Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (sexual situations and language)
Timeline: Post-Autumn Sunsets. (A Gloryless, Rileyless, Dawnless Season 5).
Summary: Buffy and Spike host a Christmas Eve party at their new apartment.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon. They are being used out of respect and admiration for entertainment purposes, and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended

“I’m leavin’ you for jus’ a minute. You think you can handle yourself?”

Buffy rolled her eyes, snatching the wooden ladle from her vampire’s hand. “You’re an ass.”

“Jus’ sayin’; I don’ want you panicking an’ settin’ the kitchen on fire. ‘Cause you know who’d have to put that out.”

“Stop talking to me.”

“It might be two minutes, come to think of it.”

“Stop talking to me.”

“A hundred an’ twenty seconds alone in the kitchen…”

“You’re still talking to me.”

“I’m sure we have a ‘WARNING: Buffy Cooking’ alarm somewhere.”

“Stop talking to me.” Buffy turned without looking at him, casting a brief glance at the crockpot with a frown. “How long did you say we keep the wassail in there?”

Spike smiled and brushed a kiss across her cheek as he edged out of the kitchen. “Give it another five minutes or so, then turn it off. We wanna serve it hot, yeh?”

“Yeah. You know you’re gonna be the only one drinking it, right?”

“You youngsters have no taste.”

She seared him with a look. “Umm, excuse me? Does this sound familiar? ‘Come on, love. What’s more festive than hearin’ Sid sing: ‘Holidays In The Sun’?”

“You’re jus’ provin’ my point…though not with that accent.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Freak.”

“Whatever you say, kitten.” A pause. “Now, keep calm. I’m jus’ steppin’ outta the kitchen now—”

“Stop talking to me.”

Spike grinned and pinched her ass, evading her playful, answering slap as he bounded to the door of their relatively small apartment. They had moved in just two weeks before, but he already couldn’t envision himself anywhere else. It was difficult enough attempting to conjure the image of what his long scope of a life had been like before her. Granted, everything had happened fairly quickly—in just two days, he and Buffy had gone from friends to mated lovers. In just two days, his life had exploded into new meaning. She was the essence of his existence. She was everything.

And surprisingly, everyone was fairly okay with it. Granted the Watcher and Joyce hadn’t much room to criticize, considering their less than orthodox behavior at Thanksgiving. It had taken the Slayer’s mum three days to meet her eyes without blushing in shame of everything she’d said and done. Though she’d struck back admirably with allegations of the raunchy sex she, Hank Summers, and Rupert had been forced to sit through after Spike and Buffy got tired of trying to make everyone get along.

The Watcher had been less accepting of his Slayer’s decision, though the strain of his objection had only extended to a glare and an off-handed comment before he admitted that he had seen it coming for quite some time.

On the same note, Willow had shrugged, cast a warm glance to Tara, and said, “If it makes you happy.” And Anya had effectively neutralized Xander by the time it was his turn at the plate. The revelation that he and Buffy loved each other had, it seemed, been long in the making. It was old news to everyone except the Slayer and himself.

And here they were, hosting a Christmas Eve party for her friends at their apartment. The place where they lived together. It was quite safe to assert that life, in all his experience living it, had never been better than this.

He didn’t even mind Xander pounding on the door with absolutely no consideration for those with hypersensitive hearing.

Well, not as much as he would have a month ago, anyway.

“Bloody hell, Harris,” Spike growled, yanking the front door open. “You lookin’ to bust my eardrum?”

Xander just grinned, shoving a bottle of wine—aptly decorated with a red bow around the neck—into the vampire’s hands. “Merry Christmas, Chip-Boy.”

Spike blinked. “Niebaum-Coppola Rubicon? Harris, I’m impressed. Where’d you get this?”

“Giles had a shopping list. I jotted down the first wine I saw.”

“Aren’ you too young to be buyin’ liquor?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes, but not when you know the right demons.”

Anya popped up behind him with a brilliant smile. “I have potato salad,” she announced, thrusting a plastic serving bowl wrapped in cellophane into the vampire’s free hand. “Seasonal greetings.”

Spike nodded numbly, his eyes still glued to the wine bottle in his hand. “Thanks. Come in. Slayer’s…oh, fuck, I gotta get back to the kitchen.”

Xander’s eyes went wide. “You left Buffy alone in the kitchen?”

“Do us a favor; let Willow an’ Glinda in when they ring.” The vampire turned and hurried back to the kitchen. “Sweetling?”

“You know, you think you’re funny with all that ‘Buffy Plus Kitchen Equals Natural Disaster,’ but you’re really just making an ass out of yourself.”

He smirked and placed the wine on the counter, wrapping his arms around his girl’s waist and hooking his chin over her shoulder. “Come on, luv,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her throat. “Y’know I din’t mean that.”

“Yes you did,” she replied stubbornly, stirring the ladle and trying admirable to not shiver under his touch.

“Kitten, I promise you…any disaster you make in here could be, in no way, natural.” Spike chuckled as she elbowed him with a dirty look, nipping at the claim mark on her throat. “Jus’ sayin’.”

“You, bub, are this close to not getting laid tonight.”

Spike smirked again and ran his hand down her arm. “Pity.”

“You think you’re real charming, don’t you?”

“Would you be here if I weren’t?” He snatched the ladle from her hand. “Go. See your friends.”

“Hey—”

“Lemme take care of this. You don’ like cookin’, anyway.”

Buffy sighed, though her eyes were dancing. “You really have absolutely no faith in me at all, do you?”

He grinned and dropped a kiss across her forehead. “Sweetling, I have nothing but faith in you.”

“Liar.”

“Well, like I said, I don’ want the kitchen to burn down.”

She bristled. “Stop talking to me.”

“In all fairness, luv, I have seen you cook before.”

“No you haven’t! I didn’t cook at all on Thanksgiving…well, except the stuffing—”

“Which you made without butter,” Spike agreed with a nod. “Plus, you recruited me then so that you’d have a man slave to do all the work for you. I’m here so you can be out there. Go. Socialize. Make with the merry.”

Buffy grinned and kissed him. “‘Make with the merry’? You’ve been spending way too much time around me.”

“I assure you, that’s not possible.” He nodded at the bottle on the counter. “Look what Harris gave us. Bottle of Niebaum-Coppola Rubicon. Good stuff.” He waggled his brows suggestively. “Stuff we’ll wanna pop tonight after the kids have run home.”

“You’re a naughty man.”

“You better believe it, baby.”

She giggled and kissed him again. “All right. Cook up a nummy, non-Buffy-sabotaged storm. Oh, and I turned the wassail off a couple minutes ago. It’s ready when you’re ready.”

He nodded. “Right. An’ supper should be ready here in a few.”

“I’ll go put on the Christmas music.”

“Finally got the right holiday, huh?”

Buffy made a face. “Stop talking to me,” she grumbled good-naturedly before turning to greet her friends in the living room.

Spike watched her saunter away with a sly smile on his face before returning his attention to the potatoes. Yes, it was safe to conclude that unlife simply didn’t get any better than this.

“You’re being obnoxious. Put that thing down.”

Xander frowned from behind his camcorder, casting Buffy a disapproving glance. “You guys don’t want documentation of your first non-parental holiday?”

The Slayer rolled her eyes. “You say that like you’re doing us a favor.”

“I am!”

“You are not; you’re playing with your new toy. Now put it away.”

He grumbled and lowered the camera completely, tossing Spike a pleading look as the vampire set the last of the Christmas dinner on the table. “Spike, your girlfriend’s a dictator,” he whined.

“Hey!”

Spike quirked a brow. “Well, yeh, mate. ‘S part of her charm.”

