Comfy
Title: Comfy
Rating: PG-13
Setting: S7, post-Potential
Summary: For Week 3’s prompt, “The Crypt.” 500 words
Initially, she was grateful when he didn’t push her about her slip of the tongue. After all, she had Important Slaying Lessons to teach and girls to unnerve, and she couldn’t afford to lose any more credibility than she already had when she’d straddled him (No, it was not hot, Rona, and making out with vampires is wrong, Molly, and you keep telling yourself that, Buffy).
The last thing she needed was for him to interrogate her about what “comfy” meant. So she was relieved when all he did was shoot her a short, amused look (and vampire smirks are never sexy, girls, in case you were wondering, and you keep telling yourself that, Buffy).
She geared herself up for the interrogation that would surely come later, though. That (not sexy) smirk would come out in full force, a real one after the pale imitation in the not-comfy crypt, and he’d want to know exactly what ‘comfy’ meant: what she’d been remembering, how it had been comfy, and most importantly, what did it mean for them now…? And if she couldn’t explain to his satisfaction, he’d explain her feelings for her.
But it never came. Not when they waited outside the crypt; not after they found Dawn and explained everything to Amanda; and she was starting to realize, 24 hours later, that it wasn’t going to come.
Because all those annoying questions that Spike used to ask? The way he needled her about the smallest faux pas- tried to analyze her- pulled meaning from her words or actions that didn’t exist?
He hadn’t done that since he’d gotten his soul.
She knew she should like this new, mature Spike, who accepted what she said at face value, respected her personal space, and never pushed for more.
And she did. She respected him, she wanted him around, and she kind of sort of trusted him (you really shouldn’t trust vampires, girls).
But that didn’t mean she didn’t miss the old Spike, too, the one who smirked and snarked and fought; who made lewd comments and whose eyes burned with sex and love; who gave everything of himself and demanded everything of her and hoped for the smallest something.
Could she ever have both Spikes? And would that Spike still want her?
Curled up on the one end of the couch that was not piled with backpacks and dirty clothes, where she had escaped to with her slice of pizza because she couldn’t stand to eat in the dining room with all the girls, she looked around her living room at the sleeping bags, the magazines and nail polish stains, the empty chip bags and soda bottles. She thought of Spike alone in the basement, and she knew she wasn’t grateful anymore.
She wished they were in his crypt now. His homely, quiet, clean, comfy crypt.
She didn’t think she could have both Spikes.
Because this new one (the one she was starting to-)
He’d stopped looking for a crumb.
Rating: PG-13
Setting: S7, post-Potential
Summary: For Week 3’s prompt, “The Crypt.” 500 words
Initially, she was grateful when he didn’t push her about her slip of the tongue. After all, she had Important Slaying Lessons to teach and girls to unnerve, and she couldn’t afford to lose any more credibility than she already had when she’d straddled him (No, it was not hot, Rona, and making out with vampires is wrong, Molly, and you keep telling yourself that, Buffy).
The last thing she needed was for him to interrogate her about what “comfy” meant. So she was relieved when all he did was shoot her a short, amused look (and vampire smirks are never sexy, girls, in case you were wondering, and you keep telling yourself that, Buffy).
She geared herself up for the interrogation that would surely come later, though. That (not sexy) smirk would come out in full force, a real one after the pale imitation in the not-comfy crypt, and he’d want to know exactly what ‘comfy’ meant: what she’d been remembering, how it had been comfy, and most importantly, what did it mean for them now…? And if she couldn’t explain to his satisfaction, he’d explain her feelings for her.
But it never came. Not when they waited outside the crypt; not after they found Dawn and explained everything to Amanda; and she was starting to realize, 24 hours later, that it wasn’t going to come.
Because all those annoying questions that Spike used to ask? The way he needled her about the smallest faux pas- tried to analyze her- pulled meaning from her words or actions that didn’t exist?
He hadn’t done that since he’d gotten his soul.
She knew she should like this new, mature Spike, who accepted what she said at face value, respected her personal space, and never pushed for more.
And she did. She respected him, she wanted him around, and she kind of sort of trusted him (you really shouldn’t trust vampires, girls).
But that didn’t mean she didn’t miss the old Spike, too, the one who smirked and snarked and fought; who made lewd comments and whose eyes burned with sex and love; who gave everything of himself and demanded everything of her and hoped for the smallest something.
Could she ever have both Spikes? And would that Spike still want her?
Curled up on the one end of the couch that was not piled with backpacks and dirty clothes, where she had escaped to with her slice of pizza because she couldn’t stand to eat in the dining room with all the girls, she looked around her living room at the sleeping bags, the magazines and nail polish stains, the empty chip bags and soda bottles. She thought of Spike alone in the basement, and she knew she wasn’t grateful anymore.
She wished they were in his crypt now. His homely, quiet, clean, comfy crypt.
She didn’t think she could have both Spikes.
Because this new one (the one she was starting to-)
He’d stopped looking for a crumb.