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Chapter Text

“I guess I’m ready,” Willow said, placing the jar of sand off to her left and looking apprehensively at the circle she had made on the table.

“Are you sure you’re ok with this, Wills?” Buffy asked, placing a hand on her friends arm.

Willow gave her a smile and nodded, and even though she could see the smile was forced, Buffy said nothing about it. She didn’t want Willow to think her friends had no confidence in her. That was totally untrue. Willow was getting pretty good at magic, although she hadn’t done a big spell since she had restored Angel’s soul.

Buffy sent a loving look in Angel’s direction. He was standing at the table opposite Willow, examining the circle of sand and the carefully placed runes. He glanced up and smiled at her. Buffy’s heart fluttered happily.

“Shall I hit the lights?” Xander asked once Willow and lit the candles.

“Yes please.”

The room fell into darkness, Buffy moved away from Willow and Giles took her place, a book in his hand opened at the right page in case Willow needed to check the spell again.

Angel could feel Buffy’s nearness even in the dark. He could feel her eyes on him, loving him; but Angel couldn’t take his eyes off Willow. She stood quietly in the dark, the little orange flames of the candles picked out the different tones and textures to her hair until it wasn’t just red or auburn or russet or gold; but all the colours he would always long for on his pallet and never have because they belonged to Willow and Willow alone.

A look of wonder crossed his face as he stared at her, far distant memories stirring in the back of his mind. Angel recalled attending church in his youth. His family were staunchly Catholic of course and he had been required and expected to attach church as a boy. And even though he had grown to be a man of ill repute, every Sunday he could be found beside his mother in the family pew ready to confess his sins of lust and greed, and drunkenness and debauchery and all other manner of unholy acts he had participated in that week to shame his father and bring despair to his mother.

He had never given much thought to the priests words, nor his own responses, (given automatically having been drilled into him as a child), nor to the hymns he pretended to sing while busily trying to remember if he had enough money for a game of poker that night. The services he sat through never really made an impression on him, his confession something he did because it was part of his routine. Angel had attended church simply because he could think of no way to get out of it.

Now as he looked at Willow, her face bathed in the soft glow of candle light; there was a confusion in Angel’s mind as Willow became intertwined with the Virgin Mary. Perhaps it was sacrilegious; but he had done so many atrocious things that this new thought probably won’t even make the list.

Willow was not holy and Angel didn’t for a moment think she was; but she was good and she was kind and she gave him a chance and she was pure of heart in a way that made him uncomfortable around her. Willow was a living breathing monument of Angelus’ greatest sins. She was what Drusilla and William would have been if Angelus had simply left them alone to live their lives.

He and Angelus were one and the same in spite of everything Buffy said to the contrary. But somehow Angel was only now seeing what Angelus had known from the start; he wanted Willow.

Willow made more of an impression on him now than anyone or anything ever had in two centuries. He wanted her in so many different ways, for so many different things that it frightened Angel and shook him to his very core.

The room seemed to close in on him and for a moment Angel wondered if vampires could have panic attacks. He needed to leave or he was in danger of destroying everything and bringing nothing but pain to the two women in his life; Buffy who loved him, and Willow who didn’t.
There and then Angel decided to leave Sunnydale. It would be best for all concerned if he wasn’t around.

He felt Buffy move closer to his side. It would be best for Buffy if he left, for so many reasons; especially now that he had discovered he felt something deep and wonderful for her best friend.

Chapter Text

"Congratulations, love," William said, sliding out of the shadow of the lectern. "Today's the day you find out if the man you love really loves you back."

The bride stared at the stranger in mute surprise. He was not a wedding guest and his words made little sense. Of course the man she loved really loved her back; they had just exchanged vows in front of their family and friends.

"I'll give you a choice, mate." William offered, ice blue eyes sliding to the groom. "I can kill you, or I can kill her."

The church stayed silent, the guests staring at William as confused as the groom was. And then suddenly the stranger's face changed; something that was no longer human stared back at them; something with yellow eyes that gleamed mercilessly, ridges standing out along his forehead and fangs protruding from beneath his upper lip.

A ripple ran through the crowd. The bride screamed. Pandemonium broke out.

It was the part Angelus liked the best, when fear saturated the air, when screams rang through the rafters and everyone was willing to sacrifice everyone else in a bid to escape. It was human nature at its very worst and Angelus loved to show a person who they really were deep down inside where they tried to hide it.

As the guests scrambled out of the pews and began a mad dash up the aisle, he too removed himself from the shadows as William had done; swiftly, silently, blocking their path to the door which was barred anyway should anyone reach it.

There were more screams. Tears began to flow. People were pushing. People were shoving. People were running wild. There was only one escape; death.

The groom stumbled back as William advanced. Eyes wide, he begged William for his life. It was the moment William always hoped he would not see and the one he always encountered. He would give his life for Drusilla, the woman he loved. He devoted himself to her and they had never exchanged a single vow. So far as William was concerned any man who would not do the same for the woman he claimed to love deserved to die. He took great pleasure in sinking his fangs into the quivering throat of the groom, devouring the scream as he devoured his blood.

Angelus tore into the guests with gusto; honing in on the bridesmaids, it was a pretty safe bet he'd taste virgin blood there. He drank greedily, like a man possessed. Blood filled him, and yet he always craved more. Misery sustained him, and yet he always desired to inflict more. Tonight however, was not the time for selective torture, tonight was about brutal and bloody slaughter; a favourite pass time of both Angelus and William.

Flesh was torn. Necks were snapped. Hearts were ripped from chests. The mother of the bride found herself set alight.

Blood was everywhere; splashed on the walls, spattered over the pews, pooling on the floor with thick red fingers inching outwards, threatening to consume everything in its path. It scented the air mingling with the incense and the wedding flowers; Angelus found it an oddly erotic scent.

The last man standing fell from Angelus' fingers. Licking his lips he looked across the pew at William who tossed a bridesmaid onto the wooden bench of the front pew. William grinned at him. "Left the priest for you. What with your fetish and all."

Angelus grinned. "Priests are my thing."

"I'll take the bride then."

Angelus rolled his eyes. "Planned that well, didn't you."

"You can't have 'em all, Angelus."

Stepping over corpses strewn across the floor, they made their way up to the alter where the priest and the bride knelt side by side, hands clasped in prayer as the priest beseeched his God to banish the evil from His house.

Eyes glowing with anticipation, William closed in on the bride. His hands curled over her shoulders and he felt the muscles bunch under his palms as her shoulders hunched in. Her voice faltered before petering out completely. Her breathing turned harsh and laboured when William arranged her veil neatly down her back and smoothed her hair back over her shoulder.

"You really do look divine, love," he whispered in her ear, a smile curling his lips as a shudder ran through her. "You'll taste as good as you look I'm sure." He pressed his mouth against her neck, his tongue palpitating the veins. "Feel free to scream."

He bit down hard, fangs slicing unhindered into her skin. She screamed, her body jerking in his arms.

"Monster," the priest hissed at Angelus. "You will burn for the evil you have done here tonight."

Angelus shrugged, he had heard it all before for over a century and he was still standing. The day of reckoning was a long way off. He was a strong and formidable force; it might never arrive.

Large hands wrapped around the priests throat and Angelus twisted sharply, enjoying the crack and splintering of bone beneath the skin. He left the priest on the steps of the alter, watching as William took the time to lay the bride out upon the alter, hands resting over her heart and her veil coming down to cover her face; droplets of blood sprinkled over her shoulder.

The church was now silent, all heart beats stilled, but the night was not yet over. Angelus and William collided, a violent clash of lips and fangs, hands grasping and tearing as they gave themselves over to another tradition, one that was just as dark and depraved and delicious as killing; vampire sex.

Strong and brutal, vicious and fierce; theirs was a passion that burnt hot and dangerous filled with carnage and bloodshed with the underlying promise of an evil so corrupt they would shame the devil himself.

The first time they had spent a night like this one had been an accident. They hadn’t gone looking for a wedding, they had simply been lucky and stumbled across one. They had enjoyed themselves so much they had decided weddings should become their Christmas tradition. After all, everyone loved a wedding.

Chapter Text

"'ello, love. What's goin' on 'ere then?"

The Summer's living room was filled with bags and dusty boxes.

Willow jumped, turning to look over her shoulder. She smiled to see him lounging in the doorway. Her eyes gleamed, running over him from head to toe. Her belly tightened and her muscles quivered, he never failed to affect her in the same intense way.

"Hello, Spike. We're putting up the Christmas tree. The others have gone to pick the tree up in Xander's car. I was hoping you'd come by," she added softly.

He grinned wickedly . "You got something in mind, pet?"

She walked to him, curling her fingers into his shirt and pressed her mouth to his. She hadn't seen him all day and she had missed him, ached for him. Spike groaned, gathering her into his arms and deepening the kiss.

The earth spun.

The earth always spun when Spike was near her.

He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, biting lightly and she whimpered, clinging tightly to him, pressing closer to him. Drawing back to allow her to breathe Spike stared at her flushed face, her eyes opening, pupils enormous.

The last of Spike's control slipped away and he kissed her again, the weight of his body pushing her backwards. They collided with a bag balanced on the arm of a chair and the bag upended, tinsel spilling everywhere.

His hands ran down her back, spreading over her behind, lifting her up to him and she moaned as her legs wrapped around his waist and his erection pressed against her. Spike had her on her back in seconds, her legs loosening their hold on his waist so she could press her feet to the floor and arch against him.

His hands slid under her top to cup her breasts and feel the silkiness of her nipples against his palm. A flame licked low in her belly and Willow sighed as that flame took life, spreading out beneath her skin and she went a little crazy. There was a mad scuffle of clothes, she didn't need to remove them all, just unbutton and shift enough to allow him to get inside her as soon as possible.

She was all smooth and hot and Spike's hands ran over her, moving easily between her legs where she was hotter still, and wet. So wet. Spike groaned and buried his face at her throat, feeling her pulse skitter beneath his lips.

Willow shuddered as he stroked her, his fingers whispering over her clitoris. She dug her hands into his hair, pulling his mouth to hers, kissing him fiercely, her tongue tangling with his, tasting that unique flavour of Spike. Her legs lifted to wrap around his waist, her foot colliding with a box on the coffee table. As she moved against his hand Willow was distantly aware of the box tumbling to the floor, she heard the splintering of glass but paid it little attention as Spike's fingers curled once inside her before retreating. He could wait no longer and knew the same was true for her.

Spike drove into her and Willow cried out. She could feel the urgency of his movements and her own urgent response to him. Her muscles convulsed around him and his name tore from her throat raw and desperate.

Sliding his hands into her hair to keep her head still, Spike kissed her, drawing her lower lip into his mouth as he continued to rock into her again and again. Every time he was inside her Spike wanted the moment to last forever, but it never did. It never could. His own release was building in the pit of his stomach, his muscles starting to cord and strain.

His face tightened, his eyes flashed and Willow pressed her face into his shoulder, tugging the neck of his t-shirt aside she bit him hard. Spike roared, giving himself over to the whirlwind and exploding inside her as her second orgasm hit, her hands fisting in the back of his duster causing the leather to strain against his bunched shoulders.

A final tremor ran through her as Spike collapsed and she held him close, stroking his hair, panting in his ear.

Finally Spike shifted to his knees, a smile touching to his lips as he took her in, all flushed and rumpled. "Cor, but you're a sight, love."

There was the sound of voices in the kitchen and Spike jumped to his feet, righting his jeans and the fallen box as Willow straightened her own clothes and began to gather the tinsel off the floor, only now noticing she had little bits of coloured foil all over her. She giggled and Spike gave her a curious look. "A classier version of a roll in the hay," she whispered, and he laughed.

"Oh great," Xander said coming into the room. "Dead Boy Junior's here."

"Hi, Spike," Dawn beamed at him. "Are you going to help us with the tree?"

"No thanks, Bit," Spike shook his head, watching as Xander, Anya and Dawn brought the tree into the room. "I've gotta get goin'. I got what I came for," he winked at Willow, grinning when she flushed.

Buffy gave him a shove. "Out of my way, I've got ornaments to sort." A cry of dismay left her when she opened the box. "They're all broken."

Willow winced when she realised Buffy was looking in the box she had accidently kicked over.

"It doesn't matter," Dawn said peering into the box. "We can go to the mall and get some more. It's still open." She linked her arm through Buffy's. "It'll be nice to have the actual experience of shopping for Christmas ornaments instead of just fabricated memories."

"Alright," Buffy agreed with a smile. "I've got time before I have to patrol."

Xander let out a groan, he hated the mall. "Are you coming this time, Wills? Why have you got tinsel all over you?"

"Oh, um, Spike tipped the bag over," Willow said, relieved that she was in part telling the truth.

"God forbid he should clean up after himself," Xander muttered, digging the car keys out of his pocket and tossing them into the air. "Well, come on. The sooner we get there the sooner we're out of there."

Anya eyed Willow closely, noticing not just the tinsel lost amongst the fall of her hair, but the slight colour in her cheeks and pupils which hadn't yet returned to their normal size. If she didn't know better .....

As she followed Xander and the others from the room Anya's sharp eyes caught a glint in Spike's hair. She paused as she passed him. "You've got tinsel in your hair too." She gave him a knowing look and Spike smirked.

Chapter Text

She slept quietly, stretched out on her stomach facing Angel. Spike had a nice view of her bare creamy back, one lone red curl resting against her shoulder blade, the rest of her hair spilling over the pillow.

Angel lay on his side watching her. Staring at her, Spike thought with a little curl of his upper lip. Like some kind of stalker.

“You ever notice how angelic she looks when she’s sleeping?” Angel never took his eyes off Willow and kept his voice low so as not to disturb her. Having two vampires for lovers took it out of her sometimes. She needed the sleep.

“Notice it all the time,” Spike admitted, pushing himself up against the head board and fluffing up the pillow at his back. “Even when I’m shaggin’ her she’s still got that look.”

Angel smiled and nodded. “Yeah, she does. It’s because she’s good. She doesn’t have to be here. She doesn’t have to fight demons and everything else that goes bump in the night; but she does, because can’t walk away from it, because she believes it’s the right thing to do.”

“Most likely,” Spike agreed, flipping his lighter to life and lighting up a fag. He inhaled, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before releasing it, sly eyes shifting to Willow’s sleeping form.

Willow sighed in her sleep and a few puffs on the fag later, she turned to Spike, searching for him even while she slept. As she wiggled closer, Spike lifted an arm and settled it around her shoulders, drawing her in close to his side where she could cuddle in against him.

Angel’s eyes narrowed, an annoyed looked crossing his face. He knew Spike and his little tricks and games. Willow connected smoke to Spike, and even in her sleep she recognised that connection. Spike used it to his advantage, to keep her close and away from Angel.

Angel understood why, he didn’t want Spike in his bed any more than Spike really wanted to be there. They tolerated each other, even enjoyed each other, but they both wished the other wasn’t part of the equation. They each wanted Willow to themselves and they each had their own manipulative ways to monopolise her time.

Willow wasn’t stupid and Angel had long since suspected she knew what they were up to; but she was nice enough not to mention it, and now that she was in so deep with the pair of them she would never make a choice. They were all tangled up together and he and Spike would just have to live with it.

“If we really cared about her, we wouldn’t do this,” Angel said.

“No-one’s forcin’ you,” Spike pointed out. “Feel free to walk away.”

“Like that, wouldn’t you?” Angel snapped.

“I would,” Spike agreed.

Angel ran a hand through his rumpled hair. “We should let her have a life. A husband. Maybe children. Keeping her with us is selfish. It’s robbing her of everything she could have.”

Spike took a calming drag on his fag. It was a sore subject with him; the things he couldn’t give her. “Not sayin’ walkin’ away isn’t the right thing to do, but I don’t ‘ave a soddin’ soul and ‘ave no intention of givin’ her up. And you ain’t goin’ nowhere, Peaches. You might ‘ave a soul but it don’t make you any the less a demon. All it does is stop the evil. It don’t stop you being any more a selfish wanker than I am. We both know you ain’t walkin’ away from her. You won’t give her up.”

Angel said nothing, he moved into Willow’s back wrapping his arm around her waist. He saw Spike’s eyes narrow in displeasure and buried his face against Willow’s neck to avoid him. It always rankled when Spike was right; and Spike was right.

He would stay. And she would stay. And Spike would stay.

Angel would be the good guy for all those who needed it and sacrifice his life if he had to, but he couldn’t be the good guy for Willow, he wasn’t strong enough to sacrifice his happiness for hers.

Chapter Text

For some, a winter wonderland would be that first sprinkle of flakes on a cold night or a thick blanket of snow covering the ground, the top frost sparkling in the weak sun and the sort of heavy silence that can only come with a thick snowfall. It is the icicles hanging from the bare branches of the tree, the ripe red berries in a half coat of snow. Little round men made of snow standing haphazardly in gardens and fields with top hats perched jauntily on their heads and eyes of coal, or a sugar dusted horse pulling a carriage along the street.

