All I Want For Christmas Is You by spike_spetslayer

Chapter #1 - Part One

All I Want For Christmas Is You Buffy paused outside the door to Giles' apartment. Ever since Willow had done that spell, she was having more and more difficulty forcing herself to go to Giles'. She had been able to avoid Spike, but just knowing that he was in the apartment gave her a major case of the heebies right now. He rattled her clear to her bones, in fact—she was restless and constantly pacing to the point it had caught Willow's attention. Buffy rolled her eyes at the memory of Willow's guilty look. “We never did talk about that forgetting spell,” she told Buffy, and Buffy shook her head once, her lips pressed tightly together. She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream at her friend for giving her the greatest gift and then ripping it out of her grasp. There was no way that she could ever have a relationship of any kind with Spike now. They would insist it was the spell. The dreams still bothered her, though. She dreamed of days of laughter and fun; exciting nights of patrol, snarking and fighting side by side with the firmly muscled sidekick-master vampire-lover…the Slayer and the vampire. She rolled her eyes at the romance novel turn of her thoughts, and considered the vampire in question. From the moment he caught her eye in the Bronze and the confrontation in the alley, she was magnetically drawn to him. The snapping wit and scrappy attitude drew her to him as much as the chiseled muscles and knife-sharp cheekbones. Oh, his eyes, his mouth—they could convey the most innocent comment with a leer that made her writhe in secret. God, how she wanted him, even after the threats and the fights and the showdown in the church. He was steel to her magnet, and she found herself hunting him by that tingling in her gut, not the back of her neck like other vamps. Even Angel tingled her neck after she figured out what that feeling was. Not Spike. Like right now, he made her stomach quiver lightly, butterflies and bats fighting for dominance as she stood outside the door. When she actually went in, they would turn to blue jays and robins, then as she neared him, they would grow to the size of pterodactyls. It spread like a ripple from her head to her toes until her body fairly vibrated her apart from the inside out. Her heart hammered in her ears until the sounds of speech were a drone in the background, and her eyes focused on one thing only, the rest was a mere blur on her unconscious mind. Her eyes searched for him first. Giles had noticed, and commended her on her “care for the possible threats of a situation.” She just wanted to see him. Feast with her eyes, eat the sinful gluttony of eye candy that was him, and swallow him whole. Until last week that had been figuratively, then she had been thisclose to him and sat on his lap. Now her dreams had turned into The Spike and Buffy Porn Show and she woke up aching for his touch in the morning. She leaned against the door for a moment, bracing herself for the onslaught of the birds, then opened it and quickly ran in before she lost her nerve. The door thudded loudly against a ladder in front of it, tipping it over. A yell alerted her to a person on the ladder, now falling as well, and she automatically put out her arms to catch them before they hit the tiled floor. She didn’t expect to catch Spike. She dropped him as soon as she realized it was him, but not before her hand cupped his ass and squeezed firmly as she was trying to balance him. Her cheeks flamed as she looked down on him where he lay at her feet, smirking smile gracing that perfectly sinful mouth. “Throw a fella on the ground, Slayer. When I’m doing something nice for a change, too.” “Oh? You’re going to run into the sun for me?” She cringed inside at the bitchy comment, but she knew she had to act this way. She couldn’t let anyone know how much this was all affecting her. She gave him a guilty glance and was surprised at the hurt look on his face. “No,” he replied, his voice belying his feelings. “I was helping Rupert decorate the flat for the holidays. He didn’t have a sprig this morning, but look at it now.” He scrambled to his feet before she could think of offering her hand, and she looked around Giles' apartment instead. Greenery and red bows dotted the windows and bookshelves. The globe had been moved, and a small tree filled with red balls and bows and a golden star stood next to the short landing that led to Giles' room upstairs. Tiny lights twinkled in the twining greenery, and a small nativity sat below the tree. She glanced at the desk and saw oven mitts lying there with a small figure burned into the palm, and thought that even Christmas could be a lethal holiday for a vampire. Spike saw where she was looking, and grabbed the mitts off the desktop, hiding them behind his back. “So, do you think that Rupert will like it?” “What, you did all this? By yourself? Right. I don’t believe it.” She folded her arms across her chest, forgetting the shirt she was wearing, and gave him an excellent look at her cleavage. When she noticed where his eyes were resting, she pulled her jacket tightly around her. “Where is Giles? I wanted to talk to him before I went out on patrol tonight.” “Watcher’s out for the evening. ‘M not his mum, didn’t ask him when he’d be home.” “And you did this alone. All this,” she said, spreading her arm to indicate the elegant decorations. He looked at her, exasperation clearly on his face. “Well, yeah. Just finishing up.” “On a ladder in front of the door. What were you doing?” Her eyes narrowed. “What are you up to, Spike.” He pushed past her roughly and grabbed his forehead as he headed to the kitchen. “Evil, Slayer, because you know, Christmas and evil….” She followed him around the pillar to trap him in the kitchen. “You didn’t answer me Spike. What are you up to?” He threw the oven mitts against the wall, and his hand snapped to cradle his forehead again. “Hell, I can’t even pretend I’m hurting someone that this bloody thing doesn’t fire, Slayer. I was decorating. That’s all. Can’t a bloke do something without the third degree around here?” “You cannot do anything without