|
|
|
|||
|
||||
|
|
|
Yule 2012 |
|
|
|
|||||||||||||
|
|
|
“You think staring out there will make them get here faster?” Spike glanced at Beth with a preoccupied smile, taking his eyes from the window for all of a second before looking out again and searching to see what he’d missed in that vast expanse of time. “Watched kettles may not boil but I promise you, a watched Xander can be very…perky.” “Have you spoken to him today?” They both knew that was a fairly ridiculous question. “Only,” Spike shrugged, “four or five times.” “And what was the last ETA?” “He couldn’t say.” A deep, heartfelt sigh was followed within a minute by another, equally as deep, equally as heartfelt. “You didn’t answer me before,” Beth remarked with practised nonchalance. “When I asked if you were cross about the timing.” Spike shifted uncomfortably and shrugged again. “I’m glad the hotel’s being rebuilt.” “And…?” “I don’t think Angel can move forwards without moving backwards.” “And…?” “And…” Spike continued with gritted teeth, “I understand why Xander had to go to LA now.” “And…?” “Wonder if it’s possible to divorce your mother,” the vampire muttered to himself. Almost to himself. “You can shout at me if it’ll make you feel better.” Tempted? Yes? No?
No. Siiiiigh. “For doing what I asked? Just…no more sittings for a couple of months, eh? And no more of Cora’s mates, my wrinkle brush is down to its last bristle.” “Ooh,” Beth faked a flinch. “You’re a mean boy.” “Yeah, that’s me,” Spike agreed absently as his body tensed at the sound of a distant vehicle. No. Neither the Merc or Angel’s convertible. The tension remained. “They’ll go by Robbie’s first to drop off Moira. We should’ve told the big bloke to give us a call when they got there.” “Because Rafe would be delighted to ignore his returning wife in favour of telephoning his mother.” Another uncomfortable shift; Spike hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans and irritably drummed his fingers on his belly. “I am cross, yes. I’d be cross if it was any time when I couldn’t go too. But it’s more than that. I’m cross with myself for being so much…less without him.” “Oh, Spike, you’re…” “I am. He’s my strength and my vulnerability. I don’t like feeling vulnerable.” “You’d better not ever let him out of your sight again then,” Beth suggested with a bitten grin. “Yeah, I’d figured that,” Spike replied, but his grin was open and cheeky. Short-lived though. Back to staring out of the window. “Miss him,” Spike confessed for the hundredth time that week, and Beth made reassuring murmurings over that massive understatement. It was exactly as Patrick had predicted at Repossession: if Spike only drank Xander’s blood he’d become, physically, hopelessly addicted, and that would just add to the accepted emotional obsession. Addicted in every way and Spike revelled in it. Or had done until Xander broke the news about going to LA, and it turned out Spike couldn’t accompany him because of prior commitments. Spike had considered cancelling his portrait sittings but, not only was he loath to let Beth, Cora and his sitters down, there was also a defiant streak inside him that insisted he could manage perfectly well without Xander’s presence twenty-four/seven, and this would be a good way to prove it. So much for that bollocks. Beth joined him at the window and hooked an arm around his waist: another construction widow in the run-up to Christmas. “Hungry?” she asked, and Spike hoped she wouldn’t offer her wrist again; a kind gesture but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t Xander. “That’s a part of it,” Spike admitted. “He left me some blood but once it’s out of him, once it’s cold… When you think about what I’m used to, bags of blood are no substitute.” “Hmm. Nor are fresh batteries.” They leaned together and huddled in mutual discontentedness. A volley of barking from outside and Spike peeled himself away from Beth to go and investigate. “Oi!” Spike shouted at Hamish from the front door, and the hound barked some more before trotting up to the porch to join him, looking extremely pleased with itself. “What’s the shit-eating grin for, you daft mutt?” The answer came in the
shape of Jake’s car pulling into the drive, and it had barely ground to a halt
before Hamish was bounding over to “Haaaaame, who’s a beautiful doggy, who’s my lovely guy, that’s you, yes it is, yes it is,” came the usual greeting as the door popped open, making Spike roll his eyes as he approached at a more sedate pace, and then again at seeing the hulking wolfhound lapping up the attention and wriggling in Willow’s embrace like an overexcited puppy. “Hi, Spike, happy Christmas.” Spike took a step back from the offered hug. “Not after you’ve been snogging
Muttley.” Spike’s protestation dropped
away and he accepted the hug without another word as he watched Jake climb from
the car, sombre-faced and distracted.
