First Buffy fic of hopefully many. I'm breeding my plot bunnies to scare the living demon out of Anya. Dialogue paraphrased from 'Doomed.'
Dedicated to Joss, of course, for enriching my life and thoughts through the context of feminism in Buffy. And for making me so sad that Buffy is my life's focal point.
Benign
His skin flapped in an ungainly fashion, the unexpected exertion causing secreted cards, crisps and chicken to fall out of its myriad of folds. He ducked, and attempted to hit her with a grab bag of Doritos, helplessly slapping at her with corn chips.
"Clem?" A British voice filtered through the trees around Restfield. "What happened to Passions night?" it moaned indignantly.
"Oh for Christ's sake," she muttered. "Him again."
He wailed impassionedly. "Spike, come on-the Slayer attacked me!"
"You're a freaking demon! With all the bad-making. Don't complain!" she retorted.
"You think I chose this? All I wanna do is sit with my friends and watch soap operas. Speaking of which-SPIKE! Where the flip are you, man?"
"Gods, Clem-I'm he…" The voice petered out as a white-blond flash rounded the trees into the clearing. "You weren't bloody joking, were you? Sod off, Slayer, he in't doing any harm."
"Not doing yourself any favours in the…me-doing-you-favours department if you're going to tell me to 'sod off'," she grumbled in the most adorably terrible English accent Spike had ever heard. His cheekbones were doing wonders for her lack-of-witty-retort cortex. She was doing the same for him, although neither were aware of the other's fixation.
Clem, however, was.
"I'll be off then…" he drawled quietly, nervously.
"No, you won't." The united hiss came simultaneously from the two transfixed enemies. Neither looking away from each other, the power of command in their voices was nonetheless sufficient for Clem to immediately and obediently sit down on the gravestone of Richard Wilkins I.
"What were you doing attacking him, Slayer? Can't you see he's sodding harmless?"
"He's a demon, Spike. Ergo with the bad newsing."
"Look, whilst I appreciate your efforts in butchering the English language, love, I can't help but notice that you don't put the same amount of dedication into deciding which demons to off."
"All of them. Don't you see? You're impotent," she snarled, eager to get him away from her whilst subconsciously they both edged ever closer, "so I haven't staked you yet, but if it stops working then you're a goner, Spike."
"And I'm not capable of change?" whispered Spike, a trace of William noticeably present in his voice.
"Again with the whole spiel of Demon, The, killed by Slayer, The. Look it up, Spike."
"Watcher's bollocks. Of course."
"Guys…er…can I just…ah…erm…go and set up for our Passions marathon?"
"No," they both intoned in a 'duh' fashion, and then looked back at each other even more sharply before. "Why do you want him to stay, Slayer?" Spike got there first.
"To kill him. Why do you want-oh. Passions. Of course…"
"No. actually."
"Why, then?"
"I wanna teach you a lesson, kitten."
