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Another day, another not dollar...enjoy...
Oh My God!! Was the horror that he felt making his bowels shudder and clench totally transparent on his face? Was Buffy aware just how much he was going to kill her when he got back to the Happy Farm of Love?

Xander Harris sat across from the most harrowing employment committee he’d ever heard of and tried extra hard not to soil his squeaky fresh underwear. There were tentacles. And horns. And was that lady demon shedding her wrinkly, puce-coloured skin?

Xander sat glued to his chair, hoping and praying to a God that had obviously forsaken him and turned the world on its head just because his car decided to fall apart. Why oh why did he have to break down in front of the one place that should have but made so little sense? He nearly swallowed his tongue as the group of three finished their impromptu discussion of his virtues, taking many pauses in which to eye him from head to toe—and he was positive it was his imagination that had them lingering over his own tentacle-like bits.

The unanimous ‘yes’ they suddenly shouted out had him teetering on his chair, too late realising that swinging was as dangerous as his teachers had always warned. Xander jumped to his feet, rubbing furiously at the now pounding lump on the back of his head and cursed the floor that was obviously made out of cement. He eyed the chair suspiciously, but he was all respectful fear when he turned back to the demon women that would tell him if he could get money to fix his truck and get out of Whacko Land.

“We will take you, Xander Harris,” giggled the one with the horns and Xander winced, his butt cheeks clenching at the choice of words.

“You do us, yes?” added the one with the tentacles in a foreign accent, and all colour leeched from his face.

“No!” he shouted, panic making every muscle tense in terror. “No, I’ll do dishes. Dishes I’ll so do. Anything else? Not this boy from the Hellmouth. Nuhuh.” And he took two very large steps backwards and bumped into a long narrow stage, a pole bolted into the middle of its floor.

“Ahhh.” They grinned together, and then threw him a dishrag and brush, pointing him in the direction of the kitchen.

Xander didn’t wait around to see any other strange alterations to the plan, allowing his hands to dive into soapy suds and scrub clean as many glasses and dishes that were brought to him. The cutlery was a bit…odd…but he was ignoring and coping. It was a good plan that he had every intention of embracing when he got back home. Ignore and cope. When he got back to the farm tonight—ignore and cope. Ahhh, life was blissfully Egyptian again. He loved it.

Buffy and Spike were supposed to come and get him at closing. God, it’d be the first time he’d be willing to kiss Spike’s feet if he’d let him share car space. This place was giving him the heebie jeebies, no matter which river he was busy paddling up in his head.

The very wrinkly and sore evidence of dishpan hands was making him wince by the time he saw one of the owners of the place again. He was just about to pull the plug and toss the filthy, greasy rag in the sink when the one with the tentacles shot an extra long appendage out, gripped him around the waist and tugged him so that he stopped a straining inch from the terrifying body. Never before had he flinched away from size DD boobies, but this was a matter of life or death. Those weeping pustules looked poisonous and Xander panted and sweated as he tried not to offend his employer so much that she’d swipe at him with them.

“Oh, hey,” he giggled nervously. “No need to hug me. I loved doing your dishes. Really, would’ve done them for free if I didn’t, you know, need the cash.” He paled as the tentacle swiped over his ass and gave his butt cheek a not-so-gentle squeeze and then she shuddered an oogly laugh before shimmying against him and he felt holes burn in this shirt.

Xander blinked uncomprehendingly for two seconds before yelping loudly and started smacking at his chest. “Yeowwwww!” he gurgled and before he knew what had happened, the buttons were torn from his shirt so that it was barely hanging from his shoulders and he was sailing through the air, landing sprawled on his back on a stage in front of a room full of dimly lit, howling demon women, panting and rambunctious as they screamed for his body.

When his head stopped buzzing from both the impact on the stage—the second bump he’d managed to get in one night—and the catcalls and whistles from the seemingly enormous crowd of demonesses, he registered that there was music. It was pumping, it was loud, and it had his name all over it.

