoning and he flung open the doors, then froze in terror as his morning wood was suddenly an exhibit on general viewing to select members of the public.

It would have been a good idea to shut the door or even to take a devil may care piss but no, he had to stand there looking fucking ridiculous with his mouth open like a big ring doughnut and his cock still pointing upwards in surprise.

“’S cold, Xan, shut the fucking door.”

The low voice from the back of the van made Xander’s cock stand up even more. He managed a squeak and Spike came over to see what was the matter, rubbing his eyes and brushing the hair away from his face. “Morning everyone,” he said as he registered all the faces staring at him.

“Xan, this is Eve. She drove up last night,” said Lindsey.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” mumbled Xander wondering why his cock was as unwilling to run and hide as the rest of him.

“Yeah, she and Darla surprised us,” explained Angel with a feral leer that Xander was finding hard to translate. Darla. Darla! That explained things. He’d given his virginity away to a slut boy who had been kicked out of bed in favour of a half dressed ho.

“Oh pretty,” said Darla eyeing him up and down like a sausage in a butcher’s shop. “I never knew you liked boys, Spike?”

Ignoring the splutter of laughter from Eve and Lindsey, Spike looked Darla in the eye. “Seems there a whole lot you don’t know, love, and I hope for your sake you never find out. Come on, Xan, let’s go to bed.”

Coolly, casually, and as naked as the day he was born, Spike snatched the room key off Angel and swaggered in through the open front door of the guest house. He was followed by a snivelling whimpering Xander who scurried over the finish line with his hands clasped firmly over his penis which was more upstanding than ever since the need to pee was now hitting emergency levels.

“Morning, Mrs Bingham,” said Spike breezily as he bounced (and swayed) nonchalantly up the stairs to the attic floor of the house.

“MsoryIlosmyclthes,” mumbled Xander trying to cross his legs, and run, and hide his erection all at the same time.

Trying to convince himself he hadn’t heard the landlady sighing happily over ‘boys and their willies,’ Xander stumbled into the bathroom and, jiggling from foot to foot, was finally able to pee. Until a handed wrapped around his cock and the immediate stiffening up made it hard to squeeze the last few drops out.

“Bed,” said Spike as he shook Xander’s cock firmly until it was all hard and achy.

“No.” Xander was determined not to fall for the ... kisses… on… the… back… of… his… neck… trick.

“Okay, you’re right,” sighed Spike pulling away from Xander immediately.

Xander could hear himself panting loudly with disappointment. He was becoming sluttier than slut boy. It was criminal.

Spike turned the shower on and tested the temperature, and then surprised Xander by dragging him inside the cubicle and sliding closed the glass doors. It was such a quick manoeuvre that Xander didn’t have time to protest.

“We need to get clean so we can get all dirty again,” said Spike as he lathered up his hand with gel, Angel’s by the smell of it, and proceeded to rub Xander down and up and down and in and out until he was exquisitely spotless and about ready to explode all over the place. Showering with another person was a very intimate experience, all the fondling and groping and grinding that went into getting two men clean was amazing and when Spike knelt and gave Xander’s cock a thorough inspection with his tongue it was too much. Holding Spike’s head firmly in place, Xander pumped his hips, fucking Spike’s mouth good and hard then pulling back in time to jerk himself off over Spike’s pretty face.

Holy shit, how did he have the balls to do that? He watched the water rinse away the rivulets of come from Spike’s hair.

“Fuck, want you,” growled Spike pulling Xander out of the bathroom past an appreciative Mrs Bingham then running back for the key and opening the door with difficulty.

Dripping wet they fell onto the bed. Spike’s fingers and lips were everywhere, pinching Xander’s nipples then soothing them better with long slow licks and stretching him open with fingers and … oh… a tongue!

Groaning with relief, Spike finally sank his cock inside and Xander hooked his legs tight around and waited for the pain to die down.

“Now,” he said when he was relaxed, ready and impatient to be reminded how good it was to screw. Spike kissed him hard with deep thrusts of his tongue and then began to fuck him with powerful strokes that mirrored the kiss.

Xander was so full. Sex was like flying and smoking weed and driving really fast all at the same time. It was like chocolate and beer and skinny dipping and snowboarding and jumping out of a plane.

He wanted to fuck Spike everywhere. He wanted to be fucked on a beach and fuck in a hot tub and he just wanted to fuck all the time. He wanted LiL dEVILs to be famous so there were better places to fuck in than a crummy B&B.

Wriggling his fingers between damp skin Xander reached for his cock and wanked himself gently, deliberately clenching every muscle in his body.

“Unghhh,” moaned Spike in some indecipherable sex language as he came hard into the condom.

“My turn,” grinned Xander pushing Spike onto his back, chucking the used condom in the direction of the bin and slicking his fingers up with lube he found on the bedside cabinet. Spike lifted his legs and Xander fingered him open exploring the hot tight hole and trying to find what it was in there that gave so much pleasure.

“Hgaieurhmmmph,” howled Spike, his cock beginning to fill again and Xander felt like he’d discovered a new land and should name it ‘That Thing Up Spike’s Arse.’ Maybe not.

He rubbed the new land a few more times then added a couple more fingers for good measure, loving the way he could make Spike whimper and speak in tongues. Now it was time for cock in nice hot body.

Equipping himself with a rubber overcoat for the journey, Xander kissed Spike and ran the tip of his erection up and down trying to find the hole. Pouting with frustration he let Spike take over, showing him the right place.

“Now push, you won’t hurt me,” said Spike pulling Xander lower so he could kiss him then shimmying his hips until Xander couldn’t do anything but…

“FUCK,” he howled.

“Do me hard,” begged Spike and Xander was too polite not to do as asked. He rammed himself inside but it wasn’t enough for either of them and they changed position in a scrambling hurry. Spike knelt up, hanging onto the top of the wooden headboard as Xander gripped his hips and slammed inside over and over and faster and faster until everything was a fizzy blur.

Reaching ‘round he fisted Spike’s slippery wet cock and fucked him so hard he thought they were going to end up in the next room which he had a worrying suspicion might well be occupied by Mrs Bingham with a glass to the wall.

“Yesssssssss,” howled Spike. “Yes. Harder. Fuck me harder. OH FUCK, THAT’S IT.”

“The gear’s all loaded so whenever you’re ready,” said a badly timed annoying Irish voice from the open doorway.

“Fuck off, Angel,” yelled Spike.

“I’ll just get me bag packed,” said the bass player, walking round to the other side of the bed and throwing clothes into a holdall.

“Ignore him,” said Spike squeezing hard and fucking back against Xander who was so near that point of no return his cock hadn’t drooped in the slightest even when confronted by a six foot bass player who was examining Xander’s brand new technique with eagle eyes. Better let the bastard know what a quick learner he was. Would he get marks out of ten?

Showing off his rigidity and length, Xander pulled most of the way out and then slammed back in, aiming the head of his cock at newly discovered land and making Spike yell in newly discovered language.

Employing every single thing he’d ever learned from porno films, Xander shimmied and writhed and bucked and pumped and rubbed and tweaked and did just about everything short of singing the star spangled banner. And he almost did that when his hand was filled with Spike spunk and he reached his own climax licking the semen off his fingers.

They collapsed in a heap of damp hair and sweaty bodies and as Spike snuggled into his arms, Xander couldn’t resist a small self-satisfied grin in Angel’s direction. He might be a pawn in their game but it made a change from the boring kind of porn he was used to.

“We’re going now, with or without you,” muttered Angel, striding out of the room and slamming the door.

Xander panicked and tried to jump out of bed but Spike clung on to him.

“If they go they’ll only have to come back later and pick us up. It won’t be much of a show with just drum and bass. Who’d listen to that?”

~~****~~

Spike was almost right. The van was gone but they’d given a note and some keys to Mrs Bingham.

“They’ve left us Eve’s car,” said Spike as he read the letter.

“Great,” said Xander, “We can go get those t-shirts sorted. They can copy the logo off the flyer.”

He borrowed the landlady’s phone and yellow pages and in an hour had managed to find a company that could print up three hundred shirts by tomorrow as long as they got the design to them as soon as possible.

Saying a sad farewell to Mrs Bingham, who sobbed into her hanky and said she hadn’t had so much fun since Led Zeppelin stayed with her, they packed their stuff into the rusty mini and set out to find the printers.

It wasn’t a long journey to Wednesbury, but once you took into account a recently deflowered randy teen being in the same car as a serial slut boy, the vast number of stops turned the twenty minute trip into an expedition almost the length of Scott trying to discover the South Pole. Xander seemed to have a permanent erection. No sooner had Spike blown him on the bonnet ‘round the back of Ladbroke’s betting shop than he was as hard as a steel bar again and ready to drag Spike out of the car and bend over for him on a convenient pile of pallets.

They fucked their way around Birmingham until they were so sore they could barely sit down and, even when both of them had run out of juice, they still had a fifteen minute make out session outside the printers which left them wanting to do more than they physically could.

Xander was happy happy happy happy. So happy he negotiated a brilliant rate and got them free back printing with all the tour dates listed. Spike just smiled prettily and groped Xander’s arse which was very good. Xander couldn’t think of a better use for a Spike.