When “Sorry? Oh, hi, Spike, sorry, miles away. Merry Christmas.” “You all right?” “Um…think so. Haven’t forgotten anything. Unless…” Jake rummaged. “Nope, there it is.” “You. Not this, you.” Jake loaded Spike’s arms with an assortment of packages. “I’m absolutely fine. You must be missing Xander,” Jake said before Spike could pursue the subject further. “Bit, I s’pose. Only like…something ripped away the only reason for my existence” Jake chuckled, belatedly sympathised, and gathered up his own heap of gifts, tucking them under one arm and leaving a hand free for the cat carrier. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear you haven’t suffered too much.” “Red all right?” “Yes, wonderful. Why?” “’Cause you don’t fool me for a moment.” “You’re always the same,” Jake said with a shake of the head as he walked away. “Drama, drama, drama. You should give up painting portraits and write soaps.” Spike followed him into the house, deposited the presents in the living room, then shot back outside at the sound of distant engines, whole body tingling, alerted by the familiarity. Beth was at his side again in seconds. “They try and leave again this century, we shackle them,” Spike muttered. “Absolutely,” Beth agreed resolutely. “Ohhh. Now I understand the metal bed frame.” The burgundy Merc rolled to a standstill, Patrick out and rushing to Beth with open arms before it had barely stopped moving. “Lovely,” she growled, “sex on legs.” “And meals on wheels,” Spike countered before he sidestepped the hugging couple, giving Patrick an affectionate slap on the back as he passed, and tried to appear as casual as possible as he waited for Xander to emerge. Casual didn’t quite cut it. The moment he saw Xander face-to-face he launched himself, pinning his lover to the side of the Merc and passionately kissing him. “Sweetheart, my sweetheart,” Xander mumbled between kisses, clutching Spike to him and losing himself in the tide of lustful affection. Spike paused to burrow beneath Xander’s jacket, seeking the heat and scent he’d craved, hands roaming down to Xander’s buttocks and squeezing as his instincts turned toward claiming. Xander’s warm hands cupped his face, their gentleness bringing the frenzied groping to a halt, and Spike began to calm as thumbs tenderly stroked his cheeks. “Missed you.” “I know.” Xander was furiously blinking away tears. “That was…far worse than I expected. Next time you come along or I don’t go, okay?” Spike nodded and let himself be kissed, gently now. “I love you, Spike.” “Xander…” The soft moan was muffled as Xander drew Spike into an embrace, and they were still locked together, faces pressed into the other’s neck, when Angel’s convertible drew up alongside them, rapidly followed by Dawn and Craig’s Jeep. The delighted squeal was audible even before Dawn got her door open, and the moment she did she was tumbling out and throwing her arms around the pair despite having spent the best part of the week with Xander. The men reluctantly parted, but happily accepted Dawn into the hug. “Isn’t this great? All together for Christmas, first time in… Forever, the whole family. I have the best presents, and… Willow!” With another eardrum-shattering squeal, Dawn dashed off to where her friend was bouncing in the porch, encountering Hamish as she went and stroking a long stripe, nose to tail as they passed. The usual round of greetings followed, then Xander and Spike helped bring any remaining food and gifts inside. “You have to sign cards and put them on the tree,” Beth explained as she herded everyone into the hall. “In couples, singly, however, as long as we have the mementos.” The usual amount of hmming and harring commenced; for Xander it was easy enough – thanks for the love of a family and signed, in full, Alexander Harris MacDonald; Spike drew the spiralled Repossession Wheel and highlighted his own spot; Dawn and Craig were heads together and giggling as they created their own Christmas poem; Jake and Willow had evidently already prepared something and Willow quietly recited Gaelic words from a piece of paper as Jake leaned over the hall table and wrote in precise curly copperplate, oblivious to the purring bundle of ginger fluff that was Flossie MacFloss perched on his back; Buffy looked on with a suitably sappy grin as Angel scribbled a quick sketch of a slayer wielding a cupidish arrow, piercing the heart of a winged vampire. The sound of tyres on gravel and the last of their party had arrived, cards were hung on the vast tree in the corner of the hall and Rafe and Moira were welcomed in, their contributions whisked away amidst the hugs and kisses. Twenty minutes later they were all gathered in the living room, drinks in hands, and Patrick, as both host and head of the clan MacDonald, stepped forward to make a speech. “To us,” he smiled as he raised his glass, and the message was enthusiastically repeated and drinks consumed. Patrick then turned expectantly to