Buffy scowled and whacked at him with her napkin. “You’re not supposed to agree, you know.”

“What can I say, luv? The boy speaks the truth.”

“I’m just surprised to see Xander making with the male bonding,” Willow noted, casting her friend a smile as Tara took her seat next to her. “You’re really making an effort, aren’t you?”

“I am,” the dark-haired boy agreed with a nod. “I am. Thank you for noticing.”

Anya nodded proudly and rubbed his arm. “Xander and I have been going over the history of demons and vampires,” she said. “I reward him for eradicating prejudices with extra orgasms by means of oral copulation.”

The table froze and stared at her.

“And yet,” Buffy muttered, “still not as bad as my last dinner party.”

“Oh, luv, I don’ think that party was bad,” Spike noted, winking. “Jus’ din’t go as you expected.”

“What is your mom doing for Christmas?” Tara asked, passing Willow the bread.

“She went to visit my aunt in Minneapolis. And Giles left this afternoon for England.”

“Leaving me in charge of the Magic Box,” Anya declared with an authoritative nod. “I wish Giles would visit his friend more often.”

Xander frowned. “Friend?”

“Olivia,” Willow replied. “You remember Olivia, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I try to forget anything that associates Giles with sex.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “And so say all of us,” she noted dryly, taking a sip of her cola, fidgeting uncomfortably. The topic of her Watcher was slightly sensitive, as she knew as well as Spike did that his acceptance of their relationship, while heartfelt, hadn’t been easy to come by. The past month had been composed of as few meetings as possible to avoid any awkwardness, and while she would never admit it aloud, she was grateful that Giles had a reason to be in England.

Not that there was any real tension between them—just enough to make visits uncomfortable. It was the sort of thing that they would grow out of in time.

“What are you doing for Christmas, Will?” she asked.

The redhead shrugged. “We’re just staying in, I think,” she said quietly. “I mean…Mr. Maclay invited us back but…our last visit…”

“Family get-togethers are hard,” Tara said. “Will was…great, though. My brother was obnoxious and my dad was, well, my dad. But Willow was great. She didn’t even mind the craziness.”

“How could I?” Willow replied. “That craziness, believe it or not, was a much-needed breath of fresh air from hellmouthy craziness.”

“What are your parents like, Tara?” Xander asked, taking a bite of his turkey before making an approving sound. “And, might I add, compliments to the chef.”

Spike smirked. “Thanks, mate.”

“You mean Buffy didn’t cook?”

The Slayer took a minute to glower at them. “I hate you all.”

“My dad doesn’t approve of…well…anything,” Tara explained slowly, shifting self-consciously.

“Is he opposed to lesbian sex?” Anya asked.

Xander’s eyes sparkled at that. “And if so, does he actually breathe?”

Spike snickered into his napkin but declined to say anything—which was both good and uncharacteristic. From the mischief sparkling in his eyes, though, Buffy could tell he was making an effort to hold his tongue.

Tara and Willow exchanged a glance, the former’s face turning a bright rouge. “Ummm…and there was that time that he wanted me to think that I was a demon,” she said. “But…we’re trying…to get through that.”

“Yeah, that had to be weird.”

“Are we still doing the thing tomorrow at your mom’s, Buffy?” Willow asked, visibly desperate to get the topic away from her inherently shy girlfriend.

She nodded. “Sure. She has the better tree.”

“It does seem to be the most economic location,” Anya agreed.

Xander arched a brow. “And she won’t mind us barging in even if she’s not there to keep us crazy kids under her watch?”

“She’s probably just thrilled with the fact that I’ll have to clean it up.”

“Slayer’s mum can’t believe that she keeps up her own place,” Spike observed, tearing into a piece of toast. “’m surprised she hasn’ started weekly inspections.”

“Well, it is just the second week, sweetie,” Buffy reminded him. “And hey, I kept up my dorm room.”

The redhead coughed conspicuously and glanced down.

“Will!”

“I didn’t say anything!” she protested. “Didn’t say a thing. Not a thing. And I certainly didn’t say that you never made your bed unless I asked you to…or you thought you might have a boy over.”

Spike’s gaze darkened. “What’s this?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Oh, give me a break.”

He smirked. “Don’ think you’d be happy, luv, if you couldn’t make me squirm.”

“I don’t understand this holiday,” Anya said wistfully, stirring her spoon in the wassail that only the vampire seemed to be enjoying. “Unsolicited acts of purchasing for others when I am much better served applying my hard-earned money to much needed goods and services for Xander and myself.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Honey,” her boyfriend said cautiously. “We talked about this last year…remember?”

“That doesn’t mean it makes sense,” she argued. “It’s just another year of pointless ritual.”

Buffy and Spike exchanged a dry glance and tacitly agreed to say nothing.

Willow had no such tact. “Some people are kind to their friends out of the generosity in their hearts, and receive rewards in buying things for others.”

“Cash rewards?” Anya asked with interest.

Tara smothered a grin.

“And here you could’ve had this whole sordid affair on tape,” Xander said, tsking and shaking his head.

“For what? America’s Most Inappropriate Home Videos?” Willow demanded.

Spike smirked. “That was the last holiday, Red.”

The unyielding look in her eyes held steadfast for a few long seconds, then faded slowly to a low, burning tease. “Yes, so I’ve heard.”

Buffy smiled and glanced down at her plate.

Perv.

The spark that flickered across his face read blatant intention. He knew what he was doing.

Once they were alone, she was so going to let him have it.

Willow stared enviously at the piano that Buffy and Spike had eventually decided to shove against the front wall in the living room, her fingers delicately running across the woodwork, her eyes flashing as though she felt something within the instrument itself. “You know you’re outrageously spoiled, right?”

The Slayer grinned as she took a seat on the arm of the nearest couch, sipping at her wine. “Yes.”

“I don’t even want to know how much he paid for this,” she continued. “And you don’t even play.”

“He does…on occasion.”

“But it’s your piano.”

“It’s my piece of furniture. It’s our piano.”

Actually, if Buffy related just how much she adored the piano, her friend would likely look at her as though she’d grown another head. She hadn’t known Spike intended to buy it for her when she stopped to gawk at the window of a downtown antique store before explaining, feeling rather foolish, that her grandmother had owned a duplicate model. After her grandmother’s death—years ago, before she moved to Sunnydale, or even bore the title of Slayer—her father had auctioned off most of her grandmother’s prized belongings to fund putting her widowed grandfather into a nursing home.

She remembered the day of the auction so clearly. Remembered tears stinging her eyes, her heart breaking just a bit more with every shout of, “Sold!” Watched her grandmother’s legacy stripped away by people who would never understand why the blue dishes were so important to her, or why that old mirror had hung in her bedroom since her honeymoon.

Hence, seeing the piano had struck a chord. Spike had nodded and comforted her with a tender kiss, but didn’t say a word. Not until that night when she came home from a movie with Willow and Tara, only to find her vampire seated at the piano, playing for her when she opened the door.

“What is this?” she’d whispered, stunned.

“Your mating present, sweetheart,” he’d replied, smiling slightly as his fingers began stroking the notes to Beethoven’s infamous Piano Sonata No. 14. “You like?”

Buffy had burst into a brilliant grin, moved beyond belief. Just when she thought it was impossible to love him more, he went and pulled a stunt like this. “You’re turning all Lestat on me with that.”

“Wanker din’t know how to play.”

“And you do?”

Spike had smiled a little smile and motioned that she should join him. “Why don’ I let you be the judge, pet?”

Willow stood over the keys, beating out the chorus of Heart and Soul with one finger. “Three years of piano lessons, and this is all I’ve retained,” she said with a half-smile. “Tara plays beautifully, though.”

