The Adventures of Hopalong Peter

by

Cicirossi

Continued from Page One

For some unknown reason, Xander was craving pad Thai. Or at least that's what his stomach told him after they passed the sushi bar and smelled it cooking. So that's where they ended up, much to Spike's amusement. Spike insisted he order a real drink, with alcohol in it, and he had something that called itself a blue margarita but tasted rather like battery acid in a glass. It also made him tipsy as hell, due to his empty hole of a stomach, and he proceeded to flirt outrageously with the waiter, who looked like he belonged in an exhibit of roman statuary. Which did not amuse Spike.

Every time the waiter went through, Xander ogled his butt. Even Spike had to admit it was a very nice butt. But he was never one to share the limelight, and he recalled Xander's attention to himself by reminding Xander that while that was indeed a very nice butt, he had one just as nice, and Xander got to spank his too. That reminder made Xander shovel down the rest of his pad Thai and pay the bill out of his hard earned stripper money before dragging Spike back to the room to avail himself of that spankable butt.

It never ceased to amaze him that Spike actually let him get away with this. Oh, not just let him, encouraged him. Sure, it was probably at least ninety percent a vampire thing. Spanking was a good, safe way for Spike to get a little violence with his shagging. But it was also a trust thing, and that made the warm feeling in the pit of Xander's tummy less about alcohol consumption and more about gooey emotional stuff.

With a warm glow in his belly and in his hand, Xander hauled Spike into the hot tub and made with the nice. Luxury. Pure luxury to be able to climb on top of Spike and 'intermingle parts' as Anya might call it, without worrying about the phone ringing, or the door being kicked open, or someone hearing him yell his head off. He thought Spike kind of liked it too. Well, maybe more than kind of, judging from the sounds he was making. Or that could be because Xander had put him on the bottom, where he had to sit on his sore butt while they did the bump and rub.

Napping was another luxury, one he was afraid he could get used to. Especially curled up in the big bed with Spike. Spike was sleeping like, well, the dead, which meant that Xander got to touch him without it turning sexual. Not that it wasn't nice when it did, but Xander liked to catalog the pieces of Spike's body with his fingertips, good points and bad. Starting with the hair, rough and dry on the ends, silky soft and dark at the roots. The cheekbones that defined every expression that Spike made, that made his mouth look positively indecent. The sweep of his eyelashes, so long for a man's, and they didn't even flutter as Xander ran his forefinger over them, that's how much Spike trusted him.

The neck fascinated him, because there should be a pulse there, and there wasn't. The hollows under Spike's collarbones were too deep, and his ribs too prominent, but it was fun to run his hands down Spike's sides and laugh about how this was more like a real washboard than anyone's abs ever were. Spike would glare at him for it if he were awake, and stick his tongue out. Xander would try to capture that tongue then, and whoa, okay, getting sexual again there.

He traced his hand down over Spike's belly, where the skin was soft and covered with the finest downy hair. He knew he had it bad the first time he saw Spike completely naked, because he even thought his belly button was cute. What kind of sap did that make him? Squeezing one cheek of Spike's ass, he thought that no man had a right to a butt that cute, especially since Xander considered his own to be wider than was strictly necessary. And Spike's butt took its share of abuse too, which just made it all the sweeter to touch.

As far as he could reach, Spike's legs were hard with muscle, and covered with springy hair and Xander knew they were strong. Very strong when they gripped his waist and Spike moaned and gasped under him. Oh, who was he kidding? Xander could never get through an exploration of Spike's assets without it turning him on. Maybe it was time to wake Spike up for another go.

"Spike?"

"Mrrmm?"

"You awake?"

"Mmmhhmmm. Oh yeah, right there, pet."

"Figured." 'Right there' was the one place Xander hadn't gotten to yet, and quite honestly he had never considered how much he would like touching another man that way. He did. The skin there was smooth and sensitive, and there was this absolutely intriguing fold of it that Xander just didn't have, thanks to a modern American upbringing. It fascinated him. By contrast, the skin on Spike's balls was rougher, and fuzzy. It should be warm. All guys were warm there, or at least Xander assumed so, because he was always damned sweaty. Spike managed lukewarm most of the time, and the difference was just odd enough to make Xander feel naughty when they rubbed together, cock to cock. Vampire physiology got him hot. Who knew?

Stirring, Spike opened his legs for better access, and Xander started stroking him with a regular rhythm. Yes, he liked the non-sexual touching, but this was wonderful too, holding Spike in the palm of his hand, so to speak, and watching him react to the touch. It never lasted long, though, Spike was far too aggressive, and the next thing Xander knew he was flat on his back with Spike on top of him, pushing his legs apart. How Spike managed to get the lube Xander couldn't figure, but it didn't matter because Spike's fingers were in him, getting him ready, and oh god that felt good. Just where he needed and Spike's cock replaced his fingers and Xander was lost. Everything else went away for who knew how long, because it was Spike. In him.

His own legs came up and wrapped around Spike's waist, and they rocked together, and Spike had this sweet and silly habit of crooning to him, gentling him, and Xander loved that sound. So much, too much sensation for him to handle as their skin rubbed and Spike's hands gripped his shoulders and the smell of them was pure, rutting male. As much as they had done this in the last two days, Xander thought it should take longer, it should last, but it didn't and they were crying out together and he could feel Spike seeping into his heart.

Later, once he was back to a semblance of normal, and they were clean and dressed, Xander asked what the plan was for the evening.

"What, you think I have all this mapped out?" Spike returned.

"You have so far. You're the man, er, sorta, with the plan. So what's on the agenda tonight, Big Bad o'mine?"

"The circus."

Was it cold suddenly? "You mean like Circus Circus, the casino?"

