Chapter Text
PAIRING: Spike/Xander (Pre-slash)
FEEDBACK: Well duh. I mean, if you wouldn't be so kind.
SUMMARY: Spike's peaceful existence is disturbed by a very inebriated Xander.
SPOILERS: None that I know of.
DISTRIBUTION: List archives. Anybody else - help yourself, just let me know.
DISCLAIMER: Nothing is mine blah blah blah. All Joss and Mutant Enemy blah blah blah.
NOTES: This is the first in a series of S/X ficlets detailing the firsts in a Spike/Xander relationship (not that there's much of a relationship yet, but give it time) unimaginatively titled 'First Times'.
DEDICATION: To Mod and Jen for doing their usual fabulous beta work. Also to Lena and Jackson for the encouragement and for not thinking it sucked.
First Times 1: First Comfort
by Karen
***
"Oh Danny Boy. Oh Danny Boy. Oh Danny Boy."
Who the fuck is singing outside my crypt? Can't a bloke get a bit of peace and quiet in his own cemetery any more? Whoever it is had better pray to whatever god they worship, 'cause when I get out there I'm gonna... "Xander?"
"Spike! Spike, my good um...whatever. Are you here for my debut performance? *hic* Oh Danny Boy. Oh Danny Boy. Oh Danny Boy."
Bloody hell, the boy's completely smashed. He's standing very unsteadily just a few feet from my crypt, flinging his arms out and twirling about while he sings very loudly and very off-key. He has a bottle of something grasped tightly in his right hand and he keeps letting a few drops spill with every exaggerated gesture. "Harris, what the hell are you doing?"
"I'm entertaining the nation with my bootiful *hic* voice. Oh Danny Boy. Oh Danny Bo-"
"Stop!" I walk right up to where he is twirling like a bloody ballerina, grasp him firmly, and clasp my hand over his mouth in an effort to stop that damned racket. "Do you want every demon in town to find you and rip you to shreds?" He looks up for a second, as if thinking it over carefully and then slowly shakes his head as if he's not quite sure that it's the right answer.
"Well, if you keep it up, every vampire and demon and ugly pus-covered snot monster is gonna hunt you down and disembowel you, and if you don't shut up I may have to set off a couple of flares, let 'em know where to look. Do you understand?" Again with the carefully considered look and a slow head nod.
"Right, on the count of three I'm gonna remove my hand and you're going to be very, very quiet. Okay?" This time the head nod comes a little quicker, and the look in his eyes manages to say "Whatever!" better than the words actually could.
"One...Two...Th- Ewww!" I snatch my hand away and rub it furiously on my jeans. "Did you just lick me?" Shit, the little bugger licked me. He puts his hand up to his mouth and snickers like a five-year-old. He sort of half stumbles, half runs backward; probably afraid I'm going to retaliate.
"Watch out for the..." Too late. "...gravestone." I cradle my head in my hands and release an exasperated sigh. "Why me?" I suppose I better make sure the twit didn't do himself any permanent damage.
I trudge up to the gravestone he's just tripped over and peer over to see the boy in a fit of silent giggles, clutching at his sides as if the laughter is causing him pain. I can only wish.
"Harris, you okay?" He looks up at me standing over him and stops giggling, taking a couple of lungfuls of air and smiles at me.
"Spike, won't you *hic* join me? It's loverly down here, you can see all the stars."
I look up at the sky and see the thick cloud cover obscuring the view. The boy's as nutty as Dru. At least it's not a ceiling obscuring the view I suppose. "Right you, I think you have had enough to drink. Why don't you give the bottle to your old friend Spike?"
"Uh uh, I need it to sing." He takes a long swig from the bottle of whatever generic crap he's been clutching and starts again.
"Oh Danny Boy. Oh Danny Boy. Oh Danny Boy."
I can't take it any more, I snatch the bottle from him and he stops singing immediately, his eyes go wide and he gives me an indignant "Hey!"
"First of all, you shouldn't drink lying down. The state you're in you'd probably choke..." Christ, what am I, his mother? What the fuck do I care? "...and second of all, if you have to bloody sing, could you sing more than the first three soddin' words?"
"Can't." He's giving me an icy glare as I hold his booze out of his reach.
"Why?"
"'Cause I don't know any of the other words."
