X-MAS FIC

by Bobbi

Rating: NC-17
Author’s note: The festively funny banners were created by the amazing Dan, or as I like to call him: GAM (god among men), and his awesome partner in crime: Frass, or as I like to call her…Frass. Dan also provided me with the title for this story. Thanks, Gam : ) : ) : ) Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone!

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Okay, how do I put this delicate like? ‘Cause that’s what I do now: I put shit just right, put a little thought into it ‘fore I say somethin’. Why? ‘Cause I’m in the leaf turnin’ business now, lock, stock, and barrel. Maybe from the outside it looks like a deluxe pussywhipping, you can call it what ya want… just not in front of me. ‘Cause the new “think first” thing I got goin’? Not gonna stop me from fuckin’ breaking your neck for sayin’ that crap about me.

What the fuck was I gettin’ at? Oh yeah, I remember, I was bein’ delicate.

The deal’s this: I don’t give two shits about Christmas. Never had a good one in my life, the best ones were when people just forgot or passed out early or didn’t come home at all. Then I could watch TV if we had one, or lay in my bed and try to figure out what I’d do with a million bucks if Santa ever came through, just one fucking time.

That’s what passed for a good Christmas for me. The rest of’em, the ones with people conscious and trying or pretending to have a good time, well that shit always meant trouble, and no way did I need it. Already had plenty to last me all year long.

Still, and I don’t fuckin’ know why to this day, I gave it a shot when I first got to Sunnydale. Stole a couple of strands of lights and hung’em up in my rat trap of a motel room. Went over to B’s and even got her and her mom some gifts too.

I can still remember when B invited me. I knew her mom was makin’ her, but I was so fuckin’ happy. Somebody wanted me some place, B and her mom were cool with me hangin’ there.

Course I couldn’t just admit that, had to go all tough girl and try to stonewall her with some lame ass lie she saw right through. That makes me laugh now. Like I could stonewall Her Highness over anything.

She’s one stubborn little bitch who doesn’t let nothing slide when it comes to me, not that she was always like that then. But whatever, ‘cause now she’s all over me and I love it, and I don’t bother hidin’ that fact from anybody.

I’m Buffy’s. She fought for me and she won, we both did. I’m head over heels for her and now I do whatever she needs me to do to make her happy. I’m all about making B happy, I pretty much live for that. We’ve been together for almost three years now.

One thousand, eighty two days.

What? So I keep track, I like to know.

Anyway, that was a great Christmas for me even though B ended up takin’ off. She actually looked happy to see me when she opened the door, and yeah, I gave’em the shittiest gifts ever, but leastways I bought’em myself. Even as fucked up as I was back then, I knew I should pay for’em.

You can’t steal Christmas gifts, and I wasn’t gonna hand Mrs. Summers a stolen present. That’d be so screwed up, dirty somehow, and back then I didn’t wanna bring that shit into her house. Course I ended up bringin’ way more than that through her door, and no, I’m not proud of it. Still burns like a bitch, just like it oughta.

Man, I’m all over the place. All I’m tryin’ to explain is why I’m now doin’ what I’m doin’ and what I’m doin’ is simple: I’m trying to decorate a Christmas tree.

It’s not goin’ that great yet ‘cause it’s my first time ever doin’ one, plus I keep thinkin’ I hear B comin’ down the stairs. Keeps breakin’ up the flow I got goin’, so I need to stop bein’ rabbit ears. It’s tough though, ‘cause I wanna surprise her.

Least I finally got the big bitch in the stand, which what in the fuckin’ fuck is that all about? Some S&M queen invent the sitch or what? Thank God, and no, I ain’t doin’ Red’s puke fest of “Thank Goddess”…even if she is the one who insisted I buy the new kinda tree stand.

All ya gotta do is jam the tree in and let the stand do the rest of the work, which was way tough enough. I think I scraped all of the paint offa the back door frame trying to muscle the bastard in, and it woulda been nice if somebody’d have told me to leave that net wrapping shit on ‘til I had it standin’ on its own.