For Angelus, it was different. His winter wonderland needed only its players; for a wonderland was merely a land of wonders and marvels, and Angelus often wondered at the weak stupidity of humans and marvelled at his own cunning, strength and evil tendencies.

It was not the first sprinkling of snow he sought, but the first splatter of blood as the skin of his victim split for the first time. Depending on the instrument used, the force and angle of the blow, Angelus has learnt to create patterns on the wall or the floor in little ruby droplets. He had always had an artist’s eye and a flare for the craft.

Icicles were not for Angelus, he preferred the sparkle of tears clinging to quivering eyelashes or resting sedately on a bruised cheek like diamonds on a bed of black velvet.

Silence was meant to be broken with loud shrieks, terrified screams and agonising prayers to a deity who had long ago forsaken the world. How long his victims screamed was a test of their own fortitude and Angelus, ever the schoolmaster, did so love to test those who fell into his hands.

Snowmen were not for Angelus, he preferred to leave bodies lying haphazardly around a home, their last miserable moments recorded forever in glazed eyes which stared eerily out of pale, still faces.

Angelus looked around the warm living room, his nose wrinkling at the scent of burning flesh. The lady of the house lay sprawled by the fire where her lifeless body had been discarded rather carelessly by Darla, one hand smouldering in the flames.

The master of the house was pinned to his favourite chair with a red hot poker through his chest; a little fetish of dear William’s.

Leaving the room, Angelus flicked the paper snowflakes hanging from the doorframe as he passed; they danced silently in his wake.

A butler lay dead in the foyer clutching in own heart in his hand. Angelus hadn’t seen the death, but he suspected Drusilla. It had her certain macabre style stamped all over it. An arm dangling through garlands of holly looped around the spindles of the stair case told him all kinds of festive fun had been had tonight.

There was a large tree in the foyer, the scent of pine mingled with the scent of recently spilled blood and there were colourful paper chains strung over the picture frames; they looked garish now, a backdrop to so much death and destruction.

They were all in the foyer, Darla was buttoning her coat, Drusilla was humming as she replaced her gloves and William; well William was just there; a bedraggled mess with his hair escaping its band, his cravat askew and his coat flapping around his legs. But his blue eyes were shining with the joy of the evening.

Angelus’ sharp eyes caught the small red smear on William’s cheek. Leaning in close, Angelus swiped his tongue along William’s cool cheek, chasing the blood away. “Messy boy,” he chided good naturedly.

“Are we all ready?” Darla asked.

“Yes, lets go,” William opened the door and stood aside for Drusilla to leave first.

Drusilla smiled and took Angelus’ arm. “Happy we are tonight dearest daddy. The stars sing so prettily for me.”

“What are they singing, Dru?”

“Love songs,” she declared. “Filled with screams and tears.”

Angelus smiled indulgently. “Sing them for me, Dru.”

Darla and William fell into step behind Angelus and Drusilla. In the silent street only their soft footfalls and softer voice made any sound. They walked home together under a bay of stars chatting gaily about their evening, regaling each other with stories of their individual escapades.

They were, it would appear, just like any other family returning home after a night of fun and merriment.

Chapter Text

The day was dark and overcast, the rain hitting the window pane with little pinging sounds, but Willow barely noticed. Hunched up in the arm chair she stared unseeingly out of the window, her mind elsewhere, turned back to other days, happier days when she hadn’t even known the truth of her own heart. Perhaps it had been better that way, ignorance was bliss after all, and the way she felt these days, the way she had felt for what seemed like forever, Willow longed for the days of ignorance.

She let out a little sigh, her arms going around her knees, hugging herself into a protective little ball. The weather in England left a lot to be desired, but Willow didn’t miss the bright warm days of Brazil. They hadn’t been bright or warm to her.

She didn’t miss Kennedy either, for there was a small part of Willow which wanted to slap the Slayer for forcing her to accept and acknowledge the truth. Willow had tried to hide her depression but Kennedy wasn’t fooled. It didn’t help that Willow cried in her sleep, calling out piteously for one who would never come.

Kennedy had tried to be a friend, she had tried to help her, but Willow knew she beyond help. Even Xander had been at a loss as to what to do, and in the end he had sent her to Giles.
Living with Giles made sense, after all, he had been the one to help her the last time grief had overwhelmed her to the point she had tried to destroy the world. They didn’t have to worry about that this time. When Tara had died Willow had taken solace in anger and grief and magic; this time her magic had left her completely.

Giles had said her magic was just buried under her grief and if she just dealt with her feelings and moved on her magic would return. Willow knew Giles, and everyone really, were fed up with her and wished she’d just snap out of it; but she couldn’t, and she couldn’t find the right way to tell Giles how empty she felt. Willow had lived with magic in her blood for so long she could feel the difference in her body, she knew it was gone.

It had been a gradual thing, the loss of her magic. Slowly but surely as she tried one thing after another and reached a dead end, her hope began to dissipate, her grief intensified each day and eventually her magic seeped away.

She couldn’t find him. No matter where she searched, she simply couldn’t find him. It weighed on her, drew her into deep dark nightmares of his endless, eternal torment and Willow cursed the gift which had been bestowed on her and was simply no use whatsoever.

Absently she looked around the room, it was dark she realised, the weather closing in and blocking out what little light there was, casting the room into shadow. She couldn’t be bothered with the lights, she preferred the darkness anyway; he had been at home in the dark.

Her eyes fell on the log sitting in the fireplace. As he set it in the hearth Giles had told her it was a Yule log and upon lighting the log everyone in the house was entitled to make a wish. Taking up the matches from on top of the mantelpiece Willow knelt before the fire and struck one. The match came to life with a sizzle and a pop, the flame tiny in the darkness.
Giles had said they would light the log on Christmas Eve, but surely Giles wouldn’t mind if she lit the log now. She had tried everything else and a wish on a Yule Log wasn’t so farfetched; it might work.

Willow wasn’t stupid enough to wish out loud, but as she touched the flame to the dry bark of the log and watched the little orange glow spread, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and wished hard.

When she finished, Willow sat back to watch the Yule Log burn. Lost in thought she jumped when the phone rang, loud and shrill in the quiet house. Willow picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s me, Andrew.” Excitement laced his voice. “He’s alive, Willow. I’ve seen him. Spike’s alive.”

Willow gripped the phone tightly as her knees gave way beneath her and she sank to the floor. As she listened to Andrew’s words tumbling over themselves giving her all the information he could, Willow’s eyes drifted to the Yule Log.

She had wished for hope; and now she had it.

Next on the list; a ticket to L.A. 

Chapter Text

Wesley was the first person Willow saw, he came out of the elevator with Angel, but somehow it was Wesley she saw first, her eyes straining over his shoulder.

Wesley paused when he saw her sitting on the edge of the sofa. She was the last thing he had expected to see upon entering Angel's office. "Willow."

"Andrew blabbed."

Willow's heart shuddered at the sound of his voice. She couldn't see him yet, he was behind Angel. She rose to her feet, her knees felt like jelly and her insides twisted with nervous anticipation. Then there he was, all blonde hair, blue eyes and leather duster of him. The glass of water she held slid from boneless fingers bouncing on the carpet, creating a small dark patch. A small cry left her lips as emotion overwhelmed her and she began to shake.

"No. No," Spike said quickly as began to trickle down her cheeks. He hurried towards her, gathering her in his arms. "No tears, pet. Don't cry. It's alright. Spike's got you."

Willow had yearned for this moment for so long she might have thought this was just another dream, but the muscles beneath her fingers were solid and strong. Spike was solid and strong. She'd missed him in a way that had slowed her heartbeat and stolen her soul, and now he was here and she was in his arms and she was never letting him go again.

It had been Wesley's tactful suggestion that Spike take her away from Wolfram and Hart, somewhere quiet where they could talk. Having nowhere else to go, Spike had taken her back to his poky little corner of the world. It was a step up from his crypt, but it was hardly homey. He hadn't bothered to spruce the apartment up since Lindsay had set him up in it; he wasn't there often enough to bother with decorating. So long as he had a comfy place to rest his arse Spike was happy.

Willow took a quick glance around as she perched on the sofa, but her eyes went straight back to Spike.

Spike went to the kitchenette to get himself a cold beer. She tracked his every movement, those wet green eyes never left him, it confused him. Spike couldn't understand her almost violently emotional reaction to seeing him again. Andrew had been pleased. Andrew had hugged him and wanted the details, but he hadn't been afraid to look elsewhere in case Spike disappeared again.

Silence fell between them heightening Spike's discomfort. He honestly didn't know what to say to her. After her reaction to seeing him alive, Spike mostly felt that he should apologise to her. A small part of him wanted to travel to Italy and kick Andrew's arse for putting him in this position and another part of him was defensive. He wanted to snap at her, tell her it was his own business whether he stayed "dead" or not. It was his unlife and he had managed for well over a century without answering to anyone, and he didn't feel like explaining himself to her. But that only made him feel worse. Willow had clearly been upset by his demise and as much as it pained him to be the cause of her distress, Spike was also a little pleased over it.

"I wish you'd told me."

Damn her. Somehow Willow had always managed to make him feel bad or guilty without even trying. She wasn't like anyone else, even though his actions upset her she wasn't accusing him, merely stating her feelings leaving him feeling not only exposed but like the biggest wanker on the planet.

"Didn't think you'd care," Spike admitted.

"I always knew I'd care," Willow said quietly. "I just didn't know it would break me."

"I...what?"

"I thought you were dead," Willow laced her fingers together in her lap, her eyes dropping. "I didn't handle it well. I dreamt about you. Nightmares actually, filled with you suffering an eternity of torture in a hell dimension somewhere. I missed you," her eyes lifted to Spike's. "I missed you so much it consumed me. The only thing I could think about was you. I tried to find you, I used magic to try and find you, but," she gave him a trembling smile. "I was looking in all the wrong places. You were here all the time."

Somehow the phrase "biggest wanker on the planet" just didn't cut it anymore. Willow had always been nice to him, she had always tried to spare his feelings over the years and he had hurt her more than Spike had ever imagined he could.

Before he had a chance to form an apology that really wouldn't erase what he had put her through, Willow spoke again.

"When Tara died I tried to destroy the world, I think Xander would have preferred me to be all veiny Willow again. He could handle evil Willow. He didn't really know what to do with depressed Willow. Even the Snoopy dance couldn't make me smile. To be honest, I'd forget he was there half the time, I was so obsessed with you I didn't really pay attention to anyone or anything else. I just wanted you back."

"Love, I..." Spike spread his hands, a helpless look on his face. "The last thing I'd ever wanna do is hurt you."

"You didn't know. I didn't know," she added her hand resting over her heart. "You had to die for me to see it. I did everything I could think of to bring you back but..."

"I wasn't gone," he finished, letting out a small groan and running a hand through his hair.

"No," she agreed, another little smile curling her lips. "I was so powerful, Spike. My magic was stronger than it had ever been, but it couldn't do what I wanted it to do. Magic was my thing, my gift to the world, but my gift wasn't helping me, it wasn't bringing you back and I hated it for that. I hated it so much that it died."

Spike's forehead crinkled. "Died?"

"It's gone, Spike," Willow gave a careless shrug. "It's all gone. You can't call me "witch" anymore. I don't have a drop of magic in my body."

Spike's jaw fell open. He stared at her disbelievingly. Guilt weighed heavily on his soul. Willow's magic was gone, and whether or not she blamed him, and it would seem that she didn't, Spike blamed himself. His poor little Willow, he knew how much magic had meant to her over the years, and now, because of his stupid pride and arrogance she had lost it all.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, although Spike felt his words were sadly lacking.

"It doesn't matter," Willow assured him. "I'd chose you over magic any day."

"But you didn't make that choice," Spike pointed out.

"I would have," she said. "So it makes no difference."

"But why?" Spike demanded, exasperated. "Why would you do that?"

Colour crept into her cheeks and she wanted to look away from him. But she didn't. Willow kept her eyes on Spike and gathered her courage close about her. She hadn't spent all this time missing him, wishing for him back to chicken out now.

"Because I love you, Spike. Don't ask me when or how," she said quickly when she saw the astounded expression on his face. "I just do."

If she'd punched him in the face Spike couldn't have been more shocked. For a moment he just stood there staring at her. His mind whirled. He couldn't get his head around it. This really was the very last thing he had expected to hear; although, it was far from an unpleasant moment. There was a warm glow in the pit of his stomach. Willow was by far the best of all the people he had known, and to think that she could feel so strongly for him was enough to put him in the kind of spin Spike hadn't experienced since he had first met Drusilla.

"You never said."

"I didn't know. Not until I lost you," her flushed deepened, "What I mean is..."

"I know what you meant," he said softly. "It's hard to take in."

She stood then and went to him. "You don't have to say anything, Spike." She touched his cheek lightly, still gazing at him as though she had never seen anything as wonderful as him in her entire life. "I just have to..."

Cupping his face in her palms, Willow kissed him.

Her lips were warm and soft and loving. Spike felt the kiss right down to the tips of his toes. An odd feeling of breathless desire tumbled through Spike. Fire and ice raced down his spine. The kiss was slow and deep, merging their mouths, awakening their souls. A lazy haze enveloped him. When she pulled away, Spike caught her arms to stop her.

At first he couldn't speak, Spike wasn’t quite sure what he had expected, he only knew that the kiss had been explosive. The way Willow clung to him gave him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a need to wash away her pain that was so fierce it threatened to consume him.

"It's alright, Spike, really. You don't have to say anything. I know I'm not the one you want."

He tucked her hair behind her ear. "You could have been. You still could be."

Willow's eyebrows rose disbelievingly. "You don't have to humour me, Spike."

"I'm not," he assured her. "There was a time when I thought about you. When I felt for you. I don't 'ave the urge to turn just any girl you know, an' I would 'ave turned you that night in your dorm room. But," he rolled his shoulders. "You announced that you were gay. You got yourself a girlfriend. What's a bloke to do, pet? I packed you up an' put you away. The one who was never to be."

He kissed her then, and desire trembled through her, along with her first shadow of doubt. Willow indulged in the sensation of Spike's lips on hers, of his tongue stroking along hers until the need to breathe became too great.

Even though her lips detached from his, Willow didn't let him go, she couldn't. Her arms stayed around his shoulders, fingers stroking the soft hair at his nape as she clung to him, still awed that they were there together and she could touch him.

It had been so long since anyone had kissed him, touched him, wanted him, that he was sure his long lost soul wept with longing. He just wanted to be loved again. To feel whole again.

Her next words almost shattered him, although Spike figured the subject was bound to raise its head at some point, and perhaps it was better to get it all out in the open now.

"I'm not the one you love, Spike. It wasn't me you got your soul for."

"I think it was," he kissed her forehead. "If I didn't 'ave a soul I wouldn't 'ave died at the Hellmouth and if I hadn't died there you wouldn't be 'ere now an' we wouldn't be 'aving this conversation."

"Maybe," Willow conceded. Even though she knew it wasn't, she still wanted to believe it could be true.

As he had told Buffy once, he had lived forever. Spike's unlife had been exciting, but since Drusilla had left him and he'd had to endure the chip it had been cold and frequently empty. Already Willow filled up the empty space in his heart, she gave his unlife meaning, gave him a sense of being somebody.

Fate had given him another chance to be with a woman who loved him and who he could love. If he let her walk away without asking her to stay with him Spike knew he would regret it for the rest of his time on earth.

"I'm not gonna say I'm madly in love with you, pet, you'd know I was lyin' an' I won't lie to you. But I could love you. So easily." His arms tightened around her, pressing her in close to him. "Stay with me. Let me love you."

Willow's heart stuttered in her chest and tears pricked behind her eyes. After everything they had both been through they had finally found each other, it was overwhelming. She couldn't speak, her throat had closed up. Instead she nodded, her fingers curling into his hair as she brought his mouth down to hers.

Even before he had come to L.A, if Spike was going to be completely honest with himself, his days had been lonely and his nights silent and dark. But now she was here, and Willow really wanted to be here, in his arms, sharing his life and as she kissed him again, slow and delicious, Spike knew as well as he knew his own name, there would be no more lonely days, no more silent nights. Willow would bring him to life in a way he never had been before, not even when he was actually alive.

Chapter Text

The building was just… gaudy. Angel could think of no other word for it. But then, Lorne was fun and flashy and colourful himself, it was only to be expected that his personality would spill over into his decorating style.

The rest of the staff seemed to like it, apparently they never had decorations like this at the firm before Angel and his friends had taken over.

Angel didn’t doubt it.

Not even his office had managed to escape Lorne and his zeal for the holiday season, no matter how much Angel had protested. As usual, anything Angel had to say had been brushed off as brooding.

Looking around his office Angel’s eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. Why did his office look so much worse than Wesley’s or Gunn’s? It looked like an explosion in a tinsel factory. There was tinsel on the picture frames, tinsel round the door, tinsel on the bar, tinsel round the lights and there was even tinsel looped along the front of his desk. Everywhere he looked there was tinsel.

And was there really a need to have a gigantic Santa in the corner of the room complete with sleigh piled high with presents?

