Title: Christmastime in Sunnydale
Summary: Post ‘Wrecked’. Buffy prepares for the holidays, with a little help from a certain vampire.
Genre: Romance
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Just playing for fun.
A/N: Many many many thanks to DreamScape99 for betaing this for me!


Buffy sighed over her latest predicament, shaking her head and shouldering the heavy battle-ax.

Christmastime in Sunnydale.

Dawn was still grumping around the house like the first teenager with a Broken-Bone-Caused-by-a-Loved-One-High-On-Magicks. Overreaction, all the way. But then, there was also Willow, who Buffy had caught red-eyed and queasy, blowing chunks across the porcelain toilet in the master bathroom while going through an onslaught of magic withdrawal symptoms that made a coke addiction seem preferable. So between them, Xander and Anya’s wedding plans, and the fifty pounds of garlic that had stunk up the entire house – and her garbage can – Buffy was sure some Hell demon had descended upon the Hellmouth.

And now, the traditional collection of Christmas-y Pine trees. Buffy was still too poor to afford one, and she’d accidentally ripped Mom’s 9-ft. plastic tree to shreds in frustration. Insert Rod A into Slot B could be exasperating when every branch looked identical.

So Buffy had decided to check out the local flora while on her nightly patrol through the graveyards. She’d always noticed the strange amount of trees that turned the cemeteries into miniature forests, and with the super-strength and super-sharp ax, chopping down a tree seemed like the perfect solution.

Until Spike showed up.

He fell into step beside her as she passed through the rows of headstones, cigarette dangling unlit between his lips.

“Plannin’ on takin’ something nasty out, luv?” he asked her, nodding to the silver edged weapon.

“Only if you keep talking,” she said sweetly, throwing him a saccharine smile. He snorted, eyed the blade cautiously, and continued walking alongside her. “I’m getting a Christmas tree,” she said begrudgingly.

He chuckled, lighting up the cigarette and looking over the weapon again with dancing eyes.

“Think you’ll need some help luv? Wager I could lend a hand, least as long as you keep the pointy bits away from me.”

“Again with the talking.” But she didn’t refuse his help, unwilling to admit that he may be helpful. So they continued walking; him smoking and trying to chat, and her pointedly ignoring him.

“Buffy, luv, you can’t give me the silent treatment all night long,” he told her, tugging back on her arm so that she would face him.

“Ooh, look, that one’s perfect!” she said, pointing to a tree somewhere behind him and brushing past. Actually, it looked little better than Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree, but it was short and stout and might actually fit in their cramped living room. He sighed heavily, eyeing the tree skeptically, before pointing to another, grander-looking tree a little further off.

“What about that one? Looks right fit to hold whatever silver Angel you have, all righteous and all-knowing.”

“Yeah, well, he probably won’t stop talking, and then I’d have to take him down.”

“Least he’s not daft enough to hang fifty-bloody-pounds of garlic around the house.”

“Oh,” she said, seemingly shrinking down past her usual five foot, three inches. “You know about that, huh?”

He rolled his eyes, flicking the cigarette away and eyeing her with a piercing blue stare.

“Could smell it three blocks away.”

“That bad?” She pouted. Fifty pounds of garlic? Waste of grocery money. Rooting the blade of the axe into the soft earth, she leaned against the handle and sighed. “Look, Spike-”

“I know pet,” he interrupted, giving her a small smile. “Shouldn’t be involved with the soulless, evil vampire.” He took a step forward, hands coming to rest on her hips. “Doesn’t mean you can’t.” His lips were hovering next to hers, cool breath mingling with her warmth, steaming in the cool December air. It felt as if her insides were turning into Jell-o when he kissed her, mind blanking out as he pulled away. “Or that you won’t.”

Back to jell-o, where nothing made sense except that they mustn’t ever, ever pull apart, or else she’d die. His lips were cool against hers as his tongue invaded her mouth with gentle, probing strokes that grew harder, rougher, until his entire kiss seemed to posses her completely.

And then that stupid part of her head, the one that pinged and said ‘badbadbadbad’, kicked in and sent her reeling away from him. He kept looking at her, first in shock, and then hurt. She turned from him, arms going around herself, still feeling too weak in the knees to fight with him.

“I can’t. And I won’t.”

He snorted, and she half-expected (hoped) that he’d grip her by the shoulders and whirl her around to kiss the stupid, sense-making part of her mind right out her ear. But he didn’t, and when she turned around again he’d left.

Squaring her shoulders and sniffling away tears that were most definitely not over the peroxide-haired vampire, she hefted the ax to her shoulder and cracked the tree with one quick stroke.

************

Buffy sat amid the boxes of tissue paper and old wrapping paper, trying to sort through the Christmas ornaments. Her attempt at the normal holiday activity of decorating the spruce green Christmas tree had ended in Dawn storming up to her room and Willow disappearing upstairs nursing a headache. Thus the tangles of lights and tinsel swamping her ankles.

Looking around, she heaved a sigh of frustration and lunged from the couch to the front door in record timing. Yanking it open for a breath of the crisp night air, she spotted Spike leaning against the porch, smoking.

“Don’t you have better things to do besides lurking?”

He gave her a blank stare, looking down at the small pile of cigarette butts and shrugging.

“S’pose not,” he answered, gracing her with a humorless smile. Too weary to argue, she slumped down onto the porch step, head in her hands. He paused, observing her, before snubbing out his cigarette and joining her. “Christmas festivities not going so well?”

“Not at all.” She lifted her head, turned to let him see the circles that had recently popped up beneath her eyes. His hand rose, stroked back a tendril of hair from her face. Giving her a soft smile, his blue eyes glittered in the warm porch light.

“Need a break then, luv?”

Her pulse quickened then, her entire body suddenly yearning for him, needing him. Grabbing a fistful of his duster, she hauled him to her mouth, covered it as his hands pulled her tighter against him. She broke away, gasping, eyes suddenly filmed over in desire.

