A soft knock at the door startled Xander from his semi-doze. He wasn't *really* sleeping; he'd just been staring intently at the tangled light-brown curls on the top of Spike's head -- which was resting heavily on Xander's chest, because *somebody* was actually asleep.
Not Xander, though. He'd been looking at Spike's hair for fifteen minutes or so, getting lost in the whorls and thinking about nothing in particular -- like whether he could run his fingers through them without waking Spike up. Whether there really was a hot tub on the other side of that oriental screen over there, and whether they'd remembered to pack Spike's favorite baby shampoo, so he wouldn't bitch about soap getting in his eyes when Xander washed his hair.
The knock sounded again, and Xander realized he'd gotten lost, again. He tapped Spike on the shoulder, then, when that didn't get him any response, whapped him on top of the head. "Hey. Wake up. Somebody's here."
There wasn't even a mumble. Xander sighed, and began to slowly extricate himself out from under Spike. He'd made it halfway out when Spike shifted, and glommed. Xander froze, then sighed again.
"Spiiiiiiiike," he tried again, trying to make it sound like being awake would be a *good* thing, that there would be blood and mayhem and nakedness if he woke up. Spike mumbled this time, and tightened his grip around Xander's waist. Fine. He'd tried. Xander called out, "Come in!"
There was a pause, then the door opened and a young woman came in, carrying a tray. She looked to be about twenty or so, dressed like she worked in the kitchen. "Where would you like your dinner placed?" she asked Xander, not seeming at all put out by the naked, sound asleep vampire sprawled across Xander's equally naked, but hidden under Spike, body.
"Over there's fine." Xander pointed at the table across the room. He whapped Spike again. "Wake up! Dinner's here!"
"Hmmuwha? Dinner?" What a surprise. *Now*, Spike lifted his head and blinked rapidly at Xander. He'd been known to snap out of a sleep so deep you'd assume he was in a coma if he weren't already dead, at the scent of chicken parmesan wafting out of the microwave.
"Yes, dinner, id-boy. Willow was right -- men *are* all about the pleasure principle. Food, sex, sex, food."
"M'not, either," Spike mumbled. "I like Masterpiece Theatre, f'r chrissake."
"You watch it for the women in tight corsets."
"True enough."
Spike was scrambling out of bed and over towards the table before he finished speaking, which left Xander to realize in short order that he'd lost his naked-vampire blanket, and needed to scramble, himself, to yank the sheets up. Not that the girl was looking at him, he saw after he'd done so. She was too busy nervously eyeing Spike, who was lifting the silver tray-cover and sniffing at the food like he hadn't eaten more wedding cake and stolen bagels and Dumbo-shaped elephant ears in the last 24 hours than any living human other than Xander could have consumed.
"Mmm. Roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. And baby carrots, and..." Spike stopped his litany of menu offerings -- which did smell damn good, even from the bed -- and looked up at the girl. "There's only enough for me -- what's he gonna eat?"
The woman looked slightly confused. "The food is for him," she said, her tone revealing that she'd thought that was obvious.
Xander kept the sheet wrapped around himself, and scooted off the bed. "We ordered the special, didn't we?" He walked up behind Spike and peered down at the tray. The smell suddenly combined with the sight, and his stomach told him he was starving. "Want food!" He picked up a fork and left Spike to fend for himself.
"Where's mine?" Spike asked, sounding a touch little-boy-lost. Xander snickered. Like he was gonna give up *his* dinner because the hotel kitchen couldn't send up two plates? Well...maybe, yeah. But not until they knew they couldn't just order a second dinner.
"I'm your dinner," the woman said. Xander dropped his fork.
Spike looked stunned; his jaw had dropped and was now trying to climb back up into 'closed', and kept falling back down into 'stunned'. "Er, you...what?"
She gave him a suddenly tender smile. "I forgot, you're from off-dimension. It's all right, sir. I assure you I'm here by my own choice. You're entitled to take two pints -- it was outlined in the brochures the hotel sent your office when the reservations were made. While you're a guest in our hotel, meals will be made available up to four times every twenty-four hours, two pints each. Around town, you can only drink from those humans wearing a special pink strap around their throats; those with dark blue collars are off-limits." Both men were still staring at her, mouths moving to no discernible effect. "It *was* all in the brochures, sir," she scolded lightly. Then she bared her neck.
