"So this is your place?" he asks, taking a second look around, with more interest this time. The sparseness is pretty much what he would have expected of Spike, but the four-poster most definitely is not and he pauses to regard it for a long moment, trying to figure out why it doesn't fit in with the vision he's had in his mind of what Spike's lair would have looked like.
It's obvious that it is Spike's bed, though, what with the complete casualness with which Spike's just plonked himself down on it, and he smiles, shrugging off his surprise, and moves closer, leaning down slightly to run curious fingers, ever tactile, over what look like silk coverings. Which means he's not looking and still moving when Spike reaches for the bottle and Spike gets his arm instead - and then a squawking, surprised Jack half-on top of him as he trips over Spike's foot in trying to get his balance.
He manages not to spill much of the whisky, though some splashes out of the bottle onto his face - both their faces, probably - and the bed.