Title: Mythical Creatures

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 8: Pumpkin

Note:

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate every one of you! Knowing the story is being enjoyed is like candy canes for my muse!

Thanks to PaganBaby and Holi117 for their beta assistance, though I've fiddled so much it's hardly the same chapter they originally looked at, so, of course, all errors are mine. LMK if you spot one and I'll fix it!

Buffy and Spike sat side-by-side on the floor, their backs against the sarcophagus-come-work-table in the center of the room, sipping the last of the brandy. They were surrounded by an ocean of colorful, ripped and wadded paper which littered the floor, forming waves of smiling Santas, sledding penguins, and romping reindeer. All the presents had been wrapped beautifully, adorned with bows, and tagged with the recipient's name. They were all set to be delivered and placed beneath the tree on Christmas Eve. At least Dawn would be surprised; Buffy would just have to act surprised. The Slayer had only managed to peek into a couple of the boxes and, even then, hadn't seen much. Spike had been uncharacteristically committed and unshakable in his attentiveness in that regard, even with alcoholic beverages. So, there would still be an element of surprise – and perhaps horror – when Buffy actually opened the gifts. She didn't quite trust Spike's sense of style.

"That's bloody exhausting. Think I'd rather fight a Fyarl demon next year for the holidays," Spike moaned, tilting his head from side to side, stretching and popping his neck.

Buffy chuckled. "I know I'd rather fight a Fyarl demon. More fun and less work," she admitted. 'Dark and deadly'.

Spike snorted, leaning his head back against the stone and closing his eyes. "Maybe Rupert could look into arranging an apocalypse for the yule next year. Just a bitty one."

"I'm sure he could find something in all those books of his… some dire prediction of death and destruction, just in time for Christmas," Buffy agreed, yawning widely.

"Best get you home, Slayer… Cinderella's gonna turn into a pumpkin, and I don't reckon orange really goes well with your coloring."

Buffy smiled at his joke. The night had been... fun. Or fun-ish, anyway. Spike had been an attentive student and a quick learner, once she showed him how to measure the paper against the box and cut it smoothly without ripping. He'd even dragged out an old, battered boombox and found a station playing Christmas tunes for a soundtrack. She was surprised to learn he had a decent singing voice as they Christmas-karaoked along with the songs – even if his lyrics didn't always match hers...

"The fire is slowly dying. And, my dear, we're still goodbying. But as long as you love me so,
let it snow, let it snow, let it..." Spike crooned along with the radio as he attached a frilly bow to one of Dawn's gifts.

"'Goodbying'? Are you sure that's right?" Buffy interrupted. "I thought it was 'perspiring'... you know, cos of the fire."

Spike chuckled, looking over at her, his blue eyes positively twinkling. "Well, I reckon there could be perspiring, pet. Depends on how... enthusiastic the goodbying is, doesn't it?" He wagged his brows at her suggestively and curled his tongue over his teeth, letting the tip rake tantalizingly across his upper lip.

Buffy's face, already flushed from the adult beverage she'd been consuming, heated even more. Spike had kept filling her glass up all evening, seemingly after every small sip she took. He wasn't exactly subtle with it, though Buffy managed to stay on the happy side of tipsy rather than the reckless side. She looked away from him, back down at the frolicking reindeer paper she was taping to another of Dawn's gifts. "Hpmh, I guess," she pouted. "But, I still don't think 'bells on bobtails' was right. I mean, what are 'bobtails' anyway, and who would put bells on them? Did anyone ask Bob if he wanted bells on his tails? And how many tails does he have? I mean, clearly, Bob must be a demon. Just why is a demon with a bunch of tails in a Christmas song in the first place?"

Spike's laugh was infectious, deep, and rich and utterly irresistible. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard him really laugh before... at least not in a wicked, 'I'm about to kill you' kind of way. Buffy glanced over at the vampire and couldn't stop herself from laughing with him, even as he shot down her assertions about Bob and his tails.

"Makes more sense than putting bells on 'cocktail rings'. Who puts bells on bloody cocktail rings?" he wondered, still chortling.

"I don't know... I bet Dawn would," Buffy contended, finishing the package, and sliding it over for Spike to put a bow on it.

Spike snorted. "Well, ya got me there."

