Title: A Week in the (Un)Life Of… 4/5
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG-13 for now
Feedback/Concrit: darkhavens @ slashverse.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made.
Summary: Every fourth Thursday night is club night
Note1: Written for stagesoflove 2006, Round 3, 'Five Days', day #4 - Thursday.
Note2: Toad in the Hole.
Stage #1 Monday, stage #2 Tuesday, stage #3 Wednesday.
Every fourth Thursday night is club night, when Xander and Spike take turns at being on the studded end of their favourite leash.
It's a local club - just fifteen minutes walk away, a leisurely stroll by all accounts. Not that Xander would ever actually walk there - dressed in leathers and silks, in PVC and fine mesh - no matter which end of the leash he's on. So, every week they take a cab.
"You know that cabby goes home and tells his missus all about the pair of poofs he took to Ebden's, right? Not walking there doesn't make the gossip stop, it just shifts it somewhere else instead."
Xander rolls his eyes and doesn't bother answering - any response just makes Spike try harder. Instead, he turns the heat up a little and checks his notes.
"C'mon, luv, you've got to admit it's a bit daft. The bloody cab's usually at least half an hour late. We'd be in and at the bar by the time he got here if we only walked."
There's an extended moment of silence and Xander braces for Spike's next assault.
"Are you ashamed to be seen with me like that?"
The pout is practiced, as is the slight wobble in Spike's voice, but Xander breaks anyway.
He turns back from the countertop and glares across the table to where Spike is sitting, complete with cocky smirk.
"Dammit, Spike. I just don't want everyone to know our business. I don't want the people who smile at me on the street when I go to work every morning making bets on who's the top this week and would we like to come to their leather and lube party?" He holds up a hand before Spike can even ask. "And no, I'm not telling you who that was, or where or when. But that's the point, Spike. I'm not happy when our neighbours try to invite themselves into our bed. It's none of their business."
Turning back to the oven as the timer pings, Xander slips on a pair of oven gloves, opens the door and pulls out his latest creation.
"Toad in the Hole!"
Spike studies the solid, almost blackened, sheet of batter.
"You did remember to put the toads in the hole, right, Xan?"
The only reply is a hollow sounding thunk-thunk-crack as Xander chisels his way through the crispy carapace.
Triumphant, Xander jabs a fork into the roasting tin and pulls out a worryingly limp pink sausage. The skin is peeling off towards one end in a way that looks disturbing and rather phallic.
"I'm sorry, luv, but that's just too much like Angelus' dick for my peace of mind. Shall I order Indian?"
Toad in the hole, new roasting tin and all, disappears into the kitchen bin, and Xander shrugs, unperturbed.
"There's a new Thai place opened up a couple of blocks away. I grabbed a menu on my way back from the market, just in case."
See, on the Thursdays that aren't club nights, Xander's learning to cook real British cuisine.