A Few Degrees Cooler

Author: WesleysGirl

Spoilers: through Storyteller

Rating: R for language

Pairing: Spike/Andrew

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. I am only doing this for fun and no money is being made. All belongs to Joss.

Dedication: Written for aphedas

Thanks: To piedmargaret for encouragement and warm fuzzies, and to greensilver for the Andrew-voice beta.

Summary: Andrew drinks a Zima. Spike is there to take advantage of the situation.


"That was great," Andrew said, closing the viewfinder on the videocamera and setting it down on the nearest flat surface. "I knew you'd be good at this. Some people have a natural talent."

Spike lit another cigarette and nodded. "Always thought I was meant to be a superstar. Too bad the world had," he gestured at the basement, "humbler plans for me."

Andrew stared at him in astonished disbelief. "But... you're *Spike!* You're William the Bloody -- which is a really cool name, by the way. In fact I think that would look really good in the end credits, don't you?"

Spike's look of disbelief was way better than his. "I killed people."

"Well, sure, but... so did I. I mean okay, only one really, but still, I'm also haunted by the burden of knowing that I committed heinous crimes against man."

With a glower, Spike took a drag from his cigarette and then blew it out toward Andrew. "You killed one bloke. *One.*"

Andrew shifted uncomfortably away from the smoke -- he had sensitive lungs. "Yeah, but... he was my friend."

Spike snorted quietly and went over to a set of shelves that held laundry detergent and WD-40. He moved a few things over, revealing a collection of beer bottles, popped one open, and took a swig.

"Ooh, is it Happy Hour?" Andrew asked, going over and reaching for a beer, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Keep your mitts off my beer," Spike told him, then sighed and shuffled the bottles around again until he found a clear bottle with a blue label. "Here, you can have this one."

Andrew smiled widely as he saw what it was. "Ah, cool refreshing Zima."

Spike went over and sank gracefully onto his bed, the vampire's lean frame draping itself like a blanket. Andrew grinned at the mental image and, caught up in the moment, went over and sat down next to Spike, who gave him a funny look, but didn't say anything.

They drank companionably in silence for a time, two men with dark pasts bonding over bottles of brew.

Except the Zima went right to Andrew's head, and the room started to spin just a tiny bit. He felt warm and comfortable and kind of tingly. His knee was almost touching Spike's. "Knee's a funny word," he said.

Spike glanced over at him and finished his beer, setting the bottle down on the cement floor. "When you're drunk, yeah. Christ, you're a lightweight. One cheap drink and you can't even focus your eyes."

Andrew smiled fuzzily. "I can focus my eyes. It's just... harder." It wasn't the only thing that was hard, but he was trying not to think about that because Spike was a vam-pyre. Spike could, like, *smell* when people were horny. Couldn't he?

"Well go get yourself a cup of coffee or something," Spike said, nudging Andrew with his leg. "Don't want you falling asleep down here."

"Not sleepy," Andrew protested. "Just... you know, relaxed." That sounded funny too, so he repeated it. "Relaaaaxed."

"Drunk," Spike corrected him.

When the vampire shifted position his thigh slid against Andrew's. Andrew tried to choke back the little high-pitched noise that wanted to escape, but didn't completely succeed.

"Not gonna puke, are you?" Spike asked.

"No," Andrew said defensively, surreptitiously trying to adjust the leg of his pants so that he wasn't so constricted. "I'm just a little... um, uncomfortable."

"Are you...?" Spike gave him a look of slightly-horrified shock while getting to his feet. "Oh no. Christ, what *is* it with blokes like you? You think I'm all dark and dangerous and that makes me *sexy?*" He seemed to reconsider the question. "Well okay, so it does make me sexy, but still."

"Come on," Andrew heard himself whining, and he cringed inwardly at the sound but didn't know how to shut himself up. "I could, you know..." He gestured at Spike's crotch.

Spike looked at him thoughtfully. "You don't really want to," he said.

"How do you know? Maybe I do. Maybe I love to, you know..." Andrew's voice lowered to a near-whisper, "Suck cock."

Spike laughed. "You can't even say it out loud, and I'm supposed to believe you love it?" His expression softened. "Look, Andrew... s'nothing wrong with being scared."

Andrew swigged from his almost-empty Zima. "I'm not scared. What would I have to be scared of?"

"End of the world? Dying?" Spike suggested. "Perfectly reasonable things to be afraid of really."

"So, what? You think I'm offering to... you know..." he gestured at Spike's crotch again, "just because I'm scared that the world's going to end?"

"Well it's not because you like me, is it?"

"I l-like you." Good job, Andrew. Really convincing when you stutter.

"Right." Spike lit up a new cigarette and then tucked his lighter back into his pocket and reached for his belt with both hands. "Well, guess you're not the worst-looking bloke on the planet, and sure seems like you've got a mouth on you. Better things to be doing with it than flapping it." He started to unbutton his jeans.

Andrew found himself recoiling, and then he looked up at Spike's face and saw the vampire's expression.

"I'm just messing around," Spike said, with a little grin.

"Oh." Andrew relaxed and leaned back against the wall again. "Well, good. I mean, I would have."


"I would. I'm not just a... well, whatever you think I am. A geek, or whatever."

"Nothing against geeks," Spike said mildly. "Was one myself."

"You... were?"

"Yeah." Spike took another drag and then gave Andrew a severe look. "But if you ever tell anyone, I'll pull your spine out through your nose."

"I don't think that's physically possi..." Andrew started to say, and then he realized that this would be one of those times to stop flapping. "Um, right. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"Good. Long as we understand each other."

The basement was quiet, but in the house above they could both hear girls moving around. Andrew frowned slightly as he waggled his fingers, watching the shadows they cast on the floor. "Do you have any more Zima?"


From Storyteller -

ANDREW: I don't want to do this anymore. Everyone's staring at me.

WILLOW: (holding a large, glowing, orange crystal in front of Andrew) Just focus on the charm. You have to focus on the charm to pull the memories out.

WOOD: Tell us about the seal.

ANDREW: But it tickles, and I'm all tense. Can't I have a cool, refreshing Zima?

BUFFY: No Zima.

SPIKE: Shut your face about the Zima. Just talk.


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