The 2005 Spander Christmas Album
The Herald Angels Sing
“Well, push harder.”
“It’s not going to fit.”
“Maybe we should try a different position,”
“We’ve tried it every bloody way, Xan. I don’t think it’s going to work.”
Willow chose that moment to walk by. “Mistletoe,” she chirped.
Spike and Xander looked up from where they were trying to fit an enormous fir tree through the front door. Neither had any idea what she was talking about.
She pointed above their heads to a dangling sprig of greenery. “Mistletoe,” she explained. “We hung it while you were gone.”
“That’s great, Wil. We’re just a little bit busy here.”
“But,” she protested, “You have to kiss. It’s the law.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “How do you fancy we manage that? Bit of a twig in the way.”
When Willow geared up for a good lip wobble, Xander started to struggle over the tree. It was easier to pick needles and tar out of unwelcome places than deal with an upset Willow. “Lean over.”
More eye rolling accompanied the effort, but, Spike decided, it was well worth it when Xander’s warm lips met his. Clearly, Xander expected a brief press of lips to satisfy Willow, but Spike had other ideas. Sliding his hand behind Xander’s neck, he deepened the kiss, grinning when he immediately opened his mouth to welcome Spike’s tongue. They stood that way, tongues tangling with each other, as Xander’s hand dropped down to grab Spike’s butt. Willow’s whimper finally reminded them they weren’t alone.
Breaking the kiss, Spike laughed. “I think we could get Red to buy tickets if we promised to keep going, luv.”
Xander’s eye slowly drifted open. “Works for me if she can come up with some cash.”
Willow’s face matched the color of her hair. She gestured distractedly. “I’m just going to. . . I mean, I need to check on . . . I’m just gonna go. . . you know,” she trailed off as she wandered away.
Giving a huge tug, Spike pulled the tree and Xander through the door. “This is the last time I let you talk me into spending the holidays with this lot. Next Christmas, we’re spending it alone – you, me, and a gallon of lube.”
A chorus of shrieks and giggles sounded from the living room. Xander winced. “Can we go now?”
“Say the word, luv. We can nip up to the Council’s cottage in Scotland at the drop of a hat.”
As Xander pretended to contemplate it, they carried the tree into the front room, which had undergone a transformation in their absence. Boughs of greenery adorned most of the available surfaces with golden balls and springs of berries peeking out from the branches. The smells of Christmas – pine, cinnamon, and other delicious aromas – filled the air. A handful of teenaged Slayers surged forward to relieve them of their burden and carry the tree to its stand in a prominent place next to the fire.
A redheaded ball of energy ran across the room and launched herself into Xander’s arms. “Xander!” Fergie, the youngest of the Slayers at seven years old, had adopted Xander as her surrogate big brother. “You’re back just in time,” she bubbled, “We’re getting ready to sing carols. Sophie can play the piano. And, we’re all going to sing. Even Angel. He promised! Isn’t that right, Angel?”
Hearing his name, Angel looked up from across the room where he was helping Buffy hang garland and waved slightly in agreement.
Spike gasped in horror. “No, pet. Anything but that. He’s definitely not an angel you should be harking to hear sing. Do all of our ears a favor and leave him out of it.” Fergie giggled when he tickled her ribs. ‘Sides, I doubt Sophie knows any Barry Manilow carols.”
“Shut up, Spike,” Angel growled from across the room.
“Barry Manilow?” Xander questioned, setting Fergie down to go and join the tree-trimming effort.
“Scotland won’t be far enough, if the poof starts singing.”
Xander slipped his arm around Spike’s waist and leaned in to nip at his earlobe. “Maybe Rome?”
“Upstairs might be closer.” Spike smirked, turning to face Xander and leaning up for a long kiss.
Their mutual tongue admiration was disrupted by a loud voice from near the fireplace.
“I wish to speak to this green. Your chatter disrupts its melody. Leave before I rip your intestines from your flesh and feed the dripping strands to the fire.”
Illyria stood near the tree, facing the group of Slayers.
Xander leaned his forehead against Spike’s and sighed. “Maybe Tibet. Don’t the monks have to take a vow of silence?”
