I finished something.

I wrote AU Human Spandery fic with a bit of Spangel. It's set in the UK in the early nineties and is stupid. It's kind of Buffy meets Spinal Tap and they go on a Bad News Tour. It's very OOC and starts off on the premise that Xander moved to England when he was thirteen so now no one can pick on the inaccuracies of the language *pokes tongue out*

The whole thing was beta'd by sangpassionne today. She is an absolute star for doing it. kitty_poker1 got out of the horrible task by me being far too impatient to wait for her to get back from work.

No warnings
Rated R
Pairings S/X some S/A

Smoochies to sangpassionne for the beta and to eyezrthewindows and kitty_poker1 for being there to calm my frayed nerves.

LiL   dEVILs

by
Evil Manic Laugh

Part One

Alex turned and looked at himself from every possible angle in the full length mirror. Even upside down and blindfolded, he’d still look a complete doofus in the leather jeans. Why the fuck had he wasted a week’s wages on them when there was no way he’d have the balls to actually wear the things anywhere? Not that he’d have the balls to go along to that gig tonight with or without pants.

Unfastening the zipper, he tugged at the leather but somehow it had welded itself to his sweaty skin. Alex felt tears of frustration well up as he collapsed down to his knees and looked up at the mocking faces that stared back at him from every wall -- Nikki, Tommy, Axl, Duff, he bet a million dollars that they’d never got stuck inside their jeans.

They were his gods. They’d been his salvation through the last five years since he’d been sent from California to live with his Aunt Louisa in Battersea. Their music had kept him sane whenever he thought back to the rejection by his parents.

‘We’re sorry, Alexander but your daddy needs to get over his illness and he can’t do that with you around making all that noise.’

Illness. That was a joke. His father was a mean abusive drunk and if it wasn’t for his friends he’d never have got through the first thirteen years of his life. Now there was no more Willow and Jesse. No one to talk to and confide in. He’d not made a real friend since he’d lived in London. His aunt had been okay; unmarried and unused to children she’d pretty much left him to his own devices. Cooking his meals, doing the laundry and handing out money when asked seemed to be the extent of her parental abilities and Alex could tell she found all of those difficult. She hadn’t batted an eyelid when he’d got himself a job in Halfords as trainee manager in the bicycle department and moved out to a bedsit in Tooting Bec.

It had been four months since he’d been living in the luxury of his own flat. 4a Barnaby Terrace was little more than a cellar with a kitchenette inside a cupboard and a shower room partitioned off by a curtain, but it was all his for forty quid a week. The posters of his favourite bands covered every wall and made the place a shrine to all that was rock and roll. Motley Crue, Guns n Roses, Poison, Faster Pussycat, LA Guns -- debauched and slovenly boys with dyed, backcombed hair and smudged lipstick, displaying their tattoos in porn star poses all over his room. Alex had beaten off to them every night, kissed their two dimensional lips, fucked them up against the cold damp walls making sure that he came in a handful of toilet roll so as not to spoil his glossy illusion.

He didn’t do that anymore, not since two weeks ago last Tuesday. Not since he’d fallen in lust deep in the heart of Camden Market.

It was a boring Tuesday and he had the day off work. With nothing better to do he spent it trawling through the second hand clothes racks and trying to find something that would be cool and still let him be Alex Harris. The baggy jeans and loud shirts may have felt as comfortable as a second skin but they were never gonna get him laid, not in a million years.

“Hello gorgeous,” said a voice behind him.

He didn’t look at first. That would be dumb. That would make him look like the retard he really was.

“Hey, pretty brown eyed boy.”

He had brown eyes; big, stupid, sappy, pathetic, Bambi brown eyes that instinctively turned in the direction of the low lilting voice.

It was like a bolt of lightning snapping through the heat haze on that muggy summer’s day. Gone were his old Gods, relegated instantaneously to the third division of fantasy wankdom. Here was the future and it came in the shape of a short, skinny guy with blond spiked hair and bleached jeans and a Cult t-shirt that was ripped in half displaying a good sized amount of taut stomach. Alex found himself imagining what it would be like to tongue fuck that slightly protruding belly button.

“Hi, gorgeous, I’m Spike. How are you today?”

Alex was lost for words so he nodded and smiled, then stared blankly at the rack of jewellery in front of the sleepy eyed man.

“You musta had as good a night as I did, mate, you looked knackered.”

“I so wish.”

Oh no. Oh no no no. No, he didn’t really say that, did he? Spike was laughing at him but not in a bad way and, as a warm suntanned arm wrapped itself around his waist, Alex thought he could finally die a happy man – a happy virgin? Not possible. Maybe he could die just a little later on…

“I’m in a band, see? We were playing up at the Royal Standard last night and well, one thing led to another, and I never made it to bed.” Spike grinned and his tongue curled up, sneaking its way over his front teeth “Well I made it to bed but didn’t get no sleep, ‘f you know what I mean.”

Was hyperventilating a cool thing to do? Alex hoped so because he was just about at that point. “What’s the name of your band?” he asked, trying to distract his cock from wanting to make an appearance.

“LiL dEVILs. Hey, have you got your ear pierced?”

Alex nodded. Jesse had done it for him as a memento before he left for England. He’d been heartbroken when he’d lost that little silver stud last year, it had meant the world to him and he’d never bothered to wear one since.

“This is so you don’t forget me,” Spike showed Alex the devil’s head earring then reached up and inserted it into the hole in his left ear, sealing it in place with the tiny butterfly. By the time Alex had remembered enough words to thank him he realised that Spike had disappeared beneath the market stall. The voice was muffled but Alex could still make out a few words “… forgot… got … CD here.” Spike dragged out a cardboard box and rummaged inside it, bubble wrap and polystyrene packing spilling onto the tarmac.

Alex took the jewel case from Spike and looked at the cover. It was a cheap and cheerful production, the print job wasn’t too good but the boys in the band were stunning. He looked from the CD to Spike and back again.

“I look better when I got me face on and I’ve managed to get a couple of hour’s kip,” he said, grinning sheepishly.

Short, rumpled but sexy Spike was rapidly mutating into a full-blown rock god in Alex’s over imaginative mind.

“I’d give it you for free but Angel would string me up by my nads if I so much as thought about it. He’s the bass player.” Spike pointed at a broad handsome man with a boyish grin and spiked long black hair.

“H-h-h-how much?” stammered Alex, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

“S’posed to be a tenner but to you, coz of those pretty eyes, how about a fiver?”

Alex handed over the crumpled note in a daze and took the CD, holding on to it as if it were made of platinum. He blinked owlishly then turned to walk away feeling an immediate absence which dissolved into a surge of happiness when he heard Spike’s voice and once again it was aimed at him.

“Hey, brown eyes, we’re playing the Marquee on the nineteenth. It’s a Thursday which ain’t so good coz everyone’s getting some rest in before the weekend but it’s the Marquee, you know.”

Alex nodded. The Marquee was legendary. All the best bands had played there.

“Angel says I should never have agreed to it coz no one’ll be there, but I say fuck him. Anyway, have a listen to the CD and if you like us, come along and hear us live.”

There was a little boy lost quality about Spike which made Alex feel the need to go along with everything he said. His interest in the man had nothing to with six pack abs and flirtatious blue eyes and cheekbones which belonged on a model. No, it was definitely that plaintive thing that worked best.

As soon as Alex got home he played the CD over and over again until the dickheads in the upstairs flat were banging on the floor to get him to shut up. He turned the volume down but carried on listening, thumbing through the paper booklet and reading the lyrics as he lay on his stomach and humped the pillow, day dreaming about turning up at the Marquee transformed into the kind of Adonis that could easily seduce a rock star god.

Alex scrubbed away the tears. So where was this big transformation? What had he done in two and a half weeks to get Spike to the point of fainting in his arms, overcome by arousal? He’d bought a fucking stupid pair of leathers that were now superglued to his butt. He looked at his watch and then struggled to his feet. It was four o’ clock and he had a couple of hours left to decide his future. Sucking in his stomach and fastening the jeans back up, he switched on the CD player.

“Take what you want and do what you wanna do.
Don’t let them break you, fake it, make it happen.”

The lyrics were written by Spike and they may have been bloody awful but they were a definite omen. That track was half way through the CD, which either meant someone was trying to tell him something or the disc was bust. He turned the stereo off and on and the CD began to play from the beginning. Yeah, it was the sign he’d been waiting for.

“Hey, Alex,” he said to his reflection. “Maybe these jeans look better when you’re wearing a shirt with them?”

Which shirt though? Had to be black for sure, but plain or band? Vintage or new? Motley or Guns? Looped or just plain crazy? He grabbed a beer from the useless refrigerator, popped the top and swigged at the revolting warm liquid. Good thing he never kept any food in there or he’d be dead from salmonella by now. He sighed. Food poisoning seemed a great prospect right now.

Covering both hands in dollops of firm hold gel, he threaded his fingers through his longish tangled brown hair hoping that it would instantly give him that sexy spiked look. But it just sat around his face in wet strands looking as if he’d been involved in an explosion at the grease factory. After half an hour he settled for vaguely tousled and refused ever again to acknowledge that he had hair.

To make up or not to make up, that was the question. Anything more than a hint of eyeliner made him look like a sad clown and that was not of the good. He opted for less is more, then went headlong into pure panic mode when he realised he was as ready as he would ever be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Alex peered tentatively at himself in the mirror and he was … well, pleased wasn’t the word, but he looked a little less ordinary than usual. Calming his nerves with another beer, he switched on the portable telly his aunt had given him, twirling the aerial around until he got a halfway decent picture. He couldn’t take in any of the news, just sat there biting his nails and waiting for the time to pass quicker, or slower, or hopefully stop altogether.

Part Two

Alex had never been so terrified in all his life. After paying his money at the door he felt this wave of elation/trepidation rush over him and it almost had him running for the bathroom but he calmed himself down and made his way through to the bar. The biggest crush of people was just by the entrance and he had no problem at all getting a drink. Gripping hold of the bendy plastic pint glass to stop it sliding through his fingers, he was suddenly scared for Spike. What if no one else came? What if they ended up only playing to the thirty or so people who were here? They’d be so upset and Angel would be mad and Spike would be in trouble for getting them booked here on a Thursday. Oh God, he was such a loser. He didn’t know these people. Spike wouldn’t even remember him, so why the hell was he wasting all this pity on them when it should most probably be put aside for himself for later on?

Slowly, to his relief, the club filled with a steady stream of pretty girls and prettier boys who pushed past him and on towards the stage. Finishing his second pint, he ran to the bathroom for a piss and then made his way to the front. What if he was here on the wrong night? It had said nothing on the ticket stub or outside. He felt sick all over again until he saw the band logo emblazoned on Lindsey’s bass drum. On a scale of one to ten that rated an eleven for sad. He had their names etched into his memory already. He was just on the point of driving himself insane with this longwinded, internal commentary when the crowd pushed forward, power chords rang out and the show was on.