‘Stead I sliced it open first and nearly got knocked cold when this one branch came out lookin’ for blood. Betcha a thousand people get disfigured every year ‘cause without Slayer reflexes, I’d be one of’em.

So that was a real bitch kitty, and I can’t even imagine tryin’ to do it with a stand that’s not doin’ all the work for me. I mean, short of layin’ on the floor dry humpin’ the tree while ya try to get the screws stuck in it just right…Yeah, fine. Thank Goddess that Red had my back or this whole dumb ass plan woulda been dead in the water.

Or there’d be a Christmas tree shaped hole in the livin’ room wall for her big surprise, and then B woulda kicked my perfect ass into an unidentified flyin’ object. So I’m sayin’ the whole lame “Goddess” thing outta respect and gratitude, but just for tonight and just to myself.

Okay, the tree’s trapped in the stand and I’m psyched ‘cause I’m almost finished. Just gotta throw the shit on it and I’m done. Talk about an easy way to make my girl happy. Figure that took me like twenty minutes, so it’s another ten or fifteen tops and I’m gonna be able to grab a beer, admire the job my shit hot skills got done, then head upstairs to cuddle with Buffy while I wait for the happy squealin’ in the morning.

I feel kinda guilty in a way, but that’s not gonna stop me from laying it on thick. I’m gonna tell B it took me hours and hours and man, I am gonna get the best fucking ever outta this. It’s like takin’ pussy from a…a…from a somethin’.

Anyway, I head out to the trash can and grab the lights I hid there a coupla days ago. B never does shit with the garbage, so I knew she’d never spot’em there. See, this is what I’m gettin’ at. I already saved time by takin’ all of’em outta their boxes and rippin’ them offa those hard as shit white plastic things. Then I stuffed’em into a decoy garbage bag, and talk about hittin’ all cylinders full speed.

It’s kinda crazy how smart I am at this stuff. I musta been a holiday expert in another life or something ‘cause this shit’s just comin’ to me with like no fuckin’ effort. I’m just a natural at it, and I don’t have any problem braggin’ about myself at any time, in any…

What the fuck?!

Eight strands of lights, ‘cause I bought a huge ass tree, and they’re all fucking each other like it’s their right to be in a daisy chain at Christmas. I don’t even wanna touch the filthy little bastards, but stickin’em on in a ball that’s bigger than B, well, that’s not gonna look right at all. So I sit down to get’em untangled, which is irritating, but whatever. I can go the extra ten minutes.

Thirty…Jesus, Joseph, and Mary…eight minutes later, I got’em laid out as far away from each other as I can get’em. They still keep edgin’ closer whenever I take my eyes off’em, but I’m onto their game now, and it ain’t gonna happen. No how, no way.

I get all eight strands on in like three minutes and then plug’em in. The room lights up in the soft glow B’s been goin’ on and on about, then the room gets real bright, then black. They fuckin’ blew!

I fumble around in the dark and manage to unplug’em, then go and pop the breaker back on. I don’t have a clue what the fuck’s goin’ on, then I see a little silver label on the part of the cord that goes into the wall. Turns out some pansies musta designed’em and you’re only supposed to hook like three strands together.

Well, why don’t they tell ya? I hooked all of ‘em into one, figuring it’d be easier to plug in. And it was, but if the lights won’t stay on doin’ it like that, well I guess easy’s not all it’s cracked up to be, and don’t that just figure.

So I gotta replace all of the fuses on each strand, and thank Christ…‘cause “Goddess” just proved herself to be a real cunt…that they got’em attached right to the cord in these little clear baggies. ‘Cept that ya can’t open’em even with Slayer strength and a knife that’ll cut through bone. What the hell?

After a battle of wills, which I win, the first two go in easy, what with me bein’ an expert and all…just as soon as I figure out where they’re at and how to open’em. But then I can’t find the fuckin’ plug-in part of the other lights. I hunt for twenty minutes and then start lookin’ at the tree with new respect.