Before they could break up the confrontation, one of the Slayers shared her opinion that only an idiot took on a group of Slayers.
“When I was a God-King a thousand thousand sycophants worshipped me. Your mewling is as nothing to me. The next time your mouths open it should be in praises of worship to my glory.”
Spike’s sigh of exasperation was clear throughout the room. “All right, Blue. Leave the nice Slayers to decorate the tree. You should try a stroll outside. Lots of green to talk to. I’m sure you can find a lovely pine to chat with.”
Illyria regarded him for several long, unblinking moments. “I leave because I choose to, not because your pleas and meaningless threats have swayed me.”
As she stalked out of the room, Xander heard Buffy mutter to Angel, “do you think it’s possible to have a normal holiday?”
“All depends on your definition of normal,” he murmured back.
The chatter in the room started to return. The Slayers dug through boxes looking for the lights to string on the tree. Xander was considering taking Spike up on his offer to slip upstairs when Giles wandered in from the library, pulling his glasses from his face and rubbing his eyes.
“I’m afraid we have a situation.”
“Of course we do,” Buffy grumbled. “It’s Christmas Eve, so, of course, there has to be a situation to ruin Buffy’s holiday.”
“Tad self-absorbed there, aren’t we?” Spike observed.
Her dignified response was to stick out her tongue.
Ignoring the bickering between Buffy and Spike that was their normal method of communication, Xander turned to Giles. “What sort of situation? Apocalypse-like situation or run of the mill, random demons with a half-baked idea to take over the world?”
Giles tilted his head in consideration at Xander’s question. “More the latter, really,” he admitted. “According to my sources, a clan of vampires intends to open a nearby crypt. They’re looking for the Sword of Abun-Ra. The Sword is used to perform a ritual to release an angelic host against mankind.”
“A group of vampires want to release a bunch of angels?” Xander asked. “Wow, they’re dimmer than even your average vampire. Present company excluded,” he hurried to add at Spike’s noise of protest.
“Yes, well, it’s a demonic host of angels.” Giles explained. “The legend goes that they were cast out of heaven and wait for the day when they can unleash their vengeance on the world.”
“Not exactly fat babies and harps,” Spike noted.
Buffy went over to the weapons cabinet and tossed a sword to Angel before selecting a vicious looking ax for herself, “I suppose we’d better get this over with. Spike, Xander, you should probably come along.”
Spike sauntered over to the chest and selected a small handheld crossbow. “How’s a frolic in the snow sound, pet?” He asked Xander as he tucked the crossbow in his pocket and pulled out a long knife.
Thinking of Spike’s enthusiastic lovemaking that was only enhanced by a fight beforehand, Xander readily agreed.
“You could take the other Slayers,” Giles suggested to Buffy. “It might be a good exercise.”
“Nah,” Xander broke in before she could answer. “Let them stay here and deck the halls, roast some chestnuts, make some wassail, whatever that is. Us old folks will take care of this one. Of course,” he looked at Angel, “some of us are much older than others.”
Buffy led the way out the door, “Come on kids, let’s all try to play nicely together and go kill the nasty vampires.”
Spike flicked his tongue over his teeth and leered at Xander. “I can be a nasty vampire.”
“I’m counting on it,” Xander said as he gave him a quick grope on the way out the door.
The ride to the cemetery was quiet. Angel drove and Buffy sat staring out the passenger window, their hands entwined on the seat between them. Spike and Xander sat glued to each other in the backseat, hands roaming restlessly, stroking and teasing. Spike nibbled his way down the boy’s jaw, his cool tongue tracing a wordless promise for later; the heady scent of Xander’s arousal filling his senses.
All too soon, they reached their destination, and each took a minute to adjust himself more comfortably as they unloaded the weapons from the trunk, Angel included, while Buffy shook her head at the testosterone brigade she was saddled with.
“All right,” Buffy announced, “let’s get this over with so we can get home. I hate fighting in the snow.”