"No, I mean like that expensive froggy circus where they do all the really weird but amazing contortion stuff. Willow made me promise we'd go see it. That Circa Soley thing."

"We can't do that. And, wait, you mean Willow knew about this?"

"'Course she did. Someone has to get the mail and feed the iguana. And why can't we?"

"Clowns."

"Come again?"

"They have clowns, Spike. Well actually acrobats garishly painted up like clowns. I had a bad birthday experience once with clowns. And despite the fact that I was able to face down that particular clown in true Hellmouth fashion, I still hate them."

When he paused for breath he actually looked at Spike, something he hadn't done during his recitation. Spike had that humor the raving loony look on his face and Xander was torn between smacking him and kissing him.

"So, fine, we don't go to the circus, even though I loved doing it as a child," Spike said, and nodded decisively. "And you can tell Red why we didn't get her a program and ticket stub."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Not pouting. Xander could take Spike pouting, but he wasn't. Just standing there all tense, with a posture that shouted, "disappointed!" It was probably at least half bullshit, but Spike had mentioned the Childhood. That was low, because picturing Spike as a kid, with big eyes and floppy hair made Xander all gooshy. And when he was all gooshy he agreed to things he didn't really want to do.

Then there was the Willow thing too. She tried very hard to be supportive of him and Spike, even though it was very plain that she didn't get it. So. He couldn't disappoint both of them. "All right, you mean vamp, you. I'll go. But you have to protect me from the clowns."

Grinning, Spike walked over and pulled him into a hug. "My pleasure, pet."

The show was at Treasure Island, and Xander made Spike promise they would see the pirate number there later. There was a nifty little machine outside the box office that Spike stuck Anya's credit card into and their tickets came out of. Which meant they could go right in. Without waiting. There was a clown right inside the door, at the top of the ramp thingee that opened out into the first level of stadium seating. She was making little chirping noises and grabbing people as they passed so they could have their picture taken with her. Xander clutched his popcorn with one hand and Spike's duster with the other.

"You remember when we first met, Spike, how I really, really disliked you?"

"Actually, when we first met I was considering eating you, luv. Wasn't concerned with you liking me."

"Right. Okay then. Remember how I felt about you right around the time you tried to stake yourself?"

"Oh, that's low. How could I not stake myself? I was wearing your clothes, for God's sake."

"Whatever. My point is that if you let that, person-clown-thing grab me I will feel that way about you all over again."

"Told you I would protect you, didn't I?" Spike moved until he was between Xander and the potential danger. They waited until some poor sap was seeing stars from the camera flash, then hustled through the doorway. Safe. Xander breathed a sigh of relief and batted his eyelashes at Spike. "My hero."

Assuming his best manly demeanor, Spike said, "Nothing to it."

And so it was that just about the time Xander calmed down a bit and started flirting with Spike (translation, got complacent) someone grabbed his popcorn container. Turning to yell at the culprit made him go absolutely still, horror movie shriek welling up in his chest. Clown! With big, long, Bob Hope nose and striped knickers, as Spike would call them. Right there. With his popcorn. He flailed, grabbing Spike's arm and swinging him around to face this new threat, and squeaking sounds that meant, "help me or I will hit it" emerged from his throat. Spike seemed to understand that there was more danger to the clown than there was to Xander, because he moved faster than he should have in a crowded theater, pushing Xander back and away and stepping in between them. Then he let his vampire face come to the fore, and growled, low in his throat.

Xander gaped. The clown squealed. Popcorn went everywhere. And just that fast, Spike's face was back to 'normal' and they were climbing up to their seats while the clown boogied away from them at a high rate of speed, making the most alarming and alarmed sounds Xander had ever heard. Considering the kinds of noises some demons made, that was saying something.

"You okay, Xan?"

They settled into their seats, and a uniformed usher came up and handed them a new bucket of popcorn. "Yeah. Thanks. You really are my hero."

"You looked like you were going to deck him. Not that it wouldn't have made me proud to see you do it, but it's a bad idea in a place this full of people."

"I almost popped him one. So yes, you did good."

"Good enough for you to give me a reward later?" Spike sounded so hopeful that Xander had to smile, and give him a quick grope.

"Reward of your choosing as soon as we get back to the room."

Never in a million years would he admit it to Spike, but he Xander enjoyed the show a lot. The acts were amazing, from the Chinese pole to the Russian springboard. There was a pair of brothers who did hand to hand, which was like slow motion gymnastics using each other as an apparatus, and there was this gorgeous chick dressed in a firebird outfit that did whip-back flips so fast that it made him dizzy. Equal opportunity ogling.

Dark theaters were also good for handholding and footsie. Both of which were initiated by Spike, proving that he was indeed a romantic sap. Munching his way happily through his popcorn and sharing the occasional greasy caress with Spike, Xander got lost in the show and blinked owlishly when the lights came up and it was over.

"Like it?" Spike asked.

"Yeah. Just don't ever try to get me in a diaper like that guy wore during the show, okay?"

"Not one of my dirty little turn-ons, pet."

"Good." Spike produced napkins, and they degreased. Xander could only hope the buttery fingerprints on Spike's jeans were not terribly noticeable. "Hey, Spike?"

"What?"

"Thank you. Not just for the clown menacing. For, you know, everything."

That got him a genuine goofy grin, the one that made Spike look entirely human, and very, very young.

"You're welcome."

"Now, feed me. Then pirates."

Goofiness melted into disbelief. "You just consumed an entire bucket of popped corn. How can you be hungry?"

"Popcorn is carbs, Spike. They recommend protein too, every two hours. And before you get all smarmy and tell me you have my protein in your pants, I mean a hamburger. Now. That is my reward for dealing with Bozo the demented. After which we can see pirates, and whatever else you want to do, then we can go back to the room and get your reward for dealing with said clown. Okay."

