New Fic: Two Sizes Too Small 1/? Xander/Dawn, Spike/Xander/Dawn (eventually)
I promised, and so I deliver. *g*
Title: Two Sizes Too Small 1/?
Author: maryfic
Disclaimer: Joss owns these characters. I have no idea who owns the idea of the Grinch, except for the good Dr. Seuss.
Rating: Will get to be NC-17, this part PG-13 for doing bad things to holiday decorations.
Warnings: Highlight here to see warnings => Slash, het, threesome, destruction of innocent Christmas decorations, spanking, cursing. Peeing on inanimate objects.
Pairing: Xander/Dawn, Spike/Xander/Dawn eventually. Yeah, that’s right, I did that.
Summary: What if Spike *didn’t* like Christmas? What if his heart was two sizes too small? It would be up to two very special elves to make that heart grow, grow, grow, grow.
A/N: This fic is in the same universe as my Xander/Dawn drabble, Promises, Promises. AU after about season six/mid-seven. Sunnydale never collapsed. This story and the drabble that inspired it occur after Dawn is of legal age.
Dedicated to naughtynyx88, who wanted more Xander/Dawn. Hope you don’t mind the Spike seasoning!
A/N 2: This story is turning into a monster, which I never intended for it to do. Also not beta-read, so there will be mistakes, probably more than a few. But I have friends who point those out kindly for me. *g*
Word Count: 1081
Dawn blew through the doorway, bringing news and snow inside with her. “Turn on the news,” she said, unzipping her jacket and stomping her boots on the floor mat they’d added to accommodate the weather.
Xander came out of the kitchen, butcher knife in hand. It would have been more terrifying if he’d not had a Snoopy apron on. Living with Dawn was a challenge, but he’d grown used to her quirks and the sex made up for a lot until they learned the intimacy dance a little better. It had been a few months since they’d eased into a regular rhythm, and since Buffy hadn’t killed either them, he figured it was all to the good.
The television flickered to life and he trained his eyes on the broadcast. “The person or persons being called the Sunnydale Grinch have struck again, this time in a residential neighborhood long known for their cheery Christmas light displays.”
The camera panned over an area with broken decorations. A Santa display with reindeer was on its side, and the Santa appeared to be doing something decidedly adult with Rudolph. The cameraman hurriedly shifted away.
“Anyone with any information leading to the apprehension of this shockingly irreverent vandal is encouraged, in the spirit of the season, to call the Sunnydale Police Department immediately!”
Dawn, now modeling an attractive red and green sweater with bells that jingled when she moved and dark green jeans, flopped onto the couch and clicked it off. “Demon, you think?”
Xander returned to cutting up the gizzards for the stuffing. “A demon who hates Christmas? And would actually take the time to do all that? Nah. Probably just some drunk bastard who hates the holidays.”
Meanwhile, across town…
Spike hated Christmas. He hated the lights and the tinsel and the ornaments and the holly and the mistletoe, the bloody fucking mistletoe! He emphasized his feelings by tearing off a strand of white lights that looked like cum drops spilled across the roof’s edge. Bugger that, he snorted. More like piss-yellow. That sounded like a damn good idea, and he’d had most of a gallon of Monarch’s bourbon earlier, so could execute the plan with ease.
He pried open his five-button jeans and reached in for his dick. He aimed at the Nativity scene first, knocking over one of the mules, or a sheep, or whatever - with his unruly stream.
Finished, he put himself together and looked at his handiwork. The manger scene was completely soaked. Earlier in the night, he’d torn apart a decorated Christmas tree in the front yard, and stomped around angrily (no, not merrily, never merry) and punched out cardboard Santa’s and snowmen.
The area was properly de-Christmas’d now, and so he left the yard, intending to go to another house begging for redecoration, but instead he stopped and growled in frustration. All that effort had made him hungry, and the soul only meant he had to go home to eat now, instead of grabbing a late-evening shopper snack. So he headed south instead of west, down towards more cheerful lights and loud fucking carols.
He managed to clear himself a path between the jolly freaks and relished the peace and quiet he found in the cemetery, and
eventually his crypt. One slam of the fridge door later, and he was dropping into his recliner and sinking fang through plastic. The cold blood slid thickly through the holes and Spike helped by hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard enough to tear one big hole in the bag. The blood drained down his throat and he rolled his eyes at the urge to chew that came over him.
