A/N: Massive thanks and hugs to Sotia and DawnofMe for beta reading this!


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You’re a bum, you’re a punk,
You’re an old slut on junk,
Happy Christmas you arse, I pray God it’s our last.

The jaunty strains of Fairytale of New York met Buffy as she neared Spike’s crypt. She rolled her eyes. What a lovely song Spike was listening to. Although, she had to admit: she’d have been more freaked if she’d arrived to hear him listening to Frosty the Snowman.

She sighed, and crossed the last few feet of the graveyard, coming to a rest at the door of his crypt. She hesitated, not wanting to barge in as she usually did and then offer the Christmas pudding. He’d think she was insane.

She settled instead for nudging the door open with her foot. “Spike?”

“And the boys of the NYPD choir’s still singin’ Galway Bay! And the bells are ringin’ out, for Christmas Day! ‘Ello, Slayer!”

Buffy pushed the door shut behind her and sighed. Great. Drunk Spike—always fun to be around. At least he seemed slightly more cheerful than the last time she’d seen him incapacitated.

“Mom made me bring you a Christmas pudding.” She walked over to the stone sarcophagus and set the pudding down upon it. “She said that they’re traditional in England and that you’d probably appreciate it.” Buffy rolled her eyes and huffed. “And I’m supposed to tell you thank you for the card and the gift.”

“Aww, that’s right lovely of her, Slayer.”

Buffy jumped. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her.

“Scare you, did I?” She could hear the grin in his voice. “‘Bout bloody time.”

“As if.” Buffy snorted. “Anyway, I’ve brought you the pudding. Time for me to go.”

“Aww.” Spike moved, lightning fast, until he stood before her. He pouted before leaning in close and putting his mouth near her ear. “Stay, Slayer. Go on. Got this lovely big pudding here. Can’t eat it all by my lonesome.”

Buffy shivered, and took a step back, suddenly realising that Spike’s shirt was open at the front and that he was barefoot. She’d never seen him so dishevelled and it unnerved her.

“No,” she said. “I really must go.”

Spike smirked wickedly and came up behind her again, his breath cool on her neck. “But baby,” his voice took on a teasing tone, “it’s cold outside.”

“Spike…”

“Mmm?”

“Spike, what are you—are you sniffing me?” Buffy pushed away from him and took a couple of steps towards the door.

“Your hair. Mmm. Smells good.”

“Oh, God. You’re drunk.” She tried to reassure herself. “You’re being weirdly affectionate ‘cause you’re drunk.”

“’Course I’m drunk, Slayer.” Spike sneered before shrugging out of his shirt. “It’s Christmas. ‘S’what you’re supposed to do at Christmas. Get drunk and then start a fight with your loved ones.” He dropped his shirt to the floor. “Got the first one down pat. Wanna work on the second one with me, love?”

“What?” Buffy thought if she tried hard enough, she could pretend she hadn’t just heard him inadvertently refer to her as a loved one. “What—why did you take off your shirt?”

Spike frowned and looked down at his torso, then to the shirt on the floor. He scratched his head and shrugged. “Dunno. Guess it must have seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

“I’m getting out of here,” Buffy said. “I don’t think I like you drunk.”

“Well!” Spike’s voice cracked. “That’s just wonderful, innit! Don’t like me drunk, don’t like me sober. Oh God, I might as well just stake myself and call it a night.”

“Jeez! How much have you had to drink?”

“Clearly,” Spike said, producing a bottle of brandy from out of nowhere and taking a slug, “not enough!”

Buffy watched wide-eyed, as Spike doused the Christmas pudding in alcohol before he pulled out his lighter. “What are you doing?”

“Watch.”

She was intrigued and moved back towards the middle of the crypt. Spike flicked his lighter, and the alcohol surrounding the pudding caught light, flaring up in a blue flame.

“Nifty, huh?”

Buffy shrugged, trying not to stare at his muscles. “I guess.”

The flames now out, Spike broke off a piece of the pudding and lifted it to her mouth. “Open wide, Slayer.”

She didn’t know what possessed her, but Buffy found herself opening her mouth, her tongue curling slightly at the sweet-alcohol taste. She closed her mouth around the cake, her lips brushing Spike’s fingers as he withdrew his hand.

He shuddered.