For a minute Xander was afraid Spike's eyes would stay crossed that way. Then they righted themselves, and Spike waved towards the casino area. "Right. Dining room. Hamburger."

It was hard not to be smug.

Like every one of the major casinos, Treasure Island had a variety of restaurants and bars. Each had a buffet, and a steak place and a choice of ethnic foods. Then there was Xander's favorite. The Denny's like places that did sandwiches and potatoes and ice cream, although Denny's would never have that fancy striped wallpaper. There he could get a half-pound jalapeno jack burger with a mountain of fries and a desert of ice cream cake. Life was good.

While they waited for their food they chatted and Xander watched the people around him. Las Vegas was fascinating that way, because the lady in the fur-collared coat and the guy in the bell bottoms and tie dye were equals here, both playing slots or in the case of restaurant gambling, playing keno.

Keno appeared to be a cross between bingo and lotto. You took a bingo type card and marked your winning numbers on it like a lottery, then turned it in for a drawing that happened every so many minutes. Anywhere they sat down to eat there was a girl in a skimpy outfit, like the cigarette girls of old, who came by with a tray full of cards and pencils, with a cup stuffed full of bills, gently muttering "keno" at every fifth step or so.

Killed him every time. What a job. The keno girl went by just about that moment, and as she reached their table she moaned "keno" in the most desolate, lackluster voice Xander had ever heard. He stared at her retreating back, feeling very sorry for her indeed. No perky chirping from her. Xander watched for her to come around again, thinking maybe it was just him, but it wasn't. Five minutes later, she walked through again, and again, it was a whimpered, "keno".

Bless her heart. She had Gidget style helmet hair in a mousy brown, with horn-rimmed glasses and garish lipstick. She didn't quite fill out the low cut bodice of her dress, and her bony shoulders and knobby knees stuck out at painful angles. Her expression was utter despair.

"What are you staring at, Xan?" Spike asked.

"Check out the keno girl the next time she comes through," he answered. "She looks like she's lost her last friend in the world."

The next time she circled through, Spike watched her intently. Xander worried about the grin that spread across Spike's face, and worried even more when Spike pulled out a five-dollar bill and waved it at her. "I'll play, luv."

The girl drifted over to them, and if anything her attitude of ennui deepened. She set her tray down, heaving a huge sigh, and handed Spike a keno card.

"So, been working here long, pet?" Spike asked, and her sorrowful eyes fixed on him, well, sorrowfully. Xander had the urge to let out a string of nervous giggles.

"Forever, I think."

"That would make your feet hurt, I would think."

Gum popped in the girl's mouth. "You have no idea."

"Sooner or later they'll figure you've done your penance, you know."

Brightening, she asked. "Do you really think so?"

"Oh, yeah. Demon here. I know all about that stuff."

A smile appeared for just a moment, so briefly that Xander almost thought he'd imagined it. Then she sighed again, just as heavily and took Spike's card and money. "Thanks. Hope you're right." And off she went, with one last whine of "keno".

"Okay. What the Hell was that all about?"

"Oh, just had to get her close enough to get a good look at her. She's not alive, see."

"Not... then what is she?"

"Well, stands to reason if she's not alive, that she's dead, luv." At Xander's glare, Spike grinned, and continued. "But she's not a vamp, or a zombie, though you might make an argument for that I suppose. So I figured this must be penance for something she did in life. Looks like I was right. Poor thing."

"You mean things like that happen in places not Sunnydale?"

"Sure they do."

"Wow. Just goes to show you can take the boy out of the Hellmouth but you can't take the Hellmouth out of the boy."

"Comes from traveling with a vamp, Xan. Pays your money and takes your chances."

As luck would have it, Spike won twenty dollars at keno, which paid for dinner. A sneaking suspicion only, but Xander though that maybe Dead Keno Girl (as he would forever think of her) cheated on their behalf. She actually grinned at Spike a little when she brought him his money back, and it was a sad thought that the only person who had been nice to her in years wasn't really a person. Or whatever. Like attracts like, he supposed.

The pirate show was absolutely one of the silliest things Xander had ever seen, and he lived with Spike, so that took some effort. He loved it. Spike snapped pictures like a madman, and he made Xander hold Pete up in front of the camera so he could be in each frame. People gave them a wide berth.

Afterward, Xander was ready to return to them room for Spike's reward, but Spike reminded him that he had offered to do whatever Spike wanted to do first.

"You said if I bought you food and watched the poncy pirates, we could do something I wanted to do, didn't you?"

There was a gleam in Spike's eye that reminded Xander that he was evil. "Um, yes I did say that. And it's far too late to qualify that statement, but I hope to god it doesn't mean public nakedness."

"Well, not unless you want it to. You're an odd one, luv."

"Me?" Left gasping at the injustice of that, Xander didn't notice for a long while where they were headed. "Spike, why are we going to New York, New York?"

"Roller coaster," Spike chortled. "Up there."

Following Spike's pointing finger, Xander saw that there was indeed a roller coaster "up there". On top of the building. His stomach rolled. "Oh, no. No way in hell. I just ate."

"Did not. You watched pirates for at least a century. Treasure Island really is Purgatory."

"Oh yeah. Like you would be in limbo. I got news for you, buddy. You get dusted, you go straight to H E double toothpicks. You're a demon!"

Spike sniffed. "You'd go if you loved me. Petey wants to go. How can you deny him this photo op?"

"No, Spike."

Half-hour later, they were almost at the top of the line for the roller coaster, having paid the exorbitant fifteen dollars each for the privilege. And Xander wondered what it was about a pouty, immature vampire that turned his best resolve to mush.

