Hips - darkhavens

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The smoke inside The Bronze was almost alive, a heady mixture of the scents of heated flesh, tobacco and illegal substances, all layered over an ever-present base tone of beer.

The musicians on stage were only visible to the people at the back of the club through a blue-gray haze, and even back there conversation was impossible.

That, more than anything else, was what had brought Xander to the club on this Thursday evening,

He knew the heavy, pounding beat held no appeal to Buffy or the rest of the Scooby gang, and the guys he worked with all had families or partners to go home to, so they wouldn't be hanging out in this teenagers' den of iniquity.

Truthfully, the music wasn't his usual style either, but occasionally he liked, no, needed, the mindless violence of the music, surrounded by hot, moving bodies but isolated by an impenetrable wall of sound. Only here he could be truly alone, with not even his own thoughts to bother him, just the pulsating beat, echoing inside his head, throbbing through his veins, manifesting itself in the unconsciously erotic movement of his hips.

He wasn't dressed to impress like most of the others here. No black leather, no studs, no heavy makeup and silver jewellery. Just Xander, still in the jeans, shirt and boots he wore on the construction site, a slight powdering of sawdust not detracting one bit from the muscular build he was still half-surprised to see in the mirror every morning.

He was oblivious to the interested looks he was getting, from members of both sexes, as he stood in front of one of the support pillars, beer in hand, moving absently to the music.

One pair of ice blue eyes had been watching him from the moment he entered the room.

Spike would have been almost surprised to see the boy there, angling through the crowds towards the bar, if he hadn't noticed him surreptitiously pocket an advertising flyer the previous Friday. The vampire had wondered what it was, and had waited patiently impatiently for the whelp to go to sleep so he could go through his pockets, just to find out what had put such a flare of hunger into those chocolate brown, impossibly deep, eyes.

From his vantage point on the balcony, Spike was able to watch Xander carelessly rebuff with a shake of his head an impressive number of interested admirers. He seemed to be completely focussed on the music, oblivious to the movement of eyes over his lean, denim-clad hips and delectable arse, moving, rocking, mindlessly, in time to the music.

Spike enjoyed the side-on view he had of the whelp. And he was still a whelp, despite the newly acquired construction-worker physique that the vampire had watched appear over the last few months. And he had watched Xander, cataloguing every newly sculpted muscle, every tautened sinew, every tiny spark of confidence that had managed to avoid the boy's constant self-deprecation, slowly straightening his shoulders, lifting his head, putting a hint of cockiness into his walk... but only when the Scoobies weren't around. The transformation fascinated the Big Bad, and he was constantly amazed that the Slayer and her Scoobies continued to treat him like a doughnut boy, totally blind to the metamorphosis their friend was experiencing.

The whelp had no idea what those thrusting hips and... Spike blinked... yup, moving lips, did to his hidden audience. The vampire began to thrust in conscious counterpoint to Xander's rocking pelvis and inhaled sharply as he felt himself harden as the music changed and Xander was suddenly sex on legs, head thrown back, throat arched, screaming out the suggestive lyrics of the song that now had his entire body moving, thrusting, grinding back against the supporting pillar.

He really had no idea. Spike smiled wickedly. No idea at all. But he would soon learn. And Spike was determined to be the one to teach him.