Strawberry Lollipops
A/N: Hey there! This is my first fic in the Buffyverse, and is loosely based on a fic I read about Spike becoming human- and attempting to quit smoking. He won't be turning human in this story, but I just couldn't stop thinking, "Does Spike love Buffy enough to kick the habit?"
Set sometime in the 5th season after Spike spills his feelings.
This is meant to be somewhat humorous, so I hope it gives you a laugh or two.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" or anything related to it. Those marvelous being belong to good ol' Joss Whedon, that mastermind.
~*~
Spike sat atop the Freedman mausoleum, looking over the graveyard with icy blue eyes. He held a cigarette between the middle and index fingers of his right hand, tapping it lightly against the edge of the stone wall he was sitting on, letting the ashes fall onto the growing pile below. He adjusted his duster and raised the cigarette to his lips again.
The graveyard was fairly quiet that evening. He'd only killed one vampire so far, and there wasn't any sign of more- or the Slayer. He blew smoke out through his nose as he thought about this, quietly humming "Blitzkrieg Bop" by the Ramones.
And then she was there. It was odd, really, how she thought she could just sneak up on him like that. He could sense her standing about ten feet behind him, slowly closing in, more than likely she hoped to tap him on the shoulder and scare him- but he already knew. He let her advance; nearly touch him on the shoulder-
"About bloody time you got here, goldilocks."
It was Buffy who jumped, clutching at her heart for a second. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, trying to be casual about her prior scare.
"You ought to know you can't scare me by now." Spike said, getting up. "But nobody ever accused you of learning fast, now did they?"
She ignored his question. "Killed anything tonight?"
"One vamp. Nothing more. Nothing less. Unfortunately." He tapped the side of his head to indicate the chip lying in the recesses of his brain.
"You just refuse to get over that, don't you?"
He blew a cloud of smoke in her face, causing her to close her eyes and cough quietly. She lifted her hand and waved it away. He laughed.
"I don't get over things like that easily. What's the matter? Did I give you lung cancer?" Spike inquired as she coughed lightly.
"That's a disgusting habit."
He rolled his eyes.
"Well, it is!" she insisted. "There's another reason I can't love you- you smoke! You taste like an ashtray! Your breath smells all funky-"
"Oh, you've been tasting, have you?" He paused, realizing her second comment. "My breath smells alright! I eat those little mint things all the time!"
"So you say."
He glowered at her, then shook his head. "Poor little lost girl- can't even find decent reasons to deny her love for me."
"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked, taking a single step back. "I have tons of very good reasons."
"So you say." He mimicked. "Spike, I can't love you because your hair is too blond, you wear too much black, you used to be a murderer, you smoke-"
"Those last two are great reasons!"
He sighed and scratched at his nose. "Sure they are."
"I don't have to say anything to you." She retorted, turning to leave.
"I just don't see why you can't love me when I love you so much." Spike said to her retreating back, not expecting Buffy to hear him.
"Spike, the day you quit smoking is the day I'll love you." She said sarcastically, knowing that the vampire was so addicted to cigarettes that he would never give it up- even for her.
~*~
"The day you quit smoking is the day I'll love you." Spike mimicked Buffy's voice as he entered his crypt.
He tossed his duster onto the coffin and turned the TV on, hoping for a murder movie marathon or "Passions". Finding neither, he shouted angrily and began to search his pockets for his cigarettes. Not finding them, he looked over at his coat, seeing the top of the white carton sticking out of his right pocket.
He went over and tugged them free of his pocket. He lifted one to his lips and pulled his lighter out of the same pocket the cigarettes had been in. After clicking the flame on, a slow look of realization passed over his sharp features.
Spike flipped his wrist and closed the lighter. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and a wicked grin fell over his lips. He'd show her.
He'd show her how wrong she was. He'd prove he loved her. He'd quit.
"The day you quit smoking..." he repeated, "is the day I'll love you. Get ready to love me, Slayer."
~*~
Quitting smoking couldn't possibly be that hard. After all, they always had those commercials on with all those blokes raving about how "The Miracle Patch" or "The Miracle Gum" had helped them quit. And in all of Spike's years, he'd heard hundreds of tales of ways to quit and how successful it had all turned out for the ex-smokers in question.
Now he pondered just which method he'd use. (Probably something miraculous, he thought with a snort.)
