Disclaimers: Not mine, Joss and co. own it.
Spoilers: Only for season 4, as if that matters.
Author's Note: Yippee, look, it's my first non-angsty, non season seven fiction! I've wanted to write a fluffy Spuffy fic for a while now; but have really been focusing on the angst lately. This is an AU (alternate universe) fiction set in season four when Spike was still chipped and living at Giles' place. If you want some fluffy goodness, read on! Oh, and review if you want more.
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Buffy watched as Giles cleaned his glasses on his shirt, wondering how many times he'd done that in the past fifteen minutes. Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Or had he been wiping them ever since he's starting talking? Giles babbled on about responsibilities and whatnot and Buffy rolled her eyes, grumbling.
"Giles!"
He looked up at her, startled, and momentarily stopped cleaning his glasses.
"Could you just get to the point, already? You know, time is money?"
"Ah, yes, well . . ." he paused, taking a deep breath and gathering his strength. "There's a friend in town, and I have intended on . . . visiting with her this evening."
Buffy sighed. "Giles, I'm not your mother. If you want to go out and have a good time, fine by me. I don't see why you couldn't just tell me this on the phone."
"That's not all. I need you to . . . watch Spike for me."
Buffy groaned, sticking her lip out in a pouty, child-like manner.
"Giiiiiiles," she whined, crossing her arms over her chest angrily, "You said you wouldn't need me to do anything tonight . . . I was going to go to a party. You know, have a social life? Slayers need nights off, too. Besides, he's all tied up! He can't go anywhere."
She looked up at him hopefully and, realizing that he wouldn't budge, decided to go another route.
"Why can't Willow or Xander vamp-sit?"
"I attempted to get in touch with Willow, but she was out, and Xander wanted to spend some . . . quality time with Anya tonight. Oh, but on the bright side, he'll be able to take over your Spike duties after he's . . . finished."
Buffy pouted again, furrowing her brow. 'It won't be too bad, I guess. I mean, we haven't been fighting lately and it's not like I'll have to spend time with him or anything. Just spend a quiet night in front of the television.'
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Spike grinned, his lips parting wide, his teeth gleaming like those of some kind of maniacal Cheshire cat. Buffy stood next to him, holding the cup of pig's blood in one hand and the TV remote in the other. She moved the straw up to his mouth and he started to drink, vamping out and sucking the sticky red fluid from the novelty mug. Buffy was channel surfing, flipping from one lousy program to the next and trying to ignore Spike. She chanced a quick glance over at him, and shuddered at the sight of the blood he was drinking. Spike caught her queasy expression on her face and dropped the straw from his mouth.
"I thought you'd gotten over this. Look, I'm a vampire. I drink blood. I can't get it out of you lot anymore, so I have to drink this sub-par crap. You think that seeing me drink pigs' blood out of a cup is nasty? You oughta see me drain a victim."
Buffy glared at Spike, taking the mug away from him.
"I think you've had enough."
Spike scowled, his stomach starting to rumble. He was still hungry; he hadn't even finished half of the cup. "Hey, stop, there's a lot of good blood left!"
Buffy smirked at him, setting the mug on the coffee table. "I thought it was 'sub-par crap'."
"Yeah, but I'm hungry, and I kind of don't have a choice; it's that or nothing."
A devilish expression came across his face. "Unless, of course, you're willing to give me some of your blood."
Buffy gave a contemptuous snort, although she did inch away from him a little. "Yeah, like that'll happen in a million years."
Spike grinned wider, hopping in his chair, making it bounce over towards her. "C'mon, Slayer . . . just a little taste."
She moved farther away, a small smile playing on her lips. "Over my dead body."
"Yeah, that was the plan."
He continued to move towards Buffy, bouncing faster so he could catch up with her.
"I promise, I'll be gentle! It won't hurt . . . me."
Buffy laughed softly and moved away from the rapidly approaching chair. She made a mad dash over to the foot of the stairs, and then waited for him to catch up. He bounced over to her, panting unnecessarily. She walked up the first few stairs and Spike attempted to follow, but managed to only make it up the first step, finding that the back legs of the chair were still on the landing. Buffy continued up the stairs, grinning at her victory and at the idea of leaving Spike in that awkward, tilty position. He looked up at her frantically, not wanting to be left like this.
