Rough Diamond


by
BmblBee



Part Twenty-One

The darkness slipped in and around them like a thief in the night, quietly, subtly and almost unnoticed. They had eaten till they could hold no more then, with wine in hand, had settled in by the warm comfort of the fire.

One tall oil lamp sat on the mantle and another on a small table by the door. Their spacing had been strategically discussed and voted on as to how they would provide the most amount of illumination to the small area. Both agreed that the selection was perfect.

Spike sat in the recliner to the left of the fire. He had personally been responsible for the near total draining of the surprisingly pleasant bottle of port and was now feeling it's effect. Unaccustomed to more than one glass in an evening, Spike justified the excess by telling himself that he had nowhere to go, there was no chance he would be driving and he most certainly wouldn't be called out on a case. No, tonight was for letting time flow.

Xander, too, was floating on a pleasant, clouded, alcoholic buzz. He drank four bottles out of his six-pack and helped Spike work on that rascally wine. He wasn't worried about running out. He had a funny feeling that anytime Spike called, Andrew would come on the run.

Unlike Spike, Xander was used to the feeling. It was an everyday thing in his life. He didn't drink to gain the courage of a bottle in order to suffer through his occupation. No, unlike most prostitutes, that was his choice. He loved sex and he loved it with men.

What he didn't like was the loneliness that went with it. The lack of emotional connection that came with the physical detachment. In the last few years, Joey had been his only real friend, his family, and now that was gone.

As he sprawled on the uncomfortable sofa, Xander refused to think about Joey. He knew the full tank of alcohol he was running on would make him morose and weepy, and tonight was too lovely a night to spoil.

They had talked easily and quietly about everything and nothing. They repeated and chuckled over the Andrew incident. They discussed the trip up, the tasks they needed to tackle tomorrow and they discussed the contrasts of the city vs the country as though they had lived here for years.

Neither would touch the subjects that would cause the other pain.

By 09:00, Spike finally rose, lifting his sluggish, clumsy body from his chair. He stumbled, caught and corrected himself and chuckled. "Well, that's it innit? I'm going to sleep. You better do the same."

Xander smiled. He had taken great pains earlier to clean the bedroom till  there was no spot of dust to be found. The old cedar chest at the foot of the bed held clean, fresh sheets and he had tucked the corners in hospital tight. He couldn't wait for Spike to see.

When he saw the detective head for the front door, Xander laughed. "Wrong way Charlie Chan. The bedroom is over there."

Spike snorted and tripped as he crossed the room. When he got to the door he took the lantern in one hand and the door knob in the other. Afraid to turn his face back around for fear of making himself even more dizzy, Spike called back over his shoulder, "Don't be daft. I'm sleeping in the car. I couldn't possibly share a bed with you. See you in the morning."

To Spike it was a simple logical statement of fact. He was a detective and Xander was a witness. This was a job and his assignment was to protect. More importantly, Spike's attraction to the boy may cause the blankets to tent in a telling and embarrassing way.

To Xander, the quiet words were a slap in the face. His interpretation was that Spike could never sleep with a whore.

Xander was stunned. His brain called out "Fuck you!" but his lips stayed silent. After banking the fire, he took his lantern and his memories of Joey and he went to bed.

The minute he stepped from the warmth of the cabin, Spike was smacked with the sobering sting of the cold night air. His dick screamed at him that his bladder was overfull and about to soak his new, scratchy denims but the thought of the outhouse was simply not an option so, with the excuse of too much drink, Spike went to the nearest tree and unzipped.

He had often heard the saying 'the quiet of the woods' but apparently they weren't talking about these woods. The strange and unidentifiable din that surrounded him was a cornucopia of screeching, clicking, rustling and, somewhere off in the distance, was what Spike prayed was a dog howling. He refused to think  the word, 'wolf.' Damn, now he'd thought it.

