FATHER CHRISTMAS

THIS IS PART 4 of this STORY...Click here for PART ONE

A Secret Spike Gift

For Bree

BY-Bree's Secret Spike 1stRab-id

STORY - For and somewhat about Bree

RATING- G, PG, R, NC-17

COUPLE -  B/S but lots of S/D too though not shipperishly

REQUEST - A Dramedy

SPOILERS - Up to WRECKED

MY BETAS - The AIGTeers, Carrie, Sabrina, Nauti, Rilla and also MKStatz

CANON COMMENT: Re: Spike and siring (with Ford or Sheila).  Nauti caught me out on this already...but I didn't miss anything there (Ford was with dozens of other vamps and Sheila was with Dru).  I could easily be wrong, but this is my take on Siring for this fic.  And I would challenge you to prove something different but remember because something was insinuated doesn't mean it ACTUALLY happened.

DISCLAIMER - Suddenly I own it all?no just kidding...still Joss and Co. and UPN and Fox TV and Mutant Enemy, et al....definately NOT ME!

PART FOUR

It was the bed, Spike thought, or the mattress.  Or the soft cotton sheets with their fabric-softener scent and pink rosebud pattern.  So different from the hard wood and harder stone that served them last time.  It was the bed, the yielding warmth of it that made his fingers fumble with an almost virginal awkwardness.

This time there was music.  Surrounding them as they kissed and petted. Throbbing in him like a heartbeat, speaking for him.

"I cried out 'Heaven save me' but

I'm down to one last breath,

and with it let me say, let me say...

Hold me now; I'm six feet from the edge

and I'm thinkin' maybe six feet ain't so far down."

Buffy shifted away from him and Spike whimpered at the loss of her warmth.  He was so cold without her.  Cold as the grave.  Rock hard, blue-balled cold.  The Slayer pulled her shirt over her head and pushed free of her pajama bottoms.  She returned to him, her silken skin like a balm to his feverish need.  Never mind that an icy fever was a contradiction.  He burned for her and he shivered.

They worked together, unzipping, unlacing, and tugging at his clothing, until they were both naked.  They teased each other's flesh with nips and nails and puffs of breath.  Buffy traveled Spike's body, mapping and memorizing it.  Side-by-side, they lay in opposition to each other and she opened herself to him, pushing her way between his legs even as she raised her own knee for the Soixante-neuf.  Spike pillowed his head on the Slayer's inner thigh and breathed in her need.  He stroked his tongue over her twice.  Then she took him into her mouth and he thought that his flesh would melt in her moist heat.

"Luv," he gasped, falling back, floundering for a grip on her. "Oh, GAH..."

She released him, rolling instantly away.

"Don't," she said, low and harsh. "Don't make a sound." Her tone was commanding, uncompromising,  "No one can know.  Not a sound or it's over."

Leaning on one elbow, Buffy was splayed before him in all her savage, domineering glory.  Spike swallowed his protest.  He nodded in quick submission. There was no question of stopping this now.  Three weeks was too long to spend without her, an eternity of merciless cold.  He needed to feel alive again.  Buffy knew it.  If silence was the price then Spike would pay it.  And she knew that too.  Her turn to pay would come later.

He put his lips to her again, sipping up the sweet cordial liquid of her desire.  Like blood or sweat or tears, it was a vital fluid and energizing to him.  He dipped his tongue into her, twisting it as he went to catch every drop of her succulent lubrication.  Satisfied with his obedience, Buffy bit gently at the curve of his nether cheek and then ran her tongue down over the loose skin of his scrotum.  Catching at his balls with her teeth she sucked in first one and then the other, rolling them in her mouth.  It was all Spike could do not to scream as she simultaneously slipped a middle finger up inside of him.

Golden droplets of pre-cum streamed down his shaft and fell onto her breast.  But Buffy knew better than to drink from him now.  She knew about the thrall that was carried in his seed.  When she was ready she used her right hand on his cock while she continued to tongue and bite and stroke him everywhere else.  Finally, pushed too far, Spike retaliated.  Gripping her hard nub in his teeth, he purred against it, vibrating his tongue until she released him.  Buffy cried out in ecstasy.  Luckily, Dawn's music swelled to a crescendo at that precise moment.  Unfortunately, the CD was nearly over.  The Slayer prayed that it was set to loop, as Spike put his fingers to work.

