Part 2: Strip

Xander frowned, confused, because there was no possible way that Spike meant what that had sounded like. "You're 'offering'? Offering what?"

"If you're so curious about this sort of thing, I'll show you a bit. Leastways you know I won't kill you."

Xander stared at Spike in shock, his mouth open but no words coming out. Did Spike just say what I thought he said? Because that doesn't seem remotely possible. Did Spike just ... offer to have sex with me? Just to keep me from supposedly getting killed by some random guy at a sex club?

Xander gulped and stammered, "I'm not your pity case, Spike." He can't be saying what I think he is. But what if he is? Does he really want this? Does he want me? Or ... even if he doesn't now ... maybe he'll start, if we...

Spike smirked at him. "Not pity, brat. Think I won't get anything out of it? Ain't gonna be me on my knees in this picture."

And those words sent such a rush of heat through Xander's body that he thought he might fall down. The image Spike had just put in his head ... it was so similar to the time loop ... so similar to so many of his fantasies. It all seemed surreal. Spike goes from yelling at him to offering to ... offering to ... to what, exactly? He still wasn't entirely sure.

Xander hesitated, then ventured, "Um ... so ... the party is on New Year's Eve."

"You aren't ready for a club."

"What do you mean? I've been to lots of clubs. Well, I mean, I've been to The Bronze, and there was this one time in Oxnard, when I ... well, I've been other places, but nothing like..."

Spike interrupted him to say simply, "Take off your clothes."

Xander's jaw dropped. When enough of his brains had crawled their way back into his head and he was able to form words again, he squeaked, "What?"

Spike nodded, looking smug. "Right there. Proof you're not ready."

Xander was frowning now. "What the heck are you talking about?"

Spike walked to the couch and sat down, sprawling comfortably while watching Xander all the while. "I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions. No excuses. No arguments. You do it. You talk when I tell you to talk. You strip when I tell you to strip." Spike settled himself and raised one eyebrow expectantly. "Now, I seem to remember I told you to do something."

Xander hesitated, wanting to ask what exactly was going on, wanting to be sure he wasn't misinterpreting, but Spike had pretty clearly told him not to ask questions, to just do what he was told. This was probably all a dream, anyway, because stuff like this just didn't happen to him, so he might as well go with it.

Keeping his eyes on Spike's, watching for any clue, Xander lowered his hand nervously to the button at his waist. When he unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans, Spike's face seemed to relax slightly, not smiling but looking somehow pleased, though whether he was pleased with himself or with Xander was impossible to tell.

He was just starting to lower his zipper when he realized he was still wearing his shirts. Oh, yeah. That would be sexy. Drop my pants and stand here in my shirt and socks. Xander started unbuttoning his long-sleeved shirt, suddenly becoming self-conscious about the fact that it was red with big green circles on it. It was Christmas, after all. But standing in his living room with Spike watching him take off his clothes, the shirt suddenly seemed ridiculous, like a clown suit without the nose and floppy shoes. He tried to get the gaudy shirt off as quickly as possible, but he'd forgotten to unbutton the cuffs and it got caught on his hands. He struggled briefly and tossed it on the ground, blushing.

"Slow down, yeah?" Spike drawled lazily. "'S not a race. Give me a bit of a show." He smirked and Xander felt a moment of panic that this whole thing was just a complicated Spike joke to make him look stupid. But Spike wasn't usually that cruel anymore. And the smirk seemed more ... sexy ... than mocking. So Xander gulped and nodded. Slow. Show. He couldn't help finishing off a rhyme: Blah blah blah blah blow. Ack! No, not blow! Or ... um ... yes, blow? What exactly does Spike have in mind here?

Xander hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other, and then started slowly pulling his t-shirt out of the waist-band of his jeans, still watching Spike's face uncertainly.

"Tease me," Spike said from his sprawl on the couch. "Stroke your stomach. Lift up the shirt a bit, give me a glimpse, let it fall again. Make me want to see more."

Xander gulped and slowly ran his hand over his stomach, over his black t-shirt, but just feeling his muscles calmed him down a bit, made him feel a little more confident. Yeah, he'd been working out since Buffy's death. It passed the time, and it seemed to work off some of the emotions he didn't know how to deal with. Since the time loop, he'd been spending even more time with the weights. Frustration was a strong motivator.

Xander licked his lips and caught his breath when he saw Spike's eyes follow the movement. Maybe this really was his chance to make Spike notice him as something more than a buddy.

