*****

Xander looked like a drowned rat, complete with tail -- a clip-on ponytail at the back of his neck, tied with a dark ribbon. Cordelia had given it to him when he'd complained that his hair looked too twenty-first century for Victorian England, even Victorian England in the twenty-first century. His real hair, above the clip, was plastered to his skull. His clothes were plastered to his body, as well, which didn't look at all ratlike, of course, but there was something a bit too girly about thinking he looked like a drowned love-god. Even though Spike did. Think that.

"They couldn't have put us down in the lobby," Xander was saying bitterly as he pulled off his coat and wrung it out. Spike watched as a good half-gallon of water spattered onto the carpet of the Hotel Russell, and simply disappeared into the thick pile. Posh, this place was. Built the same year that the Poof had gotten himself all souled-up, in the real world. In this one, who knew?

"May I take the gentleman's coat?" A tarted-up manservant type in togs that matched the hotel's deep-blue carpeting and wall decorations reached out an arm for Spike's coat, which he hadn't taken off yet.

Spike blinked at him, and pointed to Xander. "You can take *his*."

The thin-lipped vamp sniffed, and held out his arm for Xander's coat as if he was afraid it were dripping holy water instead of the rain they'd just walked through for five blocks. Xander handed it to him with a shrug, and Spike finally got a nice look at his soaked-through white dress-shirt, while Xander was still muttering.

"No, they had to land us in an alley. With horse poop." He lifted one boot, which was covered only with mud as far as Spike's sniffer could tell. The action caused his leg to flex in those equally-soaked-through trousers, though, so Spike didn't enlighten him. He simply leaned back against one of the marble columns and stared happily. Xander looked up at him. "Oh, don't you *dare* say 'I told you so, this is all about people wanting to get rid of me.' *I'm* the one who landed with his foot in a watering trough."

"Did I say anything?" Spike lifted an eyebrow, not bothering with trying to actually look innocent. Or put-upon, because he'd been cold and wet often enough in his unlife that it really didn't bother him. Especially not when he had a cold, wet, Xander next to him who obviously needed warming up.

"Wonder where our luggage landed?" Xander asked, looking around. "Wow. This place is spiffier than...um...anyplace. Even Cinderella's castle."

"You've been to Cinderella's castle?" the manservant asked, showing real interest. Spike recalled that this place catered to vampiric tourists from *all* dimensions.

"Disney version," Spike explained, still watching Xander. No doubt about it, they were keeping these clothes when the vacation was over. Possibly getting a whole wardrobe....

Xander was looking at him now, an amused expression on his face. Only vaguely amused, however, because there was a healthy amount of lust and being-stared-at-by-a-horny-vampire there, as well. "Should we go check in?" he asked.

"Hmmm?" The fabric of his shirt was so *thin*. Spike could *almost* see right through it. Cold, wet muscles were almost completely bared.

"Sooner we check in, the sooner I can get into something dry," Xander said, leadingly.

"Er? Oi! I'm not dry!" Spike blinked, then realized the bloke with Xander's coat was turning a funny color and making choking noises. What, they'd never had honeymooners in their hotel, before? Spike scowled and grabbed Xander by the arm, taking them both towards the front desk.

A pretty young thing in a shirtwaist and skirt looked up at them, and smiled politely. "How may I help you, sir?" she said, directing her question to Spike. He was looking at Xander again. Braces. Xander was never going to wear a belt again, if Spike could help it. Red braces that made the fabric of his shirt mold to his body like-- "Pardon me? Sir?"

"Don't mind him," Xander said, grinning at her. "He's just under the influence of not being under the influence of a de-lusting spell anymore." She looked doubtfully at him, then back to Spike.

"The gentleman wishes to check in," the coat-holder informed her in a voice that implied Spike was anything but. That was fine -- he *was* anything but.

Spike reluctantly tore his eyes away from Xander's chest. He was aided in this by Xander whapping him on the head and saying "Hello? Ground control to Major Tom..."