They were divine. Angel skulked moodily around the stage dressed head to toe in black, glaring impressively at the audience as he thrummed out the bass line with unerring accuracy. Lindsey was a complete contrast to the brooding bass player. Bare-chested with sweat pouring off him, he threw himself into the performance, spinning his sticks and yelling backing vocals into the microphone with this shit eating grin on his face the whole time. But there was no one up there on that stage – any stage -- who could outclass Spike. Dressed in black PVC jeans and thigh high stiletto boots with a blue gauze shirt buttoned up all wrong, he was awash with chunky silver jewellery and scarves that weaved their way around his wrists and belt loops. He chugged out the riffs and fills on his guitar and screamed the vocals, enthralling the audience for the entire ninety minutes. Alex hardly took his eyes off him throughout the whole set. They played every song off the CD, a couple of others that Alex didn’t recognise and five or six covers and all the time Spike danced his way across the stage, running around like a wild boy then eventually giving in and lying next to the drum riser for a minute, ‘Just to get his breath back.’ He knew how to work a crowd.

When it was over and the stage had gone dark, Alex was so depressed he wanted to cry. Just for a second he’d felt like a part of everything and had thought that, if he tried hard enough, he’d get that moment of eye contact that would make it all worth while, but there was nothing. He was just part of the circus. One more drink then he’d go back home to his squalid flat and his miserable job and Walter Mitty his way through life.

He was just about to order his fourth pint of the evening and was well on the way to being pissed, when he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck.

“What the fuck?” Spinning around as fast as his head would allow him, Alex rubbed at the sore spot and looked to see what had inflicted the damage.

“I’m sorry, he needs a muzzle,” said a soft Irish voice but Alex wasn’t able to follow where it was coming from, because in front of him was a sweaty, smudged, bare-chested skinny guy with tangled, wavy blond hair who was hopping on one leg trying to pull off his boot and swearing graphically about what he was going to do if someone didn’t help him out of these fucking things soon.

“I apologise again,” grinned the Irish man, “I’m Angel, he’s an escaped lunatic and we’ll be out of your way as soon as I get him sedated with enough whiskey to shut him up.”

Spike wiped down the top of the bar with a towel and, ignoring the complaints from the staff heaved himself up onto the sticky countertop as Angel struggled to remove the boots.

“Blimey, it’s my brown eyed boy from Camden, hey gorgeous… Oh fuck, that wasn’t you I bit was it? I’m sorry, I was gagging for a drink and I get all uncontrollable after a show.”

Just the thought that Spike’s mouth had actually touched his skin had Alex all glassy eyed and grinning.

“Spike, there are three eye colours in the whole damn world and you cannot keep using them as a form of address. It doesn’t differentiate enough.” Angel finally succeeded in removing the boots almost falling backwards in the process. “And stop wearing these fucking things. You should see him later on when he’s trying to get out of the jeans. Stick to his ass like glue they do.” Alex spluttered with laughter and relief and blushed as Angel gave him a conspiratorial wink.

“Oi, stop discussing my personal problems.” Spike reached up and clipped both men around their ears and the touch of those ring clad fingers was almost as exciting to Alex as the thought of Spike’s lips against his skin. He’d got it bad.

“Anyway, Angel’s right for once. I’m Spike, in case you’ve forgotten me, and you’re?”

It was a simple enough question so why was he filled with fear? Maybe because he was talking to the two most beautiful men in the world with the coolest names and he was just plain old Alex -- which sounded really dorky. He began to panic. “Xander Harris,” he muttered in as casual a manner as a person who has just renamed themselves after eighteen years could manage.

“Xander. Pretty name for a pretty boy,” said Spike, showing Alex another hint of tongue, but then he became distracted and began to wave frantically at someone in the crowd. As the spotlight turned off him, Alex wondered whether he ought to go but then a miracle happened and Spike introduced him to their drummer.

“Linds, this is Xander. He’s the cutey who bought our CD.”

It was like being in the sun for the first time ever. Here he was, Billy-no-mates turned elite in the blink of an eye. Everyone would look at him and say ‘What the fuck are they doing with him?’

“Hi. Did you like the album?” asked Lindsey nervously.

The drummer was American. He might even have heard of Sunnydale. Alex tried to concentrate. “I love it. I play it all the time. I know all the songs.”

“Cool.” Lindsey grinned happily but then the smile faded as he turned his attention to his friends, “Thanks for helping me put the gear away, guys”

“I’m sorry, mate, but Angel had to help me out of my boots and I needed medication for the pain from all the blisters. Buy me one drink and I’ll be happy,” begged Spike batting mascara’d eyelashes. “I’m totally skint, haven’t even got enough for a packet of fags.”

“You’re telling me one drink’ll do ya? That’ll be a fucking first.” Lindsey looked thoughtful. “Just one drink and you’ll leave me alone for the rest of the night?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Spike.

“Okay, dude. Anything to keep you out of my face.”

“I’ll have a pint of Jack Daniels, please.”

Angel and Spike erupted into laughter and Alex, Xander, felt Spike’s bare feet brush against his leg and he inched his way closer. Tonight was the best night ever. He was in love with life.

“Shit.” The drummer handed over a fistful of notes to the barmaid, rolling his eyes as Spike and Angel smiled innocently at him. “You assholes just love fucking with my head.”

“Which head?” asked Spike with a snort of laughter.

Why wasn’t he like this? wondered Xander. He had all the quippy quips and witty retorts right there on the tip of his tongue but he was never brave enough to say them aloud.

“I’m going while I still have enough money for take out,” said Lindsey surveying the crush of people at the bar. “I don’t reckon much to the groupies tonight. Think I’ll pick up Eve and have myself a little fun in the back of the truck on the way home.”

“It’s a van not a truck. How many times do we have to tell you?” said Spike all poker faced.

“Damn Yankees,” sighed Angel.

“Dumb Yankees more like,” grinned Spike.

“Texan here, so quit with the Yankee talk. See you at rehearsal on Saturday.” Lindsey slapped both his band mates’ hands then nodded goodbye to Xander. “It was good meeting you. Don’t let them get you down.”

As if. Xander had never been on such a high. He watched the drummer disappear off to the backstage area of the club and wondered how much longer it would be before the bubble burst.

Spike and Angel spent the next two hours blagging drinks off people, always including Xander and making him feel like he belonged. Xander didn’t remember how they ended up lurching along the street, crashing into walls and rubbish skips, heading in the direction of an Indian restaurant, but he was still there with them and that was all that mattered.

“Hello, gorgeous and gorgeous and gorgeouser,” slurred Spike as they meandered their way through a group of micro skirted girls who were obviously out on the pull.

It was like bees around a honey pot. Xander hung back watching Spike and Angel flirt outrageously with the pack of girls, groping them and making out with them until they were panting. He felt so stupid and awkward. He’d never even kissed anyone, except for that one sad press of lips with Jesse just after he had given him the earring. Feeling dizzy and overwhelmed by tiredness and alcohol, he slumped against the wall, wallowing in memory.

“Hey, brown eyes, what you doing down there?”

Xander blinked and shook his head. He could see at least two Angels and three Spikes and the more Spikes the better as far as he was concerned. Laughing at himself, he took the proffered hands and was dragged up into the swirly carnival world of drunken London.

“Where’ve your girlsh gone then?”

“They went home, darling.” Spike hoisted Xander up. “Dark haired one was nice, all red lips and big brown eyes. I’d have done her but she wanted to share me with her dog of a best mate and I was not putting my dick into that. Which one would you have screwed, Ange?”

“None of them kissed good enough for me, too young and inexperienced. I like women to know what they’re doing, the way my Darla does.”

Xander felt Spike’s grip on his arm tighten and it made him feel safe and amongst friends. “I’ve got something sad to tell you both,” he said mournfully. “I’m eighteen and I’m a virgin and I’ve never even been kissed.”

He was very very drunk but sober enough to regret those pitiful words as soon as they’d emerged from his mouth. A moment later however, he was lurching in a sideways direction then his back was up against a cold hard something and regret was the last thing on his mind.

“Oh baby, you’ve never been kissed? I don’t believe you.”

Xander’s heart thudded inside his chest as a warm body pressed up against him and he breathed in the scent of leather and make up and pheromones.

“Who’d not want a taste of you?” murmured Spike.

Xander was all confused now. He didn’t know who was gay or straight and which way was up or down. He didn’t know anything except that Spike was leaning against him, mouth two inches away from his and he wanted him more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, but he had to go and ruin it. “No one wants to kiss me coz I’m a dork and a dumbass and I don’t know how to kiss anything that’s not flat. And anyway I don’t want to kiss coz kissing’s for girls.”

“Kissing’s for girls and boys and everyone,” said Spike happily, his breath warming Xander’s skin. “Lemme teach you how good it is.”

For the first time in his adult life, Xander felt lips brush against his own. He tried not to pant and he tried not to panic, but when Spike sucked at his lower lip and locked his fingers around the back of his neck, he couldn’t stop his knees wobbling like a geriatric.

“It’s okay, Xan, I got you,” murmured Spike, peppering his face with soft kisses then licking a path back to his mouth, tongue pushing demandingly between Xander’s lips.

French kissing was better than Xander had ever dreamed. If this was kissing, how good would it be to fuck? He let Spike explore his mouth, sliding his tongue over Spike’s, every now and then brave enough to take the lead and discover the inside of Spike’s mouth. He was now a fully paid up member of the kissing club and by rights he should be at the top of the league table having been orally deflowered by a rock god.

“Put the baby down, Spike, and let’s get going. I’ll starve if I don’t get a vindaloo soon,” said an evil Irish voice that was trying to interrupt kissing lessons, a class Xander never wanted to graduate from.

He sulked when Spike held onto his hands and pulled him away from the wall, which was the only thing holding him upright. But then Spike was holding him up instead, all barefoot and sexy and there was more of the kissing, up against bus shelters and lampposts, cars and restaurant windows. Xander was so happy.

Xander was so not happy. He was huddled beneath a fleece blanket on someone’s couch, but the worst thing was that he had no idea whose couch it was. His mouth tasted as if he’d been drinking petrol all night and his throat was so sore he figured he must have smoked at least two hundred cigarettes.

Moving shakily forward, he managed to get his foot stuck in a bucket that was strategically placed beside the strange sofa. Thankfully the bucket wasn’t full of sick, although by the feel of that stampede of elephants inside his head it might have been a good idea if he had vomited at least some of that alcohol back up.

‘Memory, please return to me, I promise I’ll never drink again,’ he prayed as he lay back down and pulled the fleece up to cover his shivering body.

