CHAPTER SEVEN
As the ending credits of How the Grinch Stole Christmas begin to roll, Dawn gets up slowly from the sofa, stretches her long arms towards the ceiling and says through a yawn, "Well, that's it for me. I'm off."
"You can't stay up for Miracle on 34th Street?" Buffy asks from her seated position of the floor between Spike's knees.
"I can't stay up for anything on any street at this point," Dawn replies. "Bedtime is calling. And if the Grinch happens down the chimney to steal our Christmas tree...Oh, wait! We don't have a Christmas tree."
"Sorry," Buffy strains through a smile. "I've been kind of busy lately. I'll go down to the storage room and get it tomorrow. Then tomorrow night we can make some eggnog, sing some Christmas Carols and decorate it. Sound like a plan?"
Dawn twirls a finger around in the air. "Sounds like a blast. I'd better rest up for all the mayhem." She turns and heads down the hall to her room. "Night, you guys."
"Good night," Buffy and Spike say in unison.
Buffy scoots over to the VCR and presses the rewind button. She rented half dozen Christmas-themed flicks that afternoon to get everyone in the spirit, since the mood of the household was decidedly bah-humbug. Without their mother at the holiday helm, both Buffy and Dawn are having a hard time facing the 25th and Spike, even in his human years, was never the ho ho ho type. It just occurred to Buffy this afternoon that she hasn't even made plans for Christmas dinner and tomorrow is the 24th. She wonders if any Chinese restaurants will be open…
Buffy waits out the tape's rewinding by stretching out of the floor on her stomach and resting her chin on her folded hands. She is feeling the drowse of having kept her eyes focused on the TV screen for too long a period and she thinks that Dawn had a good idea about going to bed early.
"So what did you think of the Grinch?" Buffy asks, stifling a brief yawn.
"Well, first of all you're talking to a purist," Spike says, "I think that the storyline loses something without Dr. Seuss' original poetry. And Anthony Hopkins may have played Hannibal the Cannibal, but he's no match for Boris Karloff, the best monster portrayer ever, as a narrator. Take away those elements and all you've got is Jim Carrey running about in a suit of green shag carpeting remnants."
Buffy smiles in response at her sweetheart's assessment of the film and lays the side of her head on her crossed arms.
Seeing his ladylove in a prone position, Spike slides off his chair and crabwalks over to where Buffy is lying. Once beside her, he too stretches out, reaching behind her neck to give her a quick massage.
"Speaking of shag," he says, close to her ear. "How about finishing what we started last night?"
"We can't," Buffy says in an exasperated protest, her voice muted against her sleeve. "Dawn's here."
"Yeah, I know. But if we're really quiet…" he says, tracing a finger down her spine.
"Honey, no!"
"Come on. Please?" he asks hopefully, kissing her exposed cheek and whispering into her ear, "If we take things nice and slow, we won't make much noise."
"She'll still be able to hear the bed springs."
He rolls her over until she is flat on her back. She gasps in surprise as his hands go to either side of her head, trapping some of her hair between his palms and the carpeting. "We'll do it on the floor, then," he says, his hips undulating above hers.
"Honey---
"Please?" he asks, bringing his head down for a lingering kiss. "Please?" followed by another kiss.
Her arms go around him as he relaxes his body on top of hers. She loves to kiss him. If it weren't for the fact that there were other things she liked to do more with him, she would just kiss him all the time, she thinks. It was such a shock to her, at first, how soft and supple his lips were. She imagined for the longest time that his mouth would be firm and tough like tanned hide. But at the first brush, she felt the tenderness and as her lips conformed to his, the truth that his mouth had been expounding on for months; he loved her. Even now, when lust is so clearly on his mind and so vividly repeating against her pelvic region, she is reminded of that first sensation that his love for her was real and not just another act of aggression. What seemed like such secret sin in the beginning now feels just like breathing to her.
He moves a little to allow his hand to wander between them. His fingers curve around the mound of soft flesh between her legs and he massages the area through her jeans. She loosens her mouth long enough to mutter, "Oh, God…" and lays her legs out in a V-shape across the floor.
"You getting hot for me, baby?" he purrs between kisses.
