At WCUK; wrote fic
So, something came up and I was inspired to write a fic. It may or may not be humorous! Giles POV, sort-of Spuffy, 1300 odd words, PG-13 for suggestiveness. It's the sequel/companion to Deliciously Self-Centred, which you may remember was about Jaffa Cakes, right at the end of S7...
Credit to hobbituk for the title...!
Dark and Fruity... And all mine!
The end of days was due, but Giles was a man on a mission. It had been three months since his last Jaffa Cake, and the time had come. When the groceries had first been brought back, he’d resisted in the name of decorum, but now he had the chance to make good on the promise to himself that he would have one last moment of pleasure before the apocalypse.
There was, however, a problem. On sneaking into the kitchen, just before bedtime, Giles had located the cupboard that held all the biscuits and rooted around in search of his intended. Twinkies, Oreos and what seemed like the entire Hostess range had been stacked and unstacked and restacked again, until the unfortunate truth had become clear. The Jaffa Cakes were missing.
Obviously there was only one thing to do. Call an emergency meeting.
“… And what galls, more than anything else,” Giles found himself rounding off as he came to the end of his speech. “Is that the culprit did not even have the common decency to ask whether there were others interested in sharing these obviously unfamiliar confections!”
There was silence. The gathered room, Potentials in various states of sullen and confused on one side, the Californians on the other; they all seemed equally uncertain and, frustratingly, not guilty. Andrew, indeed, appeared to be in raptures of agreement - which reminded Giles of the unfortunate moment when he had told Andrew that no, they could not mark up individual items of food for themselves, since they were all in this situation together.
Buffy, it seemed, had vanished. And Giles could accept that, since he hardly imagined she had time for stealing biscuit-like cakes, even if they were currently at odds… Where she could be, he wasn’t quite sure.
But then Willow pointed out something he really should have considered. “Um, Giles?” she said. “You know Spike’s, uh, not here, right?”
The sense of dread suddenly turned in Giles stomach. The Jaffa Cakes were forgotten.
First, Giles searched the house, top to bottom, bedroom to basement. For the most part, he wanted to find Spike and relocate the perfect accompaniment to the cup of tea he was imagining. However, he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t also anxious to know where Buffy and Spike might be hidden, what they might be talking about. Everyone knew that they spent the night together when Buffy had been, well, absent from the house, and while Buffy and Giles himself were notionally only communicating about business right at the moment, he was concerned for the decisions she might be making. The apocalypse did tend to push one to desperation.
When he finally located the errant couple, however, Giles feared he was too late. He came out into the garden, which he had initially discounted after an earlier realisation that the veranda was empty, and felt the warm touch of the May night. His skin felt cold.
“Mmm…”
It was barely a whisper on the air, a soft sound that Giles couldn’t identify for certain. It was followed by a low murmur, a giggle and a clearer, more definite moan.
As he came closer, there was clearly the sound of rustling. The bushes didn’t appear to be moving, but it was dark, and as Giles wished he couldn’t trust his ears he thought he shouldn’t trust his eyes.
“Oh, Spike…” There was no doubt that was Buffy. There was no doubt at all. It was followed by giggles, laughter, indeterminate sounds which Giles couldn’t hear because his feet wouldn’t take him closer. “What are you…?” A shriek of laughter; a growl; the solid gulp of Giles’ stomach falling to his shoes. “Oh!”
And then, clearer than anything else, the demonic growl of “MINE.”
A voice, so high it could barely be the Slayer Giles had once thought he’d known. “YOURS!!”
The blood chilled in Giles’ veins as the realisation struck. Could it be… He fled.
Full of panic, Giles didn’t know what to do with himself. Would they still survive what was coming, with Buffy….? What would they become? What could the future possibly hold?
As his anxiety rose, he knew he needed answers, and so he rushed to find his books. He had heard of claims, of course he had, but he had never given thought to them before, not with his Slayer. Most of his books were in Bath, or else a storage facility up the coast, and what he had with him was limited to the threat at hand - not this. Never this.