“Think it’s exactly what I need.”

************

They stumbled inside, tripping over each other’s feet as they moved for the stairs. She stopped him, motioned for silence, and he hefted her up so she could wrap both legs around his waist. She attacked his mouth again, silencing them both as he ascended the stairs. At the top, she broke away breathless.

“Shh, Dawn’s asleep.”

Arms still holding her tight to him, he paused at her sister’s door and listened for a moment to affirm the teenager was asleep inside. Apparently satisfied, he turned away and they slipped into her room.

He deposited her onto the bed, mouths still fused together as they ripped at each other’s clothing. Jeans followed shirts followed shoes in gasping silence until they were both writhing together naked atop her sheets. The bed was too narrow, she thought in the midst of scratching his chest and bucking up against him. She needed a bigger one.

But all coherent thoughts were disappearing as his stiff erection pressed against her tummy, and she shimmied up to position herself beneath his cock. She moaned against his mouth as his hands teased along her skin, skimming along the tops of her thighs and across her belly to cup her breasts, thumbs flicking softly over her aching nipples.

“Shh, shh,” she whispered as he let out a strangled moan. “We have to be quiet.”

“Not me you should be worried about,” he murmured into her skin, sending little shocks of electricity down to her toes. Biting down on the tender tissue of her jugular, he smiled against her skin as she strangled a half-scream.

In a flashy show of strength, she flipped him over until she was on top, his hands secured against the headboard. She wriggled back until his cock was nestled against her backside, rising up to take in his slick head and clench her muscles around him. He let out a sharp moan at the sensation, and she smiled down at him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

************

Spike left sometime before daybreak, rousing Buffy with his sudden absence. Even after a couple hours of light sleep, she was wide awake, and followed him down the stairs by the light of the pale blue sky outside. She listened to him exit through the kitchen door from the foot of the steps, trying to avoid facing the mess she’d left in the living room the night before. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was only four o’clock; Dawn wouldn’t be up for another two hours, and Willow might not even drag herself out of bed until much past two.

Without anything more to fill those remaining hours, she resigned herself to finishing the tree, and set about untangling the nearest set of colorful string lights.

************

When Dawn finally traipsed down the stairs, the Christmas tree was glowing in the living room and the house smelt of pancakes and warm maple syrup. Buffy was seated at the island, digging into a thick stack of butter lathered pancakes, and gave her younger sister a four-fingered wave. The teenager maneuvered clumsily with her one good arm, piling pancakes onto her plate with a fork.

“Sleep good?” Buffy asked, swallowing a gulp of milk.

“It was okay. Except for the loud thumping noises next door,” the teenager said nonchalantly, darting a pointed look at Buffy. The slayer paled, hastily shoving another bite into her mouth as she avoided having to answer.

“So, what, you’re sleeping with Spike?”

Buffy sputtered, bits of soggy pancake flying from her mouth.

“Dawn!” she managed to choke out before the girl could say anything else.

“What?” she said, with an arched eyebrow. “You thought we wouldn’t notice?”

“‘We?’”

Dawn shrugged, navigating the fork to her mouth. “Willow and Anya were saying something earlier. At the Magic Box.”

“What? Dawn, what were they saying?”

“You’re not denying it,” the girl stated coolly, narrowing her gaze before it widened in disbelieving shock. “Oh my God, you totally are.”

“I never said that.”

“But you didn’t not say it.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Buffy pointed out, glaring at her younger sister.

“Whatever. Be the Bitch Queen of Denial all you want.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Buffy nearly shouted, rising off her barstool. Dawn fixed her with a careless gaze.

“Or what? You’re gonna get me into another car accident?”

Thankfully, a knock on the door announced Xander’s arrival, and the handyman poked a head in the door.

“Morning all! Ooh, pancakes!”

As Xander began rolling a pancake around a thick slab of butter and a river of sticky syrup, Buffy grabbed hold of Dawn’s arm, dragging her into the dining room. Crossing her arms, her eyes flickered in warning and fear.

“Look, don’t say anything to Xander. Or anyone.”

“Why not? I doubt they’re going to care.” Dawn seemed genuinely perplexed at her sister’s adverse reaction to her friends finding out.

“You obviously haven’t met them. They’re not exactly the fan-club for Vampires-As-Boyfriends. Not since…”

“Angel,” Dawn supplied. “But Spike totally helped out this last summer, watching me and taking care of me.”

Buffy shook her head softly, meeting Dawn’s eyes with a sad expression.

“Like it’ll ever be enough for them.”

************

Patrol that night meant leaving Dawn in Willow’s care; which, while maybe not the safest bet, was Buffy’s only way out of another tense night wedged between witch and teenage girl on the all too-small couch.

She swept through five of the major graveyards, encountering only a couple of newly risen fledglings. By the time she’d finished it was only nine o’clock, with oh-so-many hours left for evil to arise and decimate half the town, so her boots began treading the well-worn path through Restfield to Spike’s crypt.
.

When she threw open the crypt door, it was to see him slouched in his ratty green armchair and the black-and-white T.V. throwing light into the normally still darkness. A glass mug of blood gleamed in his hand, and he set it down as she descended the steps. She stood in the doorway, watching him through the flickering half-light as he stood and made his way towards her.

“Out patrolling, luv?” he asked as he slipped his arms around her, mouth lowering to nestle in the hot crook of her neck.

“Something like that,” she agreed as her stake slipped to the floor. “Heard of any Big Bads looking to take out the Slayer?”

“Something like that,” he grinned, pressing his obvious erection into her thigh suggestively.

“Bring it on,” she whispered, tugging his mouth back down to hers.

************

She stirred from her drowsy afterglow to playfully slap him on the arm.

“Dawn heard you last night,” she accused him. “Now she’s going to be asking all sorts of questions that I am not prepared to answer.”

