Who's for dinner?(5/?), by dutchbuffy2305

Pairing: Faith/Spike

Rating: R

Author's note: Sequel to His voice is like a Mars-bar

Author's website:

Feedback: Yes, please, to dutchbuffy2305@yahoo.co.uk

Faith was never the lie-abed kind of girl before, but morning has become her favorite moment. Staying put in her warm nest, ignoring the pale call of the new day, being surrounded by the solid good-smelling vampire arms of her vampire. Spike nuzzles her neck until she wakes up. Her body is usually a couple of strides ahead of her, already heated, and slicked up where she should be slick. Spike always knows exactly when she crosses the fuzzy line between tingly but half-asleep and raring to go, and in that perfect moment he slips into her. She shifts from Park into Reverse and smooshes her butt into his hips. She's never gotten her driver's license, but that doesn't stop her from smoothly sliding out of the parking lot and hurtling down the highway. Even though there's lots of changing lanes and violating the speed limit, it's too early for words yet, and they communicate with traffic signs of little grunts and sighs.

When she finally opens her eyes she really doesn't want to see just her pillowcase, so she slips off his cock and turns in the air like a dolphin catching the slippery herring and corkscrewing down on it in a perfect dive. Now she can see intent blue eyes, and pink lips that are thrust out in the serious quest for her next orgasm. There's no such thing as morning mouth with a vampire and she grabs the back of his head and kisses him rhythmically, working with his thrusts. The springy curls under her hands get mashed and spring back, mashed and spring back.

Mmm. Spike's mouth tastes like it looks, lush and pink, soft and wet and hard mixed like the white of his teeth and the deeper carmine inside. Her belly growls. That's what you get from making all that saliva.

"Orgasm first or breakfast in bed?" Spike asks, never missing a beat.

Faith closes her eyes for a moment, trying to take gauge the emptiness of her belly, but taking away sight makes the sensation of his cock dancing inside go up several notches in intensity and she digs her thumbs below his hipbones and gasps, "Don't stop."

Spike is never cruel to her early in the morning and obliges by driving in against that spot right there and she sees black stars before her eyes when she opens them again. Now she needs food right away, or one of these early morning post-orgasm headaches is going to come on. Spike presses her back into the pillows and hurries to the kitchen. The sound of plastic ripping and a soft rushing remind her of what she's eating these days and she groans. It's food, okay, but muesli and yogurt? So not her dream of proper breakfast. But Spike hangs onto Clem's every word on nutrition as if it's scripture, and she likes to please him.

In comes cold unappetizing breakfast, but thank god he's started the coffee.  She's eating giant portions these days coz muesli just doesn't seem to pack the amount of sugar and grease she craves. When her own eating sounds stop for a moment, she becomes aware of a yammering she's heard vaguely while they were fucking. After a tiny start of 'baby crying' she dismissed it as cats howling, but now she realizes it's the wind. Its icy fingers pinch her butt and she crawls back under the covers. Spike prances over to the window, buck naked as he is, and twitches open the curtains in death defying motion. Faith's body jerks; it wants to save him from the lethal sunlight, but the world is gone. There's just this gray vortex, the perfect accompaniment to the howling music the wind makes. So this is a real Cleveland snowstorm, straight in from Canada, where the people are mellow but the climate is harsh. Or so Faith has heard. She nestles back a little deeper in the warm bedding. They can play around all day.

Spike yanks back the covers and hauls her up. "Come, love," he says. "We can just go out and get it before I need my beauty sleep."

What? Out? In this? He's insane, but as that's not a recent finding, what's special today? Oh right, they were going to get Clem a fish for Christmas dinner, which is tonight. Faith isn't keen on fish, of which there was much in prison, but hey, small trouble for a guy who can't get into Wal-Mart without dozens of people shitting themselves in fear in the aisles.

Spike is rubbing his hands. "Haven't been out in the day in ages," he says. "Cool. Let's slap on our snow chains and get going."

Yeah, yeah. Coffee first. Her legs are still a bit wobbly from the recent major zinger and now that she's standing and feels the come dripping down her thighs, a shower wouldn't come amiss either.

Spike can never resist grabbing a handful of Faith, and takes a deep whiff. "Don't bathe," he says. "What's good enough for Napoleon is even better for me."

Isn't it weird how even the coolest guys give their dicks a pet name? Not as if she ever thinks of her pussy as little Faith or Lolita or something.

*

The ice stretches away for miles on all sides, black if they look down, white at the horizon, where it meets a gun-metal gray sky. They are lying below the howling winds that are chasing whirling snow bunnies all around Lake Erie, in a little pocket of silence and insterstellar cold that sucks the life out of them from below. Someone shoots off a cannon close to their ears and the booming sound races through the water beneath them to the shore, and then returns slower and lower, shaking the marrow of their bones and making Faith's teeth ache.

"Was that the cavalry, coming to our rescue?" Faith asks with chattering teeth.

