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 found here
Feedback: Kelandris
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..."


"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..." Who'd said that? He'd known, once. Couldn't quite remember now.

"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 whiskey, 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.


"Yeah," he said softly.


"'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.

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

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