Roll the bloody dice, Xander thinks. In his head, he sounds like Spike. In reality, his British accent makes Giles and Spike get identical expressions of fussy English disdain on their faces. Which is fun, in its own way.
The tour is over, and a long month of nothing stretches out in front of them. Spike's asleep. Over the years, Xander's managed to learn to tell the difference between sleeping and the usual dead. It's subtle; it's a tension thing. Xander knows all about tension, especially when it comes to Spike.
It could go either way. It could go a lot of ways, really. Spike's unpredictable, except when he's not. Some days he's a lion in the sun - just without the sun. He'll wake slowly and stretch that tight, whipcord body slowly, slowly, seeming to arch ever upward, ever outward, until he should creak or snap. That tension will drift away just as slowly, and he'll lie there - an angel fallen to earth, soft and gentle and ready to cuddle for hours.
Other days, it's a terrifying blend of evil and joyous mania - like Tigger with a deathwish. Those are the mornings Xander could easily find himself waking up bound hand and foot to the bed frame, or already in some extremely compromising position. Not that he's complaining. Days that start out that way usually stay that way, and Xander's discovered that Spike has no shame; will have room service delivered right to the bedroom and will act as if having your manager spread-eagled with a blindfold and ball gag, covered in pudding is just what rock stars do between gigs.
Other days it's so normal that it kills - Spike with a book, Xander with his laptop, puttering around the rental house or hotel. Days when one brings the other lunch and gets a little kiss, or they watch a movie or the History Channel and Spike makes up scandalous gossip about Churchill and Stalin. Those days they aren't rock god and manager, or vampire and Scooby, or anything really, except two people who've found their place.
Xander's ready to roll those dice anytime, because he pretty much always wins.