The vampire reached into his beloved's core.  He slid two fingers along her rippling walls until he touched the ring of her returning maidenhead.  Spike smiled, at the catch in Buffy's breath and at the wonder of what he was caressing.  It hadn't finished growing back.  She wasn't sealed against him...yet.  So three weeks, it seemed, wasn't long enough for the Slayer healing power to work it's magic.

He had, of course, heard all the stories about the Slayer.  Every vampire heard the stories.  There were legends told around the campfire about her strength, her speed, her deadly skill with a stake and her perpetual purity.  Three weeks ago, Spike had learned the truth about the Slayer's eternal virginity.  If he hadn't been so stunned by the fact that she had taken him inside in the first place, feeling her break before him would have definitely finished Spike off.  It had been unbelievably erotic, knowing she felt a twinge of pain as he entered her.  Knowing he had stretched her to fit his need; molded her to his own measure.

Spike wondered how long it would take before they could experience that again.  Longer than three weeks, he reminded himself and acknowledged that, given a choice, he would never be out of Buffy's bed that long again.  But it was nice to think about.  Nice, also, to know that he was the one keeping her open and ready.

"Fuck," he thought. "I love Slayers!"

The Chosen One took his shaft into her mouth, tonguing the length of it and slurping up the juice of his arousal. Spike immediately amended his thought, "Buffy, love Buffy!"

"Love you, Baby," he whispered, desperately, needing to say it.

The words choked him on the way out. Like they always did.  Ever since that first night, when he awoke from the dream of telling her.  His dirty little secret caught in his throat.  And no matter how hard he tried to swallow it down, every single time, it struggled free and burst out of him.  Spike knew he was perverted, and not in that good way.  He loved the Slayer.  He was a sick, twisted, creature of the night.  And again...not in that good way.

Buffy played him like a two thousand dollar fellatrice.  Seemingly heedless of the danger, she sucked him off.  Flicking her tongue over the oozing head of his cock, she swirled her saliva along the ridges of it.  Spike could feel his balls tightening as she worked him over.  He pressed his own mouth into her thigh to stifle any sound.  He had given up on pleasuring her for the moment, knowing he couldn't match her in this drive toward the finish line.  She had him.  The things she could do with her lips alone, made him want to spate all over himself.  All over her, he corrected, or into her.  Oh, God, YES.  Into her filthy, wet, wondrously hot mouth.

"ahhh,gghhaaee, fucking....mmmmhhahhhgghhaah," Spike said, muffled against her, as he let go.

His cold creamy milk slid right down the Slayer's throat.  He felt her swallow.  Not tiny sips like last time, but a full shot.  Spike was shocked to his foundation.  Buffy was in thrall to him again.  She had placed herself in his power, of her own accord.  Willingly, knowingly, with the full awareness of what it meant, Buffy Summers had taken his seed.  He could do anything to her in such a vulnerable state.  The possibilities were staggering.  It was enough to make a vampire giddy.

Buffy rolled onto her back.  The effect was immediate, this time.  The numbing tingle, the spreading warmth, the honeyed images flickering on the inside of her eyelids.  Once experienced the sensation was unmistakable.  It was a blood thrall, one half of the Sire bond completed.  Buffy knew it was wrong.  She knew that she shouldn't have swallowed Spike down.  It made her a bad person, it made her depraved and perverse but she didn't care.  She needed Spike and she needed the thrall to help her.

"Help," she said, drunkenly. "Shhhhushh!" And then she giggled.

"Too late to help you now, Pet."

"Can't scream," Buffy pouted, attempting to explain herself in an inebriated slur. "No more music...mustn't be loud."

Spike sat up.  He swiveled around on his hip until he was facing the Slayer. He looked long and hard into her beautiful, unfocused eyes.

"You don't want to scream?" he encouraged, hoping he had her meaning right. "That's why you did it?"

"'S Right!" Buffy nodded and then put a hand to her head as the room spun around her. "Oh...dizzy...Spike, you...you tell me...NO...okay?"

Spike grinned in truly wicked fashion.

"Alright, my dove," he agreed, breathing in the soft scent of her hair where it curled against her neck. "You won't scream."

He fondled her breast as he moved his lips along her jugular and then paused near her ear to add,  "You'll be as quite as a mouse, never speak above a whisper, just as long as you tell me exactly what you're thinking."

"Wha-what?" Buffy stuttered, her head clearing, slightly. "NO!"

"Oh, yes," Spike purred. "I want to know everything.  Every thought.  Every feeling.  Everything that passes through that pretty little head of yours."

