Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer does not belong to me, and I'm not
making any money of this story. So please don't sue me. :D
Timeline: Season five, after Joyce has died. Christmas.
Rating: R, for the end of the story.
AN: So, maybe Buffy's not completely in-character for this story-but I wanted to have a bit of fun, and I figured I'd give everyone an early Christmas/Chanukah/Kwanza/whatever else you celebrate present. I hope you like it!
All I Want for Christmas
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A box, wrapped in festive red paper, was clutched in the vampire's hand. A scarf for his Nibblit, she seemed to have a newfound love for the colorful things.
A smaller, similarly wrapped package was stuffed deep in the pocket of his duster. He'd had more trouble finding something for the slayer-but while going through his weapons chest he'd found a finely crafted, delicate silver knife. It was much to pretty a thing to keep stuffed in there, and he knew she had a fetish for weapons.
They'd be asleep by now, he assured himself, turning down the darkened street. Spike didn't want to be caught playing Santa Clause-besides it would be kind of pointless to leave card-less gifts if they saw him bringing them.
The vampire reached under the mat for the key he knew was hidden there; stupid place to keep a key, it was the first place anyone would check. He slipped the key into the lock, opening the door slowly: he'd been invited and uninvited into this house so many times-luckily for him, for tonight at least, the invitation hadn't been canceled.
It wasn't until he had closed the door softly behind him that he noticed her there. Bugger presents, could he leave before she saw him? No, she had already turned, and was looking at him questioningly.
The slayer was sitting on the couch with her knees against her chest, watching the fire eat away at the last of the dura-flame log. "Come to kill us on Christmas Eve?"
"No." He snapped. "Besides, it's past twelve: merry Christmas, slayer." He hastily added his two presents to the pathetic pile under the tree.
His hand was on the doorknob.
"I miss her." Buffy said softly, almost inaudibly.
Spike stopped, turning towards her. "Your mum was a good woman."
"I've never had Christmas without her." Buffy's eyes never left the fireplace, watching the last of the flames dwindle.
Spike, at loss for words, sat down next to her.
"Why'd she leave us?" She turned to look at Spike, and for the first time he noticed her eyes were wet with tears.
"She didn't choose to."
"Then why did they take her from us? What did I do wrong?" She buried her head in her knees, shaking with sobs. "What did I do?"
Forgetting all the lines that shouldn't be crossed, the vampire wrapped his arms around the slayer. "You didn't do anythin' wrong, pet." He comforted.
"Then why'd-"
"Shhhhh. S' not your fault."
Letting down the walls she'd maintained so carefully for too many years, she let him hold her as she sobbed onto his shoulder.
A few minutes later, her breathing returned to normal and she wiped the last of the tears from her face. "I want my mommy back." She sniffled; sounding for all the world like a two year old stuck at home with a babysitter.
"So do I, pet, so do I." She was wearing only sweatpants and a tank top, and there were tear tracks down her cheeks, but Spike had never seen anyone look so beautiful.
She shivered, and Spike cursed himself for not realizing that she must be freezing. "Want a blanket, luv?"
She nodded. "There's one in the hall closet."
When Spike came back, Buffy had moved herself and a number of pillows to the floor, as close to the dwindling fire as she could get. He laid the blanket over her, and turned once more to leave.
"Don't go." She asked him. "It's just, it seems so empty without mom. I don't want to be alone."
More than happy to oblige, Spike lay down next to her, knowing he might never get this close to Buffy again.
"Mmmmm." She moved closer to him. "Tell me a story."
"About what?"
"Anything. Christmas."
The first memories that jumped to mind were ones that would definitely destroy the moment; all involving Dru, sex, and blood. But before all that . . .
"When I was younger, Christmas was a huge thing-we'd get a massive tree, nothing like this puny runt." Buffy laughed, Spike's whole body aware of the way she moved.
"We'd decorate it with all sorts of ornaments-and the rest of the house was decorated too, you see, my mum having constant parties for the week or so before Christmas." She closed her eyes, Spike's soothing voice lulling her towards sleep.
"When I was seven years old, I decided to wait up for Saint Nicholas, and so I hid behind the tree. From there, everything had a green haze over it; and the smell-it smelt so much of Christmas. Don't think I've ever smelt anythin' so good." He paused, remembering, and noticed how regular her breathing was.
"So beautiful." He said quietly-she was, even with her eyes closed and her mouth hanging slightly open. "Reminding me why I love you." He told her, running a hand cautiously through her golden blonde hair. "Love, love, love, love you." He smiled sadly. "Even if you'll never let me tell you so when you're awake." He kissed her forehead lightly.
Buffy wasn't really asleep. Sure, she was getting there, and at first she didn't notice that he was talking to her instead of telling a story. "Love you, love you, love you." She heard him say quietly, and felt her heart skip a beat.