"Hey! Come back! I was just kidding, I won't bite you . . . unless you want me to." He added under his breath.
Buffy stopped halfway up the steps, paused, then came back down again. "What was that?"
Spike looked at her with innocent, doe-like eyes. "What was what, luv?"
"I thought I heard you say . . ." She stopped, shaking her head. "Never mind. -I'm- going to go downstairs to watch some TV."
Buffy made her way down to the living room and, never breaking her stride, placed one finger on Spike's nose and pushed. His eyes grew wide as the chair tipped backwards, landing with a loud 'thunk!' on the floor.
"Ow! Bloody hell."
Spike could hear Buffy giggling from the next room. He loved the sound of her laughter; sweet and intoxicating . . . he shook his head, frowning. 'I can't think of things like that, she's the SLAYER, for crying out loud! I'm not her friend, I'm a vampire that happens to be living in her Watcher's house, and she's only here to make sure I don't escape. Besides . . . she'd never think about me that way.'
Spike lay on the floor, his head throbbing from where it'd hit the back of the chair. "You know, Slayer, I think I might've cracked my head from that fall. I could bloody well sue."
"Yeah Spike, sure." Buffy called from the next room. "What're you going to do, represent yourself in court. I can see it now . . . 'So what if I tried to kill her and her friends a dozen times, she tied me up in a chair! -And- she tipped me over - I call for the death penalty!'"
He chuckled softly. "No, Slayer, I would get myself a lawyer."
She snorted mockingly. "What, a human? Please, like they would touch you with a ten-foot pole! Besides, the bleached hair and the all black clothing? Doesn't really scream 'innocent'."
"I figure since vamps and lawyers are so alike - being bloodsucking fiends and all - that we'd get along just fine. Besides, didn't say I'd wear the leather."
Buffy giggled, getting a mental picture of Spike in formal, black suit. 'Ladies and gentlemen, the new James Bond!' She laughed even harder at the thought of this, as Spike craned his neck, trying to see what was she was giggling at.
"What's so soddin' funny?"
"Nothing . . . James." She tried to hold it in but failed miserably, laughing like a madwoman.
Spike shook his head and smiled lightly. 'Women.' Once she had quieted down, he cleared his throat.
"Um . . . Slayer?"
"What is it now, Spike?"
"Err, can you get me off of the floor? I don't want the Wh - um, Xander, finding me like this. I don't trust him not to . . . use my vulnerable state to his advantage."
Buffy sighed, picking herself up off the couch and moving over to the fallen vamp. He looked so helpless that she found herself smiling.
"What, is the Big Bad afraid of little ol' Xander?"
He glared up at the ceiling, sending mental daggers to Buffy. "Afraid? Hell no! But that poncy bugger's always had it in for me, and I don't . . ."
"Spike!" She got on all fours and leaned over so that he could see her face. "I'll pick you up, okay? Just stop talking."
Buffy grasped the back of the chair with both hands, lifting it off the floor. She pretended to strain against the weight, grunting. "Ugh, Spike, you're so heavy," she teased.
He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "What's this, then?"
She hoisted the chair up and turned it about so that she was facing Spike.
"I'm serious, you -do- have it too comfortable around here. Lying in that chair all day, watching TV . . . I think you're getting a blood belly."
Spike's eyes widened comically. "What? No I'm not!"
He tugged at the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and exposing his stomach. He ran his hand over its taut surface and was relieved to find that it was in its normal, toned state.
Buffy's breath caught in her throat. 'Who knew that Spike was so . . . built?'
She slapped herself mentally, trying to rid her mind of the naughty, wicked thoughts she was having. 'No, I can't, I mean, um . . . wow, he must really work out.'
" - so you'd better know . . . Buffy!"
The sound of Spike's voice snapped her back to reality. "Muh? I mean, what?"
"As I was -saying-, the next time you go around making serious accusations like that, you'd better know the facts!"
Buffy blushed, her cheeks turning a rosy hue. "Yeah . . . facts . . ."
She turned and started towards the living room and back to the soft, warm couch.
"Slayer!"
She groaned and spun on her heels. "What is it now, Spike?" she asked, obviously frustrated.
He grinned at her sheepishly. "I can't see the telly from over here."
