“Xander,” Spike smirked, whispering. “Xander.”
“Shut up,” Xander mumbled, flailing an arm in Spike's general direction. “Can't torture me so let me sleep.”
Spike leaned back and blinked about a half dozen times before an evil grin lit up his face.
“What's that tuna you're humming? Salmon Chanted Evening. Get it? The tuna is Salmon Chanted Evening. I know, that one was cod awful but don't worry, a lot more where that came from. What's wrong luv? You seem to be floundering. Nothing to carp on about. Not like I have a sole or anything, just fish and a chip.”
Xander rolled over and stared, unblinking, at the ceiling. Oh God, he'd been wrong. Spike could torture him.