Spike shoots her a concerned look. "No, just ice breaking and settling," he says. "I remember hearing it when I was little we skated on the Thames one winter. Deeply scary to my little boy guts."

"To my big girl ones as well. If the ice breaks will we be able to get back? Won't it sink?"

"Ice floats, honey. And it's about three feet thick. Don't worry."

Spike can talk all he likes, but he isn't the one who'll be drowning. And who's freezing her ass off right now. Her ass is the highest part of her, catching the most wind and it won't be fun at all if it's gonna break off and shatter into a thousand frozen flesh colored pieces. Will Spike be able to put her back together again?

"Remind me again why we're doing this?"

"Clem and me, we always hunt our own Christmas dinner. Clem's doing the meat course, we do the fish course."

"What's wrong with turkey?"

"Nothing, but this is more fun!"

Spike's skin is lilac, making a Fauvist picture with his yellow, white-rimed hair and red rimmed eyes. He freezes, the spear in his hand quivering in the wind, and then thrusts the spear down in the cold black hole. He uses such force that he slides along with it and Faith gets her stiff limbs working only just in time to catch a sockless blue ankle. She doesn't think vampires can drown or die from cold, but wouldn't it be a drag to have to wait until spring to dredge up Spike and unthaw him?

The fish is hauled up and killed with a blow to the head. Faith is less sure about this venture than before. It doesn't look like the fish she used to fillet at all. She doesn't like the way its pale eye stares at her haughtily or the oily rainbow sheen its colorless scales have.

When Faith tries to get up, fish cradled in her arms like a cold slimy baby, the wind blows her legs out from under her just like that. Crawl instead? Spike casts a worried eye over her, drags her over to the bike and lifts her onto the pillion seat. Faith clings to him, her cold face swathed in useless frozen shawls, and buries her nose in the stiffened leather of his duster. Tiny shards of ice break off and are snatched up eagerly by the black day around her. There is no warmth behind Spike's back, only shelter from the murderous wind. The journey home passes in a haze of miserable sounds, the whiny slipping of their snow tires on the ice, the wind's shrill scream circling her and trying to pry her loose from Spike.

*

Ta ta ta dum…It's Clem's cheery rap on the door. Faith and Spike are playing poker at the kitchen table. Clem plunks down the big bags of stuff he's carrying. Suspicious green things are sticking out. Spell supplies, Faith hopes. Could be Christmas dinner though. Clem looks at them and scratches behind his floppy ears.

"Um, guys, why are you wearing blankets? It isn't that cold in here?"

Faith gestures with her two of a kind. "Duh! It's washday, obviously. My last set of clothes is still frozen. I was cold, and I wanted to concentrate on the game, so I made Spike wear one too."

"Uh-huh," Clem says, nodding thoughtfully.

Faith senses a lecture coming on. He's gonna make her scrape candle wax off the carpet again. Why are they listening to a demon telling them how to arrange their lives? What does he know, being a demon? And, like, a cave dweller?

"Is there a special reason to wait until you're out of clothes before you do laundry?"

Faith shrugs. "Um, no, but who remembers how many clothes they have? I have tons."

Clem sighs. "Are they gonna be dry tonight? I don't wanna have Christmas dinner with people in blankets.

"I'll take it off," Spike offers with a wink to Faith.

"I'm expecting like festive clothing, people! Don't tell me you didn't know about that little human custom?"

"We didn't all have your opportunities, Clem," Faith says absentmindedly. Spike's bluffing and she's gonna take him.

"True," Clem muses. "My uncle used to have a business near the Sunnydale docks, and he taught me everything about food, and manners, and human customs."

"Sea food?" Spike says.

Clem hesitates for a moment. "No, more like land food, actually. We catered to special needs. It got too risky coupla years ago, so in 1996 my uncle packed up and moved to a quieter location. I'm actually thinking of opening a place right here, because business is sure to pick up with all the demons that are gonna come in."

Faith looks up. "They are? Is there gonna be an apocalypse?"

Clem chuckles and starts unpacking his utensils. There's lots of very sharp knives and mountains of things that don't look much like the foods Faith usually eats. She recognizes some of them from the prison kitchen.

"Oh [lease, not another apocalypse. You get so tired of them after you've seen two or three, and they never get to go through anyway, so why bother to get all excited? It's just that with the Hellmouth becoming active, I'm expecting a lot of traffic."

"Thought the Hell mouth was active already, mate?" Spike says. "Watcher told us to come guard it."

Clem raises several ridges of skin above his eyes. "Were you never paying attention to anything but kittens and Slayers, Spike? The Hellmouth is becoming active because there is a Slayer in town. Her positive energy wakes it up, and it starts calling to demons all over the world."

Faith can actually feel her jaw drop and snaps it shut with an effort. What the hell? Her presence activates the Hellmouth? She looks at Spike. He's looking kinda slapped in the face as well. What? Faith mouths to Spike. Spike lifts his shoulders. For the first time ever Faith feels an urgent need to talk to Giles. This can't be good.

