Nothing Like Aspirin
It had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way to go out on a date without having to let the others in on their little secret: that they were having, for lack of a better word, an affair. But from the moment they’d walked into the crowded bar, nothing had gone right.
Xander hated the music (too loud and too techno), Spike hated the booze (watered-down slop), and they both hated the atmosphere (too trendy and too much of a pick-up joint...with too many guys trying to pick them up). The icing on the cake of the world’s worst night out? The aggressive guy wearing too much cheap cologne who just had to grab Xander’s ass, which led to Spike forgetting about his chip and throwing a punch, which led to Xander having to finish the fight - and now here they both were, in pain, back in the basement, feeling like hell and sniping at each other.
“Whose brilliant idea was this night out? Yours! So shut up, Spike!”
He put down the ice pack he’d been holding on his black eye. It only seemed to make it hurt more.
“And who thought tonight was the right night to wear jeans that fit instead of that baggy shite you always wear? As if putting that delicious arse of yours on display wasn’t asking for trouble?”
“You think my ass is delicious?”
“I would if I didn’t have a bloody headache from having to defend it.”
Suddenly Xander wasn’t so angry anymore. Delicious, huh? Besides, it occurred to him that Spike did have a point. He’d suffered terribly because of Xander’s brand new jeans. Maybe he should do something to make it up to him.
“Well, my ass isn’t the only delicious thing in this room. Want me to tell you what I think is delicious?”
He dropped to his knees in front of Spike, seated on the couch with his head thrown back and his eyes closed.
“Or better yet, why don’t I show you?”
And that’s exactly what he did.