They tromped toward the general direction where Giles said they would find the crypt. Xander looked around, bemused at the beautiful scene. Snow lay thick on the ground, and a gentle dusting sifted down from the sky. Wet flakes clung, giving everything a glisten of white.
As they approached the area, they spread out and stalked silently forward. For all of their bickering, the four had been molded into a well-honed fighting team in recent years. It had taken a lot of rebuilding of trust, and awkward moments, especially while he and Spike danced around their feelings for one another, but, Xander realized, it had all worked out. He and Buffy each had their vampires, and if anyone had told him back in Sunnydale that he would be dating William the Bloody, he would have suggested they get their head checked.
Up ahead, eight vampires were gathered around a stone mausoleum, using a crowbar to try and break the padlocks holding the gates closed.
“You’d think in the twenty-first century vampires could embrace the power tool.” Xander whispered to Spike.
“Lacks style, pet. Jackhammers don’t exactly reek of evil,” he explained.
Once they were in position, Buffy went with the direct approach. “Hey!”
The vampires turned, snarling when they saw the tiny blond interrupting their break-in.
“Do you know what tonight is?” She asked, stalking forward. “Tonight, the night you’ve decided to unleash a demon hoard on the earth – stupid idea by the way – is Christmas Eve. And instead of sitting by a fire, opening gifts of indecent lingerie from my boyfriend, I’m out here dealing with you.”
“Shut up, Slayer,” one of the vampires hissed. “There are enough of us to finish you.”
“I’m going to overlook that rudeness because it’s Christmas,” Buffy continued, idly swinging her ax, “and I’m going to spread a little piece on earth by cutting you to pieces.”
Enraged, the vampires rushed her, although a few stopped short in surprise when Angel, Spike and Xander stepped out from the shadows to join the fun.
The fight was fairly routine. Xander killed one vampire and then stood back to watch Spike. It never failed to enthrall him, watching his lover fight. Spike traded blows with two vampires at the same time, whirling between the two, taunting and toying. His black duster flared out, displaying the hard body underneath. He moved like liquid death, causing Xander to harden in automatic reaction.
Buffy and Angel had handily dispatched four of the vampires, leaving one for Buffy to take out her pent up aggression on. Angel stood leaning against a tombstone, watching Buffy fight with the same deep desire Xander was certain was evident on his face as he watched Spike.
Unfortunately for Buffy, the snow was rather deep and the new flakes made the ground quite slick. When she decapitated the last vampire with a dramatic flourish, the momentum carried her around and her feet slipped, sending her sprawling into a drift. Spike’s snickers were quickly drowned out by Angel’s howls.
“It’s not funny,” Buffy protested, struggling to stand and wipe the snow from her face at the same time.
Angel’s only response was to bend over, clutching his sides as he laughed. Finally, he tried to get himself under control, straightening up to go and help her to her feet, only to be met with a large snowball right in the face.
Quickly packing another, Buffy let it fly. “I’ll teach you to laugh at me.”
Shaking his head at the pair’s antics, Spike turned toward Xander, a quip on his lips, and a cold ball of wetness smacked into his face. Calmly, he wiped the snow from his eyes and glared at his giggling boyfriend.
“Sorry,” Xander choked out. “It just seemed like a good idea at the time.” He held his hands out in supplication as Spike stalked toward him, slowing down to scoop up a handful of snow on his way.
“Come on,” Xander pled, backing away. “You have to admit it was funny.”
“And it will be even funnier when I shove this snow down your pants, luv.”
Just as Spike reached him, Angel yelled, “Spike!”
When they turned to see what further trouble had popped up, both Buffy and Angel pelted them with snowballs.
“Right, that’s it then.”
Spike turned and launched his missile at Buffy while Xander scrambled to gather more snow. Shrieking at the cold, Buffy started to run to provide some distance and time to make more ammunition. Instead of chasing Buffy, Spike unexpectedly launched himself at Angel and the two went tumbling into the snow. Xander ran after a laughing Buffy, executing a flying tackle and managing to get a grip on her ankle to bring her down. He crawled up her back, her strangled attempts to catch her breath the only thing that allowed him to pin her down. Straddling her, he rode out her half-hearted attempts to buck him off and washed her face in the snow. The cold bite against her cheeks apparently gave her the will to fight him off. Using Slayer strength – unfairly, he thought – she flipped them over and it was his turn to eat icy powder. For good measure she threw in a bit of merciless tickling.
