SPIKE:
You took your time.

XANDER:
And a Merry Christmas to you too, Mr Grumpy-pants.

SPIKE:
Grumpy pants is right considering the present state of the contents.  I’ve been freezing my balls off—
Is that pink you’re wearing?  Fluffy pink?

XANDER:
It’s just a muffler.  Dawn insisted, ‘cause of the cold.

SPIKE:
The cold, huh?

XANDER:
The cold, yeah, no ‘huh’ about it.

SPIKE:
Isn’t it a bit…girly, even for you?

XANDER:
It’s classy, it’s angora, it’s—
Whadda you mean?  Even for me?

SPIKE:
Put it this way: didn’t need a spell from Red to confirm what I already knew.

XANDER:
Willow didn’t…
…
What’s that look for?

SPIKE:
What, this look?  You imagined it.

XANDER:
O…kay.  No look – asshole – and no spells.  Willow wouldn’t do that, even if I…

SPIKE:
Outright demanded it?  Let’s face it, mate, you’re gayed up.

XANDER:
I—  She—  You—

SPIKE:
You going to stop that any time soon?  It’s like being staccatoed to death.

XANDER:
Listen to me.  A pink fluffy muffler is no indication…

SPIKE:
Closest you’ll ever get to a muff again.

XANDER:
That’s it.  I’m going.  Freeze your ass off, see if I care.

SPIKE:
Oh, don’t be so precious.

XANDER:
There you go again!

SPIKE:
I’m just winding you up.  Red didn’t cast that spell, you’re as one-hundred percent big, butch, straight, manly beefcake as you ever were.

XANDER:
You better believe it.
…
Was that a snort?  Did you snort?

SPIKE:
That’s me trying to clear frozen pipes.  Have you any idea of how long I’ve been stuck here on surveillance?  Long enough to have bloody-well iced over.

XANDER:
You want to borrow thi—
Hey, less of the demonic glare!  Forget I offered.
Although…pink would suit you.  Just saying.

SPIKE:
I am, in no way, pink.

XANDER:
That’s not what Buffy said.

SPIKE:
What?

XANDER:
Nothing.

SPIKE:
Better be.

XANDER:
So…  How long?

SPIKE:
Imperial or metric?

XANDER:
No, I meant how long have you been—
Imperial or…?

SPIKE:
Inches or centimetres.

XANDER:
Uh…  Well, I guess…  No!  How long have you been here?  I was just asking how—
You’d tell me?

SPIKE:
If you wanted to know.

XANDER:
But I don’t.  I really don’t.
…
Inches?

SPIKE:
You seem the type.

XANDER:
Type?

SPIKE:
Who’d want to…take it in inches.

XANDER:
Hey, no-one said anything about taking anything in inches.

SPIKE:
My mistake.  No harm, no foul, and all that jovial, lily-livered bollocks.

XANDER:
I don’t do taking, okay?  We established that.

SPIKE:
Don’t, eh?  Ever?  ‘Cause…

XANDER:
‘Cause what?

SPIKE:
‘S perfectly natural.

XANDER:
No.

SPIKE:
Yes.

XANDER:
No.  No way.  Nuh-uh.
…
You think?

SPIKE:
Believe me, I know.  Two words for you: Angelus.

XANDER:
That’s one word.

SPIKE:
Two, but censored due to your delicate sensibilities.

XANDER:
Angel?  Really?  Damn, I wish I’d known.

SPIKE:
Why?

XANDER:
Why?  Why?  Oh, I…not that I…um, well…y’know.  Buffy.  Or…something.

SPIKE:
A concise and utterly convincing argument.

XANDER:
Right.  That’s right.  So…Angel.   And…and…and…  Yes, perfectly naturally, like all guys, I’ve wondered – butneverdone.  Never, never done.

SPIKE:
Then, you don’t…

XANDER:
Or not so much don’t as haven’t.  Wanted.  Haven’t wanted.  ‘Kay?  Established.
…
You, er…ever…want?

SPIKE:
I always want.

