FIC - In Joyful Chorus Raise We
Title: In Joyful Chorus Raise We
Pairing: Spike/Lindsey
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Spike and Lindsey’s first Christmas together, written for scripps and her prompt on nekid_spike. MAJOR SCHMOOP WARNING.
The most amazing things can happen at Christmastime.
On this particular Christmas Eve, in a fairly average Los Angeles apartment, there was a man from Oklahoma lying in the arms of his lover, who was a vampire more than a hundred years older than he was, though the man had been, in the technical sense, alive for longer. The two of them were tangled up in a multi-colored afghan on their living room sofa, lounging in post-coital bliss, exchanging occasional kisses and whispered affections.
The man, Lindsey, moved himself into a sitting position, his back against the arm of the couch, and the vampire, Spike (not Spike, William, but still, Spike), settled his back against Lindsey’s chest.
In this private setting, Lindsey forgot about the pretense of his unaccented voice and asked his lover, in his natural Midwestern drawl, “What was it like for you? Christmas? When you were a kid? Was it a whole lot different than what we do now?”
Spike, also shedding his affected London street-kid accent to speak to Lindsey in his true voice, responded “Yeah, I guess so. We had presents and all that, but not like people do now. Just a few little things, tied up in ribbons. But it wasn’t just a day. It was kind of more like a week, neighbors coming by and everyone cooking, sharing food, like that.”
“Not ham and mashed potatoes?” Lindsey asked, genuinely curious about what things had been like so long ago.
Spike laughed. “No, love, not ham and mashed potatoes. You would have hated it. Christmas pudding was made with beef, prunes and raisins. We had it for days before Christmas, sharing with relatives and family friends. The children would get shooed away so the adults could drink wine and talk. We’d bundle up and play in the snow, friends and cousins and whichever other neighbor kids were around. Christmas dinner was goose, usually, at least at my house it was anyway. We’d go to church, mum would spend the day preparing the feast, and we’d all eat until we were stuffed, then miraculously find more room in our bellies for mincemeat pie. Yeah, you would have hated that too, probably. But then, after supper, we’d get to open our gifts. I can still remember my mum and dad, my aunt, a few neighbors, singing ‘O Holy Night’, us kids would join in when we were old enough to remember the words. It was nice. Real nice.”
Lindsey pulled his lover into a tighter embrace. “Sure sounds nice. You think about it sometimes?”
“Yeah, sometimes. The songs especially. My mum looked so peaceful when she was singing those hymns. I still think they’re pretty, even though I don’t really buy into the religion thing so much. What about you? I know your childhood years weren’t exactly Hallmark-card material, but you must have some nice Christmas memories?”
“There were a couple of years there, when I was real little, I remember having a tree with lights on it, my daddy holding me up so I could put the angel on the top of the tree. My sisters all excited and talking about Santa Claus, waking up at the crack of dawn to open presents. We went to church, too, until I was ten or eleven. One year my baby sister got to play an angel in the Christmas pageant, my mama was so proud. Took a hundred pictures. Nice dinners, too, ham or turkey and potatoes and creamed corn and pies. Things got dicey after that, my daddy skipping out on us and not much to celebrate on the years when the heat was turned off on account of us not being able to pay the bill.”
“Ah, love, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something that would be hurtful.”
“It’s all right. A couple times I’d do odd jobs for someone, get together enough money to leave one or two things wrapped up for the girls, when they still believed in Santa. Maybe more than a couple times I just let myself into a house in one of the nicer neighborhoods and helped myself to a few things I thought the girls might like. Not very Jesus-y of me, I know, but I couldn’t let them go without anything. One year I even killed a wild turkey out in the woods, skinned it and brought it to my mama ‘cause I didn’t know how to cook. Can’t remember a time she looked any more proud of me than that day.”
“Lindsey, certainly she was proud when you left for college, when you got into law school. My mum would have been through the roof if I’d ever made myself into anything other than a horrible poet”, Spike replied, tilting his head back to look into his lover’s eyes.
“Nah, she was a drunk by then, just angry that I was leaving.”
Spike had heard enough at this point. He twisted himself around so that he was facing Lindsey, his body lying gently on top of his lover’s. “Look what we’ve got now, though. No snow, but a pretty tree. A couple of presents to give our friends when they come by tomorrow. So we’re ordering in Chinese food, whatever, it’s still Christmas dinner, right?”
“And you. I have you. Still like ‘O Holy Night’?”
“Course I do. It’s a pretty song.”
“Get off me, then. I’ve got something for you.”
Spike sat up and watched Lindsey disappear into their bedroom, then return with his acoustic guitar. His eyes went wide and maybe teared up a little as Lindsey sat on the floor, strumming out the first notes, then adding his beautiful voice along with the music.
“The king of kings lay thus in lowly manger, in all our trials born to be our friend, fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices…”
For a few minutes, Spike just listened, imagined the face of his mother singing the exact same words so very long ago. Then he moved onto the floor and joined Lindsey. “ O night divine, O night when Christ was born…”
Lindsey set his guitar down on the floor, and pulled Spike into a passionate kiss. “Merry Christmas, Spike.”
