They fell fairly rapidly into a strange new routine.

On the surface, everything looked the same. Patrol three times a week, with the usual Hellmouth assortment of vamps and baddies. Occasional research parties -- but luckily no apocalypses -- and pizza/video nights with the whole gang. Evenings spent helping Dawn train to go on patrol. Occasional nights out at the Bronze. Friday nights at the Majestic.

Spike acted the same as he had before. He hung out with everybody, spent time listening to Dawn's troubles, snarked over the pool table at the Bronze, mooched beer, threw popcorn at the screen at the Majestic, and fought the bad guys in a graceful fury.

But when the movie was over, when the research party broke up, when they finished their game of pool, when they went back to Xander's apartment after patrol ... everything was different.

Because that was when the games started.

* * *

How weird is it that I feel safe enough with Spike to try stuff that would have made me feel stupid before? Sure, Spike's big with the mocking, but not once we get to the sweaty naked wrestling. He's just so ... so intense ... so sexual. I just get caught up in it. It's never been like that with anybody else.

Now it's addictive.

* * *

But it was a little strange, this sharp division between friendship and sex.

One night after a particularly boring researching party, they barely made it in the door before Spike's jeans were open and pale hands were shoving Xander down, grabbing his head and pushing a hard cock into his mouth. Xander drooled and sucked and opened his pants to stroke himself when Spike told him to. He came embarrassingly fast, still sucking Spike's cock, trying not to bite down. Spike came immediately afterward with a tightened grip on Xander's hair and a groan aimed at the ceiling.

One Friday after the creature feature at the Majestic, Xander was over Spike's knee, pants around his ankles, getting a spanking that had him begging and pleading, not for Spike to stop, but for Spike to let him come. He'd never been big on spanking -- the "bad boy needs to be punished" element had always seemed ridiculous -- but Spike's low, angry voice was anything but ridiculous, and in between slaps Spike's hand lingered and stroked in all the right places. It hurt just enough to sting without setting off the chip ... and it made Xander want to be a very bad boy again, someday soon, after he'd had a little time to recover. He had trouble sitting down at work the next day, but every time he settled gingerly into a chair, he felt himself blush and couldn't help but smile secretly to himself.

He got better at talking during sex, too, because the look on Spike's face, the grip of Spike's hands, the twitching of Spike's cock in response to his words ... it was all worth it. He learned that flattery made Spike crazy, and he praised Spike's cock with clumsy stutters that nevertheless had Spike gasping and arching and bucking, sometimes even had Spike coming with the first touch.

When Spike got him really worked up, writhing and desperate, mindless, he always begged Spike to fuck him, but Spike never did.

And, since the dodge, Xander hadn't had the guts to attempt any kissing, though he tried to always be kiss-accessible. Spike never took him up on it.

This wasn't romance.

It was just games.

* * *

It had all been going on for about three weeks, and they'd gotten pretty used to the new rhythm of their strangely split relationship. Patrol ... to be followed by some Spike-determined form of sex. Unfortunately, the bad guys hadn't gotten the memo.

The demon was fat and ugly, but surprisingly spry. "It's a Kashith demon," Spike called out as he fought. "Stay out of the way."

Xander kept to a safe distance, throwing a knife whenever he got a clean shot, which wasn't very often. Spike had hopped onto the thing's back and wrapped his arms around its neck, trying to strangle it. It looked like a strange maneuver, but Xander stayed back, trusting Spike's judgment in a battle situation.

"Fuck! It's a female!" Spike suddenly let go and fell to the ground, writhing in what seemed to be pain.

Trying to give the fat demon a wide berth, Xander ran over, worried by Spike's uncharacteristic collapse. "What happened? Spike, are you okay?"

Spike spoke through gritted teeth. "Just kill the bitch. Xander."

Xander gave it the old never-went-to-college try, but his knives just bounced off the demon's tough skin, and eventually she seemed to decide he wasn't worth her time. She disappeared into the shadows and was gone.

"Can't go after her right now," Spike growled from the ground. "Need to get home. I'm covered in kashithnek."

"Gezundheit."

Spike opened his eyes and glared at Xander. "Female Kashithi excrete a defensive liquid through their skin. Usually, the females are smaller. I guess she's just a bit on the portly side." Spike staggered to his feet, taking hold of a tall tombstone to keep him steady.