XANDER:
Always?  Always and…?

SPIKE:
Whoever.

XANDER:
Who…uh…who—  But…not me, I guess.

SPIKE:
Why not you?

XANDER:
Me would be essentially…me.

SPIKE:
Fair enough, can’t argue with that - at least, not without a lobotomy.
Not you in particular, but…

XANDER:
Me?  Really?  Wow!  I mean…  No way.  Grr.  No.

SPIKE:
Suit yourself.

XANDER:
Me?  Wow.

SPIKE:
You…or just about anyone.  In the right mood I’m an equal opportunities shagger.

XANDER:
Spike!  Who said anything about—
…
Hey.  Y’know the inches thing?

SPIKE:
Imperial or metric?

XANDER:
I, um…inches.

SPIKE:
We’d established the inches.

XANDER:
We’d established the measure, but not the, uh, measurement.

SPIKE:
You naughty little alleged non-bugger.

XANDER:
Can’t help being curious after everything I’ve heard.  Doesn’t mean…

SPIKE:
…

XANDER:
Don’t.  Pull.  That.  Face.

SPIKE:
This face?  This face is whimsically surprised.

XANDER:
That face is neener-neener-gotcha, wanker!
And why doesn’t it sound right when I say that?

SPIKE:
What, wanker?  Wanker, wanker, wanker.

XANDER:
Fuck off.  I can’t believe I—  I’ll send someone else to take over from you.  Y’know, in three or four days, other side of this weather.

SPIKE:
I’m only teasing, you dolt.  C’mere.  Come on, c’mere.  I’ll…whisper.

XANDER:
You’ll—  Oh God, how did I get myself into this?

SPIKE:
Closer.  I can’t whisper with you all the way over there.

XANDER:
We’re the only people for miles arou—  Nyah!  Get your tongue out of my…
…
Wha—  How many?

SPIKE:
Again?  C’mon, closer.

XANDER:
Nyah!  Tongue!  Vampire tongue!
…
Unholy moly!  That’s what I thought you said.
…
You, er…  Seriously?  Does that come in instalments?

SPIKE:
That comes any way you like.  Any way, as often…

XANDER:
‘Cause, having never…

SPIKE:
Or at least not yet…

XANDER:
Not that I would.  Besides the perfectly natural curiosity, and…and…
Your…measurement.  That seems…  Excessive.  Anyone ever tell you ‘smug’ isn’t attractive.  NotthatI’musuallyattractedyouunderstand.

SPIKE:
So, Harris, why did you come?

XANDER:
No, it’s just the way I’m standing.

SPIKE:
Here?

XANDER:
Oh!  Come.  Here.  You know why.  Because of the bad guy observing.

SPIKE:
I see, checking up on me checking up on him.  Typical of you, always checking me out.

XANDER:
I was not checking you out!

SPIKE:
Yeah, right, this time.

XANDER:
I assumed you’d need to be relieved, and…

SPIKE:
Thought you’d never offer.  Here…

XANDER:
Nyah!

SPIKE:
Just teasing.  See?  The beast is well and truly asleep.

XANDER:
Nyah!

SPIKE:
Wanker.  Wanker, wanker, wanker.

XANDER:
Will you stop that!  I don’t want to think about you…you…

SPIKE:
Wanking?  Pervert!

XANDER:
I KNOW!
…
Hey, d’you think Willow could’ve cast that spell?  ‘Cause she had to know I
was just ranting.

SPIKE:
You think?  Many a true word spoken in rant.

XANDER:
She wouldn’t.  Would she?

SPIKE:
Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t.  Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t.

XANDER:
Thanks, pal, your comfort and wisdom knows no beginning.

SPIKE:
What suddenly makes you think she has?

XANDER:
Isn’t this stupid conversation enough?  I don’t want to be believe it but…being around you right now, and feeling…  Probably ‘cause you’re the only guy I see on a regular basis, has to be that, because you’re in no way buff and gorgeous and totally, totally hot, but…  Y’know.

SPIKE:
I think I know now, well enough.