She nods, her head suddenly vibrating with giddiness as her tongue curls around his.
"You getting wet for me?" he asks, squeezing her roughly between her legs as though to wring out some of her juices onto his palm.
"Uh huh," she answers.
"Let Spike see," he says in a low growl.
She hears the muted pop of the top button of her jeans being undone. She feels the feather-light touch of his fingertip circling her navel. He circles over and over again until she starts to squirm in her ticklishness. She watches as he lifts the elastic of her panties and lodges two fingers underneath the fabric. Her moan is instant as his fingers slice into her quivering, moistened flesh, brought up to a ragingly hot temperature at his cold touch.
"For me?" he asks, nuzzling her cheek.
"Yeah," she says as his fingers caress her clitoris. Regaining enough sense to know what's going on, she slips a hand between them and feels up his trim, muscular thigh until she reaches his crotch. He moans against her as her fingers cup around his swollen member. "For me?"
"Always," he answers with a smile.
She strokes him from the outside of his jeans as his fingers continue to work their magic between her legs. When he touches a particularly hot spot, Buffy yowls, "Storage!"
Thinking this is just about the oddest word anyone has ever muttered during foreplay, Spike freezes his fingers and looks into her arousal-mired eyes.
"Come again?" he asks.
"The storage room," she finishes. "We could go down there and get the Christmas tree tonight." She reaches up to trace the branched scar in his eyebrow. "I keep the big couch down there. The one with all the pillows from the old place? And there's a pole. You can tie me up and frisk me if you want," she says, segueing into the most sensual rasp he's ever heard her make.
"Well, then I think we need a little Christmas right this very moment," he drawls seductively into her ear.
Spike grasps her hand and helps her to her feet. Her legs are already a little shaky from their foreplay and he steadies her as she buttons her jeans. Hand in hand, they walk to the door. Buffy undoes the dead bolt while Spike curls his body around the rise of her behind. He nibbles the back of her neck as she reaches for the night latch.
"Darling," he says, "why do we have all these bleeding locks on the door?"
"To keep intruders out, silly!" she says with a slight giggle, feeling his lips tickle the edge of her earlobe.
"Has it ever occurred to you that if anyone ever tried to break in, the two of us could pulverize the perp into paste?"
Buffy only offers him a look that says, "You should know better than to ask such a question" and flips the deadbolt.
And there, standing before them is a familiar man with a head of raven hair. His fist is paused mid-air as though he were about to knock.
"Xander?" Buffy says, her voice pitched high in surprise.
Spike takes a breath and mutters, "Case in point."
"What are you doing here?" Buffy asks.
Xander only glares at her and brushes past them. "OK. I just want it to be known that I am officially confused about women for life."
Spike rolls his eyes and thinks to himself, "I should have sired the prat when I had the chance the other night. Then he wouldn't be able to just walk in like he owns the place."
"Uh oh. What happened?" Buffy asks as her friend plops down on the loveseat.
"I don't even want to talk about it," Xander says, putting his hands behind his head.
"Well, good, because Buffy and I were just on our way out," Spike says.
"Honey," Buffy warns with a cutting glance. She returns her good intentions towards Xander. "Let me guess. You had a fight with Anya."
Xander exhales a breath, nearly imitating the personification of the North Wind. "Oh yeah. A big one. Like a Tyson/Holyfield bout without the ear munching."
Buffy sits on the edge of the chair nearest the loveseat. "Was it about the wedding?"
Seeing that Buffy is in helpful friend mode now, Spike takes his sulking into the kitchen.
"They're all about the wedding these days," he answers darkly. "We hardly ever fought until I put that ring on her finger. I mean, just because Cosmo says that if a man wants to postpone a wedding, it means that he doesn't want to get married at all, that's the law."
"You're thinking about postponing the wedding?"
"Just by a few months. Until September."
"September? But you're supposed to get married in February."