“Tara plays?” Buffy repeated appraisingly, glancing over her shoulder to the shy witch. “Tara, you play?”

The blonde froze at that and shook her head furiously. “N-not well.”

“Yes you do,” Willow insisted, frowning.

The Slayer waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, well, if she doesn’t wanna play, we won’t make her.” She shot a glance to Spike and grinned wickedly. “Besides…”

“Don’ even think about it, kitten.”

Xander stopped by his side, still a little dazed by the plethora of video consuls that Spike had just shown him in the ‘rec’ room. As a suitable ‘mating’ gift, and tacit thanks for the piano to coincide with her very physical display of gratitude, Buffy had purchased her mate a PlayStation II. She’d found it rather ridiculous at first, but had eventually succumbed to the joy that was kicking his virtual ass across the screen. Their banter during such matches usually led to poking, which led to fondling, which led to calling the game so they could work out certain frustrations in a much more pleasurable manner.

But her friend didn’t need to know that. She knew that Spike had been looking forward to bragging over the PS2 ever since she gave it to him. If the look in Xander’s eyes was indicative of anything, his ploy to make the other man wring with jealous had been a smashing success.

“What?” he asked, a little dazed.

“Buffy’s been bragging about Spike’s musical talent,” Anya answered from where she sat, entranced with the Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer special on the Family Channel. “I don’t understand this. How is an abnormal animal that brings deformed presents to children supposed to instill American values? Why doesn’t he charge them?”

Willow rolled her eyes. “And that would instill American values?”

“Yes. Capitalism is an American value. This reindeer is teaching children to be un-American.”

“I always figured the bloody deer had a tumor,” Spike reasoned, shrugging. “Why else would his nose glow?”

Buffy stifled a laugh and shook her head. “You kill the Christmas spirit, sweetie.”

“Me? Bloody Anyanka jus’ suggested that kiddies should pay for their Christmas presents!”

“I simply don’t understand unmitigated philanthropy. It’s not natural.”

There were times when Buffy was certain that Xander’s love for the former demon was dwarfed entirely with mortification. He couldn’t always hide the embarrassed widening of his eyes, or stop his blood from flushing his skin. She watched bemusedly as he clapped his hands together in a desperate motion to change the subject, and wondered if he thought he was fooling anyone.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. So Spike can tickle the ivories. Are we gonna get a demo?”

The vampire blinked in astonishment. “Are you completely carrot-top?”

“Come on, Spike,” Willow goaded. “It’s the holidays.”

“Why do people say that as though it excuses irrational behavior?” he retorted, casting a hand through his platinum locks. “All right. All bloody right, fine. Jus’…Harris has to put his bloody camcorder away. No usin’ this for blackmail later, yeh?”

“Blackmail against who?” Buffy asked, arching a brow. “Everyone you know is in this room.”

“He means the demon community,” Anya provided helpfully. “Though I don’t understand why he thinks displaying his musical attributes would do any more harm to his reputation. He has mated the Slayer, and is living with her. His reputation is pretty much shot.”

Spike seared his mate with a look. “You’re gonna get it later.”

The Slayer’s eyes widened. “Hey! She said it; not me!”

His glare melted into a teasing smile, and he favored her with a wink. “Right,” he said, sliding onto the piano bench, magical fingers playing a quick scale that was more for the sake of vanity than it was for necessity. “All right. Let’s get this over with. Any requests?”

“Do you need sheet music?” Willow asked.

“Nope.”

Buffy patted his shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “When Dru was sick, he learned to play by ear so that he could appease whatever loony request she made.”

“Oftentimes to mimic how it sounded on the bloody radio,” he added. “Crazy bint.”

“Well, then how about White Christmas?” Tara asked shyly. “I-it’s the quintessential Christmas song, right? A-and, since we live in Sunnydale, dreaming of a white Christmas is the closest we’ll get.”

Spike smiled appreciatively and began the prelude.

“Wow.” Xander blinked. “You weren’t kidding, huh?”

Buffy frowned. “What?”

“He really can play by ear. Man, the crazy shit you did to make Dru happy.”

The vampire huffed. “You can say that again, mate.” He tossed his mate a small smile as she took her seat beside him. “’m a lucky bloke,” he murmured lowly to her as the group around them began singing at the musical cues that, by now, seemed ingrained. “An’ you’ve been very good.”

“What?”

“Kitty keepin’ her claws in order, even with the mention of the dreaded ex.”

“Where the treetops glisten,” the others sang around them. “And children listen…”

“I’m learning that throwing things isn’t productive. All that repressed jealousy will come out later tonight when I can inflict…bodily damage…”

Spike grinned. “I fancy bodily damage, sweetheart. Bruise me, use me, abuse me. Can’t get enough.”

There was an agitated huff from the sofa. “Could you two please desist alluding to your planned post-party orgasms while your friends singing Christmas carols? It’s rather distracting.”

“With every Christmas card I…write…”

“Hey, we’re whispering!” Buffy retorted defensively.

“Yes. Loudly,” Anya shot back.

The vampire rolled his eyes and began another carol. The others, not missing a beat, began right the off-key accompaniment.

“City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style…”

“Willow, I thought you were Jewish,” the former demon observed noisily. “Why are you singing Christmas songs?”

“There aren’t any good Jewish songs that everyone knows,” Willow retorted. “Besides the dreidel thing, and I don’t think anyone wants to sing about it, there’s—”

“Adam Sandler’s Hanukkah Song,” Xander ventured. When he received a sea of blank stares in reply, he smiled awkwardly. “You know. Put on your yalmulka, here comes Hanukkah …okay, was I the only person watching SNL in the nineties?”

Spike smirked and shook his head, his fingers finding the melody without struggle. “Very underrated cast,” he agreed. “Came up with some bloody brilliant stuff.”

Xander nudged the redhead. “Come on, Will. You have to know the Hanukkah Song.”

“I do,” she grumbled. “You burned it into my brain. That and the It’s Hard To Be A Jew On Christmas song from South Park.”

Not catching the sarcasm, his eyes lit up. “Yeah, yeah! Man, that’s great. It’s hard to be a Jew on Christmas. My friends won't let me join in any games. And I can't sing Christmas songs or decorate a Christmas tree, or leave water out for Rudolf, ‘cause there’s something wrong with me. My people don’t believe in Jesus Christ’s divinity. I’m a Jew. A lonely Jew…on Christmas.”

Willow shook her head, not amused. “Stop. Please stop. If we’re singing inappropriate Hanukkah songs, let’s stick to the Hanukkah Song, okay?”

Spike’s brows perked. “You sure, Red?”

She shrugged. “Adam Sandler’s better than South Park. At least he’s Jewish.”

“Hey, so’s one of the guys who writes South Park,” Xander objected.

“Yeah, but Adam Sandler doesn’t constantly make fun of Jews.” She shrugged again, then glanced down sheepishly. “And…I kinda like the Hanukkah Song.”

“Right then…” Spike turned back to the piano and played another intro. “Everyone who knows this bloody thing, get ready…”

In the end, it was only Xander and Willow, their arms wound around each other as they loudly belted out, “Put on your yalmulka, here comes Hanukkah. It’s so much fun-akkah to celebrate Hanukkah. Hanukkah is the Festival of Lights. Instead of one day of presents, we have eight crazy nights.”

By the time they had completed the song, listing off Hollywood’s Jewish population, the entire room was in stitches—though at the song itself or the musical talent was anyone’s guess. Spike forfeited his spot on the piano bench and followed Buffy into the kitchen at Anya’s suggestion that they conclude the evening by watching a seasonally appropriate movie.

Granted, a seasonally appropriate movie was not complete without popcorn, even though the meal itself had been so extensive that no one felt the need to eat again.