"Commencing countdown, engines on..." Spike muttered, then turned to the desk girl. "Er. Yeah. Should have a reservation for two, name of--" Bloody hell. "Xan?"

"Yeah?" Xander was watching the guy with his coat, looking like he was afraid the snooty, butlerish vamp would disappear with it and he'd never see it again.

"Name. What's our name?" That question, of course, had both of the hotel employees staring at them. Like Spike cared. As long as they weren't staring at Xander's chest, of course.

Xander looked at him like he was crazy, then laughed. "Oh. Giles. It ends in Giles."

"Yeah, but Princess made the reservations a month ago. So would it be your name or my name, or you think she'd have tried to guess at what we'd end up with?"

"Hmm. Good point." Xander closed his eyes, and looked like he was concentrating hard, for a moment. Then with a grin, he spoke to the girl behind the desk. "Alexander and/or William Harris Bloody Wyndham-Pryce Gunn Chase Summers Rosenberg Jones Giles." He opened his eyes and looked proudly at Spike.

Spike narrowed his eyes. "The Bloody comes first."

"Only in *your* name."

Spike blinked, then shrugged. "How the hell can you remember all that?"

Xander was still grinning, which wasn't helping with Spike's being-able-to-concentrate-on-non-sexy-things problem. "Wes came up with a pneumatic memory thing. It's obscene, of course, since I asked for something you could remember, too. I'll teach it to you later. So, Miss, did any of those ring a bell?"

Still frowning slightly at Xander -- though more as if she were confused, than as if she didn't like him -- the woman opened her reservation book. It was a Macintosh I-book disguised with a worn leather cover to look just like a vintage sign-in ledger, Spike noted -- except the apple had fang marks in it, and blood dripping down the side. A discreet beep later, she said, "We have a reservation for William and Alexander Chase."

"Yup! That's us," Xander said cheerfully. "Cordelia's bouncing baby boys. She found us under a cabbage leaf. Naked." The hotel clerk looked even more confused.

"May I see some ID?" she asked, even as she began typing rapidly.

"Huh? Oh..." Xander began patting his pockets, which made Spike forget the question.

"Want some help?" he asked, when Xander apparently didn't find his wallet right off.

"Nah, I've got it," Xander replied, then dug into *Spike's* trousers and pulled out a folded leather pocketbook. Spike blinked and tried to remember that Xander would frown at him if Spike tried to have sex with him in a hotel lobby. The parts of his body nearest the pocket were tingling, though. Xander opened the wallet, ignoring Spike's distress, and pulled out a laminated card. "See? That's me, that's William, and those are our kids. Gomer, Goober, and Hubert."

The clerk took it reflexively, looking at it, then back up at Xander, then at Spike. "Um. Er, yes, sir," she managed, and handed the card back. She went back to typing, then handed over a small form. "If you would please fill this out?"

Spike reached for the card and a pen -- real ink pen, complete with ink well -- and looked it over. He quickly checked the 'daily service requested' box and scribbled Angel's address, then signed the card as 'Spike Harris' in an elongated, flowery signature.

The clerk took it, glanced at it again, and nervously set it aside. "You're in our Honeymoon suite, booked for two weeks," she told them, again with a brief, worried glance at Spike. "Here are your keys."

But Spike was staring at Xander again. Not at Xander's chest, though. At his face, and the utterly banjaxxed expression that probably matched the one on Spike's own. The keys dangled from the woman's hand, jingling a bit, like windchimes in a soft breeze. "Sir?" she said to Spike. She'd probably said it several times; he wasn't counting. "Sir?" she finally said to Xander, who blinked, then smiled goofily.

"Um. Honeymoon," he told her.

She turned back to Spike, who had finally managed to blink, himself, after hearing Xander speak. "Sir?" She held out the keys.

"Er... honeymoon," Spike responded. Why did it sound so weird, when they'd been talking about it for months now? Why did it make his mouth tingle to say it out loud? Why was he grinning like the sort of loon who would have voted Dru in as Miss Mental Health of 1880? The keys were making windchime noises again. It was soothing.