The thing might be dead, but it’s still gettin’ its licks in where it can. If it was up to me, I’d either just cut the cords in half or shave the tree into a stick so I could find’em easy, but those options are out. I’m kinda hitting my limit, so I make a deal with God.

I got no intention of keepin’ my end of the deal, but I figure He’s God so He already knows that anyway. If He’s stupid enough to keep givin’ me chances, I’m man enough to keep fuckin’ with Him. So I swear to give up cigarettes and booze and bam! I can see’em, one after the other. What a fuckin’ chump God is, not that I’d say that to His face. Less I was blowin’ smoke rings at the time.

I get’em fixed pretty fast, then split’em up into two groups of four, ‘cause just three together’s gotta be slimy lawyer talk, and oh yeah, baby! B’s gonna shit herself and fuck my brains out, and that ladies and gentleman, is the fucking spirit of Christmas. Jesus loves me, this I know and right this sec, I’m really diggin’ Him and His dad too. And the light’s really nice, bright in a festive, glowy way, not like a searchlight or a bare bulb when the fixture’s laying in pieces on the floor but it’s all ya got.

Tree’s perfect and….no. I can see all the cords and it looks like the tree’s tied down and bein’ held hostage or somethin’. I get to work hidin’ the green wires, but fuck me. None of’em wanna go where I want’em to, and I’m jammin’ shit in hard and then the lights are outta sight and the needles are hittin’ the carpet, but the cords are still all front and center.

Maybe I’m possessed…I mean, “obsessed” ‘cause no way are the cords outshinin’ the lights. I step back and yeah, it looks okay. Plus, I can hang the gizmos in front of the rough patches like camouflage. I lean in to tuck this one part in, and the light lights me up and I look down ‘cause you know, it’s me and:

“Motherfuck!”

Now God’s just bein’ a prick. I know it, He knows it, and Jesus does too. I mean, here it is Christmas and He’s gotta bust balls and blow tree snot all over my shirt and pants. It’s sticky and looks stuck on forever, and ain’t that a fucking kick in the nuts?

Well screw it, Asshole. Soon as I get done, I’m smokin’ a pack all at once and drinking fifty beers. No way am I takin’ this like some kinda sap… Hahaha!!! That is so fucked up.

I strip off my clothes. Just gonna finish up naked, no sense ruinin’ more threads. Leastways, I get attacked again, can always just shower it off, although might be funny to fuck B, then watch her stick to me. Man, I would love that! B rubbin and touchin’ me everywhere, twenty-four/seven.

Holy hell, is that the right time? How the fuck did it get this late? Lost maybe eighteen minutes thinkin’ ‘bout me and B goin’ at it, and I’m not even exaggeratin’. But shit, that little noise she makes when I hit that spot and the way she clings so hard to me and moans my name……Twelve more lost in a Buffy fog. She’s got me twirlin’ left and right by the short hairs even when she’s sleepin’, but I gotta focus on this tree now.

I haul all the decorations out of the hall closet where I had’em hidden under a buncha shit. Hidin’ stuff in plain sight’s like an art form, and I’m a real master at it, an artist, like that guy, the crazy, fucked up one who sliced off his ear and sent it to a chick. What the fuck was that all about?

“Here B, here’s my ear.”

Oh man, I can just see the look on her face.

Anyways, about the hidin’ thing. I noticed, ‘cause I’m observant like that, that B had the hall closet all junked up like a slob. Clothes and boots and shit were all piled up on the floor in there. So I pulled everything out, put the boxes on the bottom and piled all that shit right back on top of it. Then thinkin’ quick, I grabbed some clothes that were nearby and scattered’em around all casual like, ya know, so it’d look like I was a slob too and had nothing to hide. Nothing to see here, Slayer. Just keep it movin’.

Worked great. She never paid any attention to the boxes, cept to tell me they were there and she wanted’em gone after the holidays ‘cause we use that closet and shouldn’t junk it up. Then I had to just stand there and let B take all of that shit and my good stuff, including my favorite jacket, to the Salvation Army or Goodwill or wherever the fuck she went to. How the hell was I supposed to know that was her stash of crap to donate?