Lorne said there was.

Angel didn’t think so.

Angel was inclined to blame Spike.

It was just the sort of sneaky thing Spike would do, encourage Lorne to deck Angel’s office instead of just the halls and take great delight and pleasure in seeing him surrounded by all this stuff day and night. Including, Angel frowned down at the little Santa on his desk; it danced to Rocking Around The Christmas Tree.

Angel had thought he had won that particular war; he had removed the batteries.

Within the hour they had been replaced.

Again, Angel suspected Spike. Just because Spike had been in a meeting with him at the time didn’t mean a thing. Spike had his ways, he had his minions. Harmony came to mind.

Getting up from his desk Angel went to the window. He liked to look over the city entrusted to his care and know the inhabitants went innocently about their business with no worries of impending doom; unlike him.

Passing the giant Santa, Angel felt something long and slender beneath the ball of his foot and suddenly the Santa came to life shouting “Ho, Ho, Ho”. Angel scowled at it, peeling the carpet from the wall he discovered a lead running from the Santa to a socket hidden behind a table. He debated whether to disconnect it, but knew Lorne (or most probably Spike) would only plug it back in again.

He would just suffer it in silence and hope nobody else managed to activate it.

Angel’s eyes rolled when he encountered the snowflake stickers on the window. He hadn’t noticed them before, they must be new. The icicle shaped lights weren’t new, Lorne had initially requested his help in hanging them, but eventually Angel was shooed away when he failed to “trickle” the lights across the window. Apparently there was no such thing as merely “hanging” lights anymore; now there was an art to it.

There was a sudden glint in the window and Angel turned to find its source, his lips forming a pout when he realised it came from above. There were brightly coloured foil angels and lanterns and stars and God only knew what hanging from his ceiling. They turned slowly in the air currents and every now and then the light caught them making them wink; they were most distracting when he was trying to work.

The door suddenly flew open and Spike arrived. He paused to look about the room and Angel was quick to spot the grin and merry twinkle in Spike’s eyes. Oh yes, he was right to lay the blame at Spike’s door.

“What do you want?” Angel snapped.

“Lorne sent me,” Spike said, opening up a bag he carried and producing a box which housed a dozen golden bells. “These are for that space on your wall.”

“There is no space on my wall,” Angel insisted, glancing around at the Christmas posters and wreaths and bows that adorned his office.

“Sure there is. Just there, behind your desk. And look, they’re musical.” He pressed a button and the bells began to chime Ding Dong Merrily On High.

A furious look crossed Angel’s face; Spike was grinning openly, clearly enjoying himself immensely. “I knew it! I knew this was all down to you.”

“Me?” Spike feigned innocence.

“Yes you! And you are not hanging those in this room!”

“Where’s your Christmas spirit?” Spike was struggling not to laugh.

Angel strode across the room and grasped one of the large candy canes Lorne had placed by the door. (Angel had no idea why they were there and had been too afraid to ask). “I swear to God, Spike, if you don’t take those damn bells out of here I’m going to club you to death with this candy cane.”

“Alright. Alright.” Spike held up his hands as a sign of surrender. “What a bloody humbug,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Angel growled.

Chapter Text

Spike came into the room, one hand behind his back and a gleam of excitement in his blue eyes. He found Willow sitting at the table, her feet pulled up to the edge of the chair as she worked on a jigsaw puzzle.

Of course she heard him come in, but Willow didn’t look up, she kept her eyes on her jigsaw. It was a nice picture, pale blue sky with fluffy clouds, tall trees with squirrels and birds amongst the branches, lush green grass and multicoloured wild flowers with butterflies on the petals and rabbits feeding on their green leaves. It was the closest Willow had to outside and even though it made her sad, she painstakingly worked to slot each little tab into its proper hole. It was a window to her daydreams.

Outside had been taken away from her. Once, in all the time she had been with Spike had he taken her out. They had gone to a bar, a seedy little place which made Willy’s look like a palace. Spike had become distracted and Willow had believed it to be her opportunity to escape. She had ran. She had barely made it out of the door before Spike had hold of her, bruising her arm badly in his iron –like grip, refusing to let her go until they returned to the basement apartment he called home.

Spike’s anger in the burnt out factory had rather paled in comparison to his reaction to her escape attempt. His fury the like of which Willow had never seen before, all the more terrifying when it was aimed solely at her. Ridges, fangs, growls, glowing yellow eyes, flying objects; she had endured it all wondering with each word that past his lips if it would be the last one she would ever hear.

Willow had survived relatively unscathed, receiving only a black eye for her trouble. She counted herself lucky.

He had never apologised for his behaviour although he had expected an apology from her and she had given it; contrite and sincere. Two evenings later he had arrived with a box of her favourite chocolates. Willow had taken that to be his apology, a part of her touched that he paid attention to what she said and remembered her favourite things. Her own parents would be hard pushed to name her favourite chocolate.

“I got you something,” Spike said.

Reluctantly, Willow looked up, noticing he held one hand behind his back. She waited patiently, although somewhat worriedly; depending on his mood and whether or not he had been drinking, Spike’s gifts could be sweet and thoughtful or completely terrifying.

With a flourish he brought a menorah from behind his back. “Ta da!”

The blank look on her face was not the reaction Spike had anticipated. He had imagined sweet smiles, a pleased clapping of hands, maybe a little girlish squeal and lots of hugs and kisses; for he had not only remembered but made an effort.

Willow saw his smile slip, eyebrows drawing together as his eyes clouded with disappointment. Clearly he had expected something else from her, although she was at a loss to imagine what it might be.

A sudden thought occurred to her, but Willow shook it off. It was a ridiculous thought. It couldn’t possibly be right. Still, movements slow, she reached across the table for the folded up newspaper. At first Spike always brought a newspaper for her, she enjoyed doing the crossword puzzle in the back and every evening when he returned from his wanderings he had a newspaper stuck under one arm. She was also able to keep track of the date this way.

But then one evening he arrived without a newspaper and in its place he had brought The Bumper Book of Crossword Puzzles. It hadn’t occurred to Spike that she liked to have something to read as well as doing the puzzles. Very carefully, she had broached the subject with him. Willow had learnt that soft words were best to handle Spike, he could be temperamental and take her requests as a criticism of how he was taking care of her, as a slur upon his ability to provide for her.

Whatever else he might say or do or be, Willow couldn’t really fault Spike’s care of her. He brought her lovely clothes; although there was no-one to see them. He brought her expensive, exquisite jewellery; although there was nowhere to wear it. He always ensured their temporary accommodations had all the necessary amenities and luxuries; as if the richness of the place could hide the fact she lived in a cage.

Spike had taken her request for something to read well enough, and although he did not bring the newspaper, he did bring her books. After that Willow had no way of tracking the date, the days and nights all bled into one. She didn’t even bother to keep track of the time any more, she slept and ate when she felt like it.

Spike hadn’t set up a television set; when he was in the apartment Spike liked her attention on him. He liked to talk to her and listen to her. It was a novel experience. They moved about a lot anyway and the idea of installing a television just seemed a lot of trouble for the use they would get out of it.

Still, Willow longed for TV sometimes, she would at least have some idea what was going on in the world if she had one and she could once again live in a world where there were separate and individual days.

She picked up the paper Spike had brought with him yesterday, she was so used to being without one Willow had devoured its contents eagerly, but she had not looked at the date. Smoothing out the paper she turned it over, her body stiffening as she stared at the date.

Emotion overwhelmed her. Her hands shook so badly the paper rustled and crinkled between her fingers. “S…six months.”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed. “What of it?”

The holidays were here. Hanukkah was here; which explained the menorah. Spike had remembered she was Jewish and had tried to do something nice for her.

Summer had gone. Fall had gone. Winter was here.

Could it really be so long? It might explain why Buffy never appeared; they probably thought her dead by now. Why would they think otherwise? So far as they were concerned there was no reason for Spike to keep her alive.

Perhaps they knew nothing about Spike. He had hit Xander around the head pretty hard when he had kidnapped them, perhaps Xander had never opened his eyes again.

That thought more than any other caused the tears to fall. Xander could be dead and she knew nothing about it. Buffy may even have been killed by now, or Giles, or Cordelia, or Oz, or Angel. Anything could have happened to the people she loved but she had no way of knowing about it, just as they had no way of knowing what had really become of her.

Spike saw her tears glinting in the light and he frowned as a harsh, agonised sound came from her lips. “There now, love,” he soothed, setting the menorah down and taking her into his arms, cradling her gently. “I’m a bad, rude man. I know six months is special.”

Spike was far from stupid and Willow knew him well enough to read between the lines and understand the things he didn’t say. It was his gentle way of warning her not to give voice to her misery, not to say anything unpleasant. Willow heeded the warning, if Spike became upset or angry she would bear the brunt of it. He was much nicer to deal with when he was happy.

Smoothing her hair from her face he kissed her forehead. “I’ll bring you something nice tomorrow. Something special to celebrate. An’ we’ll plan a nice happy Hanukkah, hum?”

Willow nodded, burying her face in the crook of his neck, her arms going around him, holding on tightly. Even though Spike was the cause of her tears, he was the only one from whom she could draw comfort, and she hated him for that more than anything else.

Chapter Text

Alone in his room with Barry Manilow playing in the background, Angel tried to lose himself in his drawing. It was Christmas, Angel's least favourite time of the year. At Christmas his guilt was at an all time high. Angelus had been particularly active during the festive season, nothing had delighted him more than to slaughter the innocent as they sang carols or danced gaily at parties, or Angelus' personal favourite; attended midnight mass on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.

He could not recall the faces of those he had killed and names were nigh on impossible. It made little difference to Angelus who his victim was, money and status didn't enter into it; peasant or aristocrat Angelus treated them all the same. They were all food and entertainment to him.

Once his soul had been returned to him Angel had found Christmas to be the loneliest time of the year. He wasn't one for people and friends, but during Christmas he felt his aloneness that much more keenly. Although he never sought out company, he didn't deserve comfort and friendliness, not when he had caused so much pain and suffering.

Just because he now ran a detective agency and did in fact have friends, Angel saw no reason to break with tradition. He had still done all those terrible things and he kept to himself during Christmas Day to reflect and repent in his own way. His wishes had been met with fierce hostility but in the end Angel had his own way. They didn't want his dark and gloomy mood spoiling their day any more than he wanted to spoil it for them.

They were all downstairs now, enjoying themselves; Wes, Gunn, Fred, Cordy, Lorne and Willow.

Willow had come to L.A to get away from the Hellmouth. She was using for too much magic, at least that was what Giles had said to Wesley when he had asked if Willow could visit for a short while. Angel had seen no reason why Willow shouldn't come to L.A. It would give him the chance to help her as she had helped him by giving him back his soul.

What had been a good idea in theory had not turned out that way in practice. Willow had only been under his roof a matter of weeks before Angel found himself watching her, seeking her out, finding any reason under the sun to spend time with her.

Willow was kind and gentle and understanding. She was his friend. And how Angel loathed that word. He'd rather she was in his bed. Warm. Naked. Laughing. He knew that couldn't happen what with the loop hole in his curse; but it didn't stop him yearning for it. Sometimes when they were together Angel had the strangest feeling Willow felt the same way about him, but he could just want it so much he was reading too much into things. He never said anything to her, he worried giving voice to his feelings would in fact drive them apart rather than bring them closer together, and he couldn't bear the thought of Willow hating him.

There was a light tap on his door announcing Willow's arrival. She smiled at him and came into the room. "I know you don't want to be disturbed, but I've got something for you. Something I think you'll like."

She sat beside him on the sofa and handed him a long, slim box with a red bow stuck on top of it.

"Oh," Angel looked uncomfortable. "You didn't have to.  I didn't get anyone anything. Christmas isn't really my time of year and I..."

Willow waved his excuses aside. "I didn't spend any money on it." She assured him. "Just open it, Angel."

He did as he was bidden and removed a piece of paper covered with Willow's neat hand writing. He read it and blinked. He read it again, but he wasn't hallucinating. "Is this ....?" He had to ask, Angel could hardly believe it.

Willow nodded, beaming. "A way to anchor your soul. Yes. You can be happy, Angel and you never have to worry about losing your soul again."

Excitement and gratitude kicked away any common sense he might have. Angel caught her shoulders and drew her to him as his head lowered. Their lips met in a blinding flash of need so intense it seemed to swallow both of them in its angry vortex. Her lips answered his raw plea as he plundered her mouth. Desire burst through him. Feelings and sensations swept over him in long, elegant waves of arousal that wound through him, warming him. The way Willow responded to him told Angel she wanted him too. It was almost too much to hope for that he could have everything he wanted.

When he finally released her, Willow panted for breath. "Oh, I didn't intend for this to happen."

Angel smiled. "That might be better than hearing you say you can fix my soul."

She looked confused. "What? That I didn't intend to...." her hand passed back and forth between them.

His smile deepened as he caught her chin between his fingers. "No," he said softly. "That you knew it would happen. I was afraid I was the only one feeling it."

"I tried not to."

"So did I."

"It didn't work," Willow said ruefully.

"No it didn't. You are going to stay, aren't you?" Angel pressed. He'd damn well go to Sunnydale after her if she did leave.

"Yes," Willow said softly. "I'll stay with you, Angel."

He kissed her again, drawing her into the circle of his arms. Maybe Christmas really was the most wonderful time of the year.

Chapter Text

She wore green because she knew he liked her in green. Spike liked Willow in anything, or in nothing at all, that was even better. His hand slid down her back to rest at the base of her spine, thumb rubbing slowly back and forth.

Running his hands up her sides and into her hair, he carefully unwound the ribbon to let her hair fall loose. His fingers curled in the long tresses, holding her to him as she kissed him; long, slow, sweet kisses. Spike made a soft sound of appreciation as she drew back from the kiss to catch her breath and bit lightly on his lower lip.

Warm hands slid over his bare chest and Spike’s muscles twitched in response. Willow, he had discovered, was very good at getting him out of his clothes. She’d already divested him of his t-shirt and boots, now all that was left was his jeans. Ah, there went her fingers, skipping over his abdomen to his belt buckle.

She stood to get rid of his jeans and Spike stretched out on the bed, noting how her eyes went to his cock, full and heavy against his belly.

Willow pouted teasingly. “You didn’t compliment my dress, Spike.”

“Didn’t I?” He made a mock horrified face. “How remiss of me. You my love are beautiful in that dress. You’re beautiful in everythin’ you wear and, eveythin’ you don’t wear.”

She didn't reply, simply smiled at him and Spike's eyes gleamed wickedly as her dress inched up her legs. He licked his lower lip, the anticipation of seeing his girl in all her naked glory causing the blood to rush through his veins.

Spike groaned; she did not take off the dress but slid her hands beneath it and removed her underwear. Hoisting the dress just above her knee Willow climbed onto the bed, straddling is waist, her hand smoothing lightly along his cock. Spike groaned again.

Taking his hands in hers, Willow kissed his fingers, plucking the green ribbon from between them and laying his hands on his chest a thoughtful look crossing her face. Slowly she wound the wide velvet ribbon round one wrist and then the other, tying the ends in a neat bow. She looked up at him suddenly and Spike was caught by those delicious green eyes. Every time she wore green her eyes were emphasised and Spike loved her eyes; soft, intelligent, loving.

"Well now," his tongue rolled behind his teeth. "What 'ave we got 'ere?"

Colour washed into her cheeks and she bent to kiss him; her lips warm and hungry. Lifting his arms she settled them above his head. The ribbon would not hold him but Spike knew it wasn't meant to. Willow was telling him without words that she was curious and open to a new experience. She still found it awkward to talk about sex and had devised little ways of prompting him in the right direction. A little thrill washed through Spike, tying him down was one small step away from him tying her down and then he'd have her completely at his mercy. The predator in him surged to life at the endless possibilities.

The fingers of her one hand twined with his as she used him for leverage, her other hand wrapping around his cock, guiding him inside her. Willow gasped and a strangled sound left Spike's throat when she sank down on him.

Her hips moved slowly and soon Spike found himself panting; cheated of watching his cock fill her, going crazy with the want of seeing her hips rock and her pale, bare flesh glow like rich cream as passion filled her and her back arched, driving him even deeper inside her.

Willow's eyes met his again and Spike was suddenly aware of so many things; the pleasure in those green depths, the wet warmth surrounding his cock, the frantic beat of her heart, the way her hand gripped his tightly as her body lost control and more than anything; the velvet of the green ribbon rubbing against his bound wrists.

Chapter Text

“Spike my boy!” Angelus bellowed strolling into the mansion he had commandeered on Crawford Street. His shoes clacked on the tiles, interspersed with the squeaking sound of scuffing rubber as the sneakered feet of his latest victim dragged helplessly behind him. “Spike! Where are you?”

A muffled curse came from the direction of the garden, Angelus headed outside and found Spike had the wheel of his chair caught between two flagstones. He spent an enjoyable moment watching Spike struggle; Angelus took pleasure in observing weakness in all its amusing forms.

“Would you like a little help?”