"Bags?" A nasal voice whined in his ear.

"What?" Spike turned his head, growling slightly at whomever had interrupted his Zen-like moment. It turned out to be the fellow still holding Xander's coat.

"May I have our bellboy take your bags, sir?"

"Haven't any bags, you blind git." Spike held out his empty arms.

"I believe they're here," the desk girl said, lifting a yellow ticket out from under the oaken counter. She flashed it at Spike, who pretended to care enough to read it when all he really wanted to do was get Xander up to the room and -- "Sir?"

"I'm gettin' awfully sick of that word," Spike grumbled. The girl opened her mouth as if to say 'Sorry, sir,' then shut it wordlessly, reaching out to tap a bell on the desk instead. A uniformed bellboy appeared from around the corner and brought the bags out from behind the counter, setting them in front of Spike. "Yeah, okay, that's our luggage. Where the hell are the keys?" Xander held out two keys. "Right, well, then why are we still standing about when we could be upstairs shagging?"

Xander gave the clerk a wink. "He hasn't had sex in almost six hours."

"Oh, yeah? Neither have you," Spike pointed out. "You wanna go out and start looking at all the scenic spots?"

"Um," Xander replied. "It's still raining. Guess we should stay inside?"

Spike half-growled, half yelped for joy as he realized that everyone was simply waiting for them to *move*. Upstairs. Where they could get naked without Xander saying things like 'not here, Spike.' The bellboy was already heading towards the lifts with their luggage. Spike grabbed Xander and hurried after him.

"Um, you're supposed to carry me over the threshold, not across the lobby," Xander said casually.

"Yeah? I will."

"I think you're also supposed to carry me in your arms, not over your shoulder."

"I think you're a mouthy git who's gonna get a spanking if he keeps criticizing my technique."

The bellboy gave Spike a dirty grin. Spike resisted ripping it off, because it would only delay the naked-getting and Xander-shagging.

"Your shoulder's bony and uncomfortable, and you're walking much too fast," Xander continued as they entered the lift.

"What?" Spike realized that his hand was on Xander's arse. A moment later he realized he'd missed Xander's reply; Xander was thumping him on the back to get his attention. He tried not to think about the firm, warm buttocks under his hand and listen to Xander; then he tried again after Xander thumped him a second time.

"I said, you said you'd spank me if I criticized. Is that enough, or should I keep going?"

Spike just whimpered. He heard Xander laugh - soft and breathy, like maybe Spike wasn't the only one having trouble thinking, or staying dressed. The lift doors dinged and opened, and Spike was out and into the hallway before he realized he had no clue where their room was. He growled at the bellboy to hurry. The unimpressed brat just sneered back, baring as much fang as Spike belatedly realized *he* was showing, and sauntered towards a door.

It was a big one, at the end of the hallway. Seeing as this was a toffee-nosed sort of place, there wasn't any giant pink heart-shaped double entryway, or other honeymoon-in-Vegas folderol, though. Just a thick wooden door, heavily polished, with '207' painted on it in thin gold numerals. The bellboy reached for Spike's keys, and Spike handed them over. It made for a momentary distraction from looking Xander's arse, which helped Spike to concentrate on checking out his surroundings.

The door swung open to reveal a truly cavernous room. It was about the same size as their suite in the Hyperion, but this was all one large chamber, as far as Spike could see from the corridor. Directly across from the doorway, a gray stone hearth housed a cozily roaring fire. Spike blinked. Fire? "Er, is that thing safe, mate?" he asked the bellboy, pointing into the depths of the room.

The look on said bellboy's face was easy to decipher: 'Feh. Tourists!' He snickered. "It's a fake log, innit. Not like anybody wants the folks in the honeymoon suite to set 'emselves on fire before they've paid up, after all."

"Um... Spike?" Xander was wiggling over his shoulder. It might've been doing something for Xander, but wasn't giving Spike anything more than the occasional happy glimpse of Xan's bum in an attractive flex -- which, okay, was all well and good, but the bellboy was still standing there, watching. If Spike wanted to give a free show he'd film it, himself.

