TITLE: First Boys Night Out

SERIES: First Times

AUTHOR: Karen

EMAIL: klmcd@blueyonder.co.uk

PAIRING: Spike/Xander (Pre-slash)

RATING: PG

FEEDBACK: Well duh. I mean, if you would be so kind.

SUMMARY: Xander and Spike spend a little quality guy time together.

SPOILERS: I think there are some minor ones for early S6.

DISTRIBUTION: List archives. Anybody else - help yourself, just let me know,

DISCLAIMER: Nothing is mine blah blah blah. All Joss and Mutant Enemy blah blah blah.

NOTES1: Second part in the First Times series and sequel to First Comfort - Set a couple of days after. You'll probably need to read that one first for this part to make complete sense.

NOTES2: The um...heated discussion the guys have towards the end of this part is adapted from an actual discussion I have seen a couple of my friends have. It just gives you a little taste of the sorts of weird people I hang out with.

DEDICATION: To Mod for the fab beta. Hope I didn't bug you too much :-) To all the people that sent me feedback and helped with my motivational issues, and also to Bridie who became by own little fanfiction nag for this chapter - so was it worth the wait?

First Times 2: First Boys Night Out
By Karen

***

"Hi Spike. I was wondering if maybe, you know, if you didn't have any other plans, if you would wanna maybe go out for a drink or something, sometime...with me?"

Oh yeah that's brilliant. I'm really letting my confidence and self-assurance show though there. I sound like I'm trying to ask him on a date or something. He's gonna laugh in my face. Okay, let's try again.

"Hey Spike, how's things. Drink any good blood lately?"

Drink any good blood lately? What the hell is that?

"Hi Spike. Don't suppose you can explain to me why I'm walking though a cemetery on my own when it's nearly sunset and I'm clearly not a Slayer, as my idea of a great fighting skill is my ability to run and hide like a 'fraidy cat until Buffy comes and rescues me?"

Oh yeah, I can really hear Spike's response to that one: "The reason why you're creeping around a cemetery at sunset, clutching that stake like it was security blanket, is because you're a complete and utter, bloody moron, mate." Only he'd do a better accent.

And it's not like this stake is a security blanket really, I mean, they're usually not this pointy and I haven't needed a blanky since...well okay, it's only been a year since Anya made me throw it out, but it's gone and that's the main thing.

God, I miss my blanky.

"Hi Spike. You know, since Darla chewed on my best friend, and Oz went off in search of his inner wolf, Riley left to be George of the Jungle, and Giles went home to the land of tea and scones, I haven't really had any good guy friends, so I wondered if you would want to hang out at the Bronze some time. You know, shoot some pool, have a few drinks and just do guy stuff?"

That wasn't too lame. Yup, that's the one. Okay, I'm pumped, I'm psyched, I'm ready to go.

He's still going to laugh in my face. My life really has come to something when Spike is my best option for some male company.

Well, here goes nothing. I knock a couple of times on the door to his crypt.

Nothing.

I knock a little harder this time.

Still nothing. Maybe this was a bad idea. Yeah, definitely a bad idea. What was I thinking? I'm just going to go home and curl up with a good comic book and-

"If you're a demon, I'm gonna kick your ass. If you're some twit who wants me to find God, well, I'm still going to kick your ass but I'm going to enjoy it more. And if you're a Girl Scout selling cookies, put me down for four boxes 'cause I'm feeling peckish."

The door to the crypt opens and Spike looks surprised to see me.

"Harris!"

"Evil undead!"

"Since when do you knock?"

"Can I come in?"

"Would you actually go away if I said no?"

"I'll take that as a yes." I side-step Spike and go inside. He closes the door and walks past me to sit down in his ratty old chair.

"So mate, what brings you to the undead side of town? I hope you're not looking for more booze, 'cause if I had any I'd be drinking it myself."

"More booze?"

"Was that, or was that not you, flouncing about my cemetery the other night, acting like the idiot that you are, trying to get yourself killed?"

Dammit, I was hoping that was an alcohol-induced hallucination. "So that was you who walked me home then?"

