The Key to Christmas (co-written with vikingprince

November

Xander sneezed. Why did musty old bookstores filled with ancient magical texts always have to be so... musty? He scratched beneath his eyepatch with a dusty forefinger, and tilted his head sideways to read the titles. "Alphabetizing... not just a good idea," he muttered. "It's also a catchy Sesame Street song."

"What's that, Xan?" Buffy's head popped up from behind a heavy wooden table laden with leather bound journals, burgundy and brown and black and a disturbingly warm ivory color.

"Letters. Very important for the reading," Xander replied, before exclaiming, "A-ha! There you are!" He reached, depth perception much better now than it had been before Caleb played squish-the-grape with his eye.

“Hands off, that one's ours," Spike said, swooping past a distraught looking Wesley who apparently thought he had to abide by cuing rules. Thick leatherbound volume in hand, he pulled it away from the hapless Xander and slowly turned to look at Buffy. Her pull on him was still there... just as strong as ever.

Wesley let out a sigh of relief but, noticing Xander's irritated expression, tried to appease. "Right, we'll buy it and you may borrow it from us after we're done using it."

"How about not," Buffy snapped, coming to join the three men, and fighting to keep from staring at Spike with longing naked in her eyes. He hadn't called. She hadn't called. And here they were again, only with an audience this time. "We got here first."

"Wes," Xander said with false camaraderie. "Lookin' very not hapless these days. Lose your razor somewhere?" He smiled brightly and jerked the book from Spike's hands, putting it behind his back and waggling it at Buffy, who promptly took it.

"Some vampire you are..." Wesley glared at Spike.

"What, I was distracted, yeah." He gave the slayer a piercing blame-filled look and put his hand out. "Come on, give it back." Don't make me take it from you.

"Finders... keepers," she replied. Except that even though she'd found him again, the keeping wasn't really working for her. Three times seeing him in three months wasn't nearly enough! "Phone broken?"

Xander's eye flicked from Buffy to Spike. "Well, gotta go. World to be saved, you know how it is. Busy, busy, busy with the busy, right Buff?"

"Busy. Yeah, busy." She pushed the book back into Xander's hands, her eyes locked on Spike's. "Go forth and pay."

"Look, we really need the—"

"Shut up Wesley." Spike snaked his hand out and grabbed the book before Xander had a chance to. "Phone has two ends... yours broken?" he demanded, blue fire burning brightly in his eyes. If that last kiss had been anything to go by... when and if they actually hooked up, there would be a world of wreckage around them. The good sort.

As always, the vampire frustrated Wes to no end. Tapping him on the shoulder, he said, "Right, let's go. They have free rein to use the Wolfram and Hart library, should they wish to." It was a sore point, but he wasn't afraid to bring it up.

"Sure," Xander drawled. "Because we're willing to sell out to Microsoft, too. Book. Now." He and Buffy moved together to block Spike from leaving, pretty much ignoring Wes.

"I guess my phone must be broken," Buffy sniped. "It sure as hell hasn't been ringing.for the last month!" She laid hands on the book and tugged sharply.

Spike slapped his free hand over hers and pressed down, trapping it against the book. "Maybe it would if it didn't go right to voice mail." He tugged hard, bringing the book around behind his back. Since she didn't let go, she was dragged close with her arm sliding up and down his side. "Fuck..."

"Right, there's no need to take this little fight to the gutter. Come on Spike, let's buy the book, then we'll copy the parts they want, and get back to it. We're on the clock. The client won't be pleased if we overbill our time." Wesley took a step toward the cashier and turned. "Well?"

Buffy's breathing had sped as Spike pulled her –okay, maybe just the book, but she came along too— closer, the line of her warm body against his cool strength. "There haven't been any messages," she managed, and licked her lips.

Xander's eye narrowed, for a number of reasons. "You're gonna photocopy a grimoire? The hell? Don't you remember Moloch after he was uploaded? Have Bush and Cheney been eating your brain now that you're on the Dark Side, or what?"