Oh fer crying out... "Well why were you singing the fucking song then?" I am seriously sick of this conversation already. Why didn't I just leave him to choke?
"'Cause when your drunk you're s'posed to sing Danny Boy. It's like a rule or something." He lifts his right hand up at me and I'm not quite sure if he's indicating he want his bottle back or if he want to get up. I go for the safe option and help him up.
Once he's standing he extends his arms in a determined effort to stay balanced. I can see him stick his tongue out in a show of deep concentration. Once he is reasonably steady he looks at me and takes a breath as if to speak but then stops and scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion. "Uh...where was I?"
"Danny Boy." Why the hell did I tell him? I don't care anymore, I just wanna go back to my nice dank crypt and forget this whole stupid encounter.
"Oh yeah! Well, it's on the TV and movies all the time. You get drunk and all nostalgical and sent'mental and you sing Danny Boy. I think it's a law," he says with firm authority. He reaches his hand out and tries to grab the bottle, but his reflexes are too dulled from the alcohol. I put it behind my back out of his reach before he can get his hands on it.
"Spike! I need the alcyhol to finish my song. The words are in there." He walks right up to me and tries to reach behind to get the bottle, but I keep turning so he can't get to it. He has his left hand on my shoulder to remain steady and his face is so close to mine I can feel his breath on my face. He smells like a brewery.
"Harris, you're making even less sense than you usually do."
"The words to finish my song so I won't get arrested for not singing Danny Boy: they're in the bottle. Drunk people on TV always know all the words to it, so I figured they must add them to the alcyhol when they bottle it. The more you drink the more words you know...so I need to keep drinking."
I'm sure that made some kind of sense to him, but I have no idea what he's blathering on about. "Sorry mate, you've had enough." I step back quickly out of his grasp. He wobbles a bit but stays up. I upend the bottle and the cheap foul smelling stuff disappears into the grass and dirt.
"NO!" He sinks to his knees beside when the liquid seeped into the ground and starts digging as if he can get it back. I walk behind him and put my hands under his armpits and hoist him back onto his feet.
"Accept it Xand. It's gone and it's never coming back, get over it." I'm still trying to figure out why I care whether he drinks or not. It's not as if I haven't had the odd snifter or two in my day. Hell, I've even let Buffy get stinking drunk, what's so different about Droopy Boy?
"I guess it's party time for all the little wormies. Have fun little wormies." He actually waves at the ground as if all the worms are going to see him. If I thought for one second that I was this pathetic when I drink, I would have to shoot myself. It wouldn't kill me, but it would bloody well hurt and I would deserve the pain for being such a wanker.
"It's all gone Spike. Just like Anya, it's all gone. Why does everything have to go?" If he starts blubbering, I'm gonna retch. Oh god, he's coming closer to me. He's putting his head on my shoulder. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
"It's so sad, Spike. Why do things have to end?" He sighs heavily and tries to put his arm around my other shoulder but he misses a few times before he finally makes it. If he expects me to give him a hug or something, he's going to be in for a bloody long wait.
"Yeah, well...there there." I pat him awkwardly on the head a couple of times and remove his arm from around my shoulder. I turn him around, face him in a vague direction towards his apartment and give him a gentle shove. "On you go now. Go on home and sleep it off. And remember, no talking to strangers or snot monsters. Actually, on seconds thoughts, talk to whoever you bloody like. I don't care."
He walks a few cautious steps forward before he turns back to me. "Aren't you gonna walk me home? It's dark."
"What am I, your date?" Oh Jesus Christ, he's looking back and forth between me and the direction of his apartment, chewing his bottom lip and shifting his feet nervously. How do I get myself in these situations?
I take a deep annoyed breath, just so he realises how much of an inconvenience this is and I step up beside him. "You know, you're worse than a bloody chit. They're always needing a chum from one of her girlie friends whenever they go to the loo."
He just smiles innocently and bats his eyelashes. Whatever! "If I have to do this I have two rules. First: No singing! Second: No talking! In fact I'll just sum them up into one simple thing for your simple mind to remember: Shut the fuck up! Are we clear?"
