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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.
The sugar rush wore off, and Xander fell asleep watching Hopalong Peter bob along to Spike's unmelodious version "Viva Las Vegas". Which, he supposed, was better than lumberjacks and spam. His last waking thought was mild annoyance at the unfairness of vampire physiology. Spike never crashed from an overload of sugar. Or maybe it was more like Spike was always on a sugar high, so it never made a difference.
"We're here!!!!" The bellow, produced about two inches from his left ear, brought Xander fully awake, snorting and flailing. Spike bounced back out of his way and watched him flounder for a minute, then stuffed a donut in his mouth. He chewed gratefully, and calmed down enough to look around. They were indeed "here", on the Vegas strip, which at the wee hours of the morning was all flashy neon and staggering drunks. Xander grinned.
"We made it. In one piece. Well, mostly two pieces because there's two of us, but still."
"You have no faith in me, pet. I drive at least as well as I shag."
"But you don't sing when we fuck, Spike. It makes all the difference in the world. Um, where are we going?"
"To our hotel, luv."
"Our hotel is on the strip? I thought we were staying at that cheap place that has the shuttle. You know, the one outside of town a ways?"
"And let you miss out on the full experience? Never say so."
They turned off at a corner full of classical statuary, covered by a gaudy walking bridge with escalators. Ah, America. "Caesar's Palace? Wow. You really are running up Anya's credit card."
Flashing him a grin, Spike pulled in at the valet parking area. "Hey, if you can't take advantage of a spot of blackmail on your boyfriend's ex-girlfriend-demon, well, what's the world coming to?" Handing the keys to the bland-faced valet, Spike reached in and hauled the pink and turquoise Trucker's Delite bags from the back seat. He also grabbed the little wind-up penis from the dashboard and stuffed it in his duster pocket. "Right. Got my luggage. Gather up all your flapdoodle and come on."
"Flapdoodle?" Xander asked as he pulled his duffle out of the trunk. "Is that anything like piffle?"
"Nah. Little more Victorian. Come on. Need to sun proof the room before daylight. You got the duct tape?"
Trailing along behind Spike, Xander shook his head and grinned. He'd have to file that one in "things that only someone living with Spike would hear in Las Vegas." This was going to be one heck of a trip.
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