The urge to kiss her... to drop the bloody book and make her his was so strong it coulded his mind to the point of almost doing just that, audience be damned. "Some prefer person to person." He shifted, made sure she felt his erection against her hip and knew what she was doing to him.

"I wish they'd just fight and get it over with," Wesley sighed. "Spike, stop toying with her, and lets finish this up. Or give it to me."

Buffy pressed closer against Spike, the feel of his arousal against her doing a damned fine job of distracting her from the book, until Wes spoke. "You can have it if you come too," she snapped at the former Watcher, and lunged for the book, her body crashing into Spike's and making her pulse skyrocket.

Xander's jaw went tight. "Quit it, Buffy. Hit him, get the book, pay, then Slay. We don't have all night. And you're giving Wes some shocking ideas."

"I want to," Spike whispered, remembering how she would come at his command. Fuck... Sliding his free arm around her, he brought her up harder against his body.

"Want to what... what are you talking about? The only shocking idea I have at the moment is conserving client funds." Wesley easily plucked the book from the pair who seemed to be pussyfooting about. "I'll be at the cashier," he said, leaving them to their nonsense.

By then, Spike had time to get a bit of a hold on himself. "Come where?" he amended, not at all distressed by the waves of tension coming from their theird wheel. "Harris, don't you have somewhere to be?"

"I'm thinkin' right here is good," Xander said stubbornly, staring at Spike and Buffy. "Nobody's coming. Not on my watch."

"Maybe you should find something else to watch." Spike never released her. Looking down into her face, he asked. "When."

"Thanksgiving," Buffy offered. "Family time. You... should come." She looked up at him with hopeful eyes, Wesley and Xander utterly forgotten.

"What? No! No Spike at happy family time," Xander objected. "Because then, no happy. And no family, either!"

As one, Spike and Buffy glared at Xander. "Shut up!"

Hurt, furious, Xander shrugged, and grinned crookedly at Wes. "Ah, just like old times. Donut?" Buffy flinched.

"Shut up, Harris," Spike repeated, far less sensative to the boys feelings, than the Slayer. "Thanksgiving... that's...."

Wes inserted, "when we have the yearly company party and retreat." He'd paid for the book and had it held tight in his clutches.

"Fuck... after that, then," Spike promised. "You around?"

"Alas, no," Xander interjected. "The family," he stressed lightly, "is going to Tahoe for a demon-free Christmas." Grinning fiercely, he elbowed Wesley, and made a grab for the book. Just because the oblivious Brit had helped, didn't mean he could take the grimoire back to the home of all things lawyer!

Buffy nodded in reluctant agreement, her arms still around Spike and her face falling. "I'm... I really will call. This time," she promised weakly, wanting to kiss him until she was breathless and reeling, burning up with Spike in a much better way than the previous June.

All of a sudden, Spike's feelings of irritation towards Wes and Xander turned into hatred. If they weren't there... and if they didn't keep piping up with their reasons as to why one date or another wouldn't work... Defiantly, he brought his hand up to the side of Buffy's throat, caressing her and cradling her head as he moved in close enough to kiss her. "You do that, Slayer."

An instant later, he'd pulled away and was tugging Wesley along. He had to get out of there... or he wouldn't. And he didn't bloody well care whether or not Wes still had the damned book.

"And stay out," Xander muttered, tucking the grimoire into his backpack, feeling as though he hadn't really won anything after all. Not with the way Buffy was watching after Spike, her heart in her eyes. She used to look at Angel just like that. He thought he might be sick.

Buffy watched Spike go silently, her lips aching for the kiss she hadn't gotten, and her heart aching for the way fate kept conspiring to keep them just within reach of one another, but never allowed to connect. "I will," she whispered, though he was gone and couldn't hear her.

She turned to Xander and glared. "No pumpkin pie for you."

"What? I got the book! See?"

*

December

The calendar days had flown by. Thanksgiving was shot in the bloody arse and all Spike had been able to think of during the Wolfram and Hart gatherings was Buffy and where she might be, what she was doing, and whether she’d spare him a thought or two.