"Yes, I know that. And February is just a month away. I just need more time. I tried to explain that to her and she just kept saying, 'That means you'll never be ready to get married.' And I said, 'Yes, I will be ready to be married. In September.' I tried to reason with. I told her that the extra months would give her more time to get all the Martha Stewart details down to the letter about the ceremony and the reception. Nothing I said seemed to matter. It all ended with her saying, 'I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, drop dead!' And when a vengeance demon, former of not, says something like that, I think it's best to clear out and wait for things to blow over."
"That's probably smart," Buffy concedes. "Well, the important thing for you to know is that she doesn't really hate you. I mean, right now you're not her favorite cuddle toy on the shelf, but that doesn't mean she's going to let you go to a white elephant sale."
"She was getting pretty scarily sentimental about the days when she infested men with penile boils and full-body fungi towards the end of the fight," Xander says with a grimace.
"Well, since her pendant was smashed, I don't think you have to worry about…those particular things. What you need to think about is---
The phone rings from the kitchen. The bell sounds twice before Buffy has to ask Spike to get it.
Spike comes into the room with the cordless phone in his outstretched hand.
"Shop girl is on the line," Spike says.
"Tell her that I'm not talking to her until she calms down and can discuss things rationally," Xander says firmly.
"No, you tell her. I'm not your bleeding message service and I certainly don't mix in affairs involving ex-vengeance demons," Spike says, forcing the phone into his hand.
Xander takes a cleansing breath before shouldering the phone. He pauses before saying, "Anya, if you want to continue the fight via AT&T, I'm turning Sprint, OK? Look, I said I was sorry and….Anya…An…I know what you've read and I know that---
Anya…Anya, please just listen to me for once and stop yelling!" Xander's eyes bug out of his head. "Nice language, An! Would you kiss D'Offeran with that mouth?"
Buffy tip-toes out of the room as it appears the discussion they're having is not meant for anyone's ears but their own. Spike is already there in the kitchen, putting a mug into the microwave. He drums his fingers on the counter, waiting for the seconds to tick by until the blood is an acceptable 98.6.
"Hey," Buffy says softly, touching her lover's arm. "I know you're mad, but don't be."
"All you had to say was that this isn't the right time to pay a pity call," Spike growls.
"Honey, I couldn't turn him away. I mean, Xander and I share a long history. He was my friend before anyone else at Sunnydale."
"Yes, but you made other friends eventually."
"But he was my first friend. I can't just tell him what he's going through isn't important to me because it is, especially since he's had to put his life in danger so many times for things that are important to me. You understand that, don't you, sweetie?" she asks in a honey sweet voice.
Spike twists his mouth to one side and presses his thumb against the clear button on the microwave. After extracting his mug, he takes a pause before drinking, letting Buffy know that he is annoyed by this and he will continue to be annoyed by Xander's presence until the whelp is gone.
"I understand it. But that doesn't mean I have to like it," Spike says, taking a drink.
Buffy soothes his arm with a few soft strokes of her hand. "It'll all be over soon. They'll talk for a while and then he'll go home. And then we can be alone," she says, laying a promising kiss on his cheek.
"Sure," Spike says. He looks at the time on the microwave. 9:00. He thinks back on the time he fought with Dru from approximately 9:00 pm to 9:00 am---two days later. There is a similar fervor to this row. Only Spike and Dru's fight had been about how Spike wasn't paying enough respect to Miss Edith and she was very cross with him. The only thing that resolved that tiff was a gentle tea party and a deep apology as Dru bit deep into the neck of a ten year old and later seated the china doll the girl clutched while she died around the miniature table and chairs Dru kept spit shined and cobweb free, even though sometimes they lived in sewers and drank from circus freaks to stay alive.
"It'll all be over soon," Buffy reminds him again.
At 12:35 it is still not over.
Buffy goes over to the fridge. The freezer contains two pints of Ben and Jerry's. She chooses the Chunky Monkey for Spike, knowing how much he likes something with a bit of texture, and the Cherry Garcia for herself.
Grabbing two spoons from the drawer, she says, "It'll be over soon."
"Oh, God," Spike says as he's about to stab his spoon into the permafrost of the ice cream.
"What?" Buff asks, taking a seat beside him.
