500 words: 'As We Are'
As You Were didn't start the way it did - instead, Spike and Buffy end up at the dam. PG-13 pour le mot F.
As We Are.
by Quinara
“So, what’s the point of this place, anyway? They ever teach you that in school?”
Sitting over the dam, Spike drummed his heels against the concrete. His theory was that if he took his life in his hands then Buffy wouldn’t dream of doing the same (it was one of those evenings when everything he did proved degeneracy - not that she’d gone home yet). So far it was working.
“Reservoir,” Buffy said shortly, stood behind him, reassuringly far from the edge. “You know, for humans, who need water.
No point touching that.
Quiet, and then jackpot: she continued more relaxedly, “Plus I think Mayor Wilkins needed the river diverted from the Hellmouth.”
“Right.” He tried to sound agreeable, in the very least, even though he knew sod all about virtue, let alone silence.
It still got her back up. “I guess you think we should blow it up, huh? Sure, it would kill all the humans, but the Hellmouth…”
“Nah,” he interrupted, a little snidely as he kept his gaze on the water. “Demons’d just get out the scuba gear.”
There was a sound, like a snort half-swallowed.
He spun round on his perch to stare at Buffy. Colour was high in her cheeks, standing out against the amber wash of the streetlight, and she looked absolutely mortified that she’d dared laugh at one of his jokes.
“Liked that idea, did you?” he asked, sliding from the wall and approaching her. If there was any time to push his advantage, this was it, surely? “Let me guess…” She’d lowered her head to look away from him - about as coquettish as a rattlesnake, but, still, it was cute. “You fancy the thought after all, washing away Sunnydale till there’s nothing left?”
She didn’t answer, just frowned, guilt like a storm on her brow.
“Nothing wrong with fantasising, love,” he coaxed on, brushing his hands down her arms and getting excited at her shiver. “Can just see you, slaying in a speedboat. It’d be like Jaws.”
She smiled at something - possibly not what he’d said. “You’d be on an island, drinking rum.”
“That’s right,” he replied, nudging her nose for a kiss. “Till you come sailing up, with a grass skirt and a stake.”
Then she was kissing him back, walking them over so he was sat on the wall again. Good thing he knew the only way she’d kill him was so the dust could coat her hands. “You, of course, would have the whole crypt set up with piña coladas, to lure me in…”
“All nice and legal now, pet.” He settled on her lips for a moment, drinking her in with strong, bright gulps. Fucking piña coladas… She tasted like amaretto: thick and warm and sweet. “Can drink what you like.”
And that, bizarrely, was when the military turned up.
(It actually went rather well. “So, which demons should I kill, again? The ones who eat people or the ones who piss you off?” Nicest thing she’d ever said.)
As We Are.
by Quinara
“So, what’s the point of this place, anyway? They ever teach you that in school?”
Sitting over the dam, Spike drummed his heels against the concrete. His theory was that if he took his life in his hands then Buffy wouldn’t dream of doing the same (it was one of those evenings when everything he did proved degeneracy - not that she’d gone home yet). So far it was working.
“Reservoir,” Buffy said shortly, stood behind him, reassuringly far from the edge. “You know, for humans, who need water.
No point touching that.
Quiet, and then jackpot: she continued more relaxedly, “Plus I think Mayor Wilkins needed the river diverted from the Hellmouth.”
“Right.” He tried to sound agreeable, in the very least, even though he knew sod all about virtue, let alone silence.
It still got her back up. “I guess you think we should blow it up, huh? Sure, it would kill all the humans, but the Hellmouth…”
“Nah,” he interrupted, a little snidely as he kept his gaze on the water. “Demons’d just get out the scuba gear.”
There was a sound, like a snort half-swallowed.
He spun round on his perch to stare at Buffy. Colour was high in her cheeks, standing out against the amber wash of the streetlight, and she looked absolutely mortified that she’d dared laugh at one of his jokes.
“Liked that idea, did you?” he asked, sliding from the wall and approaching her. If there was any time to push his advantage, this was it, surely? “Let me guess…” She’d lowered her head to look away from him - about as coquettish as a rattlesnake, but, still, it was cute. “You fancy the thought after all, washing away Sunnydale till there’s nothing left?”
She didn’t answer, just frowned, guilt like a storm on her brow.
“Nothing wrong with fantasising, love,” he coaxed on, brushing his hands down her arms and getting excited at her shiver. “Can just see you, slaying in a speedboat. It’d be like Jaws.”
She smiled at something - possibly not what he’d said. “You’d be on an island, drinking rum.”
“That’s right,” he replied, nudging her nose for a kiss. “Till you come sailing up, with a grass skirt and a stake.”
Then she was kissing him back, walking them over so he was sat on the wall again. Good thing he knew the only way she’d kill him was so the dust could coat her hands. “You, of course, would have the whole crypt set up with piña coladas, to lure me in…”
“All nice and legal now, pet.” He settled on her lips for a moment, drinking her in with strong, bright gulps. Fucking piña coladas… She tasted like amaretto: thick and warm and sweet. “Can drink what you like.”
And that, bizarrely, was when the military turned up.
(It actually went rather well. “So, which demons should I kill, again? The ones who eat people or the ones who piss you off?” Nicest thing she’d ever said.)