Spike gaped even harder. Xander was trying to remember if he'd read the brochures -- if *anyone* had read the brochures. They'd looked through the first one, as far as looking at the pictures...then they'd had sex. After that, Cordelia and Carla, his executive assistant, a.k.a. boss, had pretty much handled all the arrangements.
"You're on the menu?" Spike asked, looking like he expected someone to jump out and yell that they were on candid camera. Except that sort of thing wasn't unusual around the Hyperion.
"She's the Dish of the Day," Xander said, and got a quick, disapproving look from the woman. But she didn't say anything. Xander looked back at Spike, who still looked gob-smacked. It occurred to Xander that if this was the only source of blood, Spike would *have* to feed.... He realized he had no idea what he thought about that.
Or -- could Spike even bite her? He could defend himself from humans now, to an extent, but the only one Xander was *sure* Willow had told the chip it was okay to feed from, was Xander himself. He wondered how Spike would take to *that* suggestion -- 'Hey, what if I pig out all the time and eat lots of iron-rich food, and you drink from *me* for two weeks?'
Happy thoughts. Happy Xander. Happy Xander Junior. Spike sniffed, then looked up sharply at him. "I dunno what you're thinking, but I want food, first. *Then* more sex." He turned to the girl. "And I mean *food*. On a plate. Blood, in a glass, please. You wanna donate, fine, nip off and cut yourself humanely, but I don't plan on biting anybody but him. *After* consuming said food."
The Dish of the Day looked terribly confused, when Xander glanced at her over his spoonful of baby carrots in gravy. "You want your blood...in a glass?"
"Yeah. No, wait -- a mug. Warmed up with some of those little marshmallows."
"Oo, yeah. Could I have some hot chocolate with marshmallows, too?" Xander asked.
She blinked, then nodded, slowly. "Er. Yes. Of course. We can do that. I'll just nip off and... get you another plate. And a..." She shook her head again, plainly still befuddled. "A mug. With marshmallows."
She left the room, still shaking her head, and Xander grinned around his roast beef. Spike looked at him, stole a Yorkshire Pudding and dipped it in the gravy, then asked, "What got you so perky all of a sudden?"
Xander smacked his hand and snatched the little popover away. "Mine. Get your own."
"Fine." Spike grabbed another off the plate and soaked *it* in gravy. "So what had you smelling like you wanted to ravish me right in the middle of the baby carrots?"
"That's *also* mine," Xander said, reaching for the second popover. Spike just raised an eyebrow at him, and put it in his mouth. "I didn't want to ravish you," Xander said with a scowl. "And if I'm supposed to take my food back now that it's been in your mouth, eew. Also, eew."
Spike chewed for a bit, then started swallowing. Then he asked, somewhat coherently, "Whom did you want to ravish, then? Not *her*, miss menu?"
"Not ravish. Be ravished. I was thinking how much fun it would be to feed you for the two weeks we're gonna be here-- and I don't mean my Yorkshire Puddings, so put that back."
Spike was already shaking his head. "You'd get sick by the third day. Not gonna--"
"I know that. I was just thinking," and Xander could *feel* his eyes losing focus. "It'd be nice."
Spike was giving him a funny look -- or maybe it just seemed that way to unfocused eyes. But he smiled a bit, and said, "Yeah?"
Xander answered by baring his neck. Spike made a strangled noise, then was sitting on Xander's lap, straddling his legs, and pressing his mouth to Xander's throat. Xander dropped his fork, and the roast beef bounced onto the table. Yeah. He'd rescue it later. Much, much.... "Oh, god, Spike." He wrapped his arms around Spike, held him close.
It wasn't like Spike rarely drank from him. It wasn't even like he hadn't done so three nights ago. But even when it was just a taste, the tiniest sip, it always felt like this. Xander's eyes rolled back into his skull as Spike's fangs pierced his skin, and he felt the first, gentle sucking. He whimpered, and tried to rub his cock against Spike without dislodging him or making him stop.