“Fuck off, Angel,” said a voice which got louder and nearer and Xander peered out from a crack between the blanket and a convenient cushion. This was scarier than the scariest horror movie. He was stuck in an unknown land with only a blanket and a bucket to protect him from… He peeped out for a little longer this time, his eyes on stalks. Apparently he was stuck here with only a blanket and a bucket to protect him from a naked sex god who was stood no more than six feet away from him. Everything came back to him in a flash of blinding light and it was a good everything, a great everything, the sort of everything that never ever happened to him.

“For fuck’s sake, Spike, I just asked you to get dressed before Darla gets here. Is it totally impossible for you to show a little decency? I don’t expect your new groupie will want to see your bollocks first thing in the morning either. Although, on the other hand-”

“Leave him out of this, you cunt. This is about you showing me some respect in my flat. If you don’t like me naked then get the fuck out and find somewhere else to live.”

Xander wasn’t paying attention to the argument; he was too busy watching Spike’s beautiful cock and Spike’s gorgeous ass to care about anything else. Naked man. His first real live naked man. He should grab this opportunity to play Cave Xander and take what he wanted. And he would if he wasn’t feeling so violently ill.

“Spike,” Angel’s voice had turned wheedling, “You know I don’t wanna move out but please put some jeans on, just for me.”

“I’m going for a shower. If she takes long enough to get here I might be dressed but if she’s too fucking keen then she’ll get to see my dick.” Spike stomped off just as Xander dared to brave the world once more.

“Morning, Xander. How are you feeling?” said Angel with a sympathetic wince at the look on Xander’s face.

“Fine. I’ll be on my way as soon as I’ve… As soon as I’ve…” Where did words go when you had a hangover?

“If you want to wash you’ll have to stick around for a while. Spike’s in the bathroom at the moment and God alone knows how long he’ll be. He’s PMSing, you know. D’ya wanna cuppa tea?”

“Thanks.” Xander looked up shyly wondering why he never looked so good in the morning as Angel did, then he stared around him stunned by his first taste of true rock and roll lifestyle. It was a great flat. A whole lot nicer than his basement. There was a big TV and a cool stereo system and if you looked beneath the surface layer of garbage you could tell that the carpet and furniture were expensive.

Angel handed him a mug of tea and then wandered off towards the bedroom exchanging a few quiet words with Spike who’d emerged wet from the shower and dressed in a pair of tighter than fuck black jeans and nothing else, literally nothing else. You could see exactly what was going on beneath those trousers.

“Morning, love,” he said sitting next to Xander who mumbled something in reply and hurried to the bathroom feeling more worthless ever. He really wanted a shower but he’d never get those wretched pants off and if by a miracle he did they’d never go on again so all he could do was have a quick wash, going over all the important bits.

Please let the mirror be lying. He didn’t really have hedgehog hair and green skin and bits of rice stuck in his teeth, did he? Hunting through the bathroom cabinet he found a new toothbrush and an unused Bic razor and after ten minutes work he looked like a clean shaven, green alien with red eyes and plastered down hair. Oh fuck, how could he sit in that living room surrounded by Adonises? Adonii? Really attractive men who never got rice stuck in their teeth. Plan A was to climb out of the window but that seemed kinda drastic. Plan B was to politely say goodbye and retreat off to normal life inhabited by normal people who looked like crap after a night out the way they were supposed to.

Swallowing down a couple of painkillers, Xander cracked his knuckles and dusted himself down then opened the bathroom door to peer into the living room. There was a small, semi-naked, blonde girl sitting next to Angel on the couch. Maybe sitting on Angel on the couch was a better description. If she was any closer she’d be inside his clothes, which was probably where she was heading any second now.

“Xander, this is Darla,” said Angel, proudly waving an arm at the girl as if she were a game show prize and he was the hostess.

Xander wondered what was the polite way to address a groupie. Should he shake her hand or kiss her? Maybe he should fuck her in an introductory manner; she looked like she was used to it. He suppressed the grin and opted for a plain old insignificant ‘Hi,’ then he turned to Spike. “I better get home and phone in sick,” he said trying to ignore the sounds of passion emanating from the other couch, hopeful that he wasn’t looking as bashful as he was feeling.

“Don’t go, Xan.”

Uh oh. It should be illegal to be that pretty and that pouty all at the same time. He slumped down onto the sofa next to Spike, trying not to look at the slurping couple who were busy practicing clothed copulation.

“Bedroom!” yelled Spike, “Is it totally impossible for either of you to show any decency when we have a guest?” Angel turned to glare at him and no way was Xander going to try and decipher that look. There was enough tension in the room to... fly a kite or do some other more appropriate tensiony thing that he’d be able to think of if his brain wasn’t pickled. Xander gulped. He was an innocent in this brave new world and he had a funny feeling he was slowly doggy paddling out of his depth.

Once the prolonged look of death was over, Angel picked Darla up and carried her somewhere more private. Xander heaved a sigh of relief. “Christ, I thought we were gonna get a free peep show for a minute,” he said.

“I wouldn’t be bloody surprised if Darla does the live action sex shows in Soho,” said Spike gloomily. “Thanks for staying, Xan. That bitch makes me so angry. I mean, we all fuck the groupies but you’re not supposed to get attached to a slag like that, are you?”

Xander shrugged noncommittally. He’d definitely swum into deep water with a side helping of rip tide.

“Drink?” Spike asked, not waiting for an answer as he poured whiskey into the two empty tea mugs on the table. “She’s no good for him. She’s just out to take him for a ride. That’s why I like you so much.”

Xander looked up in shock -- gay or straight, up or down, left or right, Motley or Guns shock. “You like me?”

“You’re so sweet and innocent and pretty and can I teach you how to kiss some more?”

“Mmmm hmmm,” replied Xander, finding it hard to speak with such a wonderful tongue to play with. Kissing good. Kissing very good.

They slid down on the sofa, legs entwined and bodies rocking and rubbing as they made out to the screeches and yowls of Darla and Angel sex. After one particularly bestial roar Xander looked up.

“They’re very, um, animal aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Spike delving back into Xander’s mouth and pulling a blanket and three cushions over their heads to muffle the sound.

By now Xander was too confused and too hard not to ask the question that had been preying on his mind. “Spike?”

“Yeah, what do you want, gorgeous?”

Xander was glad it was so dark under all the sound proofing.

“When you talk about shagging groupies, it’s always girls you talk about.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a girl. Do you ever screw boy groupies?”

“Nope, never.”

Xander fell silent. He was more confused than ever.

“So I better employ you then, hadn’t I? Make you our tour manager so you can keep an eye on me and stop all those evil bitches trying to dig their claws in.”

Xander was happily distracted by that skilful tongue and, as he was mouth-fucked by a warm and writhing Spike, he thought about his aunt and his bedsit. Then he thought about his job as a bicycle store trainee manager. After that he thought about rock and roll gods, then finally he thought ‘Why the fuck not.’

“Did you mean it about that job?” he said, wriggling away from Spike and pulling back the blanket so he could look into those sinful blue eyes and try to read what was going on inside the blond head.

“Course I did. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather come on tour with.”

This time when Spike raised his eyebrow and showed him that naughty hint of tongue Xander knew exactly what it tasted like. The yowling from the bedroom increased in volume and Spike covered them back up with the blanket and cushions. When they began kissing again, Xander listened to his hard cock nagging away at him from the confines of his leather pants and wondered when would be the right time for him and Spike to start learning the ins and outs of boysex.

Part Three

Xander didn’t see much of Spike over the next couple of weeks as he was too busy working out his notice, getting his stuff into storage, saying a curt farewell to his aunt and enduring an emotional outpouring of grief from Mr Sharmian. Xander was faintly suspicious that his landlord was only upset because he had no chance of finding any other sucker willing to pay forty quid a week to live in a cellar but he decided to take the tears at face value and put it down to the fact that he was now the tour manager of an almost successful rock band and the almost boyfriend of a rock god. He had obviously acquired status.

The first morning of the tour things started out a little awkwardly. Xander arrived on the doorstep of Spike’s flat in St John’s Wood and was greeted by rumpled, boxer short wearing Angel yelling “What’s he doing here?” to rumpled, boxer short wearing Spike, with rumpled Spike shouting “He’s the roadie,” back at rumpled Angel and a tousled, clothes wearing Xander coughing and jumping in with, “Tour manager actually,” then a sleek, plaid shirt wearing Lindsey adding “As long as he’s a tour manager who carries heavy gear and doesn’t get paid a lot, I’m happy.”

Xander was a little confused to see Spike and Angel drag each other into the bedroom but he assumed it was to do with packing issues. He made four cups of tea and dodged his way round an assault course of guitar amps, speaker cabs and suitcases until he finally discovered Lindsey. The drummer was sitting cross legged on the floor reading Kerrang and beating out a rhythm with his sticks on a stack of porno mags accompanied by some strange noises from elsewhere in the flat.

Xander put the mugs down on a large trunk with the words ‘SPIKE’S MAKE UP’ and ‘HA BLEEDIN’ HA’ scrawled across it in marker pen. He watched Lindsey drumming for a while, trying to think up something cool to say and just when he’d finally remembered the word ‘paradiddle’ and was about to ask what it meant, his train of thought was interrupted by a familiar howl.

Lindsey looked up and rolled his eyes. “Better get used to that,” he said dryly, “You’ll be hearing enough of it. I use ear plugs.”

Xander nodded thoughtfully. It was apparent that Angel needed a lot of sex and if he didn’t have a girl close by, who could blame him for taking matters into his own hand.

“We better get packing, we’ve got our first gig in Birmingham tonight,” said Lindsey pointing at one of the larger boxes then helping Xander carry it down two flights of stairs. “Fuck, I’m glad you’re here, man. I hated carrying all this crap on my own.”

Xander supposed it must be status thing; last man in the band carries all the equipment or something like that. It seemed a bit unfair but it wasn’t right for senior rock stars to haul drum kits around.

An hour later they were all done. The list was checked twice, the tours details and maps were all in the front and they were sat listening to some whiny music on the stereo and eating peanuts while Lindsey beeped on the horn to hurry the other two up. Finally a dishevelled Spike and Angel emerged, all over each other like a bad rash, practically falling down the iron staircase as they tumbled into the back of the van and slammed the doors closed.

Xander tried to make sense of it in his head but he wasn’t getting very far. Angel liked girls. Spike liked girls. Angel liked Spike and Spike liked Angel and him.

“You’re not sleeping with them too?” he asked pointing an accusing finger at Lindsey.

“No way.”

“Good. Less complicated calculations,” replied Xander and Lindsey laughed.