First off: ‘cept on TV shows, who the fuck really gathers shit together to drop off for the needy? Well, sometimes when I was a kid, me and a buddy would take a bag of garbage to the local parish to donate, but after a coupla times they were onto us and we couldn’t play that joke anymore. That’s why I hate church, always gotta ruin a good time and they got no sense of humor.

Plus that priest guy at the place? Word was he was a little too tight with a few of the boys. See? Now that’s the stuff God oughta be dealin’ with, ‘stead Him and His enforcer of a kid gotta make a tree shit on my clothes. Pervert got his though, recent like and back then too when we used to pelt him with snowballs almost every fuckin’ day in the winter.

I get the boxes open and the fuckers are goin’ on okay after I get the hang of stickin’em on the little silver hooks. Gotta be careful though ‘cause some of’em are made with the cheapest glass I’ve ever seen. It’s so thin, I don’t even know if they can last through Christmas. It’s like if ya walk by the tree, the breeze might make’em explode. I’d better warn Xander to stay clear, can’t risk him takin’ it in the eye.

For real though, I paid good money ‘cause I bought’em special. B goes on and on and on about the decorations her mom used to have, what they looked like, the colors, the glitter, the patterns, all that crap. So I looked everywhere and managed to find some that seemed to match up pretty good.

Course none of’em are at the Marts, that’d be too sensible. The shit B loves is all “collectible” now and only online and at hoity toity stores around the world. I got a shitload of it from the comfort of Kennedy’s laptop, but despite all my hard work, I still had to go to “Joann’s: Bitches Are Us” store.

The place makes me itch just drivin’ by it, and I had to park my bike in an actual parking spot and go inside. Then I had to pay way too much for the privilege of havin’ Deborah, Marie, and Karen try to make me feel like I wasn’t worthy of forkin’ over all of my money so that the three of’em could retire by the time they took every cent I had. Marie even told me how lucky I was to be allowed to buy Christmas decorations in late November as the proper time to buy’em is before Halloween.

Don’t ask me, I don’t know. I just stood there’re smilin’ while they lovingly hand packed the silver balls with the blue glitter reindeers jumping around like freaks, every other one with a stupid red nose, all because they were B’s all-time faves and no way was I leavin’ the store without’em. But seriously, these women? Nobody’d blame me for killin’em. I’ve slayed a shitload of demons way less evil than them.

And here’s the thing: even when it was over, it wasn’t. They got the wrappin’ done, then held that bag just outta my reach and kept “chatting”. My eyes never moved from B’s reindeer, but no way could I just snatch’em away, not without riskin’ I was gonna break’em. Those bitches knew that and were gettin’ their holly jollies outta torturin’ me.

When I finally got to leave, I was practically running with them still talkin’ all crazy behind me:

“Happy Holidays!”

“Merry Christmas!”

“Happy Hanukah!”

And explainin’ in great detail that the Valentine’s Day decorations were goin’ on sale the day after Christmas, and the Easter shit was gonna be gone by February. And they were dead fucking serious. And weird. And scary. And the only person I’d go through that again for is sleepin’ the sleep of the kinda tipsy upstairs.

Oh, and I had to ride my motorcycle at about five miles an hour, holding them babies like they were nitro from a cowboy flick. Here it was all cold out and I was sweatin’ up a storm, every asshole in town honkin’ and screamin’ at me, and I’ll tell ya: nobody ever pulled that shit with John Wayne. But me? I finally had to pull over and have Willow pick me up in her car.

Anyways, point’s that the glass is paper thin and before this holiday’s over, somebody’s gonna get cut. But B likes this shit, so if somebody’s gotta die or end up disfigured, whatever. She’s gonna be so freakin’ happy and there’s nobody comin’ over who doesn’t love her too. They’ll be willing to risk it for her.

