Xander was packing his duffel bag. Again. Only this time he meant it. There was no turning back, no digging through it for his other sock, no yelling at a certain annoying vampire because he'd taken everything out and tossed it onto the floor.

However, there *was* an annoying vampire helping him pack. Sort of. "Here, put these in there."

Xander looked over to see the towels Spike was holding out. They were very clearly embroidered with 'Hotel Russell' in one corner. He rolled his eyes. "You do know they sell those things at the front desk."

Spike gave him a look that said he -- Spike -- had married a moron. "What's the point, if you're not gonna nick 'em?"

"What's the point of what? Staying at the hotel? Nice big bed to have sex in, so we don't have to fuck in alleyways." Xander put the towels down on the table next to his bag.

Spike picked them back up. "We've got one of those at home."

"Yeah, but there I'd have to do the dishes after every meal. And we wouldn't have met your mother. Or the Queen." Or growly butch dork-boy-Spike, who, as of their last visit, *still* hadn't come out of Angelus' bedroom. Xander thought deeply about vampiric stamina, but said nothing on the subject. Instead, he added, "Or mooned the House of Lords."

"Yeah, that was fun." Spike nodded, and Xander smacked his hand, which was trying diligently to slip one of the towels into the open suitcase next to Xander's bag.

"Stop that -- for God's sake, we have an entire brand new set of Naked Demon towels at home, from Carla."

"I'm not dryin' my arse off with a naked Teecha demon. That's just...eew."

Xander gave him a look. "You'd do it for Randolph Scott."

Spike blinked. "What the bloody hell does Randolph Scott have to do with anything?"

With a sigh, Xander shook his head and decided that very soon, they would have to have a Movie Night. Force Angel and his harem to join them.... Cordelia would need to encourage them to come, and she'd probably even rent some of the movies for them. 'The Wizard of Oz,' for one, though why Spike was always calling Tara 'Glinda' if he'd never seen the movie or read the book was something he should remember to ask. Later.

Now, he slapped Spike's hand again, then asked himself why he still thought that sort of thing *discouraged* his husband. Glurble. Xander looked up at Spike.

"Er, what? What?" Spike looked down at himself, looked around behind him, and looked at the towel. "For god's sake, Xan, you can't get all mushy-eyed at me because of a bloody towel."

"I'm not. Look, have you even got your own stuff packed yet?"

"Course I have! I've been packed for hours." Spike looked offended, and plopped himself down in a chair, letting the hotel towels fall into his lap.

"Uh-huh. Because you never unpacked from yesterday, when I had all your stuff and most of mine packed already?"

Spike looked innocent. Xander rolled his eyes, and looked around for something for Spike to do, so he couldn't distract Xander by being cute. The words 'lost cause' popped into his head, but he ignored them resolutely.

"Here -- re-pack the dirty-clothes-and-souvenir bag," he ordered, handing Spike the large softsider that Cordelia had sent along with them for this very purpose, because 'Trust me, you never have enough room for all the stuff you'll buy. Always take an extra suitcase.'

Not that she'd been right or anything. Not that it was full to bursting, and needed the dirty clothes at the bottom refolded to make room for the kitchen utensils and the cookbooks and the extra collars and the things that looked like kitchen utensils but weren't, and the hand-stitched sampler Mrs. Witherspoon had made for their door that said 'Spike and Xander's Place. Beware of the children.'

Spike took a look at the bag and pursed his lips. "You know if I re-pack that, I'll have to take everything out. And then I'll start playing with the toys."

Damn vampire picked the most annoying times to be logical. Xander put down his duffel bag and sighed. "Fine. You pack my clothes. No towels. I'll re-pack the souvenirs."

He sat down on the floor next to the canvas suitcase, and started pulling things out, resisting -- just barely -- the temptation to play with said toys himself. Like the little gyroscope, or the wind-up wooden soldier, even though he knew those weren't the toys Spike had meant. Eventually, he'd separated out the layers of gifts and souvenirs from the layers of dirty clothes, and was re-folding things, starting with the oldest and dirtiest, to put on the bottom.

