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Disclaimer: this is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of Joss Whedon, the WB, or any other copyright holders of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
by The Brat Queen
Written for ladycat777, who requested, I was told, "Spike/Xander, S4 (Xander's basement), Spike does some dirty talking."
Xander steeled himself. He focused everything he had on the object in front of him which, at the moment, was a chair that had been dropped off at the house by his Aunt Marion sometime back in the dim recesses of Harris family history and now served out the remainder of its days squatting forlornly in the corner of the basement while trying to look just as embarrassed about all the damage that Kiki, Aunt Marion's late and not really lamented standard poodle, had done to its legs as Xander felt about having to *offer* said dog-damaged furniture to his friends to sit on whenever they happened to stop by.
But none of his friends were here now, so he put all of this out of his mind, tried to imagine one person in particular, and took the plunge.
"Anya," he said, trying to picture the ex-demon sitting there in front of him and listening with eager attentiveness - not that she *would* have ever done this, mind you, but hey it was his imagination so if he wanted her quiet and in the chair then by God she was going to *be* quiet and in the chair. And wearing that red shirt that did the cool dippy thing around her chest that made it really hard for him to maintain even the pretense of eye contact. And maybe offering him a cool drink. "Anya, I... want you. I want to *be* with you. I - I *want* you, like - like in the touching way but not in the nasty non-consensual way because I'm very respectful of that whole yes means yes and no means no thing and the fact that you probably have a filofax that's full to bursting with all the numbers of ex-coworkers of yours who would be more than happy to turn some of my very favorite body parts into various forms of vegetables, office supplies or something even nastier if I so much as screw up one part of this relationship and make you feel like you need to get all vengeancy and Spike do you *have* to stare like that?"
"No," the vampire agreed, lounging far too casually on the couch for Xander's personal happiness. "But it's light out, the telly's broken, and you won't shut up so - " Spike gave a rolling shrug of his shoulders, saluting him with the mug of blood in his hands " - not much else *to* do, is there?"
"You could die," Xander pointed out.
Blue eyes rolled sardonically. "Did *that*, mate, over - "
"One hundred years ago," Xander finished. He turned away from the chair, appealing to Spike or even the gods of good straight lines for some better material to work with. "Tell me, do the lame jokes *come* with losing the soul in some grand buy-one-get-one-free package or did some poor, misguided person once actually *laugh* at that and gave you the mistaken impression that it's funny? Because I'm here to tell you - "
Spike flicked a dismissive hand at him. "Christ. You were more interesting when you were chatting up the furniture. Sorry I interrupted. Go on with your fetish then."
"It's not a *fetish*," Xander said, gesturing towards the chair defensively. "It's a *visualization*. I am *trying* to imagine Anya so that I can - "
"She doesn't look like a chair you know."
"Yes," Xander said, drawing the syllable out like a Kindergarten teacher attempting to encourage one of the special kids, "which is why I'm using that magical thing known as *imagination*. It's this wacky thing we humans use to - "
"I know what it *is*," Spike retorted. "Vamps got it too you know."
"Good for you," Xander said. "Tell you what then. Why don't *you* use *yours* to pretend that the TV is working and *I'll* use *mine* to pretend that you're not here and then we'll *both* be happy?"
Spike shook his head. "Nope."
Xander sighed. "Why?"
"Already tried it," Spike told him. He mimed working the TV remote. "Nothing on, nothing on, crappy American chat show with people who look like your relatives talking about whose dad belongs with whose baby, nothing on, tail end of Passions, some over-estrogened slag going on about the right way to decorate a cake, nothing on, infomercial, nothing on."
"It's your imagination, Spike," Xander explained. "You can make it be whatever you want."
"I know," Spike said. "Got my jollies pretending I ran up your cable bill with all the pay per view porn and then - " he shrugged.
"Then you started hitting on the chair."
"Which you found more interesting than the imaginary porn."
Spike gave him a look. "Didn't say *that*. Said you interrupted. But go on. Have your tawdry fun."
"I *wasn't* - " Xander started, then bit it off. "Never mind. I'll try later. When one of us is preferably the non-talky kind of dead."
"What are you trying to do *anyway*?" Spike asked. He finished off his blood and put the mug down on the coffee table - not on one of the coasters, naturally. "Not that I care, mind, but - "
"I know, the fake TV is boring," Xander finished. He sat down, mentally apologizing to imaginary Anya for squishing her. "I was trying to - Okay, see the thing is Anya sort of asked.... When we're together she said she wanted me to...." he tried to duck out of saying it by giving Spike one of those 'we men of the world know what we're talking about, nudge-nudge-wink-wink' nods.
