“Bloody menace you are.”  Spike could move like the lightest breeze when he wanted to, skimming his body so that he was barely touching.  Ghosting over to prove he was there. . . not that his words didn’t do the same.  “Big hands, floppy hair, eyes almost black when you come. . . big dick.  Love your prick, Harris.  Love it inside me, stretching me till I’m screaming an’ hurting, tryin’ to get you deeper in me. . .   Love you in my throat, pulsin’ an’ hard, tasting like sunshine.”

“You’re a very strange nurse.”

Spike just smiled, continuing the hypnotic, wave‑like touches.  He always seemed to know the places that ached the worst, clever fingers drawing out the pain with light pressure, kisses on Xander’s brow to cool the flush that wouldn’t go away.  “Makes me weak, when I’m around you.  You make me weak, Harris.  Should hate you for it, shouldn’t I?  Begging for you, needing to feel you twist up my insides.”

“Not that I’m objecting to the dirty talk—but you do realize I’m to sick to do any of these things, right?”

“S’gotta be that donkey‑cock of yours,” Spike continued without pause.  “Never understood why Anya stuck around until I got to see that, taste it, touch it.  Feel it all hot an hard and so bloody eager in my hands.  But when it’s inside me, that’s where you shine, love.  Master at dicking you are, know just how to make me melt around you, swooning little girl, wanting you deeper.  Need to take me deeper, love.  Wanna feel you. . .”

“Spiiiike.  I’m sick and tired and my head hurts and I’m getting snot everywhere and you’re making me hard!”

“Evil, pet.  Not even you can fuck me good.”

Xander pouted and was about to say something when a sneeze caught him off guard.  He scooshed into the tissue glued to his right hand, coughing in reaction.  It took a little while to make sure his brains were still inside his skull, and by then, his nose had blocked back up.  Tighter than a drum and as impenetrable as Spike when he was trying to be inscrutable.  Well, the first few moments before he caved, anyway.  “Remove my sinuses?  Please?”

“Sorry, duckling.  Need ’em where they are.”

“So you can hear the dulcet tones of a boy with the plague?  Liar.  And hey, why aren’t you volunteering to rip things out of me?  I thought you loved me.”

Spike just smiled, palm pressed flat against Xander’s neck and squeezing lightly.  Muscles tense from an aching head spasmed and tried to release and Xander groaned at the slight hint of pain receding.  “Want your heart, Xan.  Wanna feel it warm and squishy in my hand, pumping and throbbing like you do when you’re close, gasping out on my neck, teeth pressing hard cause you’re there, you’re almost there.”

Awww.  Spike said the sweetest nothings too him.  “That’s disgusting.”

“No, that’s disgusting,” Spike countered, nodding at the overflowing wastebasket and the mountain of small, snotty tissues.  The husky quality had disappeared, although the words were still quiet.  “An’ your bein’ impossible.  Here I am, managing to come up with something that’s too bloody close to poetic and you’re—”

“Sick in bed and wishing I was dead so I wouldn’t hurt so much?”

“Wanker.”  Spike nuzzled under his ear, lips dry and gentle as they roamed over his skin.  “Still love your prick, Xan.”  But his hand was resting on Xander’s chest, right over the steady thump, fingers occasionally twitching in time.  “Love it.”

Xander smiled and whispered that he loved his dick, too.  Because he really, really did.  It’s what got him all of this.