Angel, sharing the duty with the head of the Order of Aurelius. Caught by surprise, Angel paused for a moment in thought before holding up his glass in a salute. “Absent friends.” Also repeated, thoughtful and heartfelt; that was the highly informal formalities dealt with. Xander grabbed Spike’s hand and led him back into the hall for a few moment’s alone. “You okay?” he asked as Spike closed in, nuzzling Xander’s cheek. “Mmm.” “Is everyone else okay? Wills and Jake? They seem…” “Not sure,” Spike whispered back, reacquainting himself with the skin of Xander’s neck, mouth opening and blunt teeth scraping. “You hungry?” “Hungry. More. Fucking hell, I want you, Xander, every inch of this body wants you.” “Then let’s find a little privacy.” “Attic?” they suggested together. “But not the Wheel,” Xander insisted as they sped up the stairs, knowing if they took this to Sleat they’d be gone for hours. “Not the Wheel,” Spike agreed as he slammed the attic door behind them, sliding across the bolt that Patrick had fixed there for this very reason after catching his kids misbehaving in their ancestral home back in September. The exact same reason why there were blankets to hand, and Xander threw several on the floor in the seconds before Spike was on him, tugging at his clothes, kneading his growing erection through the layers of material until they could be removed to give Spike access to flesh. “Undress, yeah?” Xander panted. “We undress, have clothes in a fit state to wear afterwards.” “They’ll know…” “Sure they’ll know, but I don’t want to go back downstairs wearing shreds.” “Xander…” Spike moaned as he dragged his nails down Xander’s cotton-clad chest, “always fancy you rotten in a white shirt.” “Later, home, you can strip it from me fibre by fibre if you like, just right now…” Clothes were shed, naked bodies moving back together in what was possibly record time. Xander smoothed his hands over Spike’s chest, stomach, hips, backside, using the grip to bring Spike closer, slowly grind their erections together. “I’m addicted too, y’know.” “I know. Love that. Love you.” The sweetest kiss took mere seconds to evolve into a libidinous frenzy, Xander unconcernedly falling backwards, knowing that Spike would catch him before he hit the floor, knowing Spike would crawl over his body, mindlessly rutting against his hardness; no finesse as they sought a speedy resolution, Spike bearing down on the source of his physical and emotional nourishment, accepting the offered throat and whimpering in ecstasy as he bit down and the aching deprivation was brought to an overwhelming end; They shared: the groaning, full-body shivers, sense of spirit passing between them, last frantic undulations; ecstasy, orgasm. Bliss. Bliss. … “Xander?” “Mmm?” “Did I take too much?” “No.” Xander forced his weary eyes opened and smiled at the vampire’s concerned face, hand rising to caress the lumps and bumps of the demon visage. “Fast, furious, and I want to sleep, you know that. Gimme five and…” Xander chuckled as Spike slumped over him, and he listened with unceasing delight to the purr that reflected the manner of his touches, revving up with a little pressure, smoothing out with softer strokes. “We got this wrong. Should have met up at home first, taken the time to…” “Want you, love.” “That’s what I’m saying, we needed to…” “Now.” “No, not now, we can’t, we have to get back to— Oh, Christ, don’t do…” With a supreme effort Xander pushed Spike away, and they lay there staring at one another in blatant lust. “Think, sweetheart. Think,” Xander whispered. “Later…” Spike groaned and growled and kissed Xander with a week’s worth of suppressed emotion, leaving the human gasping when he was abandoned in favour of what they had to do. Xander watched Spike wipe himself off with one of the towels that sat with the pile of blankets, smugly admiring the pink flush to the pale body that was the result of his blood. He hated Spike dressing, covering that evidence of their perfect symbiosis with clothes. “Don’t just lie there gawping. We have to make with the merry so we can get home and…” “Make with the merry?” “I’m fucking you first, all right? For approximately twelve hours straight, no bloody arguments.” “I’m not arguing,” Xander amiably assured as he finally rose and reached for the towel first, then his clothes. “When do I ever argue about this?” “Unless…” Spike stopped and stared at Xander, eyes trailing longingly from head to toes. “You want to do me.” “I don’t mind.” “You have to be difficult, don’t you?” “Apparently.” Spike glared but was unable to disguise the humour and affection in his expression, his delight at Xander’s presence, and looks sizzled between them as they tidied away the blankets. At the door Xander caught Spike and, chest tight against the vampire’s back, pinned him against the frame, pressing his mouth to his ear. “Maybe I’ll let you blow me on the way home. Maybe I’ll need to pull in at the copse so you can fuck me over