His blue eyes caught a flash of something at the door and Spike was on his feet in an instant, his nostrils flaring. Then the blond sank back down into the chair, tossing the empty bag into a bin. “Hullo, Bit.”
Dawn shoved the door closed against the wind - this crypt didn’t have a convenient sunken entrance like his last crypt - and shivered. “Hi. Brought you a present.” Her smile was bright as she unwrapped her scarf. Spike just gave her the look and struggled not to snap her cute little Christmas-loving neck. He loved Dawn. He did. Even thought about what was pressed fetchingly up against her sweater every so often, when he was lonely, or just wanted a wank to someone he knew liked him. But there was no saving his attitude this time of year.
And Dawn should have known that, but, “Xander and I want you to come to Christmas dinner at our house.”
Spike threw himself out of the chair with a muttered growl. “No. No way in hell, Bit. I don’t like the hols, you know it and I know it and even the damn treat knows it, so leave off already, yeah?” He stuck his head nearly all the way into the fridge and wondered if vampires could be gassed to death if they didn’t breathe.
Dawn, unperturbed, sat in the chair and turned on the television. “Look, It’s a Wonderful Life is on,” she said. “It’s a tradition, Spike.”
Now he got angry, and forgot who he was yelling at as the fridge was thrown against a wall. Blood packets flew out and landed around him as he turned on her. “A tradition? A tradition for who, you stupid bint? For humans! For you, Buffy, even Xander, whose home life was as far from wonderful as you could possibly get, and you all still watch this crap like it means anything!”
In the face of his anger, her perk diminished, but she stood up and faced him. “It’s meant to bring families together, Spike - of all kinds. And you’re part of our family, in case you’d forgotten!”
Spike snorted. “Family? Family’s blood and fury and fists and fangs, love. Nothing I have anymore. Now go on back to yours.” He gave her his back and she could see a fine tremble start in his shoulders and was about to say something when he interrupted her with a shout.
“Go on, get out of here!”
The silence was pressing all around them as Dawn, wetness in her eyes, gathered her coat and scarf and yanked the door shut behind her.
When he finally turned around, his eyes caught the paper bag she’d brought still by the door, but he left it there, sliding down the ladder and then dropping into the tunnels. The night was still mildly young and surely he could find something to hit. Like an elf.
TBC
Title: Two Sizes Too Small 1/?
Author: maryfic
Disclaimer: Joss owns these characters. I have no idea who owns the idea of the Grinch, except for the good Dr. Seuss.
Rating: Will get to be NC-17, this part PG-13 for doing bad things to holiday decorations.
Warnings: Highlight here to see warnings => Slash, het, threesome, destruction of innocent Christmas decorations, spanking, cursing. Peeing on inanimate objects.
Pairing: Xander/Dawn, Spike/Xander/Dawn eventually. Yeah, that’s right, I did that.
Summary: What if Spike *didn’t* like Christmas? What if his heart was two sizes too small? It would be up to two very special elves to make that heart grow, grow, grow, grow.
A/N: This fic is in the same universe as my Xander/Dawn drabble, Promises, Promises. AU after about season six/mid-seven. Sunnydale never collapsed. This story and the drabble that inspired it occur after Dawn is of legal age.
Dedicated to naughtynyx88, who wanted more Xander/Dawn. Hope you don’t mind the Spike seasoning!
A/N 2: This story is turning into a monster, which I never intended for it to do. Also not beta-read, so there will be mistakes, probably more than a few. But I have friends who point those out kindly for me. *g*
Word Count: 1081
Dawn blew through the doorway, bringing news and snow inside with her. “Turn on the news,” she said, unzipping her jacket and stomping her boots on the floor mat they’d added to accommodate the weather.
Xander came out of the kitchen, butcher knife in hand. It would have been more terrifying if he’d not had a Snoopy apron on. Living with Dawn was a challenge, but he’d grown used to her quirks and the sex made up for a lot until they learned the intimacy dance a little better. It had been a few months since they’d eased into a regular rhythm, and since Buffy hadn’t killed either them, he figured it was all to the good.
The television flickered to life and he trained his eyes on the broadcast. “The person or persons being called the Sunnydale Grinch have struck again, this time in a residential neighborhood long known for their cheery Christmas light displays.”
The camera panned over an area with broken decorations. A Santa display with reindeer was on its side, and the Santa appeared to be doing something decidedly adult with Rudolph. The cameraman hurriedly shifted away.
