1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32
Cicirossi
It started with with a (fictional, we hope) ice cream/donut/sex shop rest area on the highway. And then it just grew until it ate Cici's brain.
Rated NC-17. Contains rampant silliness, ice cream abuse, food as sex toys. If you're bothered by slash you might not want to keep reading....
Spike, Xander, and the Buffyverse ©Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Warner Brothers,
UPN, 20th Century Fox, Sandollar, and probably some other people I've forgotten.
It's Joss' world, we just like to play in it.
Daylight was still a factor when they left the room, so they did their first bit of souvenir hunting right there in Caesar's. Fortified as he was with an enormous buffet lunch and their earlier stress relieving activities, Xander was mellow enough to shop with Spike. Which was good, because the blonde on was on a rampage even Cordelia would be proud of. Caesar's was too upscale to have the silly stores that graced the Excalibur or the Luxor, but it did have a cart in the middle of the fountain area (where the clouds were) full of robes and coffee mugs and bath towels.
They also had little hand puppets. Of Caesar-like figures in togas. They even had little tufts of chest hair. Spike had immediately commandeered one of them, and it was now singing "My Way" a la Sid and Nancy. Pointedly ignoring Spike, Xander chose a mouse pad for Willow, and a remarkably silly t-shirt for one of his buddies at work. When the song changed to "Love Kills", he figured he'd pushed his luck far enough and acknowledged Spike's existence again.
"Are you going to buy that, or just torture us all with your singing?"
"I'm going to buy it, pet. I can make it do things. It will make a great new sex toy."
The moment Spike uttered that little wonder was one of those freakish times when every conversation in a twenty-foot radius hit a lull, and some two hundred heads turned towards them to see what was going on. Spike wouldn't blush, even if he could do it convincingly, but that was okay, because Xander's face was red enough for both of them.
"Okay! Let's just pay the nice man and go." Xander stuffed a wad of bills at the booth attendant, took a plastic bag emblazoned with the hotel logo, and hauled Spike far, far away from all of those shocked stares. "Well, there's my daily dose of humiliation."
"What? What'd I do?"
"Nothing, Spike. I think it's probably dark outside now. Let's go to the room and drop these off, then we'll go to the Bellagio. We'll go to the gift shop there and get a Cirque t-shirt for Willow, then go to your nancyboy art exhibit."
Spike's puppet said, "Righto." Xander sighed, long-suffering, and they left.
The Bellagio was a swanky work of art in its own right. The lobby had this amazing art glass sculpture of a ceiling that looked like a field of flowers. It also had a botanical garden that made Xander gape. He'd never seen that many flowers in one place before. They went to the shop across from the "O" box office, and bought Willow's t-shirt. Spike also bought a postcard from the show they had seen at Treasure Island because it featured what he called "Xander's clown."
Art exhibits usually made Xander nervous. Especially high art, where there were no barriers between his clumsiness and the million dollar painting hanging on the wall. The Impressionist exhibit was one of those. The gallery of fine art consisted of two rooms and a small entryway. As they came in, a man in a very nice suit handed them these long, talking electronic sticks with numbers. They called that the self guided tour. It was kind of neat, really, because you walked up to a painting and punched a number, and the little microphone thingee spit out the history of the piece for you. That way you could take the tour at your own speed.
Xander found out that close up, most Impressionist art did make you kind of dizzy. But the stuff appealed to him a lot more than the modern art show he'd seen once with Cordy, because at least when he backed away, these painting began to make sense. If he let his eyes go a little unfocused, they looked like he was looking through a rain spattered window. Cool. And where was Spike? Because he wasn't there when Xander turned to tell him about the rain effect.
Scanning the room, Xander found Spike over in another corner. All by himself, splendid solitude in a place as crowded as this. When he drew close, he understood why. Spike held the talking stick to his ear and talked into it like a cell phone. He would mutter, "No. Sell, sell," then punch a button and say something like, "Yeah, hello dry cleaner? How are you at getting out blood?" Time to make him stop, Xander thought. People were getting concerned. He moved over to Spike's side and poked him in the ribs.
"Will you quit that, you doofus? You're going to get us kicked out."
"Am not." Spike was indignant. "The security guard likes me."
Indeed, when Spike waved to the matronly black woman with the sweet smile, she waved back, and grinned widely. Okay, Spike was probably the funniest thing she had seen in ages, but that didn't change the fact that the guy in the fancy suit was frowning at them. "Yeah, well, Mr. Management over there doesn't think you're so cute."
"As long as you do," Spike said with a beatific smile.
"Oh jeez. Come on, you need to see this one over here."
Spike went with him. He looked at the painting Xander pointed out. He looked at it up close. Then he backed up and looked from far away. He squinted at it through his fingers, then squatted down and looked at it from floor level.
"What are you doing?"
"Art critic thing. If you like I can do the whole spiel, about textural components and shading and emotive influences. Or I could just say that it looks like a pink snow bunny."
"You frighten me."
"I'm evil."
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32