“Can help,” he muttered against her shoulder, playfully biting at it with dull teeth.

“And to that, a world of ‘no’. Last thing I need is an over-sexed vampire explaining the do’s and don’ts of carnal pleasure to a fifteen year old.”

“Was just thinking about protection and ‘just say no’, but if you want to talk ‘bout carnal pleasure…” All of a sudden he was on top of her, nudging her liquid thighs apart and grinding himself against her. Her words died on her lips, turning into a drawn-out moan of pleasure as his mouth found her nipple and teased it to life.

“Spike,” she breathed, hands reaching out to tug him closer. The cold air hit her suddenly as she felt him slide down her body, his fingers expertly drawing out her arousal, lips and teeth and tongue leaving wet marks down her body.

Her eyes rolled up into her head, back arching up as his mouth found her sopping pussy, his tongue teasing the delicate folds as his fingers deftly wormed their way inside of her. She seized up around him, letting off breathy moans as he whispered into her skin.

“Do’s and don’t’s,” he murmured, tongue flashing out to catch a drop of moisture. “Pretty Buffy, what should I do?”

She gasped, lips numb for words as he continued teasing her; never going too far, or far enough. She worked her lips uselessly, trying to form words. He slowed his ministrations to a stop, cool breath fluttering against her sensitive skin.

“Spike…” she managed, bucking her hips towards him. He tsk’d, pulling farther away and fixing her with a stare over the planes and hills of her tummy and breasts.

“Tell me,” he prompted, fingers resuming a gentle massage around the sensitive skin.

“Touch…touch me…” His fingers re-entered her slowly, teasing that secret spot on her inner wall.

“Like this?”

“Y-yes…” she murmured dreamily. His face was pillowed against her thigh again, blowing cool air against her arousal as his fingers mercilessly worked inside of her, adding a third to the first two.

“And?” She writhed under his touch, jutting her hips forward in a desperate attempt to resume contact. “And what else?”

“Kiss me, kiss me Spike…” His cheek turned against her thigh, leaving cold wet kisses along her skin as he inched closer to her throbbing center. She was squirming fervently now, moving against his fingers and his ceaseless rhythm. She moaned as he stopped, nuzzling the soft crease of her thigh.

“Where, Buffy, where should I kiss you?” he teased, voice deep and husky in his own excitement.

“There, there, there,” she moaned, though he moved no closer to her intended destination. “Kiss my pussy, Spike, touch it, lick it, oh God…”

He finally obliged, tongue lashing out to lick the moisture gathered at her opening, up to her swollen clit that begged to be touched. At the contact with the swollen, pink bud, she thrashed, arching her back and wrapping her legs over his shoulder. Digging her heels into his back, she pulled him closer as her nails clutched at the sheets. He had hollowed his cheeks to tease and suck her clit, drawing her further towards the edge of oblivion with fingers and mouth.

When she finally dove headfirst off of it, her entire body seemed to erupt in a volcanic explosion; mouth letting loose a scream as her muscles spasmed and clenched around him. She felt the warmth spreading throughout her, and before she was allowed to drift back into conscious thought, his cock was entering her and driving in with quick, hard thrusts. A change of pace from his languorous attentions earlier, she had no choice but to be brought closer and closer to another orgasm. Already overly sensitive, she crashed through her second and third orgasms in quick succession, helped by his fervent hand between them that was rubbing the slick ball of nerves.

Finally allowed to come down, Spike having seized up inside her while she was running up her fourth orgasm in ten minutes, she let herself melt into a warm, sticky mess of satisfaction. Every single limb was pleasantly numb, unwilling to be put to use as she sighed, overheated body cooled by Spike’s tepid temperature.

“That was…” she managed to huff out, breathless, “oh, God…”

“Tired out already, Slayer?” he smirked, half-cocked erection already pressing insistently into her leg. “Haven’t even started on the don’ts of - what was it? – carnal pleasure.”

************

Christmas shopping at two a.m. with a vampire aide hadn’t been on her agenda for the day. But it was Christmas week already, and she’d amassed a total of two presents so far; a screw set for Xander and some Barnes and Noble clearance book titled ‘Wiccan Love Rites’ for Willow. So shortly after patrol it had seemed right to stop by Spike’s crypt to enlist his help in scrounging around the mall, open late for last-minute shoppers, for presents to give to Dawn, Tara and Anya.

Drifting through the mostly empty CD racks in F.Y.E., she paused to look at the back of the latest Fall Out Boy. She felt Spike hovering over her shoulder as she perused the track listing, waiting for his guffaw of disapproval.

It came, after 4.5 seconds.

“That’s considered music?” he scoffed, plucking it from her fingers. She batted his arm, reaching for the CD in his outstretched hand.

“Hey! And that clanging, indecipherable punk rock you listen to is?”

“The Sex Pistols are musical geniuses,” he scowled, tossing the CD carelessly onto the rack. Buffy reached out quickly to right it before the security cop kicked them out for ‘damaging the merchandise’. (They’d already been kicked out of the sport’s equipment shop – completely Spike’s fault.) “You bloody Yanks have no appreciation.” He had the dignity to look properly offended as she rolled her eyes and stalked down the aisle.

“Okay, so what CD should we get Dawn? Since Fall Out Boy is so obviously out of the question?”

Spike had already found the punk-rock section, and was flipping through the Sex Pistols and the Clash, pulling them out to examine them before he replaced them. Thinking she wasn’t watching, he slipped a Ramones’ CD out of its cardboard case and up his duster sleeve.

“You can’t steal it!” she hissed, making a move for his arm, which he jerked out of her reach.

“May be toothless, luv. Doesn’t mean I can’t be evil.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, giving up on the would-be Big Bad. “I’ve seen twelve year olds with more evil in their little fing- hey!”

He’d pile-driven her up against the wall, smirking down at her as she gasped. Steadying herself, she shot him a mischievous grin before twisting out of his hold. She skirted his attempts at catching her, nonchalantly beginning to look over the heavy metal discs.

