ADVENT STORIES FOR
DECEMBER 16

CLARK/LEX

Title: Merry Christmas
Author: MeLi
Author's e-mail: remmirath@fibertel.com.ar  
Author's webpage: http://meli-clex.tripod.com/

Disclaimer: None of these characters are owned by me. I make no money off this.

Spoilers: Vortex, Nocturne

Category: Established Relationship
Rating: G

Summary: A different way of celebrating Christmas. For the Luthors and the Kents, at least.
Beta: Paauliytah was kind enough to do it. I love you, Paau! Thank you so, so much for everything!

Author's notes: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent

Author's notes II: I know characterization is off, but this is how I wanted them to behave in this fic – I’ll deal with how they got here in some other fic, and in yet another with where they go from here. Maybe.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

“We won’t be hosting a Christmas party this year, son,” Lionel said when he heard Lex enter the office.

“Okay,” Lex said. He was happy that, for once, he wouldn’t have to spend Christmas in the coat room, so he didn’t question what led his father to making that decision. His decisions were usually arbitrary, anyway; so Lex guessed this wouldn’t be an exception.

“We’ll be spending Christmas Eve with the Kents,” Lionel added as though it was the most normal thing in the world. Now that was a surprise. A pleasant surprise, but a surprise none the less. Actually, it was the most surprising thing he’d been told since Clark came out to him, and almost as delightful. Almost. Anyway, back to the present; Lex would never have expected his father to call off his annual Christmas party – which translated to business meeting in his mental Lionel-English dictionary – in favor of a family-like reunion. Martha really had him wrapped around her finger, Lex thought. Too bad for Lionel that she’d never betray Jonathan. Lex was grateful for that; the Kents were the closest thing he had to a family, and he didn’t want Lionel to screw that up. The good thing, for Lex at least, was that Lionel was starting to get in touch with his emotions. Maybe it was a good thing he’d given Martha that job, after all.

“Okay,” he said, not wanting to give away the bliss he felt at the prospect of spending Christmas Eve with Clark.

“Come on, son. I know you’re excited about spending the night with your boyfriend, no need to try and hide it.”

Okay, so maybe now that he was blind Lionel was getting better at reading Lex. Or not quite reading, but perceiving his feelings. It probably had to do with the fact that Lionel no longer thought emotions were a weakness.

“You’re right, I am. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go buy some presents.” He wanted to get Martha something real nice for doing this.

+  * ..· º ~ º · .. * +

“We’re spending Christmas Eve at Luthor Manor,” Martha announced at dinner, getting opposite reactions from her son and husband.

Jonathan’s “What?!” was spoken simultaneously with Clark’s “Great!”

Jonathan’s response made a sigh escape Martha’s lips. “You know, it took a lot of effort to get Lionel to agree,” Jonathan fumed at his wife’s mention of the elder Luthor.

“I’m not spending any holiday with Lionel Luthor!” Jonathan bellowed, but that didn’t prevent her from continuing. “He’s finally changing. And a family reunion is exactly what Lex needs,” she tried to convince her husband that this was a good idea.

“Mom’s right, dad. You’ve seen how good your acceptance has been for Lex. This will make him really happy,” Clark supported his mother’s point.

“I know,” Jonathan sighed. “And if it was only Lex we were talking about, I’d have no problem.” Jonathan then turned to Martha. “But you know how hard it’s been for me to accept the fact that you’re working for Lionel. It’s been even harder to put up with the idea of you two becoming closer than mere acquaintances,” he didn’t want to say they were becoming friends. “And now you want to spend Christmas with him? It’s too much, Martha. You should have asked Lex to join us and left Lionel out.” Funny how a couple of years before he’d have wanted to leave both of them out, Clark thought. But he didn’t comment on it, of course.

“I could have, but Lex needs to know his father cares about him.” Martha frowned at the snort that produced from Jonathan. “We may be giving Lex the sense of family he craves, but he needs to receive it from his father, too. And this is the only way I managed to get Lionel to spend some time with his son as a father. He’s always treating Lex as though he was a business associate – if even that - and nothing more, and I want that to stop.”

Jonathan understood what his wife wanted, but he still didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve with Lionel Luthor. He had welcomed Lex into his family because his son loved him and he had proven he was nothing like his father. Was he supposed to embrace the man he hated as well?

“Dad, think about it. You were wrong when you thought Lex was anything like the image of Lionel you had. Don’t you think there’s a chance Lionel’s not how you think he is? Or at least not anymore.” Clark had gotten to know Lionel after the man lost his sight and decided to stay in Smallville, and he saw him change since then. Especially after his mother started working for him. It seemed that, just like he was good for Lex, Martha was a good influence on Lionel – even though their relationships were nothing alike, thank God. He didn’t want to imagine his mother cheating on his dad with his boyfriend’s dad. How messed up was that?

“Can’t you just give him a chance? Perhaps all he needs is a friend.” Clark turned his pout full-force on his dad. Who sighed. Again.

“Okay. I’m not saying I’ll go and make friends with Lionel Luthor, but I’ll go to the Manor on Christmas Eve.” Clark glowed at that. He got to spend what he considered the most important holiday of the year with his boyfriend and his family. What more could he possibly want?

+  * ..· º ~ º · .. * +

“Lex, I can’t believe this,” Clark said, his eyes full of tears. It was 12 am on Christmas day, and Clark, Lex, the Kents and Lionel were at Luthor Manor, exchanging gifts. Lex had just given Clark his present and looked nervous as he awaited his lover’s reaction. After over two years of being together, he still thought Clark would someday realize he deserved better than Lex and proceed to leave him. That was the last thing he wanted. And his insecurities made their way to the surface as Clark opened the box that held two identical gold rings.

“I love you,” Clark said, kissing Lex deeply. They forgot they were surrounded by their parents until they heard Lionel growl his discomfort regarding displays of affection in his presence. At least he no longer swatted them when they did it.

“There are seventy-five rooms in this castle. Can’t you wait a few minutes and go get one?” he said dryly, not really minding the displays any more; now he was actually happy that his son had found someone to love who loved him back. Martha reminded him of his wife and seeing her with Jonathan made him reminisce of how much Lillian had meant to him, and still did. He wanted Lex to have the kind of happiness he’d had when he was with his wife and he also wanted to reestablish the bond he’d once shared with his son. He was glad Martha was helping him.

When they broke the kiss, Lex started talking. “I’ve bought these a long time ago, ever since I discovered my love for you will last forever. I wanted to give them to you before now, but I thought it would be more sensible to wait till you were eighteen. Then you did turn eighteen, but I couldn’t work up the courage. Until today.” At this, Lex knelt down on one knee before Clark. The Kents and Lionel hadn’t seen what was in the box, and it was now that they understood what Lex was talking about. Even if Martha was, the older men weren’t expecting this, and they gasped in surprise. For once, Jonathan and Lionel shared a reaction with the same feelings behind it.  It was the first time they agreed on something: this was the best present Lex could have given to Clark, for both of the boys.

Taking a shaky breath, Lex continued. “Clark, will you marry me?” He stared up at the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, watching the tears fall from green eyes and run down high cheeks as he waited for an answer.

“Yes,” was all Clark could manage to say, his voice trembling. He dropped to his knees to face his lover and kissed him again, Lex’s doubts finally leaving him for good.

“Merry Christmas, Clark,” Lex said.

It was indeed a Merry Christmas.

End

CLARK/LEX TWO

Title: Talking
Author: Jennie
Disclaimer: They're not mine - but they'd have a lot more fun if they were.
Category: Humor, first time
Rating: R
Spoilers: Nary a one
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Fandom: Smallville
Summary: Clark tells Lex some startling news.  Events of the smuttish variety ensue.
Author's note: This fic is part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent   I used a challenge from the CLEXFEST - the dialog only thing.
Feedback: Being as this is my first real try at SV fic, I'd certainly appreciate your opinions. < jennieemcg@aol.com  >
Warning: The smoking of an illegal substance happens.  If you have a problem with that, you won't want to read this.
Thanks to Sue for betaing in a fandom she's not involved with, and to Laura for 'convincing' me - in her own special way - to write the sex scene.

Talking
By Jennie

THE MANSION, LATE ONE AFTERNOON:

"Excuse me?"

"I'm gay, Lex."

"You're not just telling me that you're happy today, are you?"

*Snort*  "No, Lex.  I'm telling you that I'm sexually attracted to men."


"How are your parents handling the news?"

"I haven't told them yet."

"Ah."

...

"Lex?"

"Still here, Clark.  I'm wondering..."

"Wondering what?"

"I... Don't take this the wrong way, but why are you telling me?"

"Because you're my best friend, Lex.  Who else would I tell?"

"I see.  Who else indeed?"

