cordelianne
Rated R Spike/Xander
It's like Xander's living Reality Bites but without Jeanne Garofalo to liven up the twenties angst. His best bet for a new roommate is to pull some random guy in off the street.
beta'd by savoytruffle
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“Bundle up out there! It’s shaping up to be the longest and coldest winter in Canadian history,” the Citytv weatherman chirps – as if this is the news viewers have been waiting to hear.
Xander groans and sinks down further in the couch. He renounces any and all nostalgia for Thunder Bay’s winters, and longs for the return of the usual Toronto ‘winter’ – with the wet slush puddles that grow and grow until you can’t jump over them and have to choose which pant leg you want to immerse in cold water just to reach the sidewalk.
Because ice puddles? Way less fun. Also more dangerous and not conducive to jumping. Xander’s already fallen twice this week. His ass is sore, and not for any fun reasons thanks to his dry spell.
Ironically Toronto’s not having a dry spell.
It is sorta funny to watch City Hall flail around trying to deal with the continual massive snow falls. As long as they don’t call the army in – no one in Toronto wants to be the laughing stock of Canada. Again.
Besides everyone’s gotten used to trudging through uncleared sidewalks and roads.
“Whoever coined ‘Global Warming’ should be shot,” he tells Spike who’s just planted himself on the couch and is currently yanking most of the blanket off Xander and onto himself. “And hey!” He reclaims some blanket.
“Don’t you leave for work now?” Spike asks, with a tug on the coveted source of extra warmth.
“I still have two more minutes and I want to spend them under a blanket.”
He doesn’t have to look to know Spike is rolling his eyes. “What’d you mean about shooting someone? ‘M not opposed, just curious.”
“Earlier the weatherman was saying Global Warming is the cause of this winter. Which is in no way warm. I tell you, it’s false advertising.”
“You’re not wrong.” Spike’s hand slides over and steals the remote before Xander can blink, switches to some show that looks suspiciously like a soap opera. “Tell you what – you find the tosser who named it and we’ll go Thelma and Louise on their ass.”
“Thelma and Louise?” Xander gapes.
Spike waves a hand. “Butch and Sundance, then, whatever suits your fancy.”
“How about a duo that doesn’t die. Don’t I get an option C?”
Spike sighs and shakes his head. “Go to work. Horny men are counting on your cleaning skills.”
Xander stands up reluctantly. Spike’s already fully cocooned in the blanket. “Well don’t forget to get them good and liquored up first.”
Spike turns up the volume and waves him away.
It’s rewarding to know they provide such valuable services to the community. They’re like one step up from pimps.
Or possibly a step down since they make less and have no bling.
At least Spike gets tips.
Ah, the glamourous gay lifestyle.
“No.” Oz bites into his grilled cheese.
Xander dips his sandwich in ketchup. “But don’t you think –?”
Oz swallows hastily before delivering a second, more emphatic, “No. No sex with roommates.”
“It’s a line you just don’t cross.” Buffy points her fork at Xander. “How else can you ask them to not leave their wet towels on the floor?”
“He already does that,” Xander mumbles, smooshing his sandwich into the ketchup. “Even after I asked him not to.”
Buffy rolls her eyes. “That was just an example. You know what I mean. Things will just get awkward.”
“But he’s so hot. Is it really fair to deny me so much hotness? And now that it’s been a month of living under the same roof, I’ve gotten to know him and I think there’s actually a decent guy under that tough retro-punk exterior.”
He tries his best puppy eyes on his friends. Oz shakes his head
“Sure he’s hot,” Buffy says. “Even I think so and he’s totally not my type. Give me tall, dark and handsome anytime.”
“Cliché,” Xander coughs.
She holds up her hand. “Don’t fake cough me. Cliché is you and your I-know-he-looks-tough-on-the-outside-but-h
e’s-got-a-heart-of-gold.”
Xander has no comeback
“And don’t try and distract me, mister.” Buffy points a finger at him. “Here’s the thing: a good roommate is hard to find, but hot boys? You live and work in a very big pool that has lots of hot fish, um, I mean hot boys, men, whatever. You know what I mean, right?”
He really does.
Buffy steals one of his fries, sealing her victory.
If a good roommate is hard to find, a perfect one is impossible.
And Spike? Far, far from perfect.
His towels continue to take up residence on the floor, ambushing Xander’s unsuspecting feet when he stumbles into the washroom still irrationally angry at his alarm.
For some reason Spike always uses Xander’s toothpaste and shampoo despite having arrived with his own.
He never replaces them.
Same with the toilet paper.
Xander learned the hard way to always ensure they’re well-stocked.
Same with milk and cereal, which they go through faster than those six months when Xander and his sister were living on cereal while their dad checked out after their mom’s death.
Xander puts the kibosh on his maudlin memories, and focuses back on his latest annoyance: the kitchen sink. Or what he thinks is the kitchen sink, since he can’t actually see it.
But what he can see is a beer dangling in front of him like a carrot in front of a rabbit. “Beer?” Spike offers.
Xander accepts. And adds a point in the good roommate column. They’re always stocked with beer. And beer makes Xander a happy rabbit.
Or something.
“Trailer Park Boys marathon. You in?”
Plus, Spike always seems to know when there’s good TV on.
“You know I am. Looking forward to J-Roc.” Xander grabs a bag of chips and follows him into the living room. “You know, I still can’t get over that the Street Cents and Jonovision guy is doing a whole faux Eminem thing. It boggles the mind, I tell you.”
Spike raises his sexy eyebrow (Xander’s inappropriate designation for the scarred one). “Yeah. Mind boggling.”
