Dawn was grinning.  Bright, friendly, everything is perfectly fine grin.  Sitting down next to him on the sofa, she turned that grin and those big blue eyes on him and waited.

Xander tried not to whimper aloud.  “Can I help you?” he asked carefully.

“I’m just trying to figure out what it is.”

“What what is?”  And he should never have answer that, since it made Dawn’s grin go speculative and her eyes narrow slightly.  Dammit, that was hook and line—

“Whether it was the hair or the ass that you noticed first.”

Sinker.

“Dawnie!” he yelped.  “You aren’t—I shouldn’t—don’t say thinks like that!”

“Oh, come on, Xander.  I’m eighteen.  We can talk about your honey now that I’m legal.”

Xander slowly relaxed back into the sofa, knowing that she wasn’t going to let him go, so he might as well just get on with it.  He’d already had this conversation with Buffy—so not wanting to repeat that ever again—and Wills had danced around it to get her answers.  Giles refused to even think about it, so that left only Dawn.

Having worked through all that, Xander allowed himself to smile wickedly.  “He does have a nice ass, doesn’t he?  It’s a perfect bubble-butt and really firm for a guy pushing two hundred.”

Dawn’s faintly shocked expression did not last long enough.  Which meant now he was stuck dishing with her, and that was bad because Xander knew about girls dishing.  He had a lot of experience with it.  Unfortunately.

“It was his arms, for me,” she confided.  “They’re so big.  He’s so strong, I mean, he looks like he’s strong, not just cause of the vampire-thing.  And his hands?  Way out of proportion to the rest of him.”

“Dawnie, can we not have this conversation?”

“Nope, now spill.  I know you like them both, but which was it that did it for you?”

“The hair is not attractive,” Xander said indignantly.  “The whole Billy Idol look went out decades ago, before you were born and don’t give me that monk business.  It’s old.  It’s Mesozoic.”

“And you love it.  Hair or ass?”

Xander was saved from answering by the subject of their discussion’s arrival.  He was dressed in tailored back pants and a white dress-shirt, buttoned by not tucked in, holding a tie in one hand.  “Xan?  Can’t do these bloody things without a mirror.  Gotta look all spiffy, don’t I, make sure your work buddies don’t mock you.  More.”

It took a moment before he could form words other than ‘guh’ and ‘bibble’ but when he did, the first thing out of his mouth was, “The heart.”

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