Life as a Primal - or whatever: The pay was shit and the retirement package pretty much sucked but then Xander had skipped career day.

It didn't seem necessary when Spike made it pretty clear what his career was, lousy retirement package and all. Mostly it involved being where Spike wanted him when Spike wanted him in the position Spike wanted him which was usually with his ass in the air but up against a wall would do. But hey - the benefits were great even if the retirement plan kinda sucked.

Heck, he'd skipped graduation too - but that was mostly because he was tied up.

Tied up - hah - the Xand-man was still a funny, funny guy.

He was tied up, well-fucked and woke up to the boom heard around the world.

And crispy-barbecue Mayor.

Was it his fault graduation fell on a full moon?

He didn't think so.

When he thought.

Which wasn't maybe as often as it should be the way Spike was starting to wake up with nuzzles and nips along his jugular but it was a year after graduation for the class voted 'least likely to survive' and he was still alive. Rumor had it he was in -

"What day is it?" There was no twisting. No. Twisting was futile and mostly made Spike tighten his arms until breathing became Xander's favorite hobby. Xander's only hobby. His raison d'etre. At least until Spike dropped a hand and started to jack him slowly and if Xander came harder those times, struggling for breath, than he did every other time and if Spike noticed he did, it was one of those unspoken things.

There were a lot of unspoken things in Xander's life.

Including what day it was.

Xander jabbed his elbow into Spike's ribs. "Hey. What day is it?"

"How the fuck do I know?"

The world whirled over Xander's head the way it did when Spike held on and rolled over. Xander was a vampire's human teddy bear sex toy who came real spunk. And bled real blood.

Both functions had been tested.

Lots.

"Well where are we?"

"Zurich."

"Then it's Tuesday."

"So fucking what?"

It'd been a ride. It'd been a learning experience.

Xander had learned lots. Like how grouchy Spike was before noon unless he was still drunk from the night before - then he woke up horny. Or maudlin.

He also wouldn't fuck in a French compact car on principle but blow jobs were okay even if Xander's shoulder kept jamming into the horn every time Spike grabbed his head and came.

And while Spike wouldn't fuck in a French compact, he'd fuck on the back of an Italian motor scooter that wasn't even his.

Spike liked spicy buffalo wings and would eat nearly anything if it was fried.

And he'd take over any television if it meant watching his soaps.

"I'll bet you know what day it is on Passions."

"Thursday, end of yesterday's episode," Spike mumbled into Xander's neck, brushed away a strand of hair and started nibbling. "Julian was plotting to steal the baby."

Xander'd also learned it was really hard to stay annoyed with Spike once he started nibbling. Because after the nibbling, his hands started wandering.

His hands were certified world travelers. They could lead expeditions of Xander's body.

The point was, Spike knew what he was doing and Xander's body was still a great big ho where Spike was concerned.

So it was hard to stay annoyed.

Really hard.

And who didn't see that coming?

What Xander hadn't seen coming was what else Spike did.

What Spike did after.

After the thrust and grunt and sticky, wet, sweaty parts - which were totally great by the way - were over.

Once Xander stopped trying to run away, Spike started - well - cuddling.

There was no other word for it.

He'd lay there wrapped around Xander while Xander panted hot breath all over him and twitched.

Like he was doing right then.

And like always, Xander's arms wrapped around him and one played with his hair. There was an English subtitled movie when they were in Belgium - about Stockholm Syndrome.

Xander had spent a week trying to decide if that was him before deciding it kinda didn't matter since he'd either be a happy well-fucked guy who decided the vampire who basically owned him wasn't all bad, a happy well-fucked crazy guy with Stockholm Syndrome or a really fucked up miserable - but well-fucked - guy who was gonna spend the rest of his life with a crazy serial killer.

So basically if it was Stockholm Syndrome, that was okay too. And it wasn't like he had big life plans. Sure, he'd never thought about the future possibilities as a hyena-possessed vampire-craving ho but it wasn't all bad.

"What's in Zurich?" Because a cuddling Spike was a question answering Spike.