"Dear God, what did we *do* to make these tux jackets smell so awful?" he asked, holding his own away from him at arms' length, and trying to air it out a bit.

"You mean you don't remember?" Spike asked, sounding horribly hurt. Xander threw one of the jackets at him, which Spike caught and immediately dropped. "You *do* remember that I have a keener sense of smell, don't you?"

"Aha - the real reason you didn't want to re-pack the dirty clothes. Seriously, I don't recall having sex on these jackets...then rubbing horses down with them. But that's kinda what they smell like."

"Must be because they got squished underneath everything else that was dirty," Spike said in a reasonable tone.

Xander started to give him a suspicious look, wondering what he was up to, when he realized there was something in the pocket of his jacket. He pulled it out, knowing he'd never remember when it was time to actually do the laundry. It turned out to be an envelope. He turned it over, and opened his mouth to ask Spike if he knew what it was -- when he remembered.

Giles' wedding present. He'd shouted something to Xander as they were leaving, about looking in his pocket for a gift. Xander had half-suspected he was referring to Spike's hand, since it had been shoved into Xander's trouser pockets at the time, but he must've meant the tux jacket. Gleefully, he tore the envelope open.

"What's that?" Spike asked, from right behind him where he hadn't been a second ago. Xander didn't bother 'eeping', because he was reading the neat, precise script that explained what their wedding present from Giles, was. "Another wedding present from Red? That de-chipping spell did bugger-all good, since we never came across a human who needed thumping."

"You're just cranky because you didn't get to eat anybody."

Then Xander got to the end of a sentence, and stared at the next one. And read it. And read it again. And again, just to be sure. He threw the certificate at Spike, and shouted.

"Giles! Giles! Giles!" He jumped up and down and wondered just how long it would take them to get home. Did they have to be *completely* packed? The hotel would ship anything home that they forgot, right? They could leave now?

"Yeah, well, that was communicative," Spike snorted. "What the hell's got you so chipper? You didn't bounce *that* much over the non-bald variant Picard figure I got you for your birthday." Then he flattened out the paper, and began to read. Out loud. "To be redeemed by Alexander Harris Bloody Wyndham-Pryce Gunn Chase Summers Rosenberg Jones Giles, and only Alexander Harris Bloody Wyndham-Pryce Gunn Chase Summers Rosenberg Jones Giles."

Xander was still bouncing, but he'd managed to get into a rhythm -- one bounce per name. When he looked at Spike, he noticed that Spike's head was following him -- up, down, up, down -- and he'd stopped speaking. "Go on! Get to the good part!"

"But you're bouncing."

"So?"

"And naked."

"Hmm. Good point." Where Xander would normally have stopped or thrown a robe on, just to piss Spike off, this time he climbed up on the bed, then started bouncing again. "This better?"

"Um... yeah. It's...higher." Spike's head was making bigger up-and-down motions now.

"Read it, bubble brain."

He watched as Spike sighed, shrugged his shoulders as if being asked to take on the weight of the world, and began reading again. "This certificate entitles the bearer (see above) to one evening, at a location to be agreed upon by the above named, the spouse of the above named, and the presenter of--" Spike stopped. "For crying out loud, can't he just say what it's for?" Spike appeared to skim the rest of the certificate. Then his eyes got big.

Xander bounced harder. "Who-hoo!" he was shouting, now.

"What does this mean, I can't touch?" Spike pouted, but Xander could tell it wasn't entirely for real. Even if it was - who cared? He wasn't going to give up his wedding present because Spike pouted. Well, he would if he thought Spike *meant* it.

"Then don't watch. Or get Angel to do you..." Xander was suddenly struck with a Mental Image, drawn hastily but quite accurately by the guy with the crayon. He stopped bouncing, and fell on his ass onto the bed.

He blinked a few times, then there was a vampire on top of him, kissing him like he'd been starving for Xander-air.

"We're never gonna...mmpgh...mrrrrrrrrrmmmmrr. Never gonna get packed..." he mumbled around Spike's tongue. The buzzing feeling only encouraged Spike, of course.

"We'll let the maid do it," Spike said after a second, then busied his mouth with licking Xander's chin.

