"Kiss your sister goodbye before you go, Will," Joyce said sternly before kissing his cheek and pressing a present into his hand. The light from the lamp bounced off its shimmery green wrapper.
"Yes, Joyce," Spike sighed. He glanced at the medium-sized box in his hand and smiled at his stepmother. "Thanks for this."
"You're welcome," she said with a bright smile. "Now hurry and shoo before the weather gets worse."
Spike nodded and entered the kitchen. Buffy was at the sink, drying what looked to be the last plate. "Goin' now," he grumbled half-heartedly.
She turned around and set the plate down. "Alright," she said, not quite looking him in the eye.
Spike sighed and made his way over to her. He and Buffy had never gotten along, but they'd made a silent pact to act civilly towards one another at least for the sake of their parents. Joyce hadn't known a happy marriage for a long time, and the separation and then the divorce between her and her previous husband and Buffy's father, Hank, had nearly destroyed her. Buffy had been wary when her mother and Giles started dating, but now she couldn't thank Giles enough for making Joyce happy again.
"Goodbye," Spike sighed, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
Except somehow Buffy'd turned her head too late and their tightly pursed lips were pressed together in an awkward kiss.
"Uh," Buffy said intelligibly as she pulled away, her face feeling hot as she blushed.
"We just won't talk about this," Spike said resolutely as he stepped away, allowing a - safe - foot of space between them.
She wordlessly put a hand to her rosy cheek, thankful that she wasn't holding a plate because it'd probably be all over the floor, in shatters.
Spike couldn't help thinking how adorable she looked with her cheeks aflame, and he smirked as he turned around and headed for the door.
He stopped when thunder clapped loudly overhead, followed by a streak of lightning that was so bright that it engulfed the kitchen windows in white brightness. There was the sound of a wire short-circuiting and then the entire house was bathed in darkness.
Thunder grumbled, softly this time, followed by the loud sound of sheets of rain hitting the roof of the house and the pavement outside.
"William?" Joyce's voice from the living room. "Could you help your father with the fuse box?"
Spike began to head to the basement.
"Hold on," Buffy said, and the sound of a drawer opening could be heard over the deafening silence. "You have a lighter? We have some candles somewhere in here."
"Yeah," he said, digging his Zippo out of his pocket and coming to stand beside her, holding his left hand out to feel for the kitchen table between them. A flick of the thumbwheel and then a flame.
Buffy found one candlestick and brought it closer to the lighter, watching as the wick caught fire. "Careful," she said softly, "we haven't put the boxes for the tree away yet."
"Will do," he said, taking the candle from her and walking towards the basement door.
--
Spike and Giles emerged from the basement. They'd tried every switch in the fuse box and still the house was cloaked in darkness.
"Might as well finish the eggnog if it's just going to sit in a broken fridge all night," Joyce said, taking her flashlight and getting up from her spot on the couch.
Giles sighed and took his wife's place on the couch. "Why don't you stay until the weather lets up, son?"
Spike nodded and shrugged. "Could do that," he said.
A bright beam of light spilled down the staircase leading upstairs, announcing Buffy's descent before she started down them. "I only found three C batteries in your closet, Mom," she called out, heading for the living room.
"That's alright, honey," Joyce said from the kitchen. "The power will kick in eventually." She came out of the kitchen with a thick white candle and a pitcher of eggnog. She placed both down on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. "Anyone else want some of the eggnog? I'll get the glasses."
Three murmurs of assent sounded off from different corners of the living room. Spike knelt down and lit the candle, bathing the perimeter around it in a soft orange light. Joyce brought four glasses out and put them on the table, the hand-cut carvings in the glass spilling different shapes all over the wooden surface as the candlelight hit it.
"There's nutmeg in the kitchen, honey, can you go get it?" Joyce said to Buffy as she started to pour eggnog into the glasses.
"Sure, Mom," she said, going into the kitchen. Buffy hissed as she stubbed her toe on the leg of a chair on the way to the spice rack. She watched as a stream of light slipped through the threshold as the door opened, Spike's platinum blond hair easily seen even in the near-darkness.
"Thought you might need this, but I guess the damage is already done," Spike said, holding out the flashlight. She could hear the smirk in his voice.