the hood of the car. Maybe…” “My prick will batter this door down in the next ten seconds and you’ll spend the holiday working with the kind of wood you weren’t counting on.” Xander roughly yanked Spike around to face him, yet kissed him gently. “Think we can ignore them for another five minutes? Purely for the sake of the woodwork?” “Five minutes?” “You can be fast,” Xander told him, a devious glint in his eye. “I know exactly how to make you fast.” The answer was a knowing moan as nimble fingers began to unfasten the first fly button. … Despite a couple of sideways glances when they re-entered the living room, everyone behaved perfectly well: no tutting, no teasing or cheeky jokes, no prolonged attention focused on the rapidly healing bite mark on Xander’s neck. They helped themselves to drinks and, fingers linked, wandered the room, catching up with conversations and trying hard to focus on anything other than themselves and the solitary time together they longed for. Angel was in deep discussion with Rafe, having had a crash course in architecture and the building trade from Xander, Patrick and Moira during the previous week, and was now able to contribute a little more to the process of having the Hyperion rebuilt. Buffy had already developed the glazed look that Xander had seen so many times on acquaintances’ spouses at work functions, and it didn’t take more than a hint of beckoning gesture for her to excuse herself to make the most of Willow’s missed company. Dawn and Craig had successfully corralled Patrick, Beth and Moira and were sharing photographs from their summer wedding, which had been a peaceful, moonlit affair on a distant beach, a time of great love and coming together, not just for the happy couple, but for this entire extended family and the units within it. That only left Jake, who stood at the window cradling Flossie, staring out into the seasonally-lit garden he was pretending to show the kitten, and not seeing a damn thing unless Xander was very much mistaken. “I was thinking they were a little…distant,” Xander muttered to Spike, “but it’s more than that, there’s something…” Xander shook his head, brow crinkling into a frown at his inability to capture how this felt. “They were okay before I left. I think. What if it’s going wrong? That would destroy Jake. Maybe both of them.” “Don’t upset yourself by speculating.” “I have to talk to them.” “Not tonight, eh? Leave them to sort it out for themselves.” “What if they don’t?” “They…” “I don’t think I can live with seeing them miserable.” “Who’s miserable?” came from behind them as Rafe broke into the frantic whispers. “Don’t be so bloody nosy,” came from Spike before Xander could start on a disastrous attempt at covering up their subject of conversation. Rafe simply grinned, threw an arm around Xander’s shoulders and brought him close for a smacking kiss to the forehead. The dynamics of the room shifted, people changing partners and topics, and Xander watched as Willow started toward Jake, paused awkwardly a few feet from him before pretending to be called back to her old friends. Xander’s heart sank and, despite the intense warning glare from Spike, wriggled his fingers from the vampire’s and crossed to his brother. “What did you get up to while I was gone?” he asked cheerfully, and received a smile from Jake that seemed anything other than manufactured. “We built a Flossie empire in the spare room,” Jake explained. “Everything a feline heart could possibly desire.” Xander scratched beneath the kitten’s jaw with one finger, and a purr like a misfiring motorcycle engine emerged as her eyes closed in pleasure. “Of course, we’re a little worried about her being an only child, but she needs some individual attention before we think about extending the family and…” “You and Wills become the scary cat people who live on the hill.” “We don’t live on a hill,” Jake said very deliberately. “And no sending Spike along to throw stones at our windows.” Xander held up his hands in surrender, exchanging another smile and trying to find the words that would help him discover if the happy family was nothing more than a game. “Jay… Are you…” “I saw Sammy – sorry to interrupt but if I don’t tell you I’ll forget – and he asked me to thank you for the gift, and…there was a lot of verbal bowing and scraping, aimed at both you and Spike. He was thrilled, what did you give him?” “Spike painted a picture for him. You know how subtle he isn’t, it was evidently all he wanted.” Jake’s attention had wavered, and he was gazing across the room the where Willow was humouring Dawn by admiring the photographs for an umpteenth time. It was a look filled with love but tainted by insecurity. Xander braced himself once again. “Can I…” “No,” Jake stopped him. “Whatever is it. That expression can’t mean it’s anything good, so…no. Tell me instead what that’s about.” Xander looked to where Jake had nodded, seeing Dawn waving an accusing finger at Patrick. “I