And now it was Christmas Eve. His lot was probably gathered at the Hyperion for a family dinner already. They’d put presents underneath the Christmas tree Fred had put up, drink, laugh and sing bloody carols. As Spike pushed the grocery cart along the aisles, his upper lip curled up at the thought of one more festive occasion watching Fred and Wesley make eyes, and worse…. Angel and Nina. Even Gunn was bringing a date. Wasn’t as if good old Spike couldn’t get one, but not just anyone would do. His shoulders sagged as he wished for the uncomplicated days of yore.

Come on, he wasn’t the sort to sit around, drink himself into oblivion, and cry about the past. Right… that was exactly the sort he was, which was why he was here, making sure he had everything to make a right proper Christmas meal instead of sliding into depression.

He selected a small turkey breast for one, and headed off toward the canned good. A bit of cranberry sauce, and wine… and his shopping would be done.

A wicked snow shower had temporarily cut Tahoe off; it should be clear enough on Christmas Day that Buffy could drive up and join her family there, but she'd had to stay behind and go up later, and now she was stuck alone on Christmas Eve with an empty cupboard, a growly tummy, and no cheer whatsoever. Thus, shopping. And not even the fun kind. No, this was getting dinner. Probably a nice TV tray and "It's a Wonderful Life" on tv, all by her lonesome. Suck.

Morosely, she wandered through the store, basket hanging from her arm and containing only a frozen turkey dinner. Mmm, processed packaged food. Mushy stuffing, a side of limp veggies. Totally gross. Why didn't they include cranberry sauce in there? Were they total losers?

Not as much as she was, she decided, and dragged
Ironlily: herself to the canned goods aisle, so depressed that even Slayer senses didn't register the shopping vampire.

He'd thought he was imagining her pull, that she couldn't possibly be in L.A. tonight of all nights. Yet... there she was, looking lost in a grocery store, though that was no surprise to the Vampire. The front end of his cart banged lightly into her basket before she looked over at him.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said, a semi-smile playing on his lips. "Send you all the way back to town to shop, did they?" Had Xander been lying about the planned trip to Tahoe? It was entirely too possible. But she hadn't corrected him.

"Spike," she said in startled pleasure to see him. "Uh. No. Snow. With the blocking of the roads. I was going to head up yesterday but... snow." She shrugged, uncomfortably aware of just how pathetic her little basket with its solitary tv dinner was.

"Ah..." He leaned over her and reached for a can of cranberry sauce, and dropped it into his cart. "You're not having that for dinner," he said, decisively, nodding toward the meager contents of her basket.

"And here it says dinner, right on the box," she riposted, and snatched her own can of sauce from the shelf. "Pretty sure I'm planning on having it, so...." The can thunked onto the frozen meal with a thud.

"So..." He searched her face, wondering if she was telling him to fuck off. Strange, he couldn't read her at all. "I've got a full meal planned. Turkey, grilled potatoes, salad... trimmings. Even managed to put up some silly decorations." He cocked his head. "I don't live in ritzy Newport Beach..." oh yeah, he'd taken the time to figure out where in Orange County she'd settled. "... but if you don't mind slumming, and a bit of company..." he stretched his hands out at his sides, and dropped them.

Was he... inviting her to come home? Have Christmas dinner with him? "What, nothing going on with the Evil Empire tonight?" She could have bitten her tongue bloody as soon as the words came out, but it was too late to take them back.

"Slayer, one of these days..." Abruptly, he placed his hands on the shelf on either side of her shoulders and leaned in, looking every bit the fierce vampire. "Yes or no? Will you have dinner with me, my place. Tonight, now... not tomorrow, not New Year's, not bloody fucking next year... but now," he demanded.

"Gee," she said dryly, raising her chin to meet his eyes. "Who could say no to such a charming invitation?" Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me... fuck it. She went suddenly on tiptoe, and kissed him hard.

"Not you... not if you know what's good for you..." he whispered huskily, lightly brushing his mouth against hers when all he wanted was to crush her against him and to never release her again to the world that seemed to keep taking her away. "... or your stomach. You need to eat." Slowly, he moved back.