By the time they’d booked into the B&B over the other side of Birmingham and taken separate showers for speed they were as horny as ever and it was a near impossible task to make it to the pub without ripping each other’s clothes off. Thinking about bass players helped dampen Xander’s ardour.

“Tell me about Angel,” he said as they queued in a traffic jam waiting to get past some roadworks.

“I may not have been totally telling the truth before,” admitted Spike.

Xander should have been thinking, tart, whore, slut, and lying prick but instead he was preoccupied by sad blue eyes and a plaintive voice and mmmm prick.

“I met Angel when I was sixteen and he was nineteen. We were at this gig and we started taking the piss saying how crap the band were, then we pulled a few girls and went back to my place. When the women had gone home Angel and I were still horny so we fucked. Never done a bloke before. He was my first, you’re my second.”

“Lying prick.”

Ooops, Xander hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

“I’m not. Well, technically most of the time I am, but that was all true, every word of it,” said Spike.

Xander wasn’t going to look at him; looking at Spike was like watching a really bad porno when you didn’t want to get a hard on, but you just couldn’t help it. He couldn’t resist one little glance and then stared out of the side window with glazed eyes, sighing with relief when they pulled into the car park.

“How long?” yelled Spike dragging Xander behind him as they ran into the tiny dressing room area of the pub.

“Forty-five minutes, and, no, you haven’t got time to…” answered Lindsey his voice fading away as Xander followed Spike into the loo.

Locking them inside a cubicle Spike ripped down Xander’s pants, gave him a quick suck and then condommed him. Pulling off his jeans and backing up against the door Spike hoisted himself up onto Xander’s shoulders, hanging on tight and lowering himself down onto Xander’s cock.

Jesus Christ! Sex just got better. With one arm clamped firmly around the slim body he jerked Spike off with dry fingers. They’d be so sore they’d never be able to fuck again at this rate. Spike clung on tight, using every muscle in his body to slide up and down on that cock, while he kissed and licked and tangled his fingers in Xander’s hair.

The toilet door was getting a brutal hammering. Sooner or later they were going to end up demolishing buildings if the sex got any rougher.

“Hurry up boys,” came a yell from outside.

“Mphugnungh,” cried Xander, obeying the disembodied voice from beyond without question. They collapsed onto the floor with Spike crouched over Xander, fucking his mouth hard until he came.

It wasn’t the most romantic location for your first go at sucking someone off to completion, but Xander didn’t care. Licking his lips happily he tidied himself up knowing full well that he had a stupid grin on his face.

Eve, the envoy from Planet Angry LiL dEVILs, was waiting for them with an amused look on her face as she examined the workings of the urinals. “Linds and Angel are mad. You’d better go get ready. Oh, and I hope the next performance sounds as good as that one did,” she added with a wink.

Spike was too lazy to hurry and Xander was too happy to give a damn. They held each other’s cocks while they peed and post-coitally kissed their way down the quiet corridor to the dressing room where Darla was doing a very bad job of calming down a terrified Angel.

“Where’ve you been, Spike?” demanded the bass player. “I feel…” He rushed off in the direction of the toilet to be sick.

“Go fix him,” said Xander with a sad smile. Spike pecked him on the lips and rushed off after Angel.

Not wanting to think about what kind of calming was going on in the loo, Xander occupied himself with sorting out the set lists and checking that the spare plectrums and sticks were in place. Then he sat winding protective tape around Lindsey’s fingers, lost in a world of his own which involved hot tubs and limousine sex and a new bass player who looked like a troll.

“Don’t get too into him.”

“Huh?” said Xander.

“Don’t get involved with Spike. He’s a nice guy, but normal he sure ain’t,” said the drummer checking his fingers. “Thanks dude.”

“I’m trying but you don’t know what it’s like. You have an unfair advantage. I'm going straight. I've decided I'm turning straight. Linds, straighten me up now.”

“You see Darla’s breasts; the way they’re hanging out of that brassiere she calls a shirt?”

“I don’t wanna look,” grimaced Xander with a hand over his eyes.

“Neither do I,” grinned Lindsey. “That was a bad example.”

Five minutes later, Spike bounced back in to the little dressing room towing a very sorry for himself Angel and Xander watched the ritual as Spike chattered away and made Angel pretty. There was no point in trying to erase the bass player. He was always going to be a big part of Spike’s life.

Grabbing Lindsey’s cowboy hat as they were running through to the stage, Xander felt the usual surge of pride. Not only were they his boys but he had a feeling he might be good for them too.

~~****~~

“Bloody buggering fuck!” said Spike as they drove through Liverpool. “And that was a good 'bloody buggering fuck' by the way, a Xanderly good 'bloody buggering fuck.'”

Spike smiled at Xander and Xander smiled back and the kiss followed on naturally.

“For Christsake, get your tongue out of his mouth and tell us what you’re blathering on about,” growled Angel, who'd lost the toss of a coin and been lumbered with driving duties for this leg of the journey.

“Just ‘cause your ho bitch has had to go back to do her peep shows in Soho is no reason for you get shitty, Angel. And, oh yeah, fuck, I saw someone wearing one of our shirts back there.”

Spike was literally bouncing up and down with enthusiasm and, even though Xander was thrilled about his plan working out good, he was more excited by the thought of pulling Spike onto his lap and not letting all that bounce go to waste.

“Jesus!” yelped Angel, swinging the van around to go find the first LiL dEVILs fan that had ever been spotted out in the open. “There he is. That was a fucking good idea of yours, Xander.”

A compliment from Angel always made him blush and stutter and Xander just nodded and looked out of the window to hide his rosy cheeks.

The first batch of t-shirts had almost sold out. They’d even increased the price by a quid and still the money was rolling in. As soon as they got back to London, Xander was going to work on getting a permanent order with a supplier, then he was planning on doing a little promotion and getting the boys booked into some bigger venues. He’d already phoned up some of the agents to try and get them into the Astoria, the Camden Palace and The Town and Country Club. He’d left the phone numbers of all the guest houses they’d be staying in during this tour, so he was always contactable.

He had foresight. He was a mogul. Xander Harris, young businessman of the year. He could picture it now; Spike, Angel and Lindsey thanking him profusely for launching their career. ‘Xander, you’re so clever,’ Spike would say as he sucked him off.

~~****~~

Xander hugged his pillow. The room was cold and bleak and the single bed felt as if it hadn’t been slept in for years by anything that didn’t have six legs and a long complicated Latin name.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ he want to yell at the noisy dickheads next door, but that would annoy Spike and Xander didn’t want to do that.

He knew his place. He knew that when it came to a choice between himself and an ocean of girls with bouncing breasts and welcoming vaginas he didn’t stand a chance. He couldn’t compete and he wasn’t going to try. Gig nights were all about the groupie sex and the only time Spike would slide into his bed was if the girls had gone home and Angel’s girlfriend had come for a conjugal visit.

“Darla?” he asked as a cold body cuddled up next to him.

“Not you an all. I got fed up enough when the moody one used to call me the wrong name in bed. Now you’re doing it as well.”

“You know what I mean,” sulked Xander. Just because he wasn’t going to make a fuss didn’t mean he wasn’t fed up about always being second--more like two hundredth--best. “Darla’s here for a visit and you’ve been kicked out of Angel’s bed.”

Spike sighed as if he was trying to explain something simple to a moron. “I don’t sleep with that fucktard anymore.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Xan, with the amount of sex we’ve been having do you really think I’ve got anything left for anyone else?”

A hand crept round and began to knead Xander’s cock, Xander’s traitorous cock, which immediately sprang to parade ground attention.

“I’ve done my duty for tonight and now I’m back where I want to be,” murmured Spike in between kissing Xander’s nipples and stroking his erection.

“Duty? You fuck groupies out of duty?” snorted Xander in a very breathless and aroused way.

Spike looked up and in the half-light Xander could see those blue eyes open wide with innocence and self belief.

“Course! It’s all about the image. Image is essential. What kind of rock musician would I be if I didn’t have a string of women following me?”

‘A gay one?’ thought Xander, but he didn’t say it. Spike was utterly guileless, totally convinced that his own view of things was normal and Xander didn’t have the heart to try and disillusion him, especially when Spike’s mouth moved slowly and lovingly down his body and his cock was encased in tropical paradise.

~~****~~

Another night, another useless pathetic Xander. Once again he lay in the single bed cuddling his pillow and balling the blanket up around his ears so he could attempt to block out some of the screaming and yowling which was getting louder by the second. Checking the time on his watch, he whimpered miserably. It was only half-past-twelve; they’d be at it for at least another couple of hours or so.

“Xander. Xander. Wake up.”

There was a very loud knocking at the door and Xander just knew he was being sent to an all night chemist for more supplies of lube and condoms. Jesus, if those guys stopped fucking they’d be responsible for the collapse of the world rubber market.

“Xander, it’s me Lindsey. Get up now.”

That was weird. Lindsey didn’t usually ask him to go shop for stuff. Xander pulled on a pair of jeans and opened the door. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Come and help me kick some sense into these pricks.”