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TBC . . .
Spoilers: Only for season 4, as if that matters.
Author's Note: Yippee, look, it's my first non-angsty, non season seven fiction! I've wanted to write a fluffy Spuffy fic for a while now; but have really been focusing on the angst lately. This is an AU (alternate universe) fiction set in season four when Spike was still chipped and living at Giles' place. If you want some fluffy goodness, read on! Oh, and review if you want more.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Buffy watched as Giles cleaned his glasses on his shirt, wondering how many times he'd done that in the past fifteen minutes. Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Or had he been wiping them ever since he's starting talking? Giles babbled on about responsibilities and whatnot and Buffy rolled her eyes, grumbling.
"Giles!"
He looked up at her, startled, and momentarily stopped cleaning his glasses.
"Could you just get to the point, already? You know, time is money?"
"Ah, yes, well . . ." he paused, taking a deep breath and gathering his strength. "There's a friend in town, and I have intended on . . . visiting with her this evening."
Buffy sighed. "Giles, I'm not your mother. If you want to go out and have a good time, fine by me. I don't see why you couldn't just tell me this on the phone."
"That's not all. I need you to . . . watch Spike for me."
Buffy groaned, sticking her lip out in a pouty, child-like manner.
"Giiiiiiles," she whined, crossing her arms over her chest angrily, "You said you wouldn't need me to do anything tonight . . . I was going to go to a party. You know, have a social life? Slayers need nights off, too. Besides, he's all tied up! He can't go anywhere."
She looked up at him hopefully and, realizing that he wouldn't budge, decided to go another route.
"Why can't Willow or Xander vamp-sit?"
"I attempted to get in touch with Willow, but she was out, and Xander wanted to spend some . . . quality time with Anya tonight. Oh, but on the bright side, he'll be able to take over your Spike duties after he's . . . finished."
Buffy pouted again, furrowing her brow. 'It won't be too bad, I guess. I mean, we haven't been fighting lately and it's not like I'll have to spend time with him or anything. Just spend a quiet night in front of the television.'
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Spike grinned, his lips parting wide, his teeth gleaming like those of some kind of maniacal Cheshire cat. Buffy stood next to him, holding the cup of pig's blood in one hand and the TV remote in the other. She moved the straw up to his mouth and he started to drink, vamping out and sucking the sticky red fluid from the novelty mug. Buffy was channel surfing, flipping from one lousy program to the next and trying to ignore Spike. She chanced a quick glance over at him, and shuddered at the sight of the blood he was drinking. Spike caught her queasy expression on her face and dropped the straw from his mouth.
"I thought you'd gotten over this. Look, I'm a vampire. I drink blood. I can't get it out of you lot anymore, so I have to drink this sub-par crap. You think that seeing me drink pigs' blood out of a cup is nasty? You oughta see me drain a victim."
Buffy glared at Spike, taking the mug away from him.
"I think you've had enough."
Spike scowled, his stomach starting to rumble. He was still hungry; he hadn't even finished half of the cup. "Hey, stop, there's a lot of good blood left!"
Buffy smirked at him, setting the mug on the coffee table. "I thought it was 'sub-par crap'."
"Yeah, but I'm hungry, and I kind of don't have a choice; it's that or nothing."
A devilish expression came across his face. "Unless, of course, you're willing to give me some of your blood."
Buffy gave a contemptuous snort, although she did inch away from him a little. "Yeah, like that'll happen in a million years."
Spike grinned wider, hopping in his chair, making it bounce over towards her. "C'mon, Slayer . . . just a little taste."
She moved farther away, a small smile playing on her lips. "Over my dead body."
"Yeah, that was the plan."
He continued to move towards Buffy, bouncing faster so he could catch up with her.
"I promise, I'll be gentle! It won't hurt . . . me."
Buffy laughed softly and moved away from the rapidly approaching chair. She made a mad dash over to the foot of the stairs, and then waited for him to catch up. He bounced over to her, panting unnecessarily. She walked up the first few stairs and Spike attempted to follow, but managed to only make it up the first step, finding that the back legs of the chair were still on the landing. Buffy continued up the stairs, grinning at her victory and at the idea of leaving Spike in that awkward, tilty position. He looked up at her frantically, not wanting to be left like this.