"Here," Clem offers. "Have a nice piece of celery to chew on while we work."

Faiths eyes it without enthusiasm. "Aren't vegetables supposed to be green? This looks kinda pale and bloodless, like a vampire vegetable.."

Clem's easy chuckle again. His ears wiggle when he does that. "Spike, you remember celery?"

Spike grunts. "Vaguely. Seemed limper back then. I'm sure I remember vegetables need to be boiled a long, long time."

"Gosh, Spike, you sure don't keep up with the times, do you? Delia tells us celery is a wonderful crunchy flavorful vegetable that can be eaten raw. I brought dip."

Clem starts dividing chores. Faith gets to peel potatoes, since she's done that before, and Spike, who has no cooking skills at all, is salting the turkey skin.

"Prefer my food raw, thank you very much," Spike mutters.

Clem winks at Faith and offers to leave one leg out for Spike to gnaw on.

"Ta, mate, this dog hasn't sunk to chicken juice quite yet."

"Slayer feeding you?"

A shiver runs down Faith's spine, both hot and cold. Spike is welcome to suck and nibble on every part of her, but not with his real teeth. Yet. Reminds her too much of Angelus and Barry Manilow. It's the one thing Buffy never gave him, so she does think it over occasionally. She just doesn't want to tell Spike what it makes her think of, because, hey, Angel, off-limits topic in Casa Spike.

*

To Faith's great relief there's no sitting down at the table kind of Christmas dinner. Wouldn't it have been embarrassing when a vampire and demon knew the right fork to use and she didn't? They just sit down in front of the Grinch with plates on their lap. She's dressed up in her nicest black pants and purple corset. Clem is wearing a tux, which she thinks doesn't suit his coloring, but she doesn't mention that. Spike wears a black silk shirt and she has helped him put on eyeliner. The black lines around his eyes make him look both younger and more wicked, like a depraved Greek statue. His shirt hangs open and shows a smooth expanse of creamy white flesh. She hopes Clem won't hang around until all hours; she wants to lap up that cream from between the black chocolate layers.

The appetizers are crusty shellfish which require a lot of carefully calculated violence to open. Isnide there is a bit of gray snot. Spike feeds Faith one of the translucent jello creatures. It doesn't do all that much for her, but she's been in an all-woman prison long enough to understand why Spike really digs the taste.

After the disastrous fish course, where even the cook himself doesn't manage more than a token bite of the flaky gray-white flesh, Clem doles out a heap of potatoes and a thick meaty sauce. It's like the three bears, and only Goldilocks is missing. Clem a whole big heap, Faith a middling big heap and Spike a token bit so he won't feel left out.  Faith wants to take a bite but Spike grabs her wrist and asks Clem what kind of meat is in it.

"Hey," Clem says, affronted. "Spike, you know I wouldn't…"

"No, no, okay," Spike says. "Just checking."

Faith takes a careful bite, and it tastes just like Thai pork. Very nice. If she forgets about the fish adventure, Clem sure can cook, even if his taste in movies is doubtful. After the Grinch comes White Christmas accompanied by turkey, but Faith doesn't really approve of the combination. The turkey really isn't fascinating enough to make her sit through Bing Crosby, but Spike and Clem know all the words and have a great time. She sloshes more red wine in her glass. She's more a beer kind of girl, but it does go well with dinner, she decides.

The guys take pity on her and put in Matrix Two. She's seen it but it's still cool. That's more like it. She hardly even notices when ice cream is spooned into her mouth by Spike, on whose lap she's sitting, she's concentrating so hard on memorizing the moves. That's some fighting. She and Spike should try some of these leaps and turns, they're really awesome. In fact, she's going to try them right now. She shoves aside the coffee table and leans backwards like Keanu. He must have more muscles than she, because no matter what she tries, she falls ass backwards on the chartreuse carpet.

Spike is laughing so hard his eyeliner is running. It looks even better on him. "It's done with wires, sweetheart," he says.

This is a blow for Faith. How is a Slayer to compete against wire? She thinks a bit. And Charlie's Angels? They too. That's too bad, because she really likes Lucy Liu.

Spike and Clem prefer Cameron Diaz. Faith snorts.

"Guys always go for blondes," she says. It's not fair.

"I go for you, don't I?" Spike says.

She crawls over to him, because the thought of standing up makes her dizzy. His lap welcomes her with open arms and she hides her hot buzzing face in his cool neck.

"Um, hi," a sweet female voice says hesitantly. Spikes' hands unclasp her and then grip her a little bit too tightly. Faith lifts her reeling head and sees a girl sitting in the chair they never use because its springs are faulty. She's smiling shyly at them and fiddles nervously with her hands in her ample shocking pink lap. Her oriental gold-edged skirt hangs down prettily, but she doesn't seem to dent the cushions the way she should. Her face tugs a bit at Faiths memory strings, but she can't reach the right hiding place in her mind right now.

"Tara?" Spike says.

"Hi, Tara," Clem says. "How've you been? Heaven treating you well?"

TBC