“Anyone with any information leading to the apprehension of this shockingly irreverent vandal is encouraged, in the spirit of the season, to call the Sunnydale Police Department immediately!”
Dawn, now modeling an attractive red and green sweater with bells that jingled when she moved and dark green jeans, flopped onto the couch and clicked it off. “Demon, you think?”
Xander returned to cutting up the gizzards for the stuffing. “A demon who hates Christmas? And would actually take the time to do all that? Nah. Probably just some drunk bastard who hates the holidays.”
Meanwhile, across town…
Spike hated Christmas. He hated the lights and the tinsel and the ornaments and the holly and the mistletoe, the bloody fucking mistletoe! He emphasized his feelings by tearing off a strand of white lights that looked like cum drops spilled across the roof’s edge. Bugger that, he snorted. More like piss-yellow. That sounded like a damn good idea, and he’d had most of a gallon of Monarch’s bourbon earlier, so could execute the plan with ease.
He pried open his five-button jeans and reached in for his dick. He aimed at the Nativity scene first, knocking over one of the mules, or a sheep, or whatever - with his unruly stream.
Finished, he put himself together and looked at his handiwork. The manger scene was completely soaked. Earlier in the night, he’d torn apart a decorated Christmas tree in the front yard, and stomped around angrily (no, not merrily, never merry) and punched out cardboard Santa’s and snowmen.
The area was properly de-Christmas’d now, and so he left the yard, intending to go to another house begging for redecoration, but instead he stopped and growled in frustration. All that effort had made him hungry, and the soul only meant he had to go home to eat now, instead of grabbing a late-evening shopper snack. So he headed south instead of west, down towards more cheerful lights and loud fucking carols.
He managed to clear himself a path between the jolly freaks and relished the peace and quiet he found in the cemetery, and
eventually his crypt. One slam of the fridge door later, and he was dropping into his recliner and sinking fang through plastic. The cold blood slid thickly through the holes and Spike helped by hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard enough to tear one big hole in the bag. The blood drained down his throat and he rolled his eyes at the urge to chew that came over him.
His blue eyes caught a flash of something at the door and Spike was on his feet in an instant, his nostrils flaring. Then the blond sank back down into the chair, tossing the empty bag into a bin. “Hullo, Bit.”
Dawn shoved the door closed against the wind - this crypt didn’t have a convenient sunken entrance like his last crypt - and shivered. “Hi. Brought you a present.” Her smile was bright as she unwrapped her scarf. Spike just gave her the look and struggled not to snap her cute little Christmas-loving neck. He loved Dawn. He did. Even thought about what was pressed fetchingly up against her sweater every so often, when he was lonely, or just wanted a wank to someone he knew liked him. But there was no saving his attitude this time of year.
And Dawn should have known that, but, “Xander and I want you to come to Christmas dinner at our house.”
Spike threw himself out of the chair with a muttered growl. “No. No way in hell, Bit. I don’t like the hols, you know it and I know it and even the damn treat knows it, so leave off already, yeah?” He stuck his head nearly all the way into the fridge and wondered if vampires could be gassed to death if they didn’t breathe.
Dawn, unperturbed, sat in the chair and turned on the television. “Look, It’s a Wonderful Life is on,” she said. “It’s a tradition, Spike.”
Now he got angry, and forgot who he was yelling at as the fridge was thrown against a wall. Blood packets flew out and landed around him as he turned on her. “A tradition? A tradition for who, you stupid bint? For humans! For you, Buffy, even Xander, whose home life was as far from wonderful as you could possibly get, and you all still watch this crap like it means anything!”
In the face of his anger, her perk diminished, but she stood up and faced him. “It’s meant to bring families together, Spike - of all kinds. And you’re part of our family, in case you’d forgotten!”
Spike snorted. “Family? Family’s blood and fury and fists and fangs, love. Nothing I have anymore. Now go on back to yours.” He gave her his back and she could see a fine tremble start in his shoulders and was about to say something when he interrupted her with a shout.
“Go on, get out of here!”
The silence was pressing all around them as Dawn, wetness in her eyes, gathered her coat and scarf and yanked the door shut behind her.
When he finally turned around, his eyes caught the paper bag she’d brought still by the door, but he left it there, sliding down the ladder and then dropping into the tunnels. The night was still mildly young and surely he could find something to hit. Like an elf.
TBC