He quickly shook off and hurried to the car where he jumped in the back seat, setting his lantern just outside on the ground. There, he tried to get comfortable. The seat was too short. Spike was surprised that he hadn't taken that into consideration when he'd purchased the vehicle. He wished now he had. Next, the pants were too tight and rough, so he removed them, neatly folded them and placed them in front.

Within minutes, his brain began forming bizarre fatal scenarios. The most prominent of these was suffocation. The small, confined space was claustrophobic and as he continued to consider it, he could feel his lungs struggle for oxygen and his brain cells begin to die. With a choking gasp, he rolled down a window. Now, he was cold. In nothing but boxers and a flannel shirt, Spike curled up in a fetal position as the wine finally, compassionately, knocked him out.

"Skritch, skritch, skritch."

"Huh? Wha?'

Spike wasn't sure what had awakened him, but he knew from the remaining, strong influence of the alcohol, he hadn't been asleep for long. With his eyes still closed, his detective's ears listened for what had disturbed him, expecting it to be the wind or one of those incessant, fucking crickets.

"Skritch, skritch, skritch."

This time, when the sound came, Spike's eyes popped open as the fear shot through his body like a stun gun.

THERE WAS SOMETHING IN THE CAR WITH HIM!

His body remained immobile as his cop's instincts took over. He reached for his side only to curse his negligence at leaving his gun inside. His ears strained while his brain tried frantically to put a name to the strange sound.

For a few minutes, while he pulled himself fully awake, it was silent and he was beginning to question whether or not he had even heard it. Then, just as he was beginning to relax, the sound came again, this time louder and punctuated with a series of squeaks and clicks.

Every muscle in Spike's body snapped to attention and his brain screamed 'BEAR!' His breath came in gasps as the terror gripped him.

Sweet Mother of God, he thought, I'm about to be midnight kibble for Yogi and Boo Boo.

Cautiously, slowly and silently, Spike began to unfold his legs. He knew his only hope to prevent being eaten alive was to escape the death trap with expensive leather seats. Carefully, he placed his feet on the richly carpeted floor and began to lift himself up. His heart was pounding so hard, he was certain it would soon explode.

Then, as his hand felt for the door handle in the dark, Spike made his move. He sat bolt upright like a shot and as he did, he came face to face with death. The beast had also popped his face up and was now just inches from Spike's nose. The beady, black eye's scrutinized Spike as he stared back.

The creature had a long snout, an estimated five hundred razor sharp fangs and a face that appeared to be wearing the black, concealing mask of a burglar.

Spike screamed.

The raccoon screamed.

Both took off running.









Part Twenty-Two

Xander had remained by the fire for another hour as he finished off the beer and conjured up countless scathing replies that he wished he had tossed out to the detective's retreating back.

He had been hurt and embarrassed. It wasn't that he had fooled himself into thinking that they were friends, he was more than aware that this was Spike's job and he was simply an assignment. It wasn't as if they were old school chums on a yearly hunting excursion or pals on a raucous camp out, but still, that was uncalled for.

It confirmed what Xander already knew. All cops were pricks.

Two hours later, lying in the big double bed alone and Xander was still wide awake. Unlike Spike, Xander was unaccustomed to being in bed at this time of night. At least by himself. He worked the night shift and his mind did not that easily adapt.

The heat from the fireplace drifted throughout the entire small cabin and the bedroom was warm, cozy and perfect for a snuggle. Xander couldn't remember the last time he had snuggled.

When he tried to revisit the memories, they always came back to Joey and Xander had finally allowed himself to cry. By two AM, the drugging effects of the alcohol, along with the exhaustion of the physical and emotional exertion of earlier, all combined and he could feel his mind and body finally drift toward slumber.

Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open and Detective Prick rushed in. He was breathless, frazzled and nearly naked. Xander snapped to immediate alertness as his eyes locked on the revolver in the man's hand. "What? What happened? Did they find us? Are they here? Christ, Spike, what is it?"

Spike stood in the doorway as he tried to bring his mind and body under control. His usually perfect hair now stood up in wild tufts, his face was red and his eyes were wide and buggy. He wore nothing but the red flannel shirt and a pair of white boxers. His thin, pale white chicken legs trembled like rubber bands and his hands shook.