“Happy Christmas, Lindsey. I love you.”
Pairing: Spike/Lindsey
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Spike and Lindsey’s first Christmas together, written for scripps and her prompt on nekid_spike. MAJOR SCHMOOP WARNING.
The most amazing things can happen at Christmastime.
On this particular Christmas Eve, in a fairly average Los Angeles apartment, there was a man from Oklahoma lying in the arms of his lover, who was a vampire more than a hundred years older than he was, though the man had been, in the technical sense, alive for longer. The two of them were tangled up in a multi-colored afghan on their living room sofa, lounging in post-coital bliss, exchanging occasional kisses and whispered affections.
The man, Lindsey, moved himself into a sitting position, his back against the arm of the couch, and the vampire, Spike (not Spike, William, but still, Spike), settled his back against Lindsey’s chest.
In this private setting, Lindsey forgot about the pretense of his unaccented voice and asked his lover, in his natural Midwestern drawl, “What was it like for you? Christmas? When you were a kid? Was it a whole lot different than what we do now?”
Spike, also shedding his affected London street-kid accent to speak to Lindsey in his true voice, responded “Yeah, I guess so. We had presents and all that, but not like people do now. Just a few little things, tied up in ribbons. But it wasn’t just a day. It was kind of more like a week, neighbors coming by and everyone cooking, sharing food, like that.”
“Not ham and mashed potatoes?” Lindsey asked, genuinely curious about what things had been like so long ago.
Spike laughed. “No, love, not ham and mashed potatoes. You would have hated it. Christmas pudding was made with beef, prunes and raisins. We had it for days before Christmas, sharing with relatives and family friends. The children would get shooed away so the adults could drink wine and talk. We’d bundle up and play in the snow, friends and cousins and whichever other neighbor kids were around. Christmas dinner was goose, usually, at least at my house it was anyway. We’d go to church, mum would spend the day preparing the feast, and we’d all eat until we were stuffed, then miraculously find more room in our bellies for mincemeat pie. Yeah, you would have hated that too, probably. But then, after supper, we’d get to open our gifts. I can still remember my mum and dad, my aunt, a few neighbors, singing ‘O Holy Night’, us kids would join in when we were old enough to remember the words. It was nice. Real nice.”
Lindsey pulled his lover into a tighter embrace. “Sure sounds nice. You think about it sometimes?”
“Yeah, sometimes. The songs especially. My mum looked so peaceful when she was singing those hymns. I still think they’re pretty, even though I don’t really buy into the religion thing so much. What about you? I know your childhood years weren’t exactly Hallmark-card material, but you must have some nice Christmas memories?”
“There were a couple of years there, when I was real little, I remember having a tree with lights on it, my daddy holding me up so I could put the angel on the top of the tree. My sisters all excited and talking about Santa Claus, waking up at the crack of dawn to open presents. We went to church, too, until I was ten or eleven. One year my baby sister got to play an angel in the Christmas pageant, my mama was so proud. Took a hundred pictures. Nice dinners, too, ham or turkey and potatoes and creamed corn and pies. Things got dicey after that, my daddy skipping out on us and not much to celebrate on the years when the heat was turned off on account of us not being able to pay the bill.”
“Ah, love, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something that would be hurtful.”
“It’s all right. A couple times I’d do odd jobs for someone, get together enough money to leave one or two things wrapped up for the girls, when they still believed in Santa. Maybe more than a couple times I just let myself into a house in one of the nicer neighborhoods and helped myself to a few things I thought the girls might like. Not very Jesus-y of me, I know, but I couldn’t let them go without anything. One year I even killed a wild turkey out in the woods, skinned it and brought it to my mama ‘cause I didn’t know how to cook. Can’t remember a time she looked any more proud of me than that day.”
“Lindsey, certainly she was proud when you left for college, when you got into law school. My mum would have been through the roof if I’d ever made myself into anything other than a horrible poet”, Spike replied, tilting his head back to look into his lover’s eyes.
“Nah, she was a drunk by then, just angry that I was leaving.”
Spike had heard enough at this point. He twisted himself around so that he was facing Lindsey, his body lying gently on top of his lover’s. “Look what we’ve got now, though. No snow, but a pretty tree. A couple of presents to give our friends when they come by tomorrow. So we’re ordering in Chinese food, whatever, it’s still Christmas dinner, right?”
“And you. I have you. Still like ‘O Holy Night’?”
“Course I do. It’s a pretty song.”
“Get off me, then. I’ve got something for you.”
Spike sat up and watched Lindsey disappear into their bedroom, then return with his acoustic guitar. His eyes went wide and maybe teared up a little as Lindsey sat on the floor, strumming out the first notes, then adding his beautiful voice along with the music.
“The king of kings lay thus in lowly manger, in all our trials born to be our friend, fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices…”
For a few minutes, Spike just listened, imagined the face of his mother singing the exact same words so very long ago. Then he moved onto the floor and joined Lindsey. “ O night divine, O night when Christ was born…”
Lindsey set his guitar down on the floor, and pulled Spike into a passionate kiss. “Merry Christmas, Spike.”
“Happy Christmas, Lindsey. I love you.”