Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: PG-13 (really vague sex)
Word Count: 100x7
Disclaimer: Not mine
Written for: The Seven Seasonal Sensations Fest at [info]windles_orbit
Prompts: (1) Faith, (2) Family, (3) Friends, (4) Fights, (5) Naughty, (6) Snuggling, (7) Red

Christmas Eve, post-Chosen. Xander and Spike are preparing for an evening out with the gang, with whom Xander has some news to share.

Drawing Near



“Have a little faith, Harris.”

“Says the evil undead.”

Or not so evil.

Evil is as evil does, and evil doesn’t pull a red turtleneck sweater over its head and leave the neck covering its chin while it tries to straighten its hair.

“’M not asking you to embrace the rapture. Just trust your friends.”

“Leave it alone.”

Dog. Bone. Not gonna happen. “Y'know—”

“No, your hair.”

Xander bats Spike’s hands away from the tousled blond mess and conveniently ignores the fact that he’s styling his boyfriend’s hair.

Spike leans into the touch.

Not enough to be unmanly.

Just enough.


“’S not like you’re bringing me home to eat the family.”

“Meet, Spike. Meet the family.”

Xander rescues Spike’s chin from the turtleneck.

“Right. Next Harris that crosses my path, we’ll have ourselves a nice little meet and ea—”


Spike smirks and Xander wants to tell him his face’ll freeze that way, but it’s been a hundred twenty plus years—if it hasn’t happened yet, it’s probably not going to.

Wouldn’t be the worst thing, though.

“Could you stop with the jokes about eating my family?”

It’s a cute smirk.

“Who’s joking?”

Not that Xander uses the word cute.


“Besides, they’re your friends, too.”

Xander fumbles with his tie.

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

Recovers and fumbles again.

“Are not.”

“When’s Buffy’s birthday?”

Spike grabs the tie.

“January the—bollocks.”

Ties are a father-son thing. Xander’s never quite gotten the hang of them.

“See? Your friends too.”

Spike… ties the tie. Football’s another father-son thing. Xander’s out of football metaphors.

“Fine. ’S not like I’ve never met them, though. Met, babysat, attempted to kill, shagged…”

“Your history with us is both long and sordid.”

“Point is, there’s no reason to be so nervous.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”


“You’re a daft git, y’know that?”

Xander wasn’t aware.

And he’s only marginally certain of what that means.

“Sure,” he says, kissing Spike’s neck in just the right spot. Last train leaving thoughtville ought to be departing any second…


Spike pushes Xander back.


“Bugger. Yes. But you’re gonna let me say this first.”

“Fine. Enlighten me, Oh Wise One.”

“You’re a daft git.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Xander brushes lint off Spike’s sweater.

“How many fights have you had with your friends?”

Our friends.”

“How many?”


“How many?”

“Physical or verbal?”

“How many?”

“I don’t see your point.”


Xander exhales.

“I feel better.”

“You look better. Clothing doesn’t suit you, Harris.” There’s that smirk again. “Sorry about your tie.” Or maybe it’s a leer.

“No you’re not.”

“No I’m not.”

Spike kisses Xander’s stomach. It’s the only part of Xander currently in kissing range.

Stupid lazy vampire.

“We’re gonna be so late.” Not that he cares. Much. Might as well put off the inevitable.

“D’you care?”

“A little. Not really.”


Yeah, it’s definitely a leer. Subtle distinction, but there are signs.

“Hey! Cold hands in naughty places!”

“You want me to—”


Some more obvious than others.


“It’s Christmas Eve.”

“That it is.” Spike pauses. “Your point?”

It’s not making a point so much as stating the obvious, but Xander does it anyway.

“Christmas Eve is for snuggling up in front of the TV and watching Snoopy, not… telling your friends you’re gay and in love with a vampire.”

Spike commiserates.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got to tell my friends I’m omnisexual and in love with a human.”


“Look it up.”

Xander just might. Right after he’s done not thinking about how they’ve just said love—kind of—for the first time.


The red turtleneck is back in full force. The hair is tousled, the chin is covered, and Xander’s not thinking about how his cute vampire boyfriend loves him.

“You’re such a girl, Harris.”

And can read minds.

He is fixing Spike’s hair. And rescuing his chin. And worrying.

“Am not.”

“Are too. Stop worrying. Doesn’t matter what they say, you’ll fix it and have one of those bloody awful group hugs, and we’ll all live happily ever until the next apocalypse.

“You think?”

“I know.”

“You trust them that much?”

“I trust you. You trust them that much.”

“Oh… yeah.”

Author's Note: The title comes from the song "Christmas Time Is Here" from A Charlie Brown Christmas.

The End

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