She’s really gonna be happy, so happy she’s gonna smile that “Buffy” smile, the one she smiles when she’s flyin’ high. I love it, can’t see it enough, and I spend just about every minute of every day trying to make it show up. Gotta say, I got that thing showin’ on a regular basis over the last few years, and I’m not plannin’ on that changing any time ever.

B loves Christmas and we’ve never had one at our place. First year together, we were on assignment. She wasn’t happy and I didn’t get why. Was just another day to me and fuck, we were in like a ten star hotel.

Was a real swanky joint, we had our assignment done, all expenses paid, and I was plannin’ on room service out the ass. Then I was gonna fuck her every which way in the whirlpool tub ‘cause that thing was big enough for some real interestin’ positions.

But then it came out that she was missin’ a tree, so I said:

“There’s one in the lobby. Wanna go down and look at it ‘fore we screw?”

Yeah, I get it now, but then? No clue why I was out on the little loveseat for the night, watchin’ Jimmy Stewart runnin’ through the snow screamin’ like a dipshit over and over.

The next year, we weren’t home again, and by the time we got there, it was too late. There weren’t any trees left ‘cept the Charlie Brown ones, and B looked like I slapped her when I said we could get a fake one. Then Dawnie couldn’t make it, Giles and Andy had to cancel at the last second ‘cause of some Council emergency, and Xander never was plannin’ to show.

So it was just me, B, Red and Ken. I called it “Merry Hanukah…The Dyke Way”, and yeah, we had fun, but B wasn’t really happy. Leastways not “happy” happy. She played along, was a real good sport about it, but she was down and sad, even though she hid it, and I didn’t like that shit at all.

Fact is, it pissed me right off. So I told Giles the next day in no uncertain terms how it was gonna go next time and every time after:
“From now on, Christmas is here. Everybody’s comin’ and I don’t give a fuck if the world’s endin’. We’ll all die together drinkin’ eggnog and openin’ presents, whatever. Me and B aren’t leavin’ town once it hits December, so don’t bother askin’. We’re off duty ‘less it’s local, and on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, unless it’s in our house, we don’t give a fuck.”

What’d Giles say?

“You’ve my word, Faith. We’ll be there.”

I love that guy.

I lost nine more minutes just standin’ here with some six million dollar, paper thin, glass Santa in my hand thinkin’ about Buffy bein’ all happy. And the thing is, no matter how happy she is, she still somehow looks even happier each and every time she sees me.

She’s always so beautiful, but then when she looks my way, she fucking lights up like I’m the best thing ever, and the weirdest part? That’s just what I feel like when she looks at me like that: like I’m the best thing ever. Me, somebody who’s never even been close to runner-up in the contest, and now? Now I’m the fuckin’ champion, every goddamned day.

I finally snap out of it and check out the great job I did. Except, nope, I did a fucked up job. It’s all clumpy, everything’s all together and big chunks of the tree are empty, not a decoration in sight. I concentrate on spreadin’ the world’s most expensive glass balls all over the world’s biggest tree, step back and yeah! Now that’s a tree! Fuck, am I ever good at this crap.

All I got left to do’s the tinfoil or the tinsel, if ya wanna get fancy, the candy canes, and the topper thing. It takes me forever to figure out: do I go tinsel, then candy canes or candy canes, then tinsel? I eat like ten of the canes while I try to figure it out, but no prob, I know me, so I bought five boxes and I got plenty left.

I decide on tinsel, then canes ‘cause if somebody eats’em, I don’t want’em ripping off all of the stuff just ‘cause I buried the canes in it. And B told me ya gotta have lotsa tinsel on the tree to make it really pretty, so either I gotta kill people who just want some candy or I do it tinsel first.

I open up one of the packs, yank it out and toss it, but it’s got a buncha static electricity or somethin’ ‘cause it all sucks together like a special effect and goes into this freaky shiny ball right on top of a light and a piece of “highway robbery thin” glass shaped like a snowman. I gotta go get it and spread it onto the tree piece by piece, and that shit’s all tangled up even though nothin’ happened to it.