“I wanna be a cowboy,” he whispered in an approving daze before being slapped squarely in the middle of the eyes with a wide brimmed, appropriate for a Western hat and he started to wiggle his ass and flay his arms like a chicken. His life had become so weird that he just went back to swimming, and it felt so cool and refreshing in this special place that Xander almost forgot everything. Until some big meaty appendages jerked him to the realisation that he wasn’t alone on the stage and some huge beefy momma of a demon tore open the fly of his jeans and sent him flying while she ripped them from his body.

And ergo, head bump number three sent him really close to happy concussion land.

Xander staggered to his feet, a sappy smile of confusion on his lips as he stared into too bright lights and attempted to resume his dance. God, he loved this song. It did wild things to his evolutionary desire for movement and that was so much better than thinking that he was shimmying in his underwear to the largest demon population outside of the Hellmouth.

“Off, off, off, off, off,” became the chant around the club, gaining in decibels until the music was almost drowned out and Xander lost the beat, his brows crinkling while he concentrated hard on finding it again. Besides, he had so little left to get off and they couldn’t possibly want him to expose THAT! These babes were demons. Surely their questionably better halves weren’t even anatomically similar to him for them to get a kick out of seeing his private areas?

Oh well, he’d wiggle some more and wait and see. Seemed these ladies weren’t above taking the situation into their own hands.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Buffy had felt so proud of Spike. Not only was he being the best, er, boyfriendy kidnapping vampire ever for getting Xander this job, but he was totally awesome for not eating her friend at all. As much as she felt like slaying him herself on occasion.

Buffy felt so happy she could burst. Here they were, going out to dinner in a silent memorial to their rather blackened kitchen and now they were walking hand in hand to pick up Xander before they headed home. She felt almost giddy that she’d managed to stop his constant sarcasm about Spike. It was wearing on her nerves—not to mention making her question the sublime happiness she’d found from being in the vampire’s arms.

Knowing that Angel was fine with deserting her—putting a huge full stop on their relationship—had been really difficult for her to deal with emotionally. She’d fallen so hard for him, suffered so much guilt at being the cause of his soul loseage and sending him almost forever to Hell. Almost two months spent being with Spike and playing Susie Homewrecker had done wonders to return her self esteem—and strangely enough, she thrived on the irony. Had achieved miracles in wiping the memory of Angel’s kisses and wounded expressions from her mind.

She didn’t cling to the guilt anymore, and it had nothing to do with Spike being an evil influence. Since they’d supposedly—hopefully—abandoned the whole ‘feed-Buffy-to-Dru’ deal, Spike hadn’t really been that evil. He was a horndog for sure, and he’d done some things that she was positive he’d not learned from innocent ‘how-to’ books on lovemaking, but as far as the usual vampy evilness went, he’d been a kitten.

And the sudden image of Spike purring all kitteny made her giggle sweetly.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” he approved as he leaned in and nipped at her neck.

Buffy’s blood scorched her veins as her heart started thumping, desire for Spike almost drugging her into oblivion. Sometimes it scared her how much she had come to rely on his raspy voice, his sweet and sexy promises. Most of the time she just felt special that somehow, someway, she’d changed him enough by giving him a chance to be something he hadn’t yet tried.

The idea that it might end almost tore her heart to shreds.

Buffy had survived the loss of Angel, as wretched as it may have made her feel. She’d run away, searching for something even if she’d lied daily to herself about not wanting the familiar. Not wanting the reminders. The first thrust into her old life had sent her almost screaming in urgency back home to Sunnyhell.

But losing Spike…

She’d blocked out the option of going home—until Xander had come crashing in on her happiness. And she was ignoring how totally typical of him that was. But now the reality of her life was slapping her in the face and she realised—as the slayer—that some decisions needed to be made.

But not tonight.

Xander had some car parts he needed to purchase and had to work to get them. As much as she hated having a chaperone, he hadn’t crimped her style yet, and she wasn’t going back to offering explanations about how she felt to him. He had never been more than her friend—a best friend without doubt—but she didn’t owe him anything. Buffy was all grown up now, an adult with an adult’s decision lying in front of her. Angel had taken one decision away from her, she wasn’t letting Xander steal away another.