Despite all this, and the fact that his voice was raspy and breathless, Spike did his damnedest to appear calm and nonchalant. "No. Nothing's wrong. I, um, just got to thinking and in order to more effectively protect you, I really need to keep you within visual at all time.
So, scoot the fuck over."

Xander was totally perplexed. He had the distinct impression that something dire had occurred, but the odd thing was that he trusted Spike. If the detective said all was safe, then despite whatever had spooked him, all was apparently safe. Xander did the only thing he could. He scooted over.

Spike laid his gun on the night stand and he jumped in. Instantly he was blanketed in warmth and comfort and he let out a long, deep sigh. In an attempt at some decorum, Spike laid with his back to the boy and stayed to the edge of the bed. Squinting an eye open, his hand ran the length of the rim of the mattress and as sleep threatened to claim him he muttered. "Very nice tuck job on the sheets, Xander."

Xander snorted. He was still a bit hurt from earlier yet he couldn't suppress the feeling of pride over the comment of a job well done.

"Hey, your feet are ice cold!"

Spike made no move to remove them from Xander's legs. "Won't be in a minute"

Xander slid his legs fractionally closer to give Spike a better angle. "I thought you were too good to sleep with me."

Spike could no longer stay awake. His brain shut down and floated away leaving his mouth to work independently and mumbling into the comfy pillow. "Oh, I just didn't want to get another stiffy over you."

Xander's eyes popped open and he stared at the back of the white blond head. The unexpected information tickled him like a feather and he felt giddy. This was priceless. This was something to be savored and a fact that he would stick in his hip pocket and save for just the right moment. He knew the detective was nearly asleep and he was certain he would not remember the casual comment tomorrow but that was all right. Xander would remember.

The next time Spike opened his eyes, the sun was shining around the rims of the towel being used as a curtain. He felt sticky and stinky, yet almost comfortable. Till he moved. Then the pain behind his eyes threatened to split his skull and his stomach churned down into his bowels. Spike had the Mt. Everest of hangovers.

He could vaguely recall being chased into the cabin by some wild, vicious creature and wondered if he had possibly just had a big foot encounter. Spike knew he was alone. Too bad. He had never slept in the same bed with another person. It was a shame he couldn't remember it.

One other thing he was certain of. He was certain that he would not survive. He could already feel the layer of creeping crud that coated his body, grow, expand and contaminate every inch of flesh that it covered.

"Oh, Sweet Jesus" he moaned. "I need a hot, sterilizing shower."

So, it was this driving urge that forced him from the warm blankets and onto weak, shaky, hung over legs. It was the need for the disgusting wash pan that pushed him past the toasty, rebuilt fire in the living room and on to the worn, cracked linoleum floor.

He could hear the clatter of plates and pans and the annoyingly cheerful humming of his charge. If he had brought his gun from the bedroom, he would have shot him. No, on second thought, the echo from the bullet exploding from the chamber would probably cause his head to fall off.

Spike snorted. That was a possibility he may have to consider.

When he entered the kitchen, his eye went to the back of the man at the stove. Not wearing his ever present cowboy hat, Xander's hair hung long, loose and luxuriously around his shoulders. He wore a snug, clean tee and oversized jeans that rode low on his hips. Spike wondered if the boy even owned a pair that fit properly. He hoped not.

Xander grinned as he heard the detective stumble in but he didn't turn around. "You wanna cock?"

Spike froze. He blinked and his mouth opened and closed like a fish. "What?"

Xander turned around with an innocent smile on his face. He held an egg in one hand and a spatula in the other.

"I said, do you want to cook?"<





Part Twenty-Three

Spike shook his head It was a move that caused his disconnected brain to flop painfully around in his skull as he tried to clear his thoughts.

"Do I want to?....no, I don't want to cook. I need to wash. I need to pee. I need to get the fuck back to the city!"