Still stroking his stomach lazily, Xander let one hand slide underneath, lifting the shirt slightly as Spike had instructed, giving Spike a glimpse of the smooth skin of his belly. He stroked his fingers slowly across his stomach muscles and kept his eyes on Spike, who was now watching that sliver of revealed skin. Xander let the shirt fall again, hoping he'd done what Spike said, hoping he'd made Spike want more. Please please let him want more.

Xander smoothed both hands up his body to his chest, then plucked at both nipples through the fabric, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment at the sensation. When he opened his eyes, he saw Spike watching him with that hunger in his eyes, that look he'd had during the time loop, and Xander was suddenly hard. All the way hard. Embarrassingly hard. If Spike was just waiting to mock him, he was going to have plenty of ammunition.

Licking his lips again, Xander found himself almost drunk on Spike's intense gaze on his mouth. Come kiss me, he thought. You keep watching my mouth. Come kiss me. I've been thinking about it for months. Every time we're alone, I think about it. Every time you look at me for more than a few seconds, I think about it. So kiss me. Please. I've been wanting you to look at me like this, and now you finally are. Like you think I'm hot. Oh god. I think I'm going to die if you don't kiss me.

He didn't realize how long he'd been standing there, looking from Spike's eyes to Spike's lips and back again, until Spike said, "Not stopping, are you? Thought you wanted this game."

Xander's head jerked in some semblance of a nod. Right. Game. Do what Spike says. It's like Simon Says ... only incredibly hot and sort of confusing. Xander began slowly lifting his t-shirt, revealing his stomach and chest inch by inch. Once he got the shirt to his armpits, there just didn't seem to be any sexy way to get the shirt the rest of the way off, so he just whipped it over his head. He had a momentary giddy image of himself swinging the shirt around over his head and then throwing it at Spike, but that was just too cheesy, so he let the shirt fall to the floor instead.

Spike was running his eyes over Xander's bared skin, making Xander's stomach do funny twisty things. Spike was actually looking at him. Not just like a pal. Merry Christmas to me.

Emboldened by Spike's obvious interest, Xander stroked his stomach again, licking his lips, his eyes half-closed as he watched for even the tiniest reactions. Spike shifted slightly, making Xander wonder if he wasn't the only one getting hard. That thought, of course, only made him harder.

He stroked his hands up to his chest and tweaked both nipples again, which made him moan slightly. Touching himself like this, with Spike there, watching and apparently interested, was the closest he'd come to sex in a long time. It made everything more intense.

"Suck your finger," Spike said huskily. "Want to watch you suck it."

Xander shuddered, an image of himself on his knees, sucking Spike's cock, nearly overwhelming him. He put his index finger in his mouth and began sucking, slow, the way Spike had liked. He kept his eyes on Spike, fascinated and amazed at how the other man's eyes had gone dark and hot. He wants me. I think he actually wants me.

"Now use that finger on your nipple," Spike said, watching him closely, leaning slightly forward as if to see better.

Oh yeah. I think we have an answer on whether or not I like this game. Because Spike giving me orders? Definitely twanging my thang.

Xander slid the finger out of his mouth and used it to circle his nipple, teasing himself, and then pinched lightly, sending that tiny shock of pleasure downward again.

"Take off the trousers."

Another moment of panic. How was he supposed to take off his pants without bending over and tripping like a dork? Well, one thing was certain. The socks had to come off first, because there was no way in hell he was going to stand in front of Spike wearing boxers and socks. Any small amount of hotness Spike might see in him would be instantly destroyed.

Oh hell. I'm wearing my Marvin the Martian boxers. Why didn't I wear ... uh ... okay, I have no boxers appropriate for this situation. Okay, honest? I can't imagine boxers appropriate for this situation. Um ... maybe I can go shopping after work tomorrow. Because I don't think Spike'll be turned on by the lipstick-kiss ones, either. Or the happy faces. My underwear is undignified. Why didn't I ever notice this before? Why didn't I realize the hugeness of the problem? Uh ... hugeness. Yeah, there's that problem, too. If I take off my pants, Spike'll see that I'm enjoying this more than a little bit. Yes, definitely more than a little. But isn't that the point? Wait. Is that the point? What is the point?

"Trousers," Spike repeated, sounding impatient. Right. He told me to do something. I'm supposed to do it. That's the game.

Xander bent over and pulled off one sock, then switched feet and pulled off the other sock. He stood straight again and looked over at Spike, who was watching him patiently, slouching back on the couch. Xander raised his hands to the front of his jeans and swallowed nervously. Spike just watched him. Xander lowered his zipper very slowly, not because he was trying to tease, but because he was anxious about letting Spike see exactly how much he was enjoying this little game.