Much later, strong arms eased Xander down onto the bed in their room, and he let out a little moan of pleasure. "Be right back," Spike murmured, and Xander heard him move toward the bathroom. Not that he was going to open his eyes and confirm that, because if he did, the world would start spinning again.

A blessedly cool washcloth was placed on his forehead, and someone much nicer than Spike unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his shoes. No, really, it was Spike, but this Spike was a far cry from the one who had goaded Xander into riding that damned roller coaster.

"Why didn't you tell me you got motion sickness?" Spike asked, keeping his voice low and soothing, even when vaguely accusing.

Swallowing the foul lump in his throat, Xander waved one hand in a feeble gesture. "I thought you knew. Remember the RV ride into Hell, with the Knights of Columbus, or whatever they were, chasing us to get Dawn? I was sick as a dog the whole time."

"Forgot about that, luv. I was a bit distracted at the time with not become a nice bit of ash that the slayer could put on her mantel. That and making sure your little woman didn't cook any spam."

Gagging, Xander scrambled for the side of the bed, only to be caught and held fast by Spike. "Trash can, directly in front of you, Xan. You won't make it to the bathroom."

Well, that was certainly Spike's "just reward" for convincing him to do that. Not exactly what he had planned to give the bleachy jerk when they got back to the room, but effective enough for inducing guilt.

"Anyway, you should have reminded me."

One glass of water to rinse out his mouth, a newly cooled, wet washcloth, and Spike stroking the sweaty hair back off his face, and Xander felt much better. "I know. But I know you well enough to figure out when you're serious under the pout. You really wanted to ride that coaster."

"Would have done it by myself."

They were silent for awhile; the only sounds in the room were Xander's breathing and the creak of Spike's leather as he petted Xander's hair. It soothed him, and he almost dozed, but he needed to finish this. "I didn't want you to have to. I wanted you to have fun."

"Not at the expense of your belly."

"Oh, come on. That one picture of Pete superimposed over my green face and bulging eyes will make a great scrapbook memory."

"You're a very strange human."

"Yeah, but I love you."

"Go to sleep, pet."

"Love me?"

"Yes. Goof."

"Good." And Xander went to sleep.

Sometime around two thirty in the morning, Xander woke up feeling human again. Except that he was so hot he thought he might spontaneously combust. The reason for that was obvious. The pile of blankets and bedspreads on top of him went at least four deep. Ever since that bout of flu a few years back, with the fever chills, Spike treated every "Xander sick" situation by burying him in covers.

Speaking of Spike, where was he? Xander peeled the limp sheets off his lower face and squinted through the dark. There he was, curled onto one tiny portion of the bed so as not to disturb Xander, still fully clothed. Idiot. Idiot who made Xander grin like a fool when he did things like that. Time for Spike's reward. As soon as he brushed his teeth.

Managing to ease out of bed without waking Spike was hard, especially since his left leg had fallen asleep. Xander did it, though, and headed to the bathroom for a little clean up. When he came out, Spike was sprawled out across the entire bed, much more like he normally was, and his head was buried in Xander's pillow. The sweet sight almost made Xander forgo smacking Spike's jeans-clad butt. Almost.

He whacked. Hard. Spike yelped, jumped up, and promptly fell over the pile of blankets on the floor. Which, if Xander thought about it, more than made up for his own earlier ignominious defeat at the hands of the bedcovers, and for the clown, and the roller coaster. The sight of Spike flailing around, wrapped in a red velour blanket, snarling and cursing made up for at least a year's worth of torment.

The miniature tornado finally subsided, then muttered, "A little help here, pet?"

"Sure," Xander replied, cheerful as all get out. A curl of that Billy Idol lip was his only reply. Extrication was almost a surgical procedure, and Xander wondered if it was a by-product of vampire strength, that Spike could wrap himself so firmly in fabric in such a short amount of time. He made a great show of dusting off Spike's clothes, then grinned at him. "Hey, we have time before sunup. Wanna go skinny dipping out in the pool?"

Oh, he loved it when he caught Spike with his mouth open to make one of those snarky comments he was so good at. Spike's mouth snapped shut, opened again, closed, then Spike blinked.

"Is that blink 'yes' or blink 'no'. Or does that translate into, 'are you really going to get naked in pubic and break the law trespassing in a closed for the night pool'."

"Er, yes?"

"Yes, I am. I'm hot and sticky and the pool should be cooled off at this time of night, unlike the hot tub. So, are you in?"

"Not at the moment, pet, but give me time. And bring the lube."

Unfortunately, by the time they got changed into clothes they could scramble into wet and run if they got caught, got a stack of fluffy towels, and a bottle of something alcoholic for Spike, they left without remembering the lube. Spike was all for going back to get it, but Xander thought they could improvise. Of course he was mostly naked when they noticed the lack, and he really didn't want to put his clothes back on. Spike, however, was not mostly naked, seemingly torn between wanting to go back and get the lube so they could be really naughty, and watching Xander strip off and make a perfect swim team dive off the side of the pool. When Xander surfaced, Spike was still staring at him, so he supposed he must have won.

"Well, I guess I'll just do some laps while I wait for you to decide to get naked, 'kay?" That's what Xander did, too, pushing off with strong strokes toward the end of the empty pool. It was nice, out here like this, with no one around. The pool was just cool enough to make him shiver if he stayed still too long, but not cold enough to make his parts shrivel. Which was good. If Spike would ever get in there with him. He stopped at the end of his fifth lap, and grabbed the concrete lip of the pool. "Are you going to watch me all night?"

"When did you learn to swim like that?" Spike asked, and his voice had an odd note in it.

"I was on the swim team for awhile, before things got a little fishy. Why?"

"Just wondered."

"Spike, what's wrong? I know you can swim. So what it is?"

"You're naked."

"You're observant. You're also not. Naked, I mean."

