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quinara(Points for knowing what quote just got bastardised there...)
I should beworking editing my ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
seasonal_spuffy fic for next week, but I'm not... Instead I have a 1000-word supercrack-fanwank-Spuffy follow-up to the end of #35. (I'm sorry! I couldn't help it... Is it bad that I've already worked out an involved backstory for what Spike's been up to, which was actually TOO SRS BSNS to fully foreground in this fic? Oh, I'm ashamed of myself.)
PG-13 for the odd bit of swearing; no warnings other than that there is no proper real dealing with the glowhypnol and #34. Also, er, I kind of take the mick out of Angel being OOC.
If I'm an Actor then I Want to Know My Lines.
When Spike was done with his Mad Max impression, no one said anything. Looking at their disbelieving faces – and Willow’s was especially silly, since she’d been with her when they’d gone to see the Spikemobile’s plans – Buffy couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.
This had been a seriously strange day.
No one joined in, and Angel was looking more befuddled by the minute, so she met Spike’s eyes as he re-enacted the moon landing to the floor, trying to make herself take things seriously. He took the opportunity to wink at her, then stuck his tongue behind his teeth.
The giggles came again, but eventually she was able to say, “That was your grand entrance?” Oh, god, this was too, too funny. “That was what I had to wait two years to see?”
With a flourish of his coat he looked back to his – spaceship? – before turning back to her, hands on his hips. (He was so getting off on the crowd’s attention.) “Well, yeah.” His eyes twinkled – thankfully not to the extent of actually sparkling. “Didn’t think it was too bad, myself.”
Stepping away from the group, which was beginning to fill with murmurs, though she couldn’t distinguish the voices, she joined him in front of the ship. It felt so good to stand there with him as Spike, rather than as their Investment Liaison, he of the knowing African entrepreneurs. Three years had been a long, long time – and apparently she wasn't allowed to let the intervening rendezvouses count, because their actual reunion required a proper entrance. Or something. Stupid vampire.
“How Angel-y is my breath?” she asked in a whisper, meeting his cocky stare with doe-eyes. She had her own plans for how this reunion was supposed to play out, after all, and they didn’t involve him wrinkling his nose at her.
“Don't worry,” he replied in a quiet drawl, “you’re dimension-skipping ozone-fresh.” It was obvious he knew what had happened, but he was already getting over it. They’d got over worse.
“Good.” She nodded. After a deep breath she rolled her eyes and said what she’d been wanting to say forever, trying to infuse her voice with surprise. “Wow, Spike; you’re not dead! I did not even know.”
At her words his eyes lit up with joy, though he mostly managed to keep his expression serious. “I meant to come to you sooner, Buffy,” he promised with a dramatic weight to his voice, hand on heart so that the nail polish glinted in the light. He was so bad… No, she would not start laughing again. “But I’ve been trying to –” He took a breath with the timing only years of practice could provide. “– save the world.”
There was silence, and she wondered how much that line would have convinced her if she hadn’t known he’d spent most of the last two years running around on her behalf, schmoozing sponsors and getting the slayers more funding. Listening to her freak out about her mishandling of the Satsu situation. Technically I’m still dead to you, pet, so, sure, you don’t owe me anything – but what the hell were you thinking? Hope the poor girl’s made of stronger stuff than I ever was.
She’d probably be sarcastic, Buffy decided, so replied, “Oh, sure you have,” not really getting any bite into her voice. “Trying to win the – Red Bull Flugtag, more like.” It was useless; as he corpsed through his melodramatic frown she gave into laughter completely.
The crowd was beginning to disperse now, or so the shuffling feet she could hear seemed to indicate. This probably seemed ridiculous to the power of infinity from the outside. If only she cared…
“Meanwhile,” she eventually said, with only a little more seriousness, “my friends have been failing to tell me apart from a glowbot – and Angel still hasn’t been de-glowbotted.”
“Oh, right?” he asked, casting a genuinely confused glance at Angel, who was still smiling placidly at the side of the room, presumably waiting for instructions from her. “Sounds a pain.”
“Ya-huh,” she agreed as Angel sent a wave her way. Shaking her head, she then looked speculatively at the massive brass hulk wedged into her wall. Hmm – with all the demons splatted she felt remarkably restless. “Say, since I’m acting wildly out of character today, and Satsu and Dawn are probably better than me at planning our defence anyhow, you wanna take me for a ride in your space shuttle?”
His expression softened, cockiness and humour retreating. Oh, look – Spike’s back. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, then offered her his arm.
Rather than taking it, however, she remembered a promise she’d made herself when he’d first phoned her, the day before the battle with the Black Thorn. It was more than a little belated now, and would probably be weird, but if the Universe (TM) was going to take liberties with her feelings, she was damn well going to take some liberties for herself. And so, resting one hand on his out-cocked arm and the other on his shoulder, she finished their reunion by turning their bodies fully together and kissing him straight on the lips.
