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allyndraTitle: The Shape of Things
Author: Allyndra
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “This is what a doomed theatre looks like.”
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reremouse in the AU Round of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
maleslashminis. The request was: A theater - big or small - and a play -also big or small. Spike is the star. Xander is the production company's head carpenter. Xander knows how to deal with high maintenance actors and it really pays off with Spike.
Willow sat down heavily. “We’re doomed, aren’t we?” she demanded. “This is what a doomed theatre looks like.” She waved a hand, encompassing the two volunteers giggling at one another while painting the stage, the rows of empty seats covered in red plush, and the two follow-spots standing at attention at the back of the room.
“Go ahead and tell me,” Willow continued. “We’re done for.”
Buffy slouched into the seat next to Willow, folding herself until she looked like a crumpled ball of clothes topped by blonde hair. “We might as well close,” she said morosely. "How are we supposed to put on the show now?”
Xander pointed an accusing finger at each girl in turn. “You guys are traitors to the concept of ‘the show must go on.’”
Willow snorted. “How silly of us to worry about losing our lead halfway into production. And, oh yeah, all the donations he brings in. You know half our donors only support us for the tax write-off and the pretty man-meat. Without Angel brooding and flexing at the meet-and-greets, they might just decide to donate to someone else instead. Like the interpretive dance society.” She shuddered. “I’m not ready to lose my job to a bunch of leg-warmer-wearing weirdoes.”
“Hey,” Buffy lifted her head enough to glare. “Leg warmers can be a valid fashion choice.”
“We’re not losing our jobs,” Xander said firmly. Not that he didn’t empathize with Willow’s concern. It would be difficult to impossible to find another paying job in the theatre if this one went belly up. But he had a talisman against that kind of negative thinking: the plans for a large and unnecessarily complicated set piece, approve by Giles just this morning. If their funding was in real danger, Xander knew his set would have been cut in a heartbeat. In a pinch, The Shape of Things could be staged with nothing more than four chairs, a TV, and an air mattress, so Xander found his behemoth of a set immensely reassuring. The girls, however, had so far failed to be comforted when he waved his elevations and measurements at them.
“Hey,” he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “The guy! The guy Angel got to come take over his role. That’s sure sign that we’re not going under, right? Angel wouldn’t set anyone up to join a failing theatre.”
Buffy pursed her lips and gave him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, Xander. Angel got drunk at the cast party for A Midsummer Night’s Dream and started telling stories about summer stock. I’ve got a burning suspicion that this guy is the one Angel called “that pasty little pain in the ass.”
“Angel is evil,” Willow said, like it was a revelation. Xander snorted. He’d been saying that for years now. “I helped him do his taxes. I always set the lights to flatter his cheekbones. And he left us in the middle of rehearsals with a sucky replacement. That …” She searched her mind for a harsh enough epithet. “Stupid head!”
Buffy scrunched down again, fading into her clothes. “He’s not. I mean, he is,” she started. The bits of her face that Xander could see were pale. “But he –“
The double doors crashed open, interrupting her, and Amy came clattering down the steps. “Is Buffy in here? Because Cordelia is saying she never got a copy of the notes for last night's rehearsal, and Harmony is trying to change the blocking on the bicycle scene, and none of this is part of my job.”
Buffy stayed a sighing lump of unhappiness for one more moment, then she sat up, pulling her responsibilities around her like a cloak - except Buffy didn’t wear cloaks. She pulled her responsibilities around her like a kicky new leather jacket with matching boots. Xander was always amazed at the way Buffy could transform herself from a regular girl into an all-powerful Stage Manager. She unfolded herself and stood, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a resolute expression.
“Tell them I’ll be right there,” she told Amy. “And if anyone touches my prompt book, they will regret it until their dying day. Which will be right after the show closes.” Amy smirked as though Buffy wasn’t completely capable of carrying out her threat, but she took off, leaving the doors to slam shut behind her. “Looks like I’ve got to go wrangle actors,” she said, giving Willow and Xander a weak smile. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
When she was at the top of the stairs, Buffy looked back at them. “I wouldn’t worry about the new actor. Xander’s right, Angel wouldn’t have sent us someone who can’t act. And really, how bad could he be?”
After thouroughly jinxing them, she slipped out the doors, and Willow and Xander were left staring at each other in mute horror.
***
The thing Xander loved about working for such a small Playhouse was that he got to do a little bit of everything. Technically, he was the Master Carpenter. In real life, though, he built the sets, painted the scenery, hung signs and flyers around town advertising the shows, and generally pitched in wherever he was needed. Which was how he came to be balancing on a narrow metal frame suspended high above the theatre, trying not to see how far below him the rows of seats really were.
He was wearing a harness, so it’s not like he was going to fall to his horrible, grisly death and become the Phantom of the Playhouse, or anything. And no, he hadn’t spent too much time pondering his terrible, ghosty fate. He just had a healthy appreciation for his own mortality, which was sadly weaker than his habit of agreeing to do whatever favors Willow requested of him. She hadn’t even had to pull out the puppy eyes to get him to agree to helping with the hang and focus. Especially after she told him she’d caught Andrew and Jonathan re-enacting the Mission Impossible scene with the safety harnesses.
Xander hauled himself carefully along the space frame, aiming for a Fresnel light a few feet away. He couldn’t actually do anything once he got there, since Willow wasn’t here to direct him. She’d been called to the costume loft to check the colors of Tara’s costume designs against the colors of gels Willow had selected. But if Xander was in position when she got back, they could focus this light immediately. And immediately meant Xander could get his ass back on solid ground sooner rather than later.
Xander waited. He settled onto a beam and dangled his legs. He let his eyes cross and tried to make pictures out of the geometric shapes in the space frame. He made bets with himself about how many times Cordelia would insult the crew during this production and how many times the crew would hide her stage makeup in revenge. He was beginning to think Willow wasn’t coming back.
Xander was eyeing the catwalk and wondering if it was worth it to crawl his way over to it when he heard the doors bang open. He opened his mouth to tease Willow about forgetting him in the face of Tara’s womanly wiles when a voice drifted up to him – a voice that was emphatically not Willow’s. Not unless she’d had a sex change and an accent implant.
“Place looks a bit crap, actually,” the voice observed dispassionately. “Likely Angel did a runner just because he didn’t want to stop here any longer, and he just made up the problem with his bird. No wonder he was willing to let me have his place.”
Xander froze. He’d just learned that 1) the new actor was English, 2) Angel had told people he was leaving because of a girl (which always meant Buffy, where Angel was concerned), and 3) the new actor was an ass. He was tempted to jump down and defend the theatre’s honor, but he was stopped by the fact that he wasn’t willing to splatter himself across the floor as part of said defense. And also, he kind of wanted to eavesdrop some more.
“No, the play won’t be a problem. I’ve read it through plenty of times, and I could act it in my sleep. We’ll have to see if any of the rest of the cast are worth my time.” From his perch, Xander snorted quietly. Not only an ass, an arrogant ass. He hoped the other actors could handle him. Cordelia could give as good as she got, but Harmony, though she could be thoughtlessly cruel, was fairly sensitive to criticism. Riley, the only other man in their small cast, was pretty phlegmatic; Xander didn’t think he was likely to lose his temper even in the face of extreme assholery.
“Don’t worry, love,” the actor was saying. “I doubt I’ll stop here long.” Xander slumped sideways and let his head rest on the strut next to him. He’d been pretty sure they could keep the donors happy as long as Arrogant Asshole Actor was cute enough and willing to at least occasionally fake politeness, but if he wasn’t even going to stick around for the whole season ... Willow was right. The Playhouse was doomed.
“Right. I’d better go find the director. I’ll ring you later.” There was a quiet snap, and then silence. Xander heard slow footsteps as the actor came down the steps. His head – a bright, platinum blond – had just come into view below Xander when the man dropped into one of the seats and heaved a great sigh. Xander suddenly felt more like an intruder than he had while listening to his conversation.
Xander’s butt was starting to seriously complain about the indignities it was suffering from the space frame when the window to the lighting- and sound-booth opened with a loud snick.
“Sorry I took so long, Xander. Tara wanted to show me her new designs and –“ Xander could tell the instant Willow spotted the actor, because her voice cut off with a gurgling sound. “You’re not Xander,” she accused.
“Never said I was,” the man returned, his voice somehow mild and insulting at the same time. “Don’t suppose you could tell me where to find a bloke called Rupert Giles?”
“Giles? He’s usually in his office around this time, so you could check there. I’ll show you the way right after I tell Xander that I’m back, except I’m not back, because I’ll be walking with you.” Xander could hear her blushing. “You, um. You haven’t seen a tall, dark haired man with a wrench hanging around, have you?”
“Can’t say as I have.” The actor stood and spun in a slow circle, tipping his head to take in the whole theatre. Xander could have moved, could have called out, but he didn’t. He just sat there on his perch until the new guy was staring up at him, sharp cheekbones defined by the stretch of skin as he looked up at Xander. His eyes were cold and blue, and his mouth was mocking.
“Well, I was wrong,” he said. “Looks like he is hanging around after all.”
***
Xander learned that Arrogant Asshole Actor was called Spike. He thought it was eminently fitting; if he’d made a list of names that sounded obnoxious enough for the new actor, ‘Spike’ would have been at the top of the list. ‘Spike’ and ‘Vance.’ And maybe ‘Zod.’
He also found out that Spike wasn’t just a jerk when he didn’t know anyone else was listening. He mixed aggressive sexual innuendo with a suggestion of violence and a tendency toward scarily insightful insults, creating a blend that kept the entire cast and crew wary of him. Xander observed it firsthand once, when he found Spike leaning against the door of the greenroom, insolently blocking Cordelia’s exit.
“You became an actress for the adoring masses, didn’t you? And now here you are, big fish in a boring, little pond, wondering when your big break is coming. I’ll tell you a secret, pet. It’s never coming. Best to appreciate the few sheep you’ve got, because you haven’t the talent to attract a larger flock.”
Cordelia had taken great and public joy in tormenting Xander for years now, mocking everything from his hair to his job. It should have felt good to see her taken down a peg or four. It didn’t. Cordelia’s eyes were bleak, her lips pressed into a tight line, and the sight of them made his throat go tight and sour. Xander thought she’d been defeated, but then her spine straightened and she twisted her mouth into a smirk.
Cordelia said, “I’d better be getting back to my sheep. I’ll leave you here to lurk alone, pestering random strangers because you have no friends and no fans.” She shoved past Spike, and Xander wanted to cheer. He didn’t, since he had some sense of self-preservation, and he knew better than to give Cordelia another target for her justifiable wrath.