So that meant that Spike hated Darla because Angel fucked her and Angel didn’t like the Xan man very much because Spike fucked him… didn’t fuck him… nor had he ever implied that he wanted to or was ever going to fuck him. Xander folded his arms and sulked, stopping every now and then to offer Lindsey snacks or a drink from the cool box.

When the banging in the back got overly loud Lindsey took a roundabout a little too fast and the sound of falling equipment and shouts of annoyance were music to Xander’s ears. He and Lindsey grinned and turned up the stereo which was still stuck on the same old same old song where some prick kept howling about his wife running off and leaving him with four disabled children and a windmill to look after. Still Xander wasn’t complaining because at least he had a friend even if he no longer had an almost rock star boyfriend.

Two CD’s of whining music later there was a repeated thumping from the back of the van.

“Fuck off,” yelled Lindsey happily.

“I’m starving,” shouted Angel.

“Fuck off,” yelled Lindsey again.

“I could do with a pee,” muttered Xander.

“And I need coffee” said Linds “but we won’t tell him that,” and added a loud “Fuck off,” for the benefit of his band mates in the back.

Why wasn’t it Lindsey he’d met in Camden Market, wondered Xander ruefully. The guy was short, gorgeous with big blue eyes and a cute smile. If you said it quick enough he could be Spike’s twin and on the definite plus side he was a nice guy with no hint of lying prick about him. And he was American.

“Are you gay, bisexual or maybe even curious?” he asked thoughtfully as they pulled into the motorway services.

“No. I’ve never wanted to play with any cock other than my own,” answered Lindsey parking the van as close to the entrance as possible.

Well, that was a big minus on the ‘design a perfect gay boyfriend’ front and anyway Xander wasn’t attracted to Lindsey. He was a one man man, as man-ogamous as they come. If only his one man was interested in him.

Following on behind Angel and Lindsey, who were heading for the restaurant, Xander tried not to walk like a four year old who was about to wet his pants. It was very hard to resist the urge to run whilst trying to look cool and at the same time moodily ignore the plaintive little voice that was crying “Xander,” somewhere over his right shoulder.

He opted for a sulkily distinguished scurry and made it to the urinals just in time.

“Xander, I need to talk to you.”

Xander carried on washing his hands; if he didn’t look or listen or think about Spike he was totally immune to the evil superpowers so he lalalala’d in his head and turned on the hand dryer.

“Xander, stop ignoring me, please,”

It was all going fine until the undignified tussle just by the entrance to the toilets when somehow Xander lost ground and found himself locked in the parent and baby room with a very apologetic and melancholy Spike who was nuzzling up to him like a sexy cat. Pressed up against the changing table with his butt resting on a padded plastic mat, Xander was finding it hard to keep with the lalala program.

“’M sorry, Xan, I was doing it for us. If I hadn’t distracted Angel, things would have got nasty and he wouldn’t have let you come with us.”

That was such a lovely rubbish bin, all pretty and cream and plastic. Xander looked around trying to find something slightly more interesting to distract himself with. He was not giving in to the allure of the mesmerising kisser. There were tiles. He could count tiles.

“So I took him in the bedroom.”

‘Dragged him into the bedroom more like,’ Xander thought, trying not to picture who was taking who and failing miserably. One tile, two tiles, three tiles.

“Well, we started arguing and he said we couldn’t have you on tour with us because we couldn’t afford to pay anyone and so I said I’d pay you out of my own money.”

Twenty six tiles, twenty seven tiles, twenty eight tiles.

“And then he said it wasn’t a legitimate job and I was only paying you because I thought you were gorgeous.”

One tile, ten tiles, thirty nine steps.

“And I wanted to spend all my time on tour in bed with you, kissing that beautiful mouth and touching you.”

Ninety nine red balloons, seventy six trombones, take me.

“Sliding my hands over your body and finding out just what it would be like to make love to a man.”

Take me, take me, take me down to the paradise city.

“Angel was real angry by this time so I did the only thing I could think of and I distracted him with what was available but all the time I was thinking of you.”

Xander was so going to push Spike away. He’d had enough of the kissing game and he wasn’t as easily distracted as other peop…

The kisses were going lower and his t-shirt was moving higher and his jeans were falling off him and his shorts were slipping downwards and when he dared to look down, the blond rock star god was kneeling at his feet, his mouth about to get friendly with Xander’s very excitable cock. The lightning hit harder this time.

Xander was almost glad that Spike had practiced on Angel. He’d learnt a lot in a short time and was very good with his tongue. When his cock disappeared into Spike’s mouth, Xander had to concentrate hard on counting tiles otherwise his first experience of inverted groupie sex was likely to end quickly.

Xander’s knees began to buckle and Spike pushed him back until he was sitting on the changing table. Then he had a blond head in his lap and his fingers were twisted into long wavy hair and all the time Spike’s tongue doing very naughty things to his cock. He was being fellatially deflowered by a rock star. He was coming in Spike’s wonderful mouth. He was flying, flying through the air. He was landing on the ground. He had a plastic baby mat on his head. He was in Heaven.

“Xander, Xander?”

“Hello,” he said looking up at three concerned faces then looking down to see if his cock was hanging out with them too but luckily it was tucked away safely.

“You must’ve hit your head and passed out,” said Spike. “I heard something and came to find out what was happening then I went to get the others.”

Xander didn’t think he’d hit his head. He thought he’d been flattened by a force ten on the Richter scale Spike induced orgasm. How embarrassing.

“What were you doing standing on the baby changing table?” asked Angel.

“I. Was. Just. Thinking. About. What. A. Really. Good. Idea. It.” He stared in desperation at Spike who was looking just as interested as the other two. Panicking now as he tried to drag an answer out of thin air he struck gold when he put his hands in his pockets to try and look nonchalant. “Would be to pin up some flyers in here,” said Xander in relief, producing a handful of crumpled LiL dEVILs leaflets. “But I didn’t have any pins,” he added not liking the suspicious look on Angel’s face.

“That is such a cool idea,” yelped Lindsey leaning down to hug Xander. “I’ll see if they’ve got any pins or tape in the shop.”

By the time Xander had pulled himself together and was up on his feet, Lindsey was back with a bagful of sticking stuff.

“But we agreed not to use these flyers, remember,” said Spike coldly.

“No. You had a tantrum because you didn’t look as pretty on red paper as you thought you were going to,” said Lindsey, tacking up some leaflets on the wall. “I paid for the printing and I say we use them.”

Oh no. Xander didn’t know what to do. Spike was miserable and it was all his fault. Nice way to thank someone for a blow job, Xander. Way to go.

“I think you look good,” he said casually, “I think you all look good.” He didn’t want to be too obvious about his attraction for Spike; after all he was determined to be a legitimate tour manager, whatever one of those was.

“Image is everything,” said Spike in a petulant voice, “I need a Curly Wurly.” And with that he disappeared into the shop with Angel at his heels.

“Don’t worry, they’re just work shy,” said the drummer as he pasted up leaflets. “How many of these did you bring?”

“Both boxes and the ones on the tables,” replied Xander hoping that was right answer.

Lindsey grinned happily and they moved to the outside of the building advertising LiL dEVILs in every strategic place they could find.


“Excuse me, lad, but what d’yow think yow’re doing?”

Oh no. Man in scary uniform standing beside him. Xander blinked a couple of times before saying, “Joining the Automobile Association? Possibly, maybe, definitely. If you want me that is.”

Xander scraped the flyers off the kiosk while the A.A. man took down all his personal details. He was nervous as he filled in his bank account information knowing there was no money in there nor was there likely to be for the foreseeable future. Did this count as fraud? Could he be arrested and spend time in jail banged up with an eight foot gorilla of a sex offender called Ron who’d tickle him to make him drop the soap in the showers?

“What type of cover do you require?”

“Oh, the best; we breakdown a lot,” said Xander nodding thoughtfully.

“Well that’s all done then. Thank you very much, Mr Harris.” Mr A.A. handed Xander a copy of the registration details. “You’re covered from now. Any problems just phone up and give the number at the top of that form and we’ll be there to assist you.”

“Okay, thanks.” Xander hurried away feeling like such a loser. He was supposed to be wild and dangerous, a heavy metal anarchist who stuck a finger up at authority and what had he done? He’d been so scared of a man selling breakdown insurance that he’d cleaned the little kiosk and signed up for premium cover.

Secreting the telltale forms away in his back pocket, he climbed into the van and waited for the others. Maybe Spike would forgive him and drag him into the back to teach him more tricks for tongues. But no, apparently Angel was in need of distraction again. By the time Lindsey returned the van was a-rocking and a-rolling and Xander was feeling quite seasick.

“You can choose the music if you like,” said Lindsey sympathetically as he started up the engine.

It was time to resurrect some of his old metal gods.

“Ten seconds to love
Ten seconds to love
Pull my trigger
My gun’s loaded with your love”

Xander sang along with Motley for a while and then felt a little embarrassed that his own staying power might not have been much better than that so he shut up quickly.

They stopped everywhere they could, plastering Birmingham and its suburbs in flyers. Correction. He and Lindsey plastered Birmingham and its suburbs in flyers while Spike and Angel were busy plastering each other in spunk. Xander didn’t know how to feel. He was still on cloud nine hundred and ninety nine about actually breaking his blow job duck, but it was kind of disheartening that said blow jobber was happily making out with his bass player in the back. Still, however depressing his love life might be at least he had an amoeba of one now and working with a rock band was so much more fun than ordering kids’ bikes for a living.

Everything was going great time wise and, as he navigated Lindsey around rush hour Birmingham, Xander was starting to feel like a real tour manager. It was brilliant. They were on the A38(M) heading into the city with three hours to spare when Lindsey stopped the van on the hard shoulder. “Fly post the signs,” he yelled with glee and Xander jumped out gluing and taping LiL dEVILs leaflets wherever he could find a space. They made their mark all the way down the motorway, then Linds had the bright idea of stopping in the outside lane and leaving the hazards flashing so Xander could do the northbound side without them having to go back round again.

It wasn’t the easiest thing, crossing the carriageway just to deface an A.A. emergency phone, but he did it and vengeance was sweet. Anarchy at last. Jumping into the van and panting from the exertion he looked across at Lindsey who was staring at the steering wheel.

“Well, come on then. If we get to The White Swan soon we can get set up and chill for a while.” Goddamn, he was sounding almost manly. Which made a welcome change from mousely.

“That would be great. Just great. If only THE FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT VAN WOULD START.”


“Try it again,” squeaked Xander twenty minutes later.

“Don’t tell me you’re having another one of those ‘This time it’ll be fine’ feelings?” asked the drummer sarcastically as he guzzled his fourth Mars Bar in a row.

“No, it’s just getting really busy and I wanna get out of here before we’re flattened,” whined mousley Xander.