I mean, why’s everything gettin’ all tangled up in the most irritating way possible? The stuff just seems to wind itself into knots for no reason at all and it doesn’t make any fucking sense…Hey, hold on, I get it.

Must be the “Magic of Christmas”, Hellmouth style. ‘Cause even though this place is nowhere near as bad as Sunny D, it’s still a Hellmouth. Or no, fuck that. Maybe it’s just the “Powers That Be”, or as I like to call’em: “The Pussies That Need an Ass Kickin’ For All the Good They Ever Do”, fuckin’ with us. This is exactly the kinda bullshit they pull when they’re bored. Fine, let’em dick around, they’re not gonna stop me.

So I get the tinsel down after about a billion years of fightin’ with it, but I got sorta loony after dealing with it awhile. By the third box, was like I was arrangin’ robot hair one piece at a time and it started creepin’ me out ‘cause I hate robots, ‘cept for that one on “Lost in Space”, the TV show, not the fucked up movie. That’s the only robot I make an exception for ‘cause he was cool.

“Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!”

I like it ‘cause at the start he tried to kill everybody, but then he turned himself around and ended up lovin’ the same people he tried to waste. And they ended up lovin’ him right back, and well, yeah, it was cool. He became one of the fam, and he made a pretty good life for himself. ‘Specially for a robot, and I gotta admire that. Plus his arms could extend and shoot out electricity if he wanted’em to, and he could turn all the way around without movin’ his feet.

I get the canes on, step back again and it looks great. But then I notice: I need more of everything higher up. The tree’s tall, right up to the ceiling, and I have to keep jumpin’. My tits are flappin’ in the breeze, occasionally slappin’ me on the chin on the bigger jumps, but it doesn’t take too long.

I stand back and oh, yeah: it’s fuckin’ perfect.

I’m like the “Christmas Tree Whisperer” or somethin’. I tamed this bitch and all her sidekicks, bent’em to my will, but didn’t break’em, all in under three hours almost, and now Buffy Anne Summers is gonna have the perfect tree.

Not only is the tree perfect, the whole month’s gonna be too. December starts tomorrow and that means it’s the official start of the holiday too. She thinks we’re goin’ to Red’s house this year and that we’re off on assignment next week, but nope. I’m gonna tell her tomorrow that this is “Christmas Central”, we’re not goin’ anywhere, and everybody’s comin’ and bringin’ the fun like only they can.

The out-of-towners are stayin’ too, and she is gonna go apeshit about that. Dawnie’s hangin’ for two weeks, Xander for ten days, and G-man and Andy for at least a week, they’ll know better when it gets closer to the time.

And in case it sounds like Giles and Andy are a couple, fuck, I’m gaggin’ at the thought, Andy unbelievably does a lotta important Council shit for Giles now, and they’re like a team. The little sissy’s come into his own…let that slide, yeah?...and he’s pretty much a Council big shot now. Turns out he’s got a brain and the Slayers like him a lot. He’s Giles’ right hand man, and for fuck’s sake, don’t say it.

The bottom line’s this: The Scooby Gang’s gonna be makin’ merry for as long as we feel like makin’ it, right here in this house. Christmas happens no place else and they’re all gonna show, no rain checks accepted or needed.

But in the here and now, all I got left’s the top of the tree and man, nothin’ proves I love B like what I’m about to do. Now I researched, and you can go with a star or an angel on top. I lean way, way over to the “star” side, and I think it’s obvious why. I mean, he was my boy too, but ya don’t see me stickin’ a plate of sushi or a wooden soldier up there. Sure as hell ain’t gonna be any spikes neither.

The star’s the best way to go. It’s neutral, clean, got no other meanings, but B? She likes the angel. Her Mom would always let her choose a star or an angel and B would try to mix it up to keep it fresh. But now? She likes the angel ‘cause that’s what her mom liked the best.

So what am I gonna say: no? Fuck your memories, fuck your mom? No, I’m gonna suck it up and put an angel on top of our tree. And I’m gonna do it with a smile on my face and I’m not gonna let it mess with my head at all. It’s not an old boyfriend, it’s just some more of God’s crap. Well, fine Bitch, bring it.