“Sod off!” Spike snapped, Angelus’ sweet tone only served to irritate him even more. He gave the wheelchair a particularly vicious jerk allowing it to roll free.

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to me when I’ve brought you such a lovely treat?”

Spike had been so busy fuming that his wheel had become stuck in front of Angelus, highlighting his complete uselessness, as if Angelus needed reminding, that he hadn’t at first noticed the rampant heart beat. He watched curiously as Angelus tugged a girl forward, her long red hair falling into her eyes, her breath coming in short sharp pants; fear filling the air.

“She’s the Slayer’s pal, ain’t she?”

“Uh huh.” He tugged her closer, pinning her back to his chest. “This is Willow Rosenberg. Willow,” he stroked her cheek with cool knuckles. “Meet Spike.”

“What’s she doin’ here?”

“She’s for you, dear boy.” Angelus grinned as Willow shuddered in his arms, the harshness of her breathing rattling in her chest as the implication sunk in.

“Wonderful,” Spike scowled. “Just what am I supposed to do to her in this bloody thing?”

Angelus chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got it all wrong, Spike. It’s not what you’re going to do to her. It’s what she’s going to do for you. Willow here has the inordinate desire to help people,” Angelus twirled a strand of red hair around his finger. “And she’s going to help you.”

“Oh yes,” Spike drawled, “I can see she’s just itchin’ to help me out.”

“Of course she’ll help you,” Angelus assured him. “Willow’s a good girl, aren’t you, Willow?” He pinched her cheek in a parody of affection, causing Willow to wince. “Good girls always help those in need. And let’s face it boy, right now, there’s no-one in more need than you.”

Spike’s scowl deepened, but he was intrigued. “How’s she meant to help me?”

Willow could hardly believe this was happening. Not only had she been kidnapped by Angelus and right off Buffy’s doorstep no less, but now they were talking about her as if she wasn’t trapped in Angelus’ arms feeling as though she might pass out with fear. She had assumed Angelus would kill her and send little bits of her back to Buffy with a bunch of roses or something equally horrifying; but as she listened to them talking blind panic consumed her, how was she supposed to help Spike?

Until she had seen him Willow had been unaware vampires could end up in a wheelchair and had no knowledge of vampire healing to even know where to begin to assist him.

“Ah, Spike,” Angelus chuckled. “You’re just as blind as everyone else in her orbit. You don’t realise what we’ve got here.”

“Do enlighten me.”

“Little Willow can do magic, can’t you sweetheart?”

Willow wasn’t sure whether Angelus expected her to answer or not, but she found she couldn’t. So acute was her terror her throat had closed up and words were just impossible to form. Did Angelus expect her to perform some sort of healing spell on Spike? She couldn’t, she didn’t know any spells. The only thing she could really do was float a pencil and Willow knew without being told that these two vampires wouldn’t find that as interesting as Buffy did.

“Don’t get excited,” Angelus said, seeing the hopeful look on Spike’s face. “She’s not going to magic you out of that chair. She’s not that good.”

Willow was not only petrified but completely confused. If Angelus wasn’t expecting her to cast a spell, how did he expect her to help Spike?

“Then what bloody use is she?” Spike raged. “I can’t play with her an’ you bloody well know it. If her magic isn’t strong enough to get me out of this damn chair why’s she even here?”

“She’s a witch, Spike,” Angelus spoke softly, his fingers running along Willow’s arm. “She’s got magic in her blood. In her sweet, innocent, virgin’s blood.”

Comprehension dawned and Spike’s fingers itched to get a hold of the girl, his fangs aching to bury themselves in the soft curve of her neck. Magic and innocence all in one; her blood would be sweet and strong and it would heal him quicker than any other blood. He’d be back to his old self in half the time with his own little witch on tap.

Ice water gathered at the base of Willow’s neck, a tremor working its way through her limbs. Spike was going to drain her dry to aid in his recovery. Her upcoming death was really no more or less than what she had imagined, and at least with Spike it would be quick; but hearing them talk about her blood this way had bile burning the back of her throat. Angelus was behaving as though he were offering Spike a nice cold beer.

This was her life they were talking about extinguishing as though it were nothing. She’d had plans and dreams, not that Angelus or Spike would worry about any of that. She was nothing more to them than a snack pack was to Xander. It was just convenient for Angelus that the way to heal Spike was also the way to hurt Buffy, for Willow was under no illusions her dry husk of a body would be delivered to Buffy’s doorstep.

Willow was pulled from her thoughts by Spike’s impatient voice.

“Give her to me.” Spike reached out expectantly.

Angelus chuckled. “Always so impatient. I’d have thought a poet like you would have at least paused long enough to admire the beauty of my gift.”

“It’s my legs I got trouble with,” Spike snapped. “There’s bugger all wrong with my eyes. I can see her right enough. Now give her to me.”

“Magical virgin’s blood,” Angelus mused quietly. “All beautifully wrapped in soft pale skin,” he stroked Willow’s throat lightly. “And silky red hair,” his fingers sifted through the loose tresses, watching as the fine strands curled around his hand. “And deep green eyes crying tears of pain and misery.”

“You give the best gifts,” Spike agreed dryly, already bored with Angelus and his nonsense.

Clamping a hand to the back of Willow’s neck, Angelus gave her a sudden hard shove. “Enjoy, Spike.”

Willow stumbled forward and fell straight into Spike’s lap. She jerked backwards so sharply Spike had to react quickly to avoid her head butting him in the face. He caught her easily in his arms, the strength may temporarily have left his legs, but his arms were still strong. She squirmed about in his lap and Spike thought it a shame he couldn’t enjoy it as he should.

“Please.” She whispered, her voice cracking as the tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Kill you?” Surprise coloured Spike’s voice. “I’m not gonna kill you, you silly bint.”

“B… but to heal…” Willow stammered uncertainly. Nothing made sense to her at all. If her blood was the key to Spike’s road to recovery then why wouldn’t he kill her? It was clear he was anxious to get out of the wheelchair.

Spike laughed softly and Angelus roared delightedly.

“My dear innocent,” Spike crooned, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Is that what you thought? No love, if I’m gonna recover I can’t drink you all at once, it doesn’t work like that. You’re blood is to me what medicine is to you. I’ll need a little bit every day.”

“Every….” The ramifications were all too clear and Willow’s eyes went wide with dismay, the tears falling faster, harder. Spike intended to keep her as his own person first aid kit. The idea of having his fangs in her throat every day sent her knees weak with horror; and what happened when she outlived her usefulness? He’d finish her off and toss her aside without a seconds thought.

“They’re so cute when they’re crying and helpless,” Angelus commented with a smile.

“Uh huh,” Spike agreed. Willow flinched when his tongue touched her cheek, licking at the tears. “Not as sweet as your blood will be, but delicious in their own way.” He nuzzled her neck, a smirk curling his lips as his eyes met Angelus’. “I think I’ll want another taste of your tears, pet.”

Willow broke, all the ways in which Spike could bring her to tears flashing through her head. She could feel his hand stroking her hair and her back. Soothing her. Mocking her.

“I wanna get her inside. The sooner we get on with it the sooner I’m on my feet again. Come on, give us a push, I’ve got my arms full ‘ere.”

Angelus rolled his eyes but took hold of the handles of the wheelchair. “Bring you a gift and I still have to push you around. Where’s Dru when you need her?”

Willow felt the wheelchair move beneath her, rolling them into the house. They ended up in a bedroom, Willow assumed it to be Spike's. Her heart started to hammer so wildly she thought it just might escape her chest. Spike's hand running through her hair didn't help matters, it frightened her more than soothed her.

Bringing her hair over her shoulder, Spike gazed almost lovingly at the gentle curve of her neck. He breathed deeply, taking her scent right down to his core and lowered his face into her neck. She was ramrod straight in his arms, stiffer than a starched shirt; but it didn't occur to Spike to tell her that it might hurt less if she just relaxed.

Willow actually heard the shifting of muscle and bone as Spike's human face melted away and the demon came forward. Propped in the doorway Angelus watched gleefully as Willow's eyes went wide, her lips parted and she screamed as Spike's fangs sank into her neck like a hot knife through butter.

Her blood burst into Spike's mouth like a ripe strawberry and he feasted heartily, her scream resonating through his bones a delightful bonus. She was delicious as Spike knew she would be and he lost himself in her. Feeding from her every day was going to make the damn wheelchair just about bearable.

Angelus really did give the best gifts.

Chapter Text

Spike’s fingers moved quickly over the console, his eyes glued to the little animated man running across his screen firing at the zombies. He quite liked computer games, the gorier the better. He might have a soul now but he was still a vampire.

His little man died and Spike scowled. He’d rather hoped to level up but Angel had to ruin everything as usual.

Spike still couldn’t quite believe it had happened. He couldn’t work out why it had happened either and he was left feeling puzzled and nostalgic and lonely. Damn Angel all to hell anyway! Just because he loved a good brood and was never happier than when he was miserable didn’t mean the rest of the world felt the same. He didn’t feel the same. He was happy to… well, be happy.

He’d left Wolfram and Hart after it happened, glad of the disturbance in the foyer as Gunn tried to deal with a difficult client and Angel had been forced to assist. Who knew where they would have ended up otherwise.

Spike still couldn’t get his head around it. Angel, Mr Tall Dark and Brooding, had kissed him!

It had come out of nowhere and completely blindsided him. One minute he and Angel had been arguing about Christmas and how Angel needed to lighten up, and the next thing Spike knew Angel’s hands were on his shoulders and Angel’s lips were on his and Angel’s tongue was stroking his and Angel’s body was pressed against his, and Angel’s cock was stirring and his…. Spike clamped down on that train of thought. The past was best left where it was, in the past.

A knock came at the door and Spike threw the console on the sofa as he got up. He could hear no breathing or heartbeat on the other side of the door, so he used the peephole, a low silent groan vibrating through him when he saw Angel standing in the hallway.

He dithered, but curiosity got the better of him, so Spike opened the door. “What?”

Angel wasn’t surprised by the less than courteous greeting. “Hello to you too, Spike.”

Spike left the door open and went to the fridge; alcohol was going to be needed if he had to deal with Angel. “Don’t suppose you want one? Be a mite to merry for you, I suppose.”

“I’ll have one.” Angel closed the door, looking around the small apartment, searching for some sign that Spike called it home. There was none. It wasn’t homey any more than his more spacious living quarters at Wolfram and Hart.

Spike opened the beer bottles and handed one to Angel, watching him warily as Angel sank down on the sofa, glancing at the TV to see what Spike had been doing prior to his arrival.

Why had Angel kissed him? The thought had been churning at the forefront of Spike’s mind since Angel’s lips touched his. How dare he act as if they were friends. How dare Angel awaken memories best left deeply buried. Angel’s kiss had burned into Spike’s psyche and he fervently wished it hadn’t. He wanted nothing more to do with Angel.

“You kissed me.”

Oh good one mate, Spike thought crossly. Just the way to prove Angel hadn’t affected him one iota, bring it up!

“Yeah,” Angel looked uncomfortable.

Although Angel offered no excuse, Spike noticed he didn’t apologise for it either. Now things really made no sense. He’d assumed Angel was here to beg forgiveness in a way only Angel could.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Angel began.

“Well I’m stayin’ so you can sod off!” Spike snapped.

Angel looked annoyed. “I didn’t mean L.A. I meant you shouldn’t be here,” Angel waved his arm in a circle. “You shouldn’t be on your own, Spike.”

“Nothin’ much to do about that,” Spike said, taking a swig of his beer.

“Well, there is,” Angel said slowly. “You could come and stay with me.”

Spike’s eyebrows shot so far up his forehead they almost disappeared into his hairline. “You want me to live with you? After one bloody kiss? Next thing you’ll wanna get married.”

Angel rolled his eyes, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The kiss… it’s all part of the same thing, Spike. We got along alright when we lived together before, didn’t we? For the most part I mean. We should try it out. Be friends.”

Spike grinned. “How do I know you’re not goin’ ta ravish me in my sleep?”

“Because you aren’t that lucky,” Angel retorted.

He considered Angel for a moment or two. “What’s this really about? First you kiss me an’ now you want us to move in together. What’s goin’ on in that overly gelled head of yours?”

“It’s the holidays,” Angel said, a sulky look on his face at being forced to explain himself. “Another Christmas morning in a quiet house. I just thought it would be nice if you were there. If there’s one thing you aren’t, it’s quiet.”

Realisation hit him. “You’re lonely.”

“So are you,” Angel shot back. “And the holiday’s are for family and whether we like it or not, we’re the only family the other has left.”

“I’m not a bloody pet you can pick up an’ take home with you just so that you got somethin’ else in the house besides you an’ your bloody dark an’ gloomy thoughts.” He folded his arms across his chest, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “A Spike is for life, not just for Christmas.”

“For life?” Angel looked dubious; although a little thrill of excitement raced through him. When he had kissed Spike, Angel figured he’d at least have Spike for one moment if he couldn’t have him completely. Now it seemed taking a chance had paid off tenfold.

“Oh,” Spike waved his hand dismissively. “It’ll fly by.”

Angel grinned. “Either that or it’ll seem like eternity.”

Chapter Text

Willow stirred when the bedroom door opened. She cracked an eye open and saw Angel come into the room a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. She yawned, sitting up slowly.

"You're awake."

"Uh huh," she yawned again

"Here, I brought you some water."

"Thank you." She took the offered glass.

Willow's cheeks coloured when Angel took off his jeans and knelt beside her on the bed. She drank deeply from the glass, avoiding him, even though she had already seen and touched every part of him. Nakedness made her uncomfortable, but it seemed really stupid to ask Angel if he would put his pants back on; she'd already seen him naked. Besides, maybe Angel was used to being naked, this was his room, maybe he walked around naked in it. Maybe he slept naked. And she needed to stop thinking of naked Angel!

She was by far the worst friend in the world, but thinking about that didn't appeal to Willow either. There was plenty of time to worry about Buffy later.

It was a bit ridiculous not to look at him, so Willow fixed her eyes on Angel's face. She smiled and leant over to swipe a small smear of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Missed a bit."

He smiled, sucking her thumb into his mouth. "Thanks. How's your head? Cordelia's eggnog was rather strong."

"A bit fuzzy," Willow admitted. "But not so bad. Alcohol is not good for you," she muttered taking another sip of water. "I should know better, especially after..." she paused, mentioning Buffy was so not a good idea right now. Not when she was lying naked in Angel's bed. Not when she had spent all night making love with him.

"A good girl wouldn't have drunk so much," he agreed. "Guess that makes you a naughty little witch."

Willow smiled, putting the glass on the bedside table. "I guess so."

"You know what happens to naughty girls, don't you?" Puzzled eyes looked up at him, but before Willow had a chance to fully consider his words, Angel took hold of her and hauled her across his knees. "They get spanked."

Willow gave a cry of shocked surprise when Angel's hand collided with her bare behind. Astonishment rendered her speechless when his hand came down again. She had never been spanked before and lying across his lap like this was just plain humiliating, but when his hand came down for a third time the angle of slap against her bare skin caused her hips to move and her clit to rub teasingly against his thigh; it was not unpleasant.

"Count for me. From the beginning."

His hand came down again, and again her hips moved forward, rubbing her clit against his leg. "One."

"Good girl."

Another collision of his palm against her flesh which was pinking nicely. He smoothed the rounded firmness of her behind, riding the curve down the back of her thighs and coaxing her legs apart. He didn't touch her, just lightly stroked her inner thigh for a moment before resuming the spanking.

That's how it went, a spank to her behind, never hitting the same spot successively, which forced her hips to rub against him and he gave a caress to her inner thigh. By the time he reached seven Willow was panting, desperate for more. There was a fleeting brush of his fingers between her legs and Willow was startled to discover just how wet she was.

"Eight," she breathed, a shudder running through her.

His hand ran up her back, curling around to cup her breast, passing gentle fingers over her nipple while his palm came down again. Willow whimpered, rubbing herself against his thigh searching for the perfect amount of friction she needed to push her over the edge.

At the count of ten, he took her nipple between thumb and forefinger, twisting hard just as his fingers breached her and she cried out, her hips jerking against his fingers. She clenched around him, panting, unsure as to what she had just experienced. He had hurt her, and yet, in a weird way, she had liked it; the combination of pleasure and pain.

As she lay there panting and confused, he shifted from beneath her. Large hand framed her hips, thumbs stroking the crease where her butt met her thighs and then he gripped her tightly pushing her knees up so forcefully Willow had to bend her elbows and put her weight on her hands to stop herself falling off the edge of the bed.

She was just about to tell Angel she didn't find that funny at all; but a moan passed her lips instead as she felt him inside her. He filled her, stretching her still, even after last night. There was a tremor in her limbs as he moved in deep and slid out, his pace increasing, each thrust more intense than the last.

He withdrew slowly and then thrust in hard and deep just as his fingers flickered over her clit, causing her to make a confused mewling sound. Running a hand up her stomach he cupped her breast, palm rotating over her nipple and Willow let out a panting moan, the heat of unbearable arousal washing over her.