Just then there was a synchronised scream from outside that put his mousiness in the shade as Angel and Spike came hurtling in through the passenger door. “What the fuck” Angel mouthed breathlessly, “are we doing parked up in the middle of a fucking motorway?”

“We figured you’d be hungry so we stopped for a break,” answered Lindsey.

“Good thinking,” said Angel pushing Spike out of the way and delving into the cool box.

“There’s no room for me,” grumbled Spike, sliding onto Xander’s knee and making him the happiest and horniest tour manager in the world.

What was it about him? wondered Xander as he watched Spike demolish a Cadbury’s Flake, wanting nothing more than to lick away all the crumbly bits of chocolate from pouty lips.

“So, can we go now then?” asked Angel, giving credence to the myth that, however intelligent, Irish people were invariably thick with it.

Lindsey sighed deeply, “We are stuck. On the motorway. Truck no go vroom. Period.”

“Fuck,” said Angel despondently.

“I second that fuck and raise you a blow job,” said Xander and then gasped. He’d never dared to make a quippy quip before, especially not to Angel who he was a little bit in awe of because of his size and a little bit in hate with because of his Spike.

Then Spike laughed. Spike laughed at his quippyness, and right now Xander couldn’t have cared less if they were stuck on the summit of Mount St Helens.

“I think there’s one of those A.A. emergency phones there but I’m not entirely sure coz it’s covered all over in red paper,” said Angel looking out of the windscreen over towards the other carriageway. “I don’t s’pose any of you dicks had the foresight to take out breakdown cover did you?”

Xander felt itchy. The A.A. forms were burning a hole in his pocket but he still felt a bit dumb about being bullied by that tall guy, short guy, guy in scary uniform guy.

He listened to the mumbles of ‘no’ and ‘fuck off’ and then coughed a bit and wriggled around to free up the registration document, a process which felt goood with a deliberate three O’s seeing as Spike was still sitting on his knee, so he wriggled around for a while longer but then remembered his fears about being flattened by large lorries and yanked the paperwork out of his pocket. “I might be a member of the Automobile Association,” he said sheepishly.

“See? Gorgeous and clever,” said Spike, bestowing Xander with kisses. “What did I tell you, Angel? I said he’d be an asset.”

If he was three, Xander would have poked his tongue out at Angel and sang the ‘nyah nayh nyah, I got to smooch Spike,’ song.

“I think you definitely mentioned the ass part,” sniggered the Irishman.

But being eighteen Xander sang it under his breath against Spike’s neck and flipped a very subtle bird in Angel’s direction.

“That’s because his ass is lickable.”

Having a lickable ass was a pretty incredible feeling and now that Spike had swivelled around, all the compliments in combination with some serious cock to cock contact and a tongue fucking were making Xander very happy indeed.

“Xander, for Christsake go phone the breakdown recovery people then you can nail Spike on the hood for all I care.” Lindsey was getting fractious and looking at his watch and Xander knew he needed to be the man again and lead his rock band out of danger.

“I’m on my way,” he said gently easing Spike off him in the direction of drums rather than bass.

After squeezing in between Lindsey and the steering wheel, and climbing down into the cacophony of rush hour, Xander stood by the central reservation and stared at the oncoming northbound traffic.

“Run. No don’t run. Yeah run. Noooo. Now. NOT NOW,” instructed Spike helpfully as he leaned over Lindsey and peered out of the window.

“It may be better if I choose my own moment,” smiled Xander and then made a mad dash for the hard shoulder, screaming all the way like a possessed banshee.

Five minutes later he was back in the van, panting so much he was hardly able to speak. “Next time you need something from the other side of the motorway, can someone else please go?”

“Course they can. You were so brave,” soothed Spike.

Xander didn’t feel exactly brave at the time, in fact he’d had to relieve himself whilst making the phone call, but retrospectively it felt so damn good to be a hero. He was Starsky and Hutch all rolled into one without the bad hair and strange taste in clothing.

“Well?” asked Angel.

“What?” Xander had gone blank. “Oh, the A.A. They’ll be here in about half an hour.”

“Great. Good job, Xander,” said Angel reluctantly then he rubbed Spike’s thigh. “Are you coming in the back with me to check our gear for this evening?”

“No. I think I’ll stay here.” Spike was doing a little rubbing of his own, working his fingers against Xander’s fly.

“You’re such a whore for butch,” sulked Angel. “I could have done the all action thing but I wasn’t a member like Xander.”

“Drama queens, children, tarts and bitches, just shut the hell up,” yelled Lindsey looking green with frustration or was it from too much chocolate?

Forty two minutes later – not that Xander had been timing or anything -- there was a knock at the driver’s side window.

“Mr Harris?” yelled a man, trying to make himself heard over the roar of the traffic.

“Yeah, that’s me” answered Xander with a distinctive tone of authority. He da man.

“Strange place to break down in, lads.”

“We had a vomit emergency and needed to stop immediately,” said Xander.

“Oh, so it had nothing to do with these leaflets that match the distinctive paint job on your van?” The man waved a handful of sticky crumpled red flyers through the window.

“Where did you find those?” asked Spike. “A box load of them fell out of the van when the back doors flew open accidentally like.”

“I found it and several others glued to the emergency phones.”

“Self sticking,” said Spike “Like them new post it labels. Clever idea, huh?”

“Clever’s not the word I was thinking of but never mind, we were all young and stupid once so pop open the bonnet for me and I’ll see if I can get you started.”

Part Four

“I love you, baby, you’re sleek and racy and you look so hot.” Lindsey petted the new van that was sat outside The White Swan with loving caresses.

“You do know we’ve only got her for a couple of days and then we have to have to give her back,” said Angel, laughing at Lindsey as the drummer did everything but fuck his shiny new toy.

“I know but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s like being in the A-Team.”

Unable to get the old van going, the A.A. man had arranged for it to be towed to the pub then he’d driven them all there to meet up with it, helped them unload the gear, had the van towed to a garage and come up with a replacement vehicle for them for the next couple of days for the West Midlands leg of their tour.

“Bloody hell, that’s serious fucking service you guys give,” grinned Spike, actually putting his hand in his own pocket to buy George, the A.A. man, a drink, after he’d helped them set up all the equipment and they still had an hour and a half to spare.

“Used to do a bit of this meself. Played drums in a band called Brum Boys but then we started getting the wrong sort of crowd and the lads and I jacked it in. Anyway that’s why I called in a few favours for you boys.”

“You’re a star,” said Spike patting George vigorously on the back and making him choke on his pint. “You gonna stick around and watch the gig?”

“No, I’d like to but I gotta get home for my tea. Wife’ll have me guts for garters if I’m late back. You boys break a leg and I’ll bring back the van back on Monday, a’right?”

“Thanks, mate,” replied Spike.

“Spike, you need to start getting ready,” muttered Xander who’d been checking his watch every five seconds for the past hour

“Yes, mum,” answered the singer as he rolled himself a fag and sipped at his beer listening to George tell his stories about Black Sabbath and Judas Priest and other ‘up and coming’ bands who were working the pub circuit of Birmingham when he was a struggling musician.

Finally the mechanic swilled down his pint and left them to it, and Xander was able to lead Spike away to the dressing room. He then went off on a search for Angel and Lindsey but, by the time he’d rounded those two up, Spike was back out at the bar, still as rumpled and grubby looking, flirting outrageously with the prettiest barmaid. Christ it was like being a sheep dog with worse pay and conditions.

“Come on,” he said, pushing a protesting Spike after the other two into the little cave of a dressing room.

‘Some rock star lifestyle,’ thought Xander half an hour later as he stood in a toilet cubicle holding Angel’s hair back as the bass player threw up for the fourth time, apparently suffering from severe stage fright. Leading the shivering man back to the dressing room, Xander watched in despair as Angel paced the floor dressed only in a pair of boxers muttering “I can’t do it, I can’t do it,” over and over again. Xander checked his watch, “Yeah you can, but you better hurry up coz you won’t look half as menacing as usual if you’re on stage in just those Bugs Bunny underpants.”

Angel looked down in fear as he checked out the design on his shorts. “Not the Bugs Bunny ones,” he mumbled giving Xander an inkling of an idea that the ‘oh so cool one’ wasn’t so cool after all.

“Come on, Ange, you get dressed and I’ll do your make up and hair,” said Spike sauntering in from the loos and Xander wondered how he’d ever thought these guys were anything special.

He watched a green tinted Angel struggle into his clothes and sit on a wobbly wooden chair. He watched Spike straddle Angel’s knee and paint a ring of eyeliner around each dark eye whilst chatting away nine to the dozen to take the bass player’s mind off his nerves and he finally saw them for what they were. Just ordinary people.

Unhooking Lindsey from his personal stereo and watching as Spike finished backcombing Angel’s hair, Xander checked his watch. “Time to go, guys,” he said, opening the door of the dressing room.

Making sure they found their way all of the twenty feet down the corridor to the back entrance of the little stage area, Xander then watched them muddle around griping and moaning to each other until in the end they were making him so nervous he left them to it. Ordering a pint from the bar, he tried to push his way into the huge back room of the pub but he couldn’t get through the doors. Jesus, the place was heaving. Running as fast as he could through the private area of the pub he pushed his way past the jumble of grumbling band members and then leapt off the small stage, spilling beer everywhere as he tried to find himself a good vantage point. Oh God, s’pose Angel threw up or Spike fell off his stilettos. He was terrified for them. They were so helpless. They were so useless. They were….

Fucking Rock Gods.

Xander yelled and sang and cheered along with the rest of the crowd. He was not worthy of even talking to them and yet they were his boys and he was their tour manager and he was so proud. In fact he was barely able to restrain himself from telling everyone near him that the singer had given him a blow job. Him! Spike sucked him off, not the other way around. Would it be uncool to have a sign made up?

“G’night everyone, we’re LiL dEVILs and you guys rock,” yelled Spike after the third encore and, as the whole crowd screamed for more and stamped their feet, Xander raced to the backstage area, overwhelmed with euphoria and bursting with emotion. He felt moronically shy as the three guys bounced into the dressing room on an adrenalin high, chattering away about how Spike had fucked up and sang three verses the same in Dirty Bitch and how Angel had tripped over his lead and almost knocked the drum kit over during Rock Hard and how Lindsey had dropped so many sticks he was on his last set by the end of the show and how fucking amazing it was.

It was totally fucking amazing and Xander wanted to tell them that but some frigging cat had ripped out his tongue and instead he just watched as they stripped out of their stage gear and washed down as best they could.

“So what did you think, Xan?” asked Spike, turning him to a puddle of melty stuff with those big blue eyes.

“I thought you were great,” he mumbled.

“Of course we were great. We’re always great, but tonight we were better than great, tonight we were fan-fucking-tastic,” yelled Angel draping an arm around Spike and Xander and grinning from ear to ear. “Come on, come on, come on, hurry up, I wanna go get a drink.”