“It’s going well,” Buffy remarked as she poured the drinks, watching the carbonated liquid fizz as it climbed over ice and threatened to topple the glass. “Though, I must admit, I’m a little jealous.”

Spike tossed her a skeptical look as he battled with popcorn packaging. “Sweetling, you know that I love you more than—”

“This isn’t about Dru.”

“Oh?”

She smirked, snatching the pre-popped bag from his grasp and opening it without struggle.

“Cheat,” he pouted.

“Yes. It’s my super strength…oh wait…vampires have super strength too, right?”

“You think you’re funny, luv.”

Buffy simply grinned at him ruthlessly. “I was jealous that you let my friends listen to you play,” she explained. “Really, I thought you only did that for me.”

“After you practically forced me to—”

She slammed the popcorn into the microwave and activated the instant-pop. “I didn’t force you to do anything.”

“You keep tellin’ yourself that.” He neared her provocatively, his voice dropping. “Honestly, pet, you oughta know jus’ from experience how to tell the difference between things that we share with everyone, an’ things that we keep to ourselves…”

Her eyes flashed meaningfully. “Maybe I need a demonstration?”

“Oh, an’ you’ll get one.”

“Now?”

“In front of your chums?”

“Well, they’re not in here now…”

A note of warning edged into his voice. “Buffy…”

“What’s the matter?” Her gaze dropped to his crotch. “Can’t rise to the challenge?”

Passion stormed his eyes. “You’re askin’ for it, missy.”

She cocked her head. “Am I?”

“You better make the popcorn, luv, before I give you what you’re beggin’ for.” He paused, a slow smirk playing across his lips. “Think you can handle it? Popcorn, that is. You’ve burned three bags this week.”

Buffy stopped and glared at him, the sultry look vanishing from her countenance. “Stop talking to me.”

Spike nodded, pleased with himself as he collected the drinks. “Works every time.”

“Irritating pig,” she muttered.

“Whom you happen to adore.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“I adore you a lot more when you don’t make fun of my cooking.”

“Oh, but there’s so much there to make fun of…”

Buffy’s face soured even further. “Stop talking to me.”

Then he was right behind her, the drinks evidently forgotten as he wrapped his arms around her middle and pressed his lips to her neck. “You adore me,” he murmured.

“You wish.”

“Bugger all, did I step into a time warp? Baby, I was only kidding—”

She grinned and twisted in his arms. “See…I adore that,” she said brightly, caressing his mouth with a kiss.

“Makin’ me crazy thinkin’ I hurt your delicate feelings?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” When Spike sighed and tried to step away, she tightened her hold on him and reined him into her embrace, capturing him between her thighs as the popcorn popped behind her. “All right, you big sap, I adore every scrumptious inch of you.”

He beamed. “Knew it.”

She bristled. “Stop talking to me.”

“Sure, luv. Whatever you say.”

It had been much too long since she sat through A Christmas Story, thus every joke felt fresh, every acted-out hyperbole made new again. Still, she was glad when the night was over, and she was saying goodbye to her friends as Spike began the clean-up. To her delight, Xander made a point to thank her mate for the dinner and the company; for one crazy moment, she could pretend all was well and normal, and hope that things didn’t return to the state of forced tolerance once the time of peace on earth was at an end.

She glanced to their Christmas tree, adorned with multi-color lights because she had always enjoyed them as a child. The floor around the base was littered with badly-wrapped presents, as she and Spike had evidently declared a tacit war to see who could bestow the other with the most gifts. She suspected it was a blessing that they couldn’t have children; besides enjoying having Spike all to herself—as she knew he felt about her—during the holidays, they’d likely have to sublet another apartment just to have room to sleep.

“That was fun,” she observed as she closed the door and plopped onto the sofa. “But let’s never have them over again. I thought they’d never leave.”

Spike grinned and sat down at the piano. “What? You din’t like playing the gracious hostess?”

“I did, but…blarg.”

“Come up here an’ sit with me.”

Buffy quirked her head. “Huh?”

“You wanted a private demo, sweetling. You’ll notice I played for your mates—I din’t sing. That, among a great many other things, is somethin’ for you an’ you alone.” He smiled. “Come up here an’ sit.”

It was true. God, it was true. She remembered, not too long ago, blushing as he sang some Thanksgiving song in an effort to prove that Thanksgiving songs did indeed exist. It had taken some coaxing, but he’d caved eventually, unable to deny her anything. And ever since he saw the reaction his singing voice earned him, he serenaded her privately on special occasions—in that he made occasions special because of it.

He kissed her when she took her seat beside him. “I love you,” he murmured, and every cell in her body exploded with euphoria. He told her often, of course. Every day, hundreds of times, but she never tired of the words. Never. The very fact that she was sitting beside him in an apartment they rented together simply marveled her. That he could want her in this way—in any way—meant more to her than she could articulate. And she felt it with every whisper he mouthed against her skin, every time he looked at her—whether while performing such mundane tasks as shopping, or lost to the intimacy of their lovemaking—she felt his love for her encompass her entire being.

She only hoped that he felt it from her, in the same way. That he knew, the way she did, without any reservation. “I love you, too.”

His smile quelled her fears. He knew. There was no mistaking he knew. He kissed her again, then began to tickle the keys to one of her favorite Christmas classics. “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…Jack Frost nipping at your nose. Yuletide carols being sung by a choir, an’ folks dressed up like Eskimos. Everybody knows…a turkey an’ some mistletoe…help to make the season bright.”

“Unless I thaw it,” Buffy muttered, earning a chuckle.

“Tiny tots…with their eyes all aglow will find it hard to sleep tonight. They know that Santa’s on his way. He’s loaded lotsa toys an’ goodies on his sleigh. An’ every mother’s child is gonna spy…to see if reindeer really know how to fly…”

“On the Hellmouth, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Spike grinned and winked at her. “An’ so, I’m offerin’ this simple phrase…to kids from one to ninety-two.”

“Guess that excludes you, sweetie.”

The grin melted into a smirk. “Although it’s been said many times, many ways…Merry Christmas to…you…”

The air around them fell to a graceful silence. Buffy dropped her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly. And they sat like that for a few minutes; his arm around her waist, her hand on his leg. Comfortable with the quiet, as long as it provided good company.

“When I was little, my mom used to let me open a Christmas Eve present,” she said, breaking the spell around them. “I have a couple of Christmas Eve prezzies for you.”

Spike grinned. “Jus’ can’t wait, huh?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

She grinned and kissed him before scurrying off for the bedroom. She found her presents to Spike under the bed, where she had left them, untouched and seemingly untampered with. Granted, her ‘hiding place’ lacked originality, but she trusted her mate to ignore her less than novel whims by matter of virtue that he pretended to not possess.

When she returned, she found him standing in the middle of the living room with a small, wrapped box in his hand.

“Christmas Eve present,” he said with a slight smile. “Joyce told me about this, luv.”

“She did?”

He nodded. “An’ she told me to have two ready, ‘cause you would.”

“Been conspiring with my mother, have you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then.” Buffy’s eyes fell to the packages in either hand, opting for the larger gift first. “I swear, if you already have this, my head’s gonna spin around and explode. I searched through all of your things to make sure you didn’t have it.”

“All my things, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then.” He winked, setting her present down on the coffee table. “Should I go firs’?”

No! Gimmie, the spoiled child within her cried. “Yes,” she, the adult, answered.

Spike smirked knowingly, picked up the package and handed it to her. “Merry Christmas, sweetling.”

Buffy grinned and set the other present down, attempting to be delicate and patient with her mate’s rather clumsy wrapping job. It didn’t last. Her need to dig into get the good stuff was too empowering.