Maybe he really did love her, if he could say it while she was sleeping. The thoughts and questions tumbled through her head, and the slayer felt less and less asleep.
When he pressed his lips against her forehead, she opened her eyes.
Spike noticed instantly, drawing away. "Sorry." 'Bloody idiot!' He yelled at himself. 'Now she'd definitely going to throw you out!' "I'll go now." He said, wanting to leave before she told him too.
Buffy grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards her and kissing him softly, timidly on the lips.
She pulled back, and smiled at the dazed expression on his face. That was all the encouragement he needed.
He ran his fingers down her face, pulling her towards him, and kissed her with such energy Buffy thought she would melt. She pulled away, gasping for breath, only to kiss him again.
There was nothing soft about the kiss, as her back dug into the ground and Spike's tongue ran along the inside of her mouth.
And then, his mouth wasn't enough anymore. She wanted more of him, wanted all of him. She yanked his shirt off him ruthlessly, revealing his alabaster skin. Her hands traveled across his toned chest, and she moaned her agreement as Spike pulled off her shirt, unhooked her bra . . .
His hands. The way he touched her skin, she'd never felt anything like it before. One hand sliding up her back, the other making small circles around her left nipple in such a way that she shivered with delight. She wanted it all.
Buffy guided his hands to her sweatpants, which he slid off easily. He took more time with her panties, teasing the insides of her thighs, making her wait in torturous ecstasy-she was ready for him, so ready.
He pulled off the black panties, one finger inside her . . .
She thought what his hands had been doing before was amazing, but this was even better. Now two fingers, three . . .
She ripped of his belt; he pulled out of her to help as she struggled to get his pants off.
He was holding himself over her, and she could see he was just as ready as she was. Buffy moaned. Why wasn't he in her right now! She wanted him, needed him, every part of her was screaming with desire.
"Somethin' you want, Buffy?" He asked.
"You . . . in, me."
"Sorry, who is you want?"
"You!"
"What did-"
She snapped his belt over his back, and catching it in her other hand she used it to pull him towards her. "Fuck me, Spike."
And who was he to deny a lady's request?
He was inside her, and if it was possible, she felt even better than she had felt before, when she had thought she could never feel anything better, which was before she had ever felt anything as good . . . in and out, in and out, slower, faster, softer, harder, in and out.
"Spike," she said, panting.
"Luv?" Their eyes met.
"Merry Christmas."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = The End
AN: This is my first fic that's so . . . graphic. Tell me what you think, any suggestions would be welcome. Review!
Timeline: Season five, after Joyce has died. Christmas.
Rating: R, for the end of the story.
AN: So, maybe Buffy's not completely in-character for this story-but I wanted to have a bit of fun, and I figured I'd give everyone an early Christmas/Chanukah/Kwanza/whatever else you celebrate present. I hope you like it!
All I Want for Christmas
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
A box, wrapped in festive red paper, was clutched in the vampire's hand. A scarf for his Nibblit, she seemed to have a newfound love for the colorful things.
A smaller, similarly wrapped package was stuffed deep in the pocket of his duster. He'd had more trouble finding something for the slayer-but while going through his weapons chest he'd found a finely crafted, delicate silver knife. It was much to pretty a thing to keep stuffed in there, and he knew she had a fetish for weapons.
They'd be asleep by now, he assured himself, turning down the darkened street. Spike didn't want to be caught playing Santa Clause-besides it would be kind of pointless to leave card-less gifts if they saw him bringing them.
The vampire reached under the mat for the key he knew was hidden there; stupid place to keep a key, it was the first place anyone would check. He slipped the key into the lock, opening the door slowly: he'd been invited and uninvited into this house so many times-luckily for him, for tonight at least, the invitation hadn't been canceled.
It wasn't until he had closed the door softly behind him that he noticed her there. Bugger presents, could he leave before she saw him? No, she had already turned, and was looking at him questioningly.
The slayer was sitting on the couch with her knees against her chest, watching the fire eat away at the last of the dura-flame log. "Come to kill us on Christmas Eve?"
"No." He snapped. "Besides, it's past twelve: merry Christmas, slayer." He hastily added his two presents to the pathetic pile under the tree.
His hand was on the doorknob.
"I miss her." Buffy said softly, almost inaudibly.
Spike stopped, turning towards her. "Your mum was a good woman."
"I've never had Christmas without her." Buffy's eyes never left the fireplace, watching the last of the flames dwindle.
Spike, at loss for words, sat down next to her.
"Why'd she leave us?" She turned to look at Spike, and for the first time he noticed her eyes were wet with tears.
"She didn't choose to."
"Then why did they take her from us? What did I do wrong?" She buried her head in her knees, shaking with sobs. "What did I do?"
Forgetting all the lines that shouldn't be crossed, the vampire wrapped his arms around the slayer. "You didn't do anythin' wrong, pet." He comforted.