He'd wondered, the first time, back in the dawn of prehistory and pre-Spike, if it would hurt. If it would feel like needles, which he didn't particularly like. If he'd be scared, once it started. It turned out that he hadn't been scared at all, when Spike had just been nibbling human-faced at his throat, and had asked. Now? Can we try it now?
It had been only unbelievably erotic, except for the moment when he'd started to realize just how good it felt, and had thought for a second, what kind of twisted mutant human weirdo *am* I? Then he'd become lost in the sensation, in the knowledge that it really was himself, flowing into Spike. Lost in the icy hot fire at the place of the bite, which felt nothing like needles, and everything like being struck by lightning must feel.
Now, of course, he knew exactly what kind of twisted human mutant weirdo he was -- Spike's kind. The kind who was holding his husband on his lap in a room decorated like the nineteenth century and being ravished into the twenty-second purely by the presence of said husband (glurble) and his unbelievable mouth at Xander's throat.
It was over far too soon, as it always was. As always, he could hear the words in the back of his brain: don't stop, don't stop, keep going. *That* scared him, a little. Not so much anymore since he knew what would happen after Spike drained him. He'd get fed some of that wonder blood and wake up with a sun allergy. The prospect had frightened him less and less over the years, until sometime... about a year ago, it had vanished all together. The only thing left was the lizard brain's fear of death, not caring that the rest of him knew it would be only temporary.
As Spike licked his throat, and continued to ignore Xander's erection, the big meanie, Xander wondered. Tonight? Now? His heart beat faster. He had no doubt it would be sometime soon -- and what better place to be a fledgling than a Victorian England ruled by vampires? Spike could show him the ropes, then they'd go home and be coddled and fussed over by their friends, and they could settle into their new life together as dead people.
Spike was giving him a lecherous grin, which Xander replied to in kind. "Wanna be ravished," he half-whined, half whispered because he'd stopped breathing normally, some moments ago.
Spike licked the sore spots on his neck. "Do you?"
Xander whimpered. "Please, please, please, please, please." He thought about throwing himself backwards onto the floor, spread-eagled so Spike would have no trouble misinterpreting his request. But that involved moving, so it would have to wait until later.
Spike moved, which was a good sign. But he didn't move *off*, or yank Xander off the chair and save him the trouble of trying to get to the floor under his own locomotion. He just...moved. Which was...ern...urk. Also good. A strange little noise made its way out of the back of Xander's throat. Part sigh, part strangled moan. "Or you could do that again."
Spike was just in the middle of doing 'that again', *again*, when the knock at the door came. Xander bit off a word that Spike would probably have taken as a request, which it was, but fulfilling it now wouldn't make whoever was at the door go away, so Xander could be ravished in peace. "Spike, door."
"Who'm I, Jeeves?"
"You're on *top* of me. Not like I can answer it."
"Right, good point. -- Go away!" Spike shouted over his shoulder.
"Room service, sir. I have your second dinner, and your blood... and... er... marshmallows?" It was the voice of the young girl who'd gotten the lovely view of his bare, spanked ass, a few hours ago. Xander blushed, then blinked, then forced himself to remember that she was *not* a young girl. She was only six years younger than Spike.
Spike growled. "Best let her in, I s'pose. Want those marshmallows." He got up off Xander's lap, which afforded Xander a view he didn't particularly want to share with the serving girl, no matter how old or dead she was.
"Fine, but put something on. That's mine, there," he pointed, "and I don't want you waving it around at the staff." Spike shrugged, and made as if to grab Xander's sheet. Xander grasped it firmly. "Nuh-uh. Robe. In the big bag."
Spike rolled his eyes, but stalked over to the large suitcase and pulled a fine red bathrobe from it. Then he grinned. Xander blinked at his choice.
"*That's* not gonna cover much of anything." Then he realized which robe it was.
Spike grinned again, and slipped Ethan's wedding present on, tying the belt.