"I just thought of a time that was more annoying than this. Dru and I were in Prague, staying in a hotel. The pipes banged all night. I drove my fist through the wall, jerked out the pipes. The whole building collapsed around us. It was daytime. We were sizzling, trying to find shelter and when we did, we wound up at some youth hostel. After we killed everyone, we slept on these mealy mattresses and woke up singing the Cider Song. Apparently, that sort of thing is passed on in blood. No. Now that I think of it, this is far more annoying," Spike says, slurping a renegade droplet of melted ice cream from the side of his hand. "Not only can I hear what Wanker Boy is saying. I can also hear his honey through the phone."
"Really? Your hearing is that good?"
"Oh yeah. Vampire Belltones can pick up just about any sound. Including the hysteria of a jilted bride to be." There is still the begging in Xander's voice, the sound of a man who will do anything to please his woman short of scissoring off his balls and becoming a castrato. There is the tenderness, the continued assurances that he is sorry and he was wrong to think such things and the female response, former demon or not; but honey, the thought that you don't want to marry me…
"Well, he's not really jilting her. There's still going to be a wedding. Just not as soon as she planned."
Spike cocks a thoughtful eyebrow before diving in for more ice cream. "If you say so."
"You don't think he wants to marry her?" Buffy asks, spooning a bite into her mouth.
"Oh, I don't even care at this point. So what if I don't get to wear my tux for Shop Girls' nuptials. There'll be other times. Such as when we do our James Bond role-playing games," Spike says, hiking the toe of his boot up Buffy's pants' leg.
"I'd feel bad for Anya if they did call it off. I mean, it's all she's talked about for months."
"I know," Spike says, thinking back on all the times he's opened the door of the Magic Box, sending the post-it notes on Anya's seating chart fluttering in the draft. "But at least it's given her something else to ruminate about other than profits, losses and wolf bane."
Buffy twists the side of her mouth to one side and stirs her ice cream glumly. "I wonder if she and that troll were ever engaged. From what I remember, he wasn't a troll when they were dating. He was just some big, dumb guy, she said."
Spike blasts a snort through his nose. "Do you see a pattern here?"
Just then, Xander's hushed whispers go up a few decibels.
"Anya, what the hell more do you want from me? I'm already working 70-hour weeks as it is. I'm going to be paying for that ring on your finger until our kids are old enough to get married. Do you want me to take a second job? Is that it? So then we don't see each other at all? Is that how you want it?"
No is the answer to all these questions. Spike hears the answers in one long, screaming sob that nearly deafens him. "Blast!" he says, dropping his spoon into the ice cream tub and shoving himself away from the table. "This is bloody ridiculous. I'm gonna---
"Sh…He'll hear you!" Buffy cautions.
"I hope he does hear me. They can carry this on in their own apartment."
"Spike, come on," she says, running her hand up his arm, giving his bicep a brief squeeze. "If he and Anya don't get things resolved, he'll need someone to talk to, meaning best friend and best man will be called on for tea and sympathy."
"I'll not waste the rest of my evening counseling that glorified brick layer for all the bloody tea in China!"
"Honey, calm down."
Spike takes his head in his hands for a second, counting slowly to ten. Once his head stops pounding, he is able to speak on some conversational level again. "I've just been sitting here, thinking as I'm licking this ice cream off the spoon, I'd much rather be licking it off you, in the privacy of our bedroom. Is one night alone with my sweetheart too much to ask for?"
"Spike, what am I supposed to do? Say, 'Yeah, Xander, you once saved my life and you've helped me prevent six apocalypses in the last five years, but I'm horny and I really wish that you'd go home so that I can have sex with my boyfriend'?"
"Now, there's an idea!"
"Spike, that's not what a friend would say. And I would never say that anyway. You've had times when you really had to talk to someone about a problem. You talked to my mother about your break-up with Dru. She didn't tell you to go away. Even though she probably should have because at the time you weren't the safest gun in the rack."
The memory of being alone in the quiet kitchen with Buffy's caring mother sparks a smile on Spike's face. Spike had only met Joyce once before and their first encounter had been less than amicable. Had she the strength of her warrior daughter, Joyce could have crushed his skull with that axe. But on their second meeting, she was kind to him, gave him hot cocoa and a forum in which to air his grief and bitterness over the loss of his then beloved.
