By Carolyn Claire
Response to the Spike/Xander kiss meme.
"Isn't bad." Spike took another long pull from the bottle.
"Isn't bad? S'fuckin' wonderful. If there's anything my father knows, it's whisky." And how to emasculate a man in twenty words or less, Xander thought, but he didn't add that part.
"Here's to him, then. To your old man, and his fuckin' wonderful taste in whisky." Spike hoisted the bottle again.
"Damn straight. Hey! Give." He hadn't risked an ass-kicking just to watch Spike drink up his ill-gotten booty. He leaned forward, one hand reaching out to take the bottle back, overbalanced and nearly fell off the sofa bed. Things went a little upside down for a minute, and then Spike was sitting next to him, an arm slung around his shoulders, the bottle left out of reach on the floor beside the chair.
"Had a bit much, have we?" One corner of Spike's mouth curled up in that smug-bastard way of his.
"'We' have not yet begun to drink. 'We' meaning me, not you. Bogart," Xander added, glaring.
Spike laughed and retrieved the bottle, settling in next to Xander again but holding it at arm's length, out to his other side. "What do you say we play a little game, then? Make it interesting?"
"Make what interesting?" Xander frowned at him. "It's very interesting whisky. And it's already mine."
"Possession is nine tenths, and all that." Spike chuckled and took another quick sip. Xander took a delayed-action swipe at the bottle, but Spike bounced up and out of the way. "Ah-ah, that's naughty. Not in the spirit of the game at all."
"If this game involves standing, it sucks, and I think you should leave," Xander pouted.
"And just when we were getting so cozy, too. Shame." Spike settled down next to him again. "Tell you what. We'll play a question and answer game, and if you answer correctly, you can have the bottle back. Deal?"
"This is one of those information-getting things you do, isn't it? Where you think I'm going to tell you something you're not supposed to know, because I'm drunk?"
Spike pulled back a little and looked at him in surprise. "Not drunk enough, apparently," he said, and handed Xander the bottle.
"Fuck you very much." Xander smirked at him and tipped the bottle back for a long drink. His throat worked noisily.
"Still haven't said what brought all this on." Spike settled in comfortably and turned to face him on the bed. "Bird trouble again?"
"Bird trouble? What the hell does that mean, anyway? In what way are women bird-like? And, no," he said, frowning, "my birds are just fine. No trouble with my birds." Spike grinned at him, and Xander glared. "What?"
"You're a hilarious drunk, you silly git." Spike took the bottle back and drank deeply.
"Git. There you go. Fucking stupid language," Xander groused.
"Speaking of language..." Spike raised an eyebrow. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Xander huffed, then frowned, reconsidering. "I mean, no. I mean, fuck you."
"There's something positively Freudian about you tonight." Spike studied him, head tilted to one side. "Anything you'd like to share with me? Some problem I could help you with?"
Xander shook his finger at him. "You think I don't know what you're talking about, but I do. And, no. And, ewww." He gave Spike a litle shove with one foot. "And, get off my bed. But give me the bottle first."
"You've nothing to fear from me, you silly sot. You're entirely unattractive to me, at the moment."
"Good. Fine. Bottle." Spike passed the bottle to him. Xander started to drink, then hesitated. "At the moment? What do you mean, at the moment? You mean, there are moments when I am attractive to you?"
"That would be telling." Spike smiled at him. "What do you think?"
"I don't. Think." Xander looked away.
Spike grinned and gave a little crow of amusement. "Oh, I think we've got something here. Been thinking about it, have we?"
Xander clutched the bottle close. "Off the bed. Now."
Spike shook his head. "Fine. Your loss. But, like I said," he stood and stretched, "not at your most attractive tonight, anyway." He turned to reach for his coat, but turned back to find Xander's hand on his wrist. He stilled for a moment, looking thoughtfully down at him, and sat again, very close.
"So, maybe you do want to tell me about it." Spike's voice was soft, smiling.
"No." Xander sat up straight, wrapped his hand around the back of Spike's neck, and pulled him in for a hard kiss. He missed the target a little, his lips landing on the corner of the other man's mouth. As quickly as he'd dived in, he pulled back again, his breathing rough, and looked into Spike's eyes, his own a little wild.
"Let's try that again, shall we?" Spike offered gently, and slid one hand along the side of Xander's face.
He was pulled in deep, drowning-deep, Spike's mouth opening under his, sucking gently, drawing in his tongue. The bottle fell from Xander's hand to the floor, and he grabbed at Spike's shirt, twisting the fabric in his hands and pulling Spike down on top of him. They fell together slowly, settling into the pillows, never breaking the kiss, Spike's body twisting to align itself with his. One of Spike's legs pressed between Xander's, spreading them apart a little, twining them together as Xander wrapped Spike up in his arms. He felt Spike all over him, pressed against him, into him, moving gently in his arms, moaning low in his throat. Xander slid one hand up Spike's back and into his hair, gripping it tightly, and forgot to breathe. Stars exploded behind his eyes as warmth suffused him, lighting him up, opening him up. He was drifting, floating, going under...
He was losing consciousness, and Spike was slapping gently at his face. "Xander. Boy."
Xander blinked blearily up at him. "M'not a boy. Not a git, either."
Spike smiled down at him. "No, love, you most certainly are not." He stroked Xander's hair back from his forehead.
Xander echoed his smile. "Let's try that again, shall we?" he whispered.
And they did.