It's Jack, and it's Jack's dream, about a guy he's been lusting after for almost six months. What did he expect? Actual talking???
"Hey, that wasn't the booze, that was you grabbing me when I wasn't looking!" he protests, but there's no heat in it. Or at least, not that kind of heat, but perhaps another kind of heat, because he's gazing a Spike from a distance of a couple of inches now, and feeling that bony body half-beneath his own, and - well. It would seem silly not to take advantage of how things have ended up, wouldn't it?
So he chuckles too, and leans forward to lick up the biggest splat of whisky on Spike's face before it runs too far down that sharp, sharp cheekbone. "On the plus side, it's good booze," he comments, adjusting his weight a bit so there's more of it on the bed than on Spike, because hey, he's here now, might as well get comfortable!