A few seconds later, the door opened. "Where shall I...sir?" The serving girl looked around the room, past the open door, then at Xander. He grinned, as she watched wide-eyed while the tray removed itself from her grasp, then floated over to the table, apparently under its own levitational power.
"Thanks," Xander called to her. "You can shut the door, now."
She just gulped, then jumped to grab the doorknob and pull "What's wrong? They not give you enough little marshmallows? You're not getting any of mine," Spike said, pulling his mug out of Xander's reach. The mug appeared to slide across the table by itself for a moment, until Spike suddenly appeared in the seat opposite Xander, one hand just letting go of his robe's now-untied belt.
"Like I *want* bloody marshmallows?" Xander retorted. "Have I said 'eew' not enough times? Bloody marshmallows in cocoa? Double 'eew'."
Spike blinked. "Actually, that sounds good. Hot cocoa and blood -- here, lemme have your mug."
Xander held it away. "Not a chance, deadboy's-boy. Call room service. Get your own." Spike sat down in the other chair, pouting at him. Xander ignored him. He waited until Spike was on his third sip of blood, before he asked, "Did you read anything in the brochures about pink collars?"
"I'm not wearin' a pink collar -- all my shirts are white. I'd get laughed off the streets," Spike grumbled.
"Were you listening at *all* ? The pink collars the Dish of the Day was telling us about -- that the humans it's okay to drink from wear."
"Eh. No. I was a bit too gobsmacked with realizing I finally found a place that delivers, now that I've pretty much turned vegetarian."
Xander snorked, and pointed at the large piece of roast beef on Spike's plate. "Vegetarian?"
"You know what I mean. Doomed to an unlife of pig, cow, and red cross parcels, all heated up in the microwave, with the occasional slurp of Xander for dessert."
"Yeah -- in your very own mug that says 'Lips of Spike were here' and as many little marshmallows as your heart desires. You've got it rough." Xander slurped his cocoa. "Why don't you get out the travel package? I think it was packed under the robes. I wanna know a little more about this place, before we actually walk back out into the streets."
"What's to know? It's home. I know the streets like the back of my hand." Spike flashed his palm at Xander and grinned.
"So when you were a kid, humans walked around wearing pink collars to indicate they could be eaten by vampires?"
Spike didn't reply right away. Xander smiled as he watched Spike try to come up with a witty retort which didn't involve saying "ok, you're right". Finally Spike said, "Er," and walked over to the bags. Xander snickered into his mug of cocoa.
As he bent down, Xander said, "Excuse me? Mr. Chase? You're wearing a robe."
Spike looked back at him, clearly thinking Xander had suddenly gone off his rocker. Then he glanced down at himself, and shed the robe faster than human eyes could watch -- which was all right, because the rest of it was done nice and slow: the naked bending down, the naked crouching while searching through the luggage, the naked aha-ing.
Then there was the naked "What the fuck?" which Xander wasn't expecting.
"What?" he asked, not actually getting up to find out. That was what husbands were for -- bringing things to you when you were all comfy and couldn't be bothered to move.
Spike held up a pair of small silver balls, tied together with a short string. Xander's thoughts ranged freely for a moment, before he focused on the words printed on each ball: "SQUEEZE" and "ME." It was Willow's handwriting.
Very carefully, so as not to choke on his cocoa, he swallowed, then said, "My best friend is a sick, sick woman. Go on, then. Squeeze Willow's balls."
Spike stared at him for a moment, before shaking his head wildly. "Uh-uh. She's *your* best friend. You do it." He tossed the silver balls through the air to Xander.
Xander caught them without a major cocoa mishap, and studied them for a moment. "I'm gonna regret this, I'm sure..." He took one in each hand, and squeezed gently.
For a second, nothing happened. Then Xander felt his palms getting warm. Very warm. He was about ready to drop the hot pieces of metal, when he felt them dissolve in his hands. A silvery stream of light poured out from each of his closed fists, rising in the air over the table, and mingling, to form a wavery image -- Willow's face.
She blinked for a moment, then grinned. "Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope!"
Xander threw a Yorkshire Pudding at her, which passed right through, and bounced off Spike's chair. Willow stuck her tongue out; Xander wondered if this was a live broadcast, or she'd just known he would do something like that.
