| The Wrong Side of Heaven and the Righteous Side of Hell by behind blue eyes |
| Chapter #1 - Chapter One |
It has been said many times, “Christmas is a time for giving”. Yet she doubted when this charitable phrase was coined it was intended to be whispered in the ear of a twice resurrected vampire Slayer who was sleeping with a creature she loathed and was chosen to kill. Well, to be honest, they weren’t exactly sleeping. Currently, she was being manhandled like a gift at one of those quickie holiday wrapping kiosks in the mall. Grabbed and fondled, turned every which way to find the best starting point. Then splayed out and trussed up in festive wrappings. All she was missing was a bow. Never mind, spoke too soon. So there she was. Hogtied with stolen garland and a red bow affixed to the top of her head, waiting for Spike to dole out the next round of punishment. Or pleasure. All depended on the moment. Well, usually that was the case. Right now, those labels were just blips in her rearview as they headed full speed into a ‘freaky-deaky-form-of-spreading-holiday-cheer’ territory. “Decisions, decisions. Where to start? Stuff your stocking or feast on your nummy cookies.” Eyes never leaving her, Spike readjusted his Santa hat and rounded the bed. Buffy bristled and shifted, which slackened the tinsel. “Now, now, play nice or all you’ll get is coal.” Spike secured her binds. “Listen, Saint Prick. Either deliver your package or let me go, I have stuff to do.” Buffy tried to sound commanding, but it kinda fell short with her being decked out like some hall. “Now Slayer, we both know there isn’t any other place you’d rather be. Remember, Santa knows all. He especially knows when you’ve been naughty or nice, and right now—” From behind, Spike dipped his hand between her thighs and Buffy tried to bite back a moan. He withdrew and she shifted her hips, trying to recapture his touch. He moved and Buffy was now face to face with his ‘lengthy list’. “You’ve been quite naughty.” Buffy remembered the first time Spike asked her to ‘return the favor’. Even after almost two hours and four mind-melding orgasms later, her response was vising his head between her knees, threatening his manhood and informing him, ‘If it can’t be swallowed, it wasn’t going in her mouth.’ He followed up with a typical crass retort and ended up with a bloody nose. Finally, he got the hint and never brought it up again. Yet this ‘never’ only lasted a short while, until Buffy decided to venture into this unfamiliar territory on her own. In the past, she always believed the act was degrading. Submissive. She was so wrong. Actually, she quickly learned it was she who held all the power. She was the one who was in total control of his pleasure. Determining for how long and when it ended. In this total lack of inhibitions or care, and even more so this unadulterated power, she instantly became addicted. Buffy dutifully opened her mouth and took him in, working him with long strokes. Careful of her bow, Spike held onto her hair like reins, all the while muttering nonsenses, “Hot little mouth...world’s best cock sucker, could suck stripes off a candy cane…there’s Santa’s baby.” True, for the most part when Spike’s mouth ran faster than Rudolph and those eight ill-named reindeers, she just wanted him to Shut. The. Hell. Up. Surprisingly, now wasn’t one of those times. Actually, his raunchy coaxing turned her on. A lot. More than she’d ever care to admit to him. Definitely far more than she’d ever admit to herself. Spike slipping from her mouth, broke her from her thoughts. Before she could comment or question, with inhuman strength and speed, he had righted her and now held her suspended over his cock. “Since you’ve been such a good little girl, sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you want.” In one fluid motion, he entered her in a single beautifully brutal thrust. With his fingers biting into her hips, he set a frantic pace. Enough to skew his hat and knock off her bow in the process. A mixture of moaning and mewls, his deviant praises, and rustling of cheap coated mylar filled her ears. Buffy was so close, just needing one thing to throw her into the sweet oblivion. In that moment, Spike the mind-reader he was, reached between her legs and gave her clit a tweak. With a silent cry, Buffy jerked and spasmed, bringing him tumbling over the edge shortly after. “That’s right luv, here comes Santa Claus.” Spike held her hips tight and roared his completion. Gulping for air, Buffy couldn’t feel her toes. Or anything from the waist down for that matter, but she felt Spike’s forehead resting between her shoulder blades, his arms tightening around her middle, and his cool breath fanning across her spine. When her post-orgasmic calmness finally passed, she started to feel again. Not only her toes, but something far more troubling …she felt trapped. The combination of being bound, both in holiday wrappings and flesh, and him murmuring sweet nothings of, ‘so beautiful…so perfect…’over and over pushed her off the edge of another kind. Using all her strength, she tried to break free. “Buffy? Luv, what’s…” Before he could finish, Buffy reared her head back and connected with his nose. By the time Spike staunched the blood flow and found his bearings, Buffy was already partially dressed. The tattered bits of garland poked out from her sleeves and pant legs. “You’re depraved. I’m depraved”—Buffy shoved one foot in her boot, followed by the other—“this whole thing is...” “Let me guess, depraved?” Spike stood and entered her personal space. “Yes! We just took something holy and pure and made it into something else entirely! Will you take that off!” Buffy gestured wildly to the Santa hat, but in true form Spike pulled it down, securing it in place. “That’s it. This can’t happen. Ever. Again. You understand?” “Bloody predictable, you are. You’re just like the ol’Christmas classics, Slayer. Repeated ad nauseam and I know every line.”—Spike stepped forward, leaving nary an inch between them. Buffy suppressed a shudder—“But we both know what you truly want.” “You have no clue what I want.” Buffy pushed Spike back, hard enough to make him stumble and land on the bed. Then just like Saint Nick, with a nod, she was gone. Several Days Later After hours of painfully painted smiles and faux cheer, Buffy excused herself from the festivities and headed to her room. In theory, celebrating Christmas Eve with her friends was nice. She appreciated what everyone was trying to do, recreating a once joyous time. Yet in reality, it was arduous and painful. No amount of egg nog or lights had changed the fact her mother was gone and Buffy was forced once more to play a part she had grown to loath. The Savior. I guess I’m forever destined to be Jesus’ understudy. Shutting out the din of laughter and Christmas music, Buffy finally breathed the sigh of relief she’d been holding since Dawn told her yesterday morning they were playing the roles of the “hostesses with the mostesses” on Christmas Eve. Turning toward her bed, Buffy noticed something box-shaped in the center. Hesitantly, she picked it up and shook it gently. Turning it over and over, she couldn’t find a card. It really wasn’t needed. With the wrapping fashioned from garland and a big red bow pinned to the center, without a doubt she knew who it was from. Buffy glanced out the window, a slight smile forming. “Merry Christmas to you too, Spike.” |