There’s a ladder in the garage, but I don’t need it. Sometimes it pays big to be a Slayer. I hop up onto the stereo cabinet thing. It’s a little too short, but I can reach it if I stretch, kinda brace my other foot on the other wall ‘cross the corner.

Fuck, what was I thinkin’? Tree’s right up to the ceiling, there’s not any space to jam Angel…the angel on it. I gotta cut like two, three inches off the top stick, but I’m cool with that. Just takes me a sec to hop down, grab my knife, and resume the position.

My knife whaps it off like it’s nothin’, ‘cause it’s not, and I don’t gotta wonder why it’s my favorite blade. One swipe and I can decapitate a vamp and still have time to gut some unlucky fuckhead wanderin’ by…a demon fuckhead, I mean.

I toss the knife across the room and into the hall where it sticks in this little board by the front door where B wants us to hang our keys. Well, me mostly, ‘cause I never know where they’re at and she gets pissed waitin’ around for me to track’em down. I always swear to us both I’m gonna use it, but I think I’ve hung’em there once since she put it up.

With my blade secured, I go back to puttin’ on the final touch. I bend the topper stick down towards me real careful, ‘cause if it snaps, I’ll have to tape it back up and I don’t need that hassle. There’s just enough room to…It’s on!

My first tree decorated right outta B’s childhood and it looks fucking perfect…No. That angel’s leanin’ like a drunk to the left. I grab him and twist his fuckin’ nuts right off for gettin’ to my girl first. Just kiddin’. I grab him and try to steer him straight…hahaha…but I can’t seem to get him to stay. I keep at it and…Got it! Perfect.

He’s so straight you could use him as a ruler, and that’s a thought I keep in my head as I ride the tree all the way down to the ground.
Yeah, that’s right. I knocked it over with me hangin’ onto it bare assed naked like I couldn’t wait for B and decided to fuck the tree ‘cause it’s been beggin’ for it all night. All four limbs wrapped around it tight, swearin’ at Jesus, ‘cause come on, that Bastard’s gotta have somethin’ to do with this. No way it’s a coincidence.

The good news is that the angel snapped in half when the top of the tree ripped a large groove in the wall. The snobby ass glass balls from “Bitches R US” started blowin’ apart into deadly shards lookin’ for Xander’s eye just like I knew the prissy pieces of shit were gonna, and the lights started explodin’ and smokin’ like tiny grenades finally gettin’ a chance to do what they were meant to do.

I ride it all the way to the big finish, all kindsa shit ripping off the walls and window, two lamps busted beyond repair, a huge fuckin’ cut in the couch, and a horrible scraping noise as we slide past my big screen TV. I can’t even look there, not if I want to live. There’s also the sound of candy canes snappin’ like fingers do when you’re askin’ questions that some asshole’s not answerin’, and then it was all quiet, peaceful even.

The room’s dark again and I don’t know if that’s ‘cause the breaker tripped again or not. Once I had the Christmas lights goin’ for good, I shut off all the other lights, just seemed more festive that way. As I hit the floor, I hear another tearin’ noise, and I figure it’s one of the tree stand legs plowing its way through our brand new carpet.

The light next to the door flicks on and there’s B standing there lookin’ stunned. To be fair, it’s quite a sight, way different than the one she saw last ‘fore she headed up to bed.

“Hey, B. Merry Fuckin’ Christmas!”

There’s a faint, muffled explosion and then the TV makes this weird groaning noise and I groan with it. My baby’s dead, the faint smell of new smoke makes that crystal clear and so does the loud crash as it busts loose from the wall and looks at the floor up close and personal.

“Faith…”

She’s laughing now, and there’s that smile…and that look like I’m the best thing ever.

“Did you do all of this for me?”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t plan on the destruction part though.”

She’s at my side, pulling me to my feet as we try to dodge the ten zillion pieces of busted glass. She’s looking me over, checking out the scratches that are all just superficial nicks.

