“Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the castle
Not a Slayer was stirring
And Spike wanted to rassle.”
Buffy stood before him, appearing out of nowhere in the entranceway to one of those huge stone-walled rooms that kept popping up. “Rassle?” she asked.
“Fight, wrestle,” Spike explained, “although I was hoping we could go for a more open interpretation.” He leered, licking his lips.
“You’re still a pig, Spike,” Buffy said, shoving him. He crashed into the wall, which was colder than he’d expected.
“But I did miss you,” she added, mashing her lips, and body, against his.