“Here’s one,” he said, tossing her a cellophane-wrapped CD. She looked over the title and made a face.

“Theory of a Deadman? You think they’re demons?” she asked him, replacing the disc. He scowled, grabbing it back.

“Not too bad,” he said defensively. “For Canadians.”

“Fine,” she said. “You get her that. I’m getting Fall Out Boy.”

As they checked out, Buffy wondered again how he got his money. He obviously wasn’t paying in kittens. Purchases swinging from her hand, they glanced around the next few stores. Buffy found a couple tops for Dawn, and Spike pocketed a few silver rings while shooting her his most evil grin. She studiously ignored him, looking over a few knit sweaters that seemed perfect for Tara.

She suddenly wondered if she shouldn’t buy Spike a Christmas present. If he was getting one for Dawn, he’d better be getting one for her as well. But throughout the stores they frequented, nothing caught her eye, nothing jumped out and screamed ‘SPIKE!’ to her. Maybe she’d come back without him, she thought briefly. Just to look.

When they arrived back at the house, the sky was beginning to lighten. He left her without protest, for once, ending the night on a good note as he kissed her softly goodbye. She watched him until he disappeared around the corner before turning in.

************

Christmas Eve dinner was becoming a disaster. Willow was still under the weather, retreating early on to sleep it off. Buffy had asked Tara to come, but the shy witch had declined; she was still nervous around her ex-girlfriend. Which left the two Summers sisters listening to Xander and Anya bicker over flower arrangements.

“What do you think, Buffy?” the ex-demon broke through Buffy’s far-off gaze with swatches of fabric. “These are for the tablecloths. I have more for the chairs.”

“Umm…the white?” This seemed to satisfy Anya, and Buffy took the opportunity to bolt up from the dinner table, clearing away plates and empty casserole dishes. A loud banging in the kitchen startled everyone’s attention, but Buffy jumped with a smile.

“Ohh, Spike!” she said, immediately cutting back the excitement in her voice. “I mean, what’s he doing here?”

She bustled away, plates piled up in her arms. Spike, as she suspected, was poking around the near-empty pots and pans left on the stove. Picking up a curled rind of ham, he lowered the salty morsel to his mouth and chewed it happily.

“What are you doing here?” she shot him a shriveling glare, which predictably didn’t affect him. He shrugged, leaning back against the island counter as she began rinsing dishes and stacking them into the dishwasher.

“Thought you might need a diversion.”

“What?” she paled, turning to look in on her friends and sister still poking at their plates, full of conversation and laughter. “No. We’re having fun! Bonding, even.”

“Right. Over tablecloth colors.” He gave her a skeptical glance before surprising her and pitching in on rinsing dishes. She watched him for a long silent moment, how his fingers worked the soapy sponge on the plates, before returning to placing the dishes on the rack.

“Were you planning on staying a little bit?” she asked casually, trying to keep the neediness from her voice. “I was gonna patrol in a bit, if you wanna tag along.”

He smiled at her, handing her another plate. She smiled back, set it in the uppermost shelf of the dishwasher.

He followed her back into the dining room and immediately took over a chair at the head of the table. Buffy swooped around the table in full-on Mom mode, sweeping up empty plates and scattered utensils. She plucked Xander’s half-eaten dessert plate as he raised a last bite of cake to his mouth.

“It’s okay, honey,” Anya consoled him as he watched his triple-layer fudge cake disappear into the kitchen. “You do need to lose a little weight – if you want to fit into that cummerbund.”

“Spike,” Xander glared at the vampire as he swallowed. “What’re you doing here?”

“Same as you, mate,” he replied in an even tone. “Enjoying the Christmas spirit. Love and good tidings, all that rot.”

“Right,” Xander narrowed his eyes, stood up.

“Xander,” Buffy shoved him into his seat, patting his shoulder. “We are not fighting in this household. It’s Christmas.”

“Oh, Xander, that’s right,” Anya suddenly said, standing up. “You’re going to miss the WWE Christmas special if we don’t go now.”

“Ooh, men in spandex getting pummeled by other men in spandex,” Spike grinned, wagging his eyebrows. “Better hurry.”

“Oh, really?” Dawn whined. “I thought we could hang out some, y’know, since it’s Christmas.”

“Tomorrow’s Christmas,” Xander corrected. “With much celebration and presents and dinner at our apartment. We’ll see you then, Buff.”

Buffy embraced Xander and Anya, watching as they bundled up in coats and scarves, then waved from the front door.

“Dawn,” she called to the teenager, pulling her own coat from a hook. “Clean up the rest of the dishes; Spike and I are going out on patrol.”

Spike had already exited the front door, and was leaning against the porch smiling at her as she followed. Before she could get off the porch steps he was toe-to-toe with her, grinning down at her with his hand clutching something over their heads.

“Think I get a kiss, now, luv,” he said, and she saw he’d found a sprig of mistletoe. Before he could kiss her, however, she reached up with both hands to jerk the lapels of his duster down. She kissed him full on the mouth, teasing it open with her tongue, before letting go and sprinting away from him.

A soft growl erupted from his chest as he darted after her.

************

The Sunnydale vamps apparently didn’t give Christmas the same respect as Halloween.

In fact, Buffy thought as she dusted her thirteenth vamp, they were out in full force. Spike was engaged further on with two more fledglings, and, as she dusted herself off, he disposed of them quickly. Sauntering over to where she leaned against a headstone, he dove in and captured her mouth in a kiss.

She’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t worked up from the slaying, or that his advances were unwelcome. But to keep it fresh she shoved him away, watched him tumble backwards onto the grass. She pounced, straddling his waist as she leaned down to kiss him and run her nails down his chest.