It was a jewelry box. Her heart swelled.

“Without wantin’ to appear predictable, luv,” he said softly, watching her with a small smile as she opened the lid. “But you know what they say…”

“Oh Spike…”

“They are a girl’s best friend.”

She glanced up, her eyes shining. “This must have cost you a fortune.”

“You’re worth it.” He stepped forward and took the necklace from her hands, encouraging her to turn. “Lift your hair, baby. This is what they call an Edwardian style diamond chain. Don’ know what that means exactly; I jus’ fancied it above the others.”

“It’s…oh my God…” She threw her arms around his neck when she turned again. “I can’t believe…it’s too much.”

“Nothing’s too much for my girl.” He cupped her cheek and kissed her softly. “Can I open a prezzie now?”

She frowned. “Well yeah, now that you’ve raised the bar to a real freaking diamond necklace.”

Spike grinned. “I gotta be a handful, what can I say?” He selected the larger gift that she had indicated earlier, and blew her a kiss as he tore into her equally crappy wrapping job.

Buffy watched closely, fingering her necklace as her heart pounded.

The expression that colored his face was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. He ran his hand over the cover once, as though verifying its authenticity, then looked up, eyes gaze wide and imploring. “Buffy…this is a firs’ edition.”

“Yes.”

“A firs’…How in God’s name did you get a firs’ edition?”

She rouged. “Well…Giles helped me find it.”

“Sweetling, you don’ jus’ find books like these. I don’ care how much help you have.”

“Okay, okay, so I bought it from him. He said a bunch of stuff about it being a family heirloom and…but you’ve always told me that Milton was one of your favorites, so I thought I’d try to find…you don’t already have it, do you?”

His eyes widened. “Are you kiddin’ me? This is amazin’. Rupert seriously jus’ sold this to you?”

“It took some persuading…and haggling. He didn’t give me the ‘like a daughter’ discount. Which honestly, if it was a family thing, I’m the closest thing he has to a child and—”

Spike smiled wryly. “He knew it was comin’ to me, pet. Bet you anythin’.”

“What? I couldn’t have wanted an old book?”

He arched a brow.

“Well, fine, when you put it that way,” she conceded. She paused then, and glanced down, overwhelmed suddenly wish shyness. “So you like it?”

“I love it.” He set the book down carefully and drew her into his arms, kissing her brow tenderly. “Thank you, Buffy.”

“You’re not the easiest person to shop for, you know.”

“What?”

“Well, I wanted to give you something special. These…” She gestured to the book and to the unwrapped present. “These are special. Everything else was just…I didn’t hunt for them like I did these. Speaking of which…” Buffy indicated his other package. “Open your prezzie.”

He frowned. “I jus’ did.”

“The other one.”

“Yeh…it’s your turn, pet.”

“I don’t care. Open!”

For a second more, Spike looked like he was about to object, then he graced her with a long look and his eyes softened. With a small nod, he set the book onto the coffee table and grabbed the remaining present.

“I think next year, I’m gonna have the clerks gift wrap for me,” Buffy observed, her nose wrinkling as he tore into the Christmas paper. “It just felt cold and impersonal.”

Spike grinned. “Know what you mean,” he said, popping off the lid of a small, department-store box. And for the second time in five minutes, he froze completely, a look of awe overwhelming him. “Buffy…”

“I never gave it back to you.”

He nodded numbly. “I remember.”

“I…I didn’t want to.” She blushed when he looked up adoringly, lifting the silver chain from its confines, a familiar ringing dangling at the bottom. “I remember…I still remember when I went home that night, you know, all with the grossed out and…Willow offered to do a forgetting spell a couple times, but I’d already had enough of her plus magic.”

“I heard the part ‘bout the forgettin’ spell, luv,” Spike said softly. “I was sittin’ there, you know.”

“Yeah, well, that was more for your benefit than mine. I wanted you to think I wanted to forget it. But really? No. God, no. I wasn’t about to let her wonky magic mess with my brain…again. I might’ve ended up with amnesia. Which I had to delicately explain to Will after we left Giles’s and she offered.” Buffy cleared her throat. “And though it took, well, falling for you to admit it, there was another reason a forgetting spell was out of the question.”

“’Cause you wanted my sexy bod?”

“Yes.”

Spike grinned. “Bloody knew it.”

“Yeah. Well, that’s well and good now, but I wanted to…I kept it.” She nodded at the ring. “And then we became friends…and it was…I wanted you to know, now, that I never wanted to forget it. Not even when I thought I hated you.”

His eyes twinkled at her as he slipped his head through the chain, the horrible, gaudy ring he’d presented her with during their faux engagement rocking lightly against his chest. Then he stepped forward and cupped her cheeks, bringing her mouth to his. She swore his kisses were poetry. Never did his lips fail to set her skin aflame.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured.

“Mmmm…”

“An’ I wanna cart you off to bed an’ do things to that delicious body of yours that would make the devil blush.”

Buffy’s heart leapt. “No one’s stopping you,” she whispered against his lips.

“One thing.”

“What?”

Spike pulled back and grinned, pointing at the entry closet door. “Two things, your mum said,” he replied. “Din’t think I was gonna let you outdo me, did you?”

She smirked, her hand dropping to cup his erection through his jeans, enjoying the sharp gasp that hissed through his teeth at contact. It amazed her how much he liberated her, both emotionally and sexually. She had never felt brave enough to shamelessly grope her boyfriends. Well, all right, so there was just the one before him. He Who Shall Not Be Named Because He Is A Mood-Killer. Even her emotionless but hopeful one-night stand with Parker had seen her a fidgety, nervous wreck, and she’d only touched him when prompted—something that she had mulled over to no end when the new morning brought upon Angelus: The Sequel – Now In Human Form.

Since she’d already decided that the former men in her life had been warm-up acts to get to the good stuff—a big test-drive on love to make sure her heart was ready for the real thing when it slammed into her—she supposed it should reflect little surprise that being open with Spike was as natural as breathing. He made her feel comfortable, and more so, powerful in her sexuality. For all his cocksure boasting, he made sure she knew that they were equals. Equals in every fashion.

It did wonders for making her seize what she wanted.

“Oh, I dunno. I kinda thought this was my prezzie.” Her brows flickered mischievously. “The gift that keeps on giving.”

He favored her with a long look. “You’re gonna get it.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Right after you see what’s behind door number one.”

Buffy grinned and kissed him before finally complying, intrigued and thoroughly unaware of what to expect.

What she found inside the closet stormed passed expectation.

“Spike—”

She felt him smiling without needing to turn around.

“You got me…weapons!”

“Not jus’ any weapons, mind you,” he said proudly, stalking forward. “Authentic an’ about as old as I am.” He wrapped his fingers around one of the staffs and drew it into the foyer. “’S for us, really. Both of us. So we can spar each other.”

Her eyes sparkled, and she was suddenly overwhelmed. She was wearing a diamond necklace and staring at the two long staffs he had purchased for them. So they could fight each other. So they could spar. There was something unspeakably moving in his gifts, and it occurred to her, all over again, just how lucky she was.

How thoroughly lucky. He’d given something to her that appealed to the woman, and something that appealed to the warrior. Not with anyone else, family or friends, did she feel so comfortable in being herself. Spike was her saving grace from chaos, and there were times, like now, when she felt so full of love she thought she’d burst.

There were also times, like now, when she did.

“Oh, god, I love you!”