Xander found it hard to reconcile this man with the terrified vomiting guy from two hours ago and found himself hanging back, allowing the three guys from the band to lead the way. He knew his rightful place as he lurked at the side of the bar.

“Xander, you’re a fucking genius,” grinned Lindsey untangling a slutty girl from around his neck and wiping away the smears of lipstick. “We had a full house coz of these.” He said waving a red piece of paper in Xander’s face. “I had all the tour dates printed on them and these guys said Birmingham’s never been blanket bombed like that since WW2 and so they came along to see what was happening.”

Xander was well and truly silenced. He’d done something good and no one ever need know it was by accident. Next time he vowed it wouldn’t be an accident. Spike was sitting up on the bar in his customary position, selling CD’s and leaning down to snog the most attractive girls when suddenly inspiration struck Xander square between the eyes. Well it wasn’t incredibly inspired but it was a good and steady idea.

“T-shirts,” he said in the new determined Xander way.

“What?” said Lindsey extracting his head from between a pair of breasts and ordering them both a pint.

“Look at the amount of money Spike’s making from selling those CD’s. If we had T-shirts as well it would be even better.”

“But where do we get the money to have them made up? Spike’s always broke; the only money he gets is from when he does the odd day helping out a buddy on a market stall. Angel’s worse than broke, if he has money he loses it, and me… I’m worse than Angel, I give it away. ”

“Well here’s a thought, maybe you could not spend the CD money on partying.”

“Where’s the party?” asked Angel turning round to join in with their conversation, his ravedar malfunctioning.

“No parties,” pouted Lindsey. “Xander thinks we should save up and get t-shirts printed and I guess maybe he’s right.”

“Why? Rock music’s about the lifestyle not fucking t-shirts,” yelled Angel.

“But they’ll make a profit and they’re free advertising.” Xander was so proud of himself now. Coming up with that reasoning on the spur of the moment when confronted by a belligerent, tall and gorgeous bass player was a miracle.

And he’d managed to shut Angel up. Yet another miracle.

“Money, money, money, money, money,” sang Spike, the pockets of his black jeans and leather coat overflowing with fivers and tenners as he approached his friends followed by a throng of girls.

Xander quickly appropriated as much of it as he could lay his hands on with Spike slapping away at him. “Why’re you stealing our dosh, Xan?”

Don’t look at that pout. Use the force, Luke. Don’t be dragged in by that tractor beam.

“It’s not ours anymore, babe, apparently it’s a clothing slush fund,” sulked Angel.

“Merchandise maketh money,” insisted Xander ignoring the grumpy looks from the tantrum twins.

“Good show, boys. Your gear’ll be safe here for the night and you can pick it up tomorrow if you like,” yelled the manger from the other side of the bar. “And anytime you want to play again, you’ll be very welcome, a’right.” He handed Spike a fistful of dollars which Xander immediately took possession of.

“Looks like it’s a private party back at the B&B then,” said Spike and Xander was caught up in the avalanche of bodies that hurtled in the direction of Lindsey’s new love. Unwanted strays were weeded out and soon Xander was lying in the back of the van with Molly on one side of him and Cassie on the other and there was just nowhere to escape to.

Girl kisses were okay; softer than Spike kisses, too soft for his liking but if he closed his eyes the lipstick tasted the same. However when they started to investigate his pants and, worse still, wanted him to investigate theirs, Xander began to feel a bit threatened. He’d never wanted one girl, let alone two!

It turned out to be less of a problem than he thought because, by the time petting was pushing towards porny, the van pulled to a halt, the door slid open and Molly and Cassie had suddenly lost interest in a lowly tour manager when there were rock stars to paw.

The landlady of ‘Floribunda,’ the little Victorian Bed and Breakfast, was none too happy about letting them in at this hour of the night. It took a large dose of flirtatious Spike to sweet talk her into allowing them to stay. By the time Xander had checked in, fetched the luggage and locked up the van, he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed.

Listening outside room four Xander sighed sadly. The animal impressions and mockney screams of pleasure indicated that Spike and Angel had herded a gaggle of girls into the room and were proceeding to mate with them as energetically as possible. He was about to knock on the room next door when the bouncing bedsprings and moans of pleasure put him off. He did not want to spend the night with his head under the duvet frantically jerking off to the sound of Lindsey getting laid.

Xander waylaid the landlady on her way back up the stairs with a cup of cocoa and a packet of chocolate biscuits. After staring longingly at her snacks for a while, Xander popped the question. “Mrs Bingham, you haven’t got any other rooms available, have you?” He didn’t know how he was going to pay for it but he was desperate enough to use the old empty bank account trick once more. After all, even Ron the eight foot rapist had supper and a place to bed down in.

“I’m sorry, luv, but I’ve none free,” she said pouring the slops of cocoa from the saucer back into her mug, “Why? Does one of your friends snore?”

Jesus, was she stone deaf? Xander could hear the howls of Angelic copulation clear as a bell.

“No, yeah, never mind. I’ll think of something.”

“Okay then, night night, luv.”

Xander watched her shuffle upstairs in her slippers and then snuck out of the front door. It was lucky he had the keys to the van. Yeah, he was the luckiest tour manager in the world.

Curled up in a ball, Xander tried his best to think positive. At least it wasn’t the old van which had more rust holes in the floor than floor itself. This van was not only floor intact, it also had a rough nylon carpet to lie on. ‘Yeah, life was good,’ he convinced himself, pulling the old blanket that they used for packing up over his shoulders. Yeah, life was totally fucking amazing.


Oh shit, what was that? He’d only been to sleep for a little while and already he was woken up, scared out of his tiny pea size brain by the sound of a door banging and footsteps circling the van. It was Ron the serial rapist. It was an American Werewolf in Birmingham. It was that little scary girl with the disconnected neck from the Exorcist. It was a West Midlands Chainsaw massacre-er. It was…

“Oi, Xan, you in there? Please say you’re in there?”

It was his hero, Spike. Throwing open the slide door, Xander almost sobbed in relief.

“What are you doing out here, gorgeous?” said Spike looking his usual dishevelled self and altogether too sexy in the mood street lighting.

“There was much of the shagging and none of it was of me and so I had to find somewhere to sleep. Can we go back inside now? It’s scary out here, there’re rapists and werewolves and possessed girls and slashers.”

“We could,” said Spike dubiously and Xander could see that ‘but’ face even in the dark.

“If only I hadn’t slammed the door closed.” continued Spike, “So it looks like we’ll be bedding down here for the night.”

There was a long pause and then a sniff and then a ‘Sorry’ and Xander could see that little boy lost face even in the dark.

“That’s okay, as long as you’ve brought your own moth-eaten army blanket coz I’m not sharing mine.” Be strong, Xander. Always remember to live long and prosper. Remember that Vader is your father. Remember not to fall into the arms of the nearest and prettiest slut boy even if said slut boy is the gorgeous rock god super hero who saved you from the powerful death inflicting bite of evil lycanthropes.

“Oh, and there I was thinking we could snuggle up to conserve body warmth,” said Spike in his best seductive boy voice which apparently had the ability to strip Bambi eyed tour managers of their self respect and clothing in ten seconds flat.

It was hot under that blanket, especially since they were now lying on a nest of jeans, sweatshirts and boxer shorts. Direct skin to skin contact was the best way to keep warm or so Spike said. And he’d watched a program on TV about lost rock climbers who’d survived for months in Nepal by immediately getting naked. Xander wasn’t entirely convinced but could see no harm in trying it.

“Xander, do you want to practice kissing some more?”

No. Absolutely… Yes, please.

It just wasn’t fair. How come Spike could drink, smoke, abuse his body in every way known to man and still taste as sweet as nectar? Xander suddenly had the horrible feeling that those were the kind of words that a man in love might think.

No. Erase that thought from your mind. You do not fall in love with slut boys. No. No. Not even if they kiss like Gods and their hard cocks are rubbing up against yours and it’s the first time your penis has ever been in contact with a member of any sex’s sex parts.

‘Help’ he cried internally as his body disobeyed him and he gave in to the lure of those kisses that made every inch of him ache for more.

“That’s my boy, my gorgeous brown eyed boy,” whispered Spike wrapping his arm around Xander and pulling him closer until their bodies were locked together and they were making out, grinding and thrusting against each other on the floor of that van. By now Xander was nothing more than a whimpering gibbering wreck. Shivering with panic he hid inside Spike’s arms wanting something to happen before he embarrassed himself and covered Spike with a whole load of evidence that proved his incompetence.

Gradually Spike moved from mouth to neck and from neck to nipples and Xander wished more than anything for some light so that he could see that this was for real and not just another depressing wet dream. Pinching himself on the back of the hand to try and wake up before his underpants became soggy, he felt Spike’s lips, soft as feathers, brush across the skin of his belly. Then the tip of that wicked tongue dipped into his navel and traced the fine line of hair downwards until it reached …

“Oh Christ.”

Spike’s mouth felt like silk to his cock which was twitching fiercely and telling both he and Spike just how much it was enjoying this game. Second time around blow jobs were even better than virgin ones -- if that were possible.

Spike pulled away, then stood up to slide open some sort of blind and the van was illuminated just enough from the street lights for Xander to see Spike’s thick cock curving up from his groin. It was more exciting and more terrifying than he’d ever thought it would be. How far would Spike want to go? How far did he want to go? Who would put what where? These were all very important questions but Xander had a feeling they might be definite passion killers, so with great difficulty he kept his thoughts to himself.

Lying down next to Xander, Spike covered them back up with the blanket and gently took hold of Xander’s hand placing it over his cock then he wrapped his own fingers around Xander’s erection. Spike squeezed gently, rubbing his thumb over the tip of the circumcised prick until a dribble of pre come oozed out, which he slicked over the head in a slow circling motion.

Unable to even dare taking a breath, Xander copied everything to the letter, wanking Spike’s cock with trembling fingers, completely enthralled by the wide eyed look on that pretty face. Leaning in, he slid his tongue over Spike’s then, slipping an arm around Spike’s neck, he deepened the kiss as they stroked each other off faster.

It suddenly dawned on him that at last he had a real cock in his hand and for once it wasn’t his own. Spike’s prick was solid and warm and smooth and it didn’t feel anything like the same as having a wank. It was so much more enjoyable to make someone else moan with excitement for a change.

So good. So freaking good.

Xander was fucking Spike’s fist hard now, kissing, panting, bucking, higher than he’d ever been in his life. Pulling the blanket off them, he looked down at the combination of hands and cocks in places that he had never ever thought they’d be and he sucked in a deep breath and rocked harder, stifling his cries into Spike’s mouth as he came and came and couldn’t stop coming.

“That’s it, my gorgeous one,” said Spike then he licked the semen off his fingers.