He seemed to vibrate violently beneath her as he growled, nibbling her lower lip as his hands gripped her hips. Teasingly, she began to grind herself against him where she felt his straining erection. He arched up to her advances, and she giggled as his eyes rolled up.

“Bloody hell, Summers. You’re a tease,” he growled, and suddenly she found herself flipped onto her back, his hands pinning her wrists above her head. He prodded her legs apart with his thigh, pressing it against the moist heat that seeped through the jeans.

“Spike,” she moaned, arching her back to meet his mouth as it bent towards her breasts. Despite the freezing cold temperatures, her body was overheated, yearning for his cool touch. Hidden by the heavy foliage in the back corner of Sleep Oaks cemetery, they wrestled with bits of clothes and buttons and zippers until they were both bared to the chilly night air. Goosebumps rose along Buffy’s arms as Spike’s mouth found her hardened nipple, closed over it and teased it with his teeth and tongue.

“I want you in me, now,” she growled between gasping breaths. He complied, his hands pushing her knees up and lowering himself into her. “Oh, God,” she breathed as she felt the moist tip of his cock pressing against her folds. He chuckled, finding her mouth as he pushed into her.

The feel of his length buried into her made her gasp, hands grasping at every inch of him as he sank into her. He set a slow, sawing pace with her hips rising to meet him at every in-thrust as his hands fondled her breasts. His mouth moved from her mouth to kiss along her jaw line before nestling into the crook of her neck, pinching and sucking the thin skin there with blunt teeth.

“Say you want it,” he whispered against her skin, his cool breath tickling the fine hairs. Through her delirium at his touch, she moaned and fought for words.

“I want it,” she gasped as he slammed into her, harder and faster. They were both striving for release, both claiming each other with strength and kisses and caresses as he worried the skin of her neck with his teeth.

“Tell me you need it.”

And oh God, she did. The feel of his teeth against her neck only intensified as he shifted into game face, pummeling into her with force that would break a normal girl, but which only partially scratched her itch. She wrestled with her tongue, finding she could hardly make a sound aside from pants and moans.

“Tell me,” he ground out, still sawing his hips into her. But his hands had stilled, splayed against her hips. His head had pulled back, yellow eyes staring into hers.

“I need it,” she cried out, wriggling her hips as she tried to find her release. Still it wouldn’t come; she needed his fangs in her, penetrating her in a way his cock never could.

“Ask for it.”

Something in his tone undid her, and she cried out the words he needed to hear, begged for it with every fiber of her being. The release she sought wasn’t just in two bodies interlocking; it was him claiming her with his fangs sinking into her neck and taking everything of hers, pulling her to the edge of oblivion.

“Bite me, Spike,” she cried, hands pulling his mouth back down to her neck as she frantically bucked her hips. “Do it.”

He lowered his mouth to her neck, kissing the tender skin and licking it before the sharp canines broke the skin and his mouth clamped over it. She hardly felt him pierce her skin- it was when he took the first, long pull of blood into her mouth that she seized up. Her head pressed back into the ground as her entire body erupted with the force of her orgasm. Legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in tight as she clamped around his cock, milking him into his own orgasm. Her nails scratched deep into his bare back, breasts pressed to his chest as she screamed in release.

It was over too fast, and she dissolved into a pliable mound of cum and limp limbs. He too had made himself heavy, crushing her breasts as he licked contentedly at the closing wounds on her neck. She sighed, unaffected by his weight, and wound her arms around his waist.

He purred, turning his face from her neck to capture her mouth in a soft kiss. She could taste the faint coppery tang of her blood on his tongue, but it didn’t bother her. Instead she cupped his face, kissed him harder.

“That was…crazy,” she murmured softly, eyelashes grazing his cheekbones as they fluttered closed. He smiled, kissed her again, before standing and hauling her up.

“Best get your kit on, pet. Been giving the entire Sunnydale underworld a free peep show.”

“Oh. Gross,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she ferreted out her underwear from a nearby bush. “Next time, let’s control ourselves ‘till we get to a bed.”

He chuckled as he slipped into his duster, and when they left his hand slipped into hers. She smiled, glancing down at their linked hands, and gently squeezed.

************

Christmas morning began with Dawn jumping into Buffy’s bed, yanking down the covers and jerking Buffy awake to the warm scent of pancakes and eggs wafting through the house. Buffy tied a robe on, the fluffy warmth shielding her from the cold morning air as she descended the steps. Willow was awake, looking cheerful at the stove as she piled fresh pancakes onto a plate. Coffee was brewing, the rich bitter scent melding with that of warmed syrup and fried eggs.

“Merry Christmas, Wills,” Buffy greeted the witch, pressing a kiss to her friend’s cheek. “You’re looking better.”

“I know,” she said excitedly. “I just woke up, and it was like magic. But not real magic – y’know, the kind that makes me all crazy and wack-o.”

“That’s good,” Buffy yawned. It had been a long night, and she’d only caught a couple hours of sleep before Dawn had roused her.

“Can we open presents yet?” Dawn pleaded, having already scarfed down her pancakes and eggs. Buffy sighed, eyeing the stack of pancakes. She wasn’t hungry, although they smelt delicious. Willow waved Dawn away with her spatula, sending her into the living room as she took a seat next to Buffy with a cup of coffee.

“How was patrol last night?” she inquired, taking a few small sips of her drink.

“Oh, y’know,” Buffy said dismissively. “Vampires, demons, oh my. Nothing too bad.”

“That’s good.” Willow slid Buffy a sidelong glance. “And Spike?”

“He came along,” Buffy said shortly, not liking where the conversation had turned.

“So… Nothing happened that you might want to share with your best friend? Y’know, girl stuff?”

Buffy blanched, hiding her expression by tipping the mug up in front of her face.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” Willow said, slapping Buffy lightly on her thigh. “I’m gay, but even I’m not completely ignorant of the moon eyes you’ve been giving each other.”