Xander ignores the sarcasm, he’s gotten good at it. And, to be honest, he doesn’t mind Spike mocking him. Oh yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him.
But at least he has a roommate who pays his rent on time and is fun to hang out with.
Who wants a perfect roommate anyway?
“You have plans for tomorrow?” Spike calls from his bedroom. He’s sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall and strumming his guitar.
Xander stops, laundry basket in hand, and thinks. “Tomorrow’s Tuesday, so there’s work.”
Spike sits up and puts the guitar aside. “You do know tomorrow’s Christmas, mate?”
“Oh yeah.” Xander can’t believe he’d forgotten about Christmas. The advertisers would be so disappointed. “That means time and half!”
Spike tilts his head and gives Xander the You’re mental look. Xander’s becoming a connoisseur of Spike’s looks.
He puts the laundry down and joins Spike on his bed. “What?”
“You’re working Christmas? Even I’m not.”
“Guess Woody’s likes its employees – whereas Club Toronto? All about making money off the lonely horny gay men on Christmas.” He shrugs. “But, hey, I’m always up for the extra money. Not like I do much on Christmas anyway. Last year Oz and I went to a movie after work. Although this year he’s actually gone back to Oshawa to be with his family.”
Spike shakes his head. “Bad luck, mate.”
Xander picks up the guitar and turns it over in his hands, pretending to examine it. “Anyway, it’s just another day.”
“Yeah.”
They sit there for a few minutes, Xander staring at the guitar, Spike picking at his nail polish, until Xander finally leaves muttering something about his laundry.
It’s not until later when he’s lying awake watching the shadows of passing cars move across his ceiling, that Xander realizes he didn’t ask Spike if he had any plans.
Even eight hours of giving sad looking guys room keys and cleaning up after them hasn’t eased Xander’s guilt over Spike.
At least he sorta has a peace offering: leftover treats from work.
Although come to think of it, it’s not exactly a Christmas feast.
He stops at the Rabba on the way home to buy some fake champagne, wishing the liquor store weren’t closed. Alcohol, not shortbread, seems the way to Spike’s heart.
He walks through the quiet streets. Toronto actually feels peaceful right now, with everyone inside, their lights reflecting onto the snowy lawns and streets. A car passes him and even it seems hushed, less obnoxious than usual – like for once the occupants aren’t in a hurry and it shows.
The city in solemn stillness lies.
And it actually isn’t creepy.
It’s nice, and reminds Xander just how much he misses his mom.
Xander breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the light shining from underneath the apartment door. This is not the time for him to sit alone in the dark drinking non-alcoholic champagne and feeling sorry for himself. And now he doesn’t have to.
“Spike!” he calls, not bothering to hide his happiness. He’s not sure what room Spike’s in, every light seems to be on.
“Kitchen.” Spike responds.
But Xander doesn’t get there because he’s shocked into a standstill by the new addition to the living room.
A single string of big blue lights.
The fact that Spike – who seems like the antithesis of Christmas – hung lights would have Xander convinced that Spike’s gone round the bend. Except, he’s hung them so low and across the room that it’s like a demented limbo pole.
And then kitchen sinks in. Xander ducks under their random decoration and hurries into the kitchen to see Spike poking something round and black. The window’s open and the cold air has Xander shivering.
“Your oven killed the bird, Harris.”
There’s only one answer for a statement like that. “Huh?”
“The Dominion had no more turkeys so I got a chicken.” Spike nods to the former chicken. “I had it in the oven for an hour and this happened.”
“Did you have the oven on high?” Xander asks, a hunch coming to him.
“I guess.” Spike shrugs.
“Did you get that from one of those display cases that have other food, like potatoes?”
Spike pokes the very dead chicken again. “Yeah.”
“You do know those are precooked, right?”
“Pre… oh, bloody hell.”
Xander puts a hand over his mouth but it doesn’t help, the laughter escapes. Spike shoots him a glare that under any circumstances would have Xander totally scared and totally horny. But right now, all he can do is laugh.
When he collapses into the kitchen chair, clutching his side, he manages to notice that Spike has started to smile.
“Guess I bollocksed that up.” Spike pulls out the other chair and flops into it.
“I don’t…know what… that means but… yeah,” Xander manages between peals of laugher. “That’s one cooked bird.”
He takes a deep calming breath and leans over, placing a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “Chicken was a nice thought, though.”
Spike shifts away, pulls out his lighter and starts flicking it open and closed. “Not nice. Was hungry and bored is all.”
Xander pats his shoulder. “I know.”
Spike pulls out two cigarettes, lights them both and hands one to Xander. “Merry fucking Christmas, mate.”
Xander snorts, causing smoke to go up his nose and resulting in a very inelegant coughing fit. Spike pats him on the back.
“Oh!” Xander jumps up. “I have food! Okay, so it’s not turkey or chicken or stuffing, but who cares about that when you have...” He pulls Spike out into the hall. “A huge tin of cookies and pumpkin pie. What more could two guys ask for?”
“You’ve done good, kid,” Spike says adopting some weird American accent and slinging an arm around Xander’s shoulder. But the contact has him forgetting all about the kid nonsense.
They spend the rest of the night polishing off half the tin and the whole pie while watching and mocking The Sound of Music.
Spike conveniently absorbs himself experimenting with mixing fake champagne and beer so Xander feels free to let a couple of tears flow during “Edelweiss.”
It’s a good night.
Reference:
Trailer Park Boys, Street Cents and Jonovision are all Canadian TV shows.
Also, the stores, bar where Spike works and bathhouse where Xander works are all actual places in Toronto.
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