Heck, maybe vampires do that too, when they've just had a nice juicy human and they've drained him in three seconds.

"This one too?" and there was another, something cold, in a glass this time. Orange juice, yay healthy Cordy.

Ho-ho's? Do I get Ho-ho's, too? I just donated blood, it's only fair, it's traditional? He drank it, Spike holding it too, though really, he could've held it himself. He could focus on the print on the wall now, and it was something with ballet dancers, Degas or something like that, and Spike was holding up an empty glass. "You never what with a human?" Xander asked again, a lot more coherently, as Spike handed him something soft, that smelled really good. No Ho-ho's in Cordy's place, but what, chewy chocolate chip granola bar? Oh yeah, sooo much more healthy. Just 'cause it's got oatmeal in it? Something Spike had never done? Couldn't be drinking, draining, he'd done that a million, zillion times.

"Drunk from a human with their permission, brat. When I wasn't tryin' to kill 'em." Spike wiped the sweaty hair off Xander's forehead, crouching down next to the chair.

"Just me?" Just him? Nobody but Xander had ever given Spike anything of his own free will? Spike set the empty glass on the little table next to the couch, the one with the bowl of candy on it that you could reach even from the chair. Then he picked Xander up again. Hurf? granola crumbs on Cordy's floor, and wouldn't she be overjoyed. And how did Spike just? swoop and do that? He's shorter than me, dammit. Unfair. Vampire? so-and-so?

The shortish dead guy who could pick him up and carry him like a baby, or maybe like Scarlet O' Hara, moved over to the couch and sat Xander upright at one end, and Xander whimpered, in spite of himself. He was awake, and he was more or less conscious, and he knew what a damn stupid thing he'd just done. Giving blood on an empty stomach. But he didn't want to go back to sleep again with Spike in the chair, didn't want to fall back into that place, wanted, wanted Spike's arms around him. "You can't sleep in that chair?" he said logically. 'You'll get fried when the sun comes up."

Spike smiled at him. "That's what designer mini-blinds are for. But I'm not gonna sleep in the chair." And Spike sat down at the end of the couch with the pillow, leaned back, and drew Xander back against him. Arms close around him. Safe. Nuzzled his neck, and Xander giggled. The light was still on, and that was good too.

"You okay now?" Spike asked, and maybe he was talking about whether Xander was gonna slip into a coma or maybe he was talking about whether Xander was gonna slip into the nuthouse and start crying all over him again, but either way, yeah. Xander was more or less okay. Scared, shaky, and wondering what the hell he was going to do about the fact that he was in love with? Spike? oh yeah. That. Maybe not so okay.

He let his head fall back against Spike, and lied again. Half-lied. "Uh-huh. Sorry I scared you." "You'resorry? Hey, what the hell were you sorry about in the first place?" Spike wrapped his legs in around Xander's, and they lay back against the pillow, just feeling the cool air.

"Sorry I brought you here. I didn't mean to?" He didn't mean to stick Spike in the middle of something that would tear him up inside, whether there was anything to be jealous about or not. Still mad at Spike about dropping his pants, though.

"S'okay. Me an' Angel? Can't say we're the best of friends, but I'm not gonna kill him. Really." Killing him wasn't what Xander was worried about, but somehow with Spike's arms on him, Spike's face pressed against his, it didn't seem important right now.

"What're you sorry about?" Xander asked. Spike had said so. Said he was sorry. Maybe he'd figured out the whole tattoo thing after all. Spike ran one finger down the side of Xander's face. Cool. Cool on his skin, and it felt good.

"Sorry I just about sent you into low-blood-sugar-shock, f'r one thing."

"No, before that. Don't think you're gonna get out of it that easy."

"Oh. Er. Sorry for whatever it was I did that got you pissed off in the first place?" Spike was wheedling now. Meaning?

"You still have no idea, do you."

"Not a fuckin' clue. Wanna give me a hint? You speakin' to me now, by the way?"

"No, I don't wanna give you a hint, and yes, I'm speaking to you. And yes, I'm still pissed." He didn't feel all that pissed, but it was never a good idea to let Spike get away with something. Because next time? Xander was positive he could work up some righteous indignation in the morning. Assuming Spike woke up in time to stop Cordy seeing them together on the couch.

"And I suppose me just saying I'm sorry ain't gonna cut it?" Spike tried again.

"Nope."

"You could always turn me over your knee and spank me really hard, since I obviously did something unforgivable."

"Nice try. You wish."

"Really really hard? Cover girl's got a nice big hairbrush in 'er room."

"I'm so not spanking you with Cordy's hairbrush. That's beyond the city limits of wrong. You think she'd wanna brush her hair with something that's touched your ass?"

"You've touched my arse, and she gave you a bloody kiss goodnight. I didn't get a kiss goodnight."

"Good Night, Spike." And Xander gave him a kiss goodnight. It lasted a while.

"G'night, pet. Still pissed-off?"

"Yup. Don't worry. I'll think of something suitable. Good Night, Spike." Which meant another kiss, of course. Silence, and Xander was almost asleep, almost sure he'd be safe from the running dreams, and...

"It's maple wood?"

"Good Night, Spike." And since the precedent had been set, there was a kiss, where tongues played around a little, but Xander was awfully tired, and  "I'll buy you one when we get home, Spike."

"I know," Spike said, petting his hair like he was a puppy-dog, or maybe a cat, though Spike was supposed to be the cat, and there it was, the  hmm,  rumbling purr deep in Spike's chest, that sent Xander sleepward. I love him he thought helplessly as he fell back into that soft, low sound. God -- and I really mean God, if you're there -- I love him. What do I do?



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