Never Mind the Bollocks

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seasonal_spuffy is super-special to me. I wrote my very first BtVS fic for the last round, and the warm welcome I got here helped turn me into a full-fledged Buffy writer.

I’ll have a few one-shots peppered throughout the day. Here’s the first:

Title: Never Mind the Bollocks
Timeline: Right after “Get it Done”
Summary: She smiled, then, a kind of soft half-grin. Almost worth it, that smile. A good trade for his balls. Almost.


Was there something in the bloody Summers genetics that prevented them from knocking? Hell, even opening the door half-civilly. Except Joyce, rest her soul, wouldn’t of slammed anything. Must be that deadbeat ponce of a dad, then.

Still, the eyes currently narrowed at him differed from the standard variety. Dawn must be tired of pretending he didn’t exist, then. Bloody awful timing.

“God, Spike. Could you make any more noise? Some of us are trying to watch tv.”

Not the big reconciliation scene, then. Fucking soul, wrenching every time his Bit turned the hard eye on him. “Need five minutes. Won’ trouble you any more after that.”

“What are you even doing?” Those eyes, still narrowed, swept over the room, over the little pile on his cot. “Oh my god. You’re packing.”

It felt good, the new coat, the old attitude. Coursing through him, making his words sharp as they used to be. “Turn that frown upside down, nibblet. Thought you’d be happy to see the back of me.”

“I’m not your nibblet. And you can turn off the badass act any day now. You’re even worse at it then you used to be.”

God, he was pathetic. A little girl could draw a flinch out of him. “It’s not an act, Dawn.
Sooner you learn that…”

“The sooner I what?” A beat, a pause while he soaked up her fierce tone. “Yeah, I thought so.” She turned, faced up the stairs. “BUFFEEEEE!”

A second or two, and the Slayer skidded around the corner clutching a kitchen knife. “So help me, Dawn, if this is about Andrew…”

“It’s about him.” Dawn jerked her head toward the stairs. “He’s packing.”

“Too right. Not gonna stay here, not after that little performance.”

Her eyes got big – bigger, they were almost overwhelming in her thin face. God, here it comes. All that newfound spine and resolve, melting right into nothing. Girl never could decide what she wanted