"Sorry. Wrong movie. This one would be 'My Best Friend's Wedding.' I just snuck away to the library to record this; things were getting scary at the reception. Somebody found the karaoke machine, and I can hear Spike trying to sing 'Macho Man,' even from here." She shuddered. "Anyway, if you're keeping track, and I know you are, Spike, you haven't opened my wedding present yet. That's 'cause this is it."
"A pair of dissolving anal beads? You shouldn't have," Spike snarked at the image.
"Was that enough time for Spike to bitch?" she said after a second, then shrugged. "Hope so. No, it's not the good luck message, dork-head. It's the spell attached to it." Willow smiled nervously. "Hope you like it -- Spike's chip is now completely turned off, until you two get back to L.A. and I can perform the reversal spell."
Xander's mouth fell open at the same time as Spike's did. Spike recovered more quickly. "All right! I can go beat up..." His crowing quickly faded. "Er... vampires."
"There's humans here," Xander reminded him. "Maybe I can get somebody's pet to look at me funny, and you'll have to beat him up to protect me!"
Spike looked doubtful, but then grinned. "Yeah, and if I manage to get to Gunn before Red fixes the spell, I can bonk 'im on the head for slippin' that 'no sex in the truck bed' clause into our wedding vows."
"Don't even think about it, Spike," Willow said. She wasn't exactly looking directly at him, but her timing was uncanny. Xander wondered if she'd been taking lessons from Buffy's mom. Or possibly...Ulp.
"Are you *sure* she can't see us?" Spike asked, hands on his naked hips.
"Of course I can't see you," Willow said before Xander could answer. Then she turned her head slightly, glanced downward, and giggled.
Spike flipped her the two-fingered bird, but she just kept giggling.
Finally, she calmed down, and said, "Anyway, I hope you guys have a good time, and please don't go looking for random bad guys to beat up, just to test out the spell. I worry about you." She started to fade out, the image flickering, then she was there again. "Oh, and Cordy says to read the damn brochures now -- she and Carla made notes, and highlighted all the cool places. Plus the things that'll get you killed if you do 'em, and says she'll kick your asses if you *do* get killed, so be careful. To which I say, what she said. Bye!"
Phantom-Willow blew them a kiss, then faded away completely. Xander stared at the empty space for a moment, before looking back at Spike. "Have I ever mentioned that girls are scary?"
Xander couldn't see Spike's expression when he said, "Uh-huh," because he was being treated to a view of Spike's ass again, as his...glurble...rummaged quickly through the suitcase. After a second, he stood, triumphantly holding a pile of brochures in his hand.
Xander looked at them, then looked at the naked Spike who had walked over to him and was standing in front of his chair. Looked back at the brochures. Nakedness. Brochures. Nakedness. Brochures. "Um...you willing to risk Cordy's wrath by waiting just a *little* bit, to read those?" he asked.
When Spike hesitated, Xander pulled open his sheet and leaned back in his chair. Spike dropped the brochures.
"Right. Read 'em later. Princess can't see us." Spike got down on his knees, and Xander gave himself over to whimpering and making glurbley sounds. It occurred to him as his eyes decided to come loose from their moorings and roll around inside his skull like the marbles he'd lost long ago, that they might not *need* to read the brochures, or make use of Willow's present, because they might never leave the suite.
Of course, he was never going to admit that to Spike, because that would imply that Spike had been *right* about why-bother-to-even-leave-the-Hyperion. There were rules about admitting Spike was right. Like, it was only allowed when Spike had something of yours in his mouth and was refusing to do anything with it until you said uncle. Since Spike already *had* something, et cetera, and wasn't doing any refusing, Xander kept his own mouth shut, except for the occasional masimawoogle.
Eventually, he looked down at Spike, who was looking up at him with a mostly satisfied smile. "Argle. Erm. Brochures now?" Xander asked. Spike gave him the most incredible pout #17 he'd ever seen. Xander wanted to applaud. Instead, he asked, "Did you want to do something else, instead?" as if he couldn't see the way Spike's own et cetera were waving around because nobody'd had *them* in their mouths lately.