Hot wet flesh tightened around him and he groaned, squeezing her breast hard as he pushed into her again; dulling pain with pleasure. Withdrawing, he breathed in the scent of hot, smouldering sex, inserting his fingers inside her, stroking once, twice and then retreating.

Willow was almost blind with lust, needing something to end the bone-deep ache of balancing on the knife edge of an orgasm. She could feel the head of his cock brush against her, with a little whimper she tried to push back onto him, but his hand held her firmly in place. Then she felt the wet tips of his finger between her cheeks and her lips parted as her eyes widened in shock, but there was no time to stop him, those fingers breached her, forcing her body to stretch to accommodate the unfamiliar intrusion and she squealed, a confused cry of need following as his cock plunged back between her legs.

His free hand moved over her hip, cupping her between her legs, fingers tickling her clit as he pushed into her, filling her as her body clenched and squeezed around his cock and fingers while she gasped for breath, panting and whimpering incoherently her skin slick with sweat.

Willow trembled, sure her arms would give out soon and she begged for release. "Please. Oh please!"

His hands released her, one grasping her hip and the other clamping down on the back of her neck, forcing her head down to the bed and her hips to pike upwards, allowing him to penetrate her as deep as it was possible to go.

She cried out, satisfied sounds filling the room as he took her hard and even harder, fast and even faster until it became a brutal, almost violent taking; and still she moaned, her fingers tugging at the rumpled bedclothes and her toes curling.

He gave her a spare spank and Willow responded with a pitiful cry, desperate to fall over the edge of the precipice. He laughed wickedly, "I was right, you really are cute when you're helpless."

Everything happened at once; he hit bottom in her, pressing down on her clit as realisation washed over her and she cried his name on a half sob. "Angelus!"

Angelus came with a loud roar, his hips jerking, emptying himself inside her. Gathering her limp body in his arms, Angelus brought her back flush to his chest, her knees straddling his thighs and his lips grazing her ear.

"That's right. You should have stayed the good girl, Willow. Being bad always has consequences. The lovely Buffy's your best friend, and yet that didn't stop you dropping your knickers and spreading your legs for the love of her life; and just like her, you screwed the soul right out of him." Tucking her hair behind her ear he nuzzled her cheek gently. "But unlike her, it wasn't enough for you, was it? You, my wild, wanton, witch; you love being fucked by a demon."

Body still flushed from the heat of her orgasm, Willow shivered, her blood running cold.

"All the sweetness of first love with your musician. All the vapid tenderness visited on you by the soul last night wasn't enough for you," Angelus laughed softly. "You loved being fucked, didn't you? You loved being taken from behind like an animal. You loved being fucked on all fours like a bitch in heat. It took the demon to make you come so hard and so long you soaked the bed and nearly squeezed my cock off."

He licked her neck, tasting the salt and desire on her skin. "You brought me back, I owed you one for that, and it was a good one. Best fuck I've had in a long time."

"Please," she whispered, tears beginning to fall.

"Please what?" he licked the tears from her cheeks. "Please don't kill you? Or maybe it's please kill you, so you don't have to live with the knowledge that the blood you wiped from my mouth earlier belonged to Cordelia or Wes, or Gunn or Fred."

She was trembling almost uncontrollably, tears burning her eyes and she shook her head slowly.

"Yes," Angelus said conversationally. "They're all dead, no-one to come to save you. But let's be honest, you wouldn't really want anyone to come bursting through the door, would you? We've only just begun."

A rush of air left her when the bulk of two fingers suddenly pushed inside her.

"I won't kill you," he murmured against her ear, his fingers sliding in and out of her body, thumb rotating against her clit. "Not now, not even when we're done. You'll live with it. All the debauchery, every moan and plea and scream of ecstasy; you'll live with it all, knowing how hot and wet you get from fucking a deprave demon. Knowing you've come again and again like you never did before with my name on your lips and my cock inside you."

A horrified sound choked her and Willow closed her eyes in distress. She should never have drunk the eggnog. She should never have kissed Angel and she certainly should never have gone to bed with him; but just for an instant, for once in her life Willow had wanted to feel as though she were every bit as desirable as Buffy was.

It wasn't just she who had paid for her vanity; Cordeila, Wesley, Fred and Gunn had paid too and before Angelus was done, so would countless others. She had never, not in her wildest fantasy's thought she would cause Angel to lose his soul.

Willow cried quietly, humiliation creeping up her neck and into her face as her inner muscles twitched around Angelus' fingers. If everything he said about her was true Willow wasn't sure how she would be able to look at herself in the mirror.

Angelus chuckled again and pinched her cheek. "You truly are cute when you're helpless." Removing his fingers from between her legs he lifted her hips and guided her down to engulf his cock. To her shame, he slid into her easily, she was so wet already.

He groaned, his head falling back and his eyes closing to absorb the heat of her. Guiding the rocking motion of her hips he pushed up deeper inside her, grinning when Willow let out an involuntary moan. "That's it, enjoy it all. It's my Christmas gift to you. The least I can do after the gift of freedom you gave me. Now, don't forget you can be as loud as you like, there's no-one here to mind, everyone's dead."

He laughed at the sound of distress she made. "Merry Christmas, darling. It's going to be good one this year." He thrust up inside her. "I can feel it."

Chapter Text

He had cajoled her into one dance and Willow had allowed herself to be persuaded. It had to be better than sitting in the corner by herself, alone and miserable. Everywhere she looked there were people enjoying themselves, couples huddled together sharing secrets and kisses. Everything always seemed amplified during the holiday season.

She was on the outside looking in. It seemed she was always on the outside looking in. Nobody had wanted her until Oz came along, and he had left. Her love hadn't been enough for him. Just as she had never been enough to keep her parents home.

When Spike had twirled her into his arms on the dance floor he had smiled, a smile that was nearly feral, his blue eyes sharp as a blade, cutting deep into her and Willow knew Spike saw her. He really saw her. In that moment Willow knew that Spike saw her more deeply, more fully than anyone else ever had.

Perhaps then, it wasn't so strange that she found some small measure of comfort in Spike's arms.

She did find the tingling beneath her skin strange. That shouldn't be happening. But it had been so long since she had felt another body brush her own, and Spike's body, hard and strong and undoubtedly male filled that void, if only for a moment.

His hips swayed with hers as they moved, his leg sliding between hers to guide her into the turns. For an instant her thighs tightened around his, cradling him close before releasing him.

Her one arm looped over his shoulder while he held her other hand against his chest, his fingers curled around hers. Willow barely noticed the absence of a heart beat beneath their joined hands, but she was aware of Spike. Just as she was aware of his hand on her waist, thumb moving lightly back and forth at the base of her spine.

Spike's nose touched to her temple, breathing her in and he angled his neck so that his throat pressed to hers and he could feel the rapid beat of her pulse skittering against his own skin as he felt her heart thump against his chest. For one glorious moment it was as though he were alive again.

His leg passed between hers again and Willow looked up. She couldn't understand what was happening. This so wasn't dancing. She knew dancing, she danced a lot and it had never been anything like this. She searched his face for answers she could not find. "What is this?"

Spike's eyes met hers. "Seduction."

A thrill ran through her followed quickly by anger that he would not only play her, but have the audacity to tell her so to her face. "Do you think I'm stupid? I'd never allow you to seduce me."

Stepping back, Willow turned and stormed from The Bronze. He had taken advantage of her loneliness in true demonic style and she had let it happen. Humiliation roared through her. He had probably been enjoying every second of it, laughing at her, thinking how pathetic she was that she would allow herself to be fooled by him.

Spike caught up with her outside, grabbing her arm, forcing her to face him. "The funny thing about seduction, love is that you don't allow it, but it gets inside of you anyway. It shows you all the glitterin' possibilities and you're powerless to do anythin' other than succumb. You don't decide to allow it. Seduction just is."

Before she had a chance to consider this, Spike took hold of her shoulders and lowered his mouth to hers. Willow jerked in surprise, but her eyes drifted shut as his lips caressed hers.

She let out a little moan and Spike's arms went around her, drawing her closer, deepening the kiss. His tongue dipped inside her, sweeping her mouth, tasting every inch of her with a thoroughness that sent Willow's head reeling.

He kissed her harder, deeper; she was claimed. Conquered. Invaded

She was gasping when he finally released her.

His voice dropped to an intimate whisper that skimmed across her skin and raised goose flesh. "Can't say I've been sure if I really wanted to seduce you or frighten you away. But now I know. This is your last chance, pet. Turn away from me now. Tell me to go to hell. Tell me you’ll never lower yourself to touch a monster like me."

She couldn't find her voice to reply, she wasn't sure what words to use anyway, so Willow kissed him instead. Perhaps it wasn't the smart thing to do, but Willow was past being smart. Now she was all about want, and she wanted Spike.

XXX

It was some time later when they arrived at Giles apartment. Only Giles and Buffy were there and Buffy looked up as they came through the door.

"Hi, Wills. You'll never believe it. Look," she held up a catalogue and waved it in the air. "Giles is doing all his Christmas shopping by catalogue. You're missing out on all the festive fun doing it this way," she said, turning back to Giles. "You should be out there, you know, shopping in an actual shop."

"People run mad this time of year," Giles said with a sniff. "And if festive fun means being pushed and shoved by strangers and spending forty minutes standing in a queue you can keep it."

"Grouch," Buffy said good naturedly. "So, Wills, what have you been doing?"

"Kissing Spike."

"Good Lord!" Giles sank down in the nearest chair, his tea cup rattling in its saucer.

Buffy blinked, an uncertain look crossing her face. "I'm sorry, I think I slipped into bizzaro land for a minute. It sounded like you just said you had been kissing Spike."

"That is what I said." Willow took off her coat and hung it up to give herself some breathing space.

Spike was astounded. Not that he wasn't pleased Willow didn't feel the need to hide him away like a dirty little secret, but he hadn't expected this. He watched the Slayer carefully, poised to get out of her way and fast if she chose hit first and listen later.

"Why?"

One tiny word and the Slayer managed to fill it with so much disbelief and distain. Spike bristled, anger washing through him. Quite clearly the Slayer found him lacking in all departments and figured he was so far beneath her friend that the idea of Willow wanting to kiss him was utterly ludicrous.

"Because I like him and because I wanted to."

"Good Lord," Giles said again, clearly at a loss of anything else to say.

"Buffy," Willow began slowly. "Do you remember when Angel came back from Hell and you didn't tell us about it?"

Buffy frowned at the memory, thinking of Angel still hurt in ways she simply couldn't put into words. She nodded, "What about it?"

"Giles said that if you had thought you weren't doing anything wrong going to see him you wouldn't have kept it a secret. Well," Willow shrugged, her arms stretching wide. "I'm not keeping Spike a secret because I don't think I've done anything wrong."

Spike wanted to hug her, maybe kiss her a time or two. But he figured it wouldn't be wise to stretch his luck right now. Willow had the situation under control and it was best to let her deal with it.

"You didn't ask my permission to date Angel or Parker or Riley. Angel and Parker weren't great decisions, Buffy and maybe Spike won't be a great decision of mine, but he is my decision to make, not yours."

Buffy grit her teeth, it went against every instinct in her body not to lash out at Spike, not to scream at her best friend that this was the worst decision she could ever make. But Willow had allowed her to make her own decisions and Buffy knew it was the right thing to do to let Willow do the same.

Maybe it would be ok. Maybe it wouldn't be a disaster. And even though it was Spike and Buffy couldn't stand the sight of him, she hoped, for Willow's sake, that Spike was a better decision than Angel or Parker had been for her. She loved Willow more than she disliked Spike and she wouldn't want to see her best friend hurt.

"Fine," Buffy held up her hands in a sign of surrender. "You're right. It's your decision, Wills."

Willow beamed. "Oh good. I'm glad you said that, because I'm going to need you on my side when Xander finds out."

"Xander!" Buffy's eyes went wide. "Oh that is so not going to go well."

"You'll be there though, right?" Willow looked anxious.

"Wills, I'm the Slayer and your best friend, that entitles you to my full and complete protection against all things demonic." Buffy grinned, "But when it comes to Xander finding out about Spike, I'm running for the hills."

"Coward," Willow accused.

Buffy laughed and nodded. "Completely."

Spike flopped into the arm chair watching his girl as she continued her banter with the Slayer, a warm contented feeling settling over him. It was said that Christmas was a magical time of year filled with peace and faith and hope and Spike wasn't about to disagree, not when a little holiday magic had come his way

Willow had brought him out into the open and Spike felt that sense of peace you could only feel with someone you cared about. He had faith that things would work out for them and for the first time in a long time Spike had hope for his future.

"No more shopping for me until after Christmas," Willow said, and Spike realised the conversation had moved on. "Then we'll hit the mall for the sales."

"Oooh good idea," Buffy agreed. "You know, if we make it through December."

Willow's head tilted. "Huh?"

Buffy tapped her watch and grinned. "We're all supposed to meet here at nine tonight, remember. Xander's on his way."

Chapter Text

Spike was lounging in the arm chair watching TV when Angel strode into the bedroom. Spike glanced up, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown. "Can't you knock?"

"I want to talk."

Spike groaned. "Now? My program is just about to start."

"You'll want to hear this," Angel said, arms folding across his chest.

Curiosity aroused, Spike switched off the TV and sat up a little straighter in the chair. "What's up? You're lookin' extra broody today."

Angel felt extra broody today, but he still resented Spike pointing it out. Having this talk with Spike was the very last thing Angel wanted to do, but it had to be done. "It's about the current relationship we've found ourselves in."

Spike was immediately on red alert. If Peaches thought he was going to commandeer Willow for himself then he was sadly mistaken. Spike had no intention of slinking away with his tail between his legs and leaving the way clear for Angel. If Angel wanted to change the arrangements and keep Willow all to himself then Spike fully intended on fighting him every step of the way.

 Spike's shoulders bunched and his stomach knotted as a thought suddenly occurred to him. Was Angel here to tell him that he had already won? Had Willow decided Spike's love wasn't enough and Angel was the only one for her?

"I can't do it anymore, Spike."

Blinking, Spike stared at Angel for a long moment. It could have been fighting talk, but Angel sounded more defeated than anything. "What you on about?"

"Last night was it for me. I'm getting in too deep. I could lose my soul, Spike I can't let that happen."

When this whole thing between the three of them had started Spike knew Angel had relied on Spike's presence to keep him in check. They were demons and as such they were competitive, add in their own personal history and Angel's soul had been pretty safe and sound. Angel had believed true happiness would be out of reach with Spike in the mix, a part of him would always be busy trying to dominate Spike and come out as the alpha; it was just the demon's way.

Now it seemed something had happened that Angel had not planned for. "You're in love with her," Spike said quietly.

"There are things more important than love," Angel looked away for a moment. "Once before I made the choice to walk away, it was the right decision and walking away this time is the right decision too. There are too many lives at risk. I need to take a step back." He smiled slightly and rolled his shoulders, "Consider it my Christmas present to you."

Spike licked his bottom lip, his eyes darkening. "I'll enjoy unwrappin' her."

"I'm sure," Angel replied coldly. "I've spoken to Willow, she understands."

"Don't worry, Peaches." A smug smile curled Spike's lips. "She won't miss you."

Angel glowered, his fingers flexing at his sides. "I wouldn't want her to. She should be happy, even if I can't be."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Always the bloody martyr aren't you."

Irritated, Angel chose not to answer. Instead he pulled open the door, pausing before he left the room. "Happy Holidays, Spike."

"With you out of my bed it will be a Happy Holiday," Spike tucked his hands behind his head. "Think I'll just bask in that lovely thought for a while."

Letting the door slam behind him Angel stood in the hallway fuming for a few minutes. Spike was a sore loser and an even worse winner. Although, Spike hadn't exactly won, but Angel was willing to allow Spike to think differently. Angel hadn't expected to fall into bed with Willow and Spike, and he sure as hell hadn't expected the outcome of that relationship.

 It wasn't Willow who put his soul at risk; it was Spike.

Now Spike would spend even more of his time with Willow, proving his love and all those other soppy things Spike indulged in when it came to the woman he loved; which would leave Angel more or less by himself, but Angel was ok with that. The less he was around Spike the less he hurt. Angel could think of a hundred other ways to spend his time other than loving Spike when Spike did not love him.

Making his way downstairs to see what Wesley and the others were up to, Angel resigned himself to facing yet another lonely Christmas.

Chapter Text

Blue Christmas

The holiday season had come around again bring with it Christmas and Hanukah, but not for Willow Rosenberg the joyful anticipation of the season.

Anticipation no longer meant the same thing to Willow as it did to everyone else. There were no nerve endings tingling with excitement. There were no butterflies exploding to life in her tummy. She had the rapid heartbeat and shortness of breath; but it had nothing to do with exhilaration and everything to do with unbridled terror.

When a person had lived with the kind of anticipation Willow had endured, there was nothing thrilling about it anymore.

There was no way to shake the memories, they lived with her, lived in her and Willow had learnt to accept them even if she hadn't really dealt with them. They were a part of her now and there was nothing she could do to change it.