the third degree, Spike. We still don’t know a lot about that chip.” She turned, and went back into the living room, pacing in front of the couch. “Where did you get all this stuff, anyway?” “Went downtown and bought it.” He leaned against the wall and watched her pace. She stopped, and jabbed a finger at him. “See? I know that isn’t true. The sun just set.” He rolled his eyes, and sighed. “Sewers, Slayer. I can go anywhere in this town in the sewer system. I went downtown, bought the pretties, and came right home. Didn’t even stop at Willy's for a pint.” She jabbed again. “Bought! You didn’t buy any of this. You don’t have any money.” He ticked his finger at her. “Uh-uh, pet, can’t use that one either. Had money. Got all this stuff honestly.” She scoffed, and folded her arms across her chest again. “You don’t have any money. Why are you always begging beer and cigarettes from Giles then?” “I’m a guest. It’s the host’s responsibility.” “To buy you beer and cigarettes?” “Seeing to his guests’ comfort. Now, you about done? I have a few touches left….” She sat down on the couch. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you here by yourself to do heaven knows what to Giles' apartment.” He rolled his eyes. “For God’s sake, Buffy, I’m decorating the apartment, not desecrating a church!” She stopped cold at her name on his lips. So did he. The air grew thick as molasses with words unspoken and memories of the words that were. She felt like she was moving in slow motion as she stood, and he moved. In a heartbeat, they were across the room and kissing passionately. Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest as she struggled to breathe deep enough. The room was spinning around her dizzily as she tasted him in her mouth. She could feel his hands cupping her ass and pressing her against…oh, that. Her entire focus centered on the space between her waist and her knees as he ground himself against her, his mouth tracing moist paths across her throat as she tried to remember to breathe. Over the blood rushing in her ears, she him speaking as he lavished kisses on her exposed skin. “Buffy, oh Buffy, I missed this so much. God, Slayer, do you know how you fit in my arms? You’re perfect, love, so beautiful. I’ve done nothing but think of you for the last week.” The phone rang, and they ignored it, exploring each other’s mouths as they ran eager hands over places they wanted to explore. The answering machine finally picked up, and Giles' dry message was followed by Willow's perky voice. “Hey, Giles, if you see Buffy, tell her that Riley came by looking for her just a little while ago. He said he’d call her tomorrow, but I thought she might want to see him after patrol. Talk to you tomorrow. Bye!” Willow's message shattered Buffy's abandon into a million pieces as she heard Riley's name. She shoved Spike away and wiped her mouth with the back of one hand while she reached for a stake with the other. By the time Willow hung up, they were in their far more familiar roles, as adversaries. She held the stake at shoulder level, and glared at him. “You—you kissed me.” He curled his tongue as he flopped down onto the couch, resting his boot on the coffee table. “Seems you were doing a fair amount yourself, Slayer. I still have your clawprints in my ass.” She thought madly for a retort, her head spinning. “Well—I’ve got your fingerprints and…lip prints all over me.” She glared, and he licked his lips appreciatively, his eyes raking over her disheveled appearance from head to foot. This only served to push her over the edge, and she leaped to action. “You—I—don’t you dare breathe a word of this to anyone, you hear me?” She knocked his feet off the table, and leaned over him, stake pressing into his chest. “Not a single word, you understand?” “Can you sing me another, pet? I’ve heard that bloody carol so many times, it’s gotten old.” He stared into her eyes at the picture of vexation, and he had to suppress a moan. Hiding the reaction her nearness provoked, he arched off the couch in a smooth move, backing her against the wall. He tore his black tee open like tissue, his chest gleaming like carved marble in the ambient light. “You know what, pet? Go ahead. Dust me. Do it!” Her arm dropped to her side, her stake dropped from numb fingers to the floor. “I…can’t,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. “Come on.” He swooped down and picked the stake up off the floor and pressed it to his chest. He pushed the tip against his skin, the sharp splintered end nicking him, and a rivulet of borrowed blood spilled out and trickled into the ridged abdomen as he dragged in air he didn’t need. “Go on, pet. What is there for me to unlive for anyway? I’m impotent, you said it yourself. Just end this for me and you both. Just a simple shove, that’s all you need. Come on!” She shook her head mutely, and he pressed a little harder. The blood came faster, and her eyes followed it down his compact frame, staining the waistband of his jeans. She could clearly see the outline of what she had already felt, both with her hand and her ass, and she unconsciously licked her lips. She knocked the stake out of his hand, and pressed her palm to the hole it left behind. He slapped her hand off his chest and turned away from her. “Know why you can’t stake me, pet? It’s ‘cause you want the Big Bad. Had yourself a taste, and got you to wondering, didn’t it?” She watched him as he crossed the room, deliberately running his hand up his chest to gather the blood on his palm, then using his nimble tongue to clean it off like a cat would. Her groin clenched at the sight of that talented tongue. She could feel the warm flood of arousal gushing from her, and didn’t care. His voice was seductive and sensuous as it caressed her ears. “I can smell it, Slayer. You’re sweet quim, all quivering and wet for me. I know how you feel, every time we fight. You want to shag me senseless, and you know it. You just won’t give in.” “I can’t.” She grabbed her stake off of the floor, and ran out the door, plowing over the unsuspecting ladder again. He grinned, then threw out an old familiar movie line. “My, people certainly come and go quickly around here.” Spike