Xander ducked into the doorway of the men’s dressing room as Cordelia swept past. Once she was safely down the hall, Xander stepped out, gazing after her admiringly. He often despised her, but he had to admit, her ginormous ego served her well.
“You do this often, then?” Spike asked from behind him. Xander turned to face him. “Lurk about silently, listening in on my private conversations. If you give me a bit of warning next time, I can make sure there’s something more interesting for you to spy on.” Spike cocked his head to the side and leered at Xander. Xander hadn’t thought people actually leered in real life; it had been a verb he’d relegated to villains in bad romance novels. But Spike was definitely leering, and Xander was flushing as red as any bad romance heroine ever had.
“I always kind of wanted to be a spy, because James Bond was my first crush. First and fifth, really, if you count Pierce Brosnan’s Bond as a separate crush from Connery’s Bond. But no. Not spying. I was just running an errand for Buffy.” Xander brandished the sheaf of sign-in sheets he’d been sent to post in the greenroom.
Spike curled his tongue behind his top teeth for a moment, his eyes speculative, and Xander blushed even harder. “Don’t let me keep you,” Spike said, stepping out of Xander’s way with an air of overblown courtesy. “I’ve got to run my lines, anyway.”
Xander slipped into the greenroom and hung the sign-in sheets on the bulletin board, steadfastly ignoring the way Spike followed him into the room and sprawled on the couch with his script. He ignored the lean lines of Spike’s body as he stretched out on the couch. He completely ignored the way the tension that had coiled Spike tight ever since he’d arrived in Sunnydale left his face as he sank into his character, making him look softer than Xander knew he could.
He also ignored the fact that most actors ran lines with a partner.
***
Rehearsal for The Shape of Things was going well, and the preparations for the show kicked into high gear. For a week, Xander all but lived with his set, cutting and sanding and screwing parts together. When he was done, he plonked himself down on a sawhorse and just stared at it – three interlocking set pieces that could be separated or linked into different configurations, depending on the needs of the scene. They were beautiful. They still needed to be painted, but they were so real, so solid, that they took his breath away. Turning plans on paper into the three-dimensional skeleton for a show always felt like magic to him. He couldn’t wait to see it clothed in lights and music and actors.
Things hadn’t been going as smoothly in other departments. Tara had had to scrap the wardrobe for the Adam character altogether and start over. Angel had several inches on Spike, and even in the early scenes, when he’d be wearing padding under his clothes, Spike couldn’t use any of the costumes that had been planned before Angel’s big exit.
Willow asked Xander if he would loiter around the costume loft when Spike was being fit for his costumes, just in case. She didn’t say in case of what, so Xander was sure if she was more worried about Spike coming on to Tara or being mean to her, and he wasn’t sure what he could do about either scenario, but he agreed anyway.
Xander installed himself in the costume loft the next time Spike was due, ostensibly devoted to fixing a jammed window. He kept peeking back over his shoulder to watch for Spike’s arrival, and soon he was rewarded by the sight of Spike’s blond head cresting the stairs and the sound of Tara’s stammered greeting.
“S-spike! I’ve been w-waiting for you. I’ve g-got a new suit for you to try for the f-final scene,” she said, smiling at Spike welcomingly. “Take your clothes off and step up here.” She patted a sturdy stool in front of her. Xander grinned. Only Tara, he thought, would stutter a friendly greeting and not the demand that Spike get naked.
Spike shrugged out of his coat and peeled off his tight black tee shirt, revealing a pale, well-defined back and shoulders. Xander didn’t think Spike had even noticed him until he looked back and sneered at Xander.
“Told you I’d give you something better to spy on,” he said, his hands moving purposefully to his fly. Xander didn’t think he had ever blushed as much in his entire life as he had since Spike showed up. Tara ducked her head forward, and Xander wasn’t sure if it was a nervous habit or an attempt to keep Xander from seeing her amused smile.
“Xander’s fixing my window for me,” she said. “It-it’ll be nice to have some fresh air when I’m sewing in the summertime.”
“I can come back later,” Xander offered. “After everyone is clothed.” Willow might kill him, but it was bound to be less painful than death by crippling embarrassment.
Spike shrugged and shoved his jeans down over slender hips. “Nah,” he said. “Not like I’ve got anything you haven’t seen before. Not unless your love life is even more pathetic than I’d suspected.”
Xander’s mouth had gone too dry to reply, but if he’d been able, he would have disagreed. He was pretty sure he’d never seen a body like Spike’s outside of certain magazines he didn’t admit to owning. Spike was all smooth skin and tight ripples of muscle, interrupted by a tiny pair of black briefs. It really wasn’t fair. Xander spent all day lifting heavy chunks of wood and working with power tools, and he didn’t look like that.
Tara looked Spike over clinically, taking in his compact form from head to toe. “This should work. Put these on and get up here,” she ordered, her shyness forgotten as she got caught up in thoughts of her craft. Xander expected Spike to protest, but he obeyed Tara meekly, donning the gray trousers and blue shirt she’d handed him and climbing up on the stool.
Xander turned back to the window, but his focus was on Tara and Spike. If he concentrated, he could make out their watery reflections in the glass, Spike standing very still on the stool and Tara kneeling at his feet, pinning up his hems. They looked oddly comfortable together.
“You know,” Tara said, looking up at Spike, “You’re going to have to dye your hair soon.”
Spike grimaced. “I know it. The twitchy blond boy showed me the wig I’m to wear in the first scene, so I can match the color.”
“At least you’ve got plenty of experience, right?” Tara asked encouragingly, pulling the fabric carefully into place. “I mean, if that’s your real hair color, I’m Harmony’s best friend.”
“Ain’t like I bleach it myself. I always get a mate to do it for me,” Spike said. It was hard to tell from the reflection, but Xander thought he might be pouting.
Tara patted Spike on the leg just below his knee. “I’m sure someone will be willing to help you with your hair,” she assured him. “Oh, I know! Xander can do it.”
The putty knife Xander was using to chip old paint away from the window frame slipped, and for a moment he was terrifyingly certain he’d broken the window. Only once he’d run his hands over the glass, verifying that it was all in one piece did Xander turn around. “What?” he demanded.
Tara tucked her hair back behind her ear and gave him the crooked smile that made him see what Willow loved about her. “You know you’re good at it, Xander,” she said in a reasonable voice.
Xander opened and closed his mouth, unable to think of a good comeback. The thing was, he was good at it. He’d been helping the girls dye their hair for years, but he didn’t advertise the fact. It was like his Snoopy Dance and his habit of dipping his French fries into his milkshake: private. Friends-only knowledge.
Spike was smirking at him again. “Really?” he drawled. “A blokey bloke like you?”
Tara’s smile had turned a little anxious, but she said, “He helps Willow and Buffy with theirs. Don’t you?”
“Only because Buffy forgets to get the roots,” Xander mumbled. “And Willow gets distracted by the chemical reactions.”
“S-so you can help Spike,” Tara nodded firmly, but Xander noticed the return of her stutter. He hated that he’d caused it to come back when Spike didn’t seem to bother her at all.
“Don’t matter,” Spike said. “I can find someone else.” Except Xander knew that no one else on the show liked Spike well enough to volunteer, which meant Spike would have to go to a hair place and pay to get it dyed. Which sucked, because no one at the Playhouse was making all that much money. And Tara was looking at him with big, hopeful eyes.
“Yeah, I can do it,” Xander said with a sigh. Tara gifted him with a blinding smile, and Spike’s lips curved into something much friendlier than his usual smirk.
“That’s great,” Tara said. “You can do that right after I fit the jacket.” Xander nodded mutely and went back to work on the window, pretending he wasn’t watching Tara and Spike’s reflections almost the entire time.
***
Xander considered dying Spike’s hair somewhere at the theatre, but it was only days before tech rehearsal, and the entire place was crawling with people. So he took Spike and his box of hair color back to his apartment, frantically trying to remember if he’d left underwear in the middle of the living room or anything humiliating like that.
“This is it,” he said self-consciously as he unlocked the door. Spike came in behind him, looking around dispassionately at Xander’s comic books and DVDs. Xander fiddled with his keys. This really wasn’t how he’d pictured the first time he brought a guy home with him. “I think the kitchen would probably work,” he said, shoving his keys in his pocket before he started driving himself crazy.
Spike nodded. He pulled off his coat and looked at Xander expectantly. “How do you want me, then?”
Xander blushed so hot it almost hurt. And Spike wasn’t even leering this time. “Here,” he said, leading the way into the kitchen. He was ridiculously grateful that he’d done the dishes that morning. “You can stick your head in the sink and get your hair wet, and I’ll go get a towel and stuff.” He stumbled from the room, still trying to force down the flush on his cheeks. He rummaged around in the bathroom for a comb, some shampoo, and an old towel that he wouldn’t mind staining.
“Okay,” he said, heading back to the kitchen. “Usually you wouldn’t wash your hair before dying it, but yours is all full of crunchy gel, so we’ve got to ...” He trailed off, taking in the sight of Spike leaning over his sink, shirtless. Spike in nothing but jeans had been stunning in the costume loft with Tara present, but alone in Xander’s kitchen, he was ... Xander’s vocabulary gave out. Something bigger and brighter than stunning. He stepped forward wordlessly and handed Spike the shampoo.
“Thanks, mate,” Spike said. He sounded casual, like there was nothing out of the ordinary about washing his hair in another man’s sink. Who knew? Maybe Spike did this all the time. Maybe Xander was just inexperienced, and kitchen-sink shampooing was de rigeur for guys like Spike. Maybe ... maybe Xander should give Spike the towel before he drowned himself in Xander’s sink.
Xander didn’t own any chairs, but he dragged in a stool from the breakfast bar. “Have a seat,” he directed. “And get your hair as dry as you can.” He spread the directions for the hair dye on the counter and leaned over them, checking to make sure there was nothing unexpected about them.
“This should be fine,” he said, clapping his hands together and turning to face Spike. Spike was watching him with an odd expression on his face and ... “Hey, curls,” Xander exclaimed.
Spike raised a hand and ran it through his hair. “Curls,” he agreed ruefully. Then his gaze sharpened. “Tell anyone and I’ll make your life hell.”
Xander rolled his eyes. “Yes, because I spend so much of my time gossiping about people’s hair,” he said.
Spike shifted on his stool. “You might. Apparently spend all your time playing with girls’ hair, don’tcha? How’m I to know what you gossip about.”