Buffy set her mug down, glancing behind her to make sure Dawn hadn’t snuck up on them. When she turned to Willow the redhead was looking expectant and knowing.

“Okay. So there’s a thing.”

“Oh my God! Buffy!” Willow exclaimed, clapping her hands. “I knew it! You know, you guys? Not the most secretive people on earth. The other night, I heard noises in your room, and I could’ve sworn I heard you yelling his name.”

Buffy felt the blood rush into her cheeks, but she couldn’t suppress the smile.

“Xander’s gonna hate it,” she sighed. Of course he wouldn’t understand - he was President of the ‘I Hate Spike Club’.

“He’ll get over it,” Willow said with a dismissive gesture. “I mean, it’s not like Anya hasn’t killed, maimed and tortured men for centuries. And Spike doesn’t kill anymore.”

Buffy laughed, chasing it away with a gulp of the refreshing coffee. Outing her relationship with Spike seemed to be going easier than expected. With Willow and Dawn on her side, her worries about her friends’ reactions were slowly fading. The two sat in an easy silence until Dawn burst back into the kitchen to drag them away.

************

Dawn had retreated to her room after the perfunctory gift un-wrapping, leaving Buffy and Willow swamped with the annual holiday debris of shredded wrapping paper and discarded bows. From upstairs, they could hear Dawn prattling away to Janice about the CD’s and clothes and trinkets she’d received. Willow had ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘ahh-ed’ over her few gifts: the book from Buffy, home-made picture frame from Dawn, and an assortment of other trinkets Buffy had picked up for her.

Willow and Buffy moved around the living room, bagging up the heaps of shredded wrapping paper, the radio tuned in to Christmas carols. By the time they finished, it was nearly time to pack up and head to Xander’s. Apparently Anya was cooking dinner.

“Dawn,” Buffy called up the stairs. Her only answer was the booming sounds of Dawn’s radio. “Dawn!”

Boom. Silence. The sound of thudding footsteps, and then Dawn’s head was poking out over the top of the stairs.

“What?”

“It’s almost time to go; we’re supposed to be there at four.”

Dawn’s disembodied head disappeared in a swirl of long, brunette hair, and there was more thudding and slamming from Dawn’s room before she returned to the stairs. She was shouldering a heavy night sack, struggling to keep it atop her shoulder as she galumphed down the stairs.

“Uh, what’s that?” Buffy asked, staring at Dawn’s overnight bag.

“What? Oh, I’m staying the night with Tara and Willow, didn’t I tell you?”

“No.” Just then, Willow breezed by, buttoning up a jacket. Buffy grabbed for Willow’s arm, halting her. “Dawn’s staying at Tara’s? With you?”

A slow smile spread over Willow’s face, a rosy blush blooming in her cheeks. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and ducked her head.

“Yeah,” she grinned. “We made up last night, after dinner.”

“Oh my God! Willow! And you didn’t tell me?” Buffy pulled her best friend into her arms, squeezing her tight.

“I totally forgot. But in the good way,” Willow explained, then slid Buffy a look. “It is okay if Dawn stays with us, right? I know it’s Christmas, but Dawn was talking about missing Tara.”

“I guess,” Buffy said, then darted a look at her watch. “Oh, hey, I was gonna do a quick patrol before dinner. Half an hour?”

“Sure. No rest for the Hellmouth and all. I can take Dawn over now.”

“Great.” Buffy darted a warning look at Dawn. “Behave.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, stomping down the last few steps. “I’m not two, Buffy.”

“You sure can act like it,” Buffy muttered as Dawn slammed out the front door. She smiled apologetically at Willow, who shrugged.

“Hey, you’re the lucky one; you won’t have to listen to Xander and Anya argue over seating charts nearly as long as me.”

“Yay me.”

************

Patrol. Yeah, right, Buffy thought as she ambled through Restfield. Of course, there’s me, the Slayer, and Spike, the vampire. That’s gotta count for something, even if we’re not trying to kill each other.

Most of the time, she amended as she came within sight of Spike’s crypt. The faint glow of candlelight lit the dusty windows from within, making the cold crypt an object of imagined warmth.

She slid in silently, eyes and senses darting around in search of the bleached vampire. Nope, not in sight, so she shuffled her feet along the floor until she came to the hatch that led to the lower portion, which was propped up. More candles were lit down there, as well as what smelled like incense.

She shimmied down the hole, landing with a graceful thump on the floor. Spike’s still form was splayed out across the bed, sleeping. The sheet was tented around Spike’s groin, and as Buffy watched him, transfixed, he moaned in his sleep and shifted.

Pop goes the weasel.

Buffy stifled a giggle as his erection was unveiled; cold, hard cock poking up towards his flat stomach. She crept silently towards the foot of the bed, shedding her clothes as she walked. Once at her destination she paused, watching the occasional rise and fall of his chest as he took an unneeded breath. Pressing her knees into the mattress, she crawled up his body.

The pale uncircumcised head loomed before her, and she reached out a hand to grasp him firmly at the base. With her warm touch his cock swelled in her hand slightly, and even more when, with her free hand, she slid the foreskin down. Another moan passed his lips, and she stilled, heart racing. But it passed, and he shifted slightly beneath her body.

A smile tugged at her lips as she brought her head closer, eyes glued to his sleeping face, at how peaceful he seemed. Her tongue darted forward, licking his shaft from root to tip, swirling over the now-drooling head. He was swollen to almost his full size now, Buffy noted as she began working one hand up and down. She took the head into her mouth, lips closing over it as she alternated between sucking it gently and swirling her tongue around it.

She’d never done this with Spike. In fact, Riley had been the only guy she’d ever done it for, and only for the asking. The asking and pleading and almost-begging. But, where with Riley it had been of his choosing and at his pace, with his hand buried in her hair and shoving her harder and deeper around him, it was something she wanted to do for Spike. It seemed he always had his mouth down there, sucking and licking and touching. What else, it seemed Spike enjoyed going down on here; something Riley had only ever blanched at.

