Shacking Up, 7
By
EntreNous

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Chapter Fifteen: Crypt Warming

Xander stood in front of the crypt uncertainly.

He hadn't seen Spike since the other day, what with the lack of patrolling, and he wasn't sure how to start this. It was difficult to say exactly why he wanted to see Spike today --he'd probably catch him in a day or so at Giles', or even run into him at the Bronze.

Maybe it was just that he was so used to seeing him *every* day -- wait, was that the reason it was weird to be just dropping by, or was that the reason he *wanted* to see him? Xander shook his head a little, and kicked at the leaves around the tomb as he paced back and forth a few times.

Maybe he could pretend to be passing by . . . but what exactly would that entail? "Hey, just out patrolling by myself . . . No, I don't have a death wish. Just, uh, stretching my wings, you know? Getting all independent with the slaying?" Okay, even Spike wouldn't fall for him seeming that stupid. Or maybe "Yeah, there've been reports about vengeance demons around these parts, and seeing as yours truly happens to have . . . uh . . . intimate knowledge of said genre of bad girls . . . " Nope. Definitely they'd send Willow out if they needed to mess with power centers. It wasn't like he was just sex on a stick for every vengeance demon that came down the pike. Come to think of it, it wasn't even him that had turned Anya human, though the fact that he'd spent so much time training her to act like one made that hard to remember.

Well, maybe he could just knock? Just say, “hey Spike, thought I'd stop by -- wanna hang out?” Nah. That would be far too simple. Plus, if he was just stopping by, how was he going to explain the bags of blood he’d brought with him?

He hopped up onto a nearby tombstone, and stared balefully at the mausoleum. Banging his heels against the stone, he took a quick survey of his surroundings just to make sure no one was sneaking up on him. His focus on the perimeter explained why he didn't notice a shaggy skinned demon wearing a t-shirt that read "Dale's Demon Den -- Come for the Nachos, Stay for the Ritual Sacrifice!!!" until the demon had poked his head out of the crypt to call out to him.

"Uh, hey! Thought I might've heard something. Are you, uh, Xander?" Clem gave a small wave.

"Yeah. Are you Clem?"

"I am!" Clem cried enthusiastically. "Wow, this is great. I'm not always so good with recognizing humans, but I remember that you're the only guy who hangs out with the slayer all the time. She's a nice girl. Little scary, but nice. Want some Mike's Hard Lemonade?" He gestured into the crypt. "I just picked some up, now that we've got the electrical current going. That guy Oz set us up for power, and now we have a mini-fridge. You know that guy? I don't see him on your, uh, group thingies that much, but he's a cool dude."

Xander smiled despite himself. Clem was a bit -- freaky looking, but he seemed like an okay guy. "Uh, sure. I was just passing through here -- "

"Well come on in, man, come in. You're probably wanting to see Spike, right? He's not around right now -- "

"No, I wasn't looking for Spike especially," Xander commented, though his cheeks flushed tellingly. Xander stepped inside the crypt and looked around.

Clem glanced curiously at him, but then shrugged. "Okay, dude, whatever . . . but he'll probably be home soon. So, like, even if you weren't trying to see him, if you stick around for a bit, you can see him anyway. Even though you weren't looking for him. Okay?"

"Uh, okay." Xander murmured uneasily. Then Clem was hauling out a bag of pizza-flavored Combos, and pressing a drink into his hand, and he got distracted by the demon's questions about Xander's favorite types of cracker-and-pretzel-and-pretzel-related category of snack foods. They were chatting easily when Spike suddenly slipped in through the door.

"Well, then, make yourself at home, Nummy," Spike said only slightly sardonically. "Clem," he added, nodding to his crypt-mate.

"Oh, hey Spike. Wanna drink? You can have one of my Mike's, or I can heat you up some blood." Clem gestured impressively at a banged up microwave balanced precariously on a large rock.

"No, mate. I'm fine." Spike sat on the wobbly chair with care.

“I, uh, brought you some blood. Thought maybe, you needed something fresh?” Xander offered the bag lamely, aware that Clem was examining him with interest. So much for his excuse of just passing through the cemetery.

Spike teetered on the chair, and stopped suddenly. Xander turned a little redder.

“You brought blood?” Spike asked in a low growl.

“Sure,” said Xander with hearty false confidence. “Because of the crypt-warming?” He looked at Clem with pleading eyes.

"Oh, okay," said Clem, and looked a bit closer at each of the other men in turn.

"Oh!" Clem exclaimed, "I just remembered that I have a -- stuff to do and, that the -- stuff -- has to be done at another location!" He fairly leapt to his feet, hustled himself into a parka, and flew out the door.

Spike goggled for a second, and then cracked a small smile. "He's odd, but he's good people."

"Yes," Xander contributed helpfully. He wasn't sure how to start, so he just said the first thing that popped into his head. "Nice to see you the other day."

Spike turned towards him slightly. "Yeah," he said finally.

They sat in silence for a moment. Just as Xander was about to get to his feet, Spike spoke again. "Weird, innit?"

"What's weird?" Xander asked. He hoped it wasn't him showing at Spike's crypt that was the item of weirdness.

"You know, just . . . used to seeing you, until . . . now you're here, and . . . " Spike frowned, and trailed off.

"Oh, right. Yeah. It is weird.” Xander agreed, and then blurted, “Hey, I haven't had to clean blood off the microwave for a whole week."

Spike snorted. "Well, I'm sure your new roomie cleans up after himself real nice." He paused. "Where'd you find that bloke?"

"In the last round of the interviews -- actually, he was the last guy to show. He seems nice. I don't really know too much about him. Just that he broke up with his boyfriend that he was living with, and that's why he needed a place, and why he could move in so fast."