"Pet, this is a public place. And you've got no clothes on. In case you forget, that's something you swore up, down and sideways you would never do. And you did. For me, I might add."

"Okay. Yes, and yes, and duh. Eventually you'll convince me to do just about anything. And you forget that the only one likely to see me out here besides you is the security guard. Now if we're through having a Hallmark moment, could you please get your damned clothes off and get your skinny ass in here?"

Whatever weird turn of thought Spike was having lightened when he grinned and started shucking clothes. Xander expected him to cannonball right into the center of the pool, but Spike took the steps instead, and stopped halfway down them to sit in chest deep water. He beckoned, and Xander went to him, wondering what Spike was up to now. Turned out he was just up to hauling Xander up between his legs, so that Xander's back was against Spike's chest.

"You're far too pretty when you swim, pet."

Shifting so that Spike's chin was not digging so sharply into his head, Xander laughed. "And you are in an odd mood. You okay?"

"M'fine. Full moon, I suppose."

Sure enough, when Xander looked, it was a full moon, bright and round and clear in the desert sky. He could see in his head what Spike would look like right now, skin almost luminous in the light, hair taking on a weird iridescence and his eyes would look pale and cold. A trick of the night was all it would be, though, because Spike's eyes were always filled with a warm glow for Xander, even when they fought. Luxuriating in the soft lap of water against his chest and belly, and Spike's solid presence at his back, Xander closed his eyes and let his head loll back against Spike's shoulder.

"Mmmm. Nice."

"Yeah. It is."

And it was. Even nicer when Spike started touching him, slow sweeps of fingers and palm along Xander's neck and shoulders. The touch was light to begin with, as insubstantial as the moonlight. Then more pressure, more contact, as Spike rubbed over his chest, his nipples, his belly. Even Spike's nails sliding up his ribs felt good, instead of ticklish, and he wanted to touch too, to share the feelings. But when he tried to turn, Spike stopped him. Spike's explored, with hands, and then mouth, nibbling Xander's ear, and neck, biting lightly at his nape. Nothing fast, nothing urgent, not even playful. This was relaxed and languid, both of them content to let the feeling build slowly. This was Sunday morning sex, the kind that came from sipping mimosas in bed and then sliding into the bathtub with each other.

Tightening his thighs, Spike pushed Xander up out of the water a bit and slid one hand down between his legs, touching the heavy heat there, sliding his fingers around Xander's cock in a slow, easy rhythm. With a low moan, Xander moved into the caress and away from it, letting the buoyancy of the water do most of the work. An answering hardness from Spike nestled against his spine, rubbing there with every movement. Time slowed down, like it did sometimes when they were together like this, and Xander thought he could last a long, long while. They moved together in perfect time, and Xander spared a silly thought for synchronized swimming. His light chuckle made Spike laugh too, for no reason, a light vibration against his neck, just under his ear. The strokes on his cock got not so much faster and deeper, fuller, and he pressed back against Spike, digging his fingers into Spike's legs.

They rocked together for who knew how long while the moon made circles in the sky, and when they came it was not so much a desperate relief as a wonderfully relaxing escape from reality. Boneless and breathless, Xander pushed off the pool floor with his feet to keep them from sliding down into the water, and they moved as one to the shallow top step, so they could wind themselves together and let tiny waves rock them gently back and forth.

Where they stayed until they had to make a run for it. Panting, Xander slammed the door of the hotel room behind him and leaned back on it. Then he looked at Spike, and they both burst out laughing. Xander laughed until he doubled over, wheezing, and Spike laughed until tears streamed down his face.

"Oh, god, pet. The look on that guard's face!"

"Not to mention the look on mine when you picked up everything, including me, and made like Flash Gordon. Give a whole new meaning to flapping in the breeze."

Still chuckling occasionally, Spike moved to check Xander over, making sure he wasn't too badly beat up. He could've told Spike he wasn't, but he really didn't mind the pat down.

"Sorry I had to heave you over that wall. But I couldn't make it as a standing jump and carry you too."

"Don't worry about it. I've had a lot worse. Like with trolls. Besides, I'm grateful for that wall. The security guy couldn't haul his butt over it, so it gave me time to get some clothes on. I was feeling a little vulnerable there."

"Yeah? But you were cute, flopping about like that."

"Gee thanks. You flop more than I do. And why the heck did I admit that? Shower? You don't want your hair to turn green."

"Heaven forbid."

The occasional giggle fit was had while they showered, because one of them would start thinking of their wild flight from the pool complex and laugh. Spike sponged off Xander's cuts and bruises. Xander washed Spike's hair. They settled into bed feeling the warm glow of exhaustion that comes from a day full of a thousand little moments well spent.

"You know," Spike started, "tomorrow is our last full day and night here. Night after next we have to go home."

"Thanks for reminding me." It wasn't all sarcasm. Xander had enjoyed this trip much more than he'd thought he would. All complaints about Spike's driving, and talking camels and clowns aside, he wouldn't have missed it for anything. No, he wasn't going to wax all poetic and go on and on about how good this had been for their relationship, blah, blah, blah. Just, well, it had been damned fun.

"So what do you want to do with our last day, pet?"

"Well, we need to get souvenirs. But we can stay in the room part of the day and just be potatoes. Then tomorrow night I want to go to the old section of town, you know, where the plane crashes in Con-Air? Fremont Street I think it's called."

"You're so cultured."

"Oh, and where would you like to go, oh educated one?"

"Well, at the risk of sounding nancyish, I want to go to the Bellagio."

"No more clowns, Spike. I know the Cirque du Solei has a show there, with water. But no."

A sharp pinch on his left butt cheek made him wince. "Ha, ha. No, I want to goseetheartshow."

"What?" Xander thought it translated into go see the art show, but he wasn't sure.

