"What the hell are you doing?"
Giles passed a weary hand over his forehead. "What does it look like?"
"It looks like you're hanging bloody mistletoe." Spike slammed the refrigerator door and set the contents to rattling.
"You are, in fact, correct."
"Take it down." Drinking from his mug, Spike grimaced. "It bothers me." He popped the mug into the microwave.
"It bothers you?" Giles felt the occasion warranted sarcasm. "And since you're so considerate of my feelings, you felt I would be only too pleased to accommodate you?"
"Yeah."
"Just as you've accommodated me by keeping my records out on the floor where I can easily find them? Just as you so considerately leave blood-encrusted mugs under the sofa for days?"
The microwave beeped and Spike opened it. "Yeah, just like that."
"Why don't you like it? I thought it would be...festive. Deck the halls. Good King Wenceslas. The holly and the ivy."
Spike took another drink. "Mmm. Better. Where was I? The mistletoe. It's bad enough that I have to put up with bubble lights and tinsel and that very tasteful plastic Santa. But when you start hanging up actual fucking Druidic religious symbols on the actual fucking winter solstice, I begin to think that maybe you don't like me."
Giles barely remembered not to grind his teeth. "There's no evidence that it's dangerous--"
Then Spike was right there in front of him and Giles tasted the acid of sheer terror for an instant before he remembered. And Spike was leaning in and Spike was pressing his mouth to Giles' and Spike was kissing him. It was the only place their bodies touched. Giles opened his mouth and Spike's tongue slid in, cold steel into hot flesh, and Giles' fillings began to ache. It was many moments before he remembered and pulled away.
"Or maybe you do." Spike smiled just a little, picked up his mug, and left the room.
Giles licked his lips. He tasted blood.
He took down the mistletoe.
FINIS
Interesting. Just what about the druidic elements of ritual would upset Spike?