...

"Lex?"

"Yes, Clark?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine.  Why do you ask?"

"You're fidgeting."

"No, I'm not."

"Are too."

"Don't be ridiculous, Clark.  I never fidget."

"Then you're unbending paperclips for what reason, Lex?"

"Fine, fine, I'm fidgeting.  So what if I am?"

"Hey, take it easy.  I've never seen you so rattled that you fidgeted before, that's all."

"I am not nervous.  I'm over-caffeinated.  Too much coffee this morning."

"Lex?"

"Yes?"

"You're not, uh, gay?  Are you?"

"No, Clark.  I am not gay."

"Or bi?"

"No."

"Oh."

...

"Clark?"

"Yeah?  I-  Oh!  It's late.  I have to go home and help Dad with... um... something."

"Wait a minute, Clark.  Clark?  Clark!  Shit!"

***

THE LOFT, TEN MINUTES LATER:

"Are you up there, Clark?"

...

"Allow me to rephrase.  I know you're up there, Clark."

"I'm kinda busy, Lex."

"Clark.  We need to talk."

"Oh, I think I've talked enough for one day."

"Okay, then, *I* need to talk."

*sigh*  "Come on up."

...

"So?  Talk, Lex.  That's why you're here, isn't it?  You need to talk."

"You surprised me earlier.  I... didn't handle the situation very well, and I apologize."

"I'm a 'situation' now?"

"No!  No, of course not, Clark.  That's not what I-"

"Said?  You did too say that, Lex.  You said exactly that.  You said you didn't handle-"

"Clark.  Stop.  Quit pacing and sit down.  Thank you.  After so many concussions in a short period of time, I tend to get dizzy very easily.  Now, please accept my apology.  I am truly sorry that I didn't react well to your news.  As I said, you caught me by surprise.  Tell me what's going on.  Have you only recently discovered an attraction to men, or is this something you've considered previously?"

"No.  I mean yes.  Sorta.  Yeah.  Maybe.  And no."

"Right.  Would you care to clarify that answer just a bit, Clark?" 

"Oh.  Sorry.  I, ah, there's this guy that I've been... um... that I like.  For a while.  A year.  Or so."

"I see.  Just the one?"

"So far."

"Lana?"

"I... she's... You remember I told you she kissed me when that flower infected her?"

"Yes."

"I didn't have... Um.  I didn't get... I wasn't..."  *sigh*  "She left me cold, Lex."

"Cold?"

"And limp."

"Oh.  I..."  *Ahem*

"Too much information?"

"No.  Of course not.  You can tell me anything, Clark.  I hope you realize that."

"Thanks, Lex.  You're a good friend."

"Okay.  Now then... I have several gay acquaintances.  Let me talk with them, find out if there's some kind of support group.  And I'll arrange for Remy to visit me here so that you can talk to him.  He's a good man, you'll like him."

"Is he cute?"

*Choke*  "He's forty-seven years old and in a committed relationship."

"Damn."

"I thought you said you 'liked' someone already."

*Sigh*  "I did.  But, the guy is straight.  And what I really want is to meet someone nice and cute - and will be interested in breaking my cherry."

"Oh, Jesus!"

"Lex?  Where are you going?  Lex?"

"My place.  Now.  You drive."

BACK AT THE MANSION:

"Okay.  Now, how do I go about getting laid?"

"..."

"Lex?  Are you okay?"

"Fine.  I'm... fine."

"You look a little flushed and you're breathing kinda fast."

"Do me a favor, Clark?"

"Sure."

"Go over there and fix me a drink.  B&B, please.  And make it a double."

"Um, that's strong stuff.  Are you sure you want that much?"

"Positive.  A valium would be nice, too.  They're in my bathroom, top shelf of the medicine cabinet."

"Lex, you shouldn't mix..."

*Sigh*  "Fine. Get the wooden box out of my sock drawer instead.  After you get me that drink."

"Um.  What's in the box."

"Pot.  Weed.  Marijuana.  Rolling papers.  A pipe.  A miniature bong.  Just the essentials."

"That's illegal, Lex."

"Fuck 'illegal'.  Just get me the box, let me get pleasantly buzzed, and everything will be just... fine."

"But-"

"Please, Clark, just do this for me."

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER:

"Aaaah.  Much better."

"I still don't approve, Lex.  Drugs are-"

"Spare me, Clark.  I've heard all the propaganda.  I don't abuse drugs, but sometimes a drink just isn't enough."

"Well... you do look better.  Not so tense."

"So.  What were we talking about?"

"Getting me laid."

"I need another drink."

"Le-exx."

"Fuck you, Clark.  If you insist on torturing me with thoughts of you fucking some man - or, worse yet, *being* fucked - I *need* another drink." 

"Lex?"

"And another joint."

"Are you saying...?"

"And a straight jacket."

"Lex?"

"A good psychiatrist might not be a bad idea.  To delve into my tortuously twisted mind and explain to me why I suddenly seem to want to be the man you get laid by."

"Lex!"

"Oomph.  What the hell are you doing?"

"Jumping your bones, Lex."

"Oh.  I..." *Mmmph*  "Okay."

LEX'S BEDROOM, THIRTY MINUTES LATER:

"Lex?"

"Mmm?"

"This is fun, making out and stuff, but I really would like you to um, fuck me now."

"I need another-"

"Forget the booze, Lex.  What we *need* is something to use as - you know. Lube."

"Oh.  Are you sure that you want to do this?  Right now, I mean.  We have plenty of time to work up to that."

"Lube, Lex.  Now."

"Ummm." *Fumble* "Okay, we have lube - I assume KY is acceptable."

"Fine, whatever.  Open it and put some on your fingers."

"Fingers.  Right... Why?"

"You really are clueless about this, aren't you?"

"Have I ever mentioned that you are a smartass, Clark Kent?"

"No, Lex, you haven't.  Actually," *snicker* "calling me an asshole would be more appropriate - because that's where your cock will is going.  The sooner, the better."

"Fuck you, asshole."

"Exactly!  Now, let's get going.  Lube up your fingers and get me ready."

"Um."

"Come on, Lex.  You've been with women, right?  Virgins a time or two, I'd bet.  Surely you understand about stretching and lubricating."

"Well, yeah, but not... there."

"Here, give me your hand."  *Squirt*  "Good, now push one finger right in here.  Yeah.  Oh yeah!  You're doing just fine, Lex.  Add another."

"This is... you're very tight.  Are you sure this will work?"

"Everything'll be okay.  Trust me, Lex.  Oh!  That's nice.  Do it again."

"What?  What did I do?"

"You found my prostate gland, and it feels even better than I ever imagined."  *Gasp*  "Oh!"  *Moan*  "None of the websites or lists or people in chatrooms ever came close to describing how," *Whimper* "wonderful this is."

"Huh.  I sure never got any thrill out of an anal exam."

"You'll be surprised then, when I do this to you."

"I'll reserve judgement on that for now."

"Lex.  Shut up and fuck me."

"Don't we need-"

"All we need is your cock in my ass."

"I... *Ouch*  Clark, be careful with that, it's the only cock I have.  Oh.  O-oh!  That's... very... nice."

"Mmmm.  Move, Lex.  Come on, fuck me already."

"I don't want - ah - to hurt you."

"You won't.  I promise.  Now move, dammit."

"Damn.  Fuck.  This is-"  *Gasp*

"Yeah, it is.  Harder would be better, though."

"You are a demanding slut, Clark."

"Well, since that doesn't seem to bother you, I guess being a demanding slut is okay."

"Do you hear me - *fuck*, that feels good - complaining?"

"Lex!  Yeah!  Harder!  M-more!"

"God!  Clark, I... I'm gonna come."

"Do it.  Come for me, Lex."

"What... about.. you?  Don't want... to come... alone.  Not very, *shit*, polite for me to... do that."

"No p-problem.  Coming right nowww!"

"Fuck!  Clark!"

*Panting*

*Happy sighs*

...

"Lex?"

"Yes, Clark?"

"Can I fuck you next time?"

*Yawn*  "Sure."

"How long?"

"Huh?"

"How long before you're ready for round two?"

"Clark, don't tell me... my god!  You're hard again.  Already."

*Snicker*  "Still hard, actually."

"That's impossible."

"I'm young.  Energetic.  Enthusiastic.  Live with it."

"You're going to be the death of me, aren't you?"

"Welll, I might fuck you to death by accident.  I'll try very hard not to let that happen, though."

*Groan*  "I am *so* screwed."

"Not yet.  But soon.  Very soon.  Where'd you put the lube?"

***

And there you have it.