Xander calmly laid down his egg and cooking utensil and he slowly approached the pitiful man who was rubbing his hands roughly over his face in an attempt to force out the hangover.

"That isn't what you need. Do you want to know what you really need, Spike?"

Spike jumped, startled at the voice that was suddenly so near. "Wha?"

Xander took another step closer and Spike unconsciously took a step back. Xander took another and Spike's butt hit the edge of the table, preventing any further retreat.

With the smaller man trapped, Xander leaned forward, placing his hands on the table at Spike's sides. It was a move that caused the detective to bow backwards in order to maintain even a hair's breath between them. His eyes bugged and his lungs strained in an attempt to suck in air. It caused the red flannel shirt to raise and drop at an alarming rate.

Spike was more than aware that the confusion his big head was experiencing was not shared by his smaller head. His dick was hard, erect and already leaving an uncomfortable wet spot on the front of his white boxers. The boxers would probably have to be burned.

Spike's eyeballs nearly popped from his head as he watched Xander casually reach down with one hand and unzip his jeans. The boy then raised up on his toes and fumbled around inside before tugging out a very large, very hard and amazingly beautiful cock.

Spike squirmed. He knew he couldn't wiggle out from under the boy without making physical contact. "Wha? What are you doing?"

Xander smiled sweetly as his brown eyes pierced blue. "I'm telling you what you need and since you seem to be a bit slow, I think we
need some visual aids in our lecture."

Spike swallowed and tried to sound indignant. "Oh, and just what is it you think I.....?"

"Kissed, Spike. You need kissed. Firmly, wetly, deeply and just long enough to knock your socks off."

Spike gasped. The fact that he wasn't wearing any socks seemed totally irrelevant. The hot rush that was flooding his body and the looming presence of the sexual man was overwhelming him.

Spike was not one to lose himself in a physical encounter. Even the men he had been in brief relationships with knew that whatever sex they had, would be done as cleanly and quickly as possible. Spike's OCD was always the third person in the bed. But this was different. This was all consuming.

This was 'what the fuck'.

Yes, Spike had to concede, Xander seemed to be right. Apparently he needed kissed very badly. So, with a whimper, Spike closed his eyes and stuck his thin lips straight out in a full, fish face pucker.

When nothing happened, Spike cracked open one eye. Xander was still there, still a fraction of an inch from the waiting smooch but making no move to connect. Instead, he was wearing a very amused grin. Spike had a quick flash of humiliating confusion. Had he misunderstood? Was Xander toying with him? Spike was just about to shove the larger man away, when Xander leaned in and whispered. "Just relax your lips and let me drive, yeah? Just clear your mind and don't even think about kissing. Just let me do it all."

Spike decided to try. He wanted to be indignant at the implication that he did not know how to kiss. He had kissed before, but his hard aching cock was telling him to shut the fuck up. So he did.

Xander tipped his head slightly to the side and he affectionately bumped noses with his pupil before their lips touched. Lightly, briefly, like the touch of a feather, their mouths brushed against each other. Spike sighed as he felt the tension melt away.

Tipping his head to the other side, Xander now pressed his closed lips a bit more firmly against Spike's and Spike knew Xander was right. He had no idea before now, what a real kiss was all about.

As the pressure grew, Xander thrust his hips forward, causing his erection to bump and push against Spike's. Spike gasped at the power of the want that rushed through him and his lips parted. Xander dove in. He filled Spike's mouth with a hot, probing tongue that possessed him and tasted every inch.

For once, the concerns for the germs never entered his mind.

Spike felt his body go weak as the kiss continued and he puffed warm air out his nose against Xander's cheek. It was a submissive lack of control that shot straight to Xander's cock and his own desperation drove him to try to physically climb into the detective's mouth.

His tongue licked, tugged and circled Spike's as the rest of his body staked a claim. Xander's arms wrapped around Spike's waist and he roughly jerked the trim body into a squeezing embrace as their hips moved, independently yet in unison, humping and frotting their crotches.