With every step Xander took down the creaky staircase, the growls and howls and yowls got noticeably louder. They were now combining with a guttural shriek and a weird slapping noise.

“Gerrout of my house now, you crazy bastards.”

A naked Spike and Angel were slinging furious punches at each other, not even aware of the dressing-gown clad hag who was opening the front door and aiming a fire extinguisher hose at them to encourage them to leave.

“Get the fuck out of my house and don’t even think of coming back.” She shook her head. “The shame of it. Thirty years I’ve been running this establishment and never have I seen and heard such goings on. You ought to be locked away.”

The punching and kicking had now denigrated to naked wrestling on the front doorstep and, with a final boot in the direction of Spike’s arse, the landlady from hell took Lindsey and Xander by the scruff of their necks and shoved them out too, slamming the door behind them.

“You get Spike. I’ll take Angel,” yelled Lindsey pushing his way through the crowd of girls who had already been thrown out of the guest house.

But no sooner had they been separated Angel and Spike were scrapping again, rolling around in the street bare-arse naked, pulling hair and shouting obscenities at each other.

Xander wondered what the flashing white lights were. He realised it was time to worry when they changed to flashing blue.

“Quick, we have to get them out of here,” he shouted at Lindsey, yanking at Spike’s arm in desperation.

~~****~~

Several hours later Xander paced up and down the cell. He was a victim of rough justice. He would be unfairly branded a criminal for the rest of his life.

“Okay, lad, you’re free to go,” said the policeman unlocking the door of the holding cell.

“I should think so seeing as I’m only guilty of being caught without wearing a sweatshirt and trainers and, as far as I know, that’s not an offence, it’s just a good way to catch a cold.”

Xander stalked out into the passageway bumping into Lindsey who was looking mighty fed up of life.

Angel and Spike were covered up in blankets and standing at the desk talking to the sergeant and behind them, with her arms wrapped around Spike’s waist, stood an unfamiliar woman dressed in strange Victorian clothes.

“Oh shit, you think you’ve seen weird? Well you ain’t seen nothing ‘til you’ve met Dru,” said Lindsey, hiding behind Xander.

“A phone call for the band’s manager,” said the sergeant. “I have to say it’s really not acceptable to use the police station as an answering service.”

“Go forth and manage then,” hissed Lindsey pushing Xander forward with a hard shove in the small of his back.

Who’d phone him here? Who’d phone him, period? Oh shit! One of those agents for the venues in London must have called up and that bitch of a landlady must have told them the story. They’d never get booked anywhere now. So much for hot tub sex.

“Yes,” he said tentatively into the receiver, “Xander Harris speaking.”

“Hi, this is Paul Goodwin from the Echo, I was wondering if you’d answer a few questions about the band you manage.”

“Sure, anything,” said Xander with the temerity of a sparrow. Echo? What Echo? Must be the name of one of the agencies. What should he say? “Um, LiL dEVILs have a huge following and are selling out every single one of their concerts. They are now looking to book some bigger auditoriums to play in.”

“Can you tell me a little bit about them? The names of the band members. Ages etc.”

“Yeah sure,” answered Xander a little distracted by the word ‘mummy’ he kept hearing in the background. “Spike’s the singer guitarist, he’s twenty three. Lindsey MacDonald is the drummer he’s twenty two and then there’s Angel the bass player who’s twenty six.”

“And where are LiL dEVILs based?”

“London.”

“And do they have a record contract?”

“They haven’t agreed terms but have been offered several deals which our solicitor is looking over.” Yeah. Xander, you still ‘da’ man.

“And can you tell me what started the fight last night?”

“Probably over a girl. It usually is.” Did he sound petulant? He sure as hell felt it. All that almost lovey stuff the night before and now this nonsense. Spike was nothing but trouble. And just because he was pretty trouble with big blue eyes didn’t mean that Xander was gonna keep sticking either of his heads on the chopping block for him.

“And any idea why they were both naked?”

“Well they always grab a bunch of girls and party after a gig. What does this have to do with booking them into the Astoria?” Xander was getting a bit muddled. Okay, a lot muddled.

“I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Oh, one last thing. Can you tell me how old you are and where you’re from please?”

“I’m eighteen and I’m from Sunnydale California. Why?”

“Thanks very much, Mr Harris. The story’ll be appearing in tomorrow’s edition of the Echo. You’ve been a great help.”

Yikes. Xander threw the phone down as if it was on fire. Story. Naked. Girls. Paper. Panic. At least there were no photos. Pulling himself together, he tried to find out what was going on. A quick word with the desk sergeant revealed that no one was being charged with anything. Apparently they were to be let off with a caution.

“Xander, this is Drusilla,” said Spike with that tongue curling grin that still made Xander go weak at the knees. He was no clearer as to whom the weirdo woman actually was.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Xander shaking Drusilla’s delicate gloved hand.

“Likewise, I’m sure,” she giggled. “A little bird tells me you’ve been getting my William in trouble with your big dark eyes and your big big….”

“Dru,” said Spike warningly pressing his cheek to hers, “Don’t tease.”

“Tut tut, little boy, you don’t call me that do you?”

“No, Mummy,” said Spike demurely, giving Drusilla a long French kiss as apology.

Xander was starting to feel more awkward than he’d ever done in his life before and didn’t know where to look.

“She’s just his stepmother; it’s not that freaky,” whispered Lindsey as if he was still trying to convince himself.

“Freaky no. No to the freaks. Say no to freakage,” agreed Xander as he tried not to watch Drusilla’s hand investigate what lay beneath Spike’s blanket.

“The policeman said I should bring you something to wear,” giggled Drusilla as she opened her handbag and pulled out a spiked dog collar with a thick silver linked chain and bracelet. “I thought you’d look pretty in this, my baby boy,” she said fastening it round his neck and handing Xander the leash.

“I’ve got to go now. Giles is waiting in the car,” she said kissing all four men on the cheek and gliding towards the exit.

“Well, tell Dad to fuck off from me,” shouted Spike. “And tell him my allowance was late this month.” Adjusting the tightness of the dog collar he looked around at everyone. “So who’s the lucky one who has to brave the old battleaxe at the guest house and get our stuff back?”

All eyes were on Xander and he could do nothing but croak “Me?” in a small voice.

Xanderworld had just been stuck under a cloth and smashed to smithereens with a hammer, but it seemed that Spikeworld was still intact, if totally deranged. He wondered whether it would be just as intact once he casually mentioned the story that would be appearing in tomorrow’s newspaper.

~~****~~

“ARGHHHH,” shrieked Xander as he leafed through the newspaper and spotted a picture of Spike and Angel’s naked butts. There were photos! Maybe that explained the flashing white lights.

“What you doing, Xan?” asked Spike kissing the back of Xander’s neck.

“Nothing. Very much nothing. Nothing at all,” babbled Xander putting the newspaper down on the table and sitting on it.

“Good, ‘cause my nail varnish is still wet. I need someone to lace up my boots and Angel’s busy throwing up.”

Somehow pulling the threads tighter on the PVC boots seemed to lead to a little unlacing of the shiny black pants and Xander was happily sucking away at Spike and working him hard with his fingers when Lindsey charged into the dressing room.

“What the fuck’s going on?” yelled the drummer and overcome by nerves Xander gulped and swallowed, then to his amazement found his throat full of Spike cock with hardly any gagging at all. A few whimpers and squeaks later Xander was licking up the remaining spunk from his lips and feeling a little put out that his moment of deep throat glory was going to be marred by a long explanation about how he had inadvertently given a story to the press involving bottoms and sex.

“The place is more than heaving and there are a hundred or more people outside wanting to get in. I’ve never seen anything like it,” explained Lindsey sinking into a chair totally bemused.

“Don’t tell Angel,” said Spike as Xander did up his flies for him. “He’ll only have to puke some more.”

Was now a good time? wondered Xander. Was there ever a good time to find out your arse was all over the Liverpool Echo?

“Itmighthavesomewthingtodowiththis,” he said in rush to get the words out, waving the newspaper at them, just as Angel decided to make an appearance and snatch the paper out of Xander’s hand. Oh shit! Xander had wanted to break the news to the smaller and less temperamental guys first.

“That’s my fucking arse,” said Angel with pride. “I always knew I had a gorgeous arse.”

Xander was confused.

Spike grabbed the paper. “How did your arse get in the paper? Mine is much prettier. Xander, isn’t my arse prettier than Angel’s?” He leafed through trying to find the right page and then sighed with relief. “Oh my arse is in the paper too. It’s so much nicer. Yours is all round like a beach ball and mine’s tight and firm.”

Angel snorted. “You’ll be telling me again that your dick is bigger and look where that landed us last night.”

“My dick is bigger. It’s way thicker than yours and so if you worked it out-”

“Please don’t fucking tell me we ended up in jail because you guys were fighting over who had the biggest cock?” grumbled Lindsey taking the newspaper off Spike and reading through the article.

Xander cowered at the back of the room checking out the plug sockets under the table.

“Shit. How did this get in here? This is fucking genius,” screamed Lindsey jumping up and down with excitement while Spike and Angel had a tug of war with the paper, both trying to read the article which was all about exhibitionism and sell out gigs. “We’ve made it. We’ve fucking made it. If this doesn’t get us a contract nothing will.”

