"Doesn't matter," Spike shrugged, not wanting to seem bothered. It had been a truly horrible moment for him but he found that if he pretended it didn't matter, it oddly didn't. Denial was beautiful. He looked down at the hand on his arm, remembering the first time Nicolas had touched him way back when in the music room, the way he'd gone bright red and stammered, knowing with such dread and uncertainty that he wanted Nicolas. And knowing it'd never happen.

And, apparently, it never would. Nicki was taken and he didn't seem that interested in cheating, no matter what he might have claimed. With a slightly meaningless smile, he moved away from the hand. "I know, I did a good job ageing. Like a good whiskey. Now, are you coming to crash with us or are you going home? Cause we're going to have to motor before Peaches gets stroppy with me."