"Won't," she ground out, shaking her head violently and then she cried out in pleasure as Spike's thumb circled over the hard button between her legs.

"Then you'll scream," Spike warned. "Rattle the windows; wake up Daddy and Lil' Sis.  Makes no never mind to me if they come dashing in here."

"I hate you," she whispered, vehemently.

"See," Spike chuckled, "the truth's not so bad."

"I hate everything about you."

"Everything?"

"Yes!"

"You hate my duster?" he teased, kissing his way up the slope of her cleavage toward one rosy peak.

"Y-ye-yes," Buffy panted, "I h-hate it."

Spike licked her nipple into a tight knot and then asked, "Do you hate my tongue?"

"Yes," Buffy said, soft and low. "I hate your nasty, wicked, undead...tongue."

"Aww," Spike pouted, "and it's been so good to you!"

He ran the offending muscle down her body in a single wet stroke.  Licking back up again, he positioned himself between her thighs.   The velvety tip of his penis brushed lightly over her throbbing clit.  Buffy lifted her hips trying to take him inside but he shied away.

"Do you hate my cock?"

"YES!" she said, far too loudly.

"No lying," Spike warned, making a small 'tsk' noise.  He lowered his mouth to her ear and murmured, "Do you hate my cock when I slide it deep into your dripping hot pussy?"

"No," Buffy whispered back. "No...I li-li-lov...I...no."

"I didn't think you hated everything," Spike grinned and then he shafted into her eliciting an ecstatic groan.  For several long moments, he lost all track of their game as her tight walls parted and folded back around him like a second skin.  He didn't see how it was possible for it to be any better than the last time, but every time it was better.

"oh...yes, that...I like that," Buffy said, with perfect soft-spoken obedience. "Love that...makes me go all...all...mushy inside...mushy and crampy and clenched tight at the same time...."

"Makes you wet, too.?"

"...yes, wet...always wet for you..."

"Yeah," Spike agreed, with a small sigh. "Tell me what I feel like inside you."

"...feels so good, like Spike...so cool and hard..."

"Angel's like that, too," Spike reminded her. "Isn't he...cold, hard?"

"No...no," she denied. "Not sweet like Angel...like Spike...wicked loving...fits...so perfect...like you."

"Perfect?" Spike blinked, pulling back until he was almost out of her. "Like...me?"

"...yes...better than anyone...I...wh-what?"  Buffy breathed, her heart hammering as she tried to focus again.

"That's what you said, Pet," the vampire smirked. "Perfect like...me."

Holding back what Buffy wanted, Spike slid just the head of his member in and out of her.  She bucked up, trying once again, to take him in against his will.  Spike held her off and continued the rhythm of his shallow thrusting.  It was driving Buffy mad.  She squirmed.  She mewed.  She bit down on her tongue determined not to surrender another thought until he satisfied her.  He stopped moving altogether and she caved.

"...want more, deeper, harder," she told him, inwardly appalled at her own candor. "Do it now...screw me, savage, hard, Spike, I need it...going mad, going to scream, need you all the way inside, need you right now...spIKE."

Her voice rose at the end and Spike realized that the Slayer really was going to scream rather than submit.  Then Daddy and Little Bit were sure to come running and ruin all of Spike's fun.  He powered into his dominatrix, going balls deep; surging against her like an incoming tide.  It felt so good to him.  It didn't feel like surrender at all.

"...yes...you do what I say," Buffy confided, into his ear. "Because you're perfect...what I need inside...every night...perfect size...perfect fuck...perfect...Spike."

"When did you first notice how perfect I am, Pet?" he teased, bringing his head down to suck on one exquisitely taut Slayer nipple even as he continued riding her home.

"...sucking...oh...still deep inside too...slippery...sliding...need...need it...harder...faster...stairs...tongue more...please, GOD....oh....yes, like that..."

Buffy continued the stream of consciousness commentary and Spike gave her a good twenty minutes of hard, fast, slippery attention before he questioned her again.

"Which stairs?" he asked, casually, as she shuddered down out of her second climax and started up toward her third. "When we kissed? In the Bronze?"

"...no, please...no more...truth...just this...touch."

"Only a little more, Luv," he promised. "Or do you want me to stop making you feel like screaming?"