“Er, it may have been me,” said Xander, figuring it was safe to appear from under the table. Then for the first time in his life he got to orally deflower a straight guy.

“Lindsey, get your dirty paws off my Xander and go find your own,” said Spike, repossessing Xander from the evil clutches of the hyperactive drummer.

“Time to go on,” said Angel with a deep breath and a nervous look and for once everyone became strangely solemn. They all knew that this might well turn out to be the most important gig they’d ever played.

~~****~~

Xander watched from the side of the stage with his mouth hanging open. He’d been like that for the last ten months and was beginning to wonder how he managed to carry out important negotiations with his bottom jaw permanently nailed to the floor. The thunderous applause from their final encore made his head ring and he ushered the boys through into the waiting limousine before the army of fans descended on them. It was hard being a real manager with that shy moron still very much alive and kicking inside him, but he was learning to cope.

It had all happened so quickly. The crazy story had spread from local news to the music press and their next gig at the Marquee had been crawling with A&R men waving million pound contracts. Xander was still finding it hard to take in. One minute he was blowing Spike in the backroom of a pub in Toxteth and the next he was blowing him on the backseat of a limousine. Finally LiL dEVILs were the rock god superstars that Xander had always known they were.

“Were we okay?” asked Spike as usual as he laid his head on Xander’s lap and closed his eyes.

“You were great,” said Xander, stroking Spike’s hair and thinking about hot tubs and bed and rest. It seemed as if they’d been awake for a century

“Of course we were great. We’re always great, but tonight we were better than great, we were fan-fucking-tastic,” giggled Angel as he popped a couple of pills.

“Where’s Darla?” asked Lindsey pulling out one earpiece of his headphones and hooking his arm tighter around Eve’s narrow shoulders

“Oh she’s off doing some lingerie modelling or something. It’s not as if I’ll miss her at this party tonight with all those girls to choose from, hey Spikey?”

Spike didn’t answer and Xander knew from the steady breathing that he was asleep. It had been so hectic for so long that it was no wonder the guys were tired. A week after the signing the contract they’d been sent into the studio and, ever since the C.D. had been released, it was one long roundabout ride of promotions, videos, and interviews. Now they were back doing a concert tour, but on a much grander scale. No more rusty vans and fly posting motorway services.

Xander looked down at Spike nestled in his lap. That was the hardest thing of all for him to believe and he had little red marks all over where he kept pinching himself so he’d wake up. He didn’t dare voice the 'L' word in his head because – no! It’s just that they were always together and that gave Xander a little warm glowy feeling that Spike needed him more than anyone and, hundreds of groupies aside, they were almost exclusive. He was the one who slept in Spike’s bed every night, snuggled to death by a blond Rock God with all the super powers of a boa constrictor. He was the one who Spike felt safe with.

The car pulled to halt and Xander readied himself for the onslaught.

“Wake up, sleepy,” he said, shaking the blond singer who sat up like a zombie. “Sunglasses on ‘cause you look like a total druggie with those red eyes.” He pushed the Ray Bans onto Spike’s nose. “Hmm, that’s a bit better, shame we can’t do anything about the vacant expression.”

Everyone laughed at Spike’s exaggerated pout.

“Shut up, Xan,” said Spike nudging him sharply in the ribs with his elbow. “Least I don’t look that way all time, like some people I could mention.”

“Yeah, well Angel can’t help it, he was born like that,” grinned Xander ignoring the big broody thing that was glowering at him from the corner of the limousine. Then he slipped into the role of manager. “We’re here, guys. Are you ready? It’s about twenty feet to the hotel lobby. Once you’re in the elevator you’re home safe.”

Psyching themselves up, they rushed towards the entrance signing a few autographs on the way. Much more of this and they were going to have to think about employing minders, thought Xander as he was barged out of the way by fans.

The penthouse was a mini-mansion spread over two levels. It had four bedrooms, a cinema style entertainment area and five bathrooms. In fact it had everything you could possibly imagine including a small swimming pool. All three members of the band were officially staying there but Xander as manager had booked himself a separate suite opposite and Spike was happy to spend all his time there. Holy fuck! That meant Spike was sleeping in his bed. That seemed different somehow.

“See you at the party,” said Angel as they parted company in the corridor.

Slamming the door in the face of the outside world, Xander looked at Spike. Five, four, three, two, one, “Hot tub,” he yelled and they ran, stripping off their clothes and racing to be the first one into the bath that was bubbling hot and waiting for them.

“I love hotels. Hotel’s are great,” sighed Xander picking up the room service menu and wondering why he didn’t seem to want anything -- but then there was nothing left to want. Spike slid onto his lap and nuzzled against his neck and was quiet for such a long time that Xander thought he’d gone to sleep again until he spoke.

“I’m tired, Xan, let’s just stay here.”

“But the record company set this party up and they’ll be mad if their all singing, all guitar playing hero, isn’t there.”

“I guess so.” Spike yawned and climbed out of the tub. “Come and help me get pretty.”

The shower cubicle was as crazy huge as everything else in their stylish new world. They washed and relaxed under the hot spray bringing each other off with frottage and fingers, all wrapped up in long slow kisses.

“I fantasised about doing you in a Jacuzzi,” Xander said afterwards as he lay on the bed watching Spike pick out some clothes from the vast and scary closet.

“Done that,” answered Spike showing Xander a pair of hideous green and black leopard pattern jeans.

Xander shook his head frantically. “Burn them right now,” he insisted. “I also wanted to fuck you on a plane.”

“Done it,” said Spike, waving puce dungarees with huge rips in the arse at him.

“You used to have taste. Money has been bad for you. I’ll find you something.” Xander braved the closet, investigating the huge array of hanging rails. Truth was Spike would probably manage to look cool if he was dressed as a clown, but Xander was searching for something specific.

“We’ve fucked on the beach, we’ve fucked in a tour bus, we’ve fucked on the roof of a limo. We’ve fucked everywhere,” he said as he looked inside bag after bag.

“We haven’t fucked in my Dad’s bed.” said Spike helpfully.

“Yes, we have,”

“Not when he was in it.”

“You are so sick.”

“And you so love it, freak.”

“Here,” yelled Xander happily, pulling out a pair of bleached jeans and a ripped in half Cult shirt. “I knew I brought them.”

Jesus!

Lightning, thunder, tornado, full scale nuclear attack warning. Xander fell on his knees and tongue fucked that slightly protruding belly button and then tongue fucked that more than slightly protruding erection when it sprang free from bitchingly tight denim.

~~****~~

An hour late for the party, Xander strode proudly across the hallway standing as close as he could get to the rumpled short sexy guy without telling the world that they spent a hundred percent of their free time screwing each other’s brains out.

“You could've made an effort, Spike,” said Angel as he bumped into them on the mezzanine level smothered in girls and stinking of whiskey. “Someone must have sent out fancy dress invitations to you and Lindsey. He’s come as a cowboy and you’re a vagrant. You do know Aerosmith are here?”

“Fuck off, you Irish tosser,” said Spike and Xander listened carefully, ready to jump in between the two men and make with the happy. It was all in the intonation. That was ‘Irish tosser’ version one, the friendly piss off warning. It was ‘Irish tosser’ three you had to worry about. That was the one that resulted in naked street fighting and jail.

Xander watched Spike bounce off with Angel, sharing an armful of girls and a bottle of whiskey. He wondered how long it would be before he forgot his almost boyfriend was an entirely straight famous rock star and accidentally kissed him goodbye.

The party was buzzing in a scary way and Xander fought the urge to hide under the table and check that the electrical sockets were in good working order. He was big brave manager man now. He had brought LiL dEVILs from obscurity to this in less than a year and it hadn’t all been one huge accident from start to finish. Not entirely.

Accidental stuff aside, the truth was he liked managing. He was good at co-ordinating useless helpless idiots and herding them into boxes, then getting them from A to B without travelling via G and X.

Jesus Christ, Lindsey was dressed as a cowboy. Ah, so that explained the whiny music about abandoned puppies and kids buried alive in freakish hay baling incidents. Whistling Home on the Range, Xander swaggered towards the drummer in a bandy-legged manner, nodding hello to Duff McKagan on the way.

Panic attack imminent. Guns ‘n Roses were here.

“Did you see D-d-d-d-d-d?” He tried again, “D-ddddd-dd Duff?”

“Who?” asked Lindsey, looking round the room.

“Bass player. Guns ‘n Roses.”

“Who?” asked Lindsey.

Xander sulked. Then again it wasn’t Lindsey’s fault he found Kenny Rogers more exciting; everyone had a cross to bear. “Where’s Eve?” he asked.

“Schmoozing with some Nikki Seven dude.”

Kadoogah kadoogah. Crue alert, Crue alert. Womanly faint warning imminent. No, he would not go and grovel. Not until he’d had a few more beers and misplaced his dignity and his scaredy cat attitude.

“Where’s Spike?” asked Lindsey.