Before he knew what hit him, Buffy had completely leapt into his arms, her legs wound around his waist, her lips attacking his. It didn’t take much coaxing; he rumbled into her with a passionate growl, his hands sliding under her thighs as his mouth devoured her, drinking her in fully as she thrust against him. She murmured and strained, her wandering hands exploring every facet of his body that she could reach. She felt occasionally like she was finding him all over again. Waking from a sleep where he had not existed in her world, only to realize that it was only a dream, and she was in his arms.

They broke apart with a gasp.

“’F I’d known buyin’ you lethal weapons would have that sort’ve reaction,” Spike murmured, nibbling on her throat, “I’d’ve tried it long ago.”

“Wish you had.”

“You’re jus’ unpredictable.”

“You like it.”

“I like everythin’ about you,” he said, his wandering hands slipping under her shirt, caressing the skin he discovered. “Even the not-so-pleasant things.”

“Hey!”

“What? I still like ‘em.” He grinned rakishly, his fingers coming to rest just beneath a breast. “Wanna go sin rampantly?”

Boy, did she.

“Uh huh,” came the ineloquent reply.

Spike smiled and brushed a kiss across her brow. “An’ let’s bring it.”

Buffy paused and blinked at that. “What?”

“Look at the sofa, luv. Your chum left somethin’ scandalous.”

She stared at him for a minute longer before her eyes traveled to the aforementioned couch. There, nestled between the cushions, was Xander’s camcorder. Thoroughly discarded.

One look at her mate clearly outlined what he had in mind. And though, yes, she was at first horrified, the shock waned with little prompt. The prospect was too appealing. It was just them, after all. Just them.

“You’re a bad man,” she said matter-of-factly.

“The baddest, baby.”

“And now I’ll have documented evidence to prove it.”

“Don’ reckon this’ll be the sort’ve thing we share with friends, yeh?”

“Don’t tell me William the Bloody is shy.”

“Not at all. But these tasty parts of yours…” His hand slipped between them, cupping her clad pussy as his mouth dipped to plant a series of kisses against one of the perky peaks where her nipples were saluting him. “Are all mine. An’ I don’ like to share.”

A shiver raced down her spine. “Me, either.”

Spike leered and lowered her to the floor, reaching behind him to grab the camcorder with his free hand. “’m gonna fuck you raw all night,” he growled, his crudeness only serving to add to the monsoon between her legs, the love that burned in his eyes setting her flesh aflame.

And yet, in spite of herself, she giggled.

“Pet?”

“I’m sorry. That was kinda adorable.”

For a second, he didn’t know whether to look amused or insulted.

“I mean, the bad boy thing…love it. But…I know you, honey. And it’s just…you…”

He pouted at that, shoulders deflating. “Bugger. You went an’ ruined my moment.”

“I did not!”

“Yeh, you did. I was bein’ all—”

“Spike.” She grabbed his wrist and brazenly guided his hand under the waistband of her trousers. “Feel my panties.”

His nostrils flared and his eyes flickered wickedly at that. “Don’ need to,” he rasped, even as his fingers slid over her moist skin and delved between her folds. “Naughty girl.”

“Then stop acting like I sullied anything…and get to sullying me. All I wanted to say was I love you—the bad boy and the big softie that got me this lovely diamond necklace. I didn’t mean to do anything other than…well…tell you that. That I love all of the above.” She raised a hand to the chain subconsciously. “All of it.”

“Then all of it, my lady shall get.”

The next thing she knew, she was over his shoulder and moving for the bedroom; camcorder and all.

His bedside manner always changed when they made love. He could be rough and tender with her at the same time, and the swagger that she loved never completely disappeared, but the hint of the aforementioned bad boy never truly crossed the threshold. She didn’t know why, but assumed it had something to do with the image he had fronted with Drusilla for over a century. Being someone who wasn’t himself in order to gain acceptance. She knew, logically, that the Big Bad was a part of who he was, and would always be. He was, after all, a vampire.

There were times, even now, when she knew it astonished him just as much as it did her. How utterly comfortable they were around each other. How they could be themselves without pretense. Of course, they’d both known it would be like this before. When they had been friends, bantering with innuendos laced with desire that had somehow gone ignored until this last Thanksgiving.

Still, there was a difference between knowing something and experiencing it. With as connected as they were now, it was rather likely that the same reflective thoughts were with them both. Therefore, she wasn’t at all surprised when he gently lowered her to the floor, brushed her hair out of her face, and told her ardently how much he loved her.

Buffy smiled and kissed him tenderly, snatching the camcorder from his hand. “Wonder how much of this Xander charged up before he came over,” she said wistfully, flicking the camera on. “So…to rewind and tape over everything he filmed today, or to make tonight the grande finale?”

“Rewind,” Spike growled, stripping his tee off his body, leaving his chiseled chest bare to her drooling pleasure. “No sense wastin’ perfectly good film on anythin’ else, yeh?”

She giggled and nodded, hitting the rewind button. “Think he’ll mind?”

“Filling up his toy with amateur pornography?”

Her earlier bravado vanished. “We are not showing this to him.”

Spike chuckled. “Of bloody course not. For our eyes an’ our eyes only.”

She made a face. “I feel kinda dirty, doing this.”

“Yeh?” His eyes flickered with interest as he turned his hands to his belt. “’S jus’ us, sweetheart. Jus’ you an’ me. Nothin’ shameful in it.”

“And yet, I feel dirty.”

“Want me to help you overcome?”

She giggled. “Bad pun.”

“Those are the best kind.”

“Mhmm…” Buffy raised the camcorder to her eye and hit record. “We are in the bedroom. Sparsely furnished, but considering that we just moved in two weeks ago, I think we’re on top of things. Spike?”

“Gonna be on top of you in a minute,” he growled, fingers prying open the buttons of his jeans. “Inside you. Devourin’ you. Eatin’ that delectable pussy of yours…”

“Spike!”

He merely smirked. “Can’t blame a bloke for bein’ honest.”

“Perv.”

“My bein’ a perv always seems to work in your benefit.”

Buffy merely flushed and scaled the lens down his body, landing at his crotch. “There’s the beast,” she murmured as though filming a documentary. “Dormant for now, but when he wakes up, no one in this house gets any rest.”

Spike growled. “Dormant?” he demanded, cupping himself. “You call this dormant?”

She giggled. “Ohhh…looks like our boy’s rising. I’ll warn everyone at home; he’s got a nasty, insatiable temper.”

“You’re one talk,” her mate quipped, shoving his jeans down his legs. His cock bobbed against his stomach, fully erect and straining for attention.

Thus, Buffy, naturally, couldn’t help herself from lacing the video with theatrics. She aimed the camera at his length, and managed to exclaim, “He’s awake!” between giggles, zooming in and out rapidly. “And on the prowl.”

“Prowl my very bitable arse,” Spike retorted, moving toward her with a smirk. “This bloke knows what he wants. An’ she’s far too dressed for the occasion.”

“Watch the beast as he sizes up his conquest,” Buffy instructed her nonexistent viewers, keeping her camera trained on his cock. “You can almost see the perspiration, the concentration, the attention to detail as he—garuph, Spike!”

She was flat on her back the next minute, the camera torn from her hands, placed on the mattress just a few inches away from her head. She was sure to always keep this to herself, but there were times when her mate unknowingly endorsed the fables of vampiric speed as popularized by Anne Rice and other hack writers. One second, she had been by the door; the next, she was on the bed, her blouse and bra had vanished, and her trousers were being torn down her legs.

Watching him just made her hotter.

Spike whipped his head back, nuzzling her center through her panties. “So bloody wet for me.”

“Mmm,” she hummed contentedly. “Always.”

“Now smile for the camera.”

The panties were gone the next instant; another victim to his impatience. She’d at least gotten him to stop tearing her blouses and slacks, so there was a bit of progress, though he refused to show her underwear any leniency. Buffy suspected it was a part of the larger campaign to discourage her from wearing them in the first place.