haven’t a clue, but it’s been simmering all week,” Xander explained with visible befuddlement, and the two of them strolled over to investigate. “For the last time: why do you keep looking at me like that?” Dawn demanded. “Like what?” “Don’t play games with me, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Patrick shrugged guilelessly and Dawn’s scowl deepened. “What is it?” Buffy asked, drawn from across the room by the growing huddle, and instantly worried and overprotective of her sister. “What’s wrong?” “It’s Patrick. He keeps…looking.” “Patrick.” “Yes.” “Is…looking.” “Again.” “Well… That sounds potentially un-fatal. I think I’ll stand down.” Dawn grrrrrrred at Patrick and he shared his widening smile with Buffy. Another ally was sought. “Xander! Patrick keeps…looking.” “Uh, yeah, tends to stop him falling over things, outta windows, bumping into…” “He’s bothering me.” “Am I?” Patrick was immediately conciliatory. “I’m so sorry.” He rose from his armchair and sauntered toward the door. “I’ll…go…somewhere.” Dawn sprang up from the sofa. “Can I come with you?” The gathering groaned. “What’s the point of him leaving and you following, you dozy git?” Spike demanded. “I want to know what the problem is.” Patrick circled back. “Not a problem.” And he was, infuriatingly, smiling again. “Say it.” “What?” “Say it, say it, say it,” Dawn insisted. Patrick looked around at the roomful of expectant faces. “Not here.” “Ha! There is something! I knew it! Here. Unless it’s too embarrassing for words which I don’t think you’d do to me anyway, unlike some people,” she finished, directing her best pissed off face at Spike. “Is this still about… Look, if you don’t want people to know your first go with Guinness left you crapping oil slicks you shouldn’t have told me in the first place!” Spike protested. Dawn screamed into her hands. “Tell everyone, why don’t you!” “I think you’ll find I just did,” Spike grinned. Xander crossed and protectively shoved his boyfriend behind his back. “Pat, is there…” Xander’s voice trailed away as he unintentionally sensed and shivered. “Yes, there is something, you don’t have to answer, I can tell.” “And I wish he would,” Dawn added with yet another accusing glare. “It’s not up to me.” “You want to stop harassing the in-laws and come dance?” Craig asked his wife as he snuggled up to her back and ran his hands around her waist. “Yes, I will,” Dawn capitulated. “This is me, going to dance,” she told Patrick with an expression of great martyrdom. “Not knowing and probably dying from exposure to Scottish music and never knowing. And dead,” she added grimly. “Go and dance.” “Yes, c’mon, sweetie, come and dance.” Dawn improvised with a prolonged stamping fit. “That’s more flamenco than fling,” Xander observed. “Just say it! Patrick! You’ve been staring at me all week with that – that look and you’re sending me crazy!” “Say it?” “Yes!” Patrick opened his mouth, drew breath. Dawn tensed expectantly. Patrick let the breath go. “It shouldn’t come from me.” Dawn was about to throw herself into another demented flamenco when Patrick held out his hand and Xander automatically came to take it, grips sliding until each clutched the other’s forearm. Patrick’s lips moved, words inaudible to everyone but Xander, who concentrated hard on his father for several minutes, learning and understanding a little of how to use this un-honed skill, before switching his attention to Dawn. The intensity of his search troubled the young woman and, for a moment she felt a twinge of alarm because she could barely recognise this Xander as her Xander. She’d been quite facetious when presented with the son of a son of a god revelation: Xander? Xander? But now she was confronted by the difference, the undeniable power that Xander had, for the most part, shunned. Then his face softened as
he saw. “Dawn…” Xander’s tone held absolute awe and Dawn stared at him anxiously until he smiled at her, gently, and she responded in kind. “Xander?” “Have you…” His voice was a little unsteady. “Have you thought about what you’re going to call her?” … Xander eventually escaped from his rejoicing/shell-shocked family on the pretence of more ice, and he stood in the kitchen feeling rather lost, entirely stunned, moved and shaking and trying to pull himself together. He turned away from the approaching footsteps and swiped his face dry. Dryish. “Hey,” and Buffy’s hand rested comfortingly on his back. “Hey,” croaked in reply. Buffy wrapped her arms around Xander and gave a hug that once would have left him breathless; now it barely left a dent. “Craig thinks they might call her Tequila,” she smiled. “Because Tequila apparently has a lot to answer for.” Xander chuckled and enjoyed the hug for as long as it lasted, but too soon Buffy was leaning away and studying him curiously. “You look like Xander.” She held his hands. “You feel like Xander.” “I am Xander.” “Xander who looks into my sister and sees… What did you