Title: Winter Wonderland
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author's e-mail: Kelandris Author's webpage: Ghost of a Smile
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 found here
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 had 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*...?

He 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 whiskey. "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*--

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 whiskey. 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," the boy 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. Xander 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.


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 whiskey, 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.


"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, mmm, 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--



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?"


"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.


**Fire. *Fire!* I'm 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 bit behind books as he listened to Red 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. Wonderful--his boy was *here*--how courteous was that? 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.

Kelandris the Mad
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