"Defensive liquid? What does that mean?" Now that he looked closely, Xander saw that Spike's clothes and hair were sopping wet.

"It paralyzes the attacker so the Kashith can get away to protect her young." Spike started walking carefully in the general direction of Xander's apartment.

"Paralyzes?" That didn't sound good.

"Yeah. Got me good, too. Never been dosed by a Kashith before. Need to wash this crap off." With his stiff, uncoordinated limbs, Spike was doing a pretty funny Frankenstein impression, but Xander chose not to point that out. Spike was already pissed off enough.

"Let's get to my place, since you don't have a shower."

They were almost to the apartment when Spike stumbled hard enough to almost fall. Xander reached out to take his arm, but Spike flinched away.

"Don't touch me, you daft git! This stuff'll paralyze you in a second!"

Xander ran up to the door and unlocked it, stepping out of the way to let Spike in. "Then how are we supposed to get it off you?"

"I'll do it myself." Spike shuffled clumsily toward the bathroom, his hands and arms not cooperating particularly well. He didn't look capable of sitting down by himself, let alone taking a thorough shower.

"You said this stuff washes off with soap, right?"

Spike nodded as he removed his clothes with jerky movements. "Should do." He gave up on getting the t-shirt over his head, and instead just ripped it down the middle. When he was naked, leaving behind a pile of ruined clothes on the bathroom floor, he gingerly climbed into the shower and turned on the water.

Xander persisted. "So if my hands are soapy, I should be okay."

"Can't be sure. Like I said, never been dosed by a Kashith before." Spike reached out for the soap and knocked it onto the floor of the shower. "Fuck!"

Xander just ignored him and quickly took off his own clothes, stepping into the shower and picking up the soap. He started lathering his arms and chest.

Spike backed away on clumsy legs that sent him careening into the shower wall. "Get away from me, you half-wit! I don't need your bloody help." When Xander just kept soaping himself without replying, Spike spat out, "I said I don't need your help! Just ... just look at you ... how could I possibly need help from a loser like you?"

"Me?" Pausing in his ablutions, Xander repeated disbelievingly. "What about you, Slimy Paralysis Boy? I think you just need to shut up, stop being such a prick, and turn around so I can wash your hair. This demony stuff is obviously paralyzing your brain."

With his body well-soaped and hopefully kashithnek-proof, Xander poured some shampoo and reached out to begin vigorously rubbing it into Spike's wet hair. To his complete surprise, Spike obediently closed his eyes and turned away, leaning his head back a bit into Xander's touch.

"This doesn't mean anything," Spike said firmly. "We just fuck. It's just ... fucking."

"I know." The words didn't hurt as much as they probably normally would have, because Xander was more concerned with keeping Spike from getting paralyzed. Kashithnek was a lot more important than relationship definitions at the moment.

"You're just experimenting, and I'm just in it for the sex."

Xander rolled his eyes. "I know. Now rinse."

"I'm the one who gives the orders." Spike sounded petulant. Almost like a little kid.

Xander sighed, then said patiently, "I know that, Spike. So fine. Tell me what to do. You're half-paralyzed ... you can't do it yourself ... so you're the boss ... tell me what to do, and we'll get you cleaned up."

But, strangely enough, after pointing out his own dominance, Spike seemed pretty docile. Instead of barking out orders, he moved where Xander pushed him and held still while he was carefully soaped. Xander ran soapy hands along the well-defined muscles of Spike's arms, enjoying this chance to explore Spike's body in more detail. Spike's biceps were hypnotic, and Xander washed them thoroughly before sliding his hands beneath to wash under his arms. Spike twitched ever so slightly, and Xander bit back a grin. Ticklish, are we?

The pecs and abs were even more interesting. Xander had gotten more of a chance to touch them in the past, but wet and soapy was different. Spike's wet skin seemed to gleam, even in the fluorescent light. Xander wanted to lean over and taste those nipples with water running over them ... but this wasn't the time.

In fact, Xander was just pleased that neither of them had yet fallen down paralyzed. Apparently the soap had been a good idea.

Spike's movements were sluggish and still a bit clumsy as Xander turned him and ran soapy hands up and down his back, tracing the bumps of his spine, palming the wiry muscles on either side, cupping his shoulder blades, then sliding down to draw wide circles on Spike's tight buttocks. Still turned away, face hidden, Spike gave no obvious reaction to the touch, and so Xander daringly allowed one hand to slip between those mounds of flesh, brushing gently against a part of Spike's body he'd never been allowed to touch before this. Mostly he'd only given blow jobs.