No longer able to passively accept, Spike now enthusiastically joined in, giving as good as he got. The chorus of whines, whimpers and gasps as they separated for fractional seconds of oxygen, bounced off the walls of the small cabin.

Finally, Xander broke the kiss and he gripped Spike. He held him by the hips and his fingertips dug painfully into Spike's flesh. Spike braced his hands on the table ridge behind. He jutted out his crotch, making himself available and he dropped his face to watch the XXX rated show that was happening between them.

Xander grunted from the strain, He widened his stance and his hips pumped erratically as his cock frantically chased the feeling that remained just out of reach. Then, surprising even himself, Spike released the anchor of the wooden table behind him and slipped his hand between them.

He slid his hand inside the boxer's flap and pulled himself out before wrapping his long, slim fingers around the shaft of Xander's cock. His hips quickly picked up the erratic rhythm and jerked hips in short chopping moves that slid both oozing, rubbery cocks against the other. Within seconds they each felt the familiar tingle and knew.

Xander threw his head back as his eyes rolled up. "Yeah, just like that. Fuck, feels so good. Just a little more. Come on Spike, cum with me."

To Spike, that sounded like an excellent idea. So he did.





Part Twenty-Four

Spike felt dizzy. His ears buzzed and his vision was unfocused. His heart rate had gradually slowed and now resembled normal. He felt as though he had just run a marathon. His brain tried to catalog the emotions he should be feeling. (In alphabetical order, of course)

Emotions like, anger (at himself), chagrin, embarrassment, shame and hunger. Spike shook his head. Hunger? Apparently the residual cloud of euphoria was preventing him from prioritizing.

When Xander's little tutorial in the art of kissage had completed, Xander had cheerfully tucked his half hard cock back in his jeans, grabbed a banana from the kitchen counter, planted one last peck on the stunned detective's lips and headed outside to start burning the pile of filthy curtains.

For a good three minutes, Spike was unable to move. He knew he had just committed the biggest sin on the department. He had become involved with a witness in a major case. When the suspects were caught and brought to trial, this would compromise the boy's testimony and worse. It would cost Spike his job.

Involved.

It was an all encompassing word that said so much yet really said nothing. Were they involved? They had kissed and got off. No big deal, right? Probably not to Xander who did it several times a night. In fact, Spike thought sourly, that little episode would have cost him plenty if he were a customer. It was an ugly thought that made Spike's stomach hurt, so he banished it from his mind.

Spike pushed himself away from the table and stood on shaky legs. The blood that slowly traveled from his deflating cock now fed the brain cells in his head and his thoughts cleared. He couldn't imagine how he had allowed this to happen but he promised himself that it was not too late to stop.

Nothing drastic had happened. He could still establish and reiterate the rules and guidelines. He could still effectively do his job. Xander would just have to understand that this sort of impropriety was unacceptable.

As his thoughts continued to rant, his fingertips brushed over his lips causing them to tingle with the wonderful memory of the kiss.

"No. No. No." He scolded as he paced, chastising himself for his unprofessional stupidity and his body's insistence on remaining happy. Grabbing handfuls of hair, he spoke firmly to himself. "Get a grip, Spike. Get. A. Grip."

Taking a deep breath, it was then that he looked down and nearly screamed with disgusted shock at his disheveled, soiled, contaminated clothing. Frantically, and continuously repeating, "Ack! Ack! Ack!" Spike's hands flew as he quickly stripped and kicked the nasty items across the floor. He then stood, stark naked, with his hands on his hips and scowled, thinking that they would no doubt also have to be burned. At this rate he would be left with nothing to wear by the week's end.

Although the cabin was small, and despite Xander's diligence in keeping the fireplace stocked and burning, the kitchen, because it was separated with a closed door, was chilly and damp. Spike hurried over to the sink and retrieved his wash pan.

He hustled through the routine of pouring alcohol into it for sterilization before laying out his personal hygiene items on the side board. As foul and stinky as he felt, this was going to be a quicky.