"She'd better not lose that gift certificate."

The snort of breath on his face was cool, and smelled of honey from their late midnight breakfast. "Right, cause I'm sure he won't do it if you don't bring the proper paperwork along."

"No, but it also entitled us to half the film rights."

Only Spike. Only Spike's cock, to be specific, would possibly twitch at the sound of the words "film rights." Also, there were two very large blue eyes, thankfully sans glasses, staring at Xander.

"He's never letting us film it?" Spike actually stuttered. "He's never letting us film it?" Spike actually stuttered. He sounded a lot like Cultured British Man (TM), a.k.a. Wesley. Xander tried not to think about the fact that the thought did *not* make him lose any of his arousal.

He decided it was just because Spike was naked, and wriggling, on top of him, and he *did* sound so sexy when his voice dropped back into its original accent, and the way he was gaping dumbly made Xander want to poke his finger in Spike's mouth. "He knows we will anyway, so he's just making sure he gets his cut." Xander explained, then kissed Spike's chin.

Spike just blinked at him a couple more times. Then, with a bit of a shift which rubbed things exactly the right way, Spike propped his chin on his hand, resting the elbow on Xander's chest. Xander started counting to twenty, before he tossed Spike off.

"Did he say half the net, or half the gross?" Spike asked.

"Gross. It's only fair -- it's his gift. And we don't *have* to film it."

Great. Pout Number 9 -- the 'I'm Being Cheated' pout. "Bloody well do. Once in a lifetime opportunity. *And* he knows it. He should take his cut from the net -- not like he gave you a dowry or anything."

Xander grabbed. Hard. Spike eeped. "You're saying Giles should've *paid* you to marry me?"

"No," Spike said carefully. "I'm saying Giles should reward me for making such a discerning choice in husbands, who has such a cute, spankable arse."

"That *is* your reward, dipshit."

"My reward for putting up with you grabbing onto things like they were detachable?" Spike proffered. Xander just squeezed said detachable. "If it's a gift, we shouldn't have to pay him?" Spike tried one more time, acting like he wasn't squirming in Xander's grip.

"Thank you for playing," Xander told him. "Wanna know what was behind door number three?"

"Oi! You're not gonna let me shag you, just because I want my fair share of the profits? What sort of evil vampire do you think I *am*, anyhow?"

"I think you're the kind of evil vampire who is going to get off the bed, finish re-packing the dirty clothes, finish packing my suitcase, and get everything ready to go." Spike's eyes narrowed, and Xander finished his threat. "While I lay here and provide scenery."

"Er. You gonna be doing anything?"

"Depends on how well you pack, now, doesn't it?" Xander leered at him.

Spike started to push himself off the bed, and stopped. "You gotta let go of the Burrower, or I can't pack anything but you."

Xander stared at him. Then he laughed. "You named it *what*?"

Spike looked vaguely hurt. "The...cos it... oh, sod off. It's just a nickname. Its real name is William Abelard..."

"... Harris Bloody Wyndham-Pryce Gunn Chase Summers Rosenberg Jones Giles, the Second!" Xander finished along with Spike. Then he shoved Spike off him, bent his head, gave William Abelard et cetera et cetera Junior a kiss, then William Senior, then pushed him off the bed entirely, and onto the floor. "Go pack, slave-boy."

Spike's head popped up from the floor, pupils slightly dilated, and Xander knew the fantasy would keep Spike going until at least the dirty socks were packed, if nothing else. "Can I wear the blue collar?" Spike asked.

"Only if you wear your glasses, too."

Vampiric speed was a wonderful thing, Xander decided. In seconds, Spike was kneeling beside the duffel bag, naked, wearing his collar and his glasses and nothing else, calmly folding the dirty laundry.

Xander wondered just how long *he* was supposed to last, doing nothing but lying on the bed...and touching himself. He smirked. Good thing they had six hours 'til they actually had to leave.

The only questions left were whether Spike would get the packing done before he jumped back onto the bed, and whether he'd remember to leave out any clean clothes for them to wear home. Though Xander was seriously considering remaining naked for the rest of his life -- as long as Spike would, too.

the end