She found it surprising how much she enjoyed the taste of Spike’s cock against her tongue; the silky smoothness of him, that faint, semi-sweet taste he had. It was like kissing him, almost; enjoyable.

She pulled her mouth away, licked the slit of his cock, where a drop of pre cum had leaked out. He bucked beneath her, an audible gasp caught in his throat.

“Buffy,” he moaned, and the sound of her name made her realize how wet she herself had become. And so she began licking and sucking him in earnest, pumping her hand faster around the base of his cock as she lowered her mouth to lick at the veiny underside. His eyes were closed, and she didn’t realize she’d begun moaning and squirming against his leg until she felt his hand in her hair, pulling her back.

“Buffy?” His eyes were still cloudy with sleep, mouth open in a sort of half-shock, half-inexpressible ecstasy. She panted, grinding her wet pussy against his leg as she pulled from his grasp to suck his cock. His hand found her head again, but this time to tangle into her hair as he moaned and bucked forward. As her hand moved from his cock to his balls, fondling them gently, she lowered her mouth around him, hollowing her cheeks as she fit as much as possible into her mouth. He was panting beneath her, his movement jostling his cock in her mouth and balls in her hand until she pulled away from both. A startled half-cry erupted from his throat, but was soon replaced with a breathy sigh of her name as her lips closed around one ball and then the other, tongue swirling around each in turn.

When she was beginning to believe he’d last forever under her ministrations, he seized up and spasmed at the same time, globs of cum erupting from his cock. She gave a tiny gasp before bending to greedily lick it up. Sighing, he pulled her up to him, and she let him. Lying on top of him, with his ever-hard erection pressed against her ass, she kissed him. Still caught in the hazy delirium of arousal, her mouth drifted down from his lips to his jaw.

“What’s that for, then?” he questioned her, hands running up and down her sides to tease alive hidden erogenous zones.

“Christmas present,” she whispered, lifting her hips so that his erection pressed against her folds. “Want mine.”

He chuckled, and in a flash he had her pinned beneath him. His hips moved lazily, guiding the head of his cock to tease up and down her folds, brushing against her clit on every up-stroke. She emitted strangled moans, arching her back and jutting out her hips in an attempt to claim him, but he simply pulled back.

“Say ‘pretty please’,” he instructed her. Unfortunately, the only words she could manage where ‘unh’ and ‘oh, God’. “Poor girl,” he clucked when she hadn’t uttered the words. She nodded her head fervently, arching her back in another futile attempt to arrest his teasing prick.

“Spike!” she whined, coming out of her haze for a moment. “Please!!!”

Her last word turned into a drawn-out moan as he sank into her, his cold cock tempering the burning fire that consumed her. Instead of dampening her arousal, it only made her hotter. Finally, when he was sheathed up inside of her, she could begin pumping her hips up in time with his down strokes.

“BloodyfuckinhellBuffy,” he grunted, all of his words running together in an endless chant. “SofuckingtightsohotohGodyou’reburningmefuckfuckfuckIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.”

Instead of immediately sobering up and kicking him for the utterance of those three little words, Buffy clenched around him harder, drawing up her legs high on his back and giving him back her own mantra.

“God,Spike,don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstopohGodI’mgoingtodieifyoustopneedyouneedyoualwaysoh,God.”

After what seemed like an eternity of slow building passion and constant thrusting, Buffy felt herself clenching him like a glove, spasming around his cock and milking out his own orgasm.

Lying in the damp mass of sheets, his arms around her waist and hers around his neck, she fought against the urge to drift to sleep. Instead, she softly pushed him off, swinging her legs off the side and picking up her discarded clothes. He watched her quietly from the bed as she dressed and slipped on her boots.

“Off so soon, luv?” he asked, his voice low to disguise his disappointment. She turned, offering him an apologetic smile.

“I told Willow I was making a quick patrol. We’re having dinner at Xander’s.” He snorted his derision, and she found herself being pulled towards the bed, her mouth meeting his in a soft exchange of lips and tongue. His arms began snaking back around her waist, and she felt a new flood between her legs at his touch. With all her willpower she forced herself away.

“Come tonight,” she whispered against his lips between kisses. “Come tonight…”

************

The dinner, however well-cooked and full of familial holiday bliss, was dull when compared to the half hour Buffy had spent in Spike’s bed, and she found her thoughts constantly revisiting the crypt and Spike. The Scoobies laughed, and joked, and burst into a merry, festive song once in awhile, but when Willow and Tara noted the late hour and Dawn began nodding off, Buffy was eager to go.

Tara, Willow and Dawn left first. Buffy, under fear of suspicion, offered to help clean up. She was politely refused by Anya, who’d immersed herself in the spirit of Christmas, undoubtedly after having watched a million ABC Family Christmas movies. So she chatted with Xander, asked Anya once more if she needed help, was refused again and left.

The house was dark except for the glow of Christmas tree lights coming from the living room window, but Buffy could feel Spike’s presence inside. She couldn’t say she wasn’t excited; her nerves were jittering and her skin trembling in anticipation. She half-expected to see Spike sprawled naked on her bed, waiting for her. But when she opened the door she found him sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, two steaming mugs on the floor beside him.

Buffy sat next to him, and he handed her one of the mugs; it was hot chocolate with the little marshmallow, like her mom used to make.

“Merry Christmas, Buffy,” he murmured quietly as he handed her a gift wrapped in metallic silver paper. It was about the size of her fist, and Buffy shot him a shy glance and soft smile as she took it from his him. She could feel his eyes bearing into her as she fingered the blue ribbon. She smiled to herself – she wouldn’t have thought Spike would be a Master Gift Wrapper.

