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The magic reaches inside him, this time by choice. Bones shift, muscles grow… God, it’s good to have a dick again. He doesn’t quite Hulk-rip the shirt, but he does get stuck in the stupid thing before peeling the whole damn costume off.
Spike girds his loins with the smallest towel and prowls in search of trousers, feeling every lean, mean inch of himself move right. He checks his reflection in the Slayer’s startled eyes, her heart rate, the little intake of breath she thinks he doesn’t hear, that spreading blush… oh, yeah. Spike’s back, and he’s a bloody animal.