"Impressionist exhibit at the Bellagio gallery. We can stand real close and let the dots make us dizzy."

Xander carefully hid his grin in Spike's neck. "Sounds like a plan."

Souvenirs were not procured until late in the afternoon the next day, because they got up around eleven in the morning and ordered room service. Or rather, Xander ordered room service. Spike was showering, and Xander hoped he couldn't hear more than snatches of the conversation Xander had with their waiter. Who was a good man, and managed to produce some slightly worn sheets along with their fruit, bread and cheese. Bread, fruit and cheese that he figured Spike should appreciate when what Xander really wanted was a three-egg omelet. He worked industriously while Spike bathed. The luggage stand got pulled up next to the bed, a cup of blood warmed just so, and another old sheet ripped up to match his. When Spike came out of the steamy bathroom, Xander met him wearing a makeshift toga.

Safe to say that Spike was speechless. After he stopped choking, when he could talk again, he asked, "Do I want to know?"

Striking a classical pose, Xander sneered at him. "We're having a toga party. Come on."

The urge was there to wrap Spike up like a mummy and beat him with a blunt object, but Xander manfully resisted. Difficult, because Spike kept breaking into undignified snorts and ha has, but he did it. "Will you shut up? You can't stay at Caesar's Palace without a toga party." A mighty shove, and Spike sprawled out on the bed. Xander curled up beside him and grabbed a piece of bread off the tray behind him. Dipping it the cup of blood, he turned and popped it into Spike's mouth. Which caused Spike to stop laughing, and to chew.

A small bunch of grapes was next, but Spike grabbed his wrist before he could dangle them above Spike's mouth. "Pet? I hate to complain, because freakish as this is, it's given me raging wood. But I'm starting to believe you've been replaced by a pod Xander. You let me drive. You rode a roller coaster. You got naked last night in the great out-of-not-so-private-doors. All because I asked you to. I don't want you to feel like you have to do these things just for me. Even though I'm evil and I like to have my way, I do."

"You're worried because I always said this blood and food thing grossed me out, right?"

"Um, yeah. Among other things."

With a sigh, Xander plopped the dripping grapes back onto the breakfast tray. "Okay. I'll say this one time, and then no more weirdness. I'm assuming this is what bothered you last night?" At Spike's nod, he trundled on. "Right, okay. I'll take your worries one by one. I let you drive because of a rampaging sugar rush that I knew would end as soon as we got five miles down the road. That, along with the fact that I trust you not to kill me, much as I say to the contrary, allowed me to sleep all the way here. Two: I rode the roller coaster for the sheer joy of seeing your face when you did it. You were hilarious. So I was sick. So big deal. Three: I got naked last night because no one knows me from Adam's housecat here, and even if I got arrested, nobody back in Sunnydale would ever have to know. So I could do something nice for you, and for me, and be relaxed about it. Discuss."

Spike was quiet for so long that Xander started to worry. Especially since the idiot wouldn't look at him. Then he mumbled something too low for Xander to hear, even as close as he was.

"What?"

"Said, I don't want you to be like I was with Dru."

Bang. Right to the bottom of the problem with all the finesse of a sledgehammer. Xander wanted to yell, or maybe kiss Spike, but he did neither. Instead, he shifted on the bed so he was on his back, then pulled Spike over to rest on his chest. "You don't want me to do all the work."

"Right in one."

There was a frayed edge on Spike's toga, just where Xander's fingers rested, and he worried it until it started to unravel. "This isn't the same."

"How? You do all this for me, up to and including blood things that usually make you gag. What do I do for you?"

"Hmmm. Let's see. You buy me sex toys and you give me hand jobs in public." Spike gurgled, half laughing and half pained, and Xander got serious. "You worry about me when I don't feel good, and you pile me up with blankets, and you sit and watch me eat food that will knock you down with garlic breath later and never say anything, except ask me to go brush my teeth before I kiss you. You take me on vacations I didn't even know I needed and you make me do things I didn't think I could and thank god, because what kind of boring jerk would I be if I stayed the same all the time? But you know what really gets me?" A shake of Spike's head against his chest. "The way you sleep with me. I've been around vamps enough to see them sleep. Angel, you. Any little thing wakes you up. Everything is a threat."

"What of it?" Spike sounded genuinely puzzled, and Xander rubbed gently at his back.

"You trust me. Trust me not to hurt you, not to ask you to do things that you can't do, and trust me to love you. The fact that you can sleep through me waking up, going to the bathroom, and sitting on your feet while I call room service tells me everyday how much you trust me. How could I not want to do things like this for you?"

The reply he received wasn't coherent, but it was certainly inspiring. Which was why it was late afternoon before they made it out of the room. The subject of mutual adoration seemed to be pretty well closed, Spike's only other comment on the matter being, "You might have to remind me of all that sometimes, Xan."

To which Xander answered, "Anytime, Spike."

Daylight was still a factor when they left the room, so they did their first bit of souvenir hunting right there in Caesar's. Fortified as he was with an enormous buffet lunch and their earlier stress relieving activities, Xander was mellow enough to shop with Spike. Which was good, because the blonde on was on a rampage even Cordelia would be proud of. Caesar's was too upscale to have the silly stores that graced the Excalibur or the Luxor, but it did have a cart in the middle of the fountain area (where the clouds were) full of robes and coffee mugs and bath towels.

They also had little hand puppets. Of Caesar-like figures in togas. They even had little tufts of chest hair. Spike had immediately commandeered one of them, and it was now singing "My Way" a la Sid and Nancy. Pointedly ignoring Spike, Xander chose a mouse pad for Willow, and a remarkably silly t-shirt for one of his buddies at work. When the song changed to "Love Kills", he figured he'd pushed his luck far enough and acknowledged Spike's existence again.