watched the door slam behind her, shrugging his shoulders. He discarded the shreds of his tee in the trash bin, then turned back to the room before him. Actually he thought it looked quite festive, if he did say so. Festoons of greenery and red bows, gold accents here and there, and, reaching for the candlesticks, the only thing that he had pinched, candles. Just the right touch. The door opened again, and he turned, thinking the Slayer was back. It banged against the ladder, and he rushed to pick it up, folding it in half, as he looked at the stranger that entered Giles apartment. He was tall as Captain Broody Pants, with combed-over sandy brown hair. His face looked familiar, and Spike realized he was one of the commandos that had captured and chipped him. Friendly open eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Spike, shirtless, with the ladder in his hands. “Who are you?” “William, here. I’m, er, Giles' nephew. From London.” He extended his hand, still warm from Buffy's skin, and the tall man took it without hesitation. “Riley Finn. I was looking for Buffy. Have you seen her?” Spike laughed out loud, then said, “Yeah, she was by looking for Giles earlier. Knocked over the ladder. Said she was going on patrol, whatever that meant.” “Oh. You’re awful pale,” Riley said, his eyes narrowing again. “Live in England, mate. Not much sun, more rain and fog than anything.” “Yeah.” Sounding unconvinced, he looked around the apartment. “Nice decorating job. You do it?” Spike waved his hand languidly. “Had a hand in it. Looks all right?” “Very nice. Kind of English.” “Well, that’s because me and Giles are both English, eh? Spike dragged the ladder to lean it against the wall, and headed to the kitchen. He rolled his eyes as he shrugged on a white tee, unbelieving that he was being this nice, but also afraid of being recaptured. “So, you hanging around the place for the holidays?” Riley's voice drifted from the living room. “No, don’t think so. I’m going to Cancun for part of it, and home for Christmas.” “Home? Where’s that?” Spike brought back a glass of Rupert’s best single malt, and offered it to the visitor, who shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t drink.” “All right.” Spike nursed his alcohol to appear human, although he could have drank it down in a shot. “Where’s home, then?” “Iowa.” “Nice place. Been through there once or twice. Going to Cancun, huh? Hear that it’s a wild party there….” Spike let his comment trail off, and Riley eagerly picked up the thread. “Well, I was going to cancel, especially after this new thing I have going with Buffy, but the guys talked me into going anyway. Could be my last fling, if you know what I mean.” He nudged Spike with his elbow, and was surprised at the solid, compact musculature of the shorter man. “Hey, you work out?” “As much as I can fit in. So, you going to party hard or what?” “Oh, you bet. I just hope that Buffy doesn’t find out. She’ll be upset if she does.” Spike sipped his drink, waving his hand. “Don’t worry about Buffy. If she’s the right kind, she’ll understand. A man has needs….” “And I need her to fulfill mine. Since she won’t do that yet, I’ll bet I can find someone who will when I head south, huh?” He nudged Spike again, and Spike ‘lost his balance’ to prevent the wanker from seeing the look of disgust on his face. Another bleeding wanker trying to use the Slayer, he thought. He stood, and jerked his head toward the door. “Well, you can probably catch Buffy if you try. She just left a moment ago.” Riley grinned, and grabbed his hand again, pumping it up and down. “Thanks, Bill. Have a good holiday, okay?” “Oh, I plan on it, Riley. And it’s William, not Bill.” “William, then. Bye!” The door slammed shut behind the poncy farm boy, and Spike leaned against it with a sigh. The Slayer would never believe him if he told her. He would have to make sure, then, that the farm boy told her, and he was there to pick up the pieces when they fell. Plotting already, he headed to the kitchen to warm up some blood. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Buffy hurried back to her dorm room after a short patrol. She didn’t even realize she had slayed more tonight than she had in the past week, the vampires drawn to her more for her scent of blood and arousal than the need for food. Her mind was on a specific vamp, and she needed to talk to someone about it. Willow. She could talk to Willow. No, she couldn’t do that. Willow had made it clear from the beginning that she neither liked nor trusted Spike, and she would think that it was from the spell, not from anything that Buffy actually felt. Still lost in her own world, she rushed headlong into a slightly taller woman with long blond hair, and helped her up when she saw she had knocked her to the ground. “Sorry. Mulling some things over, I didn’t see you.” “I-its okay. I-I wasn’t l-looking either.” As the blond gathered her books, Buffy looked down at her. She had heard that voice somewhere before…. The answer hit her when she stood up, and saw one of Willow's scarves floating around her neck. “You’re Tara, Willow's friend. She’s talked a lot about you.” “S-she has?” Her eyes were wide and fearful; what had Willow told them? “Yeah, she said that you’re a great friend, and that’s exactly what I need right now. A great friend.” She linked her arm with the blonde’s, and pulled her along toward her room. “I can’t talk about this with any of my friends, because they just wouldn’t understand. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “…So see, I can’t just date him, they’ll think it was the spell. Plus, I have this really promising thing with Riley.” Tara looked up at Buffy from beneath a fall of golden hair. “Doesn’t sound like you want to be with Riley, though. Sounds like you want to be with Spike.” “What about the whole undead, vampire, drinks blood to survive thing? What about that?” Tara squirmed uncomfortably in her seat at the tiny all-night diner. Toying with her coffee cup, she said, “demons aren’t all bad, Buffy. Some demons can live side-by-side with humans, and you would never know it.” “Giles says the only good demon is a dead one. Well, not that exactly. His version sounds more English.” “Then, you’ll probably want to start in here.” Tara looked around, and jerked her chin. “The guy over there, reading the paper? He’s a B’Nalock. Vegetarian, work in the sanitation business because they don’t have any scent organs.” Buffy frowned. “So that’s not his nose?” “Not all sex organs are in the same places as ours, Buffy.” She giggled at the shock on the Slayer's face, and went on. “How about the cook? She’s a Brackken. So’s her husband. Even your roommate was a demon, and you couldn’t tell, could you?” Buffy looked at the girl across from her, confused. “How do you know all this?” Tara ducked her head. “I’m a practitioner, Buffy. A-a witch.” At Buffy's continued confusion, Tara flipped her hair over her shoulders and looked at her with clear blue eyes. “I look at you, and I see something different from regular human. Your aura is too strong for you to just be human.” “So I’m…not human?” Buffy frowned, and the young witch backpedaled quickly. “No, that’s not what I meant. More like…superhuman.” She watched as the Slayer visibly relaxed, then continued. “In a town like this, it’s better to know what could possibly eat you. So I watch auras, and if one doesn’t match up, I research until I can identify it.” “Boy, Giles would love you.” She scooted across the bench seat and put her back up against the wall, stretching her legs out. She was about to ask Tara what else she saw lurking in the denizens of the diner when a voice over her head interrupted them. “Hey, Buffy—what are you doing out this late?” She turned to see Riley with a couple of his frat brothers hovering over the edge of their booth. Graham was making eyes at Tara and Forrest looked disgusted. Riley, however, had that huge happy grin plastered on his face. Buffy snuck a glance at Tara, and saw a look of fear and loathing dancing in her eyes, belying the placid smile she had pasted on. “Just talking to Tara—Willow's friend. Getting to know the friend of my friend. You?” “Getting ready to go home for Christmas on Friday.” He sounded innocent, but Tara frowned, then darted a look at Buffy, frowning again. She looked up into the open face of her prospective boyfriend, and tried to see past the innocence he portrayed to the man beneath. She noticed he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. He looked everywhere else but. His lip was twitching slightly, and there was a trickle of sweat on his temple. She recalled hearing about some of the frat boys planning a trip to Cancun, and took a wild leap. “Yeah, if Cancun is home-like at this time of year.” She gave a wide grin at his guilty start, and said, “I know I don’t want to see grandma in a bikini, but some people might—if they lived at the old age home.” He looked down at her with guilt written all over him. “If you don’t want me to go—“ he started, and she raised her hand. “Don’t worry about me, Riley. I have plans for the holiday too.” She stole a glance at Tara, hoping that she would play along, and said offhandedly, “Spike will be here for Christmas.” Tara leaped in, thank God. “You and Spike made up?” Buffy studied her nails. “I’ll have to see what Santa puts under the tree for me, but if it’s what I think, then, yeah, we’ll be making up. With a quickness.” They both giggled, and Riley just looked confused. “Buffy, you told me you made that all up,” he said, swinging around the end of the booth and sitting on Buffy's seat, forcing her to move her legs or get them crushed under his considerable bulk. “You said—“ “I know, I said it was all just a big made-up story, but it…kinda isn’t. Spike and I have been…dancing around a relationship for a while now.” “But what about…?” Riley struggled to understand what he was missing, but there was no understanding left, only questions. “Oh, I had fun. Didn’t you?” She looked at him wide-eyed and innocent. “I thought we were on the same page.” He still stared, and she rolled her eyes. “One date, and you were willing to pledge undying love?” He gave her a hurt look, and stood up. “I guess I was wrong about you. Maybe Parker had your number right.” She felt a flash of anger at the subtle accusation. “Well, maybe he didn’t, either. Maybe he was as lost as you seem to be. Have a merry Christmas in Cancun, Riley.” He turned to leave, and she sat back with a huff, throwing her legs back up into the seat. She listened to the ribbing he was getting from his buddies, and thought of throwing gas on the fire with a choice parting jab, then decided that the situation didn’t even warrant that. Tara was still frowning as she watched the large man walk away. “You need to keep an eye out for him, Buffy. He isn’t what he seems to be.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Buffy promised Tara not to let the cat out of the bag on their meeting as they walked companionably back to their dorms. She watched Tara going inside, then decided to make a side trip to Giles' to check on the Watcher and her favorite vampire. She thought about the things Tara had said, and more about the things that she hadn’t. It had felt good to get another viewpoint on her relationship with Spike, even if it meant snagging a stranger on the street. At least she picked one who understood being different. And the whole researchy thing? Giles would want to meet this girl, she was sure of it. One thing was clear after their conversation. She liked Spike. In more than just an “I want to be friends” kind of way. She liked him in an “I want to kiss you senseless” kind of way, and that scared her senseless. This time, instead of throwing open the door, she pecked on it gently. There were lights on that she could see through the window, and after what seemed like an endless wait, the door was finally thrown open. Spike stood there, staring at her, and she couldn’t help but dance from foot to foot. “Uh—can I use Giles' bathroom?” He stepped aside, and waved her in. “Who am I to stop you, Slayer?” She stepped into the room, and looked around, searching for his finishing touches that he was so prickly about earlier. Candles in golden holders of every shape and size dotted every flat surface, and at this moment, they were all lit, filling the room with a golden