“Nog me.” Buffy held up her glass to Xander who hesitantly filled it to the brim.
“Whoa, slow down Buffster, or we might have an intervention on our hands here.” Xander closed the carton and placed it away from her.
“So what’s wrong in Buffy-town that she has to drown her sorrows in noggy-goodness?” Willow moved closer to Buffy on the floor.
“Well, not even mentioning our very own creeptastic version of The Nightmare Before Christmas and finding out my boyfriend is a commando, but Professor Walsh gave me a D on my paper. Hence drowning of the sorrows.” Buffy took another long draught.
“But isn’t it good you don’t have to hide from Riley anymore? You can be yourself and not have to worry about him finding out you’re the Slayer.” Willow smiled brightly.
“And you can partake in many post-patrolling orgasms that Xander and I enjoy. But not with Xander, with Riley,” Anya casually added while munching on a candy cane.
“I’m so not touching that with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole. Anyways, you’re right, Will. But to be honest, I was hoping for a little normal for once. Just an ordinary guy. One who doesn’t know about vampires or monsters, and especially not about floaty Jack Skellingtons.” Buffy lunged and grabbed the nog, triumphantly pouring more into her glass.
“I second not wanting to know about creepy pantomimes. Gentlemen my butt.” Xander tried wrestling the carton out of Buffy’s hand. The tussle ended with a crushed container and a spray of nog.
“Great! Just add this to the not to mention list.” Buffy stood, looking down at her nog-stained shirt.
“Hey, look on the bright side, it could be demon guts.” Xander smiled sheepishly.
“Hoorah, bright side,” Buffy griped and headed up the stairs to the bathroom. Pushing open the door, she stopped short from what she saw.
“In polite society one knocks before entering, Slayer.” In only a towel, a freshly showered Spike stood in front of the mirror combing his hair.
“Good thing you’re not polite. You do realize you’re minus a reflection, right?” Buffy focused on his face. Not daring to look anywhere else, especially not at the towel loosely wrapped around his hips.
“Old habits die hard. Just like pesky Slayers.” Spike styled in more Brylcreem.
“Whereas chipped, bleached vampires can easily go poof,” Buffy shot back.
“Well, not that this exchange of witty banter wasn’t a slap and a tickle, but is there a reason why you’re here?” Spike lowered his comb and turned toward her.
Buffy’s focus shifted from his face, downwards. All the way down.
“Well, well, Slayer. If you came here to jingle my bells, all you had to do is ask.” Spike sauntered closer, smirk firmly in place.
“Ugh, you just didn’t go there, did you?” Buffy stepped back, her focus returning to his face.
“That I did.” Spike grabbed his clothes and started loosening the towel from his waist.
“Whoa! What are you doing?” Buffy slapped her hand over her eyes.
“Getting dressed. Not standing here all day starkers for no good reason. Well, unless you have other plans. Like you. Me. And a mistletoe belt.”
Buffy felt Spike’s cool breath fanning her neck, and she jumped back. Hitting the hallway wall, she slid to the floor. Hearing the bathroom door slam shut and Spike’s muffled laughter, she ventured a peek.
“Stupid, pervy vampire.” Buffy stood and headed back downstairs.
“Oh! You’re just in time for the Grinch.” Willow excitably patted the spot next to her on the floor.
“Like I just didn’t see enough of a devious character,” Buffy muttered and sat down.
“Huh?” Willow looked confused, her popcorn filled hand stopping midway to her mouth.
“Never mind. It was nothing.” Buffy settled in, trying her best to ignore her clinging wet shirt and the visions of a towel clad Spike dancing in her head.
The gang watched in silence until the Grinch started making his way through Whoville.
“This is so my favorite part.” Buffy happily munched on popcorn, damp shirt and Spike forgotten. Her eyes fixed on the screen.
“You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” started playing. As on cue Spike walked down the stairs with a large glass in hand.
“Ah, I couldn’t time that better myself.” Xander glared at his impromptu roommate.
“And don’t you forget it, Harris,” Spike agreed before addressing Buffy, his voice now low and cajoling, “Slayer, fancy seeing you again.”
“Again? When again? Again as in yesterday again or again as in today again?” Xander’s eyes narrowed and darted between Buffy and Spike.
“Oh, the Slayer didn’t tell you? She caught me in all my crowning glory coming out of the shower.” Spike sat back on the lounger, splaying his legs wide.
“Buffy?” Willow looked imploringly at her friend.
“Please tell me you didn’t see him naked. No, you couldn’t have. There’s no way you were exposed to that kind of whiteness without going blind.” Xander shook his head, as if he was trying to clear the image from his mind.
Finally finding her voice, Buffy tried explaining, “No! I didn’t see him naked! He was in a towel the whole time.”
“What do you mean the whole time?” Willow squeaked.
“We talked. Just talked. Him. In a towel. On one side of the room. Me. Fully clothed. On the other!” Buffy waved her arms, trying hard to convince the others. Everyone seemed satisfied with her explanation until Anya piped in.
“So Buffy. Judging by how tight Spike’s jeans are and with your firsthand knowledge, you can confirm he’s more than well equip to give many orgasms, correct?” Anya eyed Spike’s lap. Spike smirked and wagged his brows.