Spike plunged his tongue deep inside her without warning, and she bucked against his mouth, her fingers tunneling through his hair. “You always taste so fucking good,” he whispered into her skin.

“Guh…”

“An’ you’re so bloody responsive.” He captured her clit between his fingers, rubbing her furiously as his eyes drank her in. A long whimper tore from her throat as pinpricks of pleasure stabbed at her skin. “My gorgeous girl.”

Buffy moaned again and tried to focus on something else. Anything else. Anything that would distract her from how good he felt, how his mouth played her body like a harp. She arched again as his tongue sought deeper into her, her eyes landing on the camcorder that was capturing every second of her agony. The instant horror surged through her again, and she let go of herself, gasping loudly and clutching him tighter. “Isn’t this how Pam Anderson and what’s-his-name got in trouble?”

“Mhmm,” Spike agreed lazily, his teeth scraping her wet flesh as his fingers caressed her clit. “Somethin’ like this.”

“Not…something…” she argued stubbornly. “This is what got them in trouble. And Rob Lowe…made a sex tape…in the eighties, I think.”

“Difference bein’, pet. They’re them. We’re us.”

“What if demons get a hold of this thing and sell bootleg copies all over town?”

“Most of them would jus’ die of envy; I’m the only one that gets to eat this pussy.”

He slid his tongue inside her again and pinched her swollen pearl as a physical reminder.

“Ooohhh…”

“Though I wouldn’t mind sendin’ a copy to Angel.”

Buffy hummed at that, then her eyes shot open. “What?! No!”

“Why not?”

“B-because…that’s…”

“Afraid the wanker’ll get a happy an’ turn into the great ponce again?”

“No, afraid he’ll come down here and I’ll have to kill him for trying to kill you.”

Spike raised his head at that, his wet mouth stretching into a smile. “That settles it. Peaches is gettin’ a belated Christmas present.”

Before she could object, his lips wrapped around her clit and gave it a good, hard suck; her body exploded into orgasm, and she shattered on the mattress into a thousand satisfied pieces.

Some three hundred years later, when she returned to herself, Buffy blinked and attempted to sit up, hampered by Spike’s arms around her middle, his head resting on her stomach. She sighed a contented little sigh and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I love the way you come,” he murmured. “The way your body trembles. An’ your eyes…an’ that li’l sound you make.”

She released a heady gasp but didn’t say anything.

“An’ I love the way you do that.” He smiled and pressed a kiss against her belly. “Make like you’re surprised, every time, with what I wanna do with you. To you. What I want you to do to me.” He began prowling up her body, his cock rubbing her sodden folds, coaxing another half-gasp, half-moan rumble through her lips. Her body was still buzzing from the orgasm he’d given her, too sensitive for tease.

“It got you hot, din’t it?” he rumbled into her ear, his hands cupping her breast.

“What?” she managed to croak.

“The idea of anyone watchin’ us do this.”

Hot? No. Mortified was more like it. Still, she couldn’t deny the rush that pulsed through her system at the thought, despite however repulsive the outcome would be.

She lost her chance to answer him. His mouth was out of range the next second, suckling one of her breasts as his fingers played with her neglected nipple. His hips were swirling above him, the tip of his erection manipulating her pussy in ways that were downright embarrassing.

“Spike,” she sobbed.

“I love you, Buffy,” he said, his voice irritatingly calm but void of tease. He’d gone from planning Angel’s humiliation by way of homemade porn starring Buffy and Spike to murmuring sweet nothings in her ear as his body moved over hers. “I love you so much.”

Her heart clenched. Yeah, there was no way she’d ever tire of hearing that. “I love you,” she whispered, her nails tracing a light path down his back.

He abandoned her breast with a parting kiss, then raised his head to devour her mouth with his. Then his cock sank within her, and the world around them melted.

It had been a month, and the simple bliss of being one with him had never stopped surprising her. She didn’t know what she’d expected, actually, other than, perhaps the novelty of their explosive sex life to have worn off. It hadn’t—she launched into a new wake every time he slid inside her, a new bout of self-discovery that left her dizzy with happiness. And of course, she knew that she shouldn’t be surprised. She and Spike weren’t exactly a mundane, everyday couple. They weren’t her mother and father, whom she was beginning to believe only had sex once, and out of sheer luck a baby was conceived.

No, she and Spike had so much more than that. They were meant to be explosive. They were meant to burn each other up with passion. She honestly couldn’t imagine a time where she wouldn’t want him like she did. Wouldn’t burn when he touched her like she did—and it wasn’t a matter of simple consideration. She had thought about it extensively, though she knew the answer. Knew it, and always had.

So had he. They shared her soul, in that way. Despite their differences, they were so alike. So thoroughly alike. They both loved with everything they had, had both wasted valuable time on undeserving idiots when they could have been together. They relished in the fight. And they loved each other madly.

She had thought about it, and she always came to the same conclusion. She’d even told him a time or two.

Which was why it still surprised her when Spike slipped inside her. When he cupped her face and murmured how much he loved her, rocking his hips against hers, pumping himself sweetly into her body.

“Unh…”

“Mmmm?” Spike drew his head up, stirring her from her thoughts. He licked his lips and smiled, his hips swirling every time he entered her. “Fucking nymph, you are,” he decided lowly, his cock striking her at an angle that she decided the Powers had invented to drive her crazy. She clenched her thighs together, reveling in the passionate flash of eyes. He growled against her lips and began thrusting faster.

Buffy drew her hands back, digging her nails into his forearms as her hips battled his, determined to recapture him with every drive. “Nymph, huh?” she repeated, her vaginal muscles clenching around him.

He grinned, moving harder still. Faster. The world could be made and unmade in that grin. That rakish smirk of his that had entirely the wrong effect. Manly men think they can get anything just from flashing those pearly whites. It was true enough for Spike. That grin thoroughly unwound her in ways that were downright humiliating.

“You know what you are,” he growled against her lips before licking at her diamond-heavy throat, his nimble fingers tugging at her nipples. The mattress beneath her squeaked noisily, the headboard striking the wall in timely rhythm with the grunts, moans, and mewls that she didn’t intentionally liberate. “Fuck, you feel so good. So good.”

She squeezed his cock and nipped at his shoulder. “You, too.”

If anything, she knew that biting him during sex was possibly the easiest way to earn a spanking of the good kind. And true, while nipping didn’t technically constitute biting, his pace increased tenfold as a small but effective roar tore through his throat. His balls slapped her ass as his thrusts grew harder, and she felt his fangs trace the claim mark embedded in her skin.

“You li’l vixen,” he gasped. “You’re jus’ askin’ for it.”

Buffy’s eyes fell shut. “Begging’s more like it,” she replied, knowing what that word did to him. “Oh, God…oh god.”

“My saucy li’l slayer.”

“Shut up and fuck me raw.”

He chuckled, which had honestly been her intention, and the vibrations tickled that invisible erogenous zone buried somewhere in her body. She cooed and flexed, clenching him again.

“You’re right,” he mused, his slick cock slipping out of her. “That is adorable.”

She moaned in protest. “Told you so.” She felt his velvety head brush against her magic button and dug her nails deeper into his forearms to keep from losing her head. “God, what are you doing?”

“Drivin’ myself outta my mind,” he gasped, manipulating his cock so that his head was rubbing soft but tantalizing circles into her clit. “God, you’re so gorgeous. I want you to stay like this forever. In fact, that’s an order. Wear nothin’ but that necklace ever again.”

“Driving you out of your mind?” she repeated indignantly, in order of the offenses. “Where do you get off giving me orders? Get back inside me!”