glow. She forgot about her request for the bathroom altogether when she saw what he was up to now. The coffee table had been moved against the wall, and the space was filled with merchandise. Wrapping paper and bows warred with ribbon and tape in the middle of the floor, and she notice quite a few presents already wrapped and under the tree. She turned, eyes narrowed again, and said in a deadly voice, “What’s all this?” “Bloody hell, Slayer, are we gonna start that again? ‘Cause, so not in the mood for it. They’re prezzies. For the good little Scoobies. Giles bought the damn things, I’m just wrapping them.” She looked, and found bags with receipts on the seat of the couch. “Oh. I—“ “Came to use the loo, didn’t you?” He pointed, and she nodded absently. “Yeah. Needed to use the bathroom.” She locked the door behind her, not to keep him out, but to keep her in. Today…today alone, he had thrown her for a loop, with the decorating, now the presents and wrapping. This was not the Big Bad she was used to. This was someone else entirely. Something, she thought, then shook her head, disagreeing with herself. No, he was a someone. A thing wouldn’t do any of the things that he had done. There was a gentle tap on the door, and his voice floated through the wood. “You all right in there, Slayer? You sick?” “I’ll be right out.” She splashed water on her face, and dried it carefully with a towel, studying her reflection in the mirror. She looked askance at her crooked nose, and wondered if her eyes were too far apart, and what was all this self-reflection about, anyway? Avoidance, that’s what it was. Avoiding the fact that she would be alone in a room with Spike. She yanked the door open, and he nearly fell on top of her. He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Just trying to make sure you were okay, Slayer.” She brushed by him, and went to the kitchen. “I’m okay, Spike. When is Giles coming back?” He said slowly, as if explaining to a small child, “I don’t know, Slayer. May not be coming home tonight. May be staying in LA with Olivia.” “Olivia? Who’s she?” “Dark beauty, about this tall, was here about a week ago?” He held his hand out head-high, and said, “Are you all right, Buffy?” There it was; her name on his lips again. She felt dizzy, like the world stopped turning and started again abruptly. She held out her hand and heard his voice calling her name from far away, then the dark took over and wrapped her in its arms.

Chapter #2 - Part Two

When she woke, she found herself stretched out on Giles' bed, a cold washcloth on her forehead. Moving only her eyes, she looked around and saw Spike sitting on the edge of the bed, concern all over his face. “You all right, pet? Never seen you faint before.” She sat up shakily, then flopped backward onto the pillows. “I’m fine. I think. Maybe I’ll just lay here for a while.” “You do that. When was the last time you ate?” He busied himself tucking blankets around her and replacing the cloth on her forehead. “Um…well, I had some coffee with Tara a while ago. Does that count?” He looked into her face, and tsked under his breath. “Coffee is not a food group. I mean, when did you actually put food in your mouth and chew it up.” Her brow wrinkled in concentration, and she finally shrugged. “I don’t know. Too much happens for me to pay attention to that.” He turned, and started toward the stairs, and she leaned up on her elbow. “Where are you going?” He stopped at the top of the stairs. “Getting you something besides coffee, love. Won’t be gone but a tick.” He disappeared, and she could hear him fumbling and muttering in the kitchen. He finally reappeared with delicious smells preceding him up the stairs, and helped her rearrange herself into a sitting position before placing the tray across her lap. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at her. “I expect you to eat all of that. There’s more if you want it.” She stared down at the omelet and hash browns on the plate. “You can cook?” He shrugged. “Wasn’t always a vampire, love. I like my comforts.” “But you don’t need to eat. Angel doesn’t eat.” He rolled his eyes at the mention of his grandsire. “’Course not. The bloody ponce never wanted to remind himself of his human days. And Angel is not the only vampire you’ve ever met, love. What about the Master?” She wrinkled her nose, remembering the bat-faced elder. “I don’t know. I wasn’t around him much, remember? Just once, when he killed me.” He cringed internally. Not exactly the memory he wanted to dredge up for her. “Sorry. Forgot about that part.” He looked at the food in front of her, and frowned when he saw she hadn’t eaten any. “Now, dig in. No reason for a bint to go without food, is there? I’m going down to clean up.” He started toward the stairs, and her voice stopped him. “Spike? Please—don’t go.” Surprised by her request, he turned to rejoin her, perching on the edge of the bed. Obediently, she started eating, her face changing from cynical to surprised when she noted how good the food actually was. “This is good!” she said around one mouthful, hiding her full mouth with her hand. “You really can cook.” Spike rolled his eyes. “I told you I could. What, expected that to be a lie?” She swallowed, and picked up the glass of milk on the tray. “Well, you’ve never been honesty-guy with me. Always giving me some kind of line about this or that. How did I know you really could cook?” He looked around the room, everywhere but at her. “Riley came by here looking for you.” “Yeah, I saw him. When I was out with Tara.” He wanted to see her reaction, wanted to look into her green eyes so badly, but refused to let his impulses rule him. “And?” he prompted her. “And what?” She stuffed her mouth full of food to keep from answering him, but that only worked until she swallowed, then she felt she had to answer. “And I figured out that he was lying to me about going to Iowa for Christmas, so I kicked him to the curb. Like I would let him go to Cancun on his own. Jerk.” Spike breathed deeply, in, out. “He was bragging when he came here. About Cancun, and you…er…not sleeping with him.” “He what!” After her initial outburst, Buffy shrugged. “Oh, well. Lesson learned. He