The boy also had his hand out, in a time-honoured gesture that Spike was more than willing to ignore; he wasn't about to set Xander down to look for the wallet his husband had stolen back from him. Spike started to growl at the bellboy, then he realized what he'd thought. He got a funny feeling in his stomach, and growled softly, anyway.

Xander wriggled around and nearly de-shouldered himself, reaching into his pocket for the wallet. He held something out, and the bellboy must have approved, because he took it, left the bags, and buggered off without much of a sarcastic comment. Spike just concentrated on keeping Xander where he belonged, until he could get him inside the suite and naked.

"You can carry me across the threshold, now," Xander told him. Then he said, "Hey, wait. Why don't I get to carry you?"

"Um." Spike thought about it. Almost had an arugment formulated when he realized that discussing it was gonna keep them outside in the hallway, away from the bed and the hot tub and the toys they'd packed away which better have survived the trip or certain witchy and wizardy folk were gonna get really growled at, later. "You can do it next time," he allowed, and stepped over the threshold with Xander firmly slung over his shoulder. Romance it might not be, but it kept him from falling over backwards trying to balance Xander's taller frame, holding him in his arms.

"Next time?" Xander asked as his head thumped against Spike's back. "And by the way, you can put me down now."

"When we get home -- you can carry me back into the flat." Spike spun around, taking a good gander at the facilities. Nice digs. Lots of red and blue. Chinese screen over to the left that had best be hiding a hot tub. To the right, the only thing Spike really gave a toss about at the moment, besides the soaking wet man he was carrying over his shoulder -- a four-poster bed about the size of the flat Xander had been living in when he'd first moved to L.A.

"Down?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to kiss you, and this isn't a good position for it. Unless you want me to kiss your ass." Before Spike could frame the obvious response, Xander was stretching downwards to do so. Then he pinched.

"Watch it, Mister Chase. You're already in trouble, you know," Spike warned Xander as he carried his -- there was that word again -- husband over to the bed, and dumped him down on it.

Xander gaped up at him. "I'm in trouble? *I'm* in trouble? How could I possibly be in trouble? I've only been here for half an hour; I haven't done anything. You're the one who stole those bagels off the cart."

"I did no such thing!" Spike protested, even though he had. It had been at DisneyWorld After Dark, though, and he felt that anyone hanging around outside offering *bagels* at ten p.m. was just asking for them to be nicked. "And yes, you're in serious trouble."

He folded his arms, and looked down at his husband. Sopping wet, clothes pressed to his body, looking back up at him with a half-delighted, half-outraged little grin. He needed to be kissed, thoroughly. Except he *was* in trouble. Not point getting distracted this early. They had two weeks; Spike could get distracted all he liked, later. An hour from now, say.

"What'd I do?" Xander asked, leaning back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows as if he knew exactly what his position was doing for Spike's libido.

"For one thing, you're getting the bed wet."

Xander snorted. "Yeah, like they don't expect to wash the bedclothes every day?" He suddenly looked down, and wrinkled his nose. "You think they've cleaned the comforter recently?"

Oh, for...Spike rolled his eyes. He was not about to have his Xander-spanking interrupted by human fastidiousness. He grabbed the edge of the comforter and yanked, hard.

Xander looked at him, eyes wide, from the bed. "Can you do that with plates and a tablecloth, too?"

"Yeah. Er. As long as you don't ever want to use the plates again."

Xander grinned. "You could try it with that hideous set of purple unicorn dishes that Harmony bought us, I suppose."

"You're trying to distract me from informing you of your transgressions." Spike thought he'd got the tone just right. Somewhere between a schoolmaster he'd once had, and a strict Victorian husband straight out of one of those off-colour Barbara Cartland parodies Cordelia liked to read when she thought nobody was watching her. He supposed the smirk on his face might have been a little incongruous, but nobody was perfect.