Whether she wanted to remember or not, Willow did remember. She remembered a lot. Her memories could burst to life at any given moment, wash over her and drag her back to when she had sat alone in a room huddled into a ball; waiting.

Sometimes the anticipation of what was to come was much worse than the experience; hardly ever the same experience twice. Waiting, Willow had learned, could drive a person to complete distraction and they had both used that trick to add to her misery.

Willow remembered vividly how her body would coil with terror, tension in every line of her as she heard the sound of feet in the hallway beyond her door. The anticipation was so acute she could almost taste it; who would come through the door tonight? Angelus or Spike.

One was no worse than the other, not in the grand scheme of things. They each had different methods, different styles; but ultimately they were the same, their goal was the same; torture.

She had always thought of torture as a physical thing and when it came to Angelus it usually was. He took pleasure in seeing her flinch, seeing her muscles twitch and strain beneath the skin as she anticipated where and when the next blow would land. When he realised she took so long to heal he had lost some of his enthusiasm for marking her and he turned to more interesting matters; her head.

Angelus enjoyed breaking her down and he had many ways in which to do it.

Sometimes Willow could still feel him; large cool hands on her skin touching and stroking, dark eyes sweeping her flesh seeing everything that was not his to see.

Sometimes she still heard his voice in her ear, pitched low, for her ears only in a parody of intimacy, spewing vile half truths as his body moved on top of her, behind her, beneath her, all around her. She heard his laugh, low and throaty as she came apart in his hands, and he reminded her that she liked this, that she liked being with a demon. She liked it when he was inside her, fucking her, making her scream.

Angelus had always confused her. If she hated him as much as she thought she did, surely nothing he could do would stir her body to respond the way it did?

If she hated him as much as she claimed to, would she still, in the dead of night, feel him inside her?

But it was not just Angelus who haunted her. Spike did too.

Where Angelus broke her down, Spike built her back up again.

Spike was different to Angelus, but no less cruel. That anxious state of anticipation she felt with Angelus didn't fade with Spike.

Spike didn't hit her with his fists or anything else that came to hand, that was Angelus' game. Spike's game was to fix her up. Spike was nice to her. Spike became her lover, as if she wanted him any more than she did Angelus.

He soothed her with soft words and gentle hands. Willow could still feel his hands caressing her skin, stroking her hair, touching what was not his to touch as though he had every right to put his hand between her legs.

Sometimes, when she least expected it, Willow felt the ghost of Spike's kiss cross her lips. Angelus put his mouth on her, but he did not kiss her, that was a cruelty subjected by Spike alone. And Spike could make her want that kiss. He could make the muscles in her stomach curl with anticipation of a kiss she didn't really want, but sort of did.

If she hated Spike as she maintained she did, would she miss the soft, husky voice murmuring endearments against her skin?

If she hated Spike as she insisted she did, would she wake with a cry in the middle of the night all wet between her legs, her inner muscles clenching around the phantom filling her?

Angelus was dead; Buffy had seen to that. But Spike was still out there somewhere, having the time of his unlife as Spike was want to do.

She gave a pretty good outward impersonation of a person moving on and living her life, but Willow was still stuck in that room, still a captive listening to the sound of footsteps coming closer, anticipation making her heart race and her vision blur as she tried to imagine what sort of night she was in for.

Angelus was still in her head.

Spike was always in every shadow.

Did he intend to show up again one day?

Willow didn't know the answer and a dreadful feeling of anticipation weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Chapter Text

Excitement thrummed through Spike, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he headed down the highway.

He had thought of her often since he had been forced to flee Sunnydale with Dru, leaving both Willow and Angelus behind.

Spike had been over it in his head, that last moment he had seen Angelus fighting with the Slayer and he had found himself wondering what had become of his brutal grandsire. Had the Slayer killed him? Had he escaped the Slayer? Had he killed her?

Was Angelus now the reigning King of the Hellmouth? Did he still have Willow with him?

Spike had hated the thought of Willow being with Angelus, of belonging solely to Angelus, of Angelus alone enjoying everything she had to offer. It bothered him so much he had ended up doing some detective work all the way from Brazil to try and find out the fate of Angelus and Willow.

He had not been overly upset to discover Angelus' demise. In fact, knowing Willow was alive and well in Sunnydale with no Angelus in sight only served to heighten Spike's good mood.

Willow invaded his mind often. He remembered the soft warmth of her body, her big, wet green eyes and her voice thick with desire and arousal as she whispered his name. There mere thought of her broken down and pleading for release was enough to excite him.

Spike had intended on starting a new chapter of his life in Brazil, just him and Dru; but Willow came between them as Angelus had done when he returned. Drusilla mumbled about how Spike was no longer hers and he could not find the words to argue with her.

Willow had been an enjoyable project, double the fun at first to share it with Angelus; it had been too long since they had shared things. Somehow she had become more than just a project to Spike. She had excited him in a way he had never felt before not even with Dru; it went deeper than sexual desire, it was more than mere emotion; it was bone deep.

In his own way he had broken her and Spike knew it. His comfort and tenderness designed to control and manipulate, to build a desire in her which he knew had worked. It had worked a little too well; Spike had ended up caught in his own trap.

Her cries and pleas echoed in his head. His fingers still burnt with the heat of her flesh. Her taste still lingered on his lips. And she was under his skin.

He missed her.

If he knew anything about manipulation, Spike knew that Willow missed him too.

After everything that had passed between them there would be no normal life for his little witch, she would always be on the outside of everything, lost to the world she had once known. There was no changing who you were. There was no going back, not for Willow, not for anyone.

That was why he was headed towards Sunnydale, to rescue her from a life of loneliness. He would be the only one who could bring any sense of stability and meaning to her life; she must be yearning for him without even knowing it.

Poor little mite.

He switched the radio on and Chris Rea came over the speakers singing Driving Home For Christmas. Spike took it as a sign and began to sing along, excitement zinging down his spine; going back to Willow he did rather feel that he was going home.

Chapter Text

The elevator dinged and Angel walked out into the foyer of Wolfram and Hart, heading to his office. He had a mountain of paper work to get through.

Outside his door was Harmony’s desk, she was in her usual place and smiled at him as she answered the phone. “Wolfram and Hart, have a Holly Jolly Christmas.”

Angel stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at her. He waited until she transferred the call. “What was that?”

“What’s what, bossy?”

Angel grit his teeth at the annoying nickname. “That thing you just said about Christmas.” No way was he repeating that in public.

“It’s the new Christmas greeting,” Harmony beamed. “Lorne says we need to be more festive and, well, he’s right. It wouldn’t hurt you to get into the Christmas spirit.” She held up her hand to forestall Angel’s argument as the phone rang again. “If you have a problem with it, speak to Lorne. He’s down stairs waiting for you by the way.” She scooped the phone up. “Wolfram and Hart, have a Holly Jolly Christmas.”

Angel scurried into his office. It was probably too much to hope that he could avoid Lorne indefinitely, but Angel was going to have a damn good try. Lorne loved to be happy and spread joy all around him, Christmas could have been made just for Lorne, and he was determined to bring festive cheer to all of his friends.

It wasn’t that Angel was adverse to festive cheer, he just liked his cheer to be…. Not so flashy. Subtle was a word Lorne had trouble understanding; strangely it was one of the many things Angel liked about Lorne; his ability to throw himself fully into whatever he was doing. It was an enviable quality for Angel who had trouble with most human interactions.

“Knew you’d be in ‘ere.”

Angel looked up as Spike strode through the door. “Go away, Spike.”

“Lorne sent me to get you. It’s time.”

“Go away, Spike.”

Spike folded his arms across his chest. “You might as well come down now. If you don’t, Lorne will only come up ‘ere an’ drag you out. Besides, everyone’s waitin’.”

It was at that moment the door opened and Lorne appeared. “There you are, Angel-cakes. Hurry up, it’s time for the photo and we can’t take it without you.”

“I don’t object to the photograph,” Angel said. “It’s a nice idea, we don’t have a photo of us all together. And I don’t object to the Christmas tree in the background either. It’s just …” he stood up, a firm look on his face. “I’m not wearing a Santa hat, Lorne.”

“Oh that,” Lorne waved his hand dismissively. “You don’t have to wear that.”

“You’re holding it right now!” Angel exclaimed, pointing at Lorne’s hand.

“That’s for me.” Spike said as Lorne placed it on his head, the tassel dangling over his shoulder. “The difference between you an’ me, Angel-cakes,” Spike said, his tongue swiping across his lower lip, “Is that I make this look good.”

Angel’s mouth went dry. He certainly couldn’t argue with that. The deep red velvet of the hat seemed to accentuate Spike’s pale skin, and damn it Spike had always looked good in fur and the hat of course had a white fur rim.

“Yes,” Angel said slowly, his eyes meeting Spike’s. “You’re quite the yuletide treat.”

“Here’s yours, Angel.” Lorne shoved a hat into Angel’s hands. “Spike thought you’d prefer the black one. It’s still a Santa hat and it does go better with your…” his hand moved up and down in front of Angel. “…Ensemble.”  He said at last. “We really need to talk about your wardrobe.” He clapped his hands together. “Now come on kiddie winkies, it’s picture time.”

Hat in hand, Angel followed Spike and Lorne down to the reception area where the office Christmas tree stood. Fred, Gunn and Wesley were all waiting for them. Shaking out the hat Angel opened it up to put it on and paused, an irritated look crossing his face as he glared at Spike. “It says Bah Hum Bug on it!”

“Well, yeah,” Spike said, the what-else-did-you-expect, clearly implied.

He appealed to Lorne. “Don’t you have another red one I could wear? If I’m in this everyone will think I’m…”

“Broody?” Spike supplied with a helpful smile.

“Of course I do,” Lorne assured him.

Lorne sent Spike a secret thumbs up and Spike winked. Lorne had wanted Angel in the hat, Spike knew how to get it done.

Once he had exchanged the black hat for the traditional red one, Angel took his place beside Spike.

“Hey,” Spike said suddenly. “Do you think I could get a separate photo of Captain Forehead in that hat? I’d like to post it to good old Xapper Harris for Christmas. He’ll wet himself laughin’.”

“You send this photo anywhere and it’ll be your chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” Angel warned.

Spike snorted. “Your hands aren’t gettin’ near my chestnuts.”

Angel smirked. “We’ll see.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Oooh Santa baby.”

Chapter Text

Angel was sitting up in bed reading when Spike and Willow came into the room. He barely glanced up, but he noticed the mischievous gleam in Spike’s eyes. Before he could ask just what Spike was up to, Willow spoke.

“What are you doing up here by yourself?”

“Just reading. Some of Spike’s favourites, actually.” He turned the book to face Spike. “Poe.”

Spike scowled. “Haven’t you got anythin’ better to do?”

Willow smiled and sat beside Angel on the bed. “Can we distract you?”

“You can, if you like.” Angel shot Spike a look. “He’s a pain in the ass no matter what he’s doing. Did you have a good time, Willow?”

“Oh yes,” Willow said. “I wish you’d have come with us though.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Why? He’d only suck all the fun out of the night and you’ve been lookin’ forward to the switchin’ on of the lights all week.”

Willow let out a little sigh, she was used to Angel and Spike needling each other every chance they got, but she much preferred it when they got along, which they could do when they wanted to. She liked them to do things together, all three of them, but Angel had passed on coming out to see Los Angeles all lit up for Christmas. She understood the festive season was hard for him and wanted to make it as easy as possible. It was a good thing none of them celebrated the holidays, she hadn’t participated in Hanukah for years and when it came to Christmas, Spike could take it or leave it. He enjoyed himself all year round; December was no different to Spike.

Spike grinned, coming to stand at the foot of the bed he gave Angel a long look. “Been busy broodin’ I suppose?”

“It’s called reflecting and repenting,” Angel corrected. “It’s just the time of year for it too.”

“Dull and depressin’. Wouldn’t expect anythin’ less from you. You’re nothin’ if not consistent, Peaches.”

“Shut it, Spike.”

Spike produced a small sprig of mistletoe from his pocket. Angel’s eyebrows drew together in confusion as he watched Spike twirl the leaves and white berries between his fingers. “Where’d you get that from?”

“Stole it.”

“You would.”

Swiping his tongue along his lower lip Spike tilted his head and caught Willow’s eye. “Let’s make Angel merry, baby. What do you say?”

She nodded, catching her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “I say that’s a good idea, Spike.”

"Got somethin' more interestin' for you than that book," Spike said, drawing Willow to him and tucking the mistletoe behind her ear. Turning Willow to face Angel, he began to undress her, lingering over it in a way that made Angel sit up straighter, following every move Spike's fingers made.

Undoing the buttons on her blouse Spike pushed it from her shoulders, rubbing his cheek against her hair. "Strawberries," he murmured. "You always smell like strawberries."

"You always smell like smoke and whiskey," she said, smoothing his cheek and kissing him lightly.

His hands flexed over her hips, moving to undo the button on her pants. He watched Angel through lowered lashes, sucking the soft skin of her throat into his mouth. The brooding git was looking far less broody than he had been two minutes ago.

Willow's hand slid behind her, fumbling with the button on Spike's jeans as she kicked herself free of her pants, a stuttering breath leaving her when his hands ran over her stomach, fingers tracing the edge of her panties.

Sliding his hands into her bra, cradling her breasts he whispered in her ear, "Take it off, love."

Willow did as he asked and Angel scowled, Spike's hands prevented him from seeing anything at all. Spike let out a groan when she finally managed to get his jeans down around his hips and her hand curled around him. A flash of jealousy showed in Angel's eyes, he wanted to be a part of it, and yet he enjoyed watching them together too.

Kneading her breasts gently, Spike allowed a nipple to peek through his fingers every now and then. Angel watched avidly for its appearance and Spike chuckled. "Hard they are," he said, offering Angel a glimpse of both nipples. "Wanna taste? Wanna take one in your mouth, feel it pass your lips and press against your tongue?"

"Yes," Angel rasped. "Come here."

Spike gave Willow a pat on the bottom, which she interpreted as "go to the bed". She climbed on beside Angel, tugging the sheet down from around his waist as Spike undressed. Just as Willow had anticipated, Angel was naked. He usually slept naked. They both did. She still couldn't manage it, in spite of them having seen her naked too many times to count.

Taking the mistletoe from behind her ear, Willow trailed it across Angel's chest, and where the mistletoe went, Willow's lips followed. Angel let out a sigh and closed his eyes.

The bed dipped as Spike joined them and then Angel had the duel experience of human warmth and the cooler touch of the demon. The mistletoe brushed a nipple, there was the warm lips of Willow pressed against him in a kiss followed by the cool swipe of Spike's tongue.

The mistletoe trailed across his ribs; Spike's lips brushed against him, a cool caress, behind it came the wet warmth of Willow's tongue, and Angel shuddered.

The mistletoe continued its teasing pattern across his chest, his arms, his neck, his torso; he sank down into the pillows closing his eyes, never sure where they would hit next. His hand slid into Willow's hair, twining the long red strands around his fingers while his other hand touched to the back of Spike's neck, seeking the downy softness of the hair at his nape.

The tickle of mistletoe leaves touched his leg, a cool hand running along his skin, a warm hand stroking the inside of his thigh.

A warm caress across the flat expanse of his stomach. A cool tongue went back the opposite way.

Suddenly he felt the brush of Willow's peaked nipples against his chest as she leant over him. Cracking his eyes open Angel watched as her lips met Spike's in a deep kiss. Turning so that they were cheek to cheek, they looked down at him and Angel was struck by the duel effect of blue and green eyes, shining with lust and greed.

"Look's like you're gettin' merry," Spike said, giving Angel's cock a pointed look.

"I'm getting there," Angel agreed.

Willow smiled and touched the mistletoe to his nose, giving him a light kiss which made him laugh. "Close your eyes."

Angel did as she asked, and felt the familiar tickle of the mistletoe across his lips and then against the head of his cock. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Angel went very still as he tried to anticipate which one of them would touch him where.

They moved together; Willow's lips capturing his and Spike's mouth engulfing his cock. Angel groaned, his arms going around her, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss, the faint taste of Spike on her lips. Fire raced through him, chased by a hot gluttonous desire for more.

Grasping Willow's hips, Angel hauled her over his chest, his arms sliding between her knees keeping her legs spread apart as he brought her up his body, urging her to lower to his mouth. Using his thumbs to open her up, Angel delved right in to where it was warm and wet and wonderful.

Willow cried out as Angel's tongue thrust inside her, grabbing hold of the headboard as she shifted against his mouth with a wanton twist of her hips.

It was that duel sensation of warm and cold again. The warmth of Willow against his mouth and her legs pressed to his shoulders and Spike's cool and devastating mouth on his cock and hands kneading his balls.

Spike's teeth scraped against him and Angel moaned, his hips bucking upwards. His moan vibrated through Willow and she whimpered, pressing down against him. Fisting one hand in Spike's hair, Angel cupped Willow's behind with the other, urging them both on as he balanced on the precipice.