Xander busied himself putting on the plastic gloves that came in the box. “I don’t gossip,” he denied. “I may occasionally speculate on how many brain cells Harmony uses to keep her feet and mouth moving at the same time, but that’s not the same thing.” He popped open the little metal tube of hair color and squeezed it into the activator.
Spike wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand her,” he said. “She remembers her lines and her blocking and all, but when we’re off stage, it like she hasn’t got a brain in her head.”
Xander held a finger over the top of the activator bottle and started shaking it up. “Willow and I had a theory in junior high that she’s got a multiple personality disorder. It was the only way we could explain the fact that she couldn’t memorize enough information to pass history, but she could remember the whole entire script to Carousel.” He held the bottle up at eye level and tried to see if it was mixed enough. “You ready?” he asked.
“Do your worst,” Spike said. Xander paused at the wobble in Spike’s voice.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Tara was right. I’m actually pretty good at this.”
“Wasn’t worried,” Spike denied. But his shoulders were a taut line (which Xander did not want to lick), so Xander started talking again to distract him.
“Cordelia’s smart,” he said matter-of-factly as he combed Spike’s hair into sections. “She used to try to hide it. But then the Playhouse hired Giles, and he is not impressed by stupid people. So she let a few things slip about books she’s read and character analysis. She’s not Willow-smart, but she’s not dumb.”
Spike nodded under Xander’s hands. “She can act,” he said grudgingly. “I’d like to gag her half the time, though.”
Xander chuckled and started applying the dye to Spike’s hair. “I think her tongue is a lethal weapon. Riley’s a good guy,” he observed.
Spike’s shoulders went even tighter. “Thinks he’s better than me,” he said bitterly. “Bloke’s always looking down on me.”
“Well, can you blame him?” Xander asked mildly. Spike’s shoulders looked like knotted cords, and Xander wondered if he should offer him a massage after the hair dying was over. “Riley’s just so tall,” Xander continued. “He has to look down on everyone.”
Spike relaxed a fraction. “We’re going to look right foolish on stage together,” he confided. “He’s got more of the look of a leading man about him. Why’d he not get the role when Angel took off?”
Xander snorted and moved to a new section of hair. “It wouldn’t work,” he said. “Riley’s solid on stage, and he can really pull out the emotion when he has to, but he can’t hold an audience. He thinks he wants to be the lead, but when it comes down to it, he’s better at supporting someone else, and the audience can tell.”
Xander finished all the roots and started working the dye through Spike’s curls. “It’s why we were all so freaked when Angel decided to do his Invisible Man impression. We’ve got plenty of people who can act in small parts, but no one else who can really carry a show.”
“Suppose that’s why I was welcomed with such open arms,” Spike said ironically.
Xander rolled his eyes. “Maybe it was just your sweet disposition.” He gave a last dab to the hair over Spike’s right ear. “Okay, that should do it. Now we wait half an hour and rinse you out.” Xander peeled off his gloves and dropped them into the trash. He was really supposed to keep them on for the rinsing, but he’d rather risk stained hands than put up with the feeling of them longer than he absolutely had to.
“So,” Spike said awkwardly, shifting on his stool. “What’ll we do till then?”
Xander checked his watch, then looked back at Spike. “What are your feelings about Playstation?” he asked.
Spike’s feelings about Playstation turned out to be strong and competitive. He almost growled when Xander stopped him in the middle of a game to go rinse his hair. “I know,” Xander said, “that kicking my ass at Star Wars LEGO is vital to your continuing health, but if you don’t want green hair, you better let me rinse you.”
Xander had Spike bend over the sink again, rinsing his hair with the vegetable sprayer. Xander was standing behind him, a bit off to the side so he could reach better, running the fingers of his left hand through Spike’s curls to make sure he got all of the dye out. Maybe it was the steam drifting up from the sink, maybe it was the floral-chemical scent of the hair dye, but Xander suddenly felt light-headed. He leaned closer and ... That was Spike’s naked back pressed against Xander chest, Spike’s skull beneath his fingertips. It was like someone had flipped a switch and woken up Xander’s body, which had been lulled into complacency by the video games and banter. He took a deep breath and turned off the water.
“All done,” Xander said, stepping away. He wiped his hands on his jeans. “You’re good to go.” He stared down at his linoleum as though he’d never seen it; it kept him from staring at the way Spike’s wet hair clung to his face, the way stray water droplets rolled down his pale neck.
“Right,” Spike said, his voice sharp. “Thanks for the afternoon of beautification and frivolity. I’ll just be off, then.”
When Xander finally looked up, Spike had his shirt back on and his coat in his hands. His hair was still darkened with damp, but Xander could make out the dark-blond it would be when it dried. It made Spike look younger, less hard-edged. Xander liked it. He bit his lip to keep from saying so.
“Later, mate,” Spike said, heading for the door.
“Spike?” Xander called. Spike paused in the doorway, and Xander swallowed down the inappropriate and stupid urge to ask him out. “Don’t wash your hair for at least twenty-four hours,” he said.
Spike looked back at him, his eyes flat. “I’ll remember that,” he said. And then he was gone.
***
They had a paper tech on Tuesday, running over all the cues for the lights, sound, costumes, and sets, and making sure everyone on the crew knew what they were supposed to be doing. It went so smoothly that no one was surprised when the actual tech rehearsal Wednesday was an unmitigated disaster. Jonathan, who was running the sound board, stumbled against the equipment and threw off all the levels. Buffy got in an argument with Amy over the headset and forgot to call three lighting cues and a set change. And one third of Xander’s beautiful set got caught on a cable that should have been taped down and almost pitched over on top of Scott, who’d been moving it.
When he saw his set starting to topple, Xander’s breath caught and his heart clenched. He was unexpectedly and deeply sorry for the time he’d talked Willow into balancing on top of her backyard fence, thereby scaring her mother half to death. Between Scott and Andrew, they got the set piece stable, and Xander could breathe again. Which was useful, because he needed his breath to yell at whoever had failed to tape down that cable.
When tech finally, finally ended, Xander went out back to escape the people still milling around. He loved the Playhouse and most of the people working in it, but sometimes he wanted to kill them all and hide the bodies in the prop room. But only figuratively, he reassured himself.
When he stepped out into the cool night air, he was surprised to find someone already out there. Spike was sitting on the back stoop, turning over a pack of cigarettes in his hands.
“You’d better not smoke in costume,” Xander warned him, grinning when Spike started at his voice. “Tara seems nice, but you don’t want to see her when someone messes with her costumes.”
Spike looked down at the gray suit he was still wearing. “Suppose you’re right,” he conceded. “’Specially since she really worked on this one. She probably wouldn’t mind as much about the thrift store specials from the first scene.”
Xander drifted over to sit next to Spike, staring out at the dark alley. “Think you’ll survive the show?” he asked.
“Please. It’ll take more than you lot to do me in,” Spike said. He gave Xander a sidelong look. “Not that I’m recommending you try. Saw your set about to drop on that wanker backstage.”
“Hey, that so wasn’t my fault!” Xander said. He was about to launch into a defense of his set when he saw the smile lurking around Spike’s lips. He nudged him in the side. “Jerk.”
Spike twisted to face Xander. “I am,” he said simply.
Xander looked at him for a long time, cataloging the way his eyes had gone black in the darkness, the way the shadows picked out the line of his jaw. “You’re not so bad,” he said.
“I am,” Spike assured him, leaning closer. “I’m a bad, rude man, and I won’t tell you pretty lies to make you happy.”
“Lies are never pretty,” Xander whispered. Spike was moving slowly, slowly toward him, and Xander had the surreal feeling that they were going to stay like this forever, moving closer inch by inch and never connecting. It seemed inevitable and sad, and that’s why he reached out a hand and pulled Spike in, kissing him fast and hard.
The unreality of the moment was gone in a heartbeat, and Xander was surrounded in the solid now of Spike’s mouth on his, wet and willing. The stoop they were sitting on was cold and hard, and Xander heard the soft thump of Spike’s cigarette’s hitting the ground, but he didn’t have any attention to spare. It was all focused on Spike: the firm heat of his chest against Xander’s, the scent of his skin, muted by the smell of makeup and hairspray. The way Spike’s hands clutched at his face, like Spike had been just as careful not to think about this as Xander had.
“This is,” Xander gasped, “This is a really bad idea.”
Spike pulled away sharply. “Why? Tell me you don’t want me and I won’t believe you.” His voice was belligerent, but his eyes were hurt.
“No, it’s ...” Xander tightened his hands on Spike’s arms and tried to catch his breath. “You said, when you first got here, you said you weren’t going to stay long. If this sucks, we’ll have to go through the whole show all awkward and irritated, but if it’s great, you’ll leave and I’ll be left behind. I don’t want to be like Buffy.”
Spike pushed forward to press another kiss to Xander’s lips. “It won’t suck,” he promised hotly. “Trust me.” Xander did. He was sure Spike had never had bad sex in his life. “And it won’t be like Buffy and the moron, because I’m not going to take off like Angel did, all tragic and silent and certain it’s for your own good.”
Xander slid a hand up to tangle in Spike’s hair. He felt a flair of possession as the dark-blond curls wound around his fingers. “So if you leave, you’ll be what? Loud and happy and to hell with me?”
“If I leave,” Spike said, “I’ll tell you. Tell you when and why and where I’m going.” Xander knew he should stop and consider this, think about the fact that Spike wasn’t promising to stay, that Spike admitted to being an ass. But Spike was right there, and he felt so good that Xander was nodding before he knew it.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Okay.”
***
Xander didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe a one night stand. Maybe a casual affair for the length of the show, followed by a round of intense sulking when Spike left. But he hadn’t been expecting Spike, hot and sweet and intense in his bed every night, arch and mocking at the theatre every day. He was surprised to find himself enjoying Spike’s pointed wit – not as much as he was enjoying the sex, but he was only human.
Dress rehearsal went just badly enough to reassure everyone that the opening would be a success. Xander didn’t consider himself superstitious, but you couldn’t survive long in the theatre without absorbing some of the lore. Opening night, he kissed Spike good-bye and went to meet Willow and Buffy for their traditional pre-show pizza. On other nights, Xander liked his pizza loaded with meat, but before opening night they always got pineapple.
Buffy had her hair pulled back into a business-like ponytail, and she was dressed all in black just in case she had to help the set crew at some point. The clothes made her look pale and wan, and Xander found himself noticing dark circles under her eyes.
“Are you doing alright, Buff?” he asked, shoving a root beer toward her.
“I’m good,” she said, smiling faintly. “I got a postcard from Angel, and it just ... Why would he leave if he still loves me?” she asked plaintively.