"Are you going to buy that, or just torture us all with your singing?"

"I'm going to buy it, pet. I can make it do things. It will make a great new sex toy."

The moment Spike uttered that little wonder was one of those freakish times when every conversation in a twenty-foot radius hit a lull, and some two hundred heads turned towards them to see what was going on. Spike wouldn't blush, even if he could do it convincingly, but that was okay, because Xander's face was red enough for both of them.

"Okay! Let's just pay the nice man and go." Xander stuffed a wad of bills at the booth attendant, took a plastic bag emblazoned with the hotel logo, and hauled Spike far, far away from all of those shocked stares. "Well, there's my daily dose of humiliation."

"What? What'd I do?"

"Nothing, Spike. I think it's probably dark outside now. Let's go to the room and drop these off, then we'll go to the Bellagio. We'll go to the gift shop there and get a Cirque t-shirt for Willow, then go to your nancyboy art exhibit."

Spike's puppet said, "Righto." Xander sighed, long-suffering, and they left.

The Bellagio was a swanky work of art in its own right. The lobby had this amazing art glass sculpture of a ceiling that looked like a field of flowers. It also had a botanical garden that made Xander gape. He'd never seen that many flowers in one place before. They went to the shop across from the "O" box office, and bought Willow's t-shirt. Spike also bought a postcard from the show they had seen at Treasure Island because it featured what he called "Xander's clown."

Art exhibits usually made Xander nervous. Especially high art, where there were no barriers between his clumsiness and the million dollar painting hanging on the wall. The Impressionist exhibit was one of those. The gallery of fine art consisted of two rooms and a small entryway. As they came in, a man in a very nice suit handed them these long, talking electronic sticks with numbers. They called that the self guided tour. It was kind of neat, really, because you walked up to a painting and punched a number, and the little microphone thingee spit out the history of the piece for you. That way you could take the tour at your own speed.

Xander found out that close up, most Impressionist art did make you kind of dizzy. But the stuff appealed to him a lot more than the modern art show he'd seen once with Cordy, because at least when he backed away, these painting began to make sense. If he let his eyes go a little unfocused, they looked like he was looking through a rain spattered window. Cool. And where was Spike? Because he wasn't there when Xander turned to tell him about the rain effect.

Scanning the room, Xander found Spike over in another corner. All by himself, splendid solitude in a place as crowded as this. When he drew close, he understood why. Spike held the talking stick to his ear and talked into it like a cell phone. He would mutter, "No. Sell, sell," then punch a button and say something like, "Yeah, hello dry cleaner? How are you at getting out blood?" Time to make him stop, Xander thought. People were getting concerned. He moved over to Spike's side and poked him in the ribs.

"Will you quit that, you doofus? You're going to get us kicked out."

"Am not." Spike was indignant. "The security guard likes me."

Indeed, when Spike waved to the matronly black woman with the sweet smile, she waved back, and grinned widely. Okay, Spike was probably the funniest thing she had seen in ages, but that didn't change the fact that the guy in the fancy suit was frowning at them. "Yeah, well, Mr. Management over there doesn't think you're so cute."

"As long as you do," Spike said with a beatific smile.

"Oh jeez. Come on, you need to see this one over here."

Spike went with him. He looked at the painting Xander pointed out. He looked at it up close. Then he backed up and looked from far away. He squinted at it through his fingers, then squatted down and looked at it from floor level.

"What are you doing?"

"Art critic thing. If you like I can do the whole spiel, about textural components and shading and emotive influences. Or I could just say that it looks like a pink snow bunny."

"You frighten me."

"I'm evil."

It was an effort, but Xander finally managed to get Spike to turn in his electronic play-toy and head out. They caught a cab out at the front drive of the Bellagio, and told the driver they wanted to go downtown. The Fremont Street Experience, the driver called it, in a tone that dripped sarcasm. Apparently the remodel of that part of the city ranked right up there with the Disneyfication of Times Square in New York.

Mostly Xander was able to ignore their grumpy driver, though, because his very own Spikey distraction was at it again, playing let's find Xander's hot spots through his clothes. This time he got to return the favor, and while they managed to stay in their own seats, parts of them did cross the border. The driver, for his part, would never have noticed their antics if it hadn't been for a sudden violent clicking noise, followed by an exclamation from Spike. After a few wild gyrations Spike figured out what it was that was vibrating in his coat, and pulled out Hoppy Pete, who had been tiptoe-ing lightly across his hipbone.

Xander collapsed into helpless laughter. At least until the driver almost ran them off the road because he couldn't see Spike in the rearview mirror, but could see him when he looked over his shoulder. If the rosary hanging from the mirror post hadn't shown them what denomination their driver was, the genuflecting and Jesus, Mary and Joseph-ing would have. The cab ride ended rather more suddenly than they expected, but they were only a few blocks from where they needed to be, and it was free besides.

Fremont Street was kinda disappointing. Most of the really old casinos were gone, torn down. The only one left that Xander could remember from old movies was the Golden Nugget. They gambled a little, watched the laser light show, and took some pictures. Then they set out to find a peep show, or a nudie club. Just because you couldnąt go to Las Vegas without seeing a girl with tassels on her boobs. They spent a productive half hour admiring this one's muscular control or debating that one's silicone status, ten headed back to the strip for more souvenir pick-up.

Somehow or another, Spike did manage to get a wizard's wand and a silly hat for Giles at the Excalibur, and Xander bought Buffy a cartouche necklace with "Slayer" spelled in hieroglyphs at the Luxor. For Dawn they got a selection of teddy bears from each hotel, all dressed in costumes: a pharaoh, a wizard, a circus ringmaster and so on. Anya turned out to be their hardest person to shop for, and Spike finally decided they should just get her a few pretties and then take the some of the money he'd one gambling and actually pay off her credit card. Nothing said I love you, babe to Anya like money.