Eventually, the giggles died down and they managed to catch their breath. They both noticed at the same time that it was abnormally quiet. Looking over Buffy’s shoulder, he saw Angel and Spike watching them, several well-packed snowballs in hand.
“Uh oh,” he whispered.
She looked at him, a question in her eyes, and Xander nodded; he was lost, she should save herself. With barely a tensing of muscles to give her away, she was up and running, Angel giving chase.
Xander started to scramble upright and made it to his knees before Spike was on him.
“Well, pet. Seems like someone else has been the naughty one.”
“You’re not going to hit me with those, are you?” Xander gave Spike his best pleading look.
“Dunno, luv.” He cupped his groin suggestively. “Maybe there’s something you can do to earn my forgiveness.”
“Here?” Xander only half-pretended to be scandalized. He was kneeling in the snow right out in the open and Buffy and Angel were close by. “You want an audience?”
Spike smirked and pointed over Xander’s shoulder. “Don’t think either one of them are going to be paying attention to us for a little while.”
Xander looked around and saw that Angel had caught up to Buffy. He had her pinned up against a tree and her legs were wrapped around his waist. Neither appeared aware of the rest of the world at the moment.
“You want me to suck you off right here?” Warming to the idea, Xander’s fingers were already at Spike’s belt.
“Think of it as an early Christmas present, luv. I’ve been a very good boy this year.”
Unzipping Spike’s jeans, Xander pulled his half-erect cock out. “This is going to have to be fast. I really don’t want to spark another conversation on oral techniques with Buffy.”
Leaning forward, he breathed along the dusky pink head, a tease of warm breath that was visible in the cold night air. Still teasing, he ran his open mouth down the length, blowing warm air until he reached the base where he let his tongue flicker out for the briefest of seconds. With one hand, he took a firm grasp and started pumping lightly while the other hand reached under and pulled Spike’s testicles forward until he could suck first one, then the other into his mouth. He loved Spike’s balls. They were covered with the softest of skin; he could spend hours stroking them, worrying the skin between them, right where they met Spike’s body, with his tongue.
When Spike threw his head back, choking off a moan, he allowed the flat of his tongue to scrape up Spike’s erection, until he once again reached the tip, which he circled lazily as he began to pump harder.
As he coaxed the first drops of pre-come out, he swallowed the head, letting it wetly bob in and out of his mouth in time with his strokes. Slowly, on each downward stroke, he took a little more into his mouth. With his other hand, he encouraged Spike to start thrusting his hips, wanting to feel the vampire fuck his mouth.
Spike obliged, tangling his hands in Xander’s hair and moving his hips in the rhythm he had established. Freed from controlling the pace, Xander concentrated on swallowing as much of Spike’s cock as he could while rolling his balls gently, fingers periodically pressing against the sensitive skin behind them.
He could do this all night. The discomfort of the wetness seeping into the knees of his jeans where he knelt was outweighed by the needy grunts Spike made as he sped up, nearing completion. His hand gripped tighter, determined to milk the orgasm from the vampire, already anticipating the salty tang. He sucked harder, causing Spike’s hands to tighten.
“Fuck. . .Xan. . . Suck it!”
Xander could feel Spike’s balls draw up, signaling his climax.
“Don’t stop. . .I’m gonna. . .Oh, god. . .I’m gonna come.”
Spike’s body stiffened, all his muscles locked as his orgasm exploded through him. Xander drank down the liquid that filled his mouth while continuing to suck, wanting to wring every last drop from his lover.
Finally, Spike relaxed, half slumping over Xander, his hands cradling the man’s shoulders. They stayed that way, while Xander caught his breath.
“Merry Christmas, Spike.” He raised his face brushing a kiss against Spike’s lips.
Spike deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking out his flavor on Xander’s, sucking it from his mouth.
“Merry Christmas, luv. Merry Christmas, indeed.”