Willow bit he lip and fiddled with her crust. “Maybe he thought he was over you, but then he started missing you. And so now he realizes that he really loves you after all.” Her voice trailed upward uncertainly.
“Maybe,” Xander nibbled on a piece of pineapple and wondered if Spike’s comments about Angel were meant to be private. “Maybe he thought he was doing what was best for you when he left.” He took a swallow of root beer. “Or we could go back to the theory that he’s a big stupid head. I like that theory,” he said wistfully.
“Because it’s so good for me to sit around eating Phish Food and wondering what I did to drive him away,” Buffy said bitterly.
“Did he put a return address on the postcard?” Willow asked. “You could write back to him.”
“I’m planning to,” Buffy told her. “As soon as I can write a letter that doesn’t start out ‘What the hell?’ and end with ‘Please come back.’ So it should just be a couple more days.”
Xander took a big bite of pizza to keep himself from saying anything more. But as soon as he got Spike home that night, Xander stripped him naked and proceeded to show him how grateful he was for the promise not to bail without telling Xander why.
***
“So,” Xander said, leaning his head back to offer Spike better access to his neck. “The Playhouse is dark tomorrow. You wanna do something?”
Spike lifted his head and shimmied a few inches so he could look Xander in the eye. “Something like what?” he asked warily.
Xander wrapped his arms around Spike’s waist and tugged until Spike was sprawled atop him. “Something like a date,” he said.
“This is something like a date,” Spike protested. “I don’t even make you buy me dinner before you get your end away.”
“We could see a movie,” Xander suggested. “I’ll buy you popcorn.”
“Popcorn and Junior Mints,” Spike bargained. “And the film has to have explosions.”
“Deal,” Xander said. “Now, about that ‘getting my end away’ thing ...”
Xander loved Mondays during a show run. It felt so decadent to spend an entire day not thinking about the show, preparing for the show, working on the show. He’d worked himself up into a blaze of goodwill by the time he and Spike headed for the movies.
“How many films about absolutely nothing get made every year?” Spike asked. He pointed at the marquee. “Look, there are two about complete idiots and the trouble they get up to, three about villains who murder people for no reason whatever, and two about silly bints recovering from heartbreak. Aren’t there more stories than that in the world?”
“You forgot the one we’re seeing,” Xander pointed out. “The one about a maverick who takes down the bad guys all by himself. With lots of explosions.”
“Well, that one’s fine enough,” Spike said. “Hollywood’s bound to hit on a good idea once in a while.”
“Come on,” Xander said, pulling Spike toward the ticket counter. “I don’t mind if you mock the trailers, but I don’t want to miss them.”
Xander didn’t protest when Spike led him up to the back row of the theater, and he didn’t object when Spike’s hand landed in his lap, as if by accident. And he certainly didn’t complain when, at the height of the movie, during the fiery rain of the big explosion, Xander exploded, too, gasping and seeing fireworks behind his eyelids.
***
Tuesday night, Xander had to tighten the screws on the casters under his set pieces. He greatly preferred that the wheels not fall off halfway through the run of the show. He was crouching behind the middle piece, tightening the screw on the back right corner, when he heard voices near the prop table. He was about to stick his head around the side to remind whoever it was that Buffy would torment them forever if they disarranged the props when he heard his name.
“Seriously, Xander and Spike together. Right out in public, like Spike wasn’t the creepiest little troll ever to crash into Sunnydale,” Cordelia’s voice was saying. Xander scowled. Cordelia really knew how to hold a grudge.
“Really?” Riley said. “I didn’t think they even spoke to each other.”
“Speaking probably isn’t necessary,” Harmony tittered.
“I think it’s obvious what’s going on,” Cordelia asserted. “Spike has been a pain since he got here, but we need him to stick around or the show’s sunk. So I think Buffy enlisted her little errand boy to keep Spike happy.”
“I don’t think Buffy would do that,” Riley said doubtfully. “And I’m pretty sure Xander wouldn’t agree.”
“Xander’s always done whatever Buffy said,” Cordelia told him.
“And she’s been kind of pathetic since Angel ran off on her,” Harmony agreed. “She probably doesn’t even mind pimping her friend out to a jerk.”
“I think,” Spike interrupted, his voice a cold, tight one Xander hadn’t heard from him before, “that you should see about your hair and makeup and stop talking about things you have no understanding of.” He wasn’t even yelling, but there was a threat to his tone that made it ring sharply.
Xander peeked around the set piece and Cordelia, Harmony, and Riley scattering. Spike was standing near the prop table in costume for the first scene. He should have looked absurd, with the wig and false nose, pads in his cheeks and on his stomach, but the scowl on his face was intimidating. His fists were clenched so tight that the skin on his knuckles had gone white.
“Spike?” Xander said, hauling himself to his feet. “You okay? They were just -“
“I’ve got to go get into character,” Spike cut in. He turned on his heel and headed for the men’s dressing room. Xander stared after him.
He was still standing there, staring at nothing, when Buffy called places ten minutes later.
***
Xander didn’t usually watch the shows from the front of the house, but he didn’t think he’d be able to sit quietly backstage tonight, facilitating set changes like he was fine. He claimed a seat in the back, near the follow-spot, and slumped low in his seat.
When the curtain opened, the first thing Xander saw was his set. The pieces were separated and turned so that the sides shaped and painted to look like columns showed. It was supposed to suggest a museum, but Xander was too biased to tell if it was effective. Then the action started, and Xander was caught up, amazed that Spike and Cordelia could flirt and banter when he knew they’d rather be pulling each other’s hair. Xander had known Spike was a decent actor, but he hadn’t appreciated just how skilled he was.
Xander tried to lose himself in the show, but each set change drew his attention back to the logistics instead of the magic. The pieces of the set were turned and locked together to form different rooms: living room, bedroom, waiting room, restaurant. He made mental notes about things that could work better in the future and regretted that he hadn’t brought a notepad. As the action moved toward the climax, though, Xander found himself paying less attention to the set and more to the action, tensing for the confrontation he knew was coming.
When it arrived, it was almost a relief. He was grateful that Spike got to let go of some of his anger, that he didn’t have to play the besotted fool anymore. If Spike’s voice had rung true when he spoke Adam’s declarations of love for Cordelia’s Evelyn, it positively crackled with emotion when he shouted at her.
“Heartless cunt!” he called her, and Xander bit his lip, the hurt in Spike’s voice was so real. When it was over, Spike was left alone on the stage, slumped and shattered. Xander didn’t know how much of it was real, and he didn’t know if he wanted to find out.
The curtain went down, and the audience slowly made their way out, leaving Xander sitting alone in the front of the house. He could have gone out and down the hall, taking the approved route to the backstage area, but instead he walked down the steps and hoisted himself up onto the stage. He half expected to find Spike still there, but the stage was empty.
He wound his way backstage. Ordinarily, it would be full of chatter and activity as people reset the stage, hung up costumes, and made plans for the night. Tonight, everything was quiet until he got to the greenroom.
“-found out she’d passed up an internship to stay here, mooning around after him. He’s no Einstein, so he thought the best thing to do would be to shove off and let her get on with her life and career. Stupid git didn’t think about the fact that if she’d not go off for a few months without him, she’d be hurt when he left without her.” Spike said, his voice loud and measured. “Doesn’t make her pathetic. Makes her in love,” he said acidly. “And no, she didn’t ask Xander to take care of me, or any other kind euphemisms you may have come up with. So I’ll thank you to keep you disgusting tongues in your empty heads.”
Xander was right outside the greenroom doors when they crashed open and Spike stomped into the hallway. He’d already changed out of his costume, but his face was still made up for the stage. Xander stared at him dumbly.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Spike said. Xander nodded, his throat full of unasked questions. Spike looked at him and said, “You coming?” and Xander nodded, the most important question answered.
***
They usually ended up at Xander’s place, but tonight they went to Spike’s apartment instead. It was just enough of a difference to put Xander on edge, after the night they’d had. He sat stiffly on the edge of the lumpy sofa that had come with the apartment when Spike rented the place.
“I never got on with Angel,” Spike said. It seemed like such a non sequitur that Xander started and stared at him. “We had a mate in common, though, so I put up with him.” Xander remembered Buffy’s comment about the “pasty little pain in the ass” and guessed that Angel had been putting up with Spike, too.
“When he called Dru and asked her if I would take the role here, I thought it mustn’t be much of a plum, if he was offering it to me. I didn’t much like the idea of taking his castoffs, but Dru thought it would be good for me, so I came. Met you, and thought maybe she was right. But I can also see that he shouldn’t have left. Was a right stupid move, and it’s left your little Buffy all broken up. From what I hear, it’s left Angel pretty broken up, as well.”
Xander shifted even farther forward on the edge of the couch, trying to read the future in the shape of Spike’s words. He thought maybe he’d be able to see where this was going if Spike would only look at him, but Spike had his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall somewhere past Xander’s left ear.
“I called Dru before the show tonight. Told her to send Angel back and put him out of his misery.”
Xander dug his fingers into the sofa. “But Tara already altered all the costumes,” he protested inanely.
Spike met Xander’s eyes for the first time since he’d started talking. “Does that mean you don’t want me to go?” he asked mildly.
“Of course I don’t want you to go. At what point in the talking and playing and hot sex did I imply that I wanted you to go?” Xander demanded.
“Even if your mates at the Playhouse think I’m a troll who needs the pity of his stage manager to get laid?”
“Hey, I can’t help it if they get struck blind when they’re insulted,” Xander said.
“So if Giles implied that he might be willing to expand the cast a bit and keep me on if Angel came to his senses, you’d be okay with that?” Spike asked. The wariness in his face was fading away, leaving a teasing smile behind.
“You! God, you made me suffer through this whole ‘Angel is coming back’ speech when you knew you’d be sticking around the whole time?” Xander didn’t think of himself as a violent man, but he was seriously considering rethinking that position.
“Wasn’t sure I was sticking around,” Spike said. “I wanted to know what you thought about it first.”
“I think I might tie you to the bed and never let you leave. Which sounds a lot kinkier and less chastising than it sounded in my head,” Xander told him. He lurched up off the lumpy sofa and grabbed hold of Spike.
“You’d be okay with it, then?” Spike asked, softer this time.
Xander kissed him. He wondered if he ought to stop long enough to say yes, but Spike was kissing him back, and it really didn’t seem worth the effort.
Besides, Spike was an actor. He knew how to read the cues.
****************************
ETA: The concept for the hair-dying scene probably owes its inspiration tosublimatedangel's Something With a "D", which you should totally read. A lot.