"Yeah, that was me." Why is he smirking?

"Hey, maybe you can tell me why I woke up with my boxers half off and only wearing one sock?"

"Oh, that was all you. You wanted to go for the full frontal but I managed to stop you before I went blind."

Oh geez, can this get any more embarrassing? I shuffle my feet a little, and he looks way too pleased with himself at my discomfort. I guess I should just be grateful that I didn't go through with my plan to ask Spike if he wanted to spend some guy time with me then. 'Drink any good blood lately?' would probably seem like Shakespeare compared to what I could come up while falling down drunk.

I can't really remember, but I'm pretty sure that's when I came up with this idea. I can't imagine anyone who wasn't under the influence thinking that spending time with Spike was an answer to any of their problems. Then again, I'm sober now so....

"If my memory serves me I was under the impression that drinking was more your family's style than yours, Harris?"

He's right, and that's number three on my list of reasons why I am never getting drunk again, right behind never wanting to see the contents of my stomach externally again.

"I wasn't really thinking straight the other night." To put it mildly. I can see by the look on his face that he's dying to make some crack about me never thinking straight, but he manages to restrain himself and instead chooses a more painful line of questioning.

"So you and demon girl back playing kissy-face then?"

"I thought I would have told you all about that the other night?"

"You were dribbling on about something, but I can't say I was paying that much attention. Why?"

"She left."

"Yeah, I got that bit already."

"No, I mean she left...the country." And now he's laughing. I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

"So, not only did she leave you, she felt the need to move a few thousand miles away. You really know how to reach the heady heights of loserdom, don't you, Harris?"

"Shut up!"

"Where did she go?"

"Mmmglnd."

"Without the mumbling?"

"England! She left me and followed Giles to England. Happy now?" I think if he had been drinking blood I would be looking like Carrie at the prom right about now. "I'm so glad my life was able to provide you with such amusement, Spike."

"God, Harris, your life's more entertaining that the bloody soaps. Don't suppose you brought a couple of blonde, big-breasted twins from Sweden, a bottle of JD and a carton of smokes with you, 'cause then you'd be perfect?"

"Sorry to disappoint you."

He's still chuckling quietly to himself as he lights up a cigarette and takes a couple of long drags. As he puffs away, his expression changes from one of amusement to...I don't know what, but it's freaking me out. He has a sinister glint in his eye and he raises his scarred eyebrow a little. The corners of his mouth curl up into a creepy smirk

"Tell me, Xander did you get the stuff that I left you? You know, the bucket, the pills?"

That was him! "I wondered who left them."

"Well who do you think it was? The barf fairies?"

"No. I...I just, I didn't know. Thanks for that, I guess."

"Try not to sound so enthusiastic next time. I'm not sure I could take all the gratitude."

"Spike, do you actually teach classes in sarcasm, or do you just take them?"

He chooses to completely ignore my wisecrack and instead feigns a look of innocence. I know it can't be real, because...well, it's Spike. "So...um, did you manage to get to the bucket in time? Wouldn't want you having any accidents now would I?"

"Yeah, I did. Lucky you put it where you did because otherwise I would have been looking for a new place to live. I'd rather have moved than have to clean up that mess."

Why does he look disappointed?

"So, what time did you get up?"

"I dunno. About ten I guess. Why?"

"So your alarm clock didn't wake you up or anything?"

"My alarm clock? No, why would it? It hasn't worked in months. Spike, what's this about?"

He looks even more disappointed.

"What about the pills? You took them right?"

"Yeah, I took the pills."

That seems to have pleased him for some reason. What is he muttering about? "One out of three's not bad." Huh?

"Spike, what is with you tonight? Don't tell me the chip finally fried your brain, 'cause I'd have to leave right now and go buy a cake for the party I'm gonna throw."

"What? Oh, nothing. Why are you still here? If your done talking about your drunken exploits I have some telly to watch."

"Huh? No I...I actually came here to ask you something." I stand there for a few seconds, my mouth suddenly dry and my mind blank.