More than once Buffy tried to imagine doing this with Angel or Riley. Angel... well, honestly, she couldn't imagine that at all. He'd never do it. He'd never have gone shopping at the mall. He'd never have gone to the hospital to see her mom. He certainly wouldn't have put on Christmas music... okay, well, maybe Handel's Messiah, but that would be it. Not so much with the fun on that sing-along.

Riley might've visited her mom, and he would've gone shopping. He needed to be needed, so that would've been right up his alley. Buffy imagined his wrapping style would've been very militant, hospital corners, sharp edges, plain paper, no ribbons or bows. Probably all of Buffy's gifts would've been in blue paper, and all of Dawn's in green. All the boxes would've been the exact same size so they would stack neatly. It would've been highly organized, and incredibly boring. There would be no music at all.

Spike, on the other hand had been all good-moody, especially after seeing she'd bought the expensive brandy. He'd been funny and attentive – too attentive when it came to making sure Buffy didn't peek at any of the gifts – and even when they argued about songs or lyrics, it had all been good natured. It was a whole new side of Spike that Buffy had never before seen. He seemed to be on a roll with the showing of sides lately. Just how many sides did William the Bloody have?

Spike pushed up to his feet and sat his empty glass on the makeshift wrapping table before taking Buffy's from her. She reached a hand up and he pulled her to her feet as she stifled another yawn. Buffy swayed a bit, her head swimming deliciously as the brandy swirled around inside her skull. She felt wonderfully relaxed. Spike kept her hand in his, his other hand slipping to the small of her back to steady her.

Their eyes met in the flickering light of the bank of candles. His hand was cool, even through her sweater, and steady. The other still grasping her hand was strong and solid. The warning of 'vampire!' was a constant tingle down her spine, as it always was around Spike, but there was something more to it now. A quiver of desire danced over her body and settled low in her belly. Buffy swallowed hard and licked her lips, her heart suddenly skittering in her chest as their gazes held for what seemed hours or days.

Spike sides. Sides of Spike. Buffy couldn't decide which side she wanted now – the heartfelt, 'I-haven't-always-been-bad' superhero telling her she was glorious, or the 'devil-may-care' bad boy with the smoldering eyes and lewd suggestions. Were there other sides to choose from? The image of submissive-Spike from earlier popped into her mind, sending more tendrils of fire licking her skin deliciously.

Buffy blinked, clearing her throat uncomfortably and looking away. She gently pulled her hand from his grasp and took a step back, trying to calm all her racing thoughts and boiling blood. Was she honestly having these thoughts and feelings about Spike? God help her... yes, she was.

Spike let her go, wishing he had the words that would make her stay, make her understand. But the only words he had – I love you – he knew would drive her away even faster. Instead, he asked, "Be alright on your own? Maybe I should come with—"

"No, I'm fine," Buffy insisted immediately, looking around for her coat. "Slayer constitution, you know. Takes more than refilling my glass every five minutes to get me drunk."

Spike snorted, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he ducked his head. "Noticed that, did you?"

Buffy rolled her eyes, which might've been a mistake, because she teetered a bit, but started for his comfy chair to retrieve her coat. "Yes, with the noticing. You aren't exactly discreet, Spike."

Spike grinned. "Part o' my delightful charm."

Buffy blew out an amused breath, but refrained from more eye rolling. As she picked up her coat, she took note of the small, scruffy 'Charlie Brown' Christmas tree atop Spike's battered TV. In a former life, it might've been a single branch from the massive fir he'd gotten them. It had exactly one decoration on it – a gingerbread vampire.

"What's this?" Buffy asked, her tipsiness fading as she fingered the lacquered finish of the ornament. "You stole my vampire?" she accused, turning to face him.

"'Stole' is such a strong word," Spike defended, squaring his shoulders and hooking his thumbs over his belt. "Thought of it as… rescuing."

Buffy arched a brow at him. "Rescuing?" she repeated dubiously.

"Well, yeah… poor blighter was all alone in the box. All its mates having a grand time out on the tree, even the ugly clothes peg reindeer was frolicking with its friends in the evergreen. Took it upon m'self to save the little bugger… give it a properly good time here with his own kind. Understand that's what us white hats do."

Buffy rolled her eyes – bad idea! – before looking back at the monster she'd created… or maybe the Monks had created it for her. It was all so confusing. She sighed. "Fine, Lone Ranger, consider it a gift from me to you," she agreed before catching sight of a small present beneath the tree.