Angel's back arched, an uninhibited cry of pleasure leaving him when Spike drew him in deep, two slim fingers breaching him at the same time.

Even with his head between her legs Willow recognised the muffled sound of Angel's completion. It echoed through her and she shivered, a hand dropping into Angel's hair. He found her clit, suckling softly driving her closer and closer to the edge.

"Spike," she whimpered, her hand reaching behind her, fingers flexing. She knew what she needed to tip over and Spike knew too, for he was behind her, hands covering her breasts, thrumming her nipples with the pad of his thumb as his mouth descended on hers.

Angel and Spike together; they sent her sailing and Willow came with a harsh cry into Spike's kiss, her hips rocking down against Angel's mouth.

She collapsed back into Spike's shoulder and Angel carefully untangled his arms from around her legs. Once she was free Spike tumbled her back on to the bed, laughing at her surprised squeak. Angel caught her ankle, pressing a kiss to the sole of her foot as Spike slid easily inside her on a long groan, thrusting once, twice and emptying himself inside her.

A tickling sensation over his butt made Spike look back at Angel over his shoulder. Angel was holding the discarded sprig of mistletoe. "Interesting little toy you have here."

Spike smirked. "Had a feelin' you'd like it."

"Are you merry now, Angel?" Willow asked between panting breaths, grinning impishly at him.

"I think its safe to say I am," he agreed.

"The mistletoe has rules," Spike began.

"Mistletoe kisses," Willow murmured, her hand running down Spike's spine.

"I think I got it," Angel winked at her, his mind plotting out the route the mistletoe would take over her body.

Spike grinned, his eyes glowing. "You know you just touched my butt with that, don't you? What are you waitin' for?" He wiggled his hips."Kiss my arse, Angel."

Chapter Text

Angel had always liked the smell of pine. It sent him back in time to better days. Lazy days fishing on the banks of the rivers of Galway with a jam jar. Cold, crisp days, dark before it was hardly light, engaged in snowball fights with the other young boys of the village. Days of a warm kitchen with holly above the door, the scent of freshly baked bread and slow roasting goose wafting from room to room and the Christmas tree in the corner bedecked with colourful paper chains.

He had been a nice boy. A good boy. More interested in searching out adventure than attending school; but a good boy just the same.

The little boy had become a man, fading away beneath the stench of whisky and debauchery.

The man had become a beast, destroying completely any hope that the little boy's influence would return.

The Christmas tree was Angel's one concession to the holiday season. It did him good to remember that little boy who had played at pirates at the pond and hunter in the woods near his home. It helped to sooth his battered soul to know that he had not always been a disappointment. He had not been born a poor excuse for a human being, Angel had become that all on his own and Darla had unleashed the worst of him.

Angel felt a momentary sense of loss when he thought of Darla. Even knowing the atrocities they had committed, sometimes Angel missed his family; Darla, Drusilla and Spike. He'd had a sense of belonging when they were together, he knew who he was, he knew what was expected of him; now he just felt lost. Especially since he had taken over Wolfram and Hart.

He heard movement outside the door. "Don't switch the lights on."

Spike appeared in the doorway. "What are you doin' in 'ere in the dark?"

"I'm not in the dark." Angel lifted the spill and carefully brought the candles to life. He preferred candles on his Christmas tree rather than colourful strings of lights, it was more traditional. It was how his family had decorated their tree.

"Candles? Bit old fashioned ain't it?"

"I like them."

Spike snorted. "You would."

Angel lit the last candle. "Quiet."

He was so arrogant. He always had been. One-word commands issued in that beautiful voice and Angel seemed to think that everyone would jump to obey. Well Spike didn’t jump to obey anyone. Least of all Peaches.

"I'll do what I bloody well like."

Angel closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his patience. "Can't you just shut up for a minute? Just shush and look at the tree."

Spike gaped at him. "Look at the tree? What the hell for?"

"Because it's nice. It's peaceful."

Spike pouted and moved to stand beside Angel. "I guess," he agreed grudgingly. He always tried to disagree with Angel on basic principle.

"It was always my favourite part, the tree."

"I liked the presents."

Angel rolled his eyes. "No you didn't. Be honest."

"Carols," Spike muttered.

Angel smiled. "Sounds more like you."

Spike bristled. "How would you know? You didn't know me when I was human. You might 'ave been there when I woke a demon an' I was new to it all, but you didn't know who William was. Hell, you don't know who I am any more. The William you knew changed. I got stronger. I made a name for myself. I went through hell in Sunnydale thanks to those bloody commandos, you don't stay the same after somethin' like that."

"Becoming a demon rips the soul out of you,” Angel spoke quietly, a lifetimes worth of wisdom heavy in his tone. “It takes your morality and your ethics and every last shred of integrity you ever had. It strips you of your conscious and all sense of decency. But the essence remains the same."

Spike glanced across at Angel. Something in Angel's eyes changed. They darkened. A flash of heat burning in them; burning through Spike.

"Doesn't matter how much you try to deny it, William's still inside you. You're just like the Christmas tree, Spike. Unchanging."

Angel let out a sudden growl and moved forward, pushing his fingers roughly into Spike's hair and tilting his head back. Dark eyes blazing into Spike's for a moment before Angel lowered his head and claimed Spike's mouth. Need, anger, frustration, desire; it was all in his kiss. Angel's mouth crushed Spike's his hand cupping the back of Spike's head as his tongue tangled with Spike's.

Even when he wanted to throttle Angel, the floodgates inside Spike opened and he was assailed with memories and a tidal wave of desire and longing washed through him.

Angel's voice was soft and decadent like velvet, "I want you, Spike; here and now. On the sofa. The floor. Against the wall. You and me like it used to be."

Spike's stomach clenched. His body thrumming. He wanted it, he wanted it desperately. He wanted it more than he thought he would. "Dunno if it can be like it used to be."

"It can," Angel insisted, hands smoothing along Spike's face.

Spike's lips twitched. "Lets get to the shaggin' then. I'd 'ave got you a bloody Christmas tree ages ago if I'd known it would put you in this kinda mood."

"It's not the tree. It's you, Spike. It's us being back together again." Angel kissed him again, fire racing through his blood stream at the familiarity of Spike's lips and Spike's taste and Spike's body pressed against his and Spike's hands fisting in his hair. "We're unchanging too."

Chapter Text

It was a clear night in Sunnydale. The moon was high, the sky a strange mixture of blues Willow couldn’t quite put a name to, but she liked them. The night had a wintry feel to it, which was unusual living in sunny California. Willow often thought it would be nice to have a white Christmas, even though she didn’t celebrate the holiday. Sunnydale had experienced snow a year ago and Willow had loved it, expect for the Angel –nearly-died thing. That hadn’t been so good.

Automatically she glanced around as she made her way to Giles place, but the streets were quiet. Over the years Willow had learned to expect trouble and she always tried to be alert, although at the moment she had her own brand of trouble which gave her the wiggins; namely Spike.

Spike who had broken into her dorm room and tried to turn her.

Spike who insisted on watching her every time she was near him.

Spike who kissed her a couple of weeks ago and told her that he loved her.

Spike was freaking her out.

Willow hadn’t told Buffy or any of the others about Spike. She figured it was best for Spike if she kept quiet. He had enough to deal with due to his newly acquired chip without having everyone know he had feelings towards her that he shouldn’t have.

Unrequited love sucked, Willow knew that first hand, but she couldn’t help not loving Spike any more than Xander could help not loving her and Buffy could help not loving Xander.

She had tried to be nice, tried to explain why there could never be anything between them, although Willow had rather thought Spike would be smart enough to see that for himself. They were worlds apart she and Spike and there was no bridging the abyss between them.

Spike hadn’t liked her response; Willow didn’t blame him for that. He had glared at her, accused her of denying her feelings because she had kissed him back (which, in all fairness, she had; Spike’s kisses were all kinds of wow) and told her it wasn’t over before storming off.

She’d seen him since of course, he’d been in and out of Giles place for meetings and gone to patrol with Buffy, but mercifully he had never referred to the kiss or his feelings. He watched her though. He watched her so much that Willow felt him when he wasn’t even there.

Hopping up the steps to Giles apartment, Willow smiled to see all the Christmas lights decorating the windows. Even Giles had some in his window. Willow liked Christmas lights, especially the coloured ones like Giles had. They always seemed so warm and friendly; welcoming. She was glad Giles had decided to put some up this year.

Willow knocked once and let herself into Giles place. She stopped dead in the doorway, staring around the room in utter horror.

Giles was sitting in the dining chair, lashed to the back of it with rows of Christmas lights which shone brightly against his face, splashing odd colours of reds and blues in the hollow of his eye sockets. A metal pole lanced through his chest, pinning him to the back of the chair; his glasses were lying crumpled at his feet. Willow didn’t need to feel for a pulse to know he was dead.

Ice cold dread washed over her as her eyes skimmed the room, picking out her friends.

Anya lay in the corridor running between the kitchen and the bathroom, her neck and body at opposite angles; she at least looked as though she hadn’t suffered.

Unlike Buffy who was also bound with Christmas lights, flashing merrily away against her dead body. Willow took a few horror-struck steps forward. Buffy was tied to the table, blood everywhere, throat torn open until it looked nothing more than a slab of meat on a butcher’s block. The green cord of the lights cut cruelly into Buffy’s wrists and ankles and it had been looped over her head, stretched across her forehead so that the tiny clear blue lights cast a pretty glow in her blonde hair. It was not unlike something Buffy would do herself to create some sort of Christmas Crown of lights.

Nausea assailed Willow and she staggered back, revulsion written in every line of her face. She swung around, wildly looking for Xander. She found him slouched in the arm chair. He was also bound with Christmas lights. They were wrapped tightly around his body pinning his arms to his sides and keeping his legs and ankles locked together. His head lolled to one side and Willow could see a stream of blood trickling from his temple.

“Xan!” Her body jerked awkwardly forward, as though it were in two minds about moving. There was a part of her which didn’t want to know. Willow didn’t think she could bare it.

An arm suddenly snaked around her waist and Willow screamed, terror filling her. She lashed out, twisting like a wild thing to escape the hold. As she thrashed, Willow caught a glimpse of blonde hair and a leather coat and her body relaxed. “Spike.”

“Uh huh.”

“Thank God.” She gave up the struggle and collapsed against him, fingers clutching at the front of his coat as she pressed her face into his shoulder, desperate to block out the nightmare surrounding her.

“He’s alive,” Spike said.

Her tear streaked face looked up at him hopefully. “Xander? Are you sure?”

“Course I’m sure,” he looked offended. “I left him that way.”

“You left him?” Willow stared at Spike uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

Spike smoothed her face, tracing the tear tracks with his thumb. “Been busy lately. Found me a witch, a right powerful one too. Much stronger than you are. Helped me out. For a price. I get rid of a problem for her an’ she got rid of a problem for me.”

“A problem?” Willow couldn’t seem to focus, she had trouble following him, although going by the annoyed look he gave her, Spike thought she should have no difficulty at all in understanding him.

“Didn’t think I was gonna stay chipped forever did ya, love?” His eyes darkened, boring straight through to her soul. “You should ‘ave loved me. But, no matter,” he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “You will.”

“Are you mad?” Willow tried to pull herself free from his hold, but he was too strong for her. “You killed my friends and you think that’s going to make me love you? No, Spike! Never!”

He laughed lightly and shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “No pet, that’s not gonna make you love me. But when you wake you’ll be mine an’ I’ll be yours; forever. Even got you your boy to feast on. You’ll like that, when you wake I mean.”

A horrible realization rose in Willow, it coated her mind like smoke in a brush fire. Spike was going to do what he had set out to do all those months ago. He was going to turn her.

It hadn’t occurred to any of them that Spike would find a way around the chip. They had almost forgotten about it and simply accepted that he was there, a part of their lives now. He had lulled them into a false sense of security. They would have been no match for Spike, not even Buffy when he took her so completely by surprise. Too late Willow realised they had all been treating Spike like a wild animal who was caged, but he wasn’t caged, he had never truly been caged and it was only now, with the blood of those she loved soaking the floor that she saw it.

Spike drew her in close, bending to whisper into her ear. “We’ll be together forever, love,” he crooned softly. “We’ll ‘ave a right time of it. We’ll be the stuff of legends and nightmares. My beautiful, sweet Willow; terror of the night.”

A kiss touched her pulse and Willow cried out when his fangs sank deeply into her throat. Out of the corner of her eye Willow caught flashes of colour from the Christmas lights. They were no longer warm and friendly, but they were still welcoming; as her heart slowed and Spike brought her mouth to his throat; they welcomed her to her death.

The one saving grace was that Willow knew that when she woke again this room would not haunt her, it would not fill her with a pain so absolute it felt as though her heart would shatter. When she woke again she wouldn’t care, and Willow welcomed that moment of blessed relief.

Chapter Text

Lansing Michigan, not someplace Angel had expected to find himself in; especially with Spike and Willow as companions, but there it was. They needed an amulet, a demon in Lansing had it and Wesley had sent Angel to acquire it. He had succeeded in his task, the amulet now sat on the little bedside table where he could see it and make sure it didn't disappear.

Seeming as they were in town, Willow had asked to stay and see the Silver Bells in The City parade. They had stood in the street with everyone else to watch the floats and trucks go by all decked out in the finest decorations the city had to offer, the lights bright and colourful reflecting off the happy faces of the crowd.

It was a little secret of his, but Angel liked parades. After being cursed with his soul Angel had spent years alone, hiding away from humanity, wallowing in depression. He had been so filled with disgust at his former actions that he hadn't felt he deserved to be around people and had never encouraged conversation with anyone he met. People were better kept at arm's length where he could do them no harm, even unintentionally.

One evening he had gone out to pick up some more blood, only to find the streets were shut off for a parade. Caught up in the crowd, Angel had found himself watching the floats go by and the people dressed in costume, some collecting money, others handing out sweets and chocolates to the children in the crowd. Everyone had been cheering and clapping and waving as the band marched past and for the first time in a long time Angel had felt as though he were part of the world and not just a shadow.

That feeling had sustained Angel for a long time and standing in the street below tonight that same feeling had returned, only it had been amplified with the presence of Willow and Spike.

They had a tangled relationship which had come straight out of left field and blindsided all three of them. He and Spike had been here before, it was Willow who caused his guilt. She was Buffy's best friend, but Angel was now past feeling guilty about Willow. While he might love Willow in his own way, Angel knew he wasn't in love with her any more than she was in love with him. It helped them both to accept their new relationship.

The curtains to the sliding door leading out onto the balcony had been pulled open to allow them a decent view of the firework display. Bright colours erupted in the dark sky bursting into showers of pinks and purples, whistling rockets exploded into a golden cascade of sparks and red's and blue's spun wildly, splattering the sky.

Angel saw the fireworks out of partially open eyes, it was hard to concentrate on anything else when he was inside Willow. She sat in his lap, knees on either side of his legs, her back resting against his shoulder, her hair tickling his skin.

His palm captured her breast massaging the soft flesh, pressing down on her hardened nipple. Willow moaned, her head falling back as Spike's tongue flicked across her clit, her fingers tightened in his hair.

Angel's lips touched her neck, suckling against her pulse just as Spike drew her clit between his lips. Willow quivered, heat pooling in the pit of her stomach and she moaned, an arm looping around Angel's neck, her nails scratching the skin.

Her hips lifted, wet warmth sliding up his cock and Angel groaned at the cool sensation of Spike's tongue swiping along the base of his cock. Angel's hands tightened on Willow's hips, drawing her back down into his lap where she could engulf him completely inside her.

As her lust grew, building into a large knot in her chest, her body heated and Angel revelled in it. She was always so warm, she warmed him by her mere presence in his life and when they were together like this Angel felt her warmth right down to the marrow of his bones.

Spike's lips touched to the patch of skin just beneath her belly button and as Angel watched through his lashes, Spike made his way up her stomach. Her hands framed Spike's face for a moment as a burst of colour lit the sky outside the window. Spike's human facade was long gone, the glowing eyes of the demon stared up at Willow.

Something twisted in Angel's gut. Spike was looking at Willow with a fierce reverence and a low growl, so low it could almost be mistaken as a purr, rumbled in Spike's throat when she smoothed the ridges of his forehead. He kissed her palm, her thumb stroking lightly at the corner of his mouth.

Spike was infatuated and Angel knew it, he had seen it before with Drusilla; and just as it had been with Drusilla, Spike resented Angel's involvement. But Angel had no intention of bowing out and leaving Willow unprotected. Willow had given him back his soul and Angel would spend the rest of his existence trying to repay her for that.

The problem was, he wasn't the only one indebted to Willow. She had also freed Spike from the chip, as was evident in the scar on the opposite side of her neck. Spike had not just bitten her, Willow had allowed it.

She drew Spike to her, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. Spike's hand dropped between her legs and Angel plucked at her nipples as Willow's hips rocked faster, pushing down on him with a panting moan.

She came apart with a cry, shattering between them. Angel followed swiftly as she convulsed around him, her heart beating frantically against his chest.

