TV Night
I'm fond of Spike being tied up, as some of you know, so I had to do something for the "Xander's Basement" and I thought it would be fun to put Spike and Buffy in a situation least likely to turn spuffy and then TURN IT SPUFFY! *cackles*
So, yeah, Season 4.
The kids are canoodled up on the couch - the slayer, the witch, Xander and his squeeze - watching some award show like it was a sporting event. It was chilly in the room, but the tight knot of young flesh and cheerful banter created an epicenter of warmth.
Spike was tied to the ugly lounge chair still. Xander had pushed it farther into the corner that morning in anticipation of the get-together, and so Spike didn’t even have a view of the television. So he watched them. Watched Anya asking questions and fighting Buffy for control of the pretzel bowl and Willow wriggling to lift the afghan higher. Chuckled at Xander’s panic when his mother tried to come down the stairs with more snacks.
It was a window into another world. He was used to only seeing domestic scenes as he was ripping them apart.
Buffy looked directly at him now and then, but the others seemed to have forgotten him. When the commercial break sent Willow upstairs to use the bathroom and Xander and Anya into a snuggle, Buffy set down the empty pretzel bowl and wandered over to Spike. Hands tucked in the snug little front pockets of her jeans, she frowned at him.
“What? Am I being quiet too loud for you?”
“Yeah, that’s just it - you’re being quiet.”
“Well, pardon me for breathing.”
The heavy squeaks of wooden steps sent Xander dashing up to intercept his mother, who squawked indignantly something about “little friends” and “nutter butters”. That’s when Anya rushed after him, a gleam in her eye.
Buffy held her hair back with one hand as she planted a kiss on Spike’s forehead. “Thanks.”
Her small, quiet smile was worth waiting through a thousand TV nights. He lifted one hand, as far as the ropes allowed, and brushed one knuckle on her arm. “Two weeks ago, we’d have watched together, planning our nuptials in the commercial breaks.”
Buffy’s lips pursed. “So not romantic, bringing up the icky mind-controlling spell.”
“And being tied to a chair is?”
A sly look passed over her features before she pretended to be offended and hit his arm.
He sighed, head hitting the back of the lounger as he watched her hips swishing away from him and knew he was going to keep playing nice for some time. And yet it didn’t bother him.
So, yeah, Season 4.
The kids are canoodled up on the couch - the slayer, the witch, Xander and his squeeze - watching some award show like it was a sporting event. It was chilly in the room, but the tight knot of young flesh and cheerful banter created an epicenter of warmth.
Spike was tied to the ugly lounge chair still. Xander had pushed it farther into the corner that morning in anticipation of the get-together, and so Spike didn’t even have a view of the television. So he watched them. Watched Anya asking questions and fighting Buffy for control of the pretzel bowl and Willow wriggling to lift the afghan higher. Chuckled at Xander’s panic when his mother tried to come down the stairs with more snacks.
It was a window into another world. He was used to only seeing domestic scenes as he was ripping them apart.
Buffy looked directly at him now and then, but the others seemed to have forgotten him. When the commercial break sent Willow upstairs to use the bathroom and Xander and Anya into a snuggle, Buffy set down the empty pretzel bowl and wandered over to Spike. Hands tucked in the snug little front pockets of her jeans, she frowned at him.
“What? Am I being quiet too loud for you?”
“Yeah, that’s just it - you’re being quiet.”
“Well, pardon me for breathing.”
The heavy squeaks of wooden steps sent Xander dashing up to intercept his mother, who squawked indignantly something about “little friends” and “nutter butters”. That’s when Anya rushed after him, a gleam in her eye.
Buffy held her hair back with one hand as she planted a kiss on Spike’s forehead. “Thanks.”
Her small, quiet smile was worth waiting through a thousand TV nights. He lifted one hand, as far as the ropes allowed, and brushed one knuckle on her arm. “Two weeks ago, we’d have watched together, planning our nuptials in the commercial breaks.”
Buffy’s lips pursed. “So not romantic, bringing up the icky mind-controlling spell.”
“And being tied to a chair is?”
A sly look passed over her features before she pretended to be offended and hit his arm.
He sighed, head hitting the back of the lounger as he watched her hips swishing away from him and knew he was going to keep playing nice for some time. And yet it didn’t bother him.