Xander sat down in the chair closest to the desk.
“You really work here?” Spike nodded toward the Murphy bed. “Sleep here?”
“It’s nicer than the basement.” Xander tilted his head back and smiled.
Memories crashed through Spike. Some days he tried to push thoughts of Sunnydale away, some days he hoarded them close. No matter what he did, he couldn’t escape them. Tied to an old chair down in that basement, watching Xander sleep and spinning revenge fantasies in his head of what he’d do once the chip came out…revenge fantasies that almost always became fantasies of a more carnal kind. He’d watched and wanted and never had. “Had crypts nicer than that basement,” he said dismissively.
“I’ve got fond memories of that basement.”
“So do I.” He indulged himself with a suggestive look up and down Xander’s body.
It didn’t seem to faze Xander at all. “I thought Angel was the one with a thing for the clergy.”
“For nuns, pet. I think it might be the habits. I’m the one that likes collars.”