XANDER:
You’re convenient, not the stuff scary, sweaty, fabulously horny dreams are made of.

SPIKE:
Okay.  Taking into consideration the fact I’m not buff, gorgeous, totally hot and fabulously horny…  What about Rupert?  He’s even more convenient than me.

XANDER:
Giles?  Giles is not a guy.

SPIKE:
Thank you!  I’ve suspected that for a long time.

XANDER:
No, I mean, guy, yes, but guy, no.

SPIKE:
You mean…fixating on Rupert would be like having a wank in your comfort blanket.

XANDER:
Yes.  No!  And…ewwww.  Ewwww, Spike!  And I repeat: ewwww!

SPIKE:
I only meant…

XANDER:
No, no more talking.  Talking with evil guy proved to be unsurprisingly evil.  Enough!

…

SPIKE:
Moonlight suits you.

XANDER:
Shut up.

SPIKE:
So’s mine, must be the cold.

…

XANDER:
How can moonlight suit anybody?  Stupid vampire with your stupid…
What?  What’s that look for?

SPIKE:
Just looking.

XANDER:
Then don’t.

SPIKE:
Fair enough.

XANDER:
Oh, sure.

SPIKE:
No, really, Xander.  Haven’t you heard?  Nowadays, I’m every inch a gentleman

XANDER:
Nyah!

…

XANDER:
Damn, it’s cold.  How long have you been here?

SPIKE:
Long enough.

XANDER:
And…?

SPIKE:
Nothing interesting.
Or rather, not until you showed up and started talking dirty, getting me all…

XANDER:
I was not talking dirty!

SPIKE:
What do you call it when a bloke starts asking for your imperial measurement?

XANDER:
Frat party?

SPIKE:
And without any exchange of information.  Very bad manners.

XANDER:
Exchange?

SPIKE:
Imperial or metric.

XANDER:
Me?

SPIKE:
Want to bring that down an octave?  Before you set off all the dogs in the neighbourhood.

XANDER:
Just concentrating on…on…being bad mannered here.

SPIKE:
Make it a thrill, give it to me in yards.

XANDER:
Nonono.  No giving it to the not buff, gorgeous, totally hot, fabulously horny vampire.  No giving in any sense, and no telling.  Watching, not telling.  Do the watching.

SPIKE:
I get to watch?  Even better.  I could even give you a ha—

XANDER:
Nuh-uh!  Bad guy, watch the bad guy.

SPIKE:
Why?  Is he hung?

XANDER:
!!!

SPIKE:
???

XANDER:
Have we been hexed?  Or drugged?  Or band candied?

SPIKE:
Why?

XANDER:
We – we being you and I – do not have this conversation ever.  We will never discuss imperial measurements, we will never talk about the appeal of the not-opposite gender, and as for dragging moonlight into it…

SPIKE:
It suits you.

XANDER:
How?  If I can’t carry off a muffler, surely a whole fucking moon is way beyond me.

SPIKE:
It makes your skin pale and alluring.  It makes your eyes look huge, black and, paradoxically, both purely innocent and erotically evil.  Turns your hair to silk and…

XANDER:
And…?  Spike, and…?

SPIKE:
You don’t want to know.

XANDER:
I do, I so do.

SPIKE:
Can’t help thinking what it would be like to wind my fingers in that silk while I…
C’mere.  I’ll whisper.
…
How’s that?

XANDER:
Guhuhuhu.

SPIKE:
From this angle, I’d say your imperial measurement just became a little more respectable.

XANDER:
Jacket.  Nuh.  Pants.  Pants…fit…bad.

SPIKE:
Wipe your chin, you’re drooling.

XANDER:
Guhuhuhu.

SPIKE:
If we could manage without you freezing to death, we’d make the most of this moon and give it a hell of a show.  Something very sensual about shagging in the moonlight.  Like there’s a connection from the heavens to the Earth, through our bodies.  Primal and…  Would you listen to this.  Dru really did a number on me, eh?