Xander seemed to appreciate it, anyhow. At least, from the way his eyes unfocused and his breathing got a little faster. He blinked, then asked, "Have I ever told you I *really* like it when you do that accent?"

Spike tried hard to remain stern when he said, "Base flattery won't get you out of this, young man." It might get Xander out of his clothes in about two seconds, though.

"Okay, so what else did I do, besides get the bed wet, which is your fault since you dumped me here in the first place?" Xander was still grinning brattily at him.

Spike folded his arms. "You criticized my threshold-carrying technique."

Xander looked instantly, utterly, innocent. It was an amazing transformation, and one that Spike kept begging Xan to teach him how to do. Xander always insisted that it was impossible -- Spike wasn't capable of looking utterly innocent. What rubbish. There had to be a trick to it.

Spike, however, did have the trick of looking quite stern, and he continued doing so, now. "As I recall, I threatened to punish someone if he slandered my technique."

"If I slander your punishing techniques, do I get spanked some more?"

"No. You have to demonstrate *your* technique on *me*."

Xander suddenly looked torn between his options. Nearly-believable innocence warred with craftiness, and it rather made Xander look like he was trying to decide between pop-tarts and donuts for dinner. Finally he said, "Um, I can't very well criticize your technique before you spank me, right?"

Spike started to grin, then caught himself and looked stern. "Right. So you're ready to accept what's coming to you?"

"Yea!" Xander bounced, then looked suitably chastised.

"Then why are you dressed, and lying on your back?"

It wasn't quite two seconds, but it *was* close. Spike didn't know if it was a record; there was that time Xander had gone from business suit-with-tie, down to bare-nekkid-nothing in exactly three seconds, but he'd cheated and let Spike help that time.

This time he'd managed it all by himself -- though Spike had to deduct points for the fact that he hadn't quite got his trousers all the way off, pooled as they were at his ankles. Xander had taken one look at the knots in his muddy boot-strings and declared that either Spike was going to have to bite them off, or they'd just have to stay on for the moment.

Then again, the sight of Xander's otherwise naked body bent over the end of the bed, with those braces flopping over the sides of the pile-o-trousers at his feet... Well, nothing else was feeling particularly floppy, so maybe no points lost after all. Spike arched an eyebrow and made the sternest face he could come up with -- then realized Xander couldn't *see* him, and almost ruined it all by laughing. Instead, he ran a hand lightly over one bare, quivering cheek.

"You're cold," he said. The skin was warmer than his own, of course, but nothing like Xander's usual comforting heat.

"No shit, Sherlock. I've been wearing soaking-wet clothes, remember?" Xander wiggled a bit, which made Spike blink happily, then added suddenly, "Hey -- do you think he's here?"

"Who?"

"Sherlock Holmes? All the Victorians are still around, right?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "He might be -- if he'd ever existed in the first place, nit. Repeat after me: vampires are real, Sherlock Holmes is fiction."

"Vampires are fiction, because there's supposed to be one making my ass warm, but all I hear is somebody trying to shatter my illusions of Victorian England with boring old facts." Spike narrowed his eyes and set about proving that vampires were indeed real. "Wow, was that a breeze hitting my ass?" Spike slapped him again. "Yeah, I think it was. Spike, you wanna check the windows?"

"Grr." Spike scooted back, slightly, and gave him a right good wallop.

"Ow."

By now Spike *knew* the difference between a good ow and a bad ow. It didn't stop him from hesitating, but it did stop him from saying anything out loud which would prove to be embarrassing, like, 'You OK, luv?' Instead, after he'd quickly recovered from his momentary lapse, he spanked Xander again. Pretended he'd been distracted by looking at Xander, by doing so now.

Naked, bent over, still wet, a trail of water snaking down from the false tail of dark hair at the back of his neck, down his spine, to pool in the dip right above the swell of his buttocks. Trousers around his ankles, and an arse that was only barely turning pink. An arse that wriggled, a bit, as Spike watched. He spanked it, to see if it'd move again. Yup. There it went.