Hello, Spike. I’m really glad to see you.
See, she thought, that was a perfectly reasonable statement to make with a kiss. It finished the reunion perfectly too (the one begun two years ago): saying what she wanted to and proving herself right all the way back in Sunnydale. So much better than Spike’s stupid fantasy sequence, in ideas and execution. No laughter, no jokes, just them, finally together again.
Only… Oh yeah. Now Spike was bringing his tongue into it, hot and hungry, and she was tightening her arms around his neck – trying to work out if there was a way to actually devour his face, because it felt so damn good to be kissing him again. Not so much a simple greeting anymore. And, ooh, Spike-arms were pushing on the small of her back, so his belt buckle was jutting into her stomach and something else was jutting into something else. OK, clearly her plan had been as ill thought-out as his…
By the time she pulled away, hello had managed to resolve completely into fuck me, I love you. Of course, that didn’t keep Spike from saying, “Fuck me, I love you,” anyway, going for completeness with the most wonderfully (rational but) lust-filled eyes she’d ever seen. Nor did it keep her from saying, “You know, I’d still have loved you if you’d shown up in a Chevy.”
But then, with his manic grin now dialled up to 11, he offered his arm again. “Shall we go?” he asked, and it felt utterly right.
“We shall,” she replied, taking his arm with a nod. Together they walked back up the steps to the Spikemobile, ready to ride off and fight that Sunset.
(She'd sort the rest of this mess out later.)
I should be
seasonal_spuffy fic for next week, but I'm not... Instead I have a 1000-word supercrack-fanwank-Spuffy follow-up to the end of #35. (I'm sorry! I couldn't help it... Is it bad that I've already worked out an involved backstory for what Spike's been up to, which was actually TOO SRS BSNS to fully foreground in this fic? Oh, I'm ashamed of myself.)PG-13 for the odd bit of swearing; no warnings other than that there is no proper real dealing with the glowhypnol and #34. Also, er, I kind of take the mick out of Angel being OOC.
If I'm an Actor then I Want to Know My Lines.
When Spike was done with his Mad Max impression, no one said anything. Looking at their disbelieving faces – and Willow’s was especially silly, since she’d been with her when they’d gone to see the Spikemobile’s plans – Buffy couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.
This had been a seriously strange day.
No one joined in, and Angel was looking more befuddled by the minute, so she met Spike’s eyes as he re-enacted the moon landing to the floor, trying to make herself take things seriously. He took the opportunity to wink at her, then stuck his tongue behind his teeth.
The giggles came again, but eventually she was able to say, “That was your grand entrance?” Oh, god, this was too, too funny. “That was what I had to wait two years to see?”
With a flourish of his coat he looked back to his – spaceship? – before turning back to her, hands on his hips. (He was so getting off on the crowd’s attention.) “Well, yeah.” His eyes twinkled – thankfully not to the extent of actually sparkling. “Didn’t think it was too bad, myself.”
Stepping away from the group, which was beginning to fill with murmurs, though she couldn’t distinguish the voices, she joined him in front of the ship. It felt so good to stand there with him as Spike, rather than as their Investment Liaison, he of the knowing African entrepreneurs. Three years had been a long, long time – and apparently she wasn't allowed to let the intervening rendezvouses count, because their actual reunion required a proper entrance. Or something. Stupid vampire.
“How Angel-y is my breath?” she asked in a whisper, meeting his cocky stare with doe-eyes. She had her own plans for how this reunion was supposed to play out, after all, and they didn’t involve him wrinkling his nose at her.
“Don't worry,” he replied in a quiet drawl, “you’re dimension-skipping ozone-fresh.” It was obvious he knew what had happened, but he was already getting over it. They’d got over worse.
“Good.” She nodded. After a deep breath she rolled her eyes and said what she’d been wanting to say forever, trying to infuse her voice with surprise. “Wow, Spike; you’re not dead! I did not even know.”
At her words his eyes lit up with joy, though he mostly managed to keep his expression serious. “I meant to come to you sooner, Buffy,” he promised with a dramatic weight to his voice, hand on heart so that the nail polish glinted in the light. He was so bad… No, she would not start laughing again. “But I’ve been trying to –” He took a breath with the timing only years of practice could provide. “– save the world.”
There was silence, and she wondered how much that line would have convinced her if she hadn’t known he’d spent most of the last two years running around on her behalf, schmoozing sponsors and getting the slayers more funding. Listening to her freak out about her mishandling of the Satsu situation. Technically I’m still dead to you, pet, so, sure, you don’t owe me anything – but what the hell were you thinking? Hope the poor girl’s made of stronger stuff than I ever was.