"I'm not getting any younger here. Mind you, I'm not getting any older either, but you're starting to bore me, so spit it out." Spike stands in front of me, hands on hips, weight shifted to his left side, glaring at me. His gaze is doing nothing for my nervousness.

"Right, well, I was just wondering..." I can do this, I just need to say what I practiced. "...since Darla did the, um chewing, and Giles became a wolf and Oz did...something with scones and..."

Shit!

"No, wait. That's not...I mean, dammit! This was so much easier in my head." He's back to being amused again.

"Five words or less, Harris. What. Do. You. Want?"

"Do you wanna be my friend?" Dammit that was six --and *so* not the point to focus on. 'Do you wanna be my friend?' That's worse than the 'Drink any good blood lately?'

"So should I just call up your mum and arrange a few playdates for after school? Or maybe we could pass notes in homeroom? Thanks but no thanks, mate." He throws he cigarette on the ground and stubs it out, turning his back to me.

"No, I though we could maybe go to the Bronze and shoot some pool, or maybe have a couple of beers."

"Beer!" He turns back suddenly. "You have cash?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what are we hanging around here for? Come on, off we go."

I feel like Jerry Maguire. I can just imagine Spike saying, 'You had me at 'I'm buying'.'

"What are you waiting there for, Harris? Are we going or what?" He opens the crypt door and indicates for me to go through, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Yeah sure, come on Rene."

I walk through into the darkness and he follows right behind me.

"Rene? Harris, have you finally lost it?"

***

"So..."

"Yeah..."

"Umm..."

*Heavy sigh*

The beers have been bought and we're sitting at a table in The Bronze. I finger the edge of my glass as I gaze about the room, watching all the other people having fun, dancing or playing pool.

I have never felt so awkward in my life.

Well, there was my last prostate exam with Dr. Farrimond, but I'm doing my best to suppress any memory of that.

I think the phrase 'uncomfortable silence' does not do this situation justice.

"You'd think you were at the dentist by the looks of some of the faces your pulling. You asked me here, remember. I've already got my beer if you want to bugger off and find someone more to your liking to hang out with."

He almost sounds like I hurt his feelings or something. I couldn't have, right? I mean, all he's really here for is the beer.

Conversation. Need to think of things of which to converse.

"Well if your staying, lets talk more about why that little demon girl of yours left you for old Wrinkly."

That's just great. I should have trusted Spike to pick the most painful subject possible and exploit it for his own amusement.

"Let's not and say we did, okay?"

"Ooh, touchy. Come now, I thought talking about your problems is supposed to be good for the soul and all that shit. Not that I would know of course, but I don't mind listening. Come tell your uncle Spike."

"Oh yeah, now I'm ready to spill my guts."

"Your loss." He shrugs his shoulders and takes another drink of his beer.

The air is once again filled with uncomfortable silence which, this time, I have no desire to fill. I watch him as his eyes flit about the room until they become unfocused and he knits his eyebrows together in deep thought. His expression is serious as he turns to ask me a question.

"Were you just not getting it done in the bedroom, was that the problem?" The serious look goes and he's back to smirking again.

I knew I should have called Bruiser instead. I'm sure he would have made better male company that Sensitivity Boy here. So, he's a 300lb surly demolition expert, who dresses like he belongs in the Village People, has several... interesting tattoos of Daffy Duck in stilettos, stockings and suspenders, and has a very weird habit of calling the wrecking ball 'mom', but still, I'm sure he could have been good company. Okay, maybe not.

"So tell me what she said when she left. Did she explain it to you, or did she just leave you a 'Dear loser' note?"

"You're just not going to leave this alone are you?" The amusement on his face says it all. Fine, whatever it takes to make him drop the subject. "She just said that she needed someone more mature at this stage in her life. She wanted someone who could give her more stability and security.

"In Anya-speak I'm guessing that means more money," he mutters.

"I don't know what she meant by it though, I'm mature!" He raises one eyebrow at me and scoffs. "I am! I have a steady job, a regular income, a place of my own, and I pay taxes and bills and stuff. Hell, I even proposed to her with a ring and everything. If that doesn't scream maturity what does?"