Spike grinned. This really was a lot more fun than staying home; much as he didn't mind knowing someone might bang on their door at the Hyperion at any moment and yell "Come on, let's go kill things!", there was something to be said for the freedom of being several dozen dimensions away from Angel and the zoo crew. Nobody here was going to be yelling "Spike!" in that incredibly annoyed tone of voice, and put him off his stride.

Gleefully, he went back to spanking Xander and watching as that lovely round arse grew pinker and warmer.

Much wriggling and smacking and happy squeaking later, Xander was making those little noises where he was trying not to breathe in too loudly, for fear Spike would stop, but couldn't quite get in a full breath, because Spike *hadn't* stopped. Spike recognized those noises; if he wasn't careful, they could actually precede an amusing-but-ill-timed case of the hiccups. So after a few more firm whaps, he stopped -- just in time to hear a light knocking on the door.

It occurred to him that it might have been going on for some time, considering how focused he'd been on the sound of slap and gasp and the sight of wiggle and pink. Spike bent close to Xander and said, "Ignorant sodding bastards, interrupting a man on his wedding night. Send them off, shall I?"

Xander took a deep breath, only slightly ragged. Then, of all things, he laughed. "Heh -- it's probably," ...gasp... "That snooty...guy with my coat. Hee. We should give him a show. Blow his tiny mind."

Spike was amazed that Xander could say anything more than "Guh." It barely occurred to him to be further amazed that Xander was suggesting something he wouldn't usually have done round home: exhibitionism in front of complete strangers. Though he might get seduced into a bit of such in the heat of the moment, he *never* initiated it. Then again, they were a dimension away from anybody who'd ever see them again; Spike shrugged, and barked, "Yeah, come in."

"Eep!" Xander said as the door opened, letting in a blast of cooler air from the corridor. "I didn't... oh well." He wiggled a bit, and buried his face in the sheets. "If I can't see them, they can't see me, right?"

"Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal, also fiction," Spike said absently as he turned to look at the young girl standing in the doorway.

She looked about twelve, dressed in full servant gear: black skirts, frilly pinafore, white mobcap. The kind of little tweeny who'd served in many a respectable house during his lifetime, running errands for the cook and popping up with tea and cakes on short order. The girl who'd worked in his own home used to giggle, blush, look down at the ground, and scuttle away if you smiled at her.

It took Spike back for a moment, and he had to blink hard, as it hit him for the first time that this *was* his lifetime, in a way. This little bit of a thing, who was unlikely to ever blush again, might well have been around long enough to have been a downstairs maid, back then.

Nor did she look like she was tempted to blush, even if she could; she was sporting a little grin at the sight before her. When Spike growled at her just a bit, she went all proper and respectful, though. "I'm surely sorry, sir. It's just I've been sent up to ask if you'd like anything from the kitchen. The honeymoon suite always gets a complimentary dinner for two on the night of check-in, y'see."

Xander groaned. Spike looked back to see him burying his head even deeper under the sheets. If he thought it possible, Spike would bet untold amounts of Xander's money that his second set of cheeks were blushing even pinker than Spike's efforts had made them. "Oh God, it's a kid..." Xander wailed into the bedclothes.

Spike chuckled. "No, she's a vamp. Probably as old as... How old are you, girl?"

"Hundred twenty-seven. Been round since the beginning, I have." She sounded quite proud of herself.

And well she should, Spike thought as he glanced at her again. Considering how long child vamps usually lasted, between human hunters and stronger vamps looking to get rid of the weaker competition, she was a real survivor. Since the beginning of what, though? Hers was a respectable age, but there were any number of older vamps running about -- at least in *Spike's* world. Maybe things were different here, though.

"See, she's almost as old as me."

"And this makes it better? Spike, order dinner and let her go away." Xander's voice was still muffled by the sheets. Spike felt a pang of guilt, though he waved it away with the thought that Xander shouldn't have *said* anyone could come in, if he hadn't meant it.

There was a brief flash of a look on the girl's face, then she simply asked, "Do you have a type and race preference? Do you want to feed your pet, too?"