Buffy felt as though she was entranced, and as she bit down, she found herself wondering if Spike was able to do thrall. It certainly felt like she’d been hypnotised.

“Good?”

She nodded, the combined tastes of fruit, almonds and brandy exploding on her tongue in a rush of sensation.

She swallowed, not missing the way Spike’s eyes followed the movement of her jaw, her throat. She didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know whether it was the alcohol in the eggnog she’d had earlier, or something else, but she found herself moving closer to Spike, her breath coming in short, ragged pants.

Reaching over to the Christmas pudding, she broke off a piece and lifted it to Spike’s mouth as he had done to her. She put the cake onto his tongue, not in the least bit surprised when he closed his lips around her fingers.

She moved her hand back, shivering a little when Spike’s tongue caressed her fingers and pulled them further into his mouth to lick them clean. His eyes were fixed on hers, deep blue pools of emotion, and she wondered what he saw reflected in her own eyes.

When she pulled her hand free, she was surprised to see it shaking as she brought it down to pick up another piece of pudding. She repeated her actions, bringing the cake to his mouth once more, still shaking.

She had just placed the cake to his lips, when he caught her wrist in his hand. “Coin.”

It took a moment for her muddled brain to realise that he had spoken. “What?”

“There’s a coin in the pud.”

Looking at the piece of cake she held in her hand, Buffy saw something silver glinting in the candlelight. “Oh. Sorry… I guess mom dropped it in by accident.”

“No.” Spike brought his other hand up, and plucked the silver coin from the pudding. “It’s another tradition. It’s lucky. Whoever finds the coin has luck bestowed upon them.”

Slipping the coin into the pocket of his jeans, he reached over and ran his fingers down the side of her face. “What d’you think, Buffy? Am I gonna get lucky?”

She couldn’t help but notice that he’d used her name, rather than Slayer, or Pet, or Love. It sent a surprising bolt of heat through her, tingling her spine and curling her toes.

“That was lame, Spike.” A smile softened her words, and she knew that whatever she said or did next would change everything. She looked around, taking in the flickering candles, the half-crumbled Christmas pudding, Spike’s shirt, creased on the floor. She leaned into the hand that was still caressing her face. “So lame.” A step forward brought her body flush with his. “Lucky for you that it worked.”

She crashed her lips to his, and Spike didn’t hesitate to respond to the kiss. He pulled her even closer, his hands sliding around to cup her bum. Buffy lost herself in the kiss, tasting the fruit and brandy of the pudding on his tongue, and she knew that if she stopped even for a moment to think, she would back away—run from this—and she didn’t want to.

Spike broke away from her mouth, gasping for unneeded air. He peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck and onto her shoulders, and Buffy threw back her head from the pleasure of it all.

“I dreamed,” Spike said, in between kisses. “Dreamed of this, so many times.” He pulled away, eyes wide and shocked. “God, Buffy… you have no idea… no idea how much I want you…”

“I’m starting to understand,” Buffy said. She ran her hands over the muscles of his back, getting a little rush of pleasure each time one jumped and twitched under her fingertips. Her fingers found the front of his jeans, and she undid the button and zip.

Sliding her hand into his pants, she circled his cock with her fingers, delighting in the hiss of satisfaction Spike let out when she began to move her hand up and down his hard length.

“Slayer…”

She paused, frowning. “Buffy. Don’t call me Slayer.”

“Buffy…” He moaned, his hips jerking forwards, as she brushed the head of his cock. “Oh, God…”

Buffy thrilled at the power she had over him in that moment; to reduce this strong, beautiful creature to a quivering mass of lust, his eyes closed and breath coming in panting gasps as he thrust into her hands.

She jumped when Spike’s hand crept up under her shirt, cupping her breast, his fingertips brushing the sensitive skin on the underside. Gasping, she leaned further into his embrace, her hand going slack around him. She was too enraptured in the sensations he was sending through her to continue.

Spike lifted her shirt over her head and brought his lips down to meet hers once more, coaxing her mouth open as his hands worked the clasp of her bra. Her heated skin met his cool flesh, and—lost in sensation—her eyes fluttered shut.

“Buffy—” He broke the kiss to look at her. “Buffy, are you—”

She shook her head, not wanting to think. “Don’t. Don’t say anything.” Pushing at his chest lightly, she made him walk backwards until his legs hit the stone of the sarcophagus. “Just touch me.”