She’d probably be sarcastic, Buffy decided, so replied, “Oh, sure you have,” not really getting any bite into her voice. “Trying to win the – Red Bull Flugtag, more like.” It was useless; as he corpsed through his melodramatic frown she gave into laughter completely.
The crowd was beginning to disperse now, or so the shuffling feet she could hear seemed to indicate. This probably seemed ridiculous to the power of infinity from the outside. If only she cared…
“Meanwhile,” she eventually said, with only a little more seriousness, “my friends have been failing to tell me apart from a glowbot – and Angel still hasn’t been de-glowbotted.”
“Oh, right?” he asked, casting a genuinely confused glance at Angel, who was still smiling placidly at the side of the room, presumably waiting for instructions from her. “Sounds a pain.”
“Ya-huh,” she agreed as Angel sent a wave her way. Shaking her head, she then looked speculatively at the massive brass hulk wedged into her wall. Hmm – with all the demons splatted she felt remarkably restless. “Say, since I’m acting wildly out of character today, and Satsu and Dawn are probably better than me at planning our defence anyhow, you wanna take me for a ride in your space shuttle?”
His expression softened, cockiness and humour retreating. Oh, look – Spike’s back. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, then offered her his arm.
Rather than taking it, however, she remembered a promise she’d made herself when he’d first phoned her, the day before the battle with the Black Thorn. It was more than a little belated now, and would probably be weird, but if the Universe (TM) was going to take liberties with her feelings, she was damn well going to take some liberties for herself. And so, resting one hand on his out-cocked arm and the other on his shoulder, she finished their reunion by turning their bodies fully together and kissing him straight on the lips.
Hello, Spike. I’m really glad to see you.
See, she thought, that was a perfectly reasonable statement to make with a kiss. It finished the reunion perfectly too (the one begun two years ago): saying what she wanted to and proving herself right all the way back in Sunnydale. So much better than Spike’s stupid fantasy sequence, in ideas and execution. No laughter, no jokes, just them, finally together again.
Only… Oh yeah. Now Spike was bringing his tongue into it, hot and hungry, and she was tightening her arms around his neck – trying to work out if there was a way to actually devour his face, because it felt so damn good to be kissing him again. Not so much a simple greeting anymore. And, ooh, Spike-arms were pushing on the small of her back, so his belt buckle was jutting into her stomach and something else was jutting into something else. OK, clearly her plan had been as ill thought-out as his…
By the time she pulled away, hello had managed to resolve completely into fuck me, I love you. Of course, that didn’t keep Spike from saying, “Fuck me, I love you,” anyway, going for completeness with the most wonderfully (rational but) lust-filled eyes she’d ever seen. Nor did it keep her from saying, “You know, I’d still have loved you if you’d shown up in a Chevy.”
But then, with his manic grin now dialled up to 11, he offered his arm again. “Shall we go?” he asked, and it felt utterly right.
“We shall,” she replied, taking his arm with a nod. Together they walked back up the steps to the Spikemobile, ready to ride off and fight that Sunset.
(She'd sort the rest of this mess out later.)
(no subject)
Date: 10/05/2010 12:50 (UTC)Also, hi, I'm
(no subject)
Date: 10/05/2010 15:33 (UTC)And hellooo! It's so nice to have you here. I think I prefer it too, but not enough to quit LJ properly... (I'm so weak before the history!)
(no subject)
Date: 10/05/2010 15:59 (UTC)Willow totally knows all about this! I have this nonsensical image of them awkwardly bumping into each other on the astral plane, she with her snake-lady-and-steampunk-wheelchair entourage and he with his giant steampunk Pokeball of doom.
Heh, yeah, I think a lot of us are caught between both places. I thought I could handle letting my LJ lapse to basic. I was wrong.
(no subject)
Date: 10/05/2010 16:20 (UTC)Oh yes, THIS. Considering the complete lack of mention of Wolfram and Hart or anything to do with Angel I know we shouldn't hold our breath, but Spike died on BtVS - for sheer continuity's sake you'd think that that should be a thing.
Willow totally knows all about this! I have this nonsensical image of them awkwardly bumping into each other on the astral plane, she with her snake-lady-and-steampunk-wheelchair entourage and he with his giant steampunk Pokeball of doom.
ZOMG, LOVE IT! Heeee... Spike would ask so many awkward questions!
I thought I could handle letting my LJ lapse to basic. I was wrong.
I managed to do that, just about. Though it's hard having more icons here now, because I'm so used to only having five; I don't know how to use so many! (And it feels like a waste to only use them once or twice.)
(no subject)
Date: 11/05/2010 17:18 (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 11/05/2010 18:05 (UTC)