"Off," Spike insisted when Xander hesitated. Xander considered whether to pull off the boxers at the same time as the jeans, in order to avoid the Marvin the Martian problem, but Spike seemed to be pretty insistent that Xander follow his instructions, so he didn't want to piss Spike off. That might end the game. And Xander did not want to end the game. No. No ending of the game. Even if it means underweary humiliation.

Xander began pushing the jeans down over his hips, worrying about what he was going to do when he would normally bend down and pull them off with the help of some very un-sexy hopping. He didn't think the hopping would turn Spike on. It seemed somehow unlikely.

So he just kept pushing the jeans down, bending over slightly, still keeping his eyes on Spike, who looked interested. When he got the jeans pushed down far enough past his knees, they crumpled down around his feet and he was able to just step out of them. One of the benefits of baggy jeans, I guess. So why have I been doing the hopping thing all these years? I'm sure Spike doesn't do the hopping thing when he takes off his pants. The image of Spike taking off his pants sent another wave of lust through him. The image of Spike without his pants was even better.

He was standing now, looking at Spike, feeling his face burn with a boner-awareness blush. But Spike didn't look like he was going to make fun of either Xander's boner or Marvin the Martian. If anything, he looked hungry. He had that hot look in his eyes again, that look like he wanted to throw Xander down on the floor and do nasty things to him. Oh yes! Please? Where do I sign up for the nasty things?

Spike jerked his chin toward Xander's boxers and said, "Them too."

Xander nodded nervously. Okay. We're getting past R-rated territory now and heading straight for the full monty. Though I'm not sure if 'straight' is the right word to use. But if I do this, we can't go back to the just buddies thing. Because then we'll be naked buddies. Or, half-way naked buddies, since I'm the only one naked. Well, not naked yet. But will be naked. And then I'll have been naked. And then we'll be patrolling, and it'll be all 'yeah, but I've seen you naked', because that just never goes away. We'll be playing pool at The Bronze and the naked thing will be there. I mean, not like my thing will be naked, because naked thing at The Bronze? Not my thing.

Spike was watching him expectantly. Xander slid his fingers into the elastic waistband of his boxers and did a bit of finagling to get the elastic past his erection. Only a moment later, the boxers were at his feet and he stepped out of them, leaving him standing in front of Spike, completely naked ... and as nervous as he'd probably ever been in his entire life.

"Nice," Spike commented, eyes on Xander's hard-on. "Touch it."

Xander felt his cock throb in response. He reached with one hand and took hold of himself, squeezing gently, making himself moan again, watching Spike through lowered lashes.

"Make yourself come." Spike's voice was a little harsh. "Want to watch you."

Xander knew he was blushing again. Spike wanted to watch him come? He gulped. Okay, just knowing that was going to make the event humiliatingly speedy. He stroked himself once, squeezing again, but he didn't have any lube. He spit into his hand -- oh very sexy -- and stroked himself again, gasping. He kept his eyes on Spike's face, trying to read the expression in Spike's eyes.

It only took a few strokes. He'd been too worked up for too long. He was still watching Spike's eyes when he felt the orgasm crash through his body, making his eyes close, making his whole body stiffen and buck, making him sob out some inarticulate sound. He nearly fell down, which would have been the final indignity, but he somehow kept his feet and eventually opened his eyes, his breath still quick, his heart still beating fast, his body weak and throbbing, his dick softening in his hand.

Spike was watching him with eyes narrowed, his own chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

"Good boy," he rasped, as if he too had been running the orgasm marathon. "Can go get cleaned up now."

Xander nodded, though his head felt like it was just sort of rolling around all out of control like one of those bobbing-head dolls old people put on the dashboards of their cars. His neck seemed to be made of rubber. The rest of his body seemed to have melted. He wondered how he was going to manage to walk to the bathroom when his legs had been dismantled while he wasn't looking.

He somehow managed to walk, though, and closed the bathroom door for some private freak-out time while he washed himself off.

Holy guacamole! I just jacked off in front of Spike! Because he told me to! What now? What does he want? Because he looked pretty wanty.

But when he came out of the bathroom, Spike was gone. Xander walked, still naked, to the kitchen, where he saw the postcard sitting face down on the table, the text side facing up, with all its information about domination parties and sex clubs. Across the back, covering most of the text, there were four letters scrawled in thick pen: DON'T.

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