“What does it taste like?” asked Xander and Spike offered him his hand, grinning as Xander shied away.

“Salty, kind of bitter. I like it. Yours is sweeter than Angel’s which is pretty much to be expected,” he said with a grin and a peck on Xander’s lips.

Xander was confused. He should hate hearing about Angel when he was in bed with Spike but he felt such a sense of belonging that it didn’t matter anymore. He was fine inching his way down Spike’s body but then he totally lost confidence when his tongue made first contact with that lusted after cock. Pressing his lips to the tip he eventually summoned up enough courage to open his mouth, tasting the gloss coating of fluid as it seeped onto his tongue. It wasn’t scary at all. He liked it a lot. Laying his head on Spike’s belly he eased inch after inch of swollen cock into his mouth, stopping when he hit overload point. It would so not be cool to throw up on his almost boyfriend. Tentatively he began to lick and suck, experimenting with his tongue, testing the way the ridges and veins felt in his mouth. Everything seemed enlarged; the tiny slit felt huge to the tip of his tongue and it took an age to roll his tongue all the way round the head. When he teased that little pleat of skin with his teeth, Spike hissed, and when he sucked hard, Spike yelped. It was a symphony of sex noises and the thought made Xander want to laugh in delight but then he remembered just who was making those sex noises and that made him want to come instead. Harder than steel already, he rubbed himself off against Spike’s leg, panicking when he was pushed unceremoniously away. Had he done something wrong? Broken some rule of gay sex that was written in stone?

“Lie on your back,” said Spike and Xander obeyed immediately, shaking with a combination of fear and anticipation as Spike knelt over him over him and buried his face between Xander’s legs. The licking and nibbling was driving him crazy and Xander would have begged for mercy if he hadn’t had a mouthful of cock at the time. Sixty-nine; another new experience for today’s page of the diary. The steady sucking kept him floating on cloud sixty-nine and he was in happy happy land until a surprise finger starting rubbing erotic little circles on his hole.

Okay. He was getting a vivid picture of what Spike wanted to go where now and he was pretty damn sure that he wasn’t ready for this game until…

“Fuck.”

That finger had pushed in and it wasn’t totally unpleasant. Having his cock sucked was much nicer but then he had the added benefit of enjoying that at the same time. He concentrated on the Spike suckage and tried not to imagine what a large prick would feel like up his bottom if this was just a finger.

When it withdrew, Xander felt a sense of relief tinged with this odd emptiness. Surely he didn’t want to be fucked up the ass did he? But then the finger was back and this time it was all smooth and slick and Xander wondered how Spike had managed to find some lubrication so easily in the dark.

The combination of finger fucking and fellatio was making Xander feel good, then all of a sudden, Spike twisted his hand and he was feeling more than good. It was like a buzzer was going off inside him and Xander was sure Spike must be swallowing a mouthful of sperm but he could see the silhouette of his cock harder then ever sliding in and out of Spike’s mouth.

Wasn’t he supposed to be doing something?

One finger became two and Xander pushed back, wanting that wild fake orgasm thing to happen again and, oh God, there it was. Delirious with excitement, he fucked himself into Spike’s mouth and onto Spike’s hand remembering at last to do something with the neglected erection that was nudging insistently at his lips.

Sex was fun; he’d always known it would be, so why the hell had he waited eighteen years to try it out? Next thing he knew the fingers had gone and Spike’s mouth was now nibbling away at his lips, licking and kissing and petting him until he was a big bubble of need that was about to pop.

“Xander, baby, can I fuck you?”

The kisses were deeper now, tongue drifting between Xander’s lips filling the spaces between the words.

“Yeah,” he answered straight away. There was no need for his usual meandering thought process with Spike gliding over him like liquid, fingers rubbing and soothing and tweaking until Xander was one huge electrified erogenous zone, every millimetre of skin begging for more of those touches.

He didn’t want to be a virgin anymore. He wanted to be a grown up.

Wrapping his legs around the slim body he bucked his hips urging Spike on with every thrust and shimmy. “Want you. Want your cock in me. Will it hurt?”

“It will a bit at first but you know how good a finger is in there? Well, a cock feels ten times as good as that.”

The truth was more seductive than if Spike had just kissed him and lied. Xander felt the tension ease away as he relaxed and spread his legs wide open. Spike lay next to him leaning up on an elbow and dusting Xander’s face with more kisses as the fingers of his left hand worked their magic, alternating between his ass and his cock.

“Please,” begged Xander as he arched up into Spike’s touch, staring unblinking at the shadowy man above him, “Please.”

After another long kiss, Spike knelt up and tore open a foil wrapper and Xander watched as he slid the condom over his erection. It was gonna happen. It was finally gonna happen.

“Lift up,” said Spike pushing at Xander’s butt to encourage him and Xander pressed his bare feet against the rough carpet wondering why Spike was raising him up on the bunched up blanket and a sweatshirt.

“It makes it easier this way,” Spike explained in between yet more of those kisses that made Xander give in to just about everything.

The first nudge of Spike’s cock was so painful Xander wanted to cry but he bit his lip to stop from yelling.

“S’okay, pet. I’ll push hard just to get it in and then we’ll take it nice and slow I promise.”

Xander didn’t have time to argue because one earth shattering paingasm later, Spike’s slick cock was embedded inside him and his wet eyes weren’t entirely caused by the throbbing in his ass. Throughout his years of fantasy, he’d never once got around to imagining what it would feel like to be joined to another person and, agony aside, it was the best. Spike petted him and told him how amazing he was and Xander buried his face in Spike’s neck waiting, hoping, it was going to become more than good again.

When it did, it hit Xander like a bomb, in a stomach tingling, ass clenching kind of a way. “Fuck me now” he begged pushing up against Spike’s body.

For just one moment he regretted everything and wanted to be back in his bedsit jerking off on posters. It was too big and it felt like he was on fire with the friction. ‘No’ he was about to scream as he tensed up but then Spike bent his head and sucked at each nipple in turn then thrust hard.

Stars, light, heat, everything just exploded in Xander’s head and he made this mewling sound which was probably more animal than Angel ever got, although more of a kitten than a tiger.

“S’my good boy,” murmured Spike and he began to fuck Xander slow and hard, reaching down to twist his fingers around Xander’s soft cock, sucking hot wet bruises into his neck that Xander knew would mark by morning.

“Christ, you’re so fucking tight, I can’t…”

With a groan Spike gave in to his orgasm and Xander wanted more than anything to see the look on Spike’s face and know what it was like to have his insides full of come.

“I’m sorry,” said Spike, “I didn’t… you didn’t … I don’t…” He sighed and then reached over and took another condom out of the packet, taking Xander into his mouth and sucking him hard then pulling away with a popping sound and rolling the rubber sheath over Xander’s cock. Xander was silent while Spike slicked him up with lube. He didn’t have a clue what to do to make someone ready or where to find that magic button inside, but then he was straddled by a lithe body which enveloped his cock without any need for fingers.

Oh god, oh god, oh god times a million. He was in Spike’s body, which not only looked amazing on the outside, it felt freaking incredible internally as well. He was a real live fuckee and suckee and a fucker and sucker. Maybe he should rephrase that. Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking banal thoughts when he had a rock star bouncing up and down on his erect penis.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” With a long drawn out howl Xander released his load into the condom. Maybe he should have carried on thinking the banalities.

Spike collapsed onto his chest shivering from the cold and Xander dragged the blanket out from where it was bundled up beneath him and wrapped it around them both.

“It can be better,” muttered Spike, “I can be better.”

Xander didn’t know what to say. The only word he could think of was ‘perfect’ and that sounded totally pathetic.

Part Five

Xander shivered and rolled over bouncing off a foreign object in his bed – ouch - a bed that was a lot more uncomfortable than usual. Opening his eyes with difficulty he looked around him and then over in the direction of the foreign object which was snoring gently and appeared to be made up mostly of tangled blond hair.

Xander looked down at his naked self. Today he was a man, a fully-fledged man with a sore ass and a burning desire to go for a pee. The world was beckoning and he flung open the doors, then froze in terror as his morning wood was suddenly an exhibit on general viewing to select members of the public.

It would have been a good idea to shut the door or even to take a devil may care piss but no, he had to stand there looking fucking ridiculous with his mouth open like a big ring doughnut and his cock still pointing upwards in surprise.

“’S cold, Xan, shut the fucking door.”

The low voice from the back of the van made Xander’s cock stand up even more. He managed a squeak and Spike came over to see what was the matter, rubbing his eyes and brushing the hair away from his face. “Morning everyone,” he said as he registered all the faces staring at him.

“Xan, this is Eve, she drove up last night,” said Lindsey.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” mumbled Xander wondering why his cock was as unwilling to run and hide as the rest of him.

“Yeah, she and Darla surprised us,” explained Angel with a feral leer that Xander was finding hard to translate. Darla. Darla! That explained things. He’d given his virginity away to a slut boy who had been kicked out of bed in favour of a half dressed ho.

“Oh pretty,” said Darla eyeing him up and down like a sausage in a butchers. “I never knew you liked boys, Spike?”

Ignoring the splutter of laughter from Eve and Lindsey, Spike looked Darla in the eye. “Seems there's a whole lot you don’t know, love, and I hope for your sake you never find out. Come on, Xan, let’s go to bed.”

Cooly, casually, and as naked as the day he was born, Spike snatched the room key off Angel and swaggered in through the open front door of the guest house. He was followed by a snivelling whimpering Xander who scurried across the finish line with his hands clasped firmly over his penis which was more upstanding than ever since the need to pee was now hitting emergency levels.

“Morning, Mrs Bingham,” said Spike breezily as he bounced (and swayed) nonchalantly up the stairs to the attic floor of the house.

“MsoryIlosmyclthes,” mumbled Xander trying to cross his legs, and run, and hide his erection all at the same time.

Trying to convince himself he hadn’t heard the landlady sighing happily over ‘boys and their willies,’ Xander stumbled into the bathroom and, jiggling from foot to foot, was finally able to pee. Until a handed wrapped around his cock and the immediate stiffening up made it hard to squeeze the last few drops out.

“Bed,” said Spike as he shook Xander’s cock firmly until it was all hard and achy.

“No.” Xander was determined not to fall for the... kisses… on … the… back… of… his… neck… trick.

“Okay, you’re right,” sighed Spike pulling away from Xander immediately.

Xander could hear himself panting loudly with disappointment. He was sluttier than slut boy. It was criminal.

Spike turned the shower on and tested the temperature, and then surprised Xander by dragging him inside the cubicle and sliding closed the glass doors. It was such a quick manoeuvre that Xander didn’t have time to protest.