As time passed, and he turned through more and more pages, perused more and more indices, Giles at least found that the soft smell of paper calmed him. Of course, he rationalised, nothing would change. Not immediately. Already, Buffy trusted Spike more than any of them; already, she looked to him as a partner. It hurt, but it was true. His worries for Buffy’s future happiness, for what would happen when she might look to move on from - Spike - that would be a concern for them. And it would be a question in which it seemed as though he would have less and less say.
And so gradually, eventually, his interest in the matter became academic. As he finally located a book that seemed promising, on social communities among demons in general if not vampires in particular, Giles thought that maybe - just maybe - with a cup of tea and a nice biscuit he could come to terms with what had happened that evening.
Of course, this brought his thoughts straight back to where they had been earlier.
Dejected, and still quite scandalised, Giles walked again into the kitchen. Everything had been cleared away for the night, as much as it ever was. However, there in the centre of the breakfast island, as if to mock him, was an empty box of his beloved Jaffa Cakes. One single, final, lonely treat sat next to it on the worktop, an ostentatious bite cut through to remind him what he had lost. Measured teeth marks made arches in the chocolate and the orange layer was exposed, naked and juicy above the sponge which crumbled to the surface.
Even now, even after everything, Giles was still tempted. And so he approached.
And yet, when he touched the cake, Giles felt a tingling in his fingers. The cake smelled… Wrong. As he raised it to his waiting mouth, every crumb appeared to cringe away from him.
Before he knew it, there was an angry, snarling vampire emerging from the door of the basement. With a squeak that Giles could barely conscience he had heard, the Jaffa Cake appeared to leap from his hand into the clutches of its master. Spike’s growl subsided, his face relaxed and the Jaffa Cake was soothed by a stroking hand. “There, there,” Spike cooed to the shivering cake. “There, there.”
Nonplussed, Giles stared agape.
“You should know better than to touch what’s mine, Watcher,” Spike snarled, the demon clearly bright and burning inside, no soul on show. This was the monster under their beds. “Keep away.”
It was at that moment that Giles realised the truth. There was a claim that had occurred tonight, a moment of ecstasy and a relationship consummated of control and mastery. But no, it wasn’t that between a master vampire and his mate, but an English vampire and his teatime treat.
There was nothing Giles could do. And yet, the rage burned brighter. Somehow this was worse.
The next day, Giles found himself researching the results of demonic possession on baked goods. It seemed the apocalypse would have to wait.
.
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Credit to hobbituk for the title...!
Dark and Fruity... And all mine!
The end of days was due, but Giles was a man on a mission. It had been three months since his last Jaffa Cake, and the time had come. When the groceries had first been brought back, he’d resisted in the name of decorum, but now he had the chance to make good on the promise to himself that he would have one last moment of pleasure before the apocalypse.
There was, however, a problem. On sneaking into the kitchen, just before bedtime, Giles had located the cupboard that held all the biscuits and rooted around in search of his intended. Twinkies, Oreos and what seemed like the entire Hostess range had been stacked and unstacked and restacked again, until the unfortunate truth had become clear. The Jaffa Cakes were missing.
Obviously there was only one thing to do. Call an emergency meeting.
“… And what galls, more than anything else,” Giles found himself rounding off as he came to the end of his speech. “Is that the culprit did not even have the common decency to ask whether there were others interested in sharing these obviously unfamiliar confections!”
There was silence. The gathered room, Potentials in various states of sullen and confused on one side, the Californians on the other; they all seemed equally uncertain and, frustratingly, not guilty. Andrew, indeed, appeared to be in raptures of agreement - which reminded Giles of the unfortunate moment when he had told Andrew that no, they could not mark up individual items of food for themselves, since they were all in this situation together.
Buffy, it seemed, had vanished. And Giles could accept that, since he hardly imagined she had time for stealing biscuit-like cakes, even if they were currently at odds… Where she could be, he wasn’t quite sure.
But then Willow pointed out something he really should have considered. “Um, Giles?” she said. “You know Spike’s, uh, not here, right?”
The sense of dread suddenly turned in Giles stomach. The Jaffa Cakes were forgotten.
First, Giles searched the house, top to bottom, bedroom to basement. For the most part, he wanted to find Spike and relocate the perfect accompaniment to the cup of tea he was imagining. However, he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t also anxious to know where Buffy and Spike might be hidden, what they might be talking about. Everyone knew that they spent the night together when Buffy had been, well, absent from the house, and while Buffy and Giles himself were notionally only communicating about business right at the moment, he was concerned for the decisions she might be making. The apocalypse did tend to push one to desperation.