Author: Allyndra
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “This is what a doomed theatre looks like.”
Written for
reremouse in the AU Round of maleslashminis. The request was: A theater - big or small - and a play -also big or small. Spike is the star. Xander is the production company's head carpenter. Xander knows how to deal with high maintenance actors and it really pays off with Spike.Willow sat down heavily. “We’re doomed, aren’t we?” she demanded. “This is what a doomed theatre looks like.” She waved a hand, encompassing the two volunteers giggling at one another while painting the stage, the rows of empty seats covered in red plush, and the two follow-spots standing at attention at the back of the room.
“Go ahead and tell me,” Willow continued. “We’re done for.”
Buffy slouched into the seat next to Willow, folding herself until she looked like a crumpled ball of clothes topped by blonde hair. “We might as well close,” she said morosely. "How are we supposed to put on the show now?”
Xander pointed an accusing finger at each girl in turn. “You guys are traitors to the concept of ‘the show must go on.’”
Willow snorted. “How silly of us to worry about losing our lead halfway into production. And, oh yeah, all the donations he brings in. You know half our donors only support us for the tax write-off and the pretty man-meat. Without Angel brooding and flexing at the meet-and-greets, they might just decide to donate to someone else instead. Like the interpretive dance society.” She shuddered. “I’m not ready to lose my job to a bunch of leg-warmer-wearing weirdoes.”
“Hey,” Buffy lifted her head enough to glare. “Leg warmers can be a valid fashion choice.”
“We’re not losing our jobs,” Xander said firmly. Not that he didn’t empathize with Willow’s concern. It would be difficult to impossible to find another paying job in the theatre if this one went belly up. But he had a talisman against that kind of negative thinking: the plans for a large and unnecessarily complicated set piece, approve by Giles just this morning. If their funding was in real danger, Xander knew his set would have been cut in a heartbeat. In a pinch, The Shape of Things could be staged with nothing more than four chairs, a TV, and an air mattress, so Xander found his behemoth of a set immensely reassuring. The girls, however, had so far failed to be comforted when he waved his elevations and measurements at them.
“Hey,” he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “The guy! The guy Angel got to come take over his role. That’s sure sign that we’re not going under, right? Angel wouldn’t set anyone up to join a failing theatre.”
Buffy pursed her lips and gave him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, Xander. Angel got drunk at the cast party for A Midsummer Night’s Dream and started telling stories about summer stock. I’ve got a burning suspicion that this guy is the one Angel called “that pasty little pain in the ass.”
“Angel is evil,” Willow said, like it was a revelation. Xander snorted. He’d been saying that for years now. “I helped him do his taxes. I always set the lights to flatter his cheekbones. And he left us in the middle of rehearsals with a sucky replacement. That …” She searched her mind for a harsh enough epithet. “Stupid head!”
Buffy scrunched down again, fading into her clothes. “He’s not. I mean, he is,” she started. The bits of her face that Xander could see were pale. “But he –“
The double doors crashed open, interrupting her, and Amy came clattering down the steps. “Is Buffy in here? Because Cordelia is saying she never got a copy of the notes for last night's rehearsal, and Harmony is trying to change the blocking on the bicycle scene, and none of this is part of my job.”
Buffy stayed a sighing lump of unhappiness for one more moment, then she sat up, pulling her responsibilities around her like a cloak - except Buffy didn’t wear cloaks. She pulled her responsibilities around her like a kicky new leather jacket with matching boots. Xander was always amazed at the way Buffy could transform herself from a regular girl into an all-powerful Stage Manager. She unfolded herself and stood, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a resolute expression.
“Tell them I’ll be right there,” she told Amy. “And if anyone touches my prompt book, they will regret it until their dying day. Which will be right after the show closes.” Amy smirked as though Buffy wasn’t completely capable of carrying out her threat, but she took off, leaving the doors to slam shut behind her. “Looks like I’ve got to go wrangle actors,” she said, giving Willow and Xander a weak smile. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
When she was at the top of the stairs, Buffy looked back at them. “I wouldn’t worry about the new actor. Xander’s right, Angel wouldn’t have sent us someone who can’t act. And really, how bad could he be?”
After thouroughly jinxing them, she slipped out the doors, and Willow and Xander were left staring at each other in mute horror.
***
The thing Xander loved about working for such a small Playhouse was that he got to do a little bit of everything. Technically, he was the Master Carpenter. In real life, though, he built the sets, painted the scenery, hung signs and flyers around town advertising the shows, and generally pitched in wherever he was needed. Which was how he came to be balancing on a narrow metal frame suspended high above the theatre, trying not to see how far below him the rows of seats really were.
He was wearing a harness, so it’s not like he was going to fall to his horrible, grisly death and become the Phantom of the Playhouse, or anything. And no, he hadn’t spent too much time pondering his terrible, ghosty fate. He just had a healthy appreciation for his own mortality, which was sadly weaker than his habit of agreeing to do whatever favors Willow requested of him. She hadn’t even had to pull out the puppy eyes to get him to agree to helping with the hang and focus. Especially after she told him she’d caught Andrew and Jonathan re-enacting the Mission Impossible scene with the safety harnesses.
Xander hauled himself carefully along the space frame, aiming for a Fresnel light a few feet away. He couldn’t actually do anything once he got there, since Willow wasn’t here to direct him. She’d been called to the costume loft to check the colors of Tara’s costume designs against the colors of gels Willow had selected. But if Xander was in position when she got back, they could focus this light immediately. And immediately meant Xander could get his ass back on solid ground sooner rather than later.
Xander waited. He settled onto a beam and dangled his legs. He let his eyes cross and tried to make pictures out of the geometric shapes in the space frame. He made bets with himself about how many times Cordelia would insult the crew during this production and how many times the crew would hide her stage makeup in revenge. He was beginning to think Willow wasn’t coming back.
Xander was eyeing the catwalk and wondering if it was worth it to crawl his way over to it when he heard the doors bang open. He opened his mouth to tease Willow about forgetting him in the face of Tara’s womanly wiles when a voice drifted up to him – a voice that was emphatically not Willow’s. Not unless she’d had a sex change and an accent implant.
“Place looks a bit crap, actually,” the voice observed dispassionately. “Likely Angel did a runner just because he didn’t want to stop here any longer, and he just made up the problem with his bird. No wonder he was willing to let me have his place.”
Xander froze. He’d just learned that 1) the new actor was English, 2) Angel had told people he was leaving because of a girl (which always meant Buffy, where Angel was concerned), and 3) the new actor was an ass. He was tempted to jump down and defend the theatre’s honor, but he was stopped by the fact that he wasn’t willing to splatter himself across the floor as part of said defense. And also, he kind of wanted to eavesdrop some more.
“No, the play won’t be a problem. I’ve read it through plenty of times, and I could act it in my sleep. We’ll have to see if any of the rest of the cast are worth my time.” From his perch, Xander snorted quietly. Not only an ass, an arrogant ass. He hoped the other actors could handle him. Cordelia could give as good as she got, but Harmony, though she could be thoughtlessly cruel, was fairly sensitive to criticism. Riley, the only other man in their small cast, was pretty phlegmatic; Xander didn’t think he was likely to lose his temper even in the face of extreme assholery.
“Don’t worry, love,” the actor was saying. “I doubt I’ll stop here long.” Xander slumped sideways and let his head rest on the strut next to him. He’d been pretty sure they could keep the donors happy as long as Arrogant Asshole Actor was cute enough and willing to at least occasionally fake politeness, but if he wasn’t even going to stick around for the whole season ... Willow was right. The Playhouse was doomed.
“Right. I’d better go find the director. I’ll ring you later.” There was a quiet snap, and then silence. Xander heard slow footsteps as the actor came down the steps. His head – a bright, platinum blond – had just come into view below Xander when the man dropped into one of the seats and heaved a great sigh. Xander suddenly felt more like an intruder than he had while listening to his conversation.
Xander’s butt was starting to seriously complain about the indignities it was suffering from the space frame when the window to the lighting- and sound-booth opened with a loud snick.
“Sorry I took so long, Xander. Tara wanted to show me her new designs and –“ Xander could tell the instant Willow spotted the actor, because her voice cut off with a gurgling sound. “You’re not Xander,” she accused.
“Never said I was,” the man returned, his voice somehow mild and insulting at the same time. “Don’t suppose you could tell me where to find a bloke called Rupert Giles?”
“Giles? He’s usually in his office around this time, so you could check there. I’ll show you the way right after I tell Xander that I’m back, except I’m not back, because I’ll be walking with you.” Xander could hear her blushing. “You, um. You haven’t seen a tall, dark haired man with a wrench hanging around, have you?”
“Can’t say as I have.” The actor stood and spun in a slow circle, tipping his head to take in the whole theatre. Xander could have moved, could have called out, but he didn’t. He just sat there on his perch until the new guy was staring up at him, sharp cheekbones defined by the stretch of skin as he looked up at Xander. His eyes were cold and blue, and his mouth was mocking.
“Well, I was wrong,” he said. “Looks like he is hanging around after all.”
***
Xander learned that Arrogant Asshole Actor was called Spike. He thought it was eminently fitting; if he’d made a list of names that sounded obnoxious enough for the new actor, ‘Spike’ would have been at the top of the list. ‘Spike’ and ‘Vance.’ And maybe ‘Zod.’
He also found out that Spike wasn’t just a jerk when he didn’t know anyone else was listening. He mixed aggressive sexual innuendo with a suggestion of violence and a tendency toward scarily insightful insults, creating a blend that kept the entire cast and crew wary of him. Xander observed it firsthand once, when he found Spike leaning against the door of the greenroom, insolently blocking Cordelia’s exit.
“You became an actress for the adoring masses, didn’t you? And now here you are, big fish in a boring, little pond, wondering when your big break is coming. I’ll tell you a secret, pet. It’s never coming. Best to appreciate the few sheep you’ve got, because you haven’t the talent to attract a larger flock.”
Cordelia had taken great and public joy in tormenting Xander for years now, mocking everything from his hair to his job. It should have felt good to see her taken down a peg or four. It didn’t. Cordelia’s eyes were bleak, her lips pressed into a tight line, and the sight of them made his throat go tight and sour. Xander thought she’d been defeated, but then her spine straightened and she twisted her mouth into a smirk.
Cordelia said, “I’d better be getting back to my sheep. I’ll leave you here to lurk alone, pestering random strangers because you have no friends and no fans.” She shoved past Spike, and Xander wanted to cheer. He didn’t, since he had some sense of self-preservation, and he knew better than to give Cordelia another target for her justifiable wrath.
