Spike raised his shot glass. “I slept wi' the woman he loved,” he announced, and tossed the drink back. It burned his throat almost enough to warm him.
As he slammed the glass upside down on the counter, lining it up with the others, Connor scoffed and picked up his own. “So did I,” was all he said before he emptied it and set it down again.
His slight grimace as he swallowed was almost adorable. Spike ground his teeth and squinted until the three glasses in front of him had merged into a single one that he could pick up.
“I slept with his bloody soulmate,” he said, and if he flashed just a bit of fangs, it was because he was drunk, nothing else.
Connor snorted, and picked up his next shot before Spike had even put his glass down. “Yeah? Well I had a baby with his girl.”
A drop of vodka spilled down in his chin when he emptied his glass. Spike watched that drop roll with wide eyes, unconsciously leaning closer and licking his lips. Before he could get close enough, though, Connor wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“Well, not really a baby,” he muttered, the words thick and slurred together. “But she was my daughter.” He turned narrowed eyes to Spike. “And she was more evil than you ever were.”
Spike glared at him. He tried to wave a finger at him, but somehow he couldn’t quite manage to point a single finger, and he ended up pressing a full hand to Connor’s chest, right above his heart. A caged bird fluttered beneath his fingertips.
“Those are fighting words, kid,” he grumbled.
Connor rested a hand over Spike’s, pressing it even tighter to his chest. “Not a kid,” he said, and his voice sounded much too steady to Spike’s taste. “Drank as much as you did, didn’t I?”
Spike eyed the two lines of shot glasses balefully. “’M pretty sure you cheated.”
“Did not!” Connor sounded almost offended. “And you’re just trying to change the subject ‘cause I totally win.”
“Not true,” Spike scoffed, and reached for his next glass. They only had two left each. It had been a long night. Frowning at the mouthful of alcohol between his fingers, he searched his memory, settling on what felt like half a lie. “I…” He licked his lips again. “I shoved hot pokers inside his chest!”
Connor didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Yeah? Well I put him into a box.” He tossed back his shot.
Spike was completely nonplussed. “A box?”
Connor nodded. “A big box. And I sank it to the bottom of the ocean.”
That drew an appreciative look from Spike. “You did?”
Connor’s smile was as sharp as broken glass. As painful, too, and Spike almost wanted to check himself and find out where he was bleeding.
“And…” Connor swallowed hard as he picked up the last of his shot glasses. “He stayed there for three months.”
Spike watched him throw his head back, watched that perfect throat stretch for just a second too long, and wished he had dared taste it. “Damn,” he breathed. “You are scary.”
Connor’s only reply was a small nod.
Blinking twice, Spike picked up his last glass and considered it for a moment. He started putting it down again, and could see the slight shift in Connor’s body. A quick glance up didn’t reveal the satisfaction Spike had expected; instead, the only emotion on Connor’s flushed face was fear.
Fear that he was the biggest bastard after all.
Spike thought a little harder still, finally coming up with an answer. “OK. How ‘bout that, then. I slept with his son.”
The tiniest sigh revealed Connor’s relief. He grinned and raised an eyebrow. “You did?”
Spike swallowed his last shot before nodding. “Not only that, but his son loves me.” He tried to put his glass on the counter, but somehow kept missing it. Connor’s gentle hand curled around his wrist, as delicate and strong as it always was when it curled around his cock, and guided him to the line of overturned glasses. Spike let go; Connor didn’t.
“He loves you?” Connor said, his voice a husky whisper. He slipped off his stool and stepped close to Spike, sliding right in between his parted thighs.
Spike hummed. “'Says he does. I believe him. Think he’s lying?”
Connor pressed his forehead to Spike’s. His hand felt very warm around his wrist. “No, I don’t think he’s lying. And I think you win.”
“Ah!” Spike beamed. “Told you I would! Give me my kiss, then, luv.”
Beneath the layers of vodka and salt, Connor tasted like sugar, and victory – but it was the bitterness of guilt that made Spike hard.