Good question. He needed to find Spike now so they could drool over Nikki Sixx from a quiet corner. Racing away like a madman, he pushed his way past minor celebrities almost throwing them over the banisters in his eagerness. He’d wanked off over the flat version of Nikki hundreds of times. Oh God, was that an offence? Would the bass player see it in his eyes? He might yet be spending time bottoming for Ron in the big house. Then again, maybe Nikki would be turned on by it. Maybe he’d strip naked and let Xander jerk off over his real live naked arse in all its 3D glory.

“Spike! You have to come quick….”

Over the last few months he’d seen Spike in every compromising position possible. He’d seen him with his dick buried in every colour, size and type of hole imaginable. But he’d never seen him moaning like a bitch in heat with Angel’s cock rammed deep inside him.

A pair of innocent blue eyes turned to look at him. “Come and play, Xan,” Spike said holding out his hand and when Xander shook his head, Spike shrugged and straddled Angel, sliding onto his cock and riding him hard.

They were beautiful.

Xander was stupid.

End of story.

He unfastened the devil’s head earring from his lobe, leaving it in the ashtray on the nightstand then walked away as far as the door.

No, fuck it. He’d lost one piece of jewellery that was important to him and he was damn well going to keep this one safe, even if it only served as a reminder to him not to be so naïve ever again. They didn’t even acknowledge him as he stood over them staring at the bed and rolling the tiny earring between his finger and thumb.

“See you, Spike. Thanks for the lessons,” he said leaning in and kissing his never-quite-boyfriend on lips that were damp with sweat.

“Bye, Xan, see you later,” rasped Spike as Angel worked him off with his fist.

Xander knew that voice. He loved that voice. He could reach orgasm in ten seconds flat from the sound of that husky tone. He hurried out of the room before he had to see Spike come all over Angel.

“You got too involved,” said a friendly voice.

Too fucking right. Xander wanted to get out of here. He didn’t want anyone, even Lindsey, to see how hurt he was.

“He’s a nice guy, but he’ll never be normal.”

“I know,” said Xander looking back at Lindsey. “I get it and that’s why I have to go.”

“Do you want me to tell him anything?”

“Tell him…”

Tell him I need him. Tell him he can have Angel as long as he still wants me. Xander choked back the stupid things that were itching to break free from the tip of his tongue.

“Tell him to be happy,” he said as he walked away.

~~****~~

He took a trip to Sunnydale. Things hadn’t changed. It was still as freaky weird and still no one ever mentioned it. His dad still drank and his mum still screamed and Willow was still Willow but prettier than ever and dating Jesse, and Xander knew that he didn’t belong there anymore.

Waiting for his flight to London in one of the clinical looking bars in LAX departure lounge, he drank soda and ate chips and, for want of anything better to do, alternated between watching MTV and the departure listings.

“In a surprise announcement today, drummer Lindsey MacDonald has announced he is leaving new British rock group LiL dEVILs to play country and western music. The remaining two members of the band, whose debut C.D. shot to number one in the Billboard chart almost overnight, were unavailable for comment. When asked why he had decided to leave so suddenly, Lindsey said, ‘I took some advice from a good friend and decided to be happy.”

~~****~~

Five years of blissful unadulterated peace and fucking quiet and it was erased instantly by the breathless, croaky unmistakeable voice on the other end of Xander’s phone.

“Xan, how you doing, gorgeous?”

Fine. Fuck off. Go away leave me alone with my highly successful band management company and my miserable social life.

“I’m good, Spike. Why are you calling me at four in the morning?”

The hysterical sobs coming from the other end of the telephone broke his damn fool heart as always.

“What is it, baby?” he asked

“It’s Angel.”

Oh yeah, had to be Angel. Always Angel. The world revolved around that Irish fucking bastard.

“He’s de… de …dead.”

SHIT! And just that second he’d thought very very ill of the recently deceased.

“Oh fuck! What happened, Spike?” There were no more words from the other end of the phone, just enough sobbing to make Xander imagine that Spike’s throat was about to haemorrhage. “Spike baby, talk to me.”

“Service is tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

The phone went silent and Xander slotted the receiver back into the cradle. Hugging the duvet tightly, he spent the rest of the night worrying about Spike. What had happened? Surely he would have heard something? But then again he’d been so wrapped up in business lately. Damn, he should have been paying more attention. Setting the alarm to make sure he was up in time, he crawled back under the covers. Didn’t want to let Spike down, or Angel. Not this one final time.

As soon as he’d closed his eyes the annoying clock was bleeping away telling him it was nine o’clock and time to get his sorry arse out of bed. A cold shower woke him up just enough to think straight and by the time he’d dressed from head to toe in black Armani the doorbell was ringing.

Spike was also in black, he’d even dyed his hair black for the occasion. Less appropriate through, as far as Xander was concerned, were the actual clothes he was wearing. The singer was dressed like a dandy in a mockery of Victorian elegance meets Al Capone with a punch in the guts from Dick Turpin. Didn’t mean he wasn’t oozing sex as always.

“Lose the hat.”

“Kisses first, fashion later.”

But Spike discarded the tricorn long before his lips collided with Xander’s for a kiss that was filled with apologies and sadness which leeched all the enmity right out of Xander and made him melt with concern. He would never think the 'L' word. Never again.

Xander pushed Spike away from him slightly, holding onto his shoulders and as he looked into red-rimmed eyes his heart bled along with them. “You’ll be okay.”

“I know. Least I will be with you here.” Spike led them out to a black limousine. “I ought to look like the chief mourner seeing as I must have fucked him more than anyone else in the world.”

Xander drew the line at sixty-nining in the back seat, but did give in to some more fervent kisses from his ex–slut.

“Oi driver, stop right out the front, mate. We’re a bit early so we won’t get in the way of the cortege.”

Oh God, Xander was dreading this. He’d never been to a funeral before. It was all so surreal, but then that was to be expected. Everything to do with Spike had always been surreal, right from when he’d been hit by that thunderbolt back in Camden Market eight long years ago. He still had the earring.

They walked slowly up the long path towards the church, Spike keeping a firm grip on Xander’s arm and leaning against him for support.

They entered the wide double doors of St. Joseph’s and Xander blinked trying to take in the bizarre scene.

“Bride or groom?” asked a morning-suited freak.

“Bride or groom?” yelled Xander, “Are you completely fucking shamel…” He stopped in mid sentence and turned to look at Spike. “Angel’s not dead is he?”

“He’s marrying that fucking tart Darla, so he might as well be.”

As much as he wanted to murder Spike then curl up and die from shame, Xander still had a hatred of public scenes and did his best to defuse this one.

“Groom,” he hissed at the usher who directed them to the right side of the church.

“I want to witness this disaster movie from a front row seat,” yelled Spike, all ready to strut down the aisle, but Xander restrained him.

“You’ll sit where I tell you or I’ll go and leave you to suffer on your own.” The enormity of the situation finally sank in as Xander found them a pew near the back and pushed Spike in front of him. “How could you tell me he was dead?”

“He’s dead to me.”

And there he was: that little boy lost who had been Xander’s downfall right from the beginning. He wrapped an arm around Spike’s shoulders and was by his side, supporting him as always.

~~****~~

Now Xander may have been by Spike’s side supporting him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed as hell with the little freak.

“Do you actually know how insane you are?” he hissed in Spike’s ear as they watched Darla shimmy down the aisle to the middle eight from November Rain in a dress that, to her credit, almost covered her arse. Fuck! Her father was scary and bore more than a passing resemblance to a six foot gargoyle. Xander pitied Angel on so many levels. Except for the one big, all-encompassing, basement level which was solely reserved for sheer hatred.

Hatred was healthy. It gave him focus.

“Ow,” whined Spike loudly as Xander suddenly became aware of slim fingers cracking beneath his own.

Furious with himself for feeling sorry for Spike he turned to look at the black haired singer, aiming his most impressive hard stare into Spike’s impenetrable black--black?--contact lenses. How the fuck had he missed that piece of scariness?

“We are gathered here today…”

“Don’t be trying to make me sorry for you because it won’t work,” said Xander, ignoring the dual filthy looks from the fugly father of the bride and the priest.

“You left me,” said Spike in a pitiful voice.

“You mean you actually noticed?”

“We are gathered here today to witness the union of…” shouted the priest.

“The fuckwit and his ho bitch,” yelled Spike helpfully then focused all his attention on Xander. “Of course I noticed. I’ve been waiting for you to come back.”

“You’ve been waiting for five fucking years? Did you not think of calling and saying sorry?” muttered Xander.

“Sorry for what?” asked Spike.

“Sorry for what?” squealed Xander in a choky way. “Sorry for being a lying, cheating, two-faced slut maybe.”

“Take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity,” intoned Angel.

“Fidelity!” shouted Spike, “Fucking snowball’s chance in hell with that randy bastard.”

“You can talk, you lying prick,” screamed Xander, ignoring all the whispers and echoed murmurs of ‘hush’ from around the church.

Forsaking all warnings Xander soon found himself nose to nose with the fearsome face of Darla’s father.

“If the pair of you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll rip your throats out and impale you both on the spire.”

Xander was all for the apologies and silence tactic, but then of course he wasn’t Spike who instead opted for screaming, “What’s it to you, you fuck ugly freak?”