Xander ducked into the doorway of the men’s dressing room as Cordelia swept past. Once she was safely down the hall, Xander stepped out, gazing after her admiringly. He often despised her, but he had to admit, her ginormous ego served her well.
“You do this often, then?” Spike asked from behind him. Xander turned to face him. “Lurk about silently, listening in on my private conversations. If you give me a bit of warning next time, I can make sure there’s something more interesting for you to spy on.” Spike cocked his head to the side and leered at Xander. Xander hadn’t thought people actually leered in real life; it had been a verb he’d relegated to villains in bad romance novels. But Spike was definitely leering, and Xander was flushing as red as any bad romance heroine ever had.
“I always kind of wanted to be a spy, because James Bond was my first crush. First and fifth, really, if you count Pierce Brosnan’s Bond as a separate crush from Connery’s Bond. But no. Not spying. I was just running an errand for Buffy.” Xander brandished the sheaf of sign-in sheets he’d been sent to post in the greenroom.
Spike curled his tongue behind his top teeth for a moment, his eyes speculative, and Xander blushed even harder. “Don’t let me keep you,” Spike said, stepping out of Xander’s way with an air of overblown courtesy. “I’ve got to run my lines, anyway.”
Xander slipped into the greenroom and hung the sign-in sheets on the bulletin board, steadfastly ignoring the way Spike followed him into the room and sprawled on the couch with his script. He ignored the lean lines of Spike’s body as he stretched out on the couch. He completely ignored the way the tension that had coiled Spike tight ever since he’d arrived in Sunnydale left his face as he sank into his character, making him look softer than Xander knew he could.
He also ignored the fact that most actors ran lines with a partner.
***
Rehearsal for The Shape of Things was going well, and the preparations for the show kicked into high gear. For a week, Xander all but lived with his set, cutting and sanding and screwing parts together. When he was done, he plonked himself down on a sawhorse and just stared at it – three interlocking set pieces that could be separated or linked into different configurations, depending on the needs of the scene. They were beautiful. They still needed to be painted, but they were so real, so solid, that they took his breath away. Turning plans on paper into the three-dimensional skeleton for a show always felt like magic to him. He couldn’t wait to see it clothed in lights and music and actors.
Things hadn’t been going as smoothly in other departments. Tara had had to scrap the wardrobe for the Adam character altogether and start over. Angel had several inches on Spike, and even in the early scenes, when he’d be wearing padding under his clothes, Spike couldn’t use any of the costumes that had been planned before Angel’s big exit.
Willow asked Xander if he would loiter around the costume loft when Spike was being fit for his costumes, just in case. She didn’t say in case of what, so Xander was sure if she was more worried about Spike coming on to Tara or being mean to her, and he wasn’t sure what he could do about either scenario, but he agreed anyway.
Xander installed himself in the costume loft the next time Spike was due, ostensibly devoted to fixing a jammed window. He kept peeking back over his shoulder to watch for Spike’s arrival, and soon he was rewarded by the sight of Spike’s blond head cresting the stairs and the sound of Tara’s stammered greeting.
“S-spike! I’ve been w-waiting for you. I’ve g-got a new suit for you to try for the f-final scene,” she said, smiling at Spike welcomingly. “Take your clothes off and step up here.” She patted a sturdy stool in front of her. Xander grinned. Only Tara, he thought, would stutter a friendly greeting and not the demand that Spike get naked.
Spike shrugged out of his coat and peeled off his tight black tee shirt, revealing a pale, well-defined back and shoulders. Xander didn’t think Spike had even noticed him until he looked back and sneered at Xander.
“Told you I’d give you something better to spy on,” he said, his hands moving purposefully to his fly. Xander didn’t think he had ever blushed as much in his entire life as he had since Spike showed up. Tara ducked her head forward, and Xander wasn’t sure if it was a nervous habit or an attempt to keep Xander from seeing her amused smile.
“Xander’s fixing my window for me,” she said. “It-it’ll be nice to have some fresh air when I’m sewing in the summertime.”
“I can come back later,” Xander offered. “After everyone is clothed.” Willow might kill him, but it was bound to be less painful than death by crippling embarrassment.
Spike shrugged and shoved his jeans down over slender hips. “Nah,” he said. “Not like I’ve got anything you haven’t seen before. Not unless your love life is even more pathetic than I’d suspected.”
Xander’s mouth had gone too dry to reply, but if he’d been able, he would have disagreed. He was pretty sure he’d never seen a body like Spike’s outside of certain magazines he didn’t admit to owning. Spike was all smooth skin and tight ripples of muscle, interrupted by a tiny pair of black briefs. It really wasn’t fair. Xander spent all day lifting heavy chunks of wood and working with power tools, and he didn’t look like that.
Tara looked Spike over clinically, taking in his compact form from head to toe. “This should work. Put these on and get up here,” she ordered, her shyness forgotten as she got caught up in thoughts of her craft. Xander expected Spike to protest, but he obeyed Tara meekly, donning the gray trousers and blue shirt she’d handed him and climbing up on the stool.
Xander turned back to the window, but his focus was on Tara and Spike. If he concentrated, he could make out their watery reflections in the glass, Spike standing very still on the stool and Tara kneeling at his feet, pinning up his hems. They looked oddly comfortable together.
“You know,” Tara said, looking up at Spike, “You’re going to have to dye your hair soon.”
Spike grimaced. “I know it. The twitchy blond boy showed me the wig I’m to wear in the first scene, so I can match the color.”
“At least you’ve got plenty of experience, right?” Tara asked encouragingly, pulling the fabric carefully into place. “I mean, if that’s your real hair color, I’m Harmony’s best friend.”
“Ain’t like I bleach it myself. I always get a mate to do it for me,” Spike said. It was hard to tell from the reflection, but Xander thought he might be pouting.
Tara patted Spike on the leg just below his knee. “I’m sure someone will be willing to help you with your hair,” she assured him. “Oh, I know! Xander can do it.”
The putty knife Xander was using to chip old paint away from the window frame slipped, and for a moment he was terrifyingly certain he’d broken the window. Only once he’d run his hands over the glass, verifying that it was all in one piece did Xander turn around. “What?” he demanded.
Tara tucked her hair back behind her ear and gave him the crooked smile that made him see what Willow loved about her. “You know you’re good at it, Xander,” she said in a reasonable voice.
Xander opened and closed his mouth, unable to think of a good comeback. The thing was, he was good at it. He’d been helping the girls dye their hair for years, but he didn’t advertise the fact. It was like his Snoopy Dance and his habit of dipping his French fries into his milkshake: private. Friends-only knowledge.
Spike was smirking at him again. “Really?” he drawled. “A blokey bloke like you?”
Tara’s smile had turned a little anxious, but she said, “He helps Willow and Buffy with theirs. Don’t you?”
“Only because Buffy forgets to get the roots,” Xander mumbled. “And Willow gets distracted by the chemical reactions.”
“S-so you can help Spike,” Tara nodded firmly, but Xander noticed the return of her stutter. He hated that he’d caused it to come back when Spike didn’t seem to bother her at all.
“Don’t matter,” Spike said. “I can find someone else.” Except Xander knew that no one else on the show liked Spike well enough to volunteer, which meant Spike would have to go to a hair place and pay to get it dyed. Which sucked, because no one at the Playhouse was making all that much money. And Tara was looking at him with big, hopeful eyes.
“Yeah, I can do it,” Xander said with a sigh. Tara gifted him with a blinding smile, and Spike’s lips curved into something much friendlier than his usual smirk.
“That’s great,” Tara said. “You can do that right after I fit the jacket.” Xander nodded mutely and went back to work on the window, pretending he wasn’t watching Tara and Spike’s reflections almost the entire time.
***
Xander considered dying Spike’s hair somewhere at the theatre, but it was only days before tech rehearsal, and the entire place was crawling with people. So he took Spike and his box of hair color back to his apartment, frantically trying to remember if he’d left underwear in the middle of the living room or anything humiliating like that.
“This is it,” he said self-consciously as he unlocked the door. Spike came in behind him, looking around dispassionately at Xander’s comic books and DVDs. Xander fiddled with his keys. This really wasn’t how he’d pictured the first time he brought a guy home with him. “I think the kitchen would probably work,” he said, shoving his keys in his pocket before he started driving himself crazy.
Spike nodded. He pulled off his coat and looked at Xander expectantly. “How do you want me, then?”
Xander blushed so hot it almost hurt. And Spike wasn’t even leering this time. “Here,” he said, leading the way into the kitchen. He was ridiculously grateful that he’d done the dishes that morning. “You can stick your head in the sink and get your hair wet, and I’ll go get a towel and stuff.” He stumbled from the room, still trying to force down the flush on his cheeks. He rummaged around in the bathroom for a comb, some shampoo, and an old towel that he wouldn’t mind staining.
“Okay,” he said, heading back to the kitchen. “Usually you wouldn’t wash your hair before dying it, but yours is all full of crunchy gel, so we’ve got to ...” He trailed off, taking in the sight of Spike leaning over his sink, shirtless. Spike in nothing but jeans had been stunning in the costume loft with Tara present, but alone in Xander’s kitchen, he was ... Xander’s vocabulary gave out. Something bigger and brighter than stunning. He stepped forward wordlessly and handed Spike the shampoo.
“Thanks, mate,” Spike said. He sounded casual, like there was nothing out of the ordinary about washing his hair in another man’s sink. Who knew? Maybe Spike did this all the time. Maybe Xander was just inexperienced, and kitchen-sink shampooing was de rigeur for guys like Spike. Maybe ... maybe Xander should give Spike the towel before he drowned himself in Xander’s sink.
Xander didn’t own any chairs, but he dragged in a stool from the breakfast bar. “Have a seat,” he directed. “And get your hair as dry as you can.” He spread the directions for the hair dye on the counter and leaned over them, checking to make sure there was nothing unexpected about them.
“This should be fine,” he said, clapping his hands together and turning to face Spike. Spike was watching him with an odd expression on his face and ... “Hey, curls,” Xander exclaimed.
Spike raised a hand and ran it through his hair. “Curls,” he agreed ruefully. Then his gaze sharpened. “Tell anyone and I’ll make your life hell.”
Xander rolled his eyes. “Yes, because I spend so much of my time gossiping about people’s hair,” he said.
Spike shifted on his stool. “You might. Apparently spend all your time playing with girls’ hair, don’tcha? How’m I to know what you gossip about.”
Xander busied himself putting on the plastic gloves that came in the box. “I don’t gossip,” he denied. “I may occasionally speculate on how many brain cells Harmony uses to keep her feet and mouth moving at the same time, but that’s not the same thing.” He popped open the little metal tube of hair color and squeezed it into the activator.