"Hey! Come back! I was just kidding, I won't bite you . . . unless you want me to." He added under his breath.
Buffy stopped halfway up the steps, paused, then came back down again. "What was that?"
Spike looked at her with innocent, doe-like eyes. "What was what, luv?"
"I thought I heard you say . . ." She stopped, shaking her head. "Never mind. -I'm- going to go downstairs to watch some TV."
Buffy made her way down to the living room and, never breaking her stride, placed one finger on Spike's nose and pushed. His eyes grew wide as the chair tipped backwards, landing with a loud 'thunk!' on the floor.
"Ow! Bloody hell."
Spike could hear Buffy giggling from the next room. He loved the sound of her laughter; sweet and intoxicating . . . he shook his head, frowning. 'I can't think of things like that, she's the SLAYER, for crying out loud! I'm not her friend, I'm a vampire that happens to be living in her Watcher's house, and she's only here to make sure I don't escape. Besides . . . she'd never think about me that way.'
Spike lay on the floor, his head throbbing from where it'd hit the back of the chair. "You know, Slayer, I think I might've cracked my head from that fall. I could bloody well sue."
"Yeah Spike, sure." Buffy called from the next room. "What're you going to do, represent yourself in court. I can see it now . . . 'So what if I tried to kill her and her friends a dozen times, she tied me up in a chair! -And- she tipped me over - I call for the death penalty!'"
He chuckled softly. "No, Slayer, I would get myself a lawyer."
She snorted mockingly. "What, a human? Please, like they would touch you with a ten-foot pole! Besides, the bleached hair and the all black clothing? Doesn't really scream 'innocent'."
"I figure since vamps and lawyers are so alike - being bloodsucking fiends and all - that we'd get along just fine. Besides, didn't say I'd wear the leather."
Buffy giggled, getting a mental picture of Spike in formal, black suit. 'Ladies and gentlemen, the new James Bond!' She laughed even harder at the thought of this, as Spike craned his neck, trying to see what was she was giggling at.
"What's so soddin' funny?"
"Nothing . . . James." She tried to hold it in but failed miserably, laughing like a madwoman.
Spike shook his head and smiled lightly. 'Women.' Once she had quieted down, he cleared his throat.
"Um . . . Slayer?"
"What is it now, Spike?"
"Err, can you get me off of the floor? I don't want the Wh - um, Xander, finding me like this. I don't trust him not to . . . use my vulnerable state to his advantage."
Buffy sighed, picking herself up off the couch and moving over to the fallen vamp. He looked so helpless that she found herself smiling.
"What, is the Big Bad afraid of little ol' Xander?"
He glared up at the ceiling, sending mental daggers to Buffy. "Afraid? Hell no! But that poncy bugger's always had it in for me, and I don't . . ."
"Spike!" She got on all fours and leaned over so that he could see her face. "I'll pick you up, okay? Just stop talking."
Buffy grasped the back of the chair with both hands, lifting it off the floor. She pretended to strain against the weight, grunting. "Ugh, Spike, you're so heavy," she teased.
He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "What's this, then?"
She hoisted the chair up and turned it about so that she was facing Spike.
"I'm serious, you -do- have it too comfortable around here. Lying in that chair all day, watching TV . . . I think you're getting a blood belly."
Spike's eyes widened comically. "What? No I'm not!"
He tugged at the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and exposing his stomach. He ran his hand over its taut surface and was relieved to find that it was in its normal, toned state.
Buffy's breath caught in her throat. 'Who knew that Spike was so . . . built?'
She slapped herself mentally, trying to rid her mind of the naughty, wicked thoughts she was having. 'No, I can't, I mean, um . . . wow, he must really work out.'
" - so you'd better know . . . Buffy!"
The sound of Spike's voice snapped her back to reality. "Muh? I mean, what?"
"As I was -saying-, the next time you go around making serious accusations like that, you'd better know the facts!"
Buffy blushed, her cheeks turning a rosy hue. "Yeah . . . facts . . ."
She turned and started towards the living room and back to the soft, warm couch.
"Slayer!"
She groaned and spun on her heels. "What is it now, Spike?" she asked, obviously frustrated.
He grinned at her sheepishly. "I can't see the telly from over here."
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TBC . . .