After filling the clean pan with steaming hot water, he scrubbed his face, dumped and refilled it for his chest and arms. By the time he had worked his way down to his crotch, he was feeling much better and he relaxed. Smiling, he lathered up his cloth and allowed his mind to revisit the scene earlier. When he did, his eyes immediately looked out the window to see what Xander was doing.

He quickly located him off to the far right where he had piled up the curtains along with some old boxes and paper from the shed. Xander was standing tall in the bright morning light. He had left his hat inside and the sun sparkled and glinted off the single diamond stud in the boy's ear. Spike smiled as he enjoyed the scenery when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

He snapped his head to the side and his eyes scanned the quadrant. It had looked like movement in the weeds but he couldn't tell. The grass was high and the area of clearing small. Spike set down his soap and leaned closer to the window, his curiosity peaked.

Just as he was about to decide that it was simply the breeze or maybe just his imagination, the high grass parted and a huge, hump backed, catlike creature popped out of the foliage. In shocked recognition, Spike realized that it was the vicious beast that had attacked him last night. And now it was headed for Xander!

Slithering forward, it was now less than ten feet from the boy who was totally unaware that the monster was creeping up behind him, preparing to lunge. Frantically, Spike pounded his palm against the kitchen window, shouting out a warning. "XANDER! Turn around! Run! XANDER!"

It was fruitless. The boy was too far away to hear and Spike knew he was wasting precious time. The animal was stalking its prey and closing in fast.

Spinning around on his heels, Spike rushed from the kitchen. He bolted through the cabin and in to the bedroom where he snatched his service revolver from the night stand. Dashing back to the kitchen, Spike jetted out the back door, where his bare feet barely touched the worn wooden steps before he landed on the dew dampened grass.

He was horrified! The stupid boy was on his knees, reaching out toward the carnivorous beast. Death was just inches from his boy's throat. Spike flew into action. His hands came up and he drew a bead on a spot in the center of the animal's head. Spike knew he was an excellent shot and with one pull of the trigger he could blow the fucking beast to kingdom come.

He continued to close the distance between them, his gun raised and aimed as he yelled. "Xander! Get back. SLOWLY! I've got a clean shot. Step back. Don't make any sudden moves."

Xander made no move to retreat. Much to the contrary and to Spike's dismay, he again extended his hand toward the deadly creature. By now, Spike had reached them and was shocked to see what was happening. Xander was feeding the fucking beast his banana. Spike skidded to a stop. His heart was in his throat and a sheen of sweat and fear coated his skin.

In contrast, Xander was obviously having the time of his life. "Look, Spike. Isn't he just the cutest thing? I always wanted a pet. Can we keep him? I already named him Rocky. Huh? Can we? Please?"

Spike's arm dropped to his side and he stared at his charge as though the boy had grown a second head. At the same time, Rocky shoved another slice of banana in his mouth and shot Spike a triumphant scowl that said he had already won.

Spike huffed in disgust, turned and started to stomp away as Xander called after him. "Hey, Spike. You're naked. How come you're outside naked? Spike?"

Spike snarled and mumbled as he returned to start his sponge bath all over again. "Shoulda fuckin' shot 'em both"





Part Twenty-Five

When Spike got frustrated, he cleaned and by the time Xander came back in to the cabin, it was again spotless and lemony smelling. Unfortunately, the detective was still frustrated and as soon as the boy reentered, Spike pointed to a rickety kitchen chair. "Sit down, Xander. We need to talk."

Xander sauntered past the stove, pausing to note the total lack of anything cooking, and he glanced critically at Spike.

"No breakfast? I think it's against the rules of the Geneva Convention to keep me a prisoner without feeding me."

Spike immediately felt flustered and guilty. "Oh, right, yes, I was just about to......HEY! Breakfast can wait. You and I need to get a few things straight Buster, and no more distractions till we do. So, Sit!"

With an easy casual smile, Xander tipped back his head and ran his fingers through his long, dark, soft hair and lowered himself on to the assigned seat. He flopped one arm over the back of the chair and crossed his legs. "What's up, boss?"