Spike did as she asked, touching her all over, his hands never lingering in any one place for too long. She hitched her legs up around his waist, pressing her heated core against his hard cock, and he growled, spinning her around and setting her down on the sarcophagus.

It was only when Spike began to pull her jeans off, that she realised she was actually going to do this. Have sex with Spike. Her mind whirled, not quite understanding how she’d gone from reluctantly bringing him a Christmas pudding to having him propped up naked above her, his eyes wide and filled with emotion as he dropped kisses onto every part of her body. But at that moment, she didn’t care. She wanted him.

Lying down, the stone cold against her back, she drew him down to kiss her again and bucked her hips slightly, goosebumps erupting on her skin when her sensitive clit ground against his shaft. “Please…”

Reaching between their bodies, Spike slipped his fingers between her wet folds, stroking her and building the fire inside of her. When she felt she could take no more, he wrapped her legs around his hips and positioned himself at her entrance.

He kept his gaze fixed on hers as he slowly pushed into her, overwhelming her with feeling. She closed her eyes and raised her hips to meet his thrusts. She didn’t want to think, and she would have found it impossible to do so with Spike filling her every sense with an overload of sensations.

She hadn’t thought he would be this gentle, this loving. It felt like his hands were everywhere, touching every inch of skin he could find. It was nothing like she’d expected. “Buffy. Open your eyes, love.”

Buffy shook her head, mouthing wordlessly as they moved together faster, straining towards release. She felt one of his hands thread through her hair, then the pads of his fingers on her chin, turning her head back towards him so he could lean his forehead to hers.

Feeling her climax approaching, heat spiralling out from her centre and building in the pit of her stomach, she rubbed against him harder, and hooked her arm around his neck. His forehead was still pressed to hers, and their noses bumped with every stroke, their breath mingling, lips brushing clumsily.

Her orgasm took her by surprise and she gasped, her inner muscles tightening around his length. “Oh, God—”

His answering groan met her cry of release, and Spike began to piston his hips even faster, hitting her clit with every thrust, sending dozens of tiny aftershocks through her body.

When he came, he let out an inhuman roar as he spilled inside of her. They lay together for a few moments, nothing breaking the silence except the harsh sound of their breathing. Eventually, Spike rolled off her, and she shivered when the cold air hit her skin.

Moments later, the soft wool of a blanket covered her body, and she glanced up at him, surprised at this further show of his thoughtfulness. Pulling the blanket up over her chest, she inched away from him.

“So, is this the part where you decide it was all a terrible mistake and run off, virtue fluttering?” Spike had propped himself up on his elbow, and he was looking at her with one eyebrow raised.

“I—” Not really knowing what to say, Buffy covered up her confusion by wrapping the blanket further around her and moving to stand up.

“Thought as much.”

Gathering her clothes, she chanced a glance at Spike to find him watching her intently. She blushed. “No, Spike—” She refastened her jeans and walked back towards where he still lay, unashamedly naked, on the sarcophagus. He had retrieved the Christmas pudding from where it had fallen to the floor and was now picking at it carelessly.

“Made a bit of a mess of the pudding, love.” He smiled, almost shyly. “But tell your mum thanks. Was a nice thing for her to do.”

“You can tell her yourself,” Buffy said, breathing deeply and taking a chance. “I—I don’t think you should come to Christmas dinner—the others, they wouldn’t understand… but after. Come round afterwards, and tell her yourself.” She shrugged. “Dawn likes to watch all the cheesy Christmas movies, so you could stay for that. If you wanted.”

Spike stared, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “You want me to spend Christmas night with you?”

“And mom and Dawn. But if you don’t want to—”

“No!” Spike jumped off the sarcophagus, snatching up the blanket and wrapping it around his waist as he came to stand next to her. “I’ll come. You sure you want me there, Slayer?”

“Buffy.”

He smiled and tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “Buffy."

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Buffy had to giggle at this sudden awkwardness, particularly after what had just happened. Ducking around his arm, she made for the door, unable to keep the smile from her face.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah.” Spike sounded slightly dazed. “Happy Christmas, Buffy.”

“Merry Christmas, Spike.”

-END-