Moving carefully, he worked the fabric up Spike’s legs and then over his hips. He blushed again, and this time Spike found it a bit…charming. He rolled the top of the trousers down so that they weren’t in contact with the hole in Spike’s stomach. Spike could feel the clothing only around his crotch and waist—his legs were still numb—but it felt soft and warm.
“We should probably skip the shirt until you’re an un-holey demon again. But are you warm enough?”
The couch was brown leather and soft. Probably too soft for sleeping, but perfect for watching telly, just as Harris had said. There was very little other furniture in the place. The television itself on a large stand. Beyond that was the kitchen and eating area, which boasted a round table with three plain wooden chairs. The place was neat, though. No pizza boxes and dirty plates lying about like there had been in the basement.
Harris collapsed onto the floor in front of the sofa, leaning his back against the leather. He clicked on the telly, and for a while, he and Spike watched a police program in silence. During an advert, Harris got up and padded into the kitchen, toward the refrigerator. “Want a beer?” he called.
Spike blinked in surprise. “Erm, yeah. That’d be good.” Why was the Scooby being so bloody nice to him?
Harris came back with two open bottles. One of them had a straw in it, and he held it so Spike could sip. It wasn’t blood, of course, but it tasted almost as good in its own way. Harris set Spike’s bottle down and then chugged about half of his.
They worked their way through a couple more beers and another police program, and then Harris stood and stretched. “I’m done. I know it’s early by your standards, but you want to turn in? Or I could leave you here in front of the tv if you want.”
“No. More sleep would be fine now.”
He carried Spike back in and settled him gently in the bed. Spike heard him using the toilet and brushing his teeth, and then he came back in a pair of Simpsons boxers. Spike couldn’t help it—he laughed.
Harris looked down at himself and smiled. “Well, at least you’re amused by the cartoon, right? Not by—oh, never mind.” He crawled between the sheets and flicked the light off. “Spike?” he said quietly.
“This isn’t a trick, is it?”
Spike sighed. “No. No trick. If I’d wanted to get you in bed with me I’d have found a way to manage it without getting skewered.”
Spike couldn’t see the boy’s face. He wondered if he was blushing again.
But Harris’s voice was teasing. “Are you suggesting that I’m easy, Spike?”
“Nah. I’d have had to be my most deviously persuasive, I’m sure.”
“Uh, yeah. ‘Cause you’re male. And vampire. A male vampire. Wouldn’t happen.”
“Oh? Seems to me you might have a thing for demons.”
“Former demons. Former female demons.”
Harris was quiet for several minutes. Then, “Besides. You wouldn’t try to seduce me, anyway.”
Spike chuckled softly. “And?”
Another pause. “Are you saying you…?”
“Prefer the hens, myself, but I don’t mind a rooster every now and then. Like Angelus. Once we were—“
“Ack! No! No Angelus and—ugh. I don’t wanna hear it.”
Spike laughed again. “I’m just saying. I’m flexible.”
Xander groaned. “Good night!” he said decisively.
Spike grinned into the darkness. This wasn’t turning out as badly as he’d feared.