see?” “Her daughter. From foetus to the woman she’s due to become, standing alongside her mother. Alongside Dawn, but still…joined.” Buffy blinked furiously for a moment. “I didn’t know you could do that.” “Nor did I.” “What else can you do that you don’t know you can do?” “I…umm…don’t know? Hence the not knowing.” “You have to find out, you have to develop whatever’s inside you.” “Hey, wait, I made the decision, remember? All this but…still normal guy.” “Special Guy.” “I don’t want to change.” “Xander…” Buffy began patiently. “I thought you’d figured this out: no change. You were always Special Guy. Now you’re Special Guy who has…” she smiled as Spike’s description popped into her mind. “Party tricks. Take it from someone who had it drummed into her: you can’t waste what you’re given.” “It isn’t a waste, it isn’t denial: it’s a choice.” Buffy smiled and hugged him again. “If I had a choice?” She slowly pulled out of his arms, turned and wandered toward the sounds of celebration. Pausing in the doorway she looked back. “I’d give up every skill I have to see what you saw. To see Dawn’s daughter. I find it hard to believe you don’t want that.” “I do want that, I just didn’t know I could do it.” “Okay.” With another smile Buffy left. Yes, Xander got the point: what else was he missing out on without knowing he was missing out on it? He reluctantly conceded that sooner or later he’d have to talk to Patrick about his…capabilities. Sooner? Because, he acknowledged with a sudden attack of the warm fuzzies, the Consorts of Aurelius were a pretty smart bunch and Buffy was absolutely right. So…sooner. Okay, he could do that. Maybe he was ready for the knowledge and responsibility: he wouldn’t part with what happened today and that had come astonishingly easily and… Dawn. Wow. Wowwowwow. Maybe not quite ready. Xander couldn’t get past the memory of what he’d done; he remained, head in hands, until Spike came to find him. “Love?” Spike peeled
Xander’s hands away, automatically cuddling his partner when he saw the woebegone
expression. “What’s been said?” “You think it’s a waste? Not developing the party tricks?” “That’s not up to me, is it?” Spike whispered as he nuzzled. “I just want what makes you happy. As long as I’m at the top of the list I don’t give a toss what follows.” Xander’s words, thoughts, troubles were whipped away by the feel of Spike’s face changing and fangs teasing the skin on his neck; he tilted his head and gasped as the flesh was pierced and Spike lapped. “We have to go home,” Xander panted as Spike delicately fed. “I want you to take it all. You have no idea how powerful that feels, when I’m in you, my blood, when…” “Shh shh shh.” “Spike.” “Let’s just find somewhere comfortable and quiet for ten minutes. Let you gather your wits.” With a kiss, Spike left Xander’s neck, hand raising to bring Xander’s face about so their eyes could meet. “Not that I’m suggesting you’re presently witless,” he teased with a grin, and Xander took a deep, deep breath before mentally catching up and hazily grinning back. “Yeah, wit-gathering. Let’s.” Once again hand-in-hand they headed for Patrick’s study, coming to a dead halt when they saw Willow dithering outside the door, guessing that Jake was inside, and aware that this could end in a resolution they dreaded. A shared glance, and they withdrew in silence, finding their way to the bench in the hallway and…waiting. … “Mind some company?” Willow asked as she stood, uncomfortably ill at ease, in the study doorway. “Of course I don’t mind,” Jake assured her from the far side of the room. “I’m only showing Flossie around. Thought she might get some design ideas for her empire.” With a relieved smile “Dawn isn’t the only one under scrutiny,” Jake said quietly. Willow acknowledged that with a nod. “I’m sure they’re wondering what’s going on. Going wrong.” Willow’s head jerked up. “Wrong? You think wrong?” “I think…not quite right.” Willow went and sat on the vast leather couch, arranging and rearranging words in her head, trying to find a sentence that didn’t contain all her worst fears. Unfortunately, all she could manage was a pitiful… “You don’t love me?” Jake was with her in a second, juggling Flossie into a squish-proof position before pulling Willow into a hug. “I do love you, with everything I am.” “But…not quite right?” “I thought perhaps…” Jake swallowed hard, and now it was Willow’s turn to do the hugging. “I do love you, I do,” and she gave him a kiss that was honest, uncompromising, fervent. “You haven’t done that in a while,” Jake reminded her as they came up for air. “Kissed me like that.” “Only because—” “Shall I?” Willow anxiously bit her lip as she put off the inevitable, taking Flossie and combing her fingers through the ginger and white fluff. Unable to look at Jake again. “I think you have to.” Jake rose, made a couple
of circuits of the room as he thought, couldn’t help the glances at the
adorable picture Willow and the kitten made.