Xander raised his head. "Pet?" He gave Spike a pleading expression. "You have to clean up after me and take me for walkies."

Spike growled, both at Xander, and the chit. "He's not my pet. And yes, he gets fed! Whatever the special is, and don't send it up for at least two hours!"

The girl curtsied, not looking very taken aback by Spike's growl -- she'd probably dealt with grumpier guests. But she was leaving, which was good, and shutting the door, which was better, and saying to someone in the hallway, "It is!" which made absolutely no sense.

Spike frowned, then caught sight of the naked backside before him, and happily forgot about anything else. "Er...where was I?"

"You were saying how you wanted to wait on me hand, foot, and ass, for the next two weeks, and did I want a backrub?"

"Was not! Er...do you?" Spike placed one hand on Xander's back. Well, backside. Close enough. He rubbed it a bit.

"I think...ermmmm...ahh...you spank like a girl." Xander sighed and buried his head in the sheets again, but this time it was only because he couldn't hold it up anymore. Spike kept rubbing.

"Really?" he asked conversationally, his mind just functional enough to recall the stated penalty for critiquing his punishment style, but willing to put it off in order to mess with Xander's head. "Which girl's been spanking you? Cordelia? Willow?"

"Spike, haven't we had the discussion about you saying Wi-- that name, when you're touching my ass? It's icky-squicky."

"Icky-squicky? What're you, nine? You're a married man now -- you'll have to learn to talk like one. The correct phrase is 'willie-wilting.' " Spike's hands were firmly kneading the now-warm muscles, and Xander was twisting his fingers in the bedsheets. Spike couldn't *see* to know for sure, of course, but he doubted there was any actual wilting going on.

"Willie? Aside from the fact that I'm not going to refer to *my* dick with *your* name, how is that any more mature than..." Xander stopped suddenly. There was a distinct lack of breathing sounds.

This time Spike gave in, and ignored the knowledge that he was asking something that was going to get him laughed at. "You OK?" With his chip turned off for this sort of thing, he wasn't always sure if he hadn't gone a bit overboard, though Xander had never complained. Not in a way that sounded like he was *really* complaining, as opposed to bad-vampire-you-hurt-me-gotta-kiss-it-and-make-it-better.

Xander's deep breath of air was reassuring, and his nervous little laugh was even better, since it meant he wasn't full-on chuckling over Spike's neuroses. "Um. Sorry. Married man." Another deep breath. "Glurble."

"Heh. Know what you mean. Wanna pretend we're just good mates and have a friendly shag?"

Xander rolled over, a bit, onto his side and looked up. He stared at Spike with the sort of gaze that made Spike want to willingly give up smooshing things forever if Xander asked him to. His eyes were warm, brown, and so deep that Spike knew he was gonna fall in one day and never been seen again.

"I wanna make love to my husband," Xander said quietly.

Glurble. Spike fidgeted, wanting to ask if that included spankings. Or being fucked on the living room carpet while being told Xander loved him. Or even washing his socks.

"Mmr?" he managed, and Xander reached out a hand, rolling the rest of the way over onto his back. Spike took the proffered hand and climbed onto the bed. "Er, hang about." He stopped and quickly undressed, even managing to get Xander's boots untied without biting the laces off. *Then* he took Xander's hand again, and laid down.

They snuggled and wriggled, fitting themselves together in a position so familiar they could do it in their sleep. Often had. Spike waited until he was comfy, despite the fact that his ignored erection was pressed against Xander's. He gave them five seconds to lay quietly before someone said-- "Wanna spank me?"

Xander chuckled. "You couldn't ask before you laid down?"

"Well, I didn't wanna be spanked before I laid down, did I?" Spike asked reasonably. Lied through his fangs, but that hardly mattered anymore. Then Xander smiled, and leaned closer to kiss him. Spike forgot his question.

Spike forgot Xander had to breathe, as well, until the hand softly carding through his hair started pulling at it a bit. Secret signal, that. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten whether it meant, keep going, more, more, or wait, let me go so I can do other things with my mouth, after a second of recovery time.