"...don't stop...going to come again...soon...just...don't stop fucking...want you everywhere...hard cold cock, in my mouth, up my ass...oh...spilling come...everywhere...all of the time...Spike...fuck me...deeper, go deeper...only you can, baby...knew you could even then...on the stairs...knew it...only you can make me scream...make me want to get down on my knees and suck you dry....right in the middle of...the...family dinner...knew it then...couldn't say...no time left...but...I knew..."

"Such a filthy little mouth you have, Slayer," Spike admired, before covering it with his own.  Savaging her with kisses, he barely kept himself from screaming as he jacked his stream of melt into her.

Exhausted, spent, and totally pleased with himself, Spike rolled off of Buffy's still trembling body.  He lay next to her, staring at the ceiling, wishing for a cigarette.  The Slayer shifted and he glanced over to catch her fondling herself.  Slim fingers slick with their combined juices, fumbled in her swollen folds.  Spike turned on his side to watch as Buffy dipped her French-tipped nails in and out of her engorged quim. God, he thought, she was the most amazing creature that ever lived.

"Tell me about the stairs," he said, reaching out to assist her.

He traced one hand over the curves of her belly all the way down to her saturated curls.  Sliding under her busy fingers, he gripped her and they plunged inside together.  Four fingers, two of hers and two of his all the way in...just the way she liked it.  Buffy moaned, dropping her head back and arching up under Spike's hand.  She rubbed against his palm filling it with her essence. The scent, the sound, the words tumbling from her mouth all combined to make him hard as stone again.

"...oh, baby...so good...so good to me...stairs at home...Glory took...Dawn...stairs at home...knew it was you...what you said...perfect...end of the world...wanted it so badly...wanted you...so badly...just for a second...on the stairs..."

Spike felt like he was caught out in the midday sun.  Rays of light like fiery blades seemed to cut through his chest.  He was frozen in time, in that moment between life and death when all things become clear.

"Before you died?" he mouthed, the sound barely leaving his lips.  He swallowed and tried again.  Shifting his hips so that he was poised above the Slayer like a predator about to pounce, Spike demanded an answer, "This moment on the stairs? When you wanted me like this? It was BEFORE you died?"

Buffy blinked and the Slayer appeared in her eyes, standing between Spike and the sweetest moment of his entire existence like the cold, uncompromising Bitch that she was.  The need in him was an open wound.  It drew the predators out of hiding.

"Nothing...else...to say," she ground out.

"I have to know," he said, almost begging. "If you felt this way before...if you...please, Buffy."

"Go to Hell," she snarled, her body freezing solid beneath him.

Spike raged, the demon in him rising up; hating her, needing her and willing to do anything to reach her.  He bit.  Morphing and striking quick in a lightning sequence of events, the vampire drew blood.  A crimson flood welled up from two tiny punctures on Buffy's shoulder.  Spike turned human and looked into her eyes again, searching for the woman he loved.  The woman who belonged to him.  Not finding her, let his anger take control.

"Past time you understood this game, Slayer," he commented and lowered his head to drink.

There wasn't a lot of blood.  The wound was shallow and well away from any major arteries.  But it was enough to initiate Buffy into the circle of the Sire bond.  It was enough to let her feel the tug of eternal shackles on her wrists.  The transdimensional connection closed between Buffy and Spike with a tiny cosmic click.  Her blood flowed in his veins, even as his flowed in hers.  And he loved her.  The certainty of it filled every dark corner in Buffy's mind leaving no room for doubt.

But his love didn't matter, couldn't matter to her.  Steel doors slammed shut inside the Slayer's psyche even as Spike set up a resonance in her blood.  Instinctively, she fought him off, denied him access to her thoughts and her heart.  It was common knowledge that no vampire could turn the Slayer.  The Sire bond wouldn't hold her.  She would die rather than surrender herself.  She would spend her last breath dealing out swift ashy death.

No Slayer had ever been turned but then again Buffy Summers wasn't the average Chosen One.  Spike was willing to bet that his sweetheart was the only Prophecy Girl to willingly perform fellatio on one of his kind.  She had taken his seed.  She had invited him into her home, into her bed, and then into her body.  There were only two possible reasons why she would do such a thing...either she was resurrected less than human in some vital way or...there was a connection already in place between them.  A bond that existed before death and after it and somehow transcended all differences.

"Do you...? Did you...love me before you died?" he asked.

"Don't," she panted, "won't...can't."

"Which is it?" he pressed. "Don't, won't or can't?"

"Stop!...Can't..."

"Say you love me."

