Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. No harm, no foul, no money made
Spike tries to remember the last time he's slept in the same room as someone with a heartbeat without having been in them or under them at some earlier point in the proceedings. He draws a blank.
So, this is something else that damnable chip is responsible for. Joy.
The heartbeat in question begins to speed up, as does the sound of shallow respiration, and the scent of overheating human skin. Interesting. Harris is obviously having an x-rated dream, if the sudden cloud of teenage hormones is anything to go by, and Spike can only sit and listen.
I Dream Of You
"Spike! No... Don't, please! Spike, I'm not... I don't... I... I can't...I... Oh God!"
Spike's grin gleams in the dim green light of his reluctant host's radio alarm clock.
Well, well, well. The last thing he expects is to hear his own name whispered with such passion, and certainly not accompanied by the delicious aroma of horny male and the unmistakeable scents and sounds of a violent climax. It gives him food for thought as he carefully works one hand loose and pops the buttons of his fly. Shame to waste such a tantalising scenario...
Spike's hand begins to pump.
The routine soon becomes familiar. One works, one sleeps. Patrol or research, then 'home'. Food is consumed at some point, and then the rope comes out. Spike is tied before Xander strips to his shorts and goes to sleep.
It takes about an hour for Xander's dreams to start, and straight away Spike picks up his game.
"Can you hear me, Xander? Know who I am?" Spike whispers, soft and sibilant, careful not to wake his sleeping beauty.
"That's right. Now, peel back that sheet and let me see you touch yourself."
And, sleeping, Xander does.