KIRK/SPOCK

Title: Gifts
Author: Maddie Eerie
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/

GIFTS
by Maddie Eerie

“So, have you gotten Jim anything yet?” Doctor McCoy asked him.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Am I to understand that I should have ‘gotten’ the Captain something, Doctor?”

McCoy gave an exasperated sigh, the one he saved just for dealing with frustrating Vulcans. “Of course! You don’t know?” At Spock’s eloquent silence, McCoy continued. “Jim’s family were a bit old fashioned, you see, they still celebrated some of the traditional religious holidays, including one called Christmas. Hell, Spock, haven’t you noticed that every year around this time he gives out gifts to his friends?”

“I do know that, Doctor. He’s told all of us not to give him anything in return.”

McCoy snorted and waved his statement away. “That’s just the spirit of the season talking there! You’re supposed to ignore it, especially if you’re close. I usually ship in some fine aged whiskey for him. You should get him something, too, Spock, especially since you’re closer to him than anybody else.”

“Indeed.” Spock pondered the Doctor’s words and then asked, “What do you recommend I give him then?”

“I don’t reckon I would know, it’s different between couples.” McCoy shook his head. “Didn’t your mother celebrate any Earth holidays?”

“No,” Spock said.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you then. Think of something he’d like, that’s all.”

“Very well, thank you Doctor.”

McCoy left to “do his rounds” while Spock continued his duty shift on the Bridge, only half his mind on the routine duties he was fulfilling. If McCoy was right, now that he and Jim were a couple, Jim would expect some sort of token during this holiday. Or perhaps not expect, as Spock was not known for spontaneously deciding to conform to Earth customs, but he would most likely appreciate it if Spock did. The question was, what would be appropriate?

Spock was still pondering the matter when his shift was over. With nothing immediately leaping to the fore of his well-ordered mind, Spock decided to do what came natural, that is, consult the computer. After sorting through a bafflingly huge database on the gift-giving traditions at Christmas of Jim’s native region, Spock still didn’t have any ideas. One thing he was certain about was that any gift between lovers had to be something special and meaningful, something that showed the appreciation Spock felt for having Jim in his life.

Appreciation, yes, that was just the thing. He knew what to give Jim for Christmas.

*******

Their day over, Jim quietly invited Spock to his quarters as he always did and Spock accepted, just as he always did. The only break in the routine occurred when the door to Jim’s rooms shut behind them and Jim picked up a case.

“Ah, this is for you, Spock,” Jim said as he handed the case to him. “It’s a merry Christmas gift, I hope you like it.”

Spock carefully opened the case. Inside, each stored in their individual slots, were a complete set of exquisitely carved chess pieces, plus a folded board. “Thank you, Jim, I do like them.”

“Good, good,” Jim smiled at him. “I know it’s the old fashioned version, but I thought you’d enjoy them anyway.”

“I’m sure I will.” Spock closed the case and set it down carefully, then picked up a small box he’d brought in earlier. “I have brought you a gift as well.”

Jim looked mildly shocked. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“But I wanted to.” Spock handed Jim the box and watched as Jim carefully opened it and picked up the item inside.

“It’s beautiful,” Jim said reverently. He held aloft a silver IDIC medallion on a chain. It twirled and caught the light, throwing reflections on to Jim’s face that lit his perfect features.

“It has been in my family for several generations. My many times great-grandfather gave it to his wife as a token of his appreciation for her.”

Jim tore his eyes away from the medallion and locked eyes with him. Spock could tell by the look in his lover’s eyes that Jim understood what Spock was really saying with the gift, what his Vulcan upbringing had trained him to never actually admit.

“I will cherish it always,” Jim said huskily. Spock nodded. Message received, understood, and reciprocated. He moved closer to kiss his lover on this special, Christmas day.

The End

SPIKE/XANDER

Title: Happy Holidays
Author: Kelandris the Mad
RATING: PG, really. Sad. :>
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer. No profit is made and no disrespect is intended to Nicholas Brendan, James Marsters, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy or UPN. Really, I am a small and insignificant slasher who deserves not to be sued for this small outpouring of fannish devotion.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Feedback: kelandris@drakmail.net
Spoilers: General ones for Buffy season four
Author’s Notes: Just a songfic with a little twist. Written as a fill-in for the empty spaces.

“Happy Holidays”
by Kelandris the Mad

“Happy holidays…”

Weave, weave, step.

“Happy holidays…”

Weave, weave, step.

“While the--*hup!*--merry bells keep ringin’…”

Weave, weave, flop.

“Spike, what the hell are you doing?”

His head slowly rotated to look up. A dark-haired man stood over him, hunched in a brown corduroy coat, looking down at him with worry painted over every feature. His face was simply made, nothing like his own carved sharpness. Made him easier to dismiss. And he had, for the first few years he’d known him. Made it easy to hate him.

Some days, he wished he could hate him now.

“Xander,” he drawled. Xander was the reason he’d gotten so drunk in the first place. Alexander Harris. One of Buffy’s chosen bits, geeky kid, really, all soft angles and hollow chest.

But this year he’d chosen to fill out a bit, hadn’t he? Muscled up. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever known why. Insecurity? Or the need to be as good as the Slayer? The need to be good at something? Anything?

He understood that one. He raised the bottle, grimacing, and Xander took it away.

Spike growled. “Mine, pet. Give it.”

“Not until you tell me why you’re weaving around a graveyard in the middle of the night, drunk off your vampiric ass.”

“Ooh, don’t your eyes flash when you’re angry?” He stood shakily, weaving. Xander grabbed his shoulders to still him and he had to fight the sudden surge of hunger for the human down. It wasn’t bloodlust, was the problem. Reason he was drunk, in fact. Reason he’d done a lot of things he’d done, since being chipped by the soldier boys and set out into the world again, half-made. Blamed it all on Buffy, true, but it wasn’t the Slayer. It was her boy.

“May your every wish come true…”

He fell out of Xander’s grasp, back to the first step of the riser in front of the crypt. Made him giggle, but he overbalanced, nearly tipping over before righting himself. Xander still stood above him, shaking his head.

Ooh. The boy was *so* disappointed.

“Come and sit down, then,” he said, patting the step next to him. Dangerous. Dangerous. But what else was there to do, these days, but push his luck?

Xander sat, looking over at him. He shook his head again. “You are so drunk.”

“You know,” Spike said, leaning conversationally against the human, “there’s no snow in California.”

“Not usually, no. Or at least, not here. And that’s relevant…why?”

“Just sayin’.” He looked around, tried to rise again, overbalanced and fell in Xander’s lap.

“Soddin’ hell…”

“Uh…Spike?”

“I miss snow,” he said. He looked up at the stars, trying not to notice the worried features of the human. Dark, dark hair, dark hair like sable; it was always falling in his eyes. Eyes like bistre pigment, dark as wood soot, deep eyes. Eyes he could fall into on a bad day, and on a good one…

“Sabled all in black the shady sky…”

“Are you on anything more than usual?” Xander asked. Spike dared to raise a hand, curling the fingers around the side of his neck.

“Just the whisky, love. Just that.”

“Oh,” the human said. His eyes were wide. And…was he trembling? Could he be…?

“Happy holidays,” the vampire sang softly. “Happy holidays…”

Xander thought for a moment, then sang a phrase nearly on-key.

“May the calendar keep ringing--”

“I never thought calendars rung,” Spike said, sitting up. The move was drastic and incomplete, and ended with him hanging off Xander, sitting in his lap somehow. He felt the human curve an arm around his waist automatically, preventing him from falling down the short set of stairs.

Dangerous, dangerous, sitting in the boy’s lap. Good news or no, that could turn on him in a second, and he knew Xander always carried a stake.

“Me neither,” Xander said, and Spike had to struggle to remember why.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I get the ‘merry bells’, though. I’ve heard merry bells.”

“What, now, or just in general?”

“Mmm. Happy holidays to you…”

“You going to sing the whole song?”

“I don’t know if I *know* the whole song, pet. Why?’

“You feel cold.”

“I’m dead. Dead people do feel cold.”

“Well. Cold even for you. Colder than usual.”

Ah. Xander could tell that, Spike thought, because he was sitting on his lap, with the human’s arm around his waist. He smiled. He turned, trying not to overcompensate, and slid away from the human just enough to move his coat out of the way. Xander hadn’t moved yet. Spike nestled back against him, the arm now snug against his t-shirt, underneath the duster. He felt the human stiffen against him.

He smiled again, leaning back against the comforting arm.

“Why? You want to take me home and make me warm?”

“Yeah, like anyone would want to…” Xander paused, looked at him. His mouth twitched.

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said softly.

*Yeah*??

“‘Yeah’, as in what?”

“‘Yeah’, as in, ‘Yeah, I’d…like to take you home.’”