"You love me," she returned, snidely.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he snapped, pulling her hair, twisting a handful until she cried out. "Say it proper: 'I love you'."

"You love me," she repeated, her eyes flashing defiance.

"Yes," Spike surrendered, releasing her and sliding down her body, "I do. Now you know...I do."

His voice dropped to a whisper as he added, "Now it's in...our blood."

He ran his tongue along the valley where her thigh met her abdomen.  Only her skin was soft, the muscles underneath were like iron.  As unyielding as her will.  She was stronger than he was because she didn't care as much.  She wouldn't give way.  Spike tried another tack.  He gave himself to her, flowing through the blood, using the Sire bond to make them one flesh.

Buffy felt Spike slip into her mind even as his cock drilled into the molten core of her womanhood.  She was more than pleasured by him.  She was him.  She knew what it was like for him to be inside of her.  It was like Heaven had been for her, safe and warm and filled with peace.

Spike shuddered, close to the edge.  He took Buffy's face in his hands, holding her gently.  He looked deep into her eyes and screwed her violently into the bed, forgetting their need for silence.  Forgetting everything but his need for her.  Buffy's body convulsed under him.  Spike rocked his pelvis against her, pushing deep, going to her womb.  Mentally, he went all the way in, as well, to that night on the stairs.  *Presto, no barrier...I'm counting on you, to protect her...to the end of the world...I'll be a minute...you treat me like a man*

Buffy's body bowed up, the walls of her inner passage undulated and then clamped down on him.  She surrounded him, a natural force, as fluid and as unforgiving as the sea.   Every one of her muscles went rigid, every fiber of her being cried out for release.  She had lingered on the brink of orgasm far too long, well past the point of pleasure.  Slick viscous juices ran down her thighs, soaking the sheets.  Buffy's eyes rolled back and her mouth opened on a silent scream.  She shivered with the frigid ongoing cold of her frustrated desire.

Knowing he was about to come, Spike dropped his head into the hollow of Buffy?s neck and pleaded with her.

"Please, sweet love, please...let me in."

Buffy didn't understand why Spike was torturing her.  He was inside her, in her arms, in her mouth, in her belly, in her mind...like a stake in her heart.  Why didn't he give in to her need...didn't he see...didn't he know already what she could never say?    She needed to scream but she was still in thrall.  Spike had denied her even that much satisfaction.  She needed to come again and again, to drown in her lover's cold seed but he held her at bay.

"I know I'm a monster," he whispered. "But you..."

"You," Buffy gulped out and the dam broke.

She opened before him like a blooming rose, bolted doors swinging wide in her mind, down the long corridor to the center of her being.  Spike filled her completely.  Her body cracked like a whip against him as he spilled into her.  She was on the stairs and down below looking up.  He was beneath her, and she was inside of him, choking him with tenderness and being choked.  Spike was below her and beneath her; under her and inside her looking down.  She was with him by the door, waiting for a word.  He was with her on the stairs, feeling the slight swell in her chest and the wet bloom in her groin as she experience the first stirrings of this forbidden passion.

"I love you," he said and, since her mouth was his mouth, she had no choice but to speak the line with him.

Over and over they confessed, until their words were as tangled as the sheets and as intertwined as their bodies.  Until the phrase became a twisted rope of meaningless syllables that they chanted together like a mantra.

A long time later, Buffy slept.  Spike lay with his head pillowed on her belly.  He floated, at peace, listening to the sounds of life inside her: soft, steady breathing, the chicken dinner digesting and blood rushing to and fro.  He remembered laying his head like this on her dead body, a few hours before they put her in the ground.  It had been the coldest, bleakest and bitterest night of his entire existence.  This night, this Christmas Eve, was the warmest, the brightest and the sweetest.

He thought about how much Buffy would hate him in the morning.  He couldn't justify what he had done.  He had taken her to a place that she wasn't ready to acknowledge existed.  He had forced her to look at things she didn't want to see.  Buffy had trusted him, again.  And again he had failed her.  A monster didn't need justification, and Spike seldom looked for any but he wanted to be a man for Buffy Summers.  So, he lay pillowed against her in the small hours of the morning, thinking about what a man would do in his situation.

When the answer finally came to him, Spike eased out of the bed.  He quietly pulled on his jeans.  Then, gathering up the rest of his clothes, he slipped out of the bedroom, padded downstairs and let himself out into the dark and chilly Christmas morning.

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