Buffy found herself blushing as she lifted her foot onto the seat of the offending chair, checking the toe she'd just stubbed. "Shut up, Spike," she muttered, preoccupying herself with her small injury.
"Nothin' broken?" Spike said, his voice suddenly filled with concern.
"No," she said, putting her foot down. She glanced in his direction. "Why do you care?"
There was a look in his eyes that she didn't catch because now his features were marked with his irritation. She found herself relaxing some. Irritation good. Irritation was familiar.
Buffy grabbed the bottle of nutmeg as soon as Spike shined his flashlight on the spice rack, and then the two of them headed back into the living room.
"Thanks, honey," Joyce said when her daughter handed her the bottle of spice.
"I'm going to close the valve downstairs before the basement floods over," Giles said with a sigh, grabbing a small flashlight and heading for the kitchen.
Buffy, Spike, and Joyce sat in silence, sipping at their eggnog.
"Honey, why don't you set up the guest room for Will just in case the weather doesn't let up?"
"It'll let up," Buffy said, her voice tinged with annoyance.
"Buffy," her mother said warningly. "You can put your things up in the guestroom, William."
"Yes, Mom," her daughter sighed, heading for the stairs. Spike grabbed his jacket, the present Joyce had given him and a flashlight before following after her.
Spike watched as Buffy got a comforter from the closet, laying it out on the guest bed. He was there, almost flush against her, when she turned around. A strangled squeak escaped her throat, and before she had a chance to do anything more than that, Spike cupped her cheek, ran his thumb over her glossy bottom lip, and kissed her hard.
"Wha--" Buffy began to protest, but opening her mouth just allowed him to deepen the kiss. She squeaked in protest instead, trying to ignore the way bolts of pleasure shot straight down to her center as her stepbrother's -- stepbrother -- tongue rubbed against her own.
Buffy's eyelids fell shut as Spike's warm hands clutched her shoulders, and she mindlessly tilted her head to deepen the kiss. Spike growled into her mouth, kissing her harder, bending her backwards from the force of his kiss. Her hands found their way to his chest, his heart beating wildly beneath her fingertips.
"Spike, stop," Buffy gasped as he pulled away, and for a second she was disappointed that it was over -- until he redirected his mouth to the slope of her neck. She stopped protesting as he kissed and sucked and nipped at her skin, becoming putty in his hands. "Oh," she whimpered, except she was pretty sure that in her mind it had meant to sound something like, 'Spike, get off me right now or I'll clock you in the nose!'
Buffy trembled in his arms as he withdrew from the column of her throat, pressing his cheek to hers and drawing her closer, his arms circling around her middle. The room was silent except for their heavy breathing.
Suddenly, Buffy's brain rewound and she stiffened in his arms. "Spike, get off me right now or I'll clock you in the nose," she said, cursing the tremor in her voice.
Spike smirked against her hair, inhaling sharply to give his senses a hit of her scent. She smelled of the apple blossom body spray he'd seen her spritz on on many an occasion. "Not sure your idea of 'getting off' you is the same as mine," he chuckled, his chest vibrating as he did.
Buffy tried to repress the shiver that passed through her as the vibrations in his chest went straight down to her sex. How does he do that? She moved to step out of his embrace, but he only tightened an arm around her. His other hand trailed down the length of her spine and then flattened at the small of her back. "What are you doing?" she whispered against the wall that was his chest. It seemed to swallow the words that came out of her mouth.
"Don't know," Spike admitted, sounding frustrated with himself. "Do know one thing, though," he whispered into her ear, smirking when she shuddered. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her flush against him.
Unexpectedly, Buffy felt his hips undulate against hers, the bulge in his pants rubbing sweetly against the bundle of nerves in between her thighs. She threw her head back and gasped, closing her eyes.
Spike did it again, his soft lips just whispering along her throat. Buffy squeaked and jerked against him, cursing her body for reacting in such a way. Her breathing became labored as he dragged the tip of his tongue up the side of her throat, and she found herself closing her eyes, wanting to get lost in the sensation.
Though it was hard because her mind was constantly reminding her just who was the cause of it.
"Mmm," Spike murmured against her skin. "Taste as good as you smell, love," he whispered, pulling back to look into her face. His eyes, normally pale blue, were hooded and black with lust.