They’d arrived at the club without Buffy reaching any kind of conclusions. She swept her eyes over the glamour concealed door and wondered what kind of place it was. Mostly she just felt the strong urge to continue walking and was a little resentful when Spike pulled her through the door and into the raucous atmosphere inside.

And then she was laughing so hard she nearly collapsed.

“What the bleeding hell does that git think he’s doing?” Spike stood stupefied. One look at his face had Buffy weak in the knees and she nearly wet herself, almost collapsing at his feet in hysterical giggles.

“Oh…air….need some,” she gasped, waving her hand in front of her face in the hope it would stop her from hyperventilating.

Spike scowled at Buffy, then turned and glared at an oblivious yet gyrating Xander on the stage, his Scooby Doo boxers shiny as the light caught and elongated his various shapes. Buffy erupted with another fit of giggles as Spike tugged her determinedly toward an empty table halfway back from the action and wondered if his eyes would ever stop bleeding.

He shook his head and shuddered, making the fatal mistake of letting his gaze divert for just a minute. His eardrums nearly exploded at the mortified scream that almost ruptured Buffy’s voice box, and with a tremendous sense of dread, he turned back to the friend that was going to fast go from being a guest in their home to a fixture in their demon graveyard. He couldn’t miss the horny demon lady that swayed at Harris’s side, his torn undergarments dangling like a prize from her gnarled finger.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he spat at the sight of bare naked flesh standing small and scared. “Let’s go home, Slayer. You’ve got to shag that image right out of my poor abused brain.”

He was on his feet and half way through the back of the club before he registered her wolf-whistle. She’d managed to rescue her clumsy, witless friend and dragged him out of the club, he with nothing but her tiny jacket to wrap around his shocked and shrivelled parts.

He heard senseless words as the door banged shut, “But Buffy, they haven’t paid me yet. I gotta get the cash,” and cringed at the boy’s insistence. Then again, he deserved what he got in this place. With an evil chuckle, Spike admitted to himself the boy had probably earned it. With any luck it was enough to push his ass from this corner of the country and he’d have the Slayer all to himself once again.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

His hips jerked spasmodically as he came like a bull, the Slayer arching and squealing like the bloody amazing woman she was. Spike felt her heartbeat knocking against his chest, and it was not the first time he wanted to answer and let her in. When he’d finally stopped rolling his hips and his gasped breaths settled to a more sedate speed, he looked at her and wondered at the blush on her cheeks as she met his gaze with something like hope.

He felt the surge of something important in his chest and he knew that things had changed for him. Planned on making Buffy see that things were different now. The thought of turning her over to Dru to supp on had become rather close to abhorrent, and instead there were lighter, happier daydreams that flickered through his mind—until he saw Harris’s scarily milky white stumpy cock and the need to purge the image with something hot and wet and mind numbingly tight overcame him.

Before Buffy could open her mouth to voice any of her previous thoughts or concerns, she was moaning at the thickening of his cock inside her and he was pumping her into delirium. Slamming that nightmare snapshot out of his mind as he surrendered to sensation.

He roared as her nails dug into his butt cheeks, his back arching so he could seek out those more hard to reach places before settling into a steady rhythm he knew drove his girl wild.

His girl.

And that was about the size of it. He was past the point of considering letting her go now. He’d embedded himself inside the Slayer too many times to surrender the promise of her to some other whiny git. His poofy grandsire mightn’t have the stones to give the girl a go—preferring to show his affection by being nothing but wind beneath her wings. Spike was willing to be her bloody wings if it kept him close to her side. He’d be her stepping stone to the baddies, help her with her own little demon graveyard back in SunnyD. Whatever the girl needed, he’d kill whoever he had to to make sure she got it.

It was only as he came with a gruelling surge of pistoning hips that he finally got it. The words were there, right on the tip of his tongue and he could do nothing but bury his vamped out face in her breasts and bite to prevent them spilling his secret. He filled his mouth with her blood, falling longer and harder than he thought possible, and wondered at the surprising nature of love.

But at least it wiped his mind of nude Harris images.





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