Fic: poem, mangled christmas

[towillie@xxxxxxx]

Title: Mangled Christmas
Author: onewillie
Disclaimer: Joss and Co own the world
Rating: PG-17, Maybe R
Distribution: Take it, Just let me know
Feedback: YES,YES,YES,YES, Just remember I don't pretend to be a pro.


'Twas the night before Xmas
And all through the crypt,
Not a creature was stirring,
No one except 
A poor little vampire,
Who nobody loved.
Not Santa, nor elves,
Nor angels above.
(Tho' one in L.A.
Knew he was there
And hated his guts.)
There was no one to care.

In front of his telly,
(reruns of Passions)
Empty of belly,
(no pigs blood for rations)
Alone and dejected
He sat and reflected,
On past evils he did
When he once was respected.

When out in the graveyard,
On small silent feet,
A slayer and sweetheart
Did happen to meet.

"Dear Willow, my love,
Are you sure this is right?"
"Sweet Buffy, of course,
We must forgive on this night.
No creature should mope,
Whether alive or un,
All should feel joy,
And maybe some fun,
You know he has helped us,
(with reluctance of course)
But Dawn he has aided 
With no hint of remorse."

Through the headstones they crept,
Their baskets were full,
And love in their hearts,
(you know that is bull.)
To the door of the crypt,
All quiet and sneaky
And screwed up their courage
With a half pint of whisky.

The portal open they threw,
More foolish than wise,
And lept in the room
With shouts of "Suprise!"
They paused not a moment,
'round the area they flew,
And lit many candles
To keep out the dew.

Spike sat immobile,
Both stunned and astounded.
The look on his face 
Was slightly confounded.
A sheet they unfolded
And placed on the casket,
Smoothed it all out
And opened their basket,
A thermos of O,pos.
At 98.6
With a shot of AB
For a really quick fix.

The candles had warmed
The crypt up quite well,
Their robes were unloosened 
And synchronized fell.
Spikes' jaw dropped
At these visions of beauty.
"Who'd a guessed it." he thought,
"Willow's a cutie."
A emerald teddy
Complemented her eyes
And soft auburn hair
That fell to her thighs.
His gaze turned to Buffy,
Whose hair shone of gold.
Her firm and tanned body
Stood proudly and bold,
Encased in a chemise
Made completely of lace.
Both demure and sultry,
A smile on her face.

They moved to each other,
Out there on the floor,
And each others' bodies
Their hands did explore. 
Their lips met in kisses
Both sweet and obscene.
(God knows I tried
But I can't keep this clean.)

With sensual movements
They did their garments doff, 
And moving to Spike
Got his clothes off.
In bed and on chairs,
And once on their feet,
Two full hours they spent
In dalliance sweet.

Relaxing a bit
To regain their composure,
They reclothed themselves
To reduce their exposure.
Buffy turned to Spike
Upon reaching the door,
And said, "It's funny but you
I no longer abhor
Tomorrow is Christmas,
You should not be alone,
Come over to our place,
It's much more like home."

In wonder Spike stood.
"It can't be love, there's no way,
For it's easy to see
Their both happy and gay."
Then his gaze happened to drop
To his member majestic,
"I know," he thought proudly
"I'm better than plastic."

My poetry is bad,
Longfellow I'm not,
But Merry Christmas to all
And to all a good nacht.