Xander waited for the moaning to stop and the groaning - and the faint wet slippery sounds that he hoped to all kinds of gods he was only imagining because Spike was really getting into it for a while there.

Then, he averted his eyes and hurried down the hall straight into the bedroom with no more than a glimpse of long, pale leg hanging over the edge of Spike's bed and the curve of a nice nice breast with -

*Not looking!*

There comes a time in a young man's life where the choice is either to face the music - or in this case, face the newly installed indoor plumbing - or wet the bed.

As Xander lay there contemplating the first rays of dawn crawling across his bedroom ceiling, it was a difficult decision.

For all of two minutes.

*Okay. I can deal. It's just parts.*

And with 'it's just parts' as his new mantra, Xander set about his morning routine, took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.

Wow.

Xander made a mental note that taking a deep breath did great things for his new body.

He took another and turned sideways.

Okay this vacation to bizarro land might not be all bad after all. He could look at it as intelligence gathering. Or inside (ha!) information. Okay, maybe not that. But he could do it - not that he had a choice. And it wasn't as if he didn't know women with ten times bigger balls than he'd ever had. Yeah - Xander would look at it as a - a learning experience.

Not that Xander planned to do as much hands-on learning as Spike was.

At least not with his door open where anyone could walk by and see pale limbs sprawled over tangled sheets, smooth fingers resting on a stomach that curved gracefully inward beneath delicate ribs and above a dark tangle of damp curls that -

Not that he'd looked.

Okay, maybe he'd peeked.

Xander stepped into the (cold) shower quickly before he could get a little too accepting with the new equipment. It was like studying French - you had to start with the little things. Le chat est sur la chaise and work your way up to watching La Cage Aux Folles without subtitles. There were some things a guy's psyche just wasn't designed to deal with without a warm-up period because come on - boobies were one thing. Missing a dick was a whole different ballgame.

*Ha. I crack myself up.*

And if Xander shuddered with anything but loss and wiggins when he glided soapy fingers between his legs, that was one of the things he wasn't going to deal with yet. Or ever.

Because hey - Willow and Giles wouldn't want to stay all Freaky Fridayed so this spell would be reversed. Quickly. Extra super quickly and Xander could go back to nice familiar things - like boobies which weren't attached to him. Why take French when all the good movies came out with subtitles?

But a little voice - and god how Xander hated that little voice - asked him if this was his last chance in the land of feminine masturbatory opportunity, one he should take advantage of. But no - no way - the Xand-man didn't take advantage of the women-folk. Even when he was the women-folk.

Woman-folk.

Woman.

Xander's psyche rebelled at that and wrote M-A-N in big letters on the inside of his skull, then circled it twice in a manly shade of hunter green.

But hadn't Spike sounded like he was having fun? That little voice whispered. 'Multiple orgasms,' it said.

Xander fumbled the water off, dried quickly and wrapped the towel around his waist. Right. That was it. Spike had sounded like he was having too much fun. Too much naughty, tingly, multiply orgasming fun...that was going to fuel Xander's fantasies for the rest of his natural life.

Head dropped, fate resigned-to, Xander pushed the bathroom door open and froze.

Spike.

Naked.

Their eyes tracked down and locked into position.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, mate?"

"Are you staring at my breasts?" Xander asked Spike's breasts.

"Fuck, yeah."

Spike's nipples were redder - brighter - more sore looking this morning with pale blue of bruises on the creamy-soft sides that spoke silent volumes for Spike's enthusiasm the night before - all night - and was that smudged makeup around Spike's eyes or exhaustion from staying up all night - except he didn't have anything to up, like Xander - staying in all night? And Xander wasn't ready to think about Spike and in together.

That was way beyond the cat on the chair - it was learning to tell time and asking where to find the best restaurant.

*Boobies.* Marginally safe. Only really not.

Because Xander's mouth watered to lick, nuzzle, suck away the soreness -

And this was his only excuse for missing Spike's approach until cool fingers feathered over his left nipple in an electric touch hotwired to his groin and Xander jumped back into the wall with a crack of bone on plaster where he stayed, shaking and unable to decide if he was relieved or kinda insulted when Spike didn't try to touch him again.

Because Spike touching him? Weird.

Spike touching the breasts Xander was not supposed to have? One way trip to the padded cell.

"It's a nice set," Spike said. And did he sound wistful? "Big and firm. Like a big blonde lass me an' Dru shared once in Germany. God, couldn't tear Dru away from those tits with dollies or pearls, not even once the bint was dead." Giving himself a shake, Spike skirted Xander on his way into the bathroom. "Hope you left me some hot water, mate. I fancy a long, hot soak. Don't let the cold air in, yeah?"

In the bathroom, Spike started to sing.

And Xander made his way to the bedroom to search for his Ace bandages because he could accept Spike singing soprano and he was beginning to think he could even accept draining the bucket instead of the snake. And maybe he'd even explore a little Intermediate French and take his hormones for a walk - but a guy had to draw the line somewhere.

Xander drew his line at jiggling.

There was just no manly way to jiggle.