"Oh! We missed one," she assumed, reaching for the shabbily-wrapped box.

"No, that's not—" Spike began, looking suddenly wide-eyed and nervous. He stepped forward, intending to snatch it from her hand, but Buffy turned and stepped away, blocking him.

"To Buffy from Spike?" she read on the little tag before looking up at him. All the other gifts had been 'from Mom' – none had been 'from Spike.'

Spike sighed, ducking his head shyly. "Yeah, well… saw it while I was out, didn't I? And thought… I dunno… it's not much, really, just… something, thought you might… it's not a big thing, really…"

"You're babbling."

Spike stopped and cleared his throat, looking up at her with a mixture of hope and fear on his expressive features. "Brought you to mind, is all."

"Can I open it?" Buffy wondered, running her fingers over the shiny, slightly wrinkled, red and gold paper.

Spike shrugged nonchalantly, though his stomach was a roiling nest of madly fluttering butterflies. "If ya want."

Buffy had to use Slayer strength to get through the layers of Scotch tape, but finally pulled out a small white jewelry box. She bit her lip as she opened the lid, not sure what to expect – something skull-themed, perhaps? What she found surprised her. It was a silver pendant depicting a crescent moon with a timeless, venerable face. The moon was curved around a brilliant, smiling sun. Between the dark and the light, dancing in the rays of the sun, was a flurry of stars. The symbolism of it was not lost on her – bright and shiny; dark and deadly.

"Oh, Spike…" she breathed, lifting it up by the chain and looking over at him. "It's beautiful."

"Yeah?" he asked hopefully, daring to step closer to her. "You really like it?"

Buffy gave him one of her best Colgate smiles. "I love it," she assured him, surprising herself with her honesty. She handed the necklace to him and turned around, lifting her hair up so he could put it on her.

Spike's fingers skimmed over the warm skin of her neck as he fastened it, and there it was again – that feeling. Droplets of icy fire tumbled down Buffy's body, flushing her skin and rekindling her desire. She closed her eyes as that floaty sensation returned, leaving her feeling like blissful feather carried along in a delicate breeze. She hadn't felt anything like it since… since their 'engagement', she realized.

Maybe her intoxication wasn't all down to the brandy. Could it be just spending time with Spike – time when they weren't bickering or fighting, but rather laughing and working together – would make her feel so pleasantly buoyant? It was impossible to deny that Spike had changed. He'd often made her feel vulnerable, seeing more than he ought, but recently he'd let her see more too. See behind the shields and the walls to the soft, gooey center. And it was getting harder and harder to deny that she kinda liked it, sweet and saucy and, well, undeniably Spike. Her body, and her imagination, certainly had their own favorable opinions about this new and improved Spike.

The vampire seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to clasp the necklace, but Buffy wasn't complaining. Every brush of Spike's fingers against her skin sent another wave of pleasure rolling over her. Would he kiss her neck? Did she want him to kiss her neck?

Even after the necklace was in place, hanging against her chest, she stood there frozen, trying to sort through all the bright and deadly thoughts that were careening around inside her brandy-softened skull.

'And I suppose you know where to find this mythical creature?"

'Can't find 'im for you, luv. Gotta do it yourself. Sometimes, it's just a matter of taking off your Slayer-colored glasses, dropping the shields, and looking about.'

'So, you're looking for that mythical creature, too? One who loves you even when they hate you, who doesn't scare easily, who'll fight to the end of the world for you?'

'Yeah, I reckon I am.'

Spike cleared his throat, breaking Buffy from her thoughts, and she felt him step back. Buffy swallowed, dropped her hair, and opened her eyes before turning around to face him. "How does it look?" she asked in a raspy voice, running a finger over the intricately crafted silver.

Spike gave her a warm smile. "Beautiful, just like you, pet. Suits you."

Buffy returned his smile, then bit her lip. "I… um, get the whole symbolism of it – night and day – glowy and dark… Slayer and woman."

"Knew you would," Spike admitted, his eyes softening.

"So, um… if I took off my Slayer-colored glasses and looked around, do you think I'd find that mythical creature who can, you know, handle the dark and the light? Who isn't afraid of getting burned o-or battered?" she wondered, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. Her heart had begun racing, pounding a staccato beat against her ribs, and her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

Spike's warm smile turned hopeful. "Could give it a go – never know what might be lurkin' in plain sight."