He starts counting things off on his fingers. "So we're not mentioning your stupid comic book collection, your adolescent choice in underwear, the embarrassing amount of jobs you've had that require a paper hat and the phrase 'do you want fries with that?'..."

I cut him off 'cause I'm on a roll here. "She nagged me and nagged me to announce the engagement, and the moment we do she runs off to a whole other country. She's the immature one." I sit lower in my seat and cross my arms over my chest and stick my chin out a little in a slightly childish display of defiance. Okay, so I never said I was the most mature man on the planet.

"It doesn't sound like Rupert to nick someone's girl like that." This time he genuinely looks serious and a little confused.

"He didn't," I say, and his confused look deepens.

"But you said Anya left you to be with him."

"She did. I never said he felt the same."

"What? She just went to England and he doesn't even want her?"

"Yeah, pretty much. In fact, I've had a phone call from him every day since she left, begging me to talk to her and convince her to come back home." He starts smiling now. I can see little puffs of smoke coming out his nose from his barely suppressed laughter. "Seems she's been following him all round London, showing up unannounced at his home and his work, basically
anywhere he is, he now has an Anya shaped shadow."

Now I can barely suppress my own laughter, Spike's becoming infectious. I can just imagine Anya following Giles around making inappropriate, crude sexual comments about the orgasms she wants, and the positions she likes, in front of all those uptight Watcher types, wilting a few stiff upper lips and making Giles cough and splutter and go bright red with embarrassment. You know, maybe for once it might be nice for someone else to enjoy the humiliation of having to put up with Anya's loud public use of the single entendre.

Spike's laughter dies down and he takes a last drag of his cigarette before he stubs it out on the tabletop. Well, this is certainly going better. Spike and I actually managed to find something to laugh about. We're basically laughing over how sad my life is just now, but still, it's a start.

"You gonna go off to England and try to win back the heart of the fair lady then?"

"What? No, of course not. What gave you that idea?"

"That's what you hero types do isn't it? Someone steals your girl --well sort of --you gotta go get her back. You know, find her, kidnap her, chain her up and torture her until she decides to love you again."

"That approach may work for you on the centerfold for the April 1885 edition of Loony Psychopath Digest, but somehow I don't think it would work on Ahn."

He shrugs and takes another drink. "Besides, she left me. She wants me, she knows where to find me. She'll have a fight on her hands though." I think I see what could be a slight glimmer of respect in his eyes at that before it's quickly gone and replaced with his usual disdain.

"Yeah, 'cause all the girls are just lining up round the block to get to you, eh Monkey Boy?"

"Give it a few days, I haven't been on the market for long."

"Keep dreaming." He finishes off his beer and I can see from the way the corners of his mouth turn up slightly that he's ready to start the next volley of insults.

"You know, it must be pretty humiliating to know that women find a stuffy English bloke, over twice your age, more attractive that you are. I mean, it's never happened to me, so tell me, is it humiliating?"

I've had enough of this. I ignore his question and pose one of my own instead. "Tell me Spike, how are things between you and Buffy. Good?"

He sits there motionless for a few seconds staring at me, not blinking, his expression blank, before he shift slightly in his seat and reaches for a cigarette and lights it. He takes a long drag and releases the smoke through his nose, a weird contemplative look on his face. He lets out a quick sigh and looks back at me. "Right then. Good point. Beer?"

I let the smile form on my face, not caring that he sees my amusement. I nod my head and he picks up my change lying on the table from the last round, and heads for the bar. If I'd known that would've shut him up so effectively I would have tried it ages ago.

***

"Three ball in the corner pocket." Spike bends over the pool table, lines up the shot, pulls the cue back and in one smooth motion brings it forward, hits the cue ball and sinks the shot perfectly. He's been doing that consistently for the past half hour. Damn him!

"See the difference between you and me, is that I have talent and you..." he looks me up and down. "...don't."

He lines up his next shot. "Five ball in the side pocket." He takes his eye of the ball, looks up at me instead, smirking, and takes the shot. And again, the ball goes in like it was guided by a tractor beam.