He noticed that some of the lighter fur matched the recently added
highlights in “I was making plans for Christmas, thinking about a gift,” he began stiltedly. “Plans made, I started on the arrangements and… Then it hit me. The fact that we were arranged too, that you never had any real choice in this.” “No!” Willow protested. “It’s the other way around, that’s what— Oh.” “You’ve been thinking about this too?” “You’re the one who wasn’t given a choice. Beth brought me here and didn’t even ask you until it was almost too late and when you finally found out what was happening you were expected to make a decision in seconds and you didn’t want to be alone so what were you supposed to do?” “Breathe, darling.” Willow whooped in a breath. “And when I was making my plans I thought I was doing something we both wanted and then I started to doubt it and myself and us and wondered if you were simply too kind to tell me this wasn’t what you wanted now you’d had time to think about it and you had your family and Xander was safe and perhaps you didn’t need me.” Another breath. “And I was so frightened but I didn’t want to say anything in case I was right and you wanted me to go and there was Flossie by then and then you started not wanting me and although I wanted you desperately I couldn’t make a move in case you said no and – and… I love you.” “Wait, wait. You thought I didn’t want you? I thought…” They looked at one another, teary-eyed and confused. “I always want you. I thought you didn’t want me.” “Because I thought you didn’t want me.” “I wasn’t going to…” “Neither was I.” “Not if…” “Yes. Or possibly…no.” “Willow… As far as I’m concerned, Beth got something terribly right when she made that call to you.” “I wasn’t your choice.” “And I was barely yours.” “I knew. When I joined you that evening, I knew. You…” “If I’d known I could have picked someone it would have been you. But I didn’t know it was possible to bring someone in from outside the family and…” “Me? It would have been me?” Willow flushed with happiness. “Really me?” “Really you.” “You liked me?” “You know I did. Plus you were practically Xander’s sister and that…makes you practically mine, and… Okay, I’ve completely changed my mind about taking that route, we’re an odd enough bunch as it is. But you understand what I mean. He loves you because you’re wonderful and I trust him implicitly and you are and he’s right.” Jake’s latest circuit
brought him back to the couch, and he sat alongside “What were you planning?” Willow eventually asked, curious now because they so often – as with these ridiculous doubts – ended up thinking the same things at the same time. “What were you planning?” Jake countered, peering at her suspiciously, predictably thinking the same thing about thinking the same thing. “I— No, you. I have Flossie,” Willow said with all seriousness, as if that would somehow shift the emphasis. And, quite bizarrely, it worked. “Okay.” Jake nervously licked his lips, and “That I wanted to get married in a castle!” Willow exclaimed, all attention abruptly back on the subject. “Oh! Oh, oh, oh!” “And you picked the castle,” Jake progressed cautiously. “Oh! Twice! It’ll all be twice!” “You…?” “Yes! And…” “Bamburgh,” they said together, and then again: “New Year’s Eve.” “Do you think they noticed? The Bamburgh people?” Jake asked. “They knew, all right. I wondered why they sounded so amused the last time I spoke to them.” “So…” Sappy grins abounded. Jake took the kitten away from Willow. “I have Flossie,” he said firmly, giving a directional nod to the floor at his feet. Willow, very seriously, slid around and onto the floor. On one knee, and skirt artistically rearranged, she took Jake’s hand. Swallowed hard at the sudden rise in emotion. “Will you…” emerged as a stunted whisper. “Yes.” “I’m supposed…” “I don’t care.” Jake carefully put Flossie aside and drew Willow up and into his lap, exchanging an intense kiss that was merely broken for Willow’s breathy… “Does that mean we have two planes booked?” And Jake’s equally breathy… “Bugger.” … It was very tiring, waiting for potentially bad news, especially as Xander felt somewhat responsible if this should lead to unhappiness for two of the people he loved best in the world; by unspoken agreement, he and Spike went back into the living room to play at being seasonally jolly. Dawn sought out Xander immediately, unconsciously holding herself differently in light of the momentous news. “You’re waddling,” Spike
told her with a smirk, but she thought of Guinness and dismissively tossed her
hair at him, choosing to concentrate on being fussed by the far, far nicer of her daughter’s uncles. Good choice, she decided, as she was hugged and feted for being clever enough to get tipsy enough to forget precautions in the heat of the moment with her gorgeous husband. “Where did Willow go? And…” “What is it with you people and my house!” came loudly from the hallway, moments before Beth made a speedy entrance. “The Attic, and now the study,” Beth exclaimed as she glared at Spike and Xander, and rolled her eyes at the giggled, unrepentant shouts of apology that followed her through the door. “Anyone like to volunteer for a floor show on the fireside rug?” Angel managed half a syllable before Buffy shut him down with a definite, “No.” “I wasn’t…” “No.” “I..” “No.” With a resigned sigh Angel turned back to Moira to continue their fascinating discussion on staircase design, and Buffy listened for a whole fifteen seconds before staring with belated longing at the fireside rug. A somewhat ruffled but extremely pleased with themselves Willow and Jake returned minutes later, attempting a show of remorse for Beth’s sake, apologising to Dawn for unintentionally stealing her thunder, but unable to curtail their delight and literally