next fic bit
Next up, a fic bit for paperk8, who requested Xander/Spike, sanguine or scurrilous.
"Sanguine...means reddish mostly, flushed with blood."
"Does not. Every word cannot be related back to your one food group, Spike."
Spike manages to look offended despite his casual sprawl on the sofa and semi-permanent smirk. "M'serious, that's what it means! Look it up."
Xander reluctantly types it into dictionary.com and is disheartened to see that at least at one time, it had meant exactly that. He sighs, and gets back to work.
"Hey," Spike protests, "don't I get to gloat or something?"
"No protesting for smart vampires," mumbles Xander into his English papers. "Tired of you always being right."
"So you admit I'm always right!" Spike crows, turning down the volume on the tv to concentrate on the conversation, which is clearly going his way, much to Xander's annoyance.
"A generalization, Spike, not a confirmation that you are literally always right." Xander crinkles his nose. "Nobody is *always* right."
Spike pouts. "Close enough," he says, going back to Nightwatch.
Only two minutes later. "How much longer you plan on working, anyway?"
"You're the one who sent in my application to grad school without telling me, you don't get to whine about the workload," Xander replies, repeating the answer for what feels like the hundredth time.
"Can't gloat, can't complain...what's happening to our relationship?" Spike asks, putting his hand to his forehead in mock drama.
"Just give me another hour and we can head out, okay?" Xander has become infinitely patient with his antsy vampire over the last five years. It is a constant source of quiet pride that he hasn't resorted to using a gag. Yet.
"Hope you know I'm teasing ya'," Spike murmurs softly. "Want you to do well."
"I know," says Xander, smiling behind his pen. "So tell me what you think scurrilous means."
"Sanguine...means reddish mostly, flushed with blood."
"Does not. Every word cannot be related back to your one food group, Spike."
Spike manages to look offended despite his casual sprawl on the sofa and semi-permanent smirk. "M'serious, that's what it means! Look it up."
Xander reluctantly types it into dictionary.com and is disheartened to see that at least at one time, it had meant exactly that. He sighs, and gets back to work.
"Hey," Spike protests, "don't I get to gloat or something?"
"No protesting for smart vampires," mumbles Xander into his English papers. "Tired of you always being right."
"So you admit I'm always right!" Spike crows, turning down the volume on the tv to concentrate on the conversation, which is clearly going his way, much to Xander's annoyance.
"A generalization, Spike, not a confirmation that you are literally always right." Xander crinkles his nose. "Nobody is *always* right."
Spike pouts. "Close enough," he says, going back to Nightwatch.
Only two minutes later. "How much longer you plan on working, anyway?"
"You're the one who sent in my application to grad school without telling me, you don't get to whine about the workload," Xander replies, repeating the answer for what feels like the hundredth time.
"Can't gloat, can't complain...what's happening to our relationship?" Spike asks, putting his hand to his forehead in mock drama.
"Just give me another hour and we can head out, okay?" Xander has become infinitely patient with his antsy vampire over the last five years. It is a constant source of quiet pride that he hasn't resorted to using a gag. Yet.
"Hope you know I'm teasing ya'," Spike murmurs softly. "Want you to do well."
"I know," says Xander, smiling behind his pen. "So tell me what you think scurrilous means."