I'm getting sick of this. "Don't suppose you could beat me without the showing off?"

"No, I don't think so." He chalks his cue and blows the extra off in my directions. He waggles his eyebrows at me and walks over to the other side of the table. I rest my chin on my hands which are sitting on the top of my upturned cue and let out a bored sigh. I prefer playing this game with Buffy. She still wins most of the time, but at least she lets me take a shot once in a while.

I cross my eyes and try to touch my nose with my tongue. I don't know why, but hey look, I just managed to pass 10 seconds.

I feel Spike looking at me without even having to see him. Suddenly I feel a little foolish. I try to discretely uncross my eyes and put my tongue back in my mouth. I straighten up and try to cover my actions with a cough and a stretch. Real suave.

"You know, if your that bored all you had to do was say."

"I did say, Spike. In fact I have said, several times."

"All right, you don't have to hit me over the head with it." He takes another shot, but this time he misses my a mile. Spike just missed for me! If I didn't see it with my own eyes I would never have believed it.

"Oh darn," he snaps his fingers together in mock frustration. "I guess it's your turn."

I rub my hands together and try to put on my best 'I am the greatest pool player in the world' expression. I'm not sure what it looks like, but Willow assures me I do a very good one.

"Watch and learn, Dances with Peroxide." He steps back from the table with a flourish and indicates for me to take his place.

I make a big play of chalking my cue and lining up my shot, looking at it from several angles. I can see him rolling his eyes at me but I don't care. I finally decide on a position I like and I ease my cue back. I slide it forward and...

**COUGH HACK SPLUTTER**

...it slips from my fingers and skews off at an odd angle. It scuffs the cue ball which goes spinning across the table, jumps over the edge and rolls along the ground towards a group of tables to the side of the dance floor. Spike and I just stand there and watch it slowly roll away. Once it's out of sight we look at each other instead, my expression a mixture of embarrassment and anger, his undisguised amusement and pride in himself.

"Hey!"

He places his hand flat over his chest and tries to look shocked. "What? I didn't do anything wrong. A man's gotta cough!"

"That's just it, you're not a man."

He gives up the innocent act and chuckles instead as he goes to meet the guy walking over to our table with the runaway cue ball. Spike takes the ball and I hear him mutter something to guy like: "Bloody amateurs huh?" The guy looks over at me and the two of them exchange knowing looks. I think Willow would be very ashamed at the state of my 'I am the greatest pool player in the world' expression at the moment. The guy nods his goodbye, goes to rejoin his friends and Spike turns back to look at me.

"I do believe it's my turn again."

"No. No way, I should get a do-over for that."

"Uh uh, no do-overs. You don't get do-overs in a man's game."

Man's game my ass. Something tells me you shouldn't really cheat in a man's game either, but that didn't stop him.

"Tell you what, to make up for it I'll get the next round. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay, that seems fairer."

He puts the ball back on the table and leans his cue against the side. He walks up to me and hold out his hand palm up. "I need some cash."

"Spike, I think you missed the whole concept of what it means to get a round."

"Well I don't have any cash on me," he says sounding like it's the most obvious thing in the world and that I'm a complete idiot for even thinking it. "I'll pay you back, you know I'm good for it, I just have to cash in a few kittens."

I let out the most annoyed, put-out sigh I can come up with as I reach into my pocket and hand him ten dollars. Bye bye, money. It's been nice knowing you.

He saunters over to the bar and...wait a minute. "Kittens!?!"

***

"No, you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong, and you're being completely unreasonable."

"How can you say that? It's like...it's just...it's wrong!"

"Yeah, great argument you've got going for you there. You're being wasted in construction, you shoulda gone to law school."

"I just don't understand how you can say a Jaffa Cake is in any way superior to the Kit Kat."

"You don't even know what a bloody Jaffa Cake is, do you?"

"That is beside the point." I pause and think for a minute. "What is a Jaffa Cake?"