Spike blinked. He couldn’t have heard the boy right. He stared at the bottle on the steps, picked it up, letting the familiar weight depend from his hand. He shook his head. No. He couldn’t have. Had to be the--

With an impulsive toss, he threw the bottle far from him. It sailed up over the crypt on the other side of the manicured avenue, and far, far away, they heard a dim sound of shattering.

“Glass shards on 2nd,” Xander whispered.

“Better than the alternative,” said Spike.

“Which would be?”

“Continuing to get drunk. I think…I think if it’s pretty obvious I’m out of my head, you’d just make sure I was out of sunlight, so I wouldn’t fry to a crisp on the morrow. An’ then you’d just go home, wouldn’t you? But if I start to sober up a bit, be more in my rational mind…”

He looked over at the boy and slid closer against him. Now their bodies met, hip to chest, one smooth, seamless join between them marred only by clothes. The warm, radiant heat from Xander made him shiver.

“Then,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you might just get serious on that taking me home bit, and…”

“And?” Interesting. Xander’s tone matched his. What were they both so afraid of articulating? Or maybe they were both afraid of being overheard.

“And mean what you said. You’d take me home. Make me warm.”

“God, I’d like to,” the human whispered.

“Are you sure I’m the drunk one?”

Xander looked away. Didn’t say anything else. Well.

**That was it, Will, pushed your luck right into the wall. Best be prepared to sleep alone tonight. As always.**

He rose from Xander’s lap, body already protesting the loss of warmth, sharply missing the bottle he’d thrown into the boulevard. No matter. More in the crypt. He could head there right now.

He staggered off between the mausoleums, still singing.

“May your every wish come true,” he sang, trying to remember the rest of the song. He blinked, pausing, trying to focus. What was the next line? No, after the happy happy bit. It was…

“Xander,” he said, startled. The human had moved onto the path ahead of him. Staring him down? Threatening him? Maybe just stopping him.

“What?” he asked, cocking his head to one side.

“Come on.”

“Come on, where?”

“Wherever. But you’re getting indoors.”

“Care then, do you?”

Xander’s eyes darkened, and then he sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I care,” he said. “I care that it’s December in Sunnydale, and even without snow, it gets pretty damn cold here. I care that you might pass out drunk somewhere out here, and end up on fire tomorrow. I care…”

And Xander looked up.

“I care about you, Spike. Don’t stay out here.”

Some nights, you have to play it safe. Some nights you have to play it all, and risk every kitten you have in the basket.

Spike stepped close, running a finger along the velvet roughness of the corduroy collar.

“Give us a kiss, then.”

And Xander did.

END
***************
Kelandris the Mad
open your mouth. take it. it is yours. (amanda swiftgold)

HARRY/SNAPE

Title: Harry Potter and the Glass Phallus - Chapter Three
Author: Downdilly
RATING: NC17 for graphic sexual situations
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: Harry and Company belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and Scholastic. Everything else is from my own twisted little mind.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Feedback To: downdilly@downdilly.com, flames will be forwarded to the appropriate mailing list for public display.
Notes: Italics are designated with *word*. Eventually I'll write the other nine chapters.

Harry Potter and the Glass Phallus - Chapter Three

The package did, at least, *appear* innocuous, Snape thought to himself.

It was Christmas Eve at Hogwarts, and the last one the august school would have under the auspices of Albus Dumbledore. With the final defeat of Voldemort and the last of his more prominent or powerful followers either dead or securely imprisoned, the wizarding world had finally turned its attention to healing the wounds left by years of conflict. To celebrate the change Albus had decided to surrender the reins of his school to Professor McGonagall. She, in turn, had hired a former student, one Harry James Potter, to take her place as the Transfigurations instructor, a subject Potter had developed a surprising deftness in during the War.

Which was, in part, what made Snape so leery of the gaily-wrapped package under the small tree in their private rooms. Harry liked to keep his lover on his toes by changing things, then reversing the effect at the last second. Sometimes at the *worst* second as well. Snape had finally put his foot down the fifth time he'd reached for the toothpaste, only to find it coiled on the sink as a bright, mint-green serpent.

Of course surprises of any sort tended to set his teeth on edge. In the early days of their relationship Harry had frequently found himself facing down the end of Severus' wand after inadvertently sneaking up on him. Not that Harry was himself immune to forgetting his own trained reactions to surprises. Eventually the two had come to an understanding, and over time major repairs to their shared quarters had dwindled to a scant two or three a year, usually when Harry flooed in unexpectedly from wherever he'd been investing possible Dark activity.

Now, tucked away in the quiet of their rooms after the modest celebration the Great Hall, the twenty or so students who'd elected to remain at the school over the holiday sent to their dorms, Snape studied the package intently. The two had adjourned to their hearth for some Christmas cheer. Severus had been understandably confused and disgruntled when Harry had interrupted his attempts to get Harry into the bedroom post-haste, instead steering them both to the fireplace and firmly indicating that Severus would both "sit" and "stay" in his chair. Satisfied that Severus would comply - although perhaps not happily - Harry had grinned and dived under the small tree he'd insisted on to retrieve the bilious green box.

"Go on," Harry encouraged him. "It won't bite."

Snape snorted, half-amused, half in disbelief, and gave him a mid-level You're Asking For Detention glare. That the paper the thing was wrapped in was the same bright green Harry tended to favor with his toothpaste-snakes was in no way reassuring, and neither was the equally poisonous-red bow and ribbon that adorned it.

Severus had gingerly accepted the box and settled it on his lap, eyeing it with suspicion. It hadn't exploded yet, so perhaps it was safe to proceed. He prodded gently with his wand just to be sure, ignoring the snort of laughter from his lover. Movement caught his attention and he glanced up to find Harry settling on the rug in front of the fire, apparently content to soak up the heat from the flames while he watched his older lover pluck cautiously at the ribbon around his gift.

A large tag hung from the bow, dislodged to dangle freely when Severus gave the box one last pass with his wand. Severus flipped it over and read it aloud. " 'For the both of us'," he said, raising an eyebrow and displaying the tag. "With handwriting like this it's no wonder you performed so poorly on essays. Fortunate for us all that Miss Granger made you redraft them or all of your instructors might have risked blindness in the attempt to decipher them."

"Hey, it wasn't my penmanship you wanted me for," Harry protested, still grinning. "Or at least not that involving a quill." He leaned back on the pile of cushions they usually left on the floor for that reason and unfastened his robes. Severus watched him without making any further attempts to unwrap the gift until Harry tossed his robe to the side and settled again, meeting Severus' eyes from between slightly spread knees; a position that not only allowed Harry to watch the unwrapping, but gave Severus an excellent view of the younger man's denim-covered assets.

Taking in his lover's suggestive sprawl, Snape was seriously tempted to let the gift he held wait awhile longer; unwrapping Harry was guaranteed to be much more fun. Casting one more glance over the lithe body spread wide in front of him Severus caught both the eagerness and the anxiety Harry tried to hide.

Severus hid a sigh and gave the red ribbon a firmer tug. True to form the ribbon dissolved as soon as it loosened into a shower of rose petals, the green paper following to the floor in a sprinkling of leaves. The scent clung lightly to his hands and drifted through the air while Severus turned the box over. Someone, somewhere, had taught Harry how to fold a puzzle box; most likely the Granger chit, clever minx that she was, Severus acknowledged grudgingly. It would certainly explain the smirk she'd thrown his way every time they'd met over the last two weeks.

Turning the box over one last time Snape finally located the seam and watched the heavy white paper part at his touch. Inside lay a nicely bound book, the leather cover embossed with elegant gold script announcing it as 'Potions, Lotions and Notions'. A book on potions, but not one he'd ever heard of, and one of the things Severus Snape prided himself on was his knowledge of the writings in his field. Besides, the gift was supposedly for the two of them, and the years had not brought about any change in Harry's lack of appreciation of the intricacies of brewing.

He looked up, hands moving to open the book, and froze. The firelight had cast Harry's expression into darkness, but the weight of it was as tangible as the hunger that prowled in his look, and it roused an answering ache in Severus' chest. Capable hands, browned by the sun and calloused by the demands of Harry's own magic slowly unfastened the long line of tiny buttons down the front of his shirt. Harry wet the tips of his fingers and trailed them down the line of his chest from the hollow at his throat, down through the scattered hair on his chest and across his stomach to tug briefly at a few dark strands that strayed below his navel. He left his hand to rest on the waistband of a pair of tight, faded jeans, fingers fluttering restlessly along the line of the bulge Severus could see developing under the zip.

"Open the book, Sev," Harry commanded, his voice taking on the roughness of arousal. Severus' eyes flicked up from where Harry's hand had led them to catch Harry's other hand beginning a slow journey back up the length of his torso before settling to play with a nipple.