"Then why'd-"
"Shhhhh. S' not your fault."
Letting down the walls she'd maintained so carefully for too many years, she let him hold her as she sobbed onto his shoulder.
A few minutes later, her breathing returned to normal and she wiped the last of the tears from her face. "I want my mommy back." She sniffled; sounding for all the world like a two year old stuck at home with a babysitter.
"So do I, pet, so do I." She was wearing only sweatpants and a tank top, and there were tear tracks down her cheeks, but Spike had never seen anyone look so beautiful.
She shivered, and Spike cursed himself for not realizing that she must be freezing. "Want a blanket, luv?"
She nodded. "There's one in the hall closet."
When Spike came back, Buffy had moved herself and a number of pillows to the floor, as close to the dwindling fire as she could get. He laid the blanket over her, and turned once more to leave.
"Don't go." She asked him. "It's just, it seems so empty without mom. I don't want to be alone."
More than happy to oblige, Spike lay down next to her, knowing he might never get this close to Buffy again.
"Mmmmm." She moved closer to him. "Tell me a story."
"About what?"
"Anything. Christmas."
The first memories that jumped to mind were ones that would definitely destroy the moment; all involving Dru, sex, and blood. But before all that . . .
"When I was younger, Christmas was a huge thing-we'd get a massive tree, nothing like this puny runt." Buffy laughed, Spike's whole body aware of the way she moved.
"We'd decorate it with all sorts of ornaments-and the rest of the house was decorated too, you see, my mum having constant parties for the week or so before Christmas." She closed her eyes, Spike's soothing voice lulling her towards sleep.
"When I was seven years old, I decided to wait up for Saint Nicholas, and so I hid behind the tree. From there, everything had a green haze over it; and the smell-it smelt so much of Christmas. Don't think I've ever smelt anythin' so good." He paused, remembering, and noticed how regular her breathing was.
"So beautiful." He said quietly-she was, even with her eyes closed and her mouth hanging slightly open. "Reminding me why I love you." He told her, running a hand cautiously through her golden blonde hair. "Love, love, love, love you." He smiled sadly. "Even if you'll never let me tell you so when you're awake." He kissed her forehead lightly.
Buffy wasn't really asleep. Sure, she was getting there, and at first she didn't notice that he was talking to her instead of telling a story. "Love you, love you, love you." She heard him say quietly, and felt her heart skip a beat.
Maybe he really did love her, if he could say it while she was sleeping. The thoughts and questions tumbled through her head, and the slayer felt less and less asleep.
When he pressed his lips against her forehead, she opened her eyes.
Spike noticed instantly, drawing away. "Sorry." 'Bloody idiot!' He yelled at himself. 'Now she'd definitely going to throw you out!' "I'll go now." He said, wanting to leave before she told him too.
Buffy grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards her and kissing him softly, timidly on the lips.
She pulled back, and smiled at the dazed expression on his face. That was all the encouragement he needed.
He ran his fingers down her face, pulling her towards him, and kissed her with such energy Buffy thought she would melt. She pulled away, gasping for breath, only to kiss him again.
There was nothing soft about the kiss, as her back dug into the ground and Spike's tongue ran along the inside of her mouth.
And then, his mouth wasn't enough anymore. She wanted more of him, wanted all of him. She yanked his shirt off him ruthlessly, revealing his alabaster skin. Her hands traveled across his toned chest, and she moaned her agreement as Spike pulled off her shirt, unhooked her bra . . .
His hands. The way he touched her skin, she'd never felt anything like it before. One hand sliding up her back, the other making small circles around her left nipple in such a way that she shivered with delight. She wanted it all.
Buffy guided his hands to her sweatpants, which he slid off easily. He took more time with her panties, teasing the insides of her thighs, making her wait in torturous ecstasy-she was ready for him, so ready.
He pulled off the black panties, one finger inside her . . .
She thought what his hands had been doing before was amazing, but this was even better. Now two fingers, three . . .
She ripped of his belt; he pulled out of her to help as she struggled to get his pants off.
He was holding himself over her, and she could see he was just as ready as she was. Buffy moaned. Why wasn't he in her right now! She wanted him, needed him, every part of her was screaming with desire.
"Somethin' you want, Buffy?" He asked.
"You . . . in, me."
"Sorry, who is you want?"
"You!"
"What did-"
She snapped his belt over his back, and catching it in her other hand she used it to pull him towards her. "Fuck me, Spike."
And who was he to deny a lady's request?
He was inside her, and if it was possible, she felt even better than she had felt before, when she had thought she could never feel anything better, which was before she had ever felt anything as good . . . in and out, in and out, slower, faster, softer, harder, in and out.
"Spike," she said, panting.
"Luv?" Their eyes met.
"Merry Christmas."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = The End
AN: This is my first fic that's so . . . graphic. Tell me what you think, any suggestions would be welcome. Review!