Today was a day for new experiences. Xander had never been carried by the scruff of his Armani before. Darla senior now had one of them in each hand and to a tremendous round of applause he threw them bodily out of the side entrance of the church.

“Bloody hell,” said Spike admiringly as he tried to untangle himself from his cloak, “Old git must work out. Now, where were we?”

Hidden behind a large and rather crumbly tomb, Xander was taken aback when Spike’s lips descended on him and, as always, he seemed to lose all of his super secret powers of resistance and succumbed instantly to the cock throbbingly good kiss. Spike was his Kryptonite.

It was hard to come to your senses when a much missed hand was worming its way inside your flies and working busily at your cock, but Xander wasn’t just ‘da’ man anymore he was also A man who had strength, guts and self-worth.

“This way,” he groaned dragging Spike into the nearest car and relieving him of his clothes. Okay, so walking away may have been the grown up option, but this was more fun.

Sitting on the white leather seat Xander pulled at his own buttons and knots, trying to free himself as quickly as possible and then looked out of the window at a sea of paparazzi who were camped around the waist high stone wall of the church.

“Shit,” he gulped as Spike knelt between his legs and licked the tip of his cock. Xander stared out the window wondering just how tinted the glass was and felt as if he ought to be giving the Royal wave as he sat back in the Bentley with his own… immediate rethink time…. with the sluttiest male whore in Christendom crouched at his feet servicing him.

Xander had watched Sally and Oprah. He’d seen Trisha and all those other chat show hostesses going on about relationship stuff. He was an enabler. He needed to be strong and say, ‘No Spike, stop sucking my cock like a lollipop and go suck your own.’

Hmmm, that got him to thinking the very rude thoughts. Spike was little and bendy and big where it counted. He’d ask him one day about self-sucking. That is if he had any intention of seeing him again which of course he didn’t because he wasn’t an enabler anymore. No siree, Doctor Phil.

Jesus, Spike never looked prettier than when his cheeks were all sucked in and his petulant little lips were contorted into that ‘fuck my face’ O shape. Think straight Xander. Well, think gay then. Think about coming in that mouth and then walking away with a self-satisfied sneer on your face.

Xander was determined; he would get his relationship house in order and find someone to sleep in his bed who wouldn’t go tomcatting ‘round at every opportunity. That was the answer; he would take Spike to the vets and have him neutered. Doctor Phil and Oprah never came up with that solution did they? He was far more proactive than them. Yeah, proactive was the buzz word of today. He’d always been reactive, but this time it was different. This time he was thinking outside of Spike’s box and for once he’d be in control.

“Ride my cock, baby,” he urged, tangling his fingers into the thick strands of jet black hair and lifting Spike away from his erection. It was a form of control that was mutually beneficial to both.

Fishing for Spike’s cloak, he found the pockets stuffed with lube and condoms and a mini vibrator!

“I prefer that kind of buzz to the one coke gives me,” grinned Spike.

“You’re a dirty slag,” muttered Xander, thoroughly over-excited by the image of Spike walking around with a butt plug up his arse all day.

Still crouching between his legs Spike unfurled a condom down over Xander’s cock and then lubed him up with a handful of slick. Xander couldn’t wait any longer and pulled Spike up onto his lap tonguing at each swollen, pierced--ooh, that was new--nipple in turn as Spike slid down onto him.

“I missed you,” groaned Spike.

Xander did a classic double take. Not I missed this or I missed your cock. Or I missed the way we fucked all day long like rabbits. I missed you.

“Take the contacts out,” said Xander, pumping his hips upwards slowly and smoothly as he watched Spike remove the coloured lenses and chuck them away. “I like to see who I’m fucking.”

Xander had had plenty of other lovers, but none of them with the ability to cling on to him like ivy the way Spike could. He remembered carrying Spike from room to room with the man permanently impaled on his cock. Remembering was dangerous. This was just a fuck for old time’s sake. He was determined. He was moving on guy.

“The bells. I can hear the bells,” he said suddenly distracted from his sad thoughts by the loud jangling.

“Oh, role playing. I never took you for the Quasimodo, but whatever lights your candle. Do I get to dress up as Esmeralda?” grinned Spike in between kissing his way up and down Xander’s neck.

“It means the wedding’s over, you dumbass. Fuck, I wonder whose car we’re-”

“Jesus Christ, Spike,” growled Angel as he slid onto the seat slamming the door hurriedly behind Darla and trying to conceal the scenes of fornication from the press. “Only you- Oh hey, Xander. Good to see you again.”

“Oh my god,” screeched Darla as she slid on the seat, “I sat in something wet and slippery.”

“’S only lube, precious. I’d have thought with your experience you’d not only be able to tell what it was, but what brand it was too.” Spike sniggered and Xander couldn’t help but join in.

“Angel, do something,” wailed Darla, scrubbing at the wet patch with her veil.

Angel shrugged and pushed Spike and Xander onto the floor then covered them with the highwayman cloak.

Bracing himself on one arm Xander looked into Spike’s eyes as he carried on fucking him, teasing the head of his cock against Spike’s hole and then plunging deep inside. “You screwed me over again, Spike. All this just to make Angel jealous,” he hissed.

“You picked the car, you ponce,” said Spike breathing heavily as Xander kept up the pressure pounding slowly away at his prostate. “Now shut the fuck up and do me harder.”

Oh shit. Spike was right. Xander had been the one to pull Spike inside the big shiny car parked directly outside the church lych-gate. But no! Screw that. Spike was the one who’d dragged him into the middle of this mess. “It’s still your fault and it’s still all about him, the not-nearly-dead-enough one,” he whined, trying to push Spike off his cock and reach for his grubby, wrinkled suit at the same time.

Emerging all flushed from beneath the material Xander finished doing his buttons and then opened the privacy screen and tapped the chauffeur on the back. “Drop me off at the nearest pub, please.”

“Good idea, we’ll have a quiet drink before the wedding reception up at Chateau Nouveau Riche,” agreed Spike.

“Spike, you’re not getting out of the car. You’re giving a speech. It’s on the program of events,” yelled Angel.

“Spike, you’re not coming with me. I’m getting as far away from you as possible,” yelled Xander.

Spike pouted.

The car pulled to a halt outside The Mounted Ewe.

“Nearest pub, sir, as requested,” said the chauffeur in a suspiciously condescending way and Xander just knew the dirty old git had been peeking.

Spike made a dive for Xander as he opened the door to climb out then Angel grabbed a hold of Spike’s leg and it must have looked very odd, thought Xander, judging from the strange looks he was getting from an elderly couple who were tying their dog up outside the pub. The golden retriever looked kind of interested though.

“Let them go, Angel,” huffed Darla, “They’ll only ruin everything.”

“Not the point. Spike will be there to give his speech regardless of whether he wants to. Get back in the car both of you.”

Being still a tiny bit afraid of the tall, broad and brooding one Xander did as he was told, pushing Spike into the seat opposite him. A bad move seeing as he had to stare into sad blue eyes for the rest of the journey whilst still trying to cope with the tingle in his groin that came from an almost but not quite orgasm. He tried to tell his cock that looking at Spike was much more like a disaster movie than porno, but his private parts obviously got very turned on by burning buildings and meteor strikes.

Same sad old Xander.

When they arrived at the venue Xander looked out in horror. The outside of the building was faux eighteenth century French at its most tasteless. Banners depicting each one of the LiL dEVILs albums--all two of them--were hanging from either side of the grand entrance and a sea of waiters dolled up in regency outfits were holding trays of various cocktails.

“Wasn’t Daddy kind letting us have the reception at home?” simpered Darla.

Xander gulped. Notre Dame seemed more suitable as a place of residence for the gargoyle like one, but who was he to judge?

Straightening his tousled hair, he slipped out of the car as insignificantly as possible, trying to evade the clutching fingers of Spike and the plaintive little voice that whined “Xander,” from somewhere over his right shoulder.

One drink and maybe some food if it looked tempting enough and he’d be out of here quicker than a really speedy racing car type thing. Choosing a cocktail that looked the least nasty, he sipped at it and, on discovering that it was neat tequila, downed it in one and grabbed another off the tray as he headed inside the monstrous palace.

“Your invitation, sir?”

Oh fuck. Xander looked around at the array of rich and famous faces and really didn’t want to be branded a gatecrasher and thrown out on his arse. That wouldn’t do his business any good at all.

“He’s with me,” said Spike, appearing like a fucking fairy godmother at his side. A fucking sexy fairy godmother. The thought of Spike dressed up as a fairy made Xander splutter with laughter. His cock, however, didn’t seem to find it that funny and was in fact the only thing in only the world more demented than Spike as it stood begging for attention at the thought of his ex-slut dressed up in wings and a tutu. Oh god, he needed help.

“Well now I’m in you can keep busy with the staying away from me thing,” he said staring around him in shock.

“Okay,” sniffed Spike sadly.