She nodded, keeping pace with him, not letting the distance between their bodies grow any larger. "I'm starving," she agreed.

"Me too," he answered, knowing full well neither of them was talking food anymore. "You get the wine, I'll get the last few things and meet you up front." He tried hard to master his urgency. They'd waited so long... no need to rush things.

"Okay," Buffy agreed, and went against his body to kiss him again, a light tease when what she wanted was urgent and primal. "See you up front."

"Hurry or I'll come after you," he threatened, stealing another kiss before stepping away to let her go. "Go on." He urged her to take the first step away from him, since he was having trouble doing the same.

"Going," she said, as her pager started to buzz quietly. Without removing her eyes from his, she plucked it from her belt, and crushed it in her fist. "Oops," she said, not sounding at all sorry.

At just that moment, his phone went off. Without bothering to pull it out of his pocket, he reached in and shut it off, never taking his eyes off her. "Angel's cheap," he explained.

"I remember," she grinned.

*

Spike’s place was near the Hyperion, but it was all his, and it seemed pretty clear that Spike wasn't living high on the evil law firm hog once he'd let her in. The place was clean, but shabby, and a perfect Charlie Brown Christmas tree sat on a table by his windows, letting lights twinkle inside and out both. Dinner was delicious, but Buffy hadn't been sure if it was because Spike was a better cook than she was, or because everything took on a special shine to be spending this Christmas Eve with Spike.

All throughout the evening, their fingers had lingered when they'd touched. Their eyes had said far more than the words they used to discuss the dinner, or the past six months, or the groups of friends that they worked with in the never-ending battle against Big Bads. And when supper was finally cleared away, and they'd settled on the couch with wine in hand and candles gently glowing in counterpoint to the twinkle-lights, Buffy felt as though her nerves might just catch fire and burst through her skin. "It was really good," she said again, inanely. "Thanks for inviting me."

He'd struggled against his feelings all night. One part of him constantly wanted to drag her inside to his bed, validate everything he knew was still between them... even if her eyes had denied it in that last moment before he'd exploded into a fiery pile of ash. Another part of him wanted what she was giving him... her presence, in his kitchen, in his home... her eyes, loving and soft... a normal dinner ... a family. The storm of emotions had been tearing him apart all night. Finding it impossible to drag his gaze away from her profile, he told her what was in his heart. "I'm just happy that... that you're here. Never did think you would be. Not really."

"Here now," she pointed out redundantly, and turned to look at him, catching his expression of lonely vulnerability, and feeling those emotions echoed in her own heart. They had such a crappy past, her using him, him attacking her... but there were good moments too. Great moments. Her crying on the porch, and him just being there for her. Working together against the First. Holding each other in the lonely dark before their last dawn together.

"Oh, Spike," she said softly, and raised a hand to his chiseled face, her thumb stroking across his cheekbone. "I've... really missed you," she admitted.

He wanted to believe her. He did believe her. "Have you now?" he asked, tilting his head to kiss her palm. A cool, chaste kiss might have been what he had in mind. Instead, it turned into an open mouthed worshipping of all that was the woman he craved with every cell in his body. Catching her wrist, he moved his face back and forth, kissing her finger tips and opening taking one inside his mouth.

Buffy felt heat flash through her at the cool touch of his mouth, and her fingers spasmed against his face as she whispered roughly, "Oh, yeah." The things his touch did to her... they ought to be illegal. He should come with a warning label. He should— "Kiss me," she demanded, voice raw with need.

"What? It's not even midnight. Too early to open presents," he joked, pressing his mouth firmly into the side of her throat and inhaling her heady scent. He could hear her heart speed up, feel her pulse rise to meet his lips and it did things to him. Fuck... "Put the drink down, luv," he warned.

She reached blindly to place the wine on the small chest that served as his coffee table, barely registering the muffled clink of glass on cheap pressboard, and fisted her hands in his hair, dragging his mouth to hers as she moved into his lap and devoured.

"Holy fuck Buffy... almost forgot how it could be," he barely grit out as he closed one arm around her thighs, and the other around her slender waist, and fitted her form as tightly as he could against him, in the process grinding her sweet little arse into his groin. It didn't take much for her to get an impressive rise out of him.