"It's this bloody brilliant biscuit-type thing." He puts his beer down on the bar, holds up his right hand and puts his thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. "It's about this big with a soft cakey bit at the bottom, an orange jelly bit in the middle and a layer of chocolate at the top."

"Hang on, how can they call it a cake if you say it's a biscuit?"

"See, that's the beauty of it --it's like some sort of inspired hybrid of the two. It represents the ultimate bridge between the cake world and the biscuit world and should be forever hailed as the pinnacle of either form." He picks his beer up again and takes a drink. "Bloody genius!"

He is getting way too excited over a stupid cookie.

"Yeah, but with the Kit Kat, you get the thick chocolaty goodness *and* a delicious crunchy wafer."

"Wafer? You're giving me wafer? That's your argument?"

"Not only that, but comes in the form of two, sometimes even four, little fingers that are perfect for dunking or just stuffing your face full when you're on the go."

"Get back to the little leagues, mate. There is no way you can win this. The Jaffa Cake rules, 'nuff said. Next time the Watcher calls you ask him, he'll tell you the same thing."

"How am I supposed to win this when I've never even heard of them. You could be spinning me a long line of crap and I wouldn't know it."

"I could be." His expression is deadpan.

"Are you?"

"Maybe." His face softens and he gives me an enigmatic smile. I can't tell if he's bullshitting me or not anymore.

"But you ask Rupert anyway." Huh, maybe he's telling the truth.

"Suppose you like to dunk them in your blood?"

"Don't be daft. You wouldn't waste a perfectly good Jaffa Cake like that." His voice goes a bit quieter and he shrugs slightly "'Sides, it'd get all soggy."

"You know, this has to be one of the stupidest conversations I have *ever* had. And I've had a few."

He takes a deep breath and lets it our slowly, purses his together and nods contemplatively before breaking out into a large grin. "I think I'd have to agree with you there."

I'm not sure whether he's agreeing with me or insulting me by saying most of my conversations are stupid.

"Maybe we should change the subject now, before we start a full-blown snack food war."

"Fine by me."

A thought suddenly occurs to me and I narrow by eyes in challenge and allow myself a little knowing smile. He sees my expression and the unspoken challenge in my eyes and matches is with his own. Let's see how well he does now.

"Tell me, Spike..." I try to sound casual as I lean against the bar. "...Coca Cola, or Dr. Pepper?"

***

We're nearly back at my apartment building and I've gotta say, I think I'm in shock. I actually had fun. In my drunken state a few day ago, I decided that I would feel better if I spent some time with Spike, and whatdaya know, I was actually right. Will wonders never cease?

Okay, so he did insult me every five minutes, he cheat rampantly at pool, he refused to back down in a discussion and he never pays for anything but...what point was I making again? Oh yeah, he's actually kinda fun to hang out with. There are still a few kinks in the system, but maybe this even has some friend potential.

Spike stops, turns and looks at me. "Well, thanks for the beer and all that." I look up and see that we've reached my building.

I give a casual shrug. "Sure." I take a deep breath and open my mouth to suggest that maybe we could do this again sometime, when he surprises me.

"You know, if you ever find yourself at a loose end again, I'm sure I could take pity on you and hang out some more." He actually wants to spend more time with me? "Well, as long as you keep buying that is," he adds as an afterthought.

"Maybe I should just let you spend some quality time alone with my wallet?"

"That could work too," he says seriously before winking at me. He stubs out his last cigarette, stuffs his hand in his pockets and starts to move away. "Well, I'm off to find some people that are actually fun. G'night, Droopy Boy."

"I do have a name you know, Spike."

That stops him. "What?"

"A name, I actually have one. Not Droopy Boy, or Monkey Boy, or Special Ed, or whatever the flavor of the month is with you."

He looks like he has some cutting jibe just on the tip of his tongue but for some reason he swallows it, nods acceptingly and just says, "Right then. G'night Xander."

He walks backward for a couple of steps looking at me and smiling slightly before spinning around, his duster sweeping round after him and walking down the street in the direction of his crypt in long confident strides.

"G'night Spike."

**The End**