A dozen years together and the sight of his lover touching himself could still send Severus up in flames. He prayed nightly to whatever Power would listen that he never lost this, Harry's love and affection, his teasing, his ability to bounce back from the worst anybody could throw at him, any of the hundreds of little things that made Harry, Harry. Prayed that he never lost Harry, for he knew it was a loss Severus Snape would never survive. Not that he would ever confess he did such a thing. Unless, of course Harry asked. Which Harry, being Harry, never would.

While his eyes devoured his half-nude lover and his thoughts sent up one last prayer of thanks before tucking themselves away for the night, Severus' hands moved automatically to turn back the cover. Perhaps Harry had had it autographed? The front cover seemed heavier than it should have been, and Severus glanced down, catching his breath. What he held *might* have once been a book on potions, but he doubted it. The leather bound volume had been skillfully hollowed out, and the cavity lined with dark green velvet, shot through with silver threads. Resting snugly inside the matching nest was a clear, glassy material molded with care and expertise into an exact replica of a man's genitals.

Beautiful enough to be art, yes, but not exactly something one *could* display on the mantel. Of course one could, if one were prepared to deal with the reactions. But knowing his lover there was something much more going on here. Taking in the dimensions and detailing, Severus came up with several very naughty - but potentially enjoyable - thoughts.

"The detailing is exquisite, Harry, but - "

"Touch it." Harry cut him off. Severus looked up, Harry's expression pleading with him.

There was something familiar.. Severus reluctantly brushed one long finger lightly down the gleaming length.

The Potions master shuddered and gasped, the feathery tickle of skin running lightly across skin echoing through his groin and bringing him fully erect. Panting a little at the surprise he repeated the experiment, running two fingers along the sculpted vein and feeling an identical touch on his own cock.

Rasp of zipper and rustle of cloth across skin yanked Severus' attention back to Harry. The younger man had risen and stripped, and now stalked across the few feet between them before dropping down between Severus' knees, taking the box and it's half-revealed gift and setting them on the floor. Harry put his hands on Severus' thighs and gently pressed them apart enough for him to lean forward and catch Severus' mouth with his own. Their lips met and Snape heard himself groan, the awkward position forgotten in the taste of his lover's tongue. Hands free, Severus entrapped them willingly in Harry's hair, holding him still while Severus ravished his mouth, Severus' tongue dipping inside to refresh its claim.

It was Harry that broke away finally, panting for breath. Without a word he rose to his feet and pulled Severus with him, methodically stripping the older man out of his clothes and tossing them in pile to the side. Grabbing one of Severus' strong, pale hands in his own Harry tugged his lover to the floor in front of the fire. It took him several minutes to arrange Snape's body to Harry's satisfaction, requiring a number of pats, caresses and long, lingering kisses along the length of pale skin before Harry was happy.

"Beautiful," Harry murmured, running his hand up the length of a pale thigh, pausing to lick and nip at a faint line of scarring that ran over one hip. Severus started to protest but stopped himself; Harry had long ago told him that nothing Severus did or said would ever change the younger man's mind about his lover's appearance.

As intriguing as Harry's gift had turned out to be, Severus shoved the one or two more interesting scenarios aside and reached for his lover. Harry deftly avoided Snape's seeking hands and retrieved the discarded booksafe. "No," he said, fending off another attempt to draw him down to the rug as well.

"No?" Severus echoed, vaguely shocked at the denial. Both men normally had a near overwhelming need for touch and freely indulged each other any chance they had, whether sex was involved or not.

Harry grinned slyly, then wrapped his hand carefully around the glass penis and lifted it from its resting place.

Severus gasped, fighting to stop the urge to thrust into the warm hand he could feel surrounding him, even though he could plainly see Harry cradling the replica next to him.

"Where on earth did you find this? How -- ?" Severus blurted out, the feel of Harry's chest pressing against his groin thoroughly distracting him from the fact that said organ was shivering of itself, completely untouched.

"Maaaagic," Harry teased with a grin, then relented. "A variation on the contagion spells, with a few other bits thrown in; it's quite a specialty item, took me months to get everything together," Harry explained. That Harry would explain in detail, knowing that his lover would never fully relax until he knew exactly what was happening and why, was simply another sign of how fully they'd accepted each other. A curiously reassuring feeling.

Harry wrapped the cool shaft tighter in his fist and began to slowly pump in the rhythm Severus loved best. The thing was apparently attuned completely to his own genitals, Severus realized, and fed sensation directly to his skin. He gasped when Harry ran his thumb across the rounded crown, watching Severus with a knowing grin. Harry bent his head and licked cautiously across the smooth tip, pausing to suckle gently at the opening that ran the length of it before sucking it halfway into his mouth, the slight click of it against his teeth loud in the room.

"Harry," Severus growled, the slight scrape of teeth on skin just enough to enhance instead of hurt. He reached out and tugged Harry down next to him, desperate for the feel of his lover. This time Harry obliged by curling easily into the other man's side. Perfect, was the only thing Severus could think, feeling the heat from fire and lust warming him on all sides, Harry's hands wrapped around his cock, and his own arms wrapped around Harry.

"Wait a minute, love," Harry whispered, wriggling out from under Severus' arms.

*Where in bloody hell does he think I'd be going?* was the only coherent thought Severus could string together. He'd wanted so badly to turn them both over and bring them both to completion. He could picture them, spooned together in front of the fire, his prick between Harry's thighs, slick with sweat and semen. One of Severus' arms under Harry, holding him tightly while Severus' fingers pinched a budded nipple. His other hand would curve over Harry's hip and reach for the answering eagerness rising from the curls nested between Harry's thighs. Those same curls would tickle along the length of Severus' organ where it nudged at Harry's sac. Slowly they would move together, until the need became too furious to withstand and they fell into orgasm.

Severus' hand was taken in a firm grip, removing it from its wandering path along Severus' body. Harry's low laugh rolled over him, and then Harry wrapped his lover's hand around a familiar jar. He leaned over and brushed a kiss against Severus' mouth, demolishing Severus' little fantasy, or at least banishing it till another time.

Severus snaked one hand behind the back of Harry's neck and pulled him down for a deeper kiss; a harder tug and Harry half-fell against him. The older man twined one leg over the back of Harry's thigh, holding him the length of Severus' body. "What are you up to, Harry?" Severus asked when he finally let his lover pull back for air.

"You can't tell? I guess the mind really is the first thing to go. Lucky for me other things aren't." Harry grinned and Severus lunged up to nip lightly along Harry's neck with a mock growl before Harry pulled back. "Get me ready lover," he whispered before turning around, wriggling an enticing rump in Severus' face.

Jar in hand momentarily ignored, Severus moved to his knees and took advantage of the change to nibble along Harry's spine, nipping at a tiny dimple at the base, smirking when the younger man moaned and shivered. Served the little tease right! Severus continued his way down the hollow of Harry's spine, pausing at the top of his lover's arse. Hands joined in and massaged the nicely rounded globes under them, separating them enough for Severus to lap at the dark rose flesh and the puckered muscle that guarded the entrance to Harry's body. Severus growled, gratified by the high-pitched moans and little twitches under hands and mouth. He lapped more firmly, wriggling his tongue just inside the opening, tasting musk and salt, eliciting more delightful noises from his lover.

Wet heat engulfed Severus's aching erection with soothing bliss, and he moaned his own approval against the delicacy spread under mouth and hands. Every downward plunge sucked him deeper inside, the back of his lover's throat closing tightly around the crown and his tongue painting lines of fire along the thin skin of Severus' cock.

The spell, he realized. Harry had to be swallowing the glass replica. Severus shuddered and shifted to the side. Yes, there was his lover, looking thoroughly depraved, his lovely arse up in the air, hair wild and swollen lips wrapped tight around the crystal toy. He watched, as entranced by the way firelight flushed the slick stuff with life under Harry's hands and mouth, as by the sensations that raced along his nerves. A particularly creative flutter along the length made his breath catch and hands clench. Hard edges in his hand reminded him of the jar he still held.

"Harry," Severus reached for his lover. "Harry, stop."

Slowly the younger man pulled himself off his toy, sucking greedily like a small child trying to get the last bit of flavor from a lolly. He blinked and twisted under Severus' hand. "Sev, hurry," he urged, arching up into the hand resting lightly on his back.

Severus uncapped the jar with trembling hands, dipping long fingers into the cream. He steadied Harry with one hand on his hip and slid two fingers deep into the younger man. Clutching heat and smooth muscle clung to his fingers while he worked them in and out, twisting to brush lightly against that most sensitive spot and feeling the ripples when he did. The feel of his lover's pulse through delicate tissue and the low, echoing moans seduced him as much as the feel. It had taken time to convince Harry his voice was as welcome as the rest of him. Hearing Harry cry out with pleasure as well as seeing and feeling him had so many times anchored the ex-spy from sinking into his past and many less - pleasant - memories of such "play."