“Are you okay?”

I look around:

“Yeah, doin’ good. You?”

That makes us both laugh and we tiptoe our way through the smokin’ Christmas slaughterhouse that used to be our front room.
She puts her arms around me and pulls me close.

“What exactly was all of this?”

“A surprise I been workin’ on for ya. Got the big old-fashioned lights ya love, bought some decorations like the ones ya told me all about…I was makin’ ya a dream tree for Christmas.”

“God, that’s so…so sweet, but F, as much as I appreciate it, we can’t have a tree. We’re leaving in five days and…”

“No, we’re not. We’re hangin’ here all month and the gang’s comin’ for Christmas.”

She was lookin’ stunned again:

“…Everyone?”

“Yep, Dawnie, Xander, Andy, Giles…even Will and Ken are gonna crash here part of the time. Gonna be a blast.”

She glances over my shoulder into the living room:

“Looks like maybe there already was a blast.”

“Yeah, I really fucked it up. I’m sorry, B.”

The look on her face doesn’t look like she’s seen the couch or the carpet yet. I could point it out to her, but why? My life’ll be a lot easier if we just close the door and never go back in there. Maybe I can get her to go along with that somehow…

What? I can dream if I wanna.

But there’s no more time to think about that shit ‘cause B is kissin’ the living crap outta me. The kind of kissing that makes you glad you tried to do somethin’ for somebody, the kind of kissing that makes my toes curl when her tongue skims over the roof of my mouth and her hands drift up into my hair and pull me even closer.

I can feel her soft flannel pajamas rubbin’ against my skin and how is that the sexiest thing ever? ‘Cause it is…no, it’s her smell that’s the sexiest thing ever or maybe the feeling of her hair against my fingers ‘cause it’s so soft and silky and pours…sticks to my sap covered fingers.

“Ow.”

“Don’t move, B.”

“Ow.”

I make it out with just a few blonde hairs stuck to me.

“Wow, Faith, I never knew you were this sappy.”

I gotta laugh. See why I love her? I busted up the tree, tore up the front room, broke the TV, and tore out a handful of her hair. And B? She’s still all happy with me.
“Mmmm…”
Now why’s she moaning like that? It’s my tit her hand’s fuckin’ with, I get to do the moans in this kinda set-up.

“I so love your breasts…they’re perfect.”

Then that smooth gliding stops as she starts stickin’ to me, but B’s great at adaptin’ to whatever a sitch calls for. She might be stuck, but she’s stuck right at my nipple and her thumb seems wicked happy to be there.

My hand goes up to caress her jaw and when her tongue meets mine again, we both lose it. Our arms wrap around and then both of us are “ow-ing” and “fuck-ing” and rippin’ each other’s hair out and laughing like that shit doesn’t hurt.

I hate to stop her, but it’s gettin’ ridiculous:

“B, I need a shower.”

She does her little, “drive me wild, make me wanna fuck her” smile:

“And strangely, I do too.”

“So wanna take it together?”

“Faith, I wanna do everything together with you.”

I forget how to breathe for a sec and this heat runs right through me. I’m just flyin‘ cause she means that shit. “Everything” means everything, not just sex stuff, although that’s included.

“Yeah, B?”

“Yeah.”

But I can see from the look in her eye that there’s a zinger comin’.

“Spill it, B. ‘Everything’ but what?”

“Well, I’m not too sure I wanna decorate a Christmas tree with you any time soon.”

“Tryin’ to imply somethin’?”

She laughs and peeks around me again:

“God, what a mess.”

I try to think of what to say to her so she won’t start lookin’ too close and maybe get mad, but before I can get somethin’ good up and runnin’, B cements my love for her in stone.

She reaches around me, turns off the light, slides the door shut leavin’ sticky, sappy smears all over it, and takes my hand and leads me up the stairs.

“Whatever. I never did like that couch and that carpet’s way too light. I guess we’ll just have to celebrate in the dining room. Merry Fuckin’ Christmas, Faith.”

Fuck me, I am so in love.