“Anh!” Xander let out an unmanly screech then turned to Buffy, “Please tell me that Spike’s all Jacob Marley and he’s just haunting us after you dusted his pasty ass!”
“The fact that I saw him at all is your fault Xander! You knew I was going upstairs to clean up and you didn’t warn me!” Buffy stood and started pacing. “Anyways, how the hell do you know his ass is pasty?” Buffy stopped, hands on hips, glaring at him.
“I—” Xander stalling gave Anya time to answer, “Well, they are roommates and share close quarters. I’m not surprised that it hasn’t gone any further than just seeing each other naked.”
“Hey!” “Oi!” Xander and Spike’s indignation rang out in unison.
“Okay, this conversation has gone way into brain-bleaching territory. Look, I saw Spike in a towel, no big deal,” Buffy tried to reason.
“Oh, Slayer, we already established it is a very big deal.” Spike hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, strategically framing himself.
“Argh!” With a battle cry, Buffy launched herself at Spike. Knocking him out of the lounger, she pinned him and started girly slapping him. Spike blocked each hit, laughing the whole time.
“Slayer, you keep wiggling like that and the Grinch’s heart isn’t the only thing that’s going to grow three sizes this day!” Spike grabbed Buffy’s hips and lifted up.
“Ooh!” Buffy punched Spike in the nose and stood up.
“Bloody hell, Slayer! Where’s your Christmas spirit?” Spike gingerly checked his nose for bleeding.
“I didn’t know Christmas spirit was being groped by the undead! You ask where’s my Christmas spirit, huh? I’ll have you know, I have so much Christmas spirit that it’s coming out of my bottom! See!” Buffy grabbed Spike’s glass and downed it all in one go.
“That was just eggnog, right?” Willow whispered out of her corner of her mouth to Spike.
“Some. Mostly brandy.” Spike watched, smirking the whole time.
“Bleugh! That’s some good nog!” Buffy dragged her hand across her mouth, letting out an unladylike belch.
“That’s your evil plan, getting the Slayer drunk so you can kill her friends? Well, you’ve gotta another thing coming, buddy!” Xander started rifling through a box of decorations, “Ah ha!” Like a stake, he brandished the angel-topper at Spike.
“It’s not wooden, Harris. Plus, an Angel? Try for something less poofter next time.” Spike batted the angel to the ground and stomped on it for good measure.
“’Sides Xander, Spike’s like that adbonimal…abdominal…that big fuzzy snow guy after the weird dentist elf took care of him. Completely toofless.” Buffy waved her hand towards Spike then plopped down on the couch.
“So we should just get drunk with our mortal enemy ‘cause it’s Christmas?” Xander looked around the room for an answer.
“Hey, don’t forget its Hanukkah. Some of us are still Jewish here.” Willow crossed her arms and glowered at Xander.
“Sorry. So we should just get drunk with our mortal enemy ‘cause it’s Christmas and Hanukkah?” Xander nodded at Willow then added, “Wait, where did you get the booze from? Did you steal it from my house?” Xander turned to Spike, pointing his finger.
“No, I wouldn’t touch that swill upstairs. This is top-shelf stuff. I nicked it from the Watcher.” Spike pulled a flask from his pocket, raised it in toast, and took a sip.
“Oh, okay. Sure why not. And if we all wind up dead, you don’t have to hear me say ‘I told you so’. Well, ‘cause we’ll be dead.” Xander headed upstairs for another carton of eggnog and Spike pulled out the bottle of brandy from his stuff piled in the corner.
The rest of the evening was filled with more Christmas movies and plenty of brandied eggnog. Xander entertained with a dozen or so renditions of the Snoopy dance. Willow led everyone, except for Spike, in a round-robin of the Dreidel song. Even Anya added to the merriment with her take on the Twelve Days of Christmas capitalist-style. With one house in Beverly Hills, two Porches, and five twenty-four karat diamond rings.
Spike finished off the last of the brandy while he and Buffy watched the end of Frosty the Snow Man. The rest of the Scooby’s were sleeping. Xander snored with Anya’s head pillowed on his chest. Willow was curled up on the lounger, using her coat as a blanket.
“This part always gets me. It’s so sad he has to go away. Stupid sun.” Buffy wiped away an errant tear.
“I feel the same about Mr. Sunshine myself, Slayer.”
“You do don’t you? Ha! That’s what ‘m gonna call you from now on, Spikey the Snowman! Ya gonna need a scarf and a pipe to fit the part.” Buffy stood and unsteadily headed to the box of decorations. She threw tinsel and ornaments over her shoulder until she found something of interest.
“No, this is so much better.” Buffy held her find behind her back and approached Spike.
“Whatcha got there Slayer?” Spike looked skeptical and readied to defend himself. For nothing good came from a Slayer with possible hidden weaponry.
Buffy sat down on the floor next to Spike and pulled out a sprig of mistletoe, holding it above their heads.
“Merry Christmas, Spike.” Buffy closed her eyes. Pursing her lips, she leaned forward until she went too far and fell face first into Spike’s lap. The denim of his jeans muffled her soft snoring.
Though his first thought was the Slayer dying this way would’ve been the best Christmas prezzie ever, Spike gently tilted her head to the side so she wouldn’t suffocate. Smiling softly, he tenderly brushed a lock of hair from her face.
“Merry Christmas to you too, Slayer.”