Spike audibly caught his breath at the unexpected touch, but his buttocks remained relaxed. Xander wasn't sure, but he thought maybe he widened his stance a bit, giving Xander more room to maneuver.

Xander slowly ran his soapy hand down to stroke just behind Spike's balls, then dragged his fingers back along the smooth skin of the perineum to softly circle the puckered hole he found there. Biting his lip, hoping he wasn't going too far, he gently pressed a finger there, not pushing inside, but thinking about it. Spike went even more still, if that was possible.

Unfortunately, Xander's brain chose that moment to remind him that he hadn't washed off all the kashithnek yet, and Spike was most likely getting closer and closer to paralysis, just because Xander'd gotten all distracted by the hotness of his vampire butt.

Back to business, Xander knelt down to wash Spike's legs, and from the lower vantage point he noticed that Spike's cock was hard. Oh god.

When he was reasonably sure that Spike was clean all over and all the kashithnek should be gone, Xander stood up again. Spike was still facing away from him, swaying slightly from time to time, strangely meek and apparently sleepy.

Xander looked ... and yep. Spike's cock was still hard.

Hoping that this wouldn't come back to haunt him tomorrow, Xander soaped up both hands into a thick lather, and then pressed himself lightly to Spike's back. He grasped Spike's cock with his right hand and began a slow stroke that had Spike leaning back slightly, resting his wet head against Xander's shoulder.

Then Xander slid his left hand between Spike's buttocks, gently stroking the puckered skin there, making Spike groan and flex in something Xander interpreted as enjoyment or even request for more. But he didn't go beyond that light touching, gentle stroking and circling, while his other hand work firmly on Spike's hard cock.

It only took about a minute, and Spike's cock was pulsing and throbbing as he painted the tile of the shower wall with white stripes. His body was a heavy, relaxed weight against Xander. "Sleep it off," he muttered.

Rinsing them both off thoroughly, Xander tried to keep a grasp on Spike, since he seemed in danger of tipping over in a rather undignified heap. Drying them both off was even more difficult, and eventually Xander gave up, hauling a damp Spike over to the bed and maneuvering him onto it and under the covers as best as he could. Spike was shivering a bit, so Xander crawled into the bed with him and spooned up behind him under the covers, wrapping his arm around the smaller framed man in an effort to lend his body heat. He'd planned to phone Willow to ask for more info on the Kashithi and kashithnek, but first things first. He had a cold vampire to take care of.

Bundled up in the blankets with his eyes closed, Spike wasn't shivering so much anymore, but he was talking softly to himself. It sounded remarkably lucid, given the fact that Spike didn't seem to be talking to anybody but himself. "Donut Boy?" Xander hadn't been listening too carefully until he heard that oh-so-flattering moniker. "Dru ... my ripe wicked plum, my dark princess, lovely pale death in the deep of night. And Buffy ... the Slayer, the one girl in all the world ... all gleaming power and sunlight in a world of darkness. And now there's ... there's Xander Harris? Bumbling pizza delivery boy to the Hellmouth?"

Xander couldn't make out everything -- Spike's voice got quieter and more slurred as it went on -- but he understood enough to get offended. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm a carpenter now!"

Spike's voice sounded half-asleep as he murmured softly, "Jesus was a carpenter."

Xander was taken aback for a moment. "Uh ... yeah. But I'm pretty sure he never took naked gay showers with vampires ... unless there's a secret book of the Bible I don't know about. And, boy, I'm just gonna burn in hell for that one, aren't I?"

"Be in good company."

And then Spike's eyes were quiet and he took a few more breaths -- growing slower and shallower until they were imperceptible -- and then he was still. Leaning up on the arm not currently wrapped around Spike, Xander looked at him while he slept. His eyelashes were dark against the paleness of his skin, his lips soft and pink, his hair damp. Carefully extricating his other arm, Xander gently stroked Spike's shoulder, then down along his arm.

Spike stirred, then mumbled without opening his eyes, "It's just sex."

Xander stroked his arm again and then lay back down, wrapping his arm around Spike's body again and pressing his chest to Spike's back. "I know, Spike. Spike, don't worry ... I know."

When Xander woke up the next morning, he was unsurprisingly alone.