“We need to get clean so we can get all dirty again,” said Spike as he lathered up his hand with gel, Angel’s by the smell of it, and proceeded to rub Xander down and up and down and in and out until he was exquisitely spotless and about ready to explode all over the place. Showering with another person was a very intimate experience, all the fondling and groping and grinding that went into getting two men clean was amazing and when Spike knelt and gave Xander’s cock a thorough inspection with his tongue it was too much. Holding Spike’s head firmly in place, Xander pumped his hips, fucking Spike’s mouth good and hard then pulling back in time to jerk himself off over Spike’s pretty face.

Holy shit, how did he have the balls to do that? He watched the water rinse away the rivulets of cum from Spike’s hair.

“Fuck, want you,” growled Spike pulling Xander out of the bathroom past an appreciative Mrs Bingham then running back for the key and opening the door with difficulty.

Dripping wet they fell onto the bed. Spike’s fingers and lips were everywhere, pinching Xander’s nipples then soothing them better with long slow licks and stretching him open with fingers and … oh… a tongue!

Groaning with relief, Spike finally sank his cock inside and Xander hooked his legs tight around and waited for the pain to die down.

“Now,” he said when he was relaxed, ready and impatient to be reminded how good it was to screw. Spike kissed him hard with deep thrusts of his tongue and then began to fuck him with powerful strokes of his cock that mirrored the kiss.

Xander was so full. Sex was like flying and smoking weed and driving really fast all at the same time. It was like chocolate and beer and skinny dipping and snowboarding and jumping out of a plane.

He wanted to fuck Spike everywhere. He wanted to be fucked on a beach and fuck in a hot tub and he just wanted to fuck all the time. He wanted LiL dEVILs to be famous so there were better places to fuck in than a crummy B&B.

Wriggling his fingers between damp skin Xander reached for his cock and wanked himself gently, deliberately clenching every muscle in his body.

“Unghhh,” moaned Spike in some indecipherable sex language as he came hard into the condom.

“My turn,” grinned Xander pushing Spike onto his back, chucking the used condom in the direction of the bin and slicking his fingers up with lube he found on the bedside cabinet. Spike lifted his legs and Xander fingered him open exploring the hot tight hole and trying to find what it was in there that gave so much pleasure.

“Hgaieurhmmmph,” howled Spike, his cock beginning to fill again and Xander felt like he’d discovered a new land and should name it ‘That Thing Up Spike’s Arse.’ Maybe not.

He rubbed the new land a few more times then added a couple more fingers for good measure, loving the way he could make Spike whimper and speak in tongues. Now it was time for cock in nice hot body.

Equipping himself with a rubber overcoat for the journey, Xander kissed Spike and ran the tip of his erection up and down trying to find the hole. Pouting with frustration he let Spike take over, showing him the right place.

“Now push, you won’t hurt me,” said Spike pulling Xander lower so he could kiss him then shimmying his hips until Xander couldn’t do anything but…

“FUCK,” he howled.

“Do me hard,” begged Spike and Xander was too polite not to do as asked. He rammed himself inside but it wasn’t enough for either of them and they changed position in a scrambling hurry. Spike knelt up, hanging onto the top of the wooden headboard as Xander gripped his hips and slammed inside over and over and faster and faster until everything was a fizzy blur.

Reaching ‘round he fisted Spike’s slippery wet cock and fucked him so hard he thought they were going to end up in the next room which he had a worrying suspicion might well be occupied by Mrs Bingham with a glass to the wall.

“Yesssssssss,” howled Spike. “Yes. Harder. Fuck me harder. OH FUCK, XAN, THAT’S IT.”

“The gear’s all loaded so whenever you’re ready,” said a badly timed annoying Irish voice from the open doorway.

“Fuck off, Angel,” yelled Spike.

“I’ll just get me bag packed,” said the bass player, walking round to the other side of the bed and throwing clothes into a holdall

“Ignore him,” said Spike squeezing hard and fucking back against Xander who was so near that point of no return his cock hadn’t drooped in the slightest even when confronted by a six foot bass player who was examining Xander’s brand new technique with eagle eyes. Better let the bastard know what a quick learner he was. Would he get marks out of ten?

Showing off his rigidity and length, Xander pulled most of the way out and then slammed back in, aiming the head of his cock at newly discovered land and making Spike yell in newly discovered language.

Employing every single thing he’d ever learned from porno films, Xander shimmied and writhed and bucked and pumped and rubbed and tweaked and did just about everything short of singing the star spangled banner. And he almost did that when his hand was filled with Spike spunk and he reached his own climax licking the semen off his fingers.

They collapsed in a heap of damp hair and sweaty bodies and as Spike snuggled into his arms, Xander couldn’t resist a small self-satisfied grin in Angel’s direction. He might be a pawn in their game but it made a change from the boring kind of porn he was used to.

“We’re going now, with or without you,” muttered Angel, striding out of the room and slamming the door.

Xander panicked and tried to jump out of bed but Spike clung on to him.

“If they go they’ll only have to come back later and pick us up. It won’t be much of a show with just drum and bass. Who’d listen to that?”

Spike was almost right. The van was gone but they’d given a note and some keys to Mrs Bingham.

“They’ve left us Eve’s car,” said Spike as he read the letter.

“Great,” said Xander “We can go get those t-shirts sorted. They can copy the logo off the flyer.”

He borrowed the landlady’s phone and yellow pages and in an hour had managed to find a company that could print up three hundred shirts by tomorrow as long as they got the design to them as soon as possible.

Saying a sad farewell to Mrs Bingham, who sobbed into her hanky and said she hadn’t had so much fun since Led Zeppelin stayed with her, they packed their stuff into the rusty mini and set out to find the printers.

It wasn’t a long journey to Wednesbury, but once you took into account a recently deflowered randy teen being in the same car as a serial slut boy, the vast number of stops turned the twenty minute trip into an expedition almost the length of Scott trying to discover the South Pole. Xander seemed to have a permanent erection. No sooner had Spike blown him on the bonnet ‘round the back of Ladbroke’s betting shop than he was as hard as a steel bar again and ready to drag Spike out of the car and bend over for him on a convenient pile of pallets.

They fucked their way around Birmingham until they were so sore they could barely sit down and, even when both of them had run out of juice, they still had a fifteen minute make out session outside the printers which left them wanting to do more than they physically could.

Xander was happy happy happy happy. So happy he negotiated a brilliant rate and got them free back printing with all the tour dates listed. Spike just smiled prettily and groped Xander’s arse which was very good. Xander couldn’t think of a better use for a Spike.

By the time they’d booked into the B&B over the other side of Birmingham and taken separate showers for speed they were as horny as ever and it was a near impossible task to make it to the pub without ripping each other’s clothes off. Thinking about bass players helped dampen Xander’s ardour.

“Tell me about Angel,” he said as they queued in a traffic jam waiting to get past some roadworks.

“I may not have been totally telling the truth before,” admitted Spike.

Xander should have been thinking, tart, whore, slut, and lying prick but instead he was preoccupied by sad blue eyes and a plaintive voice and mmmm prick.

“I met Angel when I was sixteen and he was nineteen. We were at this gig and we started taking the piss saying how crap the band were, then we pulled a few girls and went back to my place. When the women had gone home Angel and I were still horny so we fucked. Never done a bloke before. He was my first, you’re my second.”

“Lying prick.”

Ooops, Xander hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

“I’m not. Well, technically most of the time I am, but that was all true, every word of it,” said Spike.

Xander wasn’t going to look at him; looking at Spike was like watching a really bad porno. You didn’t want to get a hard on but you just couldn’t help it. He couldn’t resist one little glance and then stared out of the side window with glazed eyes, sighing with relief when they pulled into the car park.

“How long?” yelled Spike dragging Xander behind him as they ran into the tiny dressing room area of the pub.

“Forty five minutes, and, no, you haven’t got time to…” answered Lindsey his voice fading away as Xander followed Spike into the loo.

Locking them inside a cubicle Spike ripped down Xander’s pants, gave him a quick suck and then condommed him. Pulling off his jeans and backing up against the door Spike hoisted himself up onto Xander’s shoulders, hanging on tight and lowering himself down onto Xander’s cock.

Jesus Christ. Sex just got better. With one arm clamped firmly around the slim body he jerked Spike off with dry fingers. They’d be so sore they’d never be able to fuck again at this rate. Spike clung on tight, using every muscle in his body to slide up and down on that cock, while he kissed and licked and tangled his fingers in Xander’s hair.

The toilet door was getting a brutal hammering. Sooner or later they were going to end up demolishing buildings if the sex got any rougher.

“Hurry up boys,” came a yell from outside.

“Mphugnungh,” cried Xander obeying the disembodied voice from beyond without question. They collapsed onto the floor with Spike crouched over Xander, fucking his mouth hard until he came.

It wasn’t the most romantic location for your first go at sucking someone off to completion but Xander didn’t care. Licking his lips happily he tidied himself up knowing full well that he had a stupid grin on his face.

Eve, the envoy from planet angry LiL dEVILs, was waiting for them with an amused look on her face as she examined the workings of the urinals. “Linds and Angel are mad. You’d better go get ready. Oh, and I hope the next performance sounds as good as that one did,” she added with a wink.

Spike was too lazy to hurry and Xander was too happy to give a damn. They held each other’s cocks while they peed and post-coitally kissed their way down the quiet corridor to the dressing room where Darla was doing a very bad job of calming down a terrified Angel.

“Where’ve you been, Spike?” demanded the bass player. “I feel…” He rushed off in the direction of the toilet to be sick.

“Go fix him,” said Xander with a sad smile. Spike pecked him on the lips and rushed off after Angel.

Not wanting to think about what kind of calming was going on in the loo, Xander occupied himself with sorting out the set lists and checking that the spare plectrums and sticks were in place. Then he sat winding protective tape around Lindsey’s fingers, lost in a world of his own which involved hot tubs and limousine sex and a new bass player who looked like a troll.

“Don’t get too into him.”

“Huh?” said Xander.

“Don’t get involved with Spike. He’s a nice guy but normal he is not,” said the drummer checking his fingers. “Thanks dude.”

“I’m trying but you don’t know what it’s like. You have an unfair advantage. I'm going straight. I've decided I'm turning straight. Linds, straighten me up now.”

“You see Darla’s breasts; the way they’re hanging out of that bra she calls a shirt?”

“I don’t wanna look,” grimaced Xander with ewww face.

“Neither do I,” grinned Lindsey. “That was a bad example.”

Five minutes later, Spike bounced back in to the little dressing room towing a very sorry for himself Angel and Xander watched the ritual as Spike chattered away and made Angel pretty. There was no point in trying to erase the bass player. He was always going to be a big part of Spike’s life.

Grabbing Lindsey’s cowboy hat as they were running through to the stage, Xander felt the usual surge of pride. Not only were they his boys but he had a feeling he might be good for them too.

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