"She was a sweet lady, your mother," Spike says with an emotional crackle in his voice. "I asked for little marshmallows and she looked through the cupboards for them. Made me feel all cozy and cared for."
"That was Mom," Buffy says, drawing a hand through Spike's stiff locks. She settles her head on his shoulder and kisses the side of his face, her lips landing squarely on the hollow of his cheekbone. "As much as I love you, I just really need to be here for Xander right now. And after he's gone, we can be alone, OK?"
"OK," he replies through a heavy sigh.
"And, hey. If Dawn's been able to sleep through all of this so far, she might sleep through…something else that tends to get a little loud," she says, snapping her teeth over the upper curve of Spike's ear. "What's the score on the argument now?" she whispers.
"Still at nil, love," he's able to say in a contented voice, with Buffy so near and her hands stroking his hair. "She's still on about the postponement and he's still trying to justify it."
"Hopefully it will be over soon," Buffy says.
At 7:35 am, Xander bounds into the kitchen, clapping his hands together so hard that it whiplashes Spike from his facedown position on the table, but his sweetheart remains comatose.
"Well, make sure your tux is pressed and ready to go on September 24 because that's the new date for the Xanman's bachelorhood wake," Xander says with remarkable enthusiasm, given the early hour.
Spike is unable to open his eyes, which is just as well because he knows the sight of Xander beaming in their kitchen after holding them hostage with his pre-marital spat the night before might just make him do something stake-worthy.
"Yeah?" he says groggily. "Well, congratulations."
"I was finally able to get through to her that it just made sense to extend the engagement. You know, Anya's been around for a long, long time and has met tons of demon-types. But the thing is, they don't always have street addresses. This will give her more time to send feelers out for some of the friends she's had to leave off the guest list because she couldn't find them."
"The more demons the merrier," he says.
"Yeah," Xander replies. "You know, come to think of it, that might not be such a bright idea after all. If the demon force outnumbers the human contingent, there might be trouble. Maybe we'd better keep the wedding date as it is."
"Harris!" Spike barks. "A bit of advice from someone who knows what he's talking about. If you're onto a good thing, don't do anything to muck it up."
"I guess you're right. We're on speaking terms now, which is more than I had hoped for last night. Listen, thanks so much for putting up with everything. And when Buffy wakes up, tell her thanks too."
"Will do."
Once Spike hears the front door close, he reaches over for Buffy.
"Hey. Buffy. Wakey, wakey. The whelp's gone," he says in a sharp whisper while jostling her by the shoulders.
"Hmmm," she returns, semi-conscious.
"Buffy, we can be alone now. Xander's gone, love."
"What time is it?" she asks, in a voice muffled by the crook of her elbow.
"Just about half past seven."
Buffy raises her head drowsily, still not quite able to focus. "It's sleepytime."
"Not now, Buffy," Spike says encouragingly, lending her a supporting arm. "Not after we waited all night for him to leave. This is our time, anyway. Remember? Morning nookie, better than a cookie?"
She groans and rests her head on her shoulder. "But I'm tired…"
"If you're tired, then I'll get on top. You won't have to move a bit. Let me do all the work. Just a quick one, sweetheart. In and out and that's all."
"Did you guys stay up all night eating ice cream?" Dawn's voice sounds from the door.
The sudden arrival of a third party on the scene spurs Buffy into sudden wakefulness. With blurry eyes, she zeroes in on the three empty containers of ice cream overturned on the table, including the generic brand of vanilla which has resided in the freezer ever since Buffy moved in. "Oh, God! I think I'm going to puke!" She excuses herself from the table and dashes for the bathroom.
After watching her sister's speedy retreat down the hallway, Dawn turns again to Spike. "Was I dreaming, or was Xander here at some point last night?"
"Yeah, he was here, Nibblet," Spike, rising slowly from the table in near exhaustion.
"What was he doing here?"
Spike looks at the melting remains of the ice cream he and Buffy devoured with such reckless abandon the night before. "We thought he was looking for some little marshmallows," he says, beginning to clear off the empty cartons and sticky spoons from the table. "Turns out he didn't need them."