Pulling off the ribbon, she carefully peeled away the tape, unfolding the crisp paper. Finished unwrapping, she was presented with a smooth wooden box. She turned it over in her hand, finding the little bronze clasp. She glanced up to meet Spike’s ice blue eyes watching her intently – not her hands or the gift she was unwrapping, but her. The intensity of his gaze gave her pause, and she shuddered, feeling bare beneath him.

Opening the box, she found that it was lined in dark blue velvet. But that wasn’t what caught her eye, or prompted the tiny gasp she gave.

It was a ring, and a part of Buffy’s mind panicked. He gave me a ring. Oh, my God, Spike gave me a ring…But the other part interrupted, pushed the aforementioned thoughts away, and smiled. It was gorgeous, and something told Buffy it was old, too. It wasn’t thin, but rather had a wide, twisted gold band. And instead of huge, jutting diamonds, it was set with rubies, three of them in a pattern that glowed blood red in the sparse light.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, glancing up at Spike. Delicately he took it from her, sliding his other hand over hers. Turning it over, he pressed a kiss to her palm before lowering it and singling out the ring finger of her right hand. Not the left, she thought. He pushed it onto her finger, held her hand a moment to admire it, kissed it once more and set it back in her lap.

“Was me mum’s,” he whispered, his accent softening as his eyes caught hers. Buffy leaned into him, pressing her mouth to his. His arms went around her, not pulling but just holding her, fingers stroking her back softly. Pulling away for breath, she sighed against him before jerking away.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” she explained as she stood. “I got you something, too.”

He smirked at her then, raising an eyebrow, eyes affixed to her smiling mouth. “What was that then, earlier?” She blushed, gave him a smile, shrugged, and turned up the stairs. When she returned, she was still smiling broadly. Her gift wasn’t wrapped as neatly – it wasn’t wrapped at all, actually; she’d found the gift bags and tissue paper. He pulled the bottle out and his smile turned into a grin.

“Bloody hell, woman,” he chuckled, popping off the top and releasing the warm smell of whiskey into the air. Despite her last two failures in the world of alcoholic beverages, the sight of him tipping his chin back to take a swig, exposing his long neck and bobbing Adam’s apple, made her want to knock away the bottle and taste the alcohol on his tongue. He caught her heady gaze and offered her the bottle.

She took it from him, careful not to slosh it, and took a long gulp. The whiskey burned her throat, warmed her stomach. She didn’t blanch, but instead savored the taste. As she swallowed and handed the bottle back, he leaned in towards her. Taking the bottle from her hand and setting it on the coffee table, he slid her down against the carpet with the force of his kiss.

“Spike,” she whispered against his lips, her chest heaving for air in the brief respite. Her hands came up to cup both sides of his face, and she arched her body up while pulling him down.

Bottle of Jack safely put away, his hands gripped her forearms, one errant hand slipping to her thigh. She felt so hot, both to him and herself, so she began hastily pulling off her shirt. As he tugged her jeans down, she helped, shimmying her hips right out. Restraining denim removed, her legs rose to his hips, pressing herself even harder against his straining erection.

His mouth left hers to tongue the hollow of her neck, biting and sucking at the thin flesh. Her moans were drowned out by his, her fingertips leaving bright red scratch marks across his back. The rough denim scraped mercilessly against her pussy as he ground against her, making her writhe against him as she tried to release the clasp. His hand leaving her body, he reached between them to pop open the button. Once freed, the drooling tip traced her outer folds, brushing against her swollen clit.

“Buffy,” he murmured into her skin, blunt teeth scraping against her skin. “Bloody…fucking magnificent, oh God…” Her ears absorbed the sound, sending a million different reactions through her body; nipples swelling, heart racing, breathing faltering into gasps and moans.

But the teasing was just that – teasing. Teasing her, infuriating her, maddening her u ntil her hand shot between them, gripping his cock as he whimpered into her mouth.

“Mine,” she growled as she tugged it towards her. The head pressed against the delicate entrance, pushing in and threatening to break her as he stretched her and filled her. He moaned against her ear, curses and praises falling from his lips to her ears. Once she had guided him in and freed him, he began a slow, rocking rhythm that was met every time by the rough crush of her hips rising to meet his.

The taste of whiskey was on both of their tongues, the warm feeling that had begun in her tummy spreading out with every thrust until she could feel the burning pleasure in every square inch of her body. His mouth was everywhere at once, slipping from her mouth to her jaw to her ear to her breast while his hands followed a similar pattern.

They continued in their crazed passion, arching and writhing and crying each others’ names until they were hoarse and limp with exhaustion. Buffy’s skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat, though the house itself was freezing. Her eyes were half glazed as she sought out Spike’s mouth once more. Behind them, the sun was rising in the living room window.

“Is it morning already?” she questioned him, lips still pressed to his. He murmured something, but it dissolved into a loose chuckle, and his arms held her closer. “Buffy sleepy,” she told him dreamily, snuggling against his chest.

Sighing and pulling himself up with unwilling effort, Spike gathered Buffy into his arms. Their clothes were thrown here and there in piles across the floor, but he was too tired to care. Instead he carried her softly up the stairs, turning into her bedroom.

She was loose limbed and drowsy as he laid her across the bed, pulling the bedclothes up around her. Her eyes may have blinked once or twice, but she was decidedly out of it. But as he turned to leave, her voice stopped him.

“Stay with me.”

It was just a whisper, and he hardly heard it except that it was her voice. So he paused at the door, thumb hooked around the frame, and looked back at her. Her chin was pressed to her shoulder as she cocked her head at an angle to look at him. One hand flopped up, reaching for him.

“Stay with me,” she repeated, her voice a little louder. Hesitantly, he closed the door and locked it. His eyes watched her as he sidled around the room, drawing the curtains to her windows. When he approached the bed she drew away the blankets, patting at the empty space beside her.

Her warmth enfolded him as he slipped between the sheets, her long limbs wrapping around him. With her face pressed to his neck and her breath warm on his skin, Spike fell asleep.