said some nasty things about Parker too in the diner. Do you know, he is such a bigot—made some snarky comments about demons and vampires and such.” “Well, pet, he is one of the Initiative blokes. You knew that, right?” She choked on her milk. “He what! Part of the Initiative? Why didn’t you tell me that before?” He turned to watch her as she mopped spilled milk off her shirt. “I recognized him when he came by. Told him I was Rupert’s nephew from England.” “And he was that easy to fool? Oh, that’s rich.” She daubed at the milk on her shirt, and sighed. “Okay, milk stains on my shirt now. Should have known not to wear it out patrolling, although usually I get blood on everything.” “Give it here, pet. I’ll take care of it.” He extended his hand, and she looked up at him in horror. “Take my shirt off? Why?” “I’ll go soak it and get the milk out of it.” He shook his hand, and repeated, “Come on. It’ll stain, and then you’ll be all whiny about it.” “I don’t whine,” she said, then realized that she was close to it. With a huff, she pulled the shirt over her head and whinged it across the room, where he caught it neatly out of mid-air. He stood there, a smirk on his face, until she realized that she was clothed only in her bra. Shrieking, she yanked the blanket up over her chest, and almost toppled her food. He grabbed a tee out of one of Giles' drawers and tossed it gently to her. “I’ll just be seeing to this, then, okay?” She waited until he’d disappeared on the stairs, then pulled the shirt on, her mouth a moue of disgust as she saw the logo on the front. Of all things for him to throw her to wear, a Sex Pistols tee shirt—and where did Giles get it, anyway? She hurried and finished the rest of the food, then leaned back against the headboard of the bed. It was kind of nice, being pampered and waited on, she thought, then she heard his footsteps on the stairs again, and panic set in. They were alone in Giles' apartment together, with no Watcher in sight. He had put her in bed, fixed her food, decorated the apartment, and was wrapping presents. This was not the Spike she was used to. Hell, it wasn’t even close. She thought of the things he’d said when they were kissing, and wondered if he was still feeling residual effects from the spell as well. When she saw the soft look in his eyes, she decided that he must have been feeling it still, just like she was. The look quickly disappeared when he noticed her eyes trained on him, and he pasted on a familiar smirk instead. “All done, Slayer?” “Yes. It was really good. Thank you.” He shot her a look from under his brows, but refrained from making his usual snarky comment. Without a word, he picked up the tray and headed back down the stairs. She climbed out of the bed and followed him into the kitchen. He stumbled backward against the wall when he turned and found her standing behind him. “Give me a heart attack, Slayer. You could have made some kind of noise.” “You can’t have a heart attack, Spike,” she said, looking coyly at him from under her lashes. She took a step in his direction, and he pressed himself against the wall, avoiding her. “What’s this all about, Slayer? Still feeling peckish?” He moved to open the refrigerator and she held the door closed with one hand. “I think that you have some explainy to do.” He looked closely at her, frowning. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Slayer. What do I need to explain?” She moved closer to him, so close that he could feel the heat of her breath on his cheek. “You said some things earlier when I came by. Something about…thinking about me? Wanting to kiss me? Got some confessions to make there, Spiky?” “No. No…confessions. No kissing.” He made a motion of wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t remember saying anything of the sort, Slayer.” She moved imperceptibly closer, crowding him against the wall. Placing her hands on either side of his head, she leaned in closer, and he could smell her heady scent. “I think that you’re lying, Spike. I think that you did say some things, and didn’t think that I was listening to you. Now, we gonna do this nice, or does it have to be the hard way.” “Keep standing that close to me, it’ll be hard no matter what,” he muttered, then his eyes widened as he realized that he’d spoken aloud. “All right, all right, no need to go all Rambo on me. I said some things in the heat of the moment, no reason to get all upset.” “I thought so. Did you mean them?” she said quietly, her voice a mere whisper in the stillness of the apartment. He dropped his head, unable to meet her eyes. “I meant them. I…bollix, Buffy, I can’t get that night out of my head, and you know it.” He met her gaze head on, emerald clashing with sapphire, and she grinned, to his surprise. “I know. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, then.” She pressed her body close to his, and twisted the curls at the nape of his neck in her fingers as she sought his mouth. His hands curled into fists as he fought the sensations that she was rousing, then he capitulated and gripped her hips, dragging her into the circle of his arms. Their tongues warred for dominance as she kissed him frantically, pinning him against the wall. His mouth burned a trail of kisses across the smooth skin of her throat, and she threw her head back, moaning aloud. “I shouldn’t want this. We’re enemies.” “Sure we are, love.” He bent his head to nibble on the enticing pulse throbbing on the side of her neck. “I hate you, Slayer.” She yanked his head up, eyes blazing. “Say my name.” “Buffy. Oh, God, Buffy.” He gave himself over to the riotous emotions coursing through his body. “Buffy, my beautiful angel, my love.” He captured her mouth with his, plundering its sweet secrets as she ran her hands over his back. She tore her mouth from his, gasping for air. “Remember what you said—when we were engaged? Show me now.” Like a feather, he picked her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs to the spare room that opened off the landing. She pushed the door open, and he gently laid her on the bed. “Spike,” she whispered, and he shushed her with a finger to his lips. He stripped off his shirt, leaving him in his