Spike bobbed his head along, then ventured "She wanted you to act like you've got a squint?"
"She wanted me to talk dirty!" Xander shot back, wondering why he bothered with subtlety with the undead evil guys - or why he bothered with the undead evil guys in the first place.
"Oh," Spike said, settling back on the couch. "Well that's all right then."
"So glad I've got your approval," Xander told him.
"Well it's better than your bird asking you to fake like you're a *Cyclops* now, innit?" Spike pointed out.
"Hey for all you know she was asking me to be a pirate!"
"All hot and bothered by the fluffy shirts then, are you?"
"You know you *could* be quiet right now. In fact I see silence as a very good look for you."
"What's the big *deal*?" Spike asked. "So she wants a little talk that's hot and nasty. Be glad. Most girls would be hanging your favorite bits out to dry for even *thinking* a few of the finer four letter words in mixed company. Say a prayer of thanks you've got one of the dirtier ones and just let loose."
"Okay, first off you don't get to talk about her like that," Xander told him, "and second.... shut up."
"You sting me with your wit," Spike replied. He studied Xander, blue eyes homing in on him like - well, predator to prey. "You're nervous."
"And so we bring the conversation down to your level," Xander said, "which is apparently *five years old*."
"Better that than - " Spike made a vague motion in his direction, "*this*."
"Better five years old than sitting in a chair? Is that what you're telling me?"
"I didn't *say* - "
"Does that even *mean* anything?"
"Would you just - "
"Is that like some kind of vampire saying? Did the older, wiser - well in your case it'd be Angel so I guess not so much *wiser* - vampires go around patting you on the head and telling you 'Hey, this unlife of no soul, drinking blood and *really* bad puns as far as the eye can see may *suck* - and note what I did with the bad pun there - but as my grandpappy vampire once told me: better five years old than sitting in a chair and gosh *darn* it if he wasn't right.'?"
"Better not being mature enough to hang with the likes of *you*," Spike retorted, "which believe me is not the picnic you seem to fantasize it is, than being a nelly *git* who can't even get a few words out to get his girl's knickers all wet."
"Oh *that*," Xander said, waving a hand as though he were beyond such things now. "I've moved on."
"Have you now?"
"Yep," Xander said. "I've decided the best course of action to pursue is flat-out denial that the request ever happened, followed by the application of many gifts which I can in no way afford until such time as she deigns to speak with me again which, by my calculations, will be two years after never so - " Xander held his hands up in a hopeful thumbs-up gesture " - go me!"
"It's not that hard you know."
"If only I *didn't* have a nickel for every time Anya's said that to me."
Spike smirked. "What's the big deal? Just say what's on your mind."
"Ahh, *that*," Xander said, nodding sagely. "*That* would be the big deal."
"Because when she and I get to the stage of the groping and the touching my mind hops a flight to Phoenix and spends all of its time sending me postcards of helpful words like 'Uuuuhh', 'Oooh' and 'But it's a *dry* heat' which, I think we can all agree, while *true* is not exactly useful in getting me closer to Anya's goal for me to apparently have a second career as a phone sex operator."
"You don't know how to do it," Spike said, bottom-lining it pretty effectively.
"Guys who couldn't figure that out twenty minutes ago when I was trying to sweet-talk the hand-me-downs don't get the right to have that smug look on their faces."
"Oh for - " Spike looked disgusted, and then he looked *close* because suddenly the view of the basement had turned into a very 3D view of Spike's face. The vampire bent over him, practically nose to nose, with his hands braced on either armrest. "I want you. I want to *have* you. I want to put my cock so far inside of you you'll be feeling it for weeks. I want to hear you scream my name so loud your bloody *friends* can hear it. I want to feel you warm and under me and squirming like a little girl begging for a treat. I want to take you right up to the edge and leave you there for *days* until you can't *breathe* you want to come so badly. I want to fuck you so hard you forget how to *speak*. I want to hear you panting and whimpering and moaning and telling me you'll do anything if it means you can suck my dick like your most favorite lollipop. And I want it here, now and all the bloody time, got it?"
*Ladies and gentlemen,* Xander's brain thought, *the captain has now turned on the no-smoking sign.... for all the _good_ that's going to do....*
"Got it?" Spike prompted again.
"Good," Spike stood back, grabbing his mug and heading for the fridge. "Do that, mix it up how you like. Easy as pie."
Spike quirked a curious eyebrow over his refilled mug. "Something on your mind?"
Xander felt that honesty was the only way to go. "No?"
Spike looked far more satisfied than the situation warranted. "Good."