Spike didn't particularly fancy wearing patches and looking like a victim of a mosquito fleet or a child who'd fallen off his bike and onto the pavement. Gum could prove annoying after awhile- and it certainly wouldn't help him look big and bad (ah yes, he could see it now, hanging out in the graveyard, all dark, mysterious, and smacking gum. How terrifying). Cold turkey seemed just a little bit too... boring.
As weird as it sounded, even to himself, Spike found he was a slightly nervous person. The reason he'd taken up smoking in the first place was to help his bad-guy persona to be even badder, but over time, he had continued only because it calmed his nerves. Whenever he was nervous, he needed something to do with his mouth- smoke, chew gum, bite his nails, whatever. Cold turkey provided no comfort.
He'd heard a lot of stories of people eating a lot of candy whenever they got nicotine cravings, but he didn't particularly like the idea of gaining weight by eating candy just so the Slayer would like his breath better. Besides, candy didn't last long, and he wasn't about to stuff his pockets with so much candy that he could barely walk.
So he came to the conclusion that lollipops were the way to go.
Sure, they were candy, but they lasted longer than a Snickers bar and some even had gum in their center as an added bonus. Sure, he had wanted to avoid the gum idea, but that was for more reasons than he'd admitted to himself moments before, because he... well... didn't know how to pop gum.
Embarrassing.
He was almost 130, for crying out loud. He could see the stupid whelp now- "Haha! Bleach Boy can't even pop gum! What a loser!"
That was all he needed.
Then again, he supposed, did anybody really need to know that? Could they prove it? Possibly. But that was only if, by rare circumstance, that they all happened to be hanging around The Magic Box, chewing gum, and having a contest to see who could blow the biggest bubble.
Doubtful.
Besides, Dawn would win that without a doubt. She practically lived on the stuff from age five to age thirteen, when it had suddenly became too childish.
Spike sighed and shook his head in an attempt to rid his thoughts of gum. Reaching into his pocket, he found what he was seeking- two dollars. With one last look at his pack of cigarettes, he grabbed his duster and was out the crypt door, on his way to buy a bag of strawberry lollipops from the store and prove the Slayer wrong.
A/N: Hey there! This is my first fic in the Buffyverse, and is loosely based on a fic I read about Spike becoming human- and attempting to quit smoking. He won't be turning human in this story, but I just couldn't stop thinking, "Does Spike love Buffy enough to kick the habit?"
Set sometime in the 5th season after Spike spills his feelings.
This is meant to be somewhat humorous, so I hope it gives you a laugh or two.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" or anything related to it. Those marvelous being belong to good ol' Joss Whedon, that mastermind.
~*~
Spike sat atop the Freedman mausoleum, looking over the graveyard with icy blue eyes. He held a cigarette between the middle and index fingers of his right hand, tapping it lightly against the edge of the stone wall he was sitting on, letting the ashes fall onto the growing pile below. He adjusted his duster and raised the cigarette to his lips again.
The graveyard was fairly quiet that evening. He'd only killed one vampire so far, and there wasn't any sign of more- or the Slayer. He blew smoke out through his nose as he thought about this, quietly humming "Blitzkrieg Bop" by the Ramones.
And then she was there. It was odd, really, how she thought she could just sneak up on him like that. He could sense her standing about ten feet behind him, slowly closing in, more than likely she hoped to tap him on the shoulder and scare him- but he already knew. He let her advance; nearly touch him on the shoulder-
"About bloody time you got here, goldilocks."
It was Buffy who jumped, clutching at her heart for a second. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, trying to be casual about her prior scare.
"You ought to know you can't scare me by now." Spike said, getting up. "But nobody ever accused you of learning fast, now did they?"
She ignored his question. "Killed anything tonight?"
"One vamp. Nothing more. Nothing less. Unfortunately." He tapped the side of his head to indicate the chip lying in the recesses of his brain.
"You just refuse to get over that, don't you?"
He blew a cloud of smoke in her face, causing her to close her eyes and cough quietly. She lifted her hand and waved it away. He laughed.
"I don't get over things like that easily. What's the matter? Did I give you lung cancer?" Spike inquired as she coughed lightly.
"That's a disgusting habit."
He rolled his eyes.