He decided to err on the side of keeping his husband alive and happy, so he pulled away. Far enough away to be able to look at Xander's face, which was flushed and slightly damp from Spike's hair having dripped on it, but otherwise perfectly content. Postively debauched, in fact.

Spike mimed a pout. "One gets the feeling you've done this sort of thing before. Perhaps I should ask for my money back -- I was promised a virgin bridegroom."

"By who?" Xander demanded, sounding outraged.

"Whom," Spike corrected, and he gave the tip of his husband's chin a kiss. Glurble. That was going to stop soon, wasn't it? He'd been happily living in sin with Xander for years, now. How did a big party and lots of presents and someone saying 'til unlife do you part' change things?

"Whom promised you a virgin bridegroom? Who the hell is whom?"

Spike had to stop before kissing said husband's neck, and look up at him. "Whom is the hell what?"

"Whom promised you a virgin bridgroom?"

Spike blinked. "Who is Whom?"

"That's what I'm asking you!"

"What the bloody hell are you asking me? No -- don't answer, I don't want to know; I'm going to lick your neck and not think about it." His husband-glurble was insane. But that was OK, he could deal with insane, because Xander was naked, and scrumptious, too.

He also made wonderful noises when he was about to be nibbled on, just like that one. "Rugmuwa," Xander moaned again, as he exhaled.

Spike nibbled. Then he gave himself a firm mental whapping, to stop himself from asking what Xander *had* been talking about. He didn't want to know. He was having sex, or just about to be, and he didn't want to stop and ask Xander why he was babbling. Nope. "Xanrrrr..." he found himself muttering anyway. Maybe it was just to elicit that yummy little shiver that ran through Xander's whole body whenever Spike spoke against his skin. Yeah. That was it.

"Urgumur?"

"Wha...you on 'bout?" Hard to talk with a mouthful of nipple, and yet for some reason Spike's tongue was insisting on trying. "Whowhawhomwhat?"

"No, he's on third," Xander said perfectly clearly. "I dunno's the shortstop." Then he made a sound that humans only made when being eaten, or... well, being eaten. Except Spike was only slurping on his stomach, so he must have really been doing a good job. Spike smiled against warm skin, as Xander breathed out again and added, "Huh?"

"*I* didn't say anything," Spike lied, then snaked his tongue into Xander's navel. The hands were back in his hair, giving that same signal, but since Xander's mouth was unoccupied, Spike assumed it meant 'more, more,' and went on about his business.

"Oh!"

Spike stopped at Xander's sudden cry. Well, he stopped *moving* his tongue, anyway. "Wha?"

"Who promised you a virgin bridegroom?"

Spike rolled his eyes and lifted his head to look up at Xander. "My mummy, of course. She said all good boys went to their wedding night unspoiled."

Xander looked at him, then his eyes slowly narrowed. "This is the same pharoah's daughter married to a fishmonger who found you washed up on the shore in a tuna can while she was out gathering bulrushes?"

"Er," Spike said, trying to figure out what Xander was talking about. Probably quoting something Spike had said, like he was supposed to remember every detail that didn't involve the catalogue of Xander's reactions to various actions of Spike's? He tickled Xander's ribs, lightly, and got swatted on the head. Yep, just like the catalogue said he would. "Can I get back to despoiling you?" he asked, not wanting to try to answer Xander's question and risk being asked even more difficult questions.

"Huh? *You* started this! I didn't tell you to stop licking my stomach, you did that all on your own."

Spike thought back. "But you said...uh. Oh, you're right. My fault, sorry. Maybe you should spank me?"

Xander grinned. "Maybe I should...."

Spike scrambled up and draped himself over his glurble-husband's-glurble lap before Xander had time to change his mind or decide that Spike owed him at least a few more stomach-slurps. There was time for all that later, after all, Spike thought as he wriggled himself into a position that was at least *somewhat* comfortable, and waited, grinning, to get his unjust rewards.

*****