He nods his head a little too enthusiastically and gets dizzy. I grab the front of his shirt to stop him from falling backwards. He puts his finger up to his lip and quietly says "Shhhh." He starts tiptoeing in the direction I faced him in, taking large exaggerated strides. He looks back at me and grins again and I can't help smiling a little at how ridiculous he looks. All he needs in some hunting gear, and to say "Be vewy vewy quiet. I'm hunting bunny wabbits," and the picture would be complete.
It's going to be a long evening.
***
"So she said fline, so I said fline, so she said fline...no wait, I did that part already..."
At this point I think I would thank the Slayer if she staked me. My brain is numb. Does this boy not know the meaning of the words "Shut the fuck up!"? I must have said them about a dozen times already. What the hell do I care about his and the demon girl's latest drama? So what if she left him...or he left her...or...urrgh I don't *care*.
"...So I said fline and she walked out the door and..."
"Harris! Two things. One: the word is *fine*: there is no 'l'. Two: we're here." *Finally*! He looks up and sees that we are right outside his apartment door. The look of shock on his face is quite amusing.
"Hey! How did that get there." He looks up and down the corridor as if to confirm that we are in the right building. The daft twit was so intent on his stupid story he probably didn't even notice the elevator ride up to his floor.
"Right then, I walked you home, you're safe and sound. Bye." I turn around and try to make a swift exit before he can say anything else. I guess he must be sobering up because his reflexes are getting better. He grabs at the back of my duster preventing me from leaving.
"Not so fast mister. What about those snot covered pus-monsters you keep yapping about? What if one got in my apartment and is hiding under my bed waiting for me to go to sleep before he snots me to death?"
You have got to be kidding me. He wants me to check for monsters under his bed? I bow by head and slump my shoulders. He must take this as a sign of defeat as he lets go of my coat and I can hear him fumble for his keys. I should just run for it now, while he's distracted. I mean, I'm evil, I should be glad that he's afraid of monsters, not babying him by checking his
apartment for the Boogieman.
"Stupid lock. Stop moving so I can fit the key."
"Give me that." We could be here all night at this rate. I take the keys off him and open the door.
He saunters in, takes off his jacket and lets it fall to the ground behind him. Before I can protest my lack of entry he casually says "Come in, Spike" without even looking back. I can't help a little wicked smile. It's always useful to have another place to have an invite to. Here's hoping by morning he will have forgotten, so he doesn't get the witches to do an uninvite.
He's walking towards a door that I assume leads to the bedroom, so I follow
him.
What he hell is he doing now? It looks like he's fiddling with his shirt buttons. Yup, there goes the shirt, flung behind him barely missing me and joining his jacket in a heap on the floor.
He reaches for the door handle and struggles with it a bit until it finally opens and he stumbles in. I stand in the open doorway watching him now as he toes off his shoes. He kicks them off to the side and starts to fumble with his belt. I'm getting quite a show here and I can't help but wonder how far he's gonna go before he realises I'm standing right here.
After a fit of cursing and a threat to go find a knife and cut it off, his belt is unfastened, and his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. He shuffles forward toward the bed and his jeans ride a little further down with each mini step until they are pooled around his feet and I get a good view of his boxer shorts. They're white with a picture of a group of masked...I think they're supposed to be reptiles of some kind. The words Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are printed right across his backside. And this guy in supposed to be in his twenties?
He tries to sit down on the edge of the bed but his jeans impede his movements and he misses by a mile. Once again he's flat on his back and giggling like a moron. He kicks his feet in the air like he's having a tantrum or something, until his jeans fly off his feet (taking one of his socks with them), hit the wall and fall to the floor.
He takes a couple of deep breaths, grabs hold of the edge of the sheet covering his bed, and after a few false starts, manages to pull himself up again.
He stands with his back to me and he puts his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and gets as far as revealing just a hint of crack before I feel the need to speak up.
"*Ahem* You might want to keep your skivvies on mate."
He looks over his shoulder at me and there isn't even a hint of embarrassment on his face. He turns around fully with his thumb still hooked in his boxers, and I can see a light sprinkling of hair peeking over the top.
"Spike, what are you doing here?" he says smiling sweetly, the perfect picture of oblivious innocence.
"You invited me in. Snot-monsters, remember? Am I ringing any bells here?"
"Right, they're lying in wait for me under my bed." He's still smiling away like an idiot, not even realising he almost went full monty in front of a bloke he despises.