Xander wasn’t falling for it this time and luckily the house was revolting enough to take his breath away and stop him thinking any more mucky thoughts about Spike. The place looked as if Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen had been set lose with team of painters and a design premise to create the product of an insane Versailles mating with a colour blind Brighton Pavilion. It was nouveau kitsch at its worst and so truly horrible that Xander couldn’t resist investigating the upstairs. He really didn’t want to be in any of the wedding photos especially seeing as they were being taken in front of a backdrop of a medieval tournament complete with jousting knights.

Wandering into the first room he came to--which was an unnecessarily large study with Louis Quatorze chairs and matching computer desk--Xander looked out of the window as one of the horses nibbled at the flowers in Darla’s hair. He couldn’t help scanning the huge group of people for Spike. It came to him as naturally as breathing or wanking, but he couldn’t see him anywhere.

“’Ey, gorgeous,” said a disembodied voice from the direction of a fifteen foot masterpiece of Darla, Gargoyle and a dolled up middle-aged woman with pristine everything. Mrs Darla Senior he presumed.

The painting swung open to reveal Spike armed with a couple of bottles of champagne and a wicked grin.

“Go ‘way,” warned Xander just managing to restrain himself from making the sign of the crucifix with his fingers. Spike might be evil, wicked and deranged but he wasn’t a vampire. Oh no, he was far too busy leeching the emotions from innocent virgins to bother with blood. “Stop following me.”

“Actually, I was here first and I’ve discovered the secret crypt which contains the fugly’s most terrible secret.”

Not giving in. No. Not even a little bit.

Just because Spike was grinning the grin and lifting the eyebrow and showing him the tip of a tongue which seemed to Xander to be a lot more alluring than most other guys’ cocks.

“Is it really weird?” he asked shuffling closer to the door.

“Oh, God, yeah,” said Spike as he opened a bottle of Bollinger and handed it to Xander. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I’d have never thought the old fuck would have it in him.”

With his head full of naughty images of torture chambers and gay bondage artwork, Xander pushed past Spike in a scramble of arms and legs.

The small windowless room was filled with floor to ceiling racks of utility shelving and each shelf was covered in china figurines of…

“Hello, Mrs Tinglywinkle. Helloooo, Vagina Puddlefuck. How are you this wonderful day? I’m fine, Mrs Tinglywinkle and may I say what lovely prickles you have. Fancy a little lesbian love action? Oh yes please. Let me get my pinny off and I’ll be right with you.”

Almost crying with laughter, Xander swigged at the wine and leant against the shelving watching Spike get into some pretty heavy Beatrix Potter orgy scenes.

“Now Vagina Puddlefuck wants to find a nice warm dark place for her lovenest,” grinned Spike wrapping his arms around Xander and unfastening his trousers.

“Spike no,” laughed Xander as the china duck investigated some particularly private areas which were strictly no backstage admittance for characters from children’s books. Then the pottery figure was replaced by slick fingers and Xander put the bottle down and laid his head on the shelf. He was too drunk not to want Spike. His inhibitions had gone on honeymoon with his common sense.

Leaning against cold metal in that dark little room, Xander was reminded of how he’d lost his virginity to this man. How scared he’d been when Spike first fucked him. How good it had felt. How good Spike had made him feel. Now that he was wised up and older maybe he could enjoy this at face value.

Xander loved everything about sex. There was nothing in the world better than the feel of a cock rubbing against his, pushing its way between his lips, sliding deep inside his body. He loved fucking. He loved having his pants around his ankles and being ridden hard against the furniture. He loved to top equally as much; it was an amazing sensation to be enveloped inside another man’s body.

“Yeah, Xan, love this, love fucking you.” Spike ground out the words between clenched teeth as he wrapped his arms tight around Xander bringing the semi-solid prick back to life with quick jerks of his fist.

“Harder,” cried Xander.

Harder was good. Harder meant electric, fake orgasms and dribbles of pre-come. Harder meant moaning out your lover’s name at an appropriate time for once. Harder meant flying through the air and landing with a crash in a very uncomfortable way and covering your head to protect you from falling potteryware. Harder meant getting the fuck out of there and not staying to watch the shelves topple over in a domino effect.

Tripping over the tangle of pants and socks, he and Spike scrambled away in a flurry of underwear and condoms, collapsing in hysterical drunken laughter at the top of the stairs.

“Come here, I’ll finish you off,” said Spike, tugging Xander towards an open doorway and bumping into Mr and Mrs Gargoyle.

No. Not now. He wanted to be finished off. For god’s sake shouldn’t the parents of the bride be outside showing their daughter off to everyone? Especially seeing as Darla’s arse was almost covered and her tits were only half on display. It must be a proud day for the family Fugly.

“Finish off what?” asked Darla’s father.

“Finish off doing his make up on so he can look pretty for the party,” smiled Spike affably, exchanging outrageously flirtatious looks with Mrs Darla senior.

“Did either of you two hear a loud noise?” asked the Gargoyle suspiciously.

“Could you be more specific?” asked Spike. “If it was a loud bestial yowling sound then it’s probably consummation of the marriage rites.”

“It was nothing of the sort.”

“Oh, well then I have no idea, “ said Spike, backing away from Darla’s parents and trying for a swift yet dignified exit clutching one bent over double Xander in one hand and his shoes and sock in the other.

“You’re so bad,” gasped Xander, finally able to stop laughing enough to process his mindless stream of babble.

“Oh,” pouted Spike, “I remember when you used to say I was so good.”

Just then there came a loud gongy sound from downstairs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, luncheon is now being served in the banqueting hall,” said the M.C. looking resplendently stupid in knee britches, white stockings, a brocade jacket and powdered wig.

Xander looked him up and down and then opened his mouth ready for when the barbed but humorous quippy quip pushed its way to the front of his brain.

“Come on, gorgeous,” said Spike leading Xander away from trouble, “Let’s get you something to eat to soak up all that alcohol.”

I wanna eat your cock,” giggled Xander, but then he was distracted by the sight of a small drummer.

“Lindsey,” screamed Xander running up to his friend and throwing his arms around him in an emotional reunion.

“Xan, dude, how the fuck are you? And more to the point what the fuck are you doing with him?”

It was so good to see Lindsey again. He’d missed him and had tried to track him down but the last thing he heard was that Lindsey had quit Country and Western and taken up rodeo.

“He’s my date,” said Spike proudly and kind of loudly.

“I’m not with him, he just keeps following me,” said Xander haughtily, trying to ignore king sad of the sad people who was stood next to him sulking.

“Ladies and gentleman please be seated,” said the master of ceremonies who was then barged out of the way by the throng of hungry guests trying to read the plan and find their correct position in the hierarchical scheme of things. There was much shuffling of place markers.

“Here you are,” said Spike as he indicated a seat next to him at the top table. “Unless you’re still determined not to be with me, then you have to wash the dishes and watch the rest of us eat.”

Xander sat down. He was a wimpish enabler.

“Ladies and gentleman please be upstanding for the bride and groom.”

He would if he could. It seemed rude not to but it would be even ruder if he stood up and showed everyone his penis which was attached to lips of Spike and being finished off in the nicest way possible.

“Where is he?” growled Angel who was seated next to the empty chair.

“Oh he’s here,” gasped Xander, covering himself carefully with the crisp white tablecloth and a napkin to be on the safe side.

While medieval wenches served up the entrees Xander puffed and panted and took surreptitious glances under the table to watch the slow, satisfying passage of his cock as it eased its way between Spike’s lips. This was a first. He’d never been blown at a wedding reception before. All his naughtiest, dirtiest firsts had Spike as an integral part of them.

As subtle as ever, Spike slurped noisily at the swollen head and Xander leaned back, sobering up but managing to stay drunk enough to enjoy himself.

“What do you think of the new drummer?” asked Lindsey as he changed places with Angel’s Auntie Mona: a lady who wasn’t quite as appreciative of the sex noises as Xander.

“He’s okay, but he’s not as pretty as you,” grinned Xander.

“Shit, your flattery’ll turn me gay. Well maybe it did already. That and the kiss. That’s my boyfriend Wesley over there.”

Xander was just about with it enough to follow Lindsey’s pointy finger over to a tall conservatively dressed dark-haired man.

“He’s English, he’s anally retentive and he won’t tell anyone he’s gay, but he fucks like a weasel and deep throats like he was born for it and I’m crazy about him.”

“Oh, oh, oh, God. Goooood, goooood. That’s great. I mean.” Xander blushed.

Spike crawled out from under the table, licking his lips and sitting down in between Angel and Xander, wearing his best innocent grin.

“Spike, you haven’t changed a bit, you’re still a fucking cocksucker,” said Lindsey.

“Well if the cock fits, suck it,‘s what I always say,” grinned Spike.

The food was good, the drinks were plentiful and Xander was totally at home surrounded by his family. It was a shame that his family was as fake as the house, but it was hard to care too much about that when you were high on champagne and blowjobs and your fingers were wrapped tightly around a slutty cock.

“Spike,” hissed Angel, interrupting them from what had now become mutual handjobs under the tablecloth. “Speech.”

When Spike stood up Xander knew that the only thing covering the singer’s erection was the un-tucked black dress shirt and that made him throb more than ever. He wondered if the Gargoyle would notice a few stalactites of spunk hanging off the underside of the table from when he came at the thought of Spike exposing himself in the middle of his oration.