He could smell blood and looking up he watched Spike take her lower lip between his, having cut her with his fangs. Pushing her damp hair from her face, Spike gazed at her as though she were the single most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

A loud bang outside made Willow squeak and she laughed. "Made me jump."

Angel chuckled, squeezing her hip lightly.

"Come on, pet. Come an' watch the rest of the display." Spike helped her up, wrapping a robe around her. He lead her to one of the arm chairs, positioning it to face the window.

"You're still all bumpy," she murmured, allowing him to draw her down onto his lap and kissing his forehead.

Angel got up and fixed a drink. He liked to lie in bed with her after sex and enjoy some quiet time with her, but he didn't necessarily need it. He and Willow had an undeniable attraction to each other and they enjoyed each other physically, but their emotions ran no deeper than friendship. Willow was an affectionate person whereas he wasn't so much with the touchy feely side of things, he had spent far too much time alone for that. Spike was different, Spike was like Willow and it was understandable to Angel that Willow would gravitate towards Spike.

Sipping his drink, Angel kept one eye on the fireworks and one on Spike. Little golden squiggles wiggled upwards and exploded, sending sparks fizzing across the sky. Bright blossoms of green, maroon, yellow and blue fractured the night sky, whizzing and popping and crackling.

Spike held Willow close, thumb moving gently over the back of her hand and his other hand caressing her thigh.

Angel knew Spike from old, he was charming and scheming and manipulative and was fully capable of using Willow's need to be loved against her. Willow was so willing to look for the good in people and give her heart away, a trait which made Angel fear for her future. He was not going to sit back and let Spike extinguish Willow. Willow would not spark and fizzle out like the pretty lights she was absorbed in watching.

When it came to Spike, Angel knew that infatuation could quickly turn to addiction and obsession and that made Spike the most dangerous thing in Willow's life.

Chapter Text

Everyone was at Giles’ by the time Willow arrived. Anya was busy answering a quiz in magazine, Giles was blowing on his tea, Buffy was examining a new cross bow and Xander was taking his pick of the doughnuts.

Face creased in thought Willow said nothing as she took a seat at the table, the pad of her thumb coming to rest against her lower lip as she bit into it lightly.

“What’s with the thinky face, Wills?” Xander asked.

“I’ve lost a stocking,” Willow murmured absently. Her face suddenly flushed when Xander’s eyebrows lifted.

Anya looked up with interest. “Whose dorm room did you leave it in?”

“Nobody’s!” Willow exclaimed, her face turning redder. “It was in my room with the other one, they come in pairs.”

“That’s the general idea,” Buffy agreed. “When did you see it last?”

The creases in Willow’s forehead deepened. “I was wearing them….”

“Dear Lord,” Giles muttered, getting up from the table.

Buffy let out a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes. “For goodness sake, Giles we’re talking about stockings. Women wear stockings, you know, like tights and socks.”

“Exactly,” Anya sat back in the chair. “It’s not like we’re talking about thongs or peek-a-boo bras or…”

“An!” Xander interrupted loudly, a look of horror on his face. “Just… shhh about that kind of stuff.”

“But…”

“Yes,” Giles begged. “Please.”

Anya huffed. “Fine. But I don’t see what’s so bad about lingerie.”

Buffy grinned, delighting in the uncomfortable expressions sported by both Giles and Xander. Sitting beside Willow she rested her arms on the table. “You were saying.”

“I was trying on my outfit,” she paused and looked appealingly at Giles. “They’re part of a costume for a fancy dress party I’m going to. The IT department has one at the university every Christmas.”

“Oh,” Giles nodded. “I see.”

Buffy clapped her hands together. “You should see the outfit, it’s great. She’s going as a gangster with a Tommy gun and everything.”

“The dress is a bit short,” Willow admitted, “And I didn’t like going with nothing on my legs. Hence the stockings. Buffy wouldn’t let me wear tights.”

“Tights would spoil the whole outfit,” Buffy said firmly. “I’ll help you look for it when we get back tonight, maybe you kicked it under the bed or it got mixed up with the laundry or something.”

“Maybe,” Willow said. “But I was sure I’d put it on the bed with the rest of the costume, but I was in such a hurry to put everything away I could have dropped it.”

Noticing the time, Giles tapped his watch. “Patrol, Buffy.”

“Alright,” Buffy hopped up, eager to try out her new crossbow.

Everyone began to get ready for patrol putting on their coats and loading up on weapons. Tucking a stake into her pocket Anya asked, “Why were you in hurry to put everything away, Willow?”

“Spike showed up,” Willow said, “He said Buffy needed me to do a spell so I wanted to get going and I hate leaving clothes lying about all over the place. I’m a put-things-away sort of person.”

“Oh,” Buffy paused at the door clicking her fingers, “That reminds me. Spike, get moving!”

Spike, who had been sitting in the corner smoking by the window got up and stretched out his back. “Keep your knickers on, Slayer, I’m comin’.”

He remembered the day in question alright. The memory had burnt itself into his mind like a branding iron. The door to Willow’s dorm room had been closed when he arrived, but it had not caught properly on the latch. He had intended on simply bursting into the room, but when he started to open the door he had caught sight of her and every muscle in his body had locked itself in place.

The dress had been on the bed and Willow, bent slightly at the waist, had been smoothing out the wrinkles in it wearing a pair of sheer black stockings and black lacy knickers, the strap of her bra the only thing marring the smooth creamy expanse of her back. It had taken every ounce of self control Spike possessed not to go into that room, urge her onto the bed and mount her from behind, taking her hard and deep, giving her everything she wanted but didn’t know she wanted and everything she needed but didn’t know she needed.

Slipping his hand into the pocket of his coat Spike rubbed the soft fabric of the pilfered stocking between thumb and forefinger. He’d needed something to tide him over until he could figure out a way to make the little witch succumb.

Chapter Text

Willow couldn't say she was all that disappointed not to go to the IT Department's Christmas party, although she would much preferred to have been there other than in the cemetery staring up at a group of large demons with curled horns like a ram and sharp beady eyes.

She had rather hoped some sort of research would crop up so she could have a legitimate excuse to avoid going out in public in these stockings, but Buffy had insisted she get dressed before they headed to Giles' to save time. Buffy had been determined that at least one of her friends would have a night off and have some fun.

There had been no research to do, but Xander had informed them he had seen a gang of demons near the cemetery on his way over and an immediate patrol had been organised, including Willow in her form fitting pinstripe dress and sheer black stockings.

Now she watched helplessly as Spike was sent sailing through the air into a nearby tree by one punch from one of the demons. They looked vaguely familiar to her, but Willow couldn't place the exact species.

Scurrying to Spike's side, Willow took his arm to help him to his feet. "What do we do, Spike? There's too many of them for you to take on by yourself."

"You know what they say love," Spike said getting up and taking her hand. "If you can't beat 'em, run!"

He took off, dragging Willow after him. She stumbled in her heels a little bit, but was glad to see that they were in fact leaving the demons behind. Spike took a sharp left, pulling her between the headstones and mausoleums, doubling back towards his crypt.

When they got there he opened the door and ushered her in, took her over to the corner and removed a large square slab from the floor. Willow peered down into the darkness. "Um, Spike. What's going on?"

"Being in 'ere won't be enough if they decide to follow our scent," Spike said. "But they've got bad eyesight, they don't see too well in the dark an' won't be able to find this corner."

"Even if they do, they won't fit down there," Willow said with a little relieved sigh.

"Come on," Spike swung onto the ladder.

"I can't see anything."

"You don't need to see, you can climb a ladder, can't you? Don't worry, pet, I've got you. On you get."

She let out another sigh, but got onto the ladder, climbing down a few rungs until she was level with Spike, watching with some apprehension as he pulled the slab back into place blocking out what little light there was.

As she was so close to him, Spike took a moment to breathe her in before he began to descend the ladder, one hand on her waist to steady her. Once he hit the floor Spike swung her down to stand beside him "Hold on, let me get some light in here."

He lit a few candles and in the small yellow glow Willow saw a bed and a small corner table. "Its your bedroom," she exclaimed in surprise.

"That's right."

Willow shifted her weight from foot to foot, she felt suddenly uncomfortable standing in Spike's bedroom, even it was a hole in the ground. Right there in front of her was Spike's bed, where Spike slept. She had never thought about Spike in bed before, and now it was the only thing she could think about.

Flushing, Willow turned her head away hoping Spike hadn't noticed. "Thanks for getting us out of the firing line. After the whole Will Be Done spell I didn't think you'd ever want to help me out again."

Spike chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't want anythin' to happen to you until you made that up to me."

"I made you cookies," she reminded him.

"Not gonna cut it, pet. I kissed the bloody Slayer. Gonna take a lot more than cookies to make that up to me."

"I said I was sorry."

"Gonna take more than that too."

She smiled and rolled her eyes."I guess I owe you one. So long as you don't have anything evil and demonic in mind."

Spike shook his head. "Nothin' evil or demonic, pet. Just total surrender."

Her forehead wrinkled. "Total surrender? What do you mean?"

"You an' me tumble into that bed an' you surrender totally to me," his voice was low, sultry. "I'll give you everything you could want." He closed in on her, his hands running up her bare arms but not touching her skin. "I'll make you scream loud an' long. I'll make you beg for things you can't even put a name to. I'll make you come harder than you ever have before; and when you do, you'll say my name an' I'll be just as undone as you are." Smouldering blue eyes met wide shocked green eyes. "All you gotta do is say yes."

"Yes." The word whispered from her lips before Willow had time to really think about it. It was almost a gut reaction and Willow decided to go with it, after all, Buffy's gut reaction's worked out well, why shouldn't her own?

Her chest rose and fell with her quick breaths and her scent made him want to devour her whole, every delightful inch of her; and he would. Spike's intentions ran deeper than physical satisfaction. He would take her to his bed, but he would take her into world too, into every deep dark shadow of it. He would introduce her to a world she had never dreamed existed, all pleasure and depravity and desire and fire.

Threading his fingers through her hair their eyes met again as he tipped her head back, her heart stuttered in her chest when she saw the hungry look in his eyes. Her eyelids lowered slowly as Spike's mouth descended to hers. She tasted of fire and need and Spike responded with a growl and barely controlled desire. Arms going around her Spike held her tighter, crushing her mouth to hers wanting to plunder and explore every inch of her.

Willow's fingers tangled in his hair, gripping his head as she kissed him back, so responsive, so eager that Spike lost himself in her and in that moment he didn't care if he was lost forever.

Raw need ripped through him followed swiftly by the need to possess her, to own her, to know she belonged to him. After tonight she would belong to him. After tonight the idea of taking any other lover other than him would never cross her mind.

She pushed his coat from his shoulders, her hands gliding across his back, the muscles rippling beneath her fingers. His head dipped to her neck, pressing his lips against her jumping pulse as he sought out the zipper at the back of her dress. He needed her naked. He needed her in his bed.

There was a shyness and awkwardness about her as he undressed her slowly, savouring every moment of it as he would every moment that was to come. It endeared her to him even more.

His t-shirt went up and over his head, Willow's hand ran over his chest, he was cool and smooth to the touch, like silk. Tracing his muscles with her fingertips Willow felt it was safe to say she had never seen anyone quite like Spike before.

Snapping her bra open, Spike pressed his palm between her shoulder blades, drawing her closer to him so that her breasts brushed his chest and he could feel her heartbeat right the way through him. The weight of his body carried her down to the bed and his lips found hers again, kissing her deeply, his tongue tangling with hers.

Letting her breathe, Spike took the opportunity to slide her knickers off, being sure not to disturb the sheer black stockings. "Candle light suits you, pet. Highlights your beauty it does."

She blushed and bit her bottom lip for a moment. "Did... " she cleared her throat. "Did you forget something?"

Her leg twitched, telling Spike she was referring to the stockings. "Oh no love," he caressed her thigh lightly. "The stockings stay on." He stood to get rid of his jeans, bringing her leg up off the bed and rubbing his cheek against her stocking clad knee. "These could bring me to my knees."

His eyes burnt a path up her body. Willow had never felt so naked and exposed, even when she was fully naked. Somehow, lying there in only her stockings made Willow feel extra naked. And naughty.

Willow let out a breath as Spike's hands roamed over her body, cupping the tender flesh of her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples, igniting a heat beneath her skin everywhere he touched. A smiled curled his lips as he caught her hand and he kissed her fingertips. "Got something of yours."

Her brow furrowed and she watched as he scooped his duster from the floor and brought something out of the pocket. He took her hand and wound the long piece of black material around first one wrist and then the other. Willow blinked in surprise as she recognised the missing stocking.

"You took it."

"I did," Spike agreed. "Gonna keep it too." Drawing her bound arms above her head, he secured her to the headboard.

"W... what are you doing?"

"Total surrender, remember?"

Willow swallowed and nodded. Spike's chest tightened when he saw the faith and trust in her eyes. She knew he couldn't hurt her, the chip prevented it, but this wasn't about hurting her, this was Willow trusting him, something Spike knew he had no right to ask or expect from her. But she gave her trust anyway.

She watched him, his eyes ravenous on her body, but it was her own reaction to him that surprised Willow. Being bound and secured for his pleasure aroused her in a way she hadn't been aroused before and a shudder ran through her. Her hips shifted and she moaned softly. "Are you going to gag me too?"

Spike shook his head, fingers running over the swell of her breasts. "I wanna hear you scream, love, right up to the rafters, down to the bowels of the crypt and in every knook and cranny."

Stretching out beside her, Spike's mouth met hers again. Heat flowed through her body as his bare skin touched hers, his hand wandering over her, teasing her nipples, gliding over her hip and slipping between legs which were already splayed, although Willow didn't realise it until he stroked her inner thigh before sliding inside her.

She gasped softly against his mouth, unaware of how wet she was until he touched her. Spike groaned, burying his face against her throat, he was sure there had never been anything as exquisitely perfect as his girl.

His lips moved down over her breasts, catching her nipple between his teeth and tugging lightly. She moaned when he slid another finger inside her, stroking her open. Her hips lifted, rotating into his hand. "Like water over soft silk you are," he murmured against the curve of her breast.

His wicked tongue moved over her abdomen and he placed a light kiss just beneath her belly button. Lips brushing the top of her thigh he whispered, "Open up for me, pet. Let me 'ave a taste."

Thighs quivering, Willow spread her legs apart. Her scent hit him like a body shot, a fierce aching lust curling through his body and Spike could do nothing but put his mouth to her to see if she tasted as good as he thought she would.

Willow cried out at the first touch of his tongue to her heated flesh. Her back arched as he delved deeper, white hot need lancing through her when his tongue withdrew to swipe along her clit, lips clamping over it, suck gently.

Sliding his hands beneath her, Spike lifted her more fully to his mouth. Every nerve in her body sizzled like lightening, the pressure built inside her and Willow exploded, crying out as her body went up in flames.

"That's my girl," Spike said approvingly. "Wild, wet, wanton Willow."

Even after experiencing an orgasm as thorough as the one which had just ripped through her, Willow still ached. She needed something more. "Now, Spike?" she asked between gasps of air.

"Oh yes, love." His body covered hers, a shiver running down his spine at the sensation of those soft, stockings against his hips as her legs wrapped around him. "Now."

She could feel the head of his cock brush against her and she knew the only way to fill the ache inside her was with him. Spike had created the ache and Spike would fill it. Her hips lifted, her body's silent plea for more. He thrust forward and Willow had what she needed; Spike inside her.

Spike's whole body tightened as he held himself in check, suspended in the glorious moment of Willow wrapped around him. If he let himself go he'd hurt her and the chip would ruin everything. Not for the first time, Spike mentally cursed the Initiative.

Even with his movements forcefully controlled, Spike's body consumed her as hers did to him. He drove her higher and higher. He absorbed every sensation and she absorbed every thrust, little panting moans echoing around the room interspersed with deep rumbling growls.

Grasping the metal bars of the headboard between her fingers, Willow's back arched, pushing up against him, body slick with sweat, demanding more, giving everything she had, relishing in each deep thrust of his hips.

"Come for me, Willow." His low, seductive voice coaxed her as his cock filled her again and again.

It wasn't so much his words but his voice that did it. Willow came apart, his name on her lips, her body going into spasm.

Spike's roar filled the room, filled her ears and rocked through her to her toes which curled against the small of his back.

He stayed where he was, her legs still clapped around him, as he reached to unbind her hands. Her hands came down to rest on his shoulders and Spike's eyes met hers, hot and smoky. Willow wasn't sure what to say or even how to feel. She was a jumbled mess. Sex had never been like that before.

His hand stroked down her leg, over the cool fabric of her stocking and back up again.

"Do you want to keep this pair too?"

Spike grinned. "Just the one will do me thanks, love. 'Sides, like 'em better when you're wearin' 'em."

"That's kind of a relief," she said, tone light and teasing.

He laughed softly, fingertips tracing the top of the stocking. Suddenly his eyes met hers. "This is just the beginning, pet."

"Yes."

Gut instinct had served her well tonight, Willow figured she'd roll with it.