I indulge his drunken, overactive, childish imagination and lift the covers up so I can look under the bed. I can see him nervously nibble at his fingernails as if expecting the bad news that there is indeed a whole colony of snot-monsters who have set up residence under his bed, and they have a list of complaints about the accommodation for their landlord.
"All clear." I replace the cover and straighten up to see Xander already climbing into bed and getting comfy. He yawns and brings the covers right up to his chin. I can see his eyelids getting heavy, he blinks a few times before closing them completely. Almost immediately his breathing evens out and he is in the first stages of sleep.
I guess his mother never taught him how to be a good host. Not a 'thank you' or a 'you must come round again soon, Spike my old man'. Hell, he didn't even stay awake long enough to see me to the door.
He's already sleeping soundly and I must admit to a little envy, I can't remember the last time I slept that well. It was before the Initiative, that's for sure. I have to chuckle at the thought of what he's going to be like tomorrow though. If my hangovers are anything to go by, he's going to be in one sorry state. Nothing like the feel of a full marching brass band using your skull for a rehearsal hall to wake you up in the morning. I can't imagine that his stomach is gonna thank him much either.
I think I like this new development. I can't hurt them so they hurt themselves. Course, it's not as much fun when I can't be around in the morning for the best bits. It's going to be like "The Exorcist" in here with him puking his guts out all over the place. Oh yeah, that's going to get real messy. I can't help the smirk that creeps across my face at the thought of the boy with his head spinning around in a full 360 just like in the film.
He shifts a little in his bed, and I get a better view of his face. He must be having pleasant dreams because he's smiling. He looks so peaceful lying there snuggled up in the covers. Hmmm, maybe I should get a bucket or a basin or something to put by his bed. I mean, he'll still puke but I don't suppose there's much point in him getting it everywhere.
I leave the bedroom and try a few doors until I find a closet. Bloody hell, how did he get all this stuff in here in the first place? As soon as I open the door a small flood of junk pours out over the floor. Not that anybody would really notice, this place is already a tip. Anya only left a couple of days ago but there's already a large collection of dirty clothes and dishes and takeaway containers strewn about the living room. And now there is great selection of useless crap pooled around my feet to join it. I see a bent bicycle tire, stacks of old well-read comic books, empty cd cases and cd's without cases, boxes of half finished model kits and probably about three dozen different PEZ dispensers to name just a few things.
I have an excuse to live like a slob: I'm dead and I live in a crypt. What's his excuse? I rummage around until I find a bucket and I carefully step around the clutter and head for the bedroom again.
Another thought hits me and I stop and head for the bathroom instead. I'm not even going to think of the last time this was cleaned, I just ignore the mess and open the medicine cabinet. He obviously hasn't done the usual 'chuck out everything that belongs to the ex' thing yet as there is still a whole bunch of her junk in here: tampons and face creams and leg waxing stuff. Least I hope it's hers, otherwise I'd have to start worrying about the boy.
I find an economy size bottle of painkillers and take a couple out. I fill a glass with water and go back to the bedroom.
I put the bucket down beside his bed within easy reaching distance and I place the pills and the water on his nightstand where he'll be able to see them when he wakes.
I look down at him again and he's still smiling away. He squirms a bit and giggles softly as if someone is tickling him in his dreams and a few strands of his unruly hair fall over his face. I reach out my hand and gently brush them away. He leans into my touch and sighs. I snatch my hand away as if his skin was covered in holy water.
What the hell am I doing? What the hell have I been doing all evening? Walking him home! Checking for monsters! Getting him painkillers! This chip really has turned me into a total Nancy Boy.
I need to do something about this now. I'm evil, goddammit. I refuse to be the lackey of a boy I couldn't be arsed biting a few years ago.
Right, lets move this bucket back a bit, just out of reach. Hmmm, lets see, I don't pee anymore so I guess a bit of spit in his water will have to do, and I think setting his alarm for 5.00am should just about do it.
Oh yeah, I'm bad to the bone. It's not exactly bathing in the blood of virgins, but it'll have to do.
I walk out of the bedroom and step around the clutter I created and head for the front door. I look back at the room that looks like a bombshell hit it and smirk a little as I slam the door shut behind me as I leave, making sure to make as much noise as possible. You know, now that I have an invite to this place, I may have to come round more often.
**The End.**