Severus pulled his fingers free and coated them again, returning with three and feeling in the tension in Harry's back and thighs until the slight pain turned to pleasure. He thought for a second of trying four, something they only usually did when they had hours to play but Severus knew he'd been teased too much to last long enough. Instead he twisted his fingers slightly and withdrew them, using the rest of the cream to oil himself before again settling between Harry's spread legs.

"No." Harry reared to his knees, twisting to face the older man.

"What?" Severus blinked, mind blinded by the simmering lust in his groin.

Harry twisted the rest of the way around and leaned forward to kiss him, running strong hands across Severus' back in a soothing pattern. Little nips and kisses pattered down Severus' neck and across his shoulder, mixed with a sprinkling of words like "beautiful", "delicious" and "love you sooo much". Slowly and willingly Severus was eased back to the floor, gentle words and touches easing him back from the edge.

His own hands wandered over silky skin, the calluses on his fingers catching here and there on the faint lines of scarring left from Harry's own nightmares. Slowly the body under Severus' hands moved out of reach, until all he could touch was the wild hair that teased over his throbbing cock. Thought fled and he reached up for his retreating lover, but Harry caught his hands and pressed him back into the rug.

"Don't move, Sev." Harry leaned his weight on Severus' hands to enforce his words. "Just.feel."

Harry reached over and retrieved the toy he'd been so enthusiastically fellating, the feel of his hands on the glass echoing through Severus' body. Harry's hand closed tightly around the carved scrotum and Severus whimpered at the firm pressure and the way it eased the constant ache.

"Now, watch me, love." Harry turned his back and in two quick moves positioned the smooth, glassy head at his entrance and then breached himself with it, giving a little hiss when the unyielding material opened him.

Severus thrashed on the rug, torn between thrusting deep into the heat that clenched tight around him, and going to his lover to ease the discomfort he heard in the panting voice. Urges divided, hips jerking up in small, involuntary thrusts, Severus gripped the cushion under his head and bit his lip, watching the younger man sink downward until the shaft was fully engulfed, the tiny mouth Severus had kissed and caressed stretched wide and tight around it. So strange, to thrust and feel no resistance, no slick muscles holding him inside, and yet feeling every move Harry made while he settled and rode out the first pain of entry, the echo of panting lungs and racing heart felt in pulsing tension along Severus' shaft. The dichotomy of feeling/not feeling was about to drive him mad. Closing his eyes concentrated the feeling to the point of reality but deprived him of the sight of his lover's pleasure. Eyes open and he had a clear view of what he rarely fully saw, Harry's body both opened and filled, but brought back the clash between reality and perception.

Harry moaned and wriggled, settling himself more firmly. "So good, Sev," Harry whispered, tossing his head back. "You feel so good." With the toy braced against one heel, Harry managed to lift himself slightly before settling into a long, slow rocking motion.

Gradually, Harry began to move faster and it wasn't memory alone that told Severus just exactly how each little twist and twitch would feel. Split between touch and sight, Severus felt the slick, clinging heat, the tight ring of muscle pulsing along his length, the way Harry's heel nudged gently against his balls; he saw the way firelight fragmented in the few inches of glass he could see when Harry rose from it, the slide of stretched muscle clinging to oil-fogged transparency, the way it disappeared into Harry's body with his deep moan of over-stimulated pleasure. His mind whispered illusion but his body screamed now!

Then Harry gave a sharp little cry and convulsed tight, the echo of internal muscles massaging Severus' cock and pulling him into the flaring heat of orgasm. Severus' body folded in sympathetic ecstasy, semen pulsing from him and across stomach and thighs, and he rolled to his side, riding out the last waves of pleasure, fighting to keep his eyes open and on his lover.

His name moaned on tiny whimpers forced back the threatened dark and lifted Severus into the present. Breathing still ragged and weak as a newborn kitten he opened his eyes and caught Harry's glazed green gaze. Sharp pangs on tender flesh made him gasp, aware that his lover was still impaled on the copy of Severus' own overly sensitized penis.

"Sev," Harry pleaded, "please."

Yielding instantly Severus crawled to him and engulfed Harry's erection, sucking and licking with abandon. Once, twice he pulled back and dropped down, bringing Harry over the edge Severus had just climbed up from. Harry yelled his delight, shuddering between the pressure inside and out until Severus had swallowed the last of his lover's seed, bittersweet taste lingering in his mouth. Shockwaves echoed over him from the toy seated deep in Harry's body, coaxing Severus' exhausted organ to come and play one more time, but twitches of life were all it had left at the moment.

Now it was Severus' turn for gentleness, and he pulled back, arms reaching to meet Harry as he collapsed on his older lover. Severus eased the younger man to his side and teased the toy from Harry's body, grateful that no stain of red marred the surface, shuddering against the loss of warmth around him. A discarded undershirt substituted for a towel while he wiped them both clean. Freed from the necessities of the moment at last, Severus pulled Harry's limp body into his arm, relaxing into the feel of skin on skin.

"Sev?" Harry mumbled against his chest.

"Hmm?" Severus answered. He knew exactly what was going on in his lover's deranged mind, but decided to make him ask; the whole thing had, after all, been Harry's idea.

"How did it feel?" Harry tipped his head back lazily, hair falling across his eyes.

Severus reached up and brushed the wandering strands out of Harry's face, letting his hand linger along the curve of one cheek. "Most unsatisfactory, Professor Potter," Severus answered finally, a hint of Professor Snape in his voice.

Harry frowned up at him, distress making his words sharp. "Really? You didn't enjoy it?"

Severus snorted before rolling Harry under him and stealing a soft kiss. "You wouldn't let me touch you Harry. I could feel you, your body welcoming mine, but I couldn't feel you." Dark eyes traced over well-loved features.

Harry smiled up at him before drawing him down for another kiss. "Well," he said, "I guess next time we'll have to try it differently." His eyes slid closed and between one breath and the next he dropped into sleep.

Severus blinked. *Oh, God.next time?*

END

SPIKE/XANDER

Title: Winter Wonderland
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author's e-mail: kelandris@drakmail.net
Author's webpage: http://kelandris.iwarp.com/media/sunnydale/zeppo.html  (at the moment, nothing archived there--I’m waiting for all my Spike/Xander bits to emerge from the Advent calendar)
Disclaimer: Yes, practically everything I write involves characters originally created by other people. Those other people will hopefully feel flattered. In this case, those people are Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and anyone at WB. I’m not worth suing, really.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Spoilers: Some for Buffy’s season three ep “Lover’s Walk”
Summary: Spike decides a little torture is in order, and decides Xander’s the perfect toy with which to play.
Author's notes: He had the time, definitely, and although he seemed quite obsessed with the girls in this episode, surely he had a little time for Xander beforehand…? This is also my first Dru-sired-Spike fic. I am *firmly* in the Angel-sired-Spike camp, and don’t expect that to change any time soon.
Warnings: This is a bit on the non-consensual side. It pairs a little jarringly with the episode on which it’s based. Extreme alcohol intake, near-rape situations, some tears, you get the drift. And this was about as holiday as I could make this story.

“Winter Wonderland”
by Kelandris the Mad

“I want to know about the Slayer, pet.” The vampire brushed a strand of dark hair from the boy’s forehead, feeling him shiver at the touch. Oh, yes. *This* could be fun.

Outside their little bubble of reality, the windows incautiously soaped for privacy, was a dark alleyway, down a little side street. Spike had pulled Xander Harris down the side street, chuckling under his breath at how absent was any other sign of human life on this block. The boy had been babbling something about ‘turning’ and ‘Buffy’s gonna kick your ass’, and Spike really hadn’t been paying attention. He’d kicked open the door to the little room before throwing Xander inside, and the boy hadn’t a chance to recover before he was tied to a chair.

The chair, a dim yellow bulb, and a bare mattress with a surplus blanket over it were the only furnishings in the little room. It was someone’s storage space; Spike hadn’t cared enough to find out who. Obviously someone who was used to living on the cheap.

Look at him, after all--living in a burnt-out abandoned factory, shards of metal and doll heads on the floor, sleeping on charred linens and dreaming of the vampire who got away. That was rather the definition of living on the cheap.

Or living with a broken heart. For all that it didn’t beat, it was still broken.

Spike had been back in Sunnydale for all of two days. He’d climbed into the Desoto in Brazil and driven back roads up-country, staying far away from immigration checkpoints and human habitations. Outside of the random stops here and there to pick up fresh alcohol and drain a little blood, he hadn’t even seen another human--well, another human he planned to leave alive--in weeks.