"Well, it is!" she insisted. "There's another reason I can't love you- you smoke! You taste like an ashtray! Your breath smells all funky-"
"Oh, you've been tasting, have you?" He paused, realizing her second comment. "My breath smells alright! I eat those little mint things all the time!"
"So you say."
He glowered at her, then shook his head. "Poor little lost girl- can't even find decent reasons to deny her love for me."
"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked, taking a single step back. "I have tons of very good reasons."
"So you say." He mimicked. "Spike, I can't love you because your hair is too blond, you wear too much black, you used to be a murderer, you smoke-"
"Those last two are great reasons!"
He sighed and scratched at his nose. "Sure they are."
"I don't have to say anything to you." She retorted, turning to leave.
"I just don't see why you can't love me when I love you so much." Spike said to her retreating back, not expecting Buffy to hear him.
"Spike, the day you quit smoking is the day I'll love you." She said sarcastically, knowing that the vampire was so addicted to cigarettes that he would never give it up- even for her.
~*~
"The day you quit smoking is the day I'll love you." Spike mimicked Buffy's voice as he entered his crypt.
He tossed his duster onto the coffin and turned the TV on, hoping for a murder movie marathon or "Passions". Finding neither, he shouted angrily and began to search his pockets for his cigarettes. Not finding them, he looked over at his coat, seeing the top of the white carton sticking out of his right pocket.
He went over and tugged them free of his pocket. He lifted one to his lips and pulled his lighter out of the same pocket the cigarettes had been in. After clicking the flame on, a slow look of realization passed over his sharp features.
Spike flipped his wrist and closed the lighter. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and a wicked grin fell over his lips. He'd show her.
He'd show her how wrong she was. He'd prove he loved her. He'd quit.
"The day you quit smoking..." he repeated, "is the day I'll love you. Get ready to love me, Slayer."
~*~
Quitting smoking couldn't possibly be that hard. After all, they always had those commercials on with all those blokes raving about how "The Miracle Patch" or "The Miracle Gum" had helped them quit. And in all of Spike's years, he'd heard hundreds of tales of ways to quit and how successful it had all turned out for the ex-smokers in question.
Now he pondered just which method he'd use. (Probably something miraculous, he thought with a snort.)
Spike didn't particularly fancy wearing patches and looking like a victim of a mosquito fleet or a child who'd fallen off his bike and onto the pavement. Gum could prove annoying after awhile- and it certainly wouldn't help him look big and bad (ah yes, he could see it now, hanging out in the graveyard, all dark, mysterious, and smacking gum. How terrifying). Cold turkey seemed just a little bit too... boring.
As weird as it sounded, even to himself, Spike found he was a slightly nervous person. The reason he'd taken up smoking in the first place was to help his bad-guy persona to be even badder, but over time, he had continued only because it calmed his nerves. Whenever he was nervous, he needed something to do with his mouth- smoke, chew gum, bite his nails, whatever. Cold turkey provided no comfort.
He'd heard a lot of stories of people eating a lot of candy whenever they got nicotine cravings, but he didn't particularly like the idea of gaining weight by eating candy just so the Slayer would like his breath better. Besides, candy didn't last long, and he wasn't about to stuff his pockets with so much candy that he could barely walk.
So he came to the conclusion that lollipops were the way to go.
Sure, they were candy, but they lasted longer than a Snickers bar and some even had gum in their center as an added bonus. Sure, he had wanted to avoid the gum idea, but that was for more reasons than he'd admitted to himself moments before, because he... well... didn't know how to pop gum.
Embarrassing.
He was almost 130, for crying out loud. He could see the stupid whelp now- "Haha! Bleach Boy can't even pop gum! What a loser!"
That was all he needed.
Then again, he supposed, did anybody really need to know that? Could they prove it? Possibly. But that was only if, by rare circumstance, that they all happened to be hanging around The Magic Box, chewing gum, and having a contest to see who could blow the biggest bubble.
Doubtful.
Besides, Dawn would win that without a doubt. She practically lived on the stuff from age five to age thirteen, when it had suddenly became too childish.
Spike sighed and shook his head in an attempt to rid his thoughts of gum. Reaching into his pocket, he found what he was seeking- two dollars. With one last look at his pack of cigarettes, he grabbed his duster and was out the crypt door, on his way to buy a bag of strawberry lollipops from the store and prove the Slayer wrong.