Spike nodded, and started to lean backward onto the floor, in exactly the same position Xander had been contemplating, earlier. Xander turned to the table.
"Yeah, we *should* finish dinner before it gets cold. You can read me the brochures while I eat your Yorkshire Puddings." There was a whimper, then there was a vampire biting Xander on the leg. Xander looked down. "Hello?"
"Rggaugrg!"
"OK, but only in three pieces."
There was a pause, then Spike rolled his head a bit so he could glare upwards at him without letting go. "Ruwuh?"
Xander nodded. "After six, yes." Spike blinked. Then he bit down harder. Since he wasn't using his fangs, Xander ignored it. Instead, he reached out and grabbed a Yorkshire Pudding from Spike's plate. He 'eeped' and dropped it, then glared at Spike. "If you hurt those, you can't play with them later."
Spike removed his teeth from where they'd strayed, and glared back at Xander. "Are you trying to get spanked again?"
Xander tilted his head, then rolled his eyes, then contemplated once again whether the many whaps on the head he'd given Spike had actually caused brain damage, or he'd always been this stupid. "Are you offering?"
"No!"
"Ah. Well, then, no." Xander picked the Yorkshire Pudding up again, and proceeded to butter it and cover it with gravy. He could feel the strength of Spike's pout even without looking at him. It was a full-on pout number 21 -- nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I'm gonna go outside and eat worms. "I wouldn't bother -- it's still raining. They're probably all drowned and icky," he said calmly, then bit into the pastry.
"You're crazy -- and what's all drowned and icky?"
"The worms."
"If you're trying to do a willie-wilting number on me -- with drowned icky wet worms..."
Xander stuck a fork into Spike's roast beef, making sure not to look at his husband if at all possible. "Now why would I want to do that?"
"So you can sit there and eat my dinner and pretend you don't owe me turnabout is fair play." The pout was developing into an actual sulk, from the sound of things. Xander grinned -- and reached for his hot cocoa, which was reasonably warm now, instead of happy, burn your tongue hot.
Warm enough to swig. Warm enough to get a large mouthful of melted marshmallows and warm chocolate. Some of which he swallowed as he slid off his chair and bent down over Spike, and some of which he didn't.
"Er...gah...rrr," Spike said, no longer sulking. Then, eventually, "That better have been your cocoa, and not my blood."
"Sing the chorus with me, Spike. Ewww. Yuck. Ewww. D.S. al coda."
"Since when do you read music?"
"Since when do you care if I slather your cock in blood?"
"Don't. As long as it's *extra* blood, and not my nummy marshmallowy treat."
"Extra? You want me to call room service?" Xander decided he wasn't going to ask himself why seeing Spike apparently give that question some serious thought didn't *really* squick him. Maybe he'd finally become completely inured to the thought of bloodplay with Spike. Maybe he had just reached the point where almost anything was arousing, as long as it involved a certain snarky, usually-blond vampire? Maybe he was just too tired to think about it.
That wasn't to say he was going to stop giving Spike a hard time...so to speak...about it. He reached into his mug of cocoa and trapped a remnant of melted marshmallow, then brought his finger to his mouth and licked it off. He repeated the process with another tiny mass of melted goo.
"We need more marshmallows."
Xander looked over at Spike, who was still sprawled on the floor, and watching him closely. "Nah, I've got enough here," Xander told him, catching up a third little bit of marshmallow, and sucking it off. Spike's eyes were getting bigger. Xander looked into his mug, and saw there were no more floating masses of fluff. He shrugged. "Huh. Guess I was wrong. All gone."
Spike scrambled to his feet, grabbed his mug, and handed it out to Xander.
Xander stared deeply into the swirly red-and-white mess. Right. Not like he hadn't tasted blood before. Just about impossible to live with a vampire and not. But it was usually his *own* blood, which was all tied up with feeding and warm Spike thoughts and things that made his eyes glaze over just as much as Spike's probably were at the sight of him staring into the mug, as confirmed when he glanced up.