He had the audacity to look amused at the request, and furthered the blow by quirking a brow. “Is that an order?” he asked, sounding much more controlled than he had a second ago.

“Yes! Yes, dammit, stop teasing me!”

Once more, pure ardor stormed his gaze. He kissed her furiously, teasing her mouth with his tongue before abandoning his quest to incite her to madness by way of abandonment mid-coitus. Not that what he’d done hadn’t felt damn good, because there weren’t words enough for how good it’d felt, but she needed him inside her. There was nothing like the sensation of reaching that euphoric plane with him with her—in her—and feeling him tremble as he followed. And damn all if she was going to deny herself that.

Spike slipped inside her again, coaxing her hands to abandon the trenches she’d dug into his skin. He stretched her arms to the sides, then upwards until her fingers were clasped around the bedposts. All the while, he moved slowly within her. So slowly she thought perhaps she had slipped into purgatory, and it was her punishment to remain in sexual limbo for the rest of eternity. A silly thought, but he had the ability to make logic fly out the window.

Finally, unable to stand it, Buffy bucked beneath him and cried out pitifully, “Spike!”

“Yes, kitten?”

“Please!”

“Please, what?”

“I’m so close. Please.”

He grinned and nibbled at a breast, his cock pumping into her steadily. The slide of his wet flesh from hers touched every single nerve in her body, singing her with want, burning her with need. The fire raging within her was growing unbearable; she would burst with it. She had to. The pleasure was so sweet, so unbearably sweet, and she needed release.

Then Spike’s fingers slid over her clit, and began to massage her tenderly.

“Oh, my God!”

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured. “That’s it.”

“Oh…Spike!”

“That’s it.” His incisors slid across her throat. “When you come, I want you to scream.”

“Oh God!”

“Scream for me, baby. You’ll scream for your Spike, won’ you?”

The first scream was by far the best. All the rest were for show.

His fangs sliced into her skin, and her body detonated into a sea of rapture. Ecstasy touched every corner of her being. She clutched at him desperately, riding out the volatile waves of her orgasm, and she cried out again when she felt him explode within her. Felt him growl into her throat, thrusting into her as he emptied himself inside her warm, welcoming depths.

The symphony of euphoric screams that escaped her lips echoed throughout their small apartment for what felt like hours. Well after his hips had rocked to a still, after his fangs released her and left her to the care of his tongue.

“Oh…God.”

Spike chuckled and raised his head, gazing lovingly into her eyes. “You’re amazing,” he said. “So bloody amazing.”

“The neighbors are gonna call the cops.” Not a very romantic follow-up. Buffy: always the pragmatic.

He didn’t mind. Rather, he chuckled again and licked at her claim mark. “Neighbors are used to it,” he said reasonably. “Frank an’ Jill sent us a fruit-basket after that firs’ night, remember? They were impressed.”

“Yes, but that was two weeks ago and they’ve ceased being impressed.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “Their bloody problem.”

“Mhmm…tell that to the cops when they show up.”

“I intend to.” Spike favored her with a rakish grin, rolling over then and slipping out of her, much to her dismay. He tugged her close to his chest and kissed her brow, staring at the ceiling in wonder. “Bloody hell,” he said after a long, contemplative minute. “I don’ think I’ll ever get used to it.”

Buffy frowned. “Get used to what?”

“You. Bein’ here. With me. Loving me. Being my mate.” He smiled simply. “’ve jus’…I’ve never been this happy, luv. Never. This is the firs’ Christmas in all my years that—”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

She nodded and sat up, smiling as she took his semi-hard cock in her hand and began pumping him sweetly, enjoying the way he moaned and stretched beneath her. “Yes,” she said, “I do. And you’re reading my thoughts again.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Mates do have that luxury, luv.” Spike smirked. “Though you better thank your lucky stars that I really can’t read your mind.”

“It’s X-Rated,” she said, reaching for the camcorder that was, thanks to their mattress aerobics, taking lovely video of their bedroom closet. She grinned and turned, placing it on the nightstand, facing them. “Just like yours.”

“I know. We’d never leave the bloody apartment.” He paused. “Not a bad thing, come to think of it.”

She grinned, flicking her thumb over his belled head. “Mhmm,” she agreed, curling her body into an arch so that her mouth was at his cock. She pressed a series of wet kisses along the base, her hand dipping to cup his balls as her tongue came out to play.

“You’re sendin’ off vibes,” he gasped, thrusting forward involuntarily. “I’m jus’ pickin’ up on them.”

“Yeah. Having been mated yesterday.”

She felt his smirk. “Funny girl.”

“What are these vibes saying?”

“‘I wanna suck Spike’s big—’”

Buffy blushed needlessly and pinched his inner thigh. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Making my vibes say nasty things.”

“Nasty? Put your mouth where your money is.”

“It’s the other way around, silly.”

“Yeh, well, in this particular case, wordin’ the saying correctly wouldn’t work out in my favor.”

She smiled and took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around him in the way that drove him craziest as she reveled in the long sigh that coursed through his body. She loved doing this for him. Sharing it with him—something she would never have thought to share with anyone else. Her past experience notwithstanding, along with her temperamental shyness that showed up every now and then, doing this for him took trust that she had never given anyone. Trust she hadn’t thought herself capable of.

Spike erupted in her mouth before he could bark a warning. She didn’t mind. Rather, she murmured approvingly around his cock and swallowed everything he had to give her. Vibes again. He was feeding off her vibes tonight, and she knew that trust—the trust she gave him—was almost as precious as her love. Almost.

“Nope,” Buffy said, releasing him with a parting kiss and licking her lips. “Definitely not nasty.”

“Oh God.”

“In fact…”

“Get up here.”

“‘Hey Mikey, I think he likes it,’” she quipped, turning to face him with twinkling eyes. His cock was hard again in seconds, and he tugged her up his body until her pussy was hovering just above him.

“I love you,” he sighed. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

An evil spark touched his eyes at that, making her blink, and he grinned at her. “Even enough to tolerate burnt popcorn.”

Buffy scowled, sinking down. “Stop talking to me,” she said, mock-wounded.

“Never.”

And for whatever reason, that small conviction had her busting with happiness. She squeezed him tightly, his cock nestled deep within her body, and began riding him at a slow, intent gallop, her diamond necklace bouncing along with her breasts with every thrust. “Okay then.”

“Never,” he said again, his hands sliding up her abdomen to tease her nipples. “God, I love you.”

He made a litany of that confession at times, and never did the words grow old. Such a simple phrase gave her so much. More than she felt she deserved at times, but then, she knew he felt the same way.

How two imperfect beings could be so perfect for each other, she would never know. Only thank whatever Powers were looking out for her that some fairytales were true. That occasionally, the romance novelists got it right. That Shakespeare’s poetry had meaning. That John Lennon was onto something. That though it had been said, many times, many ways, the words could remain as powerful as they did.

With them, at least, such would always be the case.

It was two days after Christmas, and as they so often did when they did not want to be disturbed, they were screening phone calls.

“Hi, this is Buffy and Spike’s. We’re out saving the world right now, but if you’d leave your name and number—”

“—An’ a vague idea why on bloody earth we should call you back—”

“Please leave a message at the tone.”

Beep.

“Buffy? Spike? It’s Xander. Ummm…I’ve looked all over, and I think I remember where I left my camcorder. I think…yeah, I think it’s at your place. So, umm, if you see it, just gimme a call or bring it the next time we get together. Thanks.”

Click.

Buffy arched a brow and glanced up from her plate of spaghetti, directing her gaze across the kitchen table. Spike’s eyes were dancing with amusement.

“We’ll buy him a new one.”