customary black tee shirt, and toed his boots off as he crawled across the bed to seize her mouth again. She raked her hands through his hair; his curls springing wildly under her fingertips as he kissed her with wild abandon. She tossed her head, negating the sensations even as she gave herself over to them. “I can’t stop thinking about this—about you…Spike, did you feel it too? Was it just me?” He growled against her skin, “You’re in my blood, Buffy. Haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night. Can’t stop thinking about you. Oh, pet, let me make you feel good.” “Yes…God, yes. I want you, Spike.” She ripped his tee shirt off him and traced quivering fingers over the planes of his chest and stomach. She grabbed his waistband, still stiff with borrowed blood that he’d spilled earlier, and groaned against his mouth. Her fingers found the partially healed indentation on his chest over his heart, and her lips followed. “Why?” she asked, her mouth moving against his skin. “Why did you do that?” “Tired of fighting it, pet. Thought you didn’t care….” “I care. You don’t know how much I care.” She jerked his waistband open, popping the button to ricochet across the room. She jerked the zipper down and reached inside to grasp the object of her dreams and fantasies. His cool length caressed her palm, sending a frisson of excitement straight to her core. “I—want—this,” she said, closing her hand around him and watching the blissful expression that overtook his features. She twisted her hips and rolled them over, straddling and imprisoning his legs with her knees. His hands roamed over her skin under Giles' shirt, and she yanked it over her head, tossing it aside. Still holding his cock in her impossibly tiny hand, she decided to use both, and encircled as much of it with her hands as she could. “So hard and smooth—cool—much better cool….” She cupped his balls and his hips bucked as his hands grabbed for purchase—which just happened to be on her breasts. “God, yes—grab me—just like that….” He reached behind her, undoing her bra and spilling her breasts to his heated gaze. Her rosy nipples were already erect and puckered, and he raked over them with his palms lightly, then harder with his thumbs. She threw her head back, then doubled over to take his cock into her mouth. He raised his hips slightly and she yanked his jeans down to expose all of him to her appreciative gaze. What was only hinted at in the tight Levi’s bobbed before her pouting lips, and she grabbed its base with one hand, steadying it for her mouth. She licked up the prominent vein that ran along the bottom, then flicked her tongue over a scar behind the velvety head. She looked up at him along his body, sprawled beneath her, and said, “You’re circumcised.” “You noticed,” he drawled. “Long story. Don’t care to discuss it right now.” “Well, I just meant—“ “Buffy. Not. Now.” He let his head flop down onto the pillow beneath it, and she flicked her tongue over the tip of his cock, bringing it right up off the pillow again. “Slayer,” he groaned, and she tightened her fist at the base, almost to the point of pain. He growled, then said, “Buffy,” and she loosened her grip slightly, a wide smile bedazzling him from the picture she made. His cock in her fist, a wide smile on her face, her mouth inches from him—he groaned again, and threw his arm across his eyes. “Buffy, I swear, pet—‘s been a while, and if you keep teasing, you may not like the outcome.” “Then again, I may like what comes out,” she teased, then licked down his length again. She encircled the head with full red lips stretched wide, and he scrabbled for control as he mentally went over his equivalent of baseball stats; Angel in a dress—Dru shagging the chaos demon in Brazil—Rupert dressed as Frankenfurter. His mind abandoned him and went southerly as she swallowed him down to the base, nestling her nose in his curls, then swirling her tongue around him as she withdrew to breathe deeply through her nose. His cock slickened by her saliva and his pre-cum, she stroked him slowly from base to tip, taking out time to taunt him some more. “So, just since the spell, or before?” she said grinning, and he looked up at her, surprised. “I’ll go first, just so you don’t think that it’s a setup. Before. Since the first time I saw you, I thought you were the sexiest thing, alive or undead.” If his heart beat, it would have stopped. “Same here. Actually, when I saw you dancing in the Bronze. Gah—knew you would shag like a wild woman.” She climbed up his body, tugging at her pants and she moved. “And why didn’t you?” “Slayer, pet. Vampire. Not supposed to want the thing that kills you.” “Oh, I don’t know. Why do vampires make me hot, then? Sure they want to kill me. Don’t you want to kill me, Spike?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he could feel the heat of her quim burning his cock through the delicate lacy panties she still wore. She nibbled on his earlobe, and her breath sent a shiver of rippling heat down his spine and to the root of him, and his cock jumped against her. “Only if you’re teasing me,” he said, and rolled them over again, landing on top of her. She gasped at the measure of him pressing against her, and wiggled her hips to increase the pressure, seating him more firmly against her. “Tell me again why we waited?” she asked against his mouth. “Because it’s wrong,” he answered, and her panties became history as he shredded them to bury himself deep within her heated channel. Her eyes opened wide, and she knew she was playing with fire and sure to get burned, but the fullness and completion she was feeling erased all doubt from her mind. This was where she belonged, she realized. Her eyes filled with tears, and he stopped cold, thinking she regretted their actions. Spike started to pull away from her, disappointment etched across his features, and she locked her arms and legs around him to keep him from moving. “No,” she whispered. “You don’t understand.” “Never shagged a woman and made her cry—well, not without it being on purpose. Let me go, pet.” “No. Spike, I—” Buffy found her voice suddenly gone, and she buried her face in his shoulder. She couldn’t talk, so she moved