He grabbed the bottle he’d left on a side shelf earlier, looking at the boy. Scared, he was. Scared, and confused. Just like he’d been when he’d caught Dru on that park bench, smacking lips with the Chaos demon. A *Chaos demon*, by all that was unholy. Big random git stuck in the ‘80’s, all antlers and dripping fungus. How…*how* could she possibly…*why*…?

The blond vampire took another swig of whiskey, kicking some random bit of trash out of his way, smiling as the loud sound made Xander jump. He couldn’t understand how even a madwoman would find dripping ooze attractive, but the demon’s appearance hadn’t even fazed her. It was *Spike* she was concerned with. *Spike* she said was going soft.

Soft. He’d show her. He’d show them all. Every bleedin’ one of ‘em.

“Sh-show who?” said the boy. He realized he’d been speaking aloud. How long had he been speaking?

He turned to the boy, and the smile was back, flickering for a moment in and out of game face.

Maybe a little torture was in order. “You’re going to tell me, you know.”

“Tell you what?”

“About the Slayer.”

“Oh, the *Slayer*,” he said. “Blonde girl, about yay high--” Xander shrugged a shoulder forward randomly. “--funny, athletic, good with a stake--”

“Yes,” Spike drawled, “but I want to know *more*.”

“Go ask *her* then, if you’re all that partial to blondes--”

“Partial?” Flash behind his eyes, searing and intense: Dru. Dru’s dark eyes, mad eyes, pale skin framed in darker hair. He gulped, and fought the tears back with another thick swallow of whisky. “Not usually, pet--usually, I like dark hair…deep eyes…and if you could manage an agreeably stunned look--”

**Dru. Dru.** He ached for her. Burned for her. His mate. His Sire. Everything he was, she’d made him, and now she was gone--*gone*--

“*Me?*” Xander yelped. Spike turned his attention back to the boy.

“Well, no, pet, I was thinking of--” He swallowed. He could do this. He could *say* her name, damn it! No way was she taking that away from him, too--!

“Dru,” he whispered. He stepped close, draining the bottle, tossing it aside with a loud sound of shattering. “But now that you mention it--”

“Stay away from me.”

“Ooh, you nearly managed threatenin’ on that one, pet. Try it again.”

“I mean it! Stay away!” He kicked back on the chair but Spike leaned forward, catching it, holding it in place. He looked down and Xander was there, *right* there, almost close enough to kiss.

No. He *was* close enough to kiss. Hmm. Impulse. He leaned down, licking over the human’s lips. He’d been too surprised to get away, and then too surprised that Spike was licking him to move.

He licked over Xander’s warmth, lapping at his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, feeling the boy twitch and shiver beneath him. His cool tongue parted those lips, and he met no resistance. Could it be? The boy actually wanted this? That *would* be entertaining…

Slowly, he licked his way inside the human’s mouth, licking, tasting, *feeling*. Xander felt furnace-hot, gloriously warm, warmer than drowning in whisky. He tasted of chocolate and peppermint gum. Glorious. Just--

“Stop!” Xander said, finally pulling away, pulling away just as Spike had begun to distinguish the building moan.

“Fuck you! I don’t want this, I don’t want--”

Spike chuckled under the breath he didn’t need, biting Xander’s chin lightly and stepping back.

“Protest all you want, whelp; I saw that flash in your eyes.”

“Flash? What flash? There was no flash.”

“The one that said, ‘Oh yes, take me, kiss me, *fuck* me, fuck me ‘til I beg you to stop and--’”

“I’ll beg you now,” he said quickly.

“To what?”

“To stop.”

“Wouldn’t work.”

Kneeling, he ran his hands down the human’s sides, counting ribs, running over bands of thin muscle. Mmm. He had the potential to be something if he filled out a bit. That would be grand, indeed. He watched as Xander screwed up his courage and began to fight him at last, really straining against the bonds, grimacing. Spike sat back on his heels, waiting until the boy tired.

He soon did. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, to fight out of ropes tied around the torso. Not as easy as the movies, oh, no.

He heard someone moving around outside and tensed, listening. He looked up, and Xander opened his mouth. Quickly he slapped a hand on it and the boy bit down hard, hard enough to break the skin.

“Oh,” Spike gasped. “Oh, *Xander*--do that *again*--”

“Walkin’ in a winter…*hic*…” sang the voice outside, mostly off-key. The voice sounded old, and tired, and drunk, but it still made Spike smile. He looked down at the boy.

“What, then? You hungry?” he drawled, his voice pitched just low enough for the human to hear. The human shivered, looking up at him, and Spike drew his hand away. He shuddered once, seeing his blood on Xander’s lips.

**Fuck me. The whelp is *hot*. Who bleedin’ knew?**

The drunk outside wandered off, and the vampire inched his fingers down Xander’s shirt front, being careful not to smear the cotton with blood. He trailed his fingers down the boy’s chest, down his abdomen, down to the tab of the zipper on his jeans. The boy was flushed now, that strand of dark hair fallen across his eyes again, those eyes silently pleading with him to go faster.

But there was still some conflict in the ranks.

“Stop,” the boy said, watching him. “Stop. Stop. Please stop.”

“Oh, the weather outside is frightful,” Spike heard, one street away. Drunk was wandering back to this little patch of ground. His alley? Or his little doss spot? Was he too drunk to try the door?

The zipper slid down and Spike stroked the curve of young Xander’s cock, only a thin layer of white cotton boxers between them. Mmm. Very nice.

“But the fire is so delightful…” Closer now. Thump as the man rebounded off one of the alley walls. Giggled. Wandered closer.

With a tug, the vampire pulled the waistband of the boxers down and Xander moaned, twitching, flinching away even as his hips jerked upwards, hungry for the vampire’s touch.

“And since there’s no place to go…”

Spike stilled, the habit of breathing stopped. The man was *right outside.* He looked up, blue eyes wide, seeing Xander’s brown eyes widen, staring at the door. He opened his mouth again, and then looked down. He bit his lips and shivered, once, all over.

Then he clenched his eyes shut, turning his face away.

**Ashamed? Ashamed of this?** Spike was just drunk enough to be concerned. For just a moment, he opened his mouth, wanting to say some words of, something, comfort, understanding, he never knew.

Then, whatever he had left for a conscience kicked him hard in the backbrain.

**Never forgive you for understanding, mate,** it snarled, very nearly in Angelus’ own voice. **Never forgive you for being capable of understanding. He wants this, you know he wants this, you can smell it on him now, but he can’t tell you. He couldn’t *ever* tell you. And if you *take* it…then he never said yes, you see. Otherwise…**

Yeah. Been there, mate. Otherwise, he just *might* say yes, and then he’d hate himself, and he’d hate Spike, and…he looked around, briefly confused for a moment, before his eyes lit on another bottle he’d left behind.

Perfect.

He uncapped it, drained half of the contents in a single pull, and set it down unsteadily. Now the boy’d think he was just drunk.

Well. He was drunk. Frightfully drunk. He knew how much it took to get a vampire drunk; that was why there were the remains of seven cases of whisky, Scotch and tequila clinking in the back of his car. A *lot*, mate. A *lot* of alcohol poured into the regenerating body, poured in until the body couldn’t cope with the amount of toxin in the system and the vampire got very, very drunk indeed.

Which Spike was. Very was. If he didn’t say so himself.

**Wait. Where was I?** He looked down.

“Oh, yeah,” he murmured, licking the hardening length through the boxers. Xander thrashed overhead, screaming at him now to get off, get away, leave him alone. Spike just smiled.

“Not bloody likely,” he murmured, tugging at the waistband of the boxer shorts.

It was getting easier to undress the whelp, because he was thrashing and bucking his hips and jerking around in the chair, and every time those hips raised, Spike lowered his pants by that much more. He was soon able to slide the jeans down his hips, slide the boxers down, white cotton binders around his flailing lower half.

“Spike--no--please--*GOD*!”

“Walkin’ in a winter wonderland,” the voice sang outside, laughing at Xander through the thin outer walls.

Spike smiled, leaning closer, curling his fingers around the human’s cock, hardening by the moment as Spike gently fisted his hand around him. He was still thrashing around, but now it was mostly hip jerks, throwing his head back, biting his lips to keep from screaming.

The vampire smiled brilliantly, looking up at the boy.

“Substantial, pet. How *did* you manage to hide this from me all these years?”

Chuckling, he lowered his mouth to the tip of the boy’s cock, and lipped at it while Xander thrashed and moaned. In one gulp he pulled his cock inside, the thick heated shaft distending his throat. He swallowed against the bulk of it and listened as Xander fought against moaning his name.