Mouth to mouth, they moved in unison, each trying to make up for lost time... to bloody much of it. Lord help him, he was already burning up with need... and he hadn't even gotten under her clothes yet. All he knew was that with every stroke of his tongue, with every slide of her body against his thickening length, with every gasp he caught with his mouth... he was one step closer to home. Time. Distance. Station. Friends... they could all be damned.

She growled his name, moving against him with a fierce demand, her hands streaking over his shoulders and back, nails digging through his clothes to score that alabaster skin, and she could feel her center going hot and wet with desire, her nipples going tight enough with arousal to hurt. "Spike, damn," she groaned, and arched hard against him, hips grinding and breasts thrust forward in offering.

"Need you too," he muttered thickly, moving his hand between her thighs and pushing her skirt up as he moved higher and found her heat. When she jerked against his cock, he groaned and covered her mouth again. This time, there was no battle of tongues... he fucked her with his as thoroughly as he moved his palm and fingers over her panties... each pass getting her a little wetter, getting him that much closer to ripping the bloody panty completely off her.

She whimpered against his mouth, and parted her thighs to let his hand slide more firmly against her body, tearing at his shirt and then lowering her lips to fasten on his nipple, teeth scoring his skin as she tried to give at least as much as she got, for once in all their times together.

Unbridled need slammed into him full force. He performed bloody acrobatics, he did, pushing his hand under her, and working it under her arse in order to unzip. Sodding hell, when she clamped her thighs around his wrist and fucked it, he thought he was going to lose it. "Buffy," he groaned, freeing himself at last. "Open you legs, luv... please," he chocked, needing to be sheathed deep inside her, needing her to clench his length the way she was his hand. "Please love…."

She writhed in his lap, getting her legs on either side of him, and opening with a fierce need, soaking wet and burning alive to feel him inside of her again. "God, yes," she groaned, her insides throbbing for him. "Now, Spike... now!"

"God..." he groaned, distracted slightly as her mouth moved over his chest, leaving burning trails in its wake. He needed to be inside her... needed it as badly as she needed to breathe. He shoved the little barrier of her panty to the side and rubbed his tip against her opening. Gripping her hips to positing her, "wider," he demanded, waiting until she forced her thighs even more apart. Raising his hips, he brought her down on him, hard. There was no room for gentleness, not when she had him going like this... not when he needed to be inside her so badly.

Buffy jerked at the demand, and screamed as he drove into her, grinding down and taking him deeper every bit as fiercely as he was driving into her core. "God, fuck," she groaned, and tightened her thighs around his legs, feeling as though she might split in two, knowing she'd be bruised from his grip, and not caring in the slightest. "More," she demanded, and skimmed her mouth along his throat before nipping sharply at his collarbone.

"Don't break," he demanded as she took him, all of him inside her and flexed her powerful muscles around him. Frantic with need, he helped her move up onto her knees and then slammed his length back inside her, throwing his head back as he rode waves of intense heat. Control was out of the question... slowing down was out of the window. He needed this... she needed this... and nothing would stop him now.

Groaning out her name, he started to pump his hips in long and short strokes, alternating, moving her hips so she rode him like he needed to be ridden. Hard, fast... relentless, like she could be. He felt her teeth bite into his flesh, but the joke about which of them was a vampire died on his lips when he heard her cry his name. "Yes love... more," he answered her thrust for thrust, fucking her into oblivion.

Buffy panted above him, her hips pistoning and her breasts rubbing against him with every movement, her insides going liquid and shaky as they fucked, driving each other insane as they raced toward an orgasm that would probably break Spike's poor cheap couch into bits. "Spike," she cried, as her body clenched around his like a fist. "Spike!"

As she held his cock captive with her body, he held her body captive with his firm grasp, molding her, stroking her, touching every part of her. He was starved for her, his hunger insatiable, almost painful. As he thrust up and she pushed back just as violently, the front legs of the couch lifted and hit the ground... once... twice... and they went over. Rolling away from the damage, and never separating, he moved on top of her and pulled her legs up around him. When her heels dug into his lower spine, he started to fuck her again... this time, he raced to the finish line... lifting his body with his powerful arms and driving into her with every thrust of his hips.