"And you don't . . . have a problem with that?" Spike stared hard at Xander.

"What, with him moving in quickly?"

"No, you grade-A dolt -- that he fancies the lads."

"That!" Xander smiled. "Well, I don't know that many gay guys, but no, I don't think I have any real problem with it. Unless," he continued in a worried tone, "maybe I've been sending out some unconscious ‘uncomfortable with the gay guy’ vibe. Oh no! What if I have some kind of interior wiggins that I don't even sense, and he can pick up on it being gay and all? Crap. Do you think he thinks I'm a big homophobe?"

"Doubt it," Spike replied shortly. "Don't think he'll pick up on some anti-gay thing from you so much as he'll try to chat you up."

"Chat me up?" Xander looked at Spike blankly.

"Come on . . . make a pass, pick you up, try to pull you, invite you up to see his etchings -- "

"Really?" Xander had turned a deeper shade of scarlet. "Why would he do that?"

"Well, you're a nummy treat, aren't you?" Spike replied evenly. He was turned away from Xander as he took a packet of blood out of the fridge, so that the other man couldn't read his sour expression.

"Uh, Spike? I've only had relationships with women. I mean, why would he think that . . . "

The blonde gave a short laugh. "Doesn't have so much to do with thinking, does it now?" He opened the microwave, and set the timer.

"Huh." Xander appeared befuddled. "I think you're probably wrong. I don't think I'm the type of guy that other guys are attracted to, right?" He watched Spike stand up all at once, walk towards the microwave, and then move back to look in the fridge again unnecessarily. "Um, right?"

"Why?"

"Why aren't I that type of guy?"

"Stay on topic, pet. Not why aren't you the type of guy that other guys are attracted to, but why don't you think that you’re that type of guy -- why don't you think you'd be attractive to men?"

"Um. Uh, well . . . um," Xander hemmed and hawed, looking somewhat alarmed.

"Because it's daft to say so. It's something you ought to consider."

"Consider *men*?" Xander squeaked.

"Well, yeah, maybe you ought, at that . . . but I more meant consider that men will try to get in your knickers. What's he been there, about a week? Two? I'm thinking maybe a day or so before he tries something."

"Omigod! What do I do?"

"I imagine that depends on you," Spike said slowly.

"He can't be -- I mean, he can't think that I -- he won't try anything." Xander finished without conviction. He sighed. "Let's not talk about this anymore."

"Fine," Spike cut in. "Why don't we talk about why you put up Buffy to getting me to move out?"

"Huh?” Xander was already thrown by the Davy topic, and now he and Spike were on to the confrontation portion of the visit? When had that happened? “I didn't -- "

"Then why did you?"

"Why did I what?"

"Want me to move out? If you didn't put her up to it, why did you go along like it was a good plan?"

"I didn't want you to move out! It just sort of . . . happened?"

Spike held up his hand. "Look, Xander," he said deliberately. "Not everything just happens. Not all the events in your life are caused by the Hellmouth, or by the great gods of chance. You make choices. I'm asking you why you made this one."

"Wait a second. Hold on. I never heard you protest when Buffy came up with your new room assignment."

"Well, wasn't my apartment, now, was it? What was I, a guest or something? If you wanted me to leave, couldn't very well stay."

"Plus, you were really mad at me," Xander reminded Spike.

"What's that? When?"

"Oh, you remember -- ‘not your bleeding pet,’ accompanied by the hurling of snack cakes."

"Oh, that." Spike scoffed. "Well, you were the one that yelled back and said you'd be surprised if I wasn't your, uh, roommate by the end of the week. What was I supposed to think?"

"I tried to talk to you about it the next morning! But you took off . . . and you didn't even stay there that night! And I was worried -- *worried* -- about you, and you acted like I didn't have the right to ask what had happened."

”So? None of that meant that I wanted to move out. Was just pissed off, is all.”

“Well, I didn’t mean I was going to kick you out or something -- Look, I think I get some leeway here. Can you blame me that I was upset because when I came home beat, you threw an entire box of Twinkies at me?”

They glared at each other for a moment.

Spike snickered first. Xander twisted his lips, but couldn’t help a guffaw slipping through. They stood defiantly, trying to get in control, but then one of them started, the other followed, and pretty soon they were shrieking with laughter.

“Oh, pet, you’re a funny one,” Spike laughed.

“Man, you should’ve seen yourself, lobbing the Twinkies at me – wait, hey, there’s something I never thought about.” Xander shook his head in disbelief at his own carelessness.

“What’s that?” Spike asked, trying and failing to hold himself up against the wall before he sank to the floor in a fit of giggles.

Xander gasped for breath, and struggled to pronounce the words through the laughter. “Unwrapped -- unwrapped Twinkies!! Those are individually wrapped snack-cakes! You took the time to unwrap *each* and *every* one of those things before throwing them at me?” He grasped at his chest and attempted to gain coherency again. “Didja have a little pile ready to go like buckshot on the counter there?”

Spike shook his head, grinning. “You know, I don’t remember. I guess I must’ve. Was just so angry is all.”

“Criminy,” Xander said, and cracked up again. He smiled, and shook himself a little, saying “wooh!” and stretching on the couch. “You’re a trip, man.”

They regarded each other, smiling shyly.

“Well . . . ” Xander said finally. “Guess I’d better . . . ”

“Yeah,” Spike said, disappointed. Then he mentally gave himself a little kick. Surely he was the one who was to say something next? The whelp had come over here and all. Ball in his court, as it were.

“Uh, Xan . . . ”

“Yeah?” Xander asked, looking wide-eyed all of a sudden.

Spike took an unnecessary breath. “Erm . . . pool at the Bronze?”

Xander grinned widely.

“Tuesday?”

“Nine o’clock, pet. And don’t be late.”

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