Spike wrinkled his nose. “I don’t understand her,” he said. “She remembers her lines and her blocking and all, but when we’re off stage, it like she hasn’t got a brain in her head.”
Xander held a finger over the top of the activator bottle and started shaking it up. “Willow and I had a theory in junior high that she’s got a multiple personality disorder. It was the only way we could explain the fact that she couldn’t memorize enough information to pass history, but she could remember the whole entire script to Carousel.” He held the bottle up at eye level and tried to see if it was mixed enough. “You ready?” he asked.
“Do your worst,” Spike said. Xander paused at the wobble in Spike’s voice.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Tara was right. I’m actually pretty good at this.”
“Wasn’t worried,” Spike denied. But his shoulders were a taut line (which Xander did not want to lick), so Xander started talking again to distract him.
“Cordelia’s smart,” he said matter-of-factly as he combed Spike’s hair into sections. “She used to try to hide it. But then the Playhouse hired Giles, and he is not impressed by stupid people. So she let a few things slip about books she’s read and character analysis. She’s not Willow-smart, but she’s not dumb.”
Spike nodded under Xander’s hands. “She can act,” he said grudgingly. “I’d like to gag her half the time, though.”
Xander chuckled and started applying the dye to Spike’s hair. “I think her tongue is a lethal weapon. Riley’s a good guy,” he observed.
Spike’s shoulders went even tighter. “Thinks he’s better than me,” he said bitterly. “Bloke’s always looking down on me.”
“Well, can you blame him?” Xander asked mildly. Spike’s shoulders looked like knotted cords, and Xander wondered if he should offer him a massage after the hair dying was over. “Riley’s just so tall,” Xander continued. “He has to look down on everyone.”
Spike relaxed a fraction. “We’re going to look right foolish on stage together,” he confided. “He’s got more of the look of a leading man about him. Why’d he not get the role when Angel took off?”
Xander snorted and moved to a new section of hair. “It wouldn’t work,” he said. “Riley’s solid on stage, and he can really pull out the emotion when he has to, but he can’t hold an audience. He thinks he wants to be the lead, but when it comes down to it, he’s better at supporting someone else, and the audience can tell.”
Xander finished all the roots and started working the dye through Spike’s curls. “It’s why we were all so freaked when Angel decided to do his Invisible Man impression. We’ve got plenty of people who can act in small parts, but no one else who can really carry a show.”
“Suppose that’s why I was welcomed with such open arms,” Spike said ironically.
Xander rolled his eyes. “Maybe it was just your sweet disposition.” He gave a last dab to the hair over Spike’s right ear. “Okay, that should do it. Now we wait half an hour and rinse you out.” Xander peeled off his gloves and dropped them into the trash. He was really supposed to keep them on for the rinsing, but he’d rather risk stained hands than put up with the feeling of them longer than he absolutely had to.
“So,” Spike said awkwardly, shifting on his stool. “What’ll we do till then?”
Xander checked his watch, then looked back at Spike. “What are your feelings about Playstation?” he asked.
Spike’s feelings about Playstation turned out to be strong and competitive. He almost growled when Xander stopped him in the middle of a game to go rinse his hair. “I know,” Xander said, “that kicking my ass at Star Wars LEGO is vital to your continuing health, but if you don’t want green hair, you better let me rinse you.”
Xander had Spike bend over the sink again, rinsing his hair with the vegetable sprayer. Xander was standing behind him, a bit off to the side so he could reach better, running the fingers of his left hand through Spike’s curls to make sure he got all of the dye out. Maybe it was the steam drifting up from the sink, maybe it was the floral-chemical scent of the hair dye, but Xander suddenly felt light-headed. He leaned closer and ... That was Spike’s naked back pressed against Xander chest, Spike’s skull beneath his fingertips. It was like someone had flipped a switch and woken up Xander’s body, which had been lulled into complacency by the video games and banter. He took a deep breath and turned off the water.
“All done,” Xander said, stepping away. He wiped his hands on his jeans. “You’re good to go.” He stared down at his linoleum as though he’d never seen it; it kept him from staring at the way Spike’s wet hair clung to his face, the way stray water droplets rolled down his pale neck.
“Right,” Spike said, his voice sharp. “Thanks for the afternoon of beautification and frivolity. I’ll just be off, then.”
When Xander finally looked up, Spike had his shirt back on and his coat in his hands. His hair was still darkened with damp, but Xander could make out the dark-blond it would be when it dried. It made Spike look younger, less hard-edged. Xander liked it. He bit his lip to keep from saying so.
“Later, mate,” Spike said, heading for the door.
“Spike?” Xander called. Spike paused in the doorway, and Xander swallowed down the inappropriate and stupid urge to ask him out. “Don’t wash your hair for at least twenty-four hours,” he said.
Spike looked back at him, his eyes flat. “I’ll remember that,” he said. And then he was gone.
***
They had a paper tech on Tuesday, running over all the cues for the lights, sound, costumes, and sets, and making sure everyone on the crew knew what they were supposed to be doing. It went so smoothly that no one was surprised when the actual tech rehearsal Wednesday was an unmitigated disaster. Jonathan, who was running the sound board, stumbled against the equipment and threw off all the levels. Buffy got in an argument with Amy over the headset and forgot to call three lighting cues and a set change. And one third of Xander’s beautiful set got caught on a cable that should have been taped down and almost pitched over on top of Scott, who’d been moving it.
When he saw his set starting to topple, Xander’s breath caught and his heart clenched. He was unexpectedly and deeply sorry for the time he’d talked Willow into balancing on top of her backyard fence, thereby scaring her mother half to death. Between Scott and Andrew, they got the set piece stable, and Xander could breathe again. Which was useful, because he needed his breath to yell at whoever had failed to tape down that cable.
When tech finally, finally ended, Xander went out back to escape the people still milling around. He loved the Playhouse and most of the people working in it, but sometimes he wanted to kill them all and hide the bodies in the prop room. But only figuratively, he reassured himself.
When he stepped out into the cool night air, he was surprised to find someone already out there. Spike was sitting on the back stoop, turning over a pack of cigarettes in his hands.
“You’d better not smoke in costume,” Xander warned him, grinning when Spike started at his voice. “Tara seems nice, but you don’t want to see her when someone messes with her costumes.”
Spike looked down at the gray suit he was still wearing. “Suppose you’re right,” he conceded. “’Specially since she really worked on this one. She probably wouldn’t mind as much about the thrift store specials from the first scene.”
Xander drifted over to sit next to Spike, staring out at the dark alley. “Think you’ll survive the show?” he asked.
“Please. It’ll take more than you lot to do me in,” Spike said. He gave Xander a sidelong look. “Not that I’m recommending you try. Saw your set about to drop on that wanker backstage.”
“Hey, that so wasn’t my fault!” Xander said. He was about to launch into a defense of his set when he saw the smile lurking around Spike’s lips. He nudged him in the side. “Jerk.”
Spike twisted to face Xander. “I am,” he said simply.
Xander looked at him for a long time, cataloging the way his eyes had gone black in the darkness, the way the shadows picked out the line of his jaw. “You’re not so bad,” he said.
“I am,” Spike assured him, leaning closer. “I’m a bad, rude man, and I won’t tell you pretty lies to make you happy.”
“Lies are never pretty,” Xander whispered. Spike was moving slowly, slowly toward him, and Xander had the surreal feeling that they were going to stay like this forever, moving closer inch by inch and never connecting. It seemed inevitable and sad, and that’s why he reached out a hand and pulled Spike in, kissing him fast and hard.
The unreality of the moment was gone in a heartbeat, and Xander was surrounded in the solid now of Spike’s mouth on his, wet and willing. The stoop they were sitting on was cold and hard, and Xander heard the soft thump of Spike’s cigarette’s hitting the ground, but he didn’t have any attention to spare. It was all focused on Spike: the firm heat of his chest against Xander’s, the scent of his skin, muted by the smell of makeup and hairspray. The way Spike’s hands clutched at his face, like Spike had been just as careful not to think about this as Xander had.
“This is,” Xander gasped, “This is a really bad idea.”
Spike pulled away sharply. “Why? Tell me you don’t want me and I won’t believe you.” His voice was belligerent, but his eyes were hurt.
“No, it’s ...” Xander tightened his hands on Spike’s arms and tried to catch his breath. “You said, when you first got here, you said you weren’t going to stay long. If this sucks, we’ll have to go through the whole show all awkward and irritated, but if it’s great, you’ll leave and I’ll be left behind. I don’t want to be like Buffy.”
Spike pushed forward to press another kiss to Xander’s lips. “It won’t suck,” he promised hotly. “Trust me.” Xander did. He was sure Spike had never had bad sex in his life. “And it won’t be like Buffy and the moron, because I’m not going to take off like Angel did, all tragic and silent and certain it’s for your own good.”
Xander slid a hand up to tangle in Spike’s hair. He felt a flair of possession as the dark-blond curls wound around his fingers. “So if you leave, you’ll be what? Loud and happy and to hell with me?”
“If I leave,” Spike said, “I’ll tell you. Tell you when and why and where I’m going.” Xander knew he should stop and consider this, think about the fact that Spike wasn’t promising to stay, that Spike admitted to being an ass. But Spike was right there, and he felt so good that Xander was nodding before he knew it.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Okay.”
***
Xander didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe a one night stand. Maybe a casual affair for the length of the show, followed by a round of intense sulking when Spike left. But he hadn’t been expecting Spike, hot and sweet and intense in his bed every night, arch and mocking at the theatre every day. He was surprised to find himself enjoying Spike’s pointed wit – not as much as he was enjoying the sex, but he was only human.
Dress rehearsal went just badly enough to reassure everyone that the opening would be a success. Xander didn’t consider himself superstitious, but you couldn’t survive long in the theatre without absorbing some of the lore. Opening night, he kissed Spike good-bye and went to meet Willow and Buffy for their traditional pre-show pizza. On other nights, Xander liked his pizza loaded with meat, but before opening night they always got pineapple.
Buffy had her hair pulled back into a business-like ponytail, and she was dressed all in black just in case she had to help the set crew at some point. The clothes made her look pale and wan, and Xander found himself noticing dark circles under her eyes.
“Are you doing alright, Buff?” he asked, shoving a root beer toward her.
“I’m good,” she said, smiling faintly. “I got a postcard from Angel, and it just ... Why would he leave if he still loves me?” she asked plaintively.
