Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Summary: Spike and Xander host the Harris family Thanksgiving dinner.
Disclaimer: Not mine, all theirs.
Warnings: None.

Candid Yams



“What do you mean they were out?”

“Wasn’t a single proper bird in the place, just those frozen things. Our first Thanksgiving with your family at the house you don’t want to trust something that died who knows how long ago.”

“You have no idea how much I agree with you right now. What the hell did you do?”

“Go look out back.”

“Is that a turkey?”

“Breaker’s Woods is practically lousy with em. What do you think, pet? Authentic, right?”

“Oh my god, it’s still alive.”

“Well yeah, Thanksgiving’s not for a couple days yet. This way it’ll still be fresh.”

“This way it’ll still have feathers! I don’t know how to field dress a damn turkey!”

“Oh don’t worry, I already called your Uncle Rory. He’ll be over early to take care of that bit.”

“You did clarify that we have an actual, non-bourbon wild turkey, correct?”

“Very funny, pet.”

Mashed Potatoes

“Spike could you give me a hand and do the potatoes?”

“Sure, love. Xan, where’s the cream?”

“Cousin Carol is lactose intolerant. There’s non-fat soymilk and a tub of margarine in there. Use that.”

“Xander, that’s bloody disgusting.”

“It’ll be fine. I don’t want anyone leaving my table with debilitating stomach cramps.”

“You serve ‘em that rubbish, that’s exactly what they’re going to do.”


“All right, all right, love, we’ll do it your way.”

One hour later.

“Xander, um, these potatoes are really…”



“Sod it.”


“Back in a mo’, love. Hang on.”

“Spike, what the—”

“Here we are then. Don’t be rude, Xan, pass em around. Sorry for the mix up. Those were supposed to go to the homeless shelter. Won’t have anyone go hungry, my Xan.”

“Xander, these are delicious.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“My bogtrotting grandfather’s recipe. Scallions. No garlic. Don’t want anyone getting indigestion, do we? Extra helping for you there, Carol?”

Candied Yams


“Oh, dear, I told her not to have that extra helping of yams.”

“Should we call a doctor or something?”

“I think she has an insulin pen in her purse.”

“I didn’t know she was diabetic!”

“It’s not your fault love. Everyone loved your yams.”

“Spike, my yams might have put her in a coma!”

“I loved your yams.”

“You love marshmallows. My yams had nothing to do with it.”

“I yam what I yam.”

“Kill me now.”

Cranberry Sauce

“Um, Xander, is that the cranberry sauce from the top shelf of the fridge?”

“No, why?”

“No reason.”

“Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Well yeah. Thought it’d be less obvious than a mug at the table. Didn’t want to spoil anyone’s dinner, did I?”

“And they’re…I…we… Oh, god, I’m going to be sick.”

“Easy, Xan, let’s not panic. They haven’t noticed anything. It could be worse.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I mean, you could have used human blood.”

“Um, Xander?”

Pumpkin Pie

“Well that’s everyone. Xander?”

“For once in my life, I just wanted to have a nice, normal holiday. Was that so much to ask?”

“Well it wasn’t Norman Rockwell, but I thought you pulled it off.”

“My cousin left in an ambulance. We fed my family bloody cranberries—”

“To be fair, love, nobody noticed that bit.”

“—They left before pie. Nobody leaves before pie. I should wear a scarlet P.”

“You’re looking at this entirely wrong.”

“The pies were perfect. Perfect pies. I didn’t even burn the crusts.”

“Exactly. And now we don’t have to share!”

“You don’t even like pie, Spike.”

“I like you. Bring ‘em to bed, shall I?”

“Pie in bed? I’m going to turn into Carol.”

“I’m sure we can find some way to keep you fit.”

“Oh, turn off the leer already. And don’t forget the whipped cream.”

“Oh, I won’t.”

One hour later.

“You have the best ideas. I mean, you really do. Pie. In bed.”

“Absolutely right, love.”

“I mean, it’s like, the whole world should just eat pie in bed. No one would ever fight. There’d be world peace, you know? Peace. Peace. Piece of pie… Spike is there more pie?”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“God, I’m so hungry. What if we ate turkey in bed? You know what’s good? Turkey and peanut butter. Ooh! Turkey and crunchy peanut butter! God, I haven’t eaten that since…Oxnard… Oh god, what did you do?”

“Brought you pie in bed, love. Remember? Your Spike and his wonderful ideas for world peace?”

“You poisoned my pie! You put pot in my pie! I’m eating potpie! And stop laughing it’s not funny!”

“Potpie isn’t funny?”

“Shut up! Just because I’m laughing doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you, I can’t help it. You drugged me!”

“For your own bloody good. Don’t be paranoid. Don’t want to waste Rupert’s good stuff on a bad trip, do you?”

“You stole pot from Giles?”

“Actually no. I was going to, but when you told him what you’d had planned for the holiday he gave it to me all on his own. Said my need was greater.”

“That’s so sweet. And insulting. But I’m glad you’re getting along and what the hell does Giles have pot for anyway?”

“Why don’t I show you, love.”

“I said stop leering and—oh. Oh, god that’s—oh, fuck me.”

“That’s the spirit. Feeling thankful yet?”

“Oh, fuck, Spike!”

“You’re welcome, love.”

The End

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