Disclaimer: Not mine.
Timeline: About six months after my previous fic for Seasonal Spuffy
Summary:What exactly was Buffy up to while Spike was off fighting Evil and Sobriety?
Warnings: Un-betaed, baby!fic run away!
A/N: This is my second attempt at fan fiction so… be brutal! Still no original ideas, except maybe… I incorporated a fairy tale character into the Buffyverse! Thanks again to itmustbetuesday
The Good Fairy
Spike woke with a growl in his throat and a mouthful of pointy teeth. What the hell? He looked around the dimly lit bedroom. Nothing. A dream maybe? Grimacing, he sat up slowly, not wanting to wake her. He smoothed a hand over his hair. He was about to shake the bumpies off, decide what to do with the rest of his morning, when he noticed it. A ticking sound. He looked down over his shoulder. His eyes followed the line of her body under the duvet until they came to rest at her hips. Buffy was… Moody. Smelled different. Tired easily. Sore tits.
Ever since L.A.
Buffy frowned in her sleep and slid a hand toward him across the feather tick. Without thinking, he leaped away from it, out of bed, stumbling a little.
He’d been worried about her. Thought maybe she was sick with some woman’s complaint or other. She’d just smiled and grabbed his hands, placed his arms around her like she was going to teach him to dance. She’d slid her own arms around his waist and assured him that she never got sick, not really. She’d certainly looked hale enough. Downright glowy. Glowy, lying, faithless, little bitch.
Clothes. He needed his clothes.
He’d just finished pulling on his boots when he heard her stirring behind him. He straightened. He’d kinda hoped to make it out the door, but there was also a stab of nasty satisfaction.
“You’re up early.”
He turned on his heel, arms swinging. Her eyes widened when she saw his face.
“You’ve been holding out on me.” He swaggered toward the bed. “Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to keep your options open, pet? We’re terribly enlightened about that sort of thing, we vampires. To think I’ve been denying myself,” he ran a hand down his body leaving no doubt as to which parts of him had been denied, “when there was no need.”
“Can it, Spike. That doesn’t work on me.”
A blink and he was poised over her, growling. He lowered his head until his fangs almost brushed her throat. Buffy didn’t even twitch. She lay absolutely still as he pulled in a deep breath and let it out against her neck.
“No? What did work on you luv? Or were you just in the mood to eat something hot for once?”
Buffy planted both hands on his face and shoved him off. When he looked up from the floor she was standing on the bed, her hands were fists. She was nude, but for the first time he could remember, he was too pissed to care.
“What’s gotten into you? You just woke up this morning, and decided I’ve been what? Screwing around?” She stood for a moment looking at him, fairly quivering with righteous incredulity. Looking him right in the eye.
For the first time he felt a bit of doubt. He should have seen something by now, some sort of guilt or evasion. His eyes dropped to her belly. There was no doubting that.
“Get out, Spike,” she said, pointing to the door.
“Good-bye cutie.” He gave her a parting smirk, before lunging to his feet and out.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/122090.html