Willow bit he lip and fiddled with her crust. “Maybe he thought he was over you, but then he started missing you. And so now he realizes that he really loves you after all.” Her voice trailed upward uncertainly.
“Maybe,” Xander nibbled on a piece of pineapple and wondered if Spike’s comments about Angel were meant to be private. “Maybe he thought he was doing what was best for you when he left.” He took a swallow of root beer. “Or we could go back to the theory that he’s a big stupid head. I like that theory,” he said wistfully.
“Because it’s so good for me to sit around eating Phish Food and wondering what I did to drive him away,” Buffy said bitterly.
“Did he put a return address on the postcard?” Willow asked. “You could write back to him.”
“I’m planning to,” Buffy told her. “As soon as I can write a letter that doesn’t start out ‘What the hell?’ and end with ‘Please come back.’ So it should just be a couple more days.”
Xander took a big bite of pizza to keep himself from saying anything more. But as soon as he got Spike home that night, Xander stripped him naked and proceeded to show him how grateful he was for the promise not to bail without telling Xander why.
***
“So,” Xander said, leaning his head back to offer Spike better access to his neck. “The Playhouse is dark tomorrow. You wanna do something?”
Spike lifted his head and shimmied a few inches so he could look Xander in the eye. “Something like what?” he asked warily.
Xander wrapped his arms around Spike’s waist and tugged until Spike was sprawled atop him. “Something like a date,” he said.
“This is something like a date,” Spike protested. “I don’t even make you buy me dinner before you get your end away.”
“We could see a movie,” Xander suggested. “I’ll buy you popcorn.”
“Popcorn and Junior Mints,” Spike bargained. “And the film has to have explosions.”
“Deal,” Xander said. “Now, about that ‘getting my end away’ thing ...”
Xander loved Mondays during a show run. It felt so decadent to spend an entire day not thinking about the show, preparing for the show, working on the show. He’d worked himself up into a blaze of goodwill by the time he and Spike headed for the movies.
“How many films about absolutely nothing get made every year?” Spike asked. He pointed at the marquee. “Look, there are two about complete idiots and the trouble they get up to, three about villains who murder people for no reason whatever, and two about silly bints recovering from heartbreak. Aren’t there more stories than that in the world?”
“You forgot the one we’re seeing,” Xander pointed out. “The one about a maverick who takes down the bad guys all by himself. With lots of explosions.”
“Well, that one’s fine enough,” Spike said. “Hollywood’s bound to hit on a good idea once in a while.”
“Come on,” Xander said, pulling Spike toward the ticket counter. “I don’t mind if you mock the trailers, but I don’t want to miss them.”
Xander didn’t protest when Spike led him up to the back row of the theater, and he didn’t object when Spike’s hand landed in his lap, as if by accident. And he certainly didn’t complain when, at the height of the movie, during the fiery rain of the big explosion, Xander exploded, too, gasping and seeing fireworks behind his eyelids.
***
Tuesday night, Xander had to tighten the screws on the casters under his set pieces. He greatly preferred that the wheels not fall off halfway through the run of the show. He was crouching behind the middle piece, tightening the screw on the back right corner, when he heard voices near the prop table. He was about to stick his head around the side to remind whoever it was that Buffy would torment them forever if they disarranged the props when he heard his name.
“Seriously, Xander and Spike together. Right out in public, like Spike wasn’t the creepiest little troll ever to crash into Sunnydale,” Cordelia’s voice was saying. Xander scowled. Cordelia really knew how to hold a grudge.
“Really?” Riley said. “I didn’t think they even spoke to each other.”
“Speaking probably isn’t necessary,” Harmony tittered.
“I think it’s obvious what’s going on,” Cordelia asserted. “Spike has been a pain since he got here, but we need him to stick around or the show’s sunk. So I think Buffy enlisted her little errand boy to keep Spike happy.”
“I don’t think Buffy would do that,” Riley said doubtfully. “And I’m pretty sure Xander wouldn’t agree.”
“Xander’s always done whatever Buffy said,” Cordelia told him.
“And she’s been kind of pathetic since Angel ran off on her,” Harmony agreed. “She probably doesn’t even mind pimping her friend out to a jerk.”
“I think,” Spike interrupted, his voice a cold, tight one Xander hadn’t heard from him before, “that you should see about your hair and makeup and stop talking about things you have no understanding of.” He wasn’t even yelling, but there was a threat to his tone that made it ring sharply.
Xander peeked around the set piece and Cordelia, Harmony, and Riley scattering. Spike was standing near the prop table in costume for the first scene. He should have looked absurd, with the wig and false nose, pads in his cheeks and on his stomach, but the scowl on his face was intimidating. His fists were clenched so tight that the skin on his knuckles had gone white.
“Spike?” Xander said, hauling himself to his feet. “You okay? They were just -“
“I’ve got to go get into character,” Spike cut in. He turned on his heel and headed for the men’s dressing room. Xander stared after him.
He was still standing there, staring at nothing, when Buffy called places ten minutes later.
***
Xander didn’t usually watch the shows from the front of the house, but he didn’t think he’d be able to sit quietly backstage tonight, facilitating set changes like he was fine. He claimed a seat in the back, near the follow-spot, and slumped low in his seat.
When the curtain opened, the first thing Xander saw was his set. The pieces were separated and turned so that the sides shaped and painted to look like columns showed. It was supposed to suggest a museum, but Xander was too biased to tell if it was effective. Then the action started, and Xander was caught up, amazed that Spike and Cordelia could flirt and banter when he knew they’d rather be pulling each other’s hair. Xander had known Spike was a decent actor, but he hadn’t appreciated just how skilled he was.
Xander tried to lose himself in the show, but each set change drew his attention back to the logistics instead of the magic. The pieces of the set were turned and locked together to form different rooms: living room, bedroom, waiting room, restaurant. He made mental notes about things that could work better in the future and regretted that he hadn’t brought a notepad. As the action moved toward the climax, though, Xander found himself paying less attention to the set and more to the action, tensing for the confrontation he knew was coming.
When it arrived, it was almost a relief. He was grateful that Spike got to let go of some of his anger, that he didn’t have to play the besotted fool anymore. If Spike’s voice had rung true when he spoke Adam’s declarations of love for Cordelia’s Evelyn, it positively crackled with emotion when he shouted at her.
“Heartless cunt!” he called her, and Xander bit his lip, the hurt in Spike’s voice was so real. When it was over, Spike was left alone on the stage, slumped and shattered. Xander didn’t know how much of it was real, and he didn’t know if he wanted to find out.
The curtain went down, and the audience slowly made their way out, leaving Xander sitting alone in the front of the house. He could have gone out and down the hall, taking the approved route to the backstage area, but instead he walked down the steps and hoisted himself up onto the stage. He half expected to find Spike still there, but the stage was empty.
He wound his way backstage. Ordinarily, it would be full of chatter and activity as people reset the stage, hung up costumes, and made plans for the night. Tonight, everything was quiet until he got to the greenroom.
“-found out she’d passed up an internship to stay here, mooning around after him. He’s no Einstein, so he thought the best thing to do would be to shove off and let her get on with her life and career. Stupid git didn’t think about the fact that if she’d not go off for a few months without him, she’d be hurt when he left without her.” Spike said, his voice loud and measured. “Doesn’t make her pathetic. Makes her in love,” he said acidly. “And no, she didn’t ask Xander to take care of me, or any other kind euphemisms you may have come up with. So I’ll thank you to keep you disgusting tongues in your empty heads.”
Xander was right outside the greenroom doors when they crashed open and Spike stomped into the hallway. He’d already changed out of his costume, but his face was still made up for the stage. Xander stared at him dumbly.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Spike said. Xander nodded, his throat full of unasked questions. Spike looked at him and said, “You coming?” and Xander nodded, the most important question answered.
***
They usually ended up at Xander’s place, but tonight they went to Spike’s apartment instead. It was just enough of a difference to put Xander on edge, after the night they’d had. He sat stiffly on the edge of the lumpy sofa that had come with the apartment when Spike rented the place.
“I never got on with Angel,” Spike said. It seemed like such a non sequitur that Xander started and stared at him. “We had a mate in common, though, so I put up with him.” Xander remembered Buffy’s comment about the “pasty little pain in the ass” and guessed that Angel had been putting up with Spike, too.
“When he called Dru and asked her if I would take the role here, I thought it mustn’t be much of a plum, if he was offering it to me. I didn’t much like the idea of taking his castoffs, but Dru thought it would be good for me, so I came. Met you, and thought maybe she was right. But I can also see that he shouldn’t have left. Was a right stupid move, and it’s left your little Buffy all broken up. From what I hear, it’s left Angel pretty broken up, as well.”
Xander shifted even farther forward on the edge of the couch, trying to read the future in the shape of Spike’s words. He thought maybe he’d be able to see where this was going if Spike would only look at him, but Spike had his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall somewhere past Xander’s left ear.
“I called Dru before the show tonight. Told her to send Angel back and put him out of his misery.”
Xander dug his fingers into the sofa. “But Tara already altered all the costumes,” he protested inanely.
Spike met Xander’s eyes for the first time since he’d started talking. “Does that mean you don’t want me to go?” he asked mildly.
“Of course I don’t want you to go. At what point in the talking and playing and hot sex did I imply that I wanted you to go?” Xander demanded.
“Even if your mates at the Playhouse think I’m a troll who needs the pity of his stage manager to get laid?”
“Hey, I can’t help it if they get struck blind when they’re insulted,” Xander said.
“So if Giles implied that he might be willing to expand the cast a bit and keep me on if Angel came to his senses, you’d be okay with that?” Spike asked. The wariness in his face was fading away, leaving a teasing smile behind.
“You! God, you made me suffer through this whole ‘Angel is coming back’ speech when you knew you’d be sticking around the whole time?” Xander didn’t think of himself as a violent man, but he was seriously considering rethinking that position.
“Wasn’t sure I was sticking around,” Spike said. “I wanted to know what you thought about it first.”
“I think I might tie you to the bed and never let you leave. Which sounds a lot kinkier and less chastising than it sounded in my head,” Xander told him. He lurched up off the lumpy sofa and grabbed hold of Spike.
“You’d be okay with it, then?” Spike asked, softer this time.
Xander kissed him. He wondered if he ought to stop long enough to say yes, but Spike was kissing him back, and it really didn’t seem worth the effort.
Besides, Spike was an actor. He knew how to read the cues.
****************************
ETA: The concept for the hair-dying scene probably owes its inspiration to
sublimatedangel's Something With a "D", which you should totally read. A lot.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-01 09:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 05:52 pm (UTC)