"Gay sushi bars."

Not that the answers always made sense - or were what Xander expected. "We came to Zurich for gay sushi?"

They went to Zurich for gay sushi.

And to Budapest to tour a museum dedicated to some kind of freaky secret police who'd been involved in Nazi atrocities.

"Never trust a free virgin blood party," was Xander's take-home message from the museum. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be trusting advertisements for free virgin blood.

What was the big deal with virgin blood anyway?

"What's the big deal with blood of virgins anyway?" Xander asked because he wasn't one. Asked it while trying not to sound like he was asking because he wasn't one. Spike hadn't even sampled him as a virgin. Prime opportunity for virgin Xander blood - wasted.

He waited for an answer.

Spike squinted at him through the smoke of a thin black unfiltered cigarette he'd shoplifted in Zagreb then took him by the arm and shuffled him onto a boat on the Danube where they stood with Spike's arm around Xander's waist surrounded by Japanese tourists.

"We're going to Tokyo."

"This is gonna be a long boat ride."

Spike snorted and flicked his cigarette butt over the side - and slid a hand into Xander's back pocket. The hand pulled Xander closer and he went with it.

If this was all the result of Stockholm Syndrome, it wasn't what Xander expected from something people frowned over on crime shows.

But then he hadn't expected a cruise down the Danube to smell like cooking onions either.

He put his arm around Spike's waist and watched Japanese schoolgirls frolic on the lower deck. "So - blood of virgins. What's the appeal?"

"Only half of 'em are virgins, you know."

"You can actually tell - ?"

"Can tell you're not a virgin."

"Duh."

"Virgins used to be freshest is all. A whiff of syphilis puts a bloke right off his feed. And then there's the big bad reputation. Defiling virgins - it's classic. Virgins and nuns. Didn't need a gimmick like that myself - always was more Angelus' thing."

"So when you defile me, you're not earning any big evil points."

Spike snorted and lit another cigarette. They went to Vienna.

On the Orient Express to France Spike came back to the conversation.

Right in the middle.

Another weird thing Spike liked to do, blah blah.

"I don't defile you," Spike said but since his dick was pretty far up Xander's ass in their sleeper at the time and a hand was wrapped around his balls, it took the long way around to the processing centers of Xander's brain.

"Huh?" Xander asked when it got there - then hoisted a knee higher because Spike was hitting the good place and dignity had no business getting in the way of right there, more harder!

It was always better during a full moon.

Lots better.

"I don't defile you," Spike said again and shoved Xander's other leg up to his shoulder.

Xander gave an appreciative moan and clutched his fingers on Spike's hip. A trickle of sweat ran down his nose and into the indentation above his upper lip. "What do you call this?"

"A bloody good shag."

In Shinjuku they side-stepped giggling teenagers and drunk businessmen under an enormous television screen where a Japanese pop star twisted and writhed to a techno beat.

"Isn't defiling you," Spike said, snapping the filter off his cigarette and twisting the end before putting it back in his mouth.

"Huh?" Xander asked against the onslaught of Japanese technopop.

"Isn't defiling you," Spike obliged. "D'you know what defile means?"

"Pretty sure it has to do with sullying."

"You feel sullied?"

"Only if sullied means kinda sore when I sit."

Spike smoked and glared at a kid in a lime green jumpsuit. "It doesn't."

Then:

A hand on Xander's back and a thumb sweeping back and forth across his spine. "Takes contempt to defile."

"No contempt?"

The hand slid up Xander's spine, down, made itself at home in his back pocket again. "This feel like contempt?"

"It feels like you grabbing my ass."

"Contemptuously?"

"Only if contemptuously means lecherously."

"Not defiling you then."

"Spike?" Xander asked in the quiet after the techno ended while some guy interviewed the performer.

"Yeah?" Spike watched the interview like he understood Japanese - maybe he did.

"Why?" Xander asked his profile.

Spike didn't look away from the screen but his hand was almost warm in Xander's back pocket and they were standing hip to hip under the Shinjuku lights. "Guess I like you."