It Could Be Worse

Spike looked down at Xander and planted a kiss on his nose in an attempt to get him to open his eyes. He watched, grinning, as Xander managed that much and then rolled off the supine body beneath him. Propping himself up on an elbow, he lay beside Xander and looked down at his face, studying each contour, each feature, with an attention to detail that made Xander feel uneasy.

"What? Am I breaking out in green spots or something? Because if I'm allergic to vampires, this is a bad time to find out."

Spike chuckled. "Just looking at your eyes, pet," he said. "Did anyone ever tell you they're like -"

"Chocolate," interrupted Xander, bored. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Spike gasped in horror. "Who said that?" he demanded. "Unimaginative wankers. Nothing like chocolate. It's all flat and sticky and sickly sweet."

"Hey!" Xander objected. "You're talking about a substance that's done much to enrich my life in many different ways. Just because your tastebuds died before they invented a way of putting bubbles in it -"

"Hush, Xander, while I tell you what your eyes are really like..." Spike's voice was hot enough to melt toffee and Xander relaxed, smiling, still basking in the glow of a bone melting orgasm. He wasn't going anywhere until his legs stopped resembling jello and this mood was something new from Spike.

"There's this single malt that you, with your adolescent affinity for alcopops, have probably never heard of, let alone tasted. It's called Talisker and it's known as the 'lava of the Cuillins'"

"What's a 'cuillin'?"

"Shut up."

"No, really. I want to know."

"Mountain range on the Isle of Skye."

"Where's Sk-"

"Inner Hebrides."

"And they are?"

"The islands off the West Coast of Scotland. You have heard of Scotland? Good. As I was saying, about a decade ago, this malt is one of the most fiery of all the whiskies. It's peppery, explosive, full of the tang of salt, and the finish is huge and long."

Xander preened himself slightly. "Sounds interesting but what colour is it?"

"A rich amber, reddish in the firelight."

"My eyes aren't like that at all," Xander objected.

Spike looked puzzled. "Of course not. They're like the peat bog where they get the water to make it. Sort of, well, mud coloured I suppose. Squelchy, too. I fell in one once when I was a lad and -"

Xander rolled off the bed and yanked on his boxers. "For your information, Spike," he said coldly. "My eyes are chocolate coloured. And none of your Cadbury crap. Hershey's will do nicely."

A/N The whisky description is genuine, from Michael Jackson's Malt Whisky Companion. The story was inspired by a rant about the way so many fics describe Xander's eyes as chocolate coloured.

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