"He'd need to be pretty… um, strong and, you know… brave, and the kind of person that would stick around even when I'm at my worst. Cos… honestly? I'm not sure I could handle someone else walking away," Buffy admitted haltingly.

Spike nodded solemnly and took a step closer to her. "Would need t' check his CV, I reckon. Maybe look for a bloke that stayed devoted to the woman he loved for over a century, who fought, fang and claw, to make it work. A fella who never walked away, no matter how much she hurt him, never left, not until she did."

"Do… do you think someone like that would, you know, think I was… worth fighting for?" Buffy shrugged unsurely.

Spike lifted a hand to her forehead and slowly ran his fingers down her temple and cheek, gently pressing her hair back from her face. "Know he would. He'd think you were perfect, pet. He'd lo— err, stay devoted to you, even when he hated you."

Buffy blinked back moisture that had suddenly pooled behind her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat. She bit her lip, the corners of her mouth curving into a shy smile. "Would he maybe like to kiss me?"

"He thought you'd never ask," Spike breathed, leaning in slowly, diffidently, and touching his mouth to hers.

Their lips met, parted, and came together again, exploring, tasting, remembering and re-discovering. She tasted of brandy and Buffy, darkness and light, Slayer and woman. Spike tasted of tobacco and brandy, the coppery tang of bright red blood and the coolness of silver moonbeams, vampire and man. The kiss deepened, slowly, tentatively. Teeth nipped at soft lips, tongues twined together. Buffy's hands closed around his biceps and Spike's arms snaked around her waist, pulling her soft, supple body against the hard planes of his.

The world seemed to stop spinning. There was nothing but them, floating in a kaleidoscopic sea of drifting clouds. Heated curves against cool muscle. Tongues dancing, tasting, teasing. Teeth nibbling on soft, full lips. Chests heaving with desperate breaths, even if one of them didn't need to breathe. It felt wickedly perfect, as if this was something they'd both been waiting for, searching for, their entire lives.

Buffy's hands slipped up over Spike's strong shoulders to wrap around his neck and then tangle in his hair, breaking through the gel to release a riot of curls. The kiss deepened, becoming more desperate and frantic, neither able to get enough. Spike's hands slid down to splay across her ass, lifting her up and against his almost-painful erection. Buffy took the hint and lifted her legs to clamp around his slim waist, pressing her burning core against his throbbing cock.

Spike spun them around, moving as if in a dream, floating through the cheerful detritus that littered the floor, until Buffy's ass was atop the sarcophagus. His hands slipped up beneath her sweater and her camisole to find the soft glow of her bare skin. It was like touching sunbeams and stars; better than he remembered from their spell-induced snogging. Better even than any fantasy he'd ever conjured. Their hips ground together as if there were no fabric keeping their eager bodies apart. Sighs and growls and indistinct murmurs filled the cool air, each sound lifting them higher.

Buffy moaned into his mouth, overwhelming Spike with love and lust and a bone-deep yearning. He released her lips and began kissing a line of fire down over her jaw to her neck until he found the thudding pulse point. He suckled hungrily as the thrumming, overheated blood just beneath her skin as her head fell back in a surrender to the ecstasy. A reckless vow slipped from Spike's throat in reply to her lusty little whimpers and unrestrained trust, her willing vulnerability. It was muffled, but seemed to reverberate through the crypt as if he'd shouted it from the rooftops. "Love you, God Buffy... love you so bloody much."

Buffy jerked away from him, breathless and flushed, eyes disbelieving. Her heart thundered in her chest and her body hummed with desperate need, but her mind whirled with confusion, trying to process not only what he'd said, but the ferocity, the sincerity, with which he'd said it. Their eyes met, his frightened, knowing he shouldn't have let those words slip out, hers wide with shock.

The moment seemed to last an eternity, but couldn't have been more than a moment or two before Buffy pushed him back and jumped down from her perch.

"I… need to… pumpkin…" she stammered, grabbing her coat and sprinting for the door.

"Buffy, pet, please," Spike began, but the sound of the slamming door drowned out his agonized plea.

"Bugger."

NOTE:

UH-OH! Did Spike just blow it? Admit too much too soon? Eep!