Spike tossed a glass at Xander. As the lad was fumbling with it, clumsily juggling the glass from hand to hand, Spike took a swig from the bottle. "Hey," Xander shouted. "I don't want dead guy germs."
Leaning over to hand the bottle across the length of the couch, Spike said, "Liquor that strong'll kill any germ." Settling back, resting against the plaid monstrosity that Xander's parents had picked up who-knows-where, he reached his foot over and kicked Xander. Over the complaints, he added "I'm dead. Don't have any germs. Besides you weren't grouching when my tongue was in your mouth or licking your cock." He smiled reminiscently.
Xander pouring a good swig from the bottle into his glass said, "That was last week. I must have been out of my mind."
"Wanna get out of your mind again?" Spike leered.
Xander drained his glass in one quick motion. "Um, yeah?" he said sheepishly.