XANDER:
Oh…yeah.  But…moon and silk and connections and…inches.  Lots and lots of inches.

SPIKE:
You only have to ask nicely.

XANDER:
Bastard.

SPIKE:
That’ll do.  Yours or mine?

XANDER:
Uh…no…no!  No!  Yes!  No!  Mine?

SPIKE:
And you could show me your Christmas tree, and the decorations, and maybe I could explain how we celebrated when I was alive.  I still remember the traditional recipes, you’d love them.  Proper Christmas pud, silver sixpences, burning brandy…

XANDER:
Wha…?

SPIKE:
And Snowballs.  Dru loved them in the seventies, made with Advocaat, ever had them?

XANDER:
Have you gone crazy?  Again?

SPIKE:
Sorry, pet?

XANDER:
We were talking about…

SPIKE:
Turkeys and stuffing.  Very, very good stuffing.

XANDER:
Is there a reason you’re talking seasonal bullshit, and looking so damned innocent?

SPIKE:
Can’t think of one.  Although…
Did I mention the slayer’s only about twelve feet behind you and closing fast?

XANDER:
Gah!

…

SPIKE:
That went well.

XANDER:
Not sure the guy we were watching would agree.

SPIKE:
Oh, I d’know, his innards looked very colourful hanging from that tree.  Didn’t think he’d explode like that, but…nice of him to put on a show for Christmas.

XANDER:
Shame about the muffler.

SPIKE:
The Slayer needed his liver.

XANDER:
She could’ve brought a bag to carry it in.

SPIKE:
The Bit will understand.  Nothing says thanks for the loan like still-warm offal.

XANDER:
So…
…
Spike.
…
This is in no way awkward.

SPIKE:
I thought we’d decided: back to yours.

XANDER:
Oh.  Oh.  You still want to…er…celebrate?

SPIKE:
Got a tree?

XANDER:
No.

SPIKE:
Decorations?

XANDER:
No.

SPIKE:
Turkey?

XANDER:
No.

SPIKE:
Pudding?

XANDER:
No.

SPIKE:
Pressies?

XANDER:
No.

SPIKE:
Mistletoe?

XANDER:
Umm…  No.

SPIKE:
You certainly planned for this.

XANDER:
Christmas is at Buffy’s.  Wanker.

SPIKE:
Lube?

XANDER:
Coincidentally…yes.

SPIKE:
In which case, your place sounds perfect.

XANDER:
It does?

SPIKE:
Can we open a window and let the moonlight in?

XANDER:
Sure.  I can turn up the heat.

SPIKE:
I bet you can.

XANDER:
Before we go any further…

SPIKE:
Ground rules?  Don’t worry, I know: no telling the friends, no staying over…

XANDER:
Before we go any further…
XXXXX
And if it works out…  Are we looking for something that works out?

SPIKE:
Why not?  We’ve got it wrong with everyone else in this God-forsaken place, law of averages says we shouldn’t entirely bollocks this up.

XANDER:
That…isn’t as doom-laden as it first appears.  Good work, Mr Grumpy-pants.

SPIKE:
Cheers, wanker.

XANDER:
And thank you, Willow.

SPIKE:
There’s no spell, Xander.  No excuse other than me being buff, gorgeous, totally hot and fabulously horny.

XANDER:
No spell?  Even better.
XXXXX
So, as I was saying, if it works out…  Tell the friends; stay over.

SPIKE:
And why shouldn’t it work out.

XANDER:
I’m a stupid human, you’re a stupid vamp, and we’re both bigots?

SPIKE:
That was a rhetorical question.

XANDER:
Yes, but other than that?

SPIKE:
Good answer.
XXXXX

XANDER:
Y’know, what’s happening here may be weird, unexpected and potentially suicidal, but…I think I just might, completely by chance, have the coolest gift for you at my apartment.

SPIKE:
Imperial or metric?

XANDER:
The choice is yours.  See, I may be lacking the turkey, the tree, and the whole Yuletide shebang…  But I’m pretty damn sure I have a ruler.