Laden with their purchases, they returned to their room and Xander started packing while Spike fired up the hot tub. The mood was suddenly subdued, because they both knew time was getting short, and Xander realized that as much as he loved his friends, he had not once been homesick this whole trip.

Slipping his arms around Xander from behind, Spike rubbed his face against Xander's shoulder. "You okay, pet?"

"Yeah. I just realized."

"What?"

"That we've never spent this much time alone together before. You know?"

"Yeah. And just think, the witches said we'd kill each other the first day. Anya took day two in the pool. Think the watcher went with 32 hours. Fooled them didn't we?"

Snorting, Xander shook his head. "They took bets?"

"Oh, like you wouldn't have joined in if you'd known."

Xander turned, and gathered Spike against his chest. "Well, yeah. But only so I could stack the odds. I know I said it before, but thank you Spike. For all of it."

"Welcome, love. Now let's go get a bath, eh? Then we can break in the new feather duster, and that harness I bought you."

The rest of the night was spent playing with the "Algernon toys", as they would forever after be called. The collection of straps and buckles Spike bought did indeed turn out to be a harness of sorts, and Xander would be mortified if anyone but Spike ever saw it on him. With Spike, it was less embarrassing and more whoa and he wasn't going to think too much about it from there. The feather duster was just weird, but since Spike was far, far more ticklish than Xander it ended up being a good thing.

Exhausted as he was after their night of play, Xander still had trouble sleeping. It wasn't that he didn't want to go home. He missed their lizard and Willow and Dawn. He even missed his job. But not as much as he thought he should. Or something. Or maybe it was just that Spike really let go more when the rest of the Scoobies weren't around. They all had a bit too much shared history, too many preconceived notions about how everyone ought to act. Sometimes, Xander thought, it seemed like they were all just holding their collective breath, waiting for Spike to snap, all except him. And yeah, that would put a guy on the defensive, wouldn't it? A happy, relaxed Spike was a good thing, and he'd never really known he didn't always have one, until the last few days.

Spike was asleep, which was not unusual when the sun was as bright as it was outside. He was sort of draped over Xander, all of his sharp angles digging into Xander's soft spots, like an elbow in his belly or a knobby knee digging into his inner thigh. His head rested firmly on Xander's chest, right over his heart, and oh god, he knew they had to go home, but he wished they just had one more day. Or three. Not possible, but longed for, and he tried to sleep because they had a long drive ahead of them tonight, even at the speeds Spike pushed the car to.

With his mind spinning like it was, Xander thought it would be impossible to sleep, but Spike woke him just after sundown with a grope and a smile and he was amazed at how rested he felt. Without really discussing it, the two of them moved around the room, cleaning up and packing the rest of their stuff, and pulling the duct tape down from the curtains. Spike checked out while Xander got the valet to get their car, and just like that they were back on the road to Sunnydale.

The trip was mostly quiet, both of them locked in their own thoughts. Every so often Xander shot a look at Spike's profile, and tried to decide whether or not he should ask. When Spike let him pick the music without arguing, he knew he had to.

"You okay, Spike?"

"Yeah."

"You're awfully quiet."

"So are you."

Well, that was productive. He tried another approach. "Would you go somewhere else, if you could?"

Spike didn't have to ask what he meant. "Not like I couldn't. I could, any time." He paused, and Xander understood what a pang meant now. "More a question of would I? And no. Not at the moment. Even though sometimes my head hurts from not bashing them around a bit. If you know what I mean."

"Yeah." Hopalong Pete swayed along to the music from his perch on the dashboard, and Xander watched him for long minutes. "I'm glad you stay."

"Yeah."

By tacit agreement they skipped the Trucker's Delite on the way home, stopping at a small gas station off the highway instead. The toothless old man there disapproved of them, as was obvious from the dispersal pattern of his tobacco juice. Spike just grinned cheerfully and gave him a two-fingered salute. The place was old-fashioned enough to have Coke in glass bottles, though, and moon pies, so Xander didn't complain. He fell asleep with his head on Spike's leg and Spike's hand in his hair, and didn't wake up until they were on the outskirts of Sunnydale where Spike stopped the car. Blinking stupidly, Xander watched as Spike made sure the headlights were trained on the Welcome to Sunnydale sign, then put Hoppy Pete on the rail at the bottom and took a picture of him there. As a final tourist gesture to their very odd vacation, Xander thought it was appropriate. And he kissed Spike soundly for it when he got back into the car. They got home well before daylight and Xander got up in the morning for work and things went on as always.

Everyone was delighted with their gifts, up to and including Giles, and Spike sulked like a three year old when he realized that there would be no chastisement. Xander poked Giles in the ribs, and rolled his eyes, and Giles gave Spike a long lecture on how even these silly tourist wands had the possibility of being dangerous and he shouldn't mess with magical things. Which seemed to brighten Spike considerably.

What brightened Xander's days after that trip was that now he knew how to dig out that Spike that he so rarely saw, and in their most relaxed times, Xander managed to get him out of hiding. Well, that and all of the new sex toys they still had yet to use. That was a new bright spot every day.

Anya (who lived a lot closer by than Xander thought she did) was wonderful about the credit card, and the look on her face when Spike presented her with a wad of cash that would choke a horse was perfect. So pleased was she, in fact, that when Spike got the pictures developed (at the only Kodak place in town run by Koorlesh demons), Anya insisted on playing "real girl" and made them a scrapbook. It was bound in black leather, with acid free black pages and white gel ink. The title page featured a close-up of someone near and dear to both their hearts and the legend, "The Adventures of Hopalong Peter".

The End