Just a little human blood, right? Voluntarily donated, possibly by the pretty blonde Dish of the Day. No big deal. In fact, well... He ought to be trying to get used to it, right? Xander glanced at it again. If he squinted, and didn't smell it, he could pretend it was whipped cream and raspberry syrup.
Maybe he could just call down to room service and *order* some whipped cream and raspberry syrup?
Another look at Spike, whose wide eyes had gone from blue to yellow, and whose other evidence of interest in the proceedings was practically pointing at the ceiling. Xander smiled, and sniffed the contents of the mug, so Spike knew he knew exactly what he was doing. Then he dipped a finger in, and lifted it to his mouth.
He was going to do it. He was *ready* to do it. Even if just for the look in Spike's eyes, he *wanted* to do it. Xander was slightly surprised, therefore, to find that the mouth that was gently sucking on his finger was not, in fact, his own. "Er?" he managed, sounding nearly as coherent as he always did when Spike sucked on his fingers. He had to wait until Spike was finished sucking, then licking clean, then nibbling just to make sure, and finally let his finger go, before he could say, "Erm?"
Spike's golden eyes were still staring at him, holding him still as though Spike were trying to suck him in just by looking at him. Xander shivered. "Need more marshmallows?" he asked, not entirely sure what he meant, but at least it was English.
"Nah. Just thought...um, might not be clean, s'all."
Xander blinked. Clean? "How can you get marshmallows dirty? Seeing as how they're floating in blood, I hate to ask what *counts*."
"No, the blood. Didn't think you'd really...hoped you'd make 'oh, disgusting vampire, need to be spanked' noises, then let me lick your fingers."
Now Xander grinned. In his best lecherous-old-man voice, he asked, "You wanna lick blood off my fingers, little vampire?"
"Er," Spike said. The glance downward betrayed him. Xander waggled his hips back and forth, and Spike's gaze waggled back and forth as well.
"Why wouldn't I?" Xander asked, now that Spike was too distracted to answer clearly.
"Er...whahuh?"
"Why wouldn't I drink the blood?"
"Cos...um..." Spike managed to actually look up -- Xander suspected it was only because he was conditioned to prick up his ears at the sound of the b-word. "Ewww? Yuck? D.S. al coda?"
"First of all, how many ewww yuck things have you convinced me to do in the last seven years? And I do include the thing with the clothespins and the hot mustard, because that was *not* my idea, and it won't ever have *been* my idea, no matter how many times you say it was."
Spike looked as if he were seriously trying to count, for a moment, the number of eeew, yucks. Xander could see his lips moving. But Xander could also see him getting lost in the details of each experience, by the time he hit number four. So Xander whapped Spike on the head. First, to get him back on track, and second, because it was fun. The third time was because Spike was glaring at him, but not answering his question. The fourth time was because he'd got into a rhythm, and the fifth time was on the down-beat.
"Grr?" Spike sounded as if he didn't know if he was supposed to object, or start humming. Xander stopped whapping him, just in case he really wanted to try answering Xander's question. Spike shook his head once, gave Xander a kiss, then said, "You ate my pudding."
"Um, duh? Several minutes ago."
"You left the carrots."
"Again with the 'duh'." Spike looked like he was gonna pout again, so Xander asked, in a normal tone of voice, "How could the blood not be clean? It came right out of...er, somebody. Didn't it?"
"Yeah, but she might've been sick, or something. You think it's easy catching a cold by breathing on somebody? Try drinking their blood."
"You don't catch colds," Xander began, then quickly added, "because you're a vampire. I'm not. Okay, brain working now."
Spike smiled. "Oh, well, we can't have *that*, can we? On your honeymoon and all, Mr. Chase Giles Harris."
"You can call me Mr. Gunn," Xander said in a breathy tone, because Spike's fingers were already doing things to parts of his body that had been goosebump-free a moment ago. He shivered, and pressed himself up against Spike as if seeking heat. Spike's fingers kept doing that thing, right there, that made him go "Muuuuuuuh."
"Brain off, now?" Spike asked softly.
Xander inhaled. "No, actually, it's wondering why the marshmallows don't soak *up* the blood. Or did they? Aren't they porous?" Then he got whapped on the head.
*****
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