Oh, he took it all back. Dru could have her Chaos demon. Buffy could have her Peaches, emasculated fucking shell of Angelus that he was. Spike…Spike could have this, couldn’t he? Just stay on his knees forever, sucking the boy?

**Well. When I’m not pinning him to a wall, fucking him blind into next Tuesday…oh, *there’s* a pretty image…**

He unsnapped his black jeans, reaching inside and curling his fingers around his own cock, timing the thrusts into the circle of his fingers perfectly with the times he pulled nearly completely off Xander, earning a delightful cascade of small, breathy sounds from the boy.

“Oh, God--oh, God--God, no, *please*, oh--”

Oh, mm, too good, this was *too* good…He licked, he sucked, he bit softly, nibbled with just the edge of his teeth and the strength in his lips. Xander bucked upward, thrusting into his mouth, over and over again, straining to get every inch of him inside the vampire’s welcoming mouth. Spike himself teetered on the edge of orgasm, waiting, wanting something, hoping he’d be right, hoping he would hear it--

“God! Spike! *Spike!* Yes!”

And Xander came, pumping hot, live seed down his throat, every bit of it gladly, gratefully swallowed, pairing well with the splash of cool semen inside Spike’s jeans that had accompanied Xander saying his name, screaming it, wanting him enough to scream.

Oh, yes. Yes. That had been good. That had been--

Sobs.

What?

Spike stood, confused for a moment, and then remembered the little talk with Angelus in his head. He reached down for the bottle, swallowing the other half and dropping the empty to roll off into the corner. With a flourish, he swirled the ropes from around Xander’s torso, and efficiently zipped him up, buttoning the jeans securely shut.

“Cheer up, pet,” he said, lifting him to his feet. “It’s not like you had any say in the matter, eh?”

“Any…”

“Course not. Ah, forget it, I’m drunk, I’ll probably forget in the morning. You were a treat. But I don’t assume you wanted it.”

Naked gratitude shone in those dark eyes, for the moment it took Xander to summon reserves of courage. He hauled back a fist--

**Here it comes, then--**

--and clocked him. Actually managed to stagger him back a bit, and he firmly told bits of his anatomy to stay as Xander ran from him, ran as if the room was on fire, ran to the locked door, clicking the lock open, and dashed into the night.

**S’pose I deserved that,** he thought ruefully, and then a flash of Dru drove him to his knees, eyes tearing up, mouth clenching with the pain he didn’t have the words to speak.

**Not enough. Not enough. Not enough by bleedin’ half--**

Have to do something else. Something else. Have to--

He was off for the mansion before he even knew he was leaving the room.

“He sings a love song, as we go along,” he heard, as he flew down the alleyway, game face on and snarling.

***

He paused only long enough to terrorize a shopkeeper on the way over, nicking half a case of whiskey, and drained bottle after bottle in a vain attempt to keep the memories at bay. He stood outside the big picture windows at the mansion, wondering when Angel’d had them boarded up, and watched his grand-Sire read. He couldn’t make out the title of the book, and as if he would have cared anyway. A flux of feelings rose and fell in him, too quickly to name with any surety. Something stirred in him. He didn’t know what. He sneered, he postured, but he said nothing until Angel rose, softly walking deeper into the house.

That’s when it hit him: Angel should have *known* he was there. One of his children, one of his *family*, and he should have *known*. But he hadn’t, had he? No. Spike wasn’t important enough even to sense. Dru had taken it all away.

He stood outside, weaving, watching Angel walk away. He was powerfully drawn, but refused to act. Dark eyes, dark hair…so like Dru’s. So like Xander’s.

He must have confused the boy so…who knew what he’d said? He’d only been half-lying at the end there, he didn’t remember much of his little encounter with the whelp. He remembered feeling very good…the boy feeling very good…and the rush of sensation when Xander had screamed his name, that had been…

…something. Something. He couldn’t remember.

He ranted a bit, his heart not in it, and turned to leave, but tripped over some random bit of misplaced masonry. It was enough for a little drop into oblivion, and he’d been striving for that all night. It was welcome, actually. He didn’t wake up again until his hand was on fire.

***

Burning, sickened, shocked nearly stupid, he dove for the fountain across the way, only then realizing it was no longer dark out. Bloody *hell*--he had to get *inside*, *everything* hurt out here--

Ranting, screaming, cursing his fate, he dove for the half-lit stairs, pulling his duster over his face, racing for the car, screaming into the back seat and reaching for a half-empty bottle for something, pouring the alcohol on the terrible burns to sterilize them. He drank the rest, panting against the padded back seat, wondering what had possessed him to fall asleep outside in the first place. He could have--he could have--

Oh, it didn’t bear thinking about. Once more, before he could think the impulse through, he crawled into the front seat of the DeSoto, started it up, and pulled it into town.

***

“’Did you come in through the back?”

He looked up, startled. Pert horse-faced pixie of a lass, wearing some rose-colored soft confection that made him want to curl his lips back and reach for a scissors.

“Yeah,” he said, plastering a dim smile on his face. “I need a curse.”

“A what?”

Oh, how stupid *was* this bint? He was on the Hellmouth, nearly on it proper; what kind of a shop was she *running*, anyway?

“A curse!” he nearly screamed. “Y’know, somethin’ nasty. Boils. I wanna give him boils all over his face. You know, dripping pustules. Let’s really go for the gusto, here!”

She frowned at him, nearly shaking her head.

“I’m hearing a lot of negative energy, and I bet…”

“Leprosy!” he said, interrupting her. “All right, a spell that makes his parts fall off. That sounds proper.”

It occurred to him suddenly, he wasn’t sure who he wanted the curse *for*; Drusilla’s new dripping cohort or Buffy’s broody boy.

“We don’t carry,” she started, her lips pursed into a flat line, and then they both heard the front door chime. She turned, obviously relieved, then briefly turned back, pinning him with her watercolor eyes.

“Leprosy,” she finished primly, and Spike peered around the bookshelf.

**Well, bite me. If it isn’t Red…**

And suddenly, he had the most brilliant idea.

“Would you excuse me a moment?” the chit said, and he waved her away, hiding for a moment behind books as he listened to her and the rose-draped bint talk. Love spells. Perfect. And a witch who knew how to cast one for him. Even better.

He was smiling when the chit walked back his way, fully armed and ready to sway him from the path of curses and devastation. Oi, if she’d known…his smile grew wider.

“So,” she asked, smiling in return. “Did you find a spell book?”

He jumped out from behind the bookcase, game face ready, and grabbed her around the neck. She gasped, beginning to struggle, but she didn’t scream.

**What? Too polite, then? More fool you…**

“Forget the book,” he murmured, dragging her down to the floor. He drained her in an instant, her blood warm inside him, healing, and stood, looking towards the front of the shop.

“I just got a better idea,” he said, just to hear it out loud.

***

And now he’d traced Red to the high school, source of a tremendous amount of what was wrong with this town. Soft, he thought, grimacing. Soft. Six bottles of Sunnydale’s finest to get here, and he was only now starting to slur a bit. Still. This was a good plan, yeah? He’d show her. He’d show them all then, wouldn’t he? It had been the work of a moment to kill the shop girl, and then, it had been so easy following Red and her little pile of ‘de-lusting’ ingredients, their mixed scents sharp and pungent in the still air.

And who doesn’t post guards when they’re doing a little magic? Honestly. This would be a treat. He’d find her, he’d steal her, he’d make her do a spell for him, work her mojo. She was developing quite the power; he could almost taste it in the air around her. Maybe he’d even turn her…He knew that thought had sent him screaming into Dru not a few times over the past year. Slender, lithe, pale, *natural* red hair--he knew; he’d spent some time watching her house. Oh yes, she’d make quite a tasty little dish.

Maybe keep Xander on the side for afters.

He smiled, walking in on what sounded like an argument in the chemistry lab. He looped an arm tightly around Xander’s neck, pulling him back, and for a moment, he didn’t even tense up. And then he did, hands trying to pull the arm down, and Spike had to struggle not to laugh.

“I need to borrow the little girl,” he slurred. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Of course not.


END
*************
Kelandris the Mad
the whispered taste of her attention

JIM/BLAIR

Has it's own page. Click here to read.

MISCELLANEOUS: LIONEL/ZEKE (SMALLVILLE/BRIMSTONE)

Title: Christmas Angels
Author: Penemuel
RATING: R
Pairing: Lionel (Satan)/Zeke Stone, established relationship
Fandom: crossover between Brimstone & Smallville -- Lionel Luthor really is Satan
Completed: 12/5/02 for releasing on 12/16/02
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me -- I'm just playing with them and will give them back when I'm done. They may be a little sticky, though
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent
Archived: also at my site once the stories are released
Feedback Email address: arkadi_1@yahoo.com
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none, really