And strangely enough, it was his eyes that undid her. Buffy threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. Spike bent down at the knees slightly, never breaking the kiss as he hooked his hands behind the backs of her knees. She took the hint, wrapping her legs around his waist. Buffy gasped for air and wriggled against his erection.
Spike grunted, burrowing his face at the crook of her neck at the feel of her sex flush up against his. Lifting his head to look into her eyes, he undulated his hips against hers again, once, twice, three times before they were writhing and wriggling against one another, lips close enough to share breath.
"Unh!" Buffy gasped as she buried her face at the crook of his neck, closing her eyes as pleasure thrummed deliciously through her.
Spike growled in her ear, lowering her onto the bed. He hurriedly pulled off his shirt, buttons spraying everywhere as he did. Buffy followed suit, or at least tried to, until Spike pinned her with his gaze and caught her wrists. He gently lowered her hands from the hem of her red camisole before returning to it, pushing the fabric up her tummy.
Buffy couldn't help the hiss of pleasure that escaped her lips as his large, warm hands touched her skin. He pushed the shirt further up until his fingertips were brushing the undersides of her breasts beneath her bra, and then he was skirting the surface of them almost reverently, his thumbs sweeping over her erect nipples. She gasped, arching into his touch.
Spike's fingers grazed her skin on their journey to the clasp, and he undid them with one hand. He removed her shirt and then her bra, leaning back to gaze at her in the soft light of the flashlight.
Buffy swallowed and looked into his lust-filled eyes, and then hurried to divest herself of her skirt. Spike's hands trapped hers again and she all but whimpered.
"No," he said in a low growl. He slipped his hand underneath her skirt, pulling her underwear down and off. He leaned in and kissed the shell of her ear before whispering, "The skirt stays on."
Buffy shivered as the sound of his zipper seemed to fill the room. His lips pressed against hers just as the tip of his cock kissed her entrance. In one thrust he was in her, and her surprised gasp was swallowed by his full lips.
"Buffy," he groaned, gripping her hips. "Christ, you're so…"
Buffy gasped underneath him, feeling her muscles mold around him. God, she felt so… full, and suddenly all her nerve endings were on fire, and if he didn't move right now, she would fall apart. And she'd probably fall apart even if he did move, but the latter seemed like the better option.
"Spike," she whispered against his Adam's apple. She wrapped her lips around it gently, darting her tongue out to taste him.
He groaned above her and pulled out, only to piston his cock hard and fast into her pussy. She gasped loudly, tightening her legs around him.
"Oh, Spike, more," she whimpered. Her small breasts pressed into his chest as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
Spike hissed as her hardened nipples pressed into his skin. He felt like he was on fire, but he'd gladly burn alive. He pulled all the way out only to thrust into her welcoming depths again, swirling his hips just as he was flush against her, filling her completely. "You like that," he observed with a smirk, watching as she writhed wantonly against him.
He repeated the motion in swift, hard jerks until she was a babbling, squirming mess beneath him, groaning and breathing hard through his nostrils at the way her muscles strangled his cock. His balls slapped against her skin with every hard thrust, and the bed squeaked in protest. Her skirt rode up, giving him a peek at her neatly trimmed pubic hair. He groaned at the sight, his movements become more and more erratic as he neared his climax. Spike knew she would be coming soon, too. She was meeting his hips thrust for thrust, lingering at the apex of their meeting to grind herself against him.
Spike sealed his lips over hers as he reached between them and rolled her clit beneath his index finger. She positively jumped beneath him, and then her walls clenched around him and she was coming hard. Spike followed suit, fucking her so hard that their pelvises smacked together from the force. She was rigid beneath him, riding out the wave of her second orgasm.
Spike groaned and collapsed on top of her, pressing her forehead against hers. He turned his head and glanced at his digital wristwatch as it beeped, chuckling as it restarted at 00:00:03... "Merry Christmas, Buffy."
The lights chose that moment to flicker on. She shook her head and laughed, resting her head on Spike's chest as he rolled onto his back. "Some Christmas," she said, her voice tinged with amusement. She looked up at him, grinning coyly. "Merry Christmas, Spike."