her hips against him, and he relaxed slightly, still holding himself away from her on his hands. She knocked his locked elbows outward with hers, then clutched him closer to her. She locked her ankles around his and moved against him, arching her body against him. His hips unwillingly took up the rhythm, and she squeezed him with her muscles as he pulled out of her, then plunged back in. “Don’t stop, Spike. Love me. I need you to love me, if it’s only tonight.” He stared at the sheet below her head, her hair close enough that he could see the colorations of individual strands. He heard the words she whispered to him even as he watched the sheet dampen with her tears, and his heart broke for the lost Slayer who believed herself unloved. He drew back, and looked deep into the green eyes that haunted him for as long as he could remember. “Won’t be an act, pet. I promise you that.” He smoothed her hair back from her face, and watched the smile bloom across her full lips, right before she reached up to kiss him again. He roused himself from his torpor and began moving within her, twisting his hips to touch deep inside her. She gasped aloud, and spread her legs further to allow him deeper inside her, her eyes never leaving his. They stared into each other’s eyes, seeing feelings that neither could express as they moved together, driving toward a mutual goal in tandem. His hand found her breast, and he tweaked her nipple experimentally. She showed her appreciation by digging her nails into his biceps, and he replaced his fingers with his teeth as he continued to plunge into her. She moaned, and raked her nails across his back as her heels dug into his asscheeks, her constant keening moan punctuated by sobs for release. She tossed her head, talking out loud and not realizing what she was saying—her subconscious was blushing and hiding her eyes, and she was glad the little angel was off her shoulder for once. “God, yes, fuck me, Spike, fuck me good!” It was only when they both heard her asking him to bite her that they both paused, staring at each other. “Do you really—?” “Would you--?” they both started at once, and she giggled. “Come on, vampire wet dream. I know that much. Biting’s part of sex for you.” His blue eyes were wary. “Didn’t think that you’d want me to, pet.” “Spike, I’m the Slayer. I know what it means, and I’m a big girl. I can take it.” She looked up at him, and repeated, “I can take it.” “Oh, I know you can.” He bent his head, and when he looked up, his game face was in place. “But are you sure…?” “Positive.” She stretched her neck, moving her hair out of the way. “Just do it.” He moved slowly at first, then built speed until he was slamming into her with his full strength and she was writhing beneath him again. She turned her head, offering him the virgin side of her neck, and he turned it back, staring at the previous marks from his sire and great-grandsire. She looked up at him, chewing on her lip, and nodded, and he took it for assent. His fangs slipped delicately into her skin like butter, but it was enough to send her careening over the edge of her orgasm. She shrieked with her completion, his name on her lips, and her quim clenched like a fist around him, stopping his movements. He cupped his hands under her shoulders, afraid of tearing her flesh with his teeth as he held her against him, sipping lightly at the trickles of blood that oozed from the twin punctures that obliterated all previous marks there. He waited until she was limp and panting for much-needed air beneath him before he moved again. He memorized it all, from the flush of her skin to the glazed look in her eyes, implanting every sight deep in his brain for later perusal some cold, lonesome night. He saw the awareness filling her eyes again, and she parted her lips, about to speak. He covered her mouth with his hand and shook his head. She tore his hand off her mouth, and said, “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.” “Doesn’t matter.” “Yes, it does. Spike, I—“ He covered her mouth again. “Buffy, don’t.” “I love you, damn it! Would you just let me say it?” The fire snapped in her eyes, and he drew back from the passion in her voice. “You do?” “Yes, if you would let me get the words out. Spike, I love you.” “Oh, Buffy.” He buried his face in her shoulder. “I love you too.” He pulled back, his eyes narrowed. “Do you think that it’s the spell?” “No, it can’t be. Willow said that the spell was for us to get married. People get married without love all the time.” At his questioning look, she said, “I asked. Specifically.” “Oh.” He remembered that they were still intimately joined together, and made a move to roll away, and she caught him with her arms around his neck and her legs locked around his waist again. “Hey, don’t we have something to finish here?” she asked. “Um, yeah, that….” He said, trailing off. She frowned up at him, and he colored slightly. “Buffy—“ he started, and she stopped him with a hand over his mouth. “Don’t. Even. Think. It. Spike, it’s of the good, trust me. Now, move your ass, buster.” She punctuated her command with a heel to his posterior. “There’s still half the night to waste doing evil stuff to each other, and I plan on putting it to good use.” He looked down at her beneath him, her eyes shining, and her mouth curved into a fetching smile. He caught his unneeded breath, then let his own mouth spread in a smile. “You’re absolutely right, pet. Let’s get busy.” He leaned down to kiss her, and she pressed her forehead to his. “This is gonna be a good Christmas, isn’t it?” “The best, pet. Promise.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Giles arrived home late the next afternoon. He found unwrapped presents in front of the couch, and his kitchen wrecked, with potato peelings drawing tiny flies and eggshells littering the counter. He shook his head, and carried his bag up the stairs to his loft. He heard a small sound in the small second room, and opened the door to look inside. Two faces looked back at him, surprise evident in their features. They were nude, he noted, and seemingly enjoying that nudity, he thought clinically. “Oh dear Lord,” he said, and closed the door quietly.