“I’ve known Angel for a long time and what can I say? He fucks okay… from what I‘ve heard and he looks okay… least he thinks he does and his wild animal impressions are second to none.”

Spike took a deep breath and just for a second he was a different guy to the one Xander knew.

“I’ll miss you, Ange, but I think now’s the right time to go our separate ways. Good luck, mate.”

Spike sat down hurriedly to a ripple of confused applause.

“If that was a way to get me to come crawling back, Spikey, well, all I can say is you’ve fucked up,” whispered Angel.

“It wasn’t, mate. It honestly wasn’t,” replied Spike with a sad smile and, for once, Xander believed him.

The party moved from the banqueting hall into the ballroom and somewhere along the way Xander lost Spike. Pushing minor celebrities out of the way he charged up the stairs following the all too familiar sound of unearthly howling.

“You bastard,” he yelled at the top of his semi-drunken voice as he barged into the bedroom. “You’re not gonna keep screwing me over like this for… her?”

Oh fuck. Darla not Spike. He much of the bad. Angel much of the furious. Both of them big with the jaw-flapping, wordless, goldfish impersonations.

It wasn’t a pretty sight finding Darla on all fours being done doggy style by her new husband so Xander beat a hasty retreat, pausing outside for breath outside the door and cringing, well okay smirking, at the one sided argument that was erupting in the bedroom.

“What did he mean by that? Oh my God! You’ve been sleeping with Xander. I knew you found that boy attractive and Daddy always told me you were queer.”

Sneaking quietly down the stairs Xander smiled, full of secret guilty pleasure. It wasn’t as if Darla was totally wrong. She’d just got the wrong guy. He didn’t really need to confess. And anyway he wasn’t going to.

He eventually found Spike outside, sitting on a low pillared wall and gazing out at the Hertfordshire countryside and the blue whale shaped swimming pool complete with fountain for a blow hole.

“It wasn’t ‘cause of what he said, you know.”

“I know.”

“It’s just time.”

Spike shivered and Xander put his arm around him. “You’re cold.”

“Well, I lost me cloak in that gang bang with Peter Rabbit and Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail.”

“Do you wanna go somewhere quiet so I can warm you up?” said Xander with a cheeky grin.

“Can’t,” said Spike sadly, “I lost my supplies too, didn’t I? So if you see the Gargoyle with an ecstatic expression on his face for a change he’s probably got a buzz going on.”

Xander choked with laughter, “Come on, you, let’s go back inside and see how well the happy couple are getting on.”

Spike looked questioningly at Xander.

“I kinda threw an accidental spanner in the works, but I’m sure she’ll forgive him soon.” Xander flicked though the program. “She’ll have to because after the mummers play finishes it’s time for the dancing and Angel must be there for that. It says so on the schedule.”

After half an hour of sitting listening to silent Spike, Xander was about to launch himself into full on panic mode. Spike was never quiet. Half of him wanted to suck, fuck and wank a smile back onto Spike’s face, the other half wanted to buy flowers and candy and the third half, which was the sensible one that didn’t really live inside Xander for much of the time, was telling him that it was all just another confidence trick.

For once he knew who to listen to. After this was over he’d move to L.A. for the sake of his business and change all his numbers for the sake of his sanity. Time to move on again and, no, it wasn’t running away, it was marching forward in a positive Spikeless direction.

“Ladies and gentleman, the bride and groom.”

Xander couldn’t help but notice the matching thundercloud expressions on Angel and Darla’s faces as they danced past him. Ooops. Never mind. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

“Dance with me?”

Huh? What the fuck? And more to the point, "no."

“Dance with me, Xander. Please.”

Something was wrong with the world. Spike was standing by him with his arm out and he was taking hold of Spike’s hand and getting to his feet. "No." Remember the no part of no. Room full of people. Famous faces. Arms of Spike wrapped around him. Groin of Spike pressed against his thigh. Bass beat throbbing in time with his erection. A kiss that went on for hours and left him in a happy warm place where he and Spike were all alone.

Fuck! Why was the music and dancing all gone? Their kisses had been cruelly interrupted by a fearsome father of the bride who was carmine red and shaking with fury as he staggered onto the stage.

“All my collectibles. Gone. Destroyed,” sobbed the Gargoyle into a microphone. “Years of work… Even my limited edition Nutkin.”

The room fell silent.

“Who do these belong to?” continued the old man, brandishing a cloak, a vibrator and one black shoe and sock at everyone. Xander looked down at Spike’s matching one bare foot and gulped.

“Oh fuck,” said Spike.

“Come on, Cinderella, let’s get you away from the scene of the crime before you turn back into a-”

“Wanker who treated you like crap?” interrupted Spike, “‘S not gonna happen, Xan.”

~~****~~

As usual Xander didn’t know quite what had hit him. One minute they were running the gauntlet of paparazzi, the next a wad of money had changed hands and they were being driven back to Xander’s flat in Hampstead. The next they were in bed.

“You told them I was your boyfriend,” panted Xander as he lay on his back with his legs hooked around Spike’s shoulders.

“Touch yourself for me, Xan. I wanna see you wank.”

Xander reached over to the nightstand and slicked his palm from the dispenser then began to pull at his cock with long slow pumping movements in time with the thrust of Spike’s hips.

“You came out to the press. You told them I was your boyfriend.” Xander’s eyes were wide not only from the steady jab of Spike’s cock, but also the enormity of what Spike had just done.

“Yeah well, you kind of ruined that moment by telling them you weren’t.”

“I was in shock. And anyway you aren’t my boyfriend.”

Xander might well have been in crazy, mad, delirious, happy shock, but he wasn’t stupid anymore.

“Shock is even better if it’s silent.” Spike smiled and leaned down, sucking Xander’s tongue into his mouth and kissing him for a long long time. “Why won’t you be my boyfriend?”

“Because you’re a dirty, slutty, cheating, lying prick,” gasped Xander pulling himself off with quick jerks of his fist and throwing his head back as the sensations got better and better.

“Aside from that.”

“Spike, there is no aside from that, now will you shut up so I can come.”

“But.”

“No buts, baby.” Xander pulled Spike closer and shifted his legs until they were wrapped around Spike’s waist. His cock was squashed tight between the skin of their bellies and he grabbed a handful of black hair and kissed Spike hard, teeth clashing, lips grinding and tongues twisting together as their bodies pushed each other closer and closer toward orgasm.

No stupid thoughts. No dumbass words. Just a long, pleasurable, animal fuck.

With a loud moan Xander gripped Spike harder and came, jolt after jolt of his spunk slicking their skin until they slid against each other like ice and when Spike climaxed Xander enjoyed every shudder as if it was his own.

Big mistake.

They showered together and climbed back into bed and Xander tried hard to resist the temptation to cuddle, but it was no good; he was a born snuggler.

“What are you gonna do now?” he asked.

“Come live here?” said Spike.

“Excellent,” said Xander ignoring the hopeful expression on Spike’s face. “I need a buyer for the flat seeing as I’m moving.”

Spike pouted. “I’ll be good,” he said, “I promise.”

“There’s no such thing as a good Spike.”

“I’ll be a sloth and lie around all day making myself pretty so I can fuck your brains out when you come in from work?”

Only Spike could ever think that was a good thing. Only Xander could ever agree.

They fucked all night in between long arguments about their future then in the morning Spike bounced into the bedroom with a tray of breakfast.

“I missed this,” he said jumping back into bed and jiggling the tray on Xander’s knee until the coffee slopped over the croissants.

“We never did this.”

“Well it must be you I missed then,” said Spike with an engaging smile as he positioned the pillows behind him and looked through a newspaper.

Xander frowned, well and truly mad at himself. What happened to newly determined man? He’d gone and got lost up Spike’s arse again and all that was left was stupid Xander.

“If you stay I’ll get you neutered and make you wear a leash all the time,” he said in a so not threatening voice.

Spike laughed. “Read this,” he said handing over the newspaper, then moving the tray onto the floor and sliding down the bed to give Xander’s cock a good morning kiss.

God, Xander loved morning blowjobs, evening blowjobs, outdoor, indoor, anywhere blowjobs -- especially if they were of the Spike variety.

It was hard to concentrate on the page in front of him with all the licking and sucking that was going, but he could see the main picture was of him and Spike kissing. And the second picture was of him and Spike running down the steps holding hands. The third picture was of the Gargoyle waving a vibrator at them and the copy was entirely devoted to Spike coming out.

“And Angel went to so much trouble to get his wedding into the papers. He will be furious,” said Spike looking up all wide eyed and innocent.

“You’re a total bitch, Spike,” said Xander dissolving in laughter, “but I love you.”

“Me too,” replied a muffled voice. “If we live together I promise I’ll suck you off every morning.”

This was one set of vows that Xander could believe in. Sighing contentedly, he tangled his fingers into Spike’s hair and decided that it was made better sense to be stupidly happy Xan than determined and miserable Xan. He hadn’t been totally castrated though. It took Spike nine days of the most perverse and wild monkey sex to persuade him to allow a short but spectacularly gorgeous typhoon back into his life.

But it was worth it.

DONE