Spike was temporarily distracted by the strong, handsome face and the trim, youthful body before he shook his head to clear it. When he finally remembered what it was he wanted to talk about, he shook his finger in the boy's face.

"Now, see here. This is not a vacation. There will be no adopting of wild, flea bitten, rabies infected stray animals as pets. This is serious business. There are some very dangerous men out there who want nothing more than to put a bullet between your eyes and it's my job to make sure that that doesn't happen. We are up here hiding out and remaining incommunicado while these killers are rounded up for arrest and trial. A trial in which you, my friend, are a critical witness. It is my sworn duty to protect you. Now, somehow I think we got off track and I, as the one in charge, accept full responsibility for this misunderstanding. However, I am putting all this right and from now on there will be no hanky panky."

Xander listened to the detective's speech patiently and calmly. As Spike pattered on, Xander smiled, nodded and entertained himself by unbuttoning his shirt down to where it tucked into his jeans. He then slid his hand in and tugged on his nipple ring, again promising himself that when they got back to the city, he would have the other one done to match. When his keeper finally appeared to be finished,  Xander sat forward in his chair.

"That was very interesting, Spike. Just so I have a complete understanding, what exactly is your definition of hanky panky?"

Spike's blue eyes flared angrily at Xander's refusal to take this seriously and he waggled his fingers back and forth between them.

"This! This, whatever that was that happened, is hanky panky! And in order for 'THIS' to not happen again, we will maintain an appropriate distance between us at all times."

Xander just shrugged. "So we won't be sharing a bed?"

Spike frowned. Sleeping arrangements were tricky. There was only one bed and when he remembered last night, he did not want a repeat of the fiasco with the crazed Rocky.

"Well, actually, since there is only the one bed, we will have to share, but we are both grown, intelligent men and it can be done with decorum."

Xander's lip quirked up at the corner. "Oh, so then we will be sleeping together just not 'sleeping together'."

Spike sputtered and took a step back.

"WHAT? Nothing was ever said about you and I sleeping together." Spike dramatically made air quotes with his fingers on the last two words.

"But you just said......"

"I know what I said Xander! I am certain I qualified my answer. We will most definately NOT be engaging in any improper activity. Not in bed, not in the living room and not in the kitchen. Nowhere."

Xander glanced down and casually picked a piece of dry grass off his jeans before looking Spike again in the eye. "So, you don't want me to kiss you again?"

Spike blinked and his breath hitched. He wasn't sure why he wasn't outraged at the suggestion. Maybe it was because little Spike had just squirmed happily in his denim confines and when he answered, the anger seemed to have evaporated from his voice.

"Um, I'm sure that would be considered improper activity."

Xander frowned as though he were considering this issue seriously. "Oh, I only ask because if I accidentally roll over and my lips happen to brush against yours, I don't want you to accuse me of, what did you call it? Oh, yes, improper activity."

Spike's traitorous brain immediately drew him a picture of them rolling together in the warm, soft bed as various body parts went bump in the night. His eyes glazed over as he swallowed and attempted to keep his voice firm. "No, of course not. I mean, things happen. I'm sure, as long as it were unintentional it is......."

"So, then you DO want me to kiss you again."

Spike scratched his head. "What? No. Well, if it just happens......."

Whatever else Spike was about to say was forgotten as Xander rose to his feet and he stepped up to the flustered detective. He wrapped his arms around Spike's waist and pulled their bodies tightly together before leaning down, stopping when their lips were just lightly touching.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Spike. Do you have any objections?"

"No." Spike's voice was a very unmanly squeak.

When the breath stealing, tonsil licking kiss finally ended, Xander released his grip on the smaller man so quickly that Spike staggered back, bumping into the edge of the stove. Turning to leave the kitchen, Xander looked back with a wink and a smile.

"I'm gonna see to the fire while you cook us some breakfast and scramble up an extra egg for Rocky. Him and I are a couple of hungry varmints."

Spike giggled at the silly joke and blushed. "O.k."




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