exploding with the news of their New Year’s Eve wedding, and the entire family’s trip to the north of England, followed by a traditional Hogmanay in Scotland. As Willow and Flossie did the rounds, collecting congratulatory hugs and kisses, Patrick drew Jake aside. “You have a plane booked?” “Two, in fact: bit of a mix up. Why?” “I’d booked a plane so we could all go to Scotland for New Year.” “So we have…” “Three.” “Bugger.” … Snow in these parts was as rare as dragon’s teeth, but as Xander drove the Merc through the dark, winding lanes the first flakes began to fall. Spike temporarily ceased his fondling of a muscular thigh to glance knowingly in the direction of its owner. “Willow,” they said together. “Maybe not the best night for the copse,” Xander said with a manufactured sigh, looking forward to his welcoming bed where he could enjoy his rampant vampire in comfort for an excessive number of hours. “Yeah. Shame,” agreed Spike, with precisely the same bed, human, comfort thoughts, back to thigh-fondling, hand creeping closer and closer to its target. “Much more of that and we’ll be spending the night in a ditch,” Xander warned, squirming a little but ultimately accepting the futility of trying to avoid the vampire’s wandering hand. A single fingernail scratched over a burgeoning erection. “Is it a nice ditch?” … They stood in the conservatory, arms around one another, watching as Hamish galloped about the garden and frolicked in the snow. “Want to join him?” “Sod off. We have January in Scotland to put up with, be bad enough freezing our balls off then.” “I’m looking forward to it. They probably have radical inventions like heating, indoor bathrooms… Unless you want to camp at Dunscaith.” A mention of their original home and they fell silent, thoughts touching on the past, lingering on the future. “Nice, wasn’t it?” “Tonight?” Xander smiled softly as he drew Spike closer. “Yes, it was. I got lost for a while, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be most excited about. I’m more than happy for Wills and Jay, moved beyond words for Dawnie and Craig. But…most excited?” He placed a tender kiss on Spike’s mouth. “Being home, being with you.” “I didn’t want to say earlier, but I got so lonely without you.” “I know, I know, I had the same thing, and it didn’t matter that I was with other people…” “That’s it: I was with Beth, Cora, all the decent old biddies I’ve been painting, Robbie came by…” “I just want you.” Xander gave a soft laugh and shook his head. “Addicted.” Spike smiled and leant their brows together. “Loved.” … When Xander finally slept, Spike made his way downstairs to investigate whether Hamish had found his way indoors, or if they had a remarkably lifelike snow-wolfhound on the patio. Sensibly, Hamish was inside, sprawled and snoring on the sofa that Xander insisted he didn’t sleep on; Spike gave him an affectionate pat as he passed by on his way to the conservatory. He gave a chuckle at the
sight that greeted him, wondering if Spike gazed out over the grounds, where the still-thickening blanket of snow softly glistened in the silver blue moonlight. A little reminiscing of his own, and his thoughts were drawn to winter in the London of his youth, when the excitement of waking to see the world had turned white lasted far longer than the pristine beauty, every last flake dulled by the grime that settled as thousands of chimneys spewed out dense, heavy smoke; always a fussy human, it had been a relief not to have to breathe the smog after his encounter with Drusilla. Thinking further back he remembered William trudging through the snow with Alexander: pure white, the Sleat variety, and it inspired hot wine and blazing fires and furs to snuggle under until they found their own ways of warming up. And now… It would always remind him of the night that Xander looked straight into Dawn and saw her child. He’d never forget Dawn’s face, Xander’s face, the reactions, the proof to anyone who still needed it that Xander was the most extraordinary man. More to remember: the relief of arriving home, the selfless proof that Xander loved and wanted him in all ways, the vows that he would do so eternally. Strangely moving, Spike considered, to be a demon and so blessed. It made a mockery of a plethora of ideas and ideals that…thoroughly deserved to be mocked. Sweet. Upstairs, Xander stirred, recovered from the blood-letting and, with a distinct tone of ‘come and get it’, whispering the vampire’s name. All it took for Spike to grow hard in anticipation. As he turned he spotted one of his notepads, and he didn’t need to read the hurriedly scribbled words to recall the conversation with Angel and the conclusion that, while the rest of the world celebrated their holiday, the Order of Aurelius – Masters and Consorts, in shifts – would be out hunting a gross, slithery monster and its gross, slithery family in a bid to curtail their own Christmas feasting. Out… Spike grimaced as he looked back to the window. …in this. But then again… More likely it would mean staying in, because…gross and slithery and snow? Uh-uh. Staying in. All day and all night. With Xander.
Spike grinned maniacally and headed for the stairs, wishing the Repossession
bond was accessible for as long as it took to send “What?” Xander murmured as he reached for Spike. “Snowed in,” Spike explained as he moved unceremoniously back onto and into the waiting body. “Bloody weather,” Xander groaned. “I think,” Spike paused to say, “we have to heroically accept that we’ll be trapped like this for days.” For a moment they pretended to care. “Do we have food and beer and bed and lube?” “We do.” Xander laughed and bucked, drove Spike home and gasped. “Bloody weather.”
|
|
|
|
|
| Site Updates Update List Home Fiction Gallery Links Feedback |