When he finally located the errant couple, however, Giles feared he was too late. He came out into the garden, which he had initially discounted after an earlier realisation that the veranda was empty, and felt the warm touch of the May night. His skin felt cold.
“Mmm…”
It was barely a whisper on the air, a soft sound that Giles couldn’t identify for certain. It was followed by a low murmur, a giggle and a clearer, more definite moan.
As he came closer, there was clearly the sound of rustling. The bushes didn’t appear to be moving, but it was dark, and as Giles wished he couldn’t trust his ears he thought he shouldn’t trust his eyes.
“Oh, Spike…” There was no doubt that was Buffy. There was no doubt at all. It was followed by giggles, laughter, indeterminate sounds which Giles couldn’t hear because his feet wouldn’t take him closer. “What are you…?” A shriek of laughter; a growl; the solid gulp of Giles’ stomach falling to his shoes. “Oh!”
And then, clearer than anything else, the demonic growl of “MINE.”
A voice, so high it could barely be the Slayer Giles had once thought he’d known. “YOURS!!”
The blood chilled in Giles’ veins as the realisation struck. Could it be… He fled.
Full of panic, Giles didn’t know what to do with himself. Would they still survive what was coming, with Buffy….? What would they become? What could the future possibly hold?
As his anxiety rose, he knew he needed answers, and so he rushed to find his books. He had heard of claims, of course he had, but he had never given thought to them before, not with his Slayer. Most of his books were in Bath, or else a storage facility up the coast, and what he had with him was limited to the threat at hand - not this. Never this.
As time passed, and he turned through more and more pages, perused more and more indices, Giles at least found that the soft smell of paper calmed him. Of course, he rationalised, nothing would change. Not immediately. Already, Buffy trusted Spike more than any of them; already, she looked to him as a partner. It hurt, but it was true. His worries for Buffy’s future happiness, for what would happen when she might look to move on from - Spike - that would be a concern for them. And it would be a question in which it seemed as though he would have less and less say.
And so gradually, eventually, his interest in the matter became academic. As he finally located a book that seemed promising, on social communities among demons in general if not vampires in particular, Giles thought that maybe - just maybe - with a cup of tea and a nice biscuit he could come to terms with what had happened that evening.
Of course, this brought his thoughts straight back to where they had been earlier.
Dejected, and still quite scandalised, Giles walked again into the kitchen. Everything had been cleared away for the night, as much as it ever was. However, there in the centre of the breakfast island, as if to mock him, was an empty box of his beloved Jaffa Cakes. One single, final, lonely treat sat next to it on the worktop, an ostentatious bite cut through to remind him what he had lost. Measured teeth marks made arches in the chocolate and the orange layer was exposed, naked and juicy above the sponge which crumbled to the surface.
Even now, even after everything, Giles was still tempted. And so he approached.
And yet, when he touched the cake, Giles felt a tingling in his fingers. The cake smelled… Wrong. As he raised it to his waiting mouth, every crumb appeared to cringe away from him.
Before he knew it, there was an angry, snarling vampire emerging from the door of the basement. With a squeak that Giles could barely conscience he had heard, the Jaffa Cake appeared to leap from his hand into the clutches of its master. Spike’s growl subsided, his face relaxed and the Jaffa Cake was soothed by a stroking hand. “There, there,” Spike cooed to the shivering cake. “There, there.”
Nonplussed, Giles stared agape.
“You should know better than to touch what’s mine, Watcher,” Spike snarled, the demon clearly bright and burning inside, no soul on show. This was the monster under their beds. “Keep away.”
It was at that moment that Giles realised the truth. There was a claim that had occurred tonight, a moment of ecstasy and a relationship consummated of control and mastery. But no, it wasn’t that between a master vampire and his mate, but an English vampire and his teatime treat.
There was nothing Giles could do. And yet, the rage burned brighter. Somehow this was worse.
The next day, Giles found himself researching the results of demonic possession on baked goods. It seemed the apocalypse would have to wait.
.
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