She thrashed beneath him, another orgasm crashing through her as he drove into her, and she locked her arms around him, her back lifting from the floor as she clung with a desperate strength, her tongue flashing into his mouth with the same uncontrollable hunger as before, needing to have all of him at once.

Pushed beyond the edges of his limits, he came in a fiery explosion of curses and love words and unintelligible nonsense. He felt her shatter around him, felt her come with him, and he no longer knew whether he was lost or found. "Buffy... not lying now," he said, gathering her up close and rolling them onto their sides. "Tell me your body isn't lying... tell me your eyes aren't." Fear ripped through his system even as his body still basked in the afterglow of their exertions. "Tell me you love me."

"For a long time," she whispered, feeling as though a weight had lifted. And she hadn't even known how crushed she'd been without him. "No lies. Not anymore. I do, Spike. I love you."

He smirked and held her tighter. "Knew it," he lied through his teeth. "Knew I was irresistable."

"Ha," she said. "Mark how I mock. Ha." But she was snuggling closer, and twining her legs with his, and kissing his throat. "You're totally resistable," she murmured against his ear. "I just decided I didn't want to resist any more. That's all."

"Can't beat them, join them, yeah?" He fell back into kissing her, and only then realized they were still clothed. They'd have to do this again... but right.

*

Buffy groaned, every muscle sore from sleeping at an angle on the admittedly good mattress, after they'd actually snapped one of the legs off of Spike's definitely cheapo bedframe. Okay, maybe some of the soreness, she smiled to herself, came from a few other sources. Or a dozen.

She rested her chin on Spike's chest, and then scooted up to kiss him awake, lying on him like a small blonde blanket. "Merry Christmas, sleepyhead," she whispered. "I thought you guys didn't have to sleep, anyway. What gives?" She kissed him again.

"Mmrhhh," he groaned, but put his hand over her back and held her close as he kissed her back and struggled to open his eyes. "A little tornado had me exercising all night, that's what. One's named Buffy."

When he did get his eyes open and found her looking down at him, with her glorious hair spilling onto his chest, he started to believe it wasn't just a dream, or wishful thinking. The Slayer had found her way back to him. She had.

"Merry Christmas," she said again, and suckled at his bottom lip. "Sore? Because I am," she reported happily.

"Only in the best places. You're sore..." he raised an eyebrow, making it clear he was extremely proud of himself and not the least bit sorry. "Happy Christmas, love."

She smiled, eyes shining. "Love. Yep! I love you, Spike." Her eyes went worried, and she frowned exaggeratedly. "I don't have a present for you," she said with mock sorrow.

"No?" Frowning, he moved his hands up and down her sides, then slid his thumbs neatly under her, massaging her breasts. An unholy gleam suddenly entered his his eyes, and he shifted, nudging his hardening cock against her belly. "No worries, I've got the your gift right here. It's the gift that keeps giving, yeah?" Lifting his hips, he let her see the pleasure she gave him, and added, "... and receiving... definitely receiving...."

*

Dawn hung up the phone. “Buffy’s not gonna make it ‘til tomorrow,” she told Xander, Willow, and Giles, who were sipping morning cocoa and coffee, and greedily eyeing the breakfast pastries. “She says not to worry, though.” Grinning like a fool, she picked her way through the stacks of presents to hook their stockings down from the mantelpiece of the rented Tahoe lodge. “And that there’d better be some turkey left.”

Late that night, she stepped outside in the crisp cold snow, and turned her pale blue eyes up to an impossibly bright star. Somewhere far to the east, about seven hours earlier, on this same Christmas night a little sideways in reality, she’d made a weeping wish about something that now would never happen. Sometimes, she thought, very satisfied, a Christmas wish was just the key to a happy ending. For everyone.

Except maybe Angel.


~*~Fin~*~

(A/N: Comments much appreciated)