TITLE: "1:1.618" (1/1)
AUTHOR: Marie-Claude Danis
EMAIL: mc@fangy.net
SITE: http://fangy.net/mc.html
FEEDBACK: Would be delightful!
DISTRIB: List archives, or just ask.
SPOILERS: Er... "Flooded"? Maybe.
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Warren/Spike. Sort of.
SUMMARY: Oh like you wouldn't if you could.

* * *



The door cracked open and Warren's face appeared out of the basement's darkness. His eyes squinted painfully at the daylight.

"What do you want."

Jonathan blinked at him sternly. Andrew squirmed uncomfortably. "We just want in, man."

"I'm busy. Go away." He swung the door shut but it met resistance. Warren sighed and held the door ajar again, peeking at his friends standing outside.

"No fair hogging the lair!" Jonathan whined, and Warren fought the very strong urge to just reach out and smack him.

"I'm busy. Come back later, guys."

"Are you building something?" Andrew squeaked.

"Yes."

"Another girl?" Jonathan pouted, crossing his arms over his stubby little chest.

Warren rolled his eyes impatiently. "I said I was done making girls."

"What then?"

Warren grinned, in a way that he knew made him look very nefarious. He paused for effect. "It's a surprise."

Andrew bounced. "Can we see it?"

"NO! Jeez! I'll call you guys when he's done!" Warren slammed the door to their faces and locked it.

"*He*?" Jonathan exclaim from behind the closed door, punctuating it with a few short bangs. Warren ignored him and went back downstairs, grinning wickedly still.

Yes, he. Oh yes. This would be good. Very, very good.

Warren sauntered over to the television, where he watched for a few quiet moments the flawless pod racing. Then he clapped his hands and rubbed them together with unabashed glee. The game on the screen didn't lose its momentum even as he turned the leather chair half around, along with the half-naked body in it.

"Alright Spike, my good man, let's get this over with."

"In a mo," the vamp mumbled around a half-burnt cigarette hanging from his lips, his eyes trained on his game.

Warren stood there a few moments more and watched Spike finish his game. "Damn, you're good."

Spike tossed the controller over his shoulder with sudden disinterest and stood before Warren, waiting for further instructions. He sucked on the last of his cigarette before flicking it away, his eyes never leaving Warren. He stood defiantly, shirtless, his black jeans hugging his silhouette in all the right places. *God I'm good,* Warren thought. *Look at that hip-thrust. Good LORD.*

"Alright. Just a few more tweakings, then--"

"Then I can do some tweaking of my own?" SpikeBot inquired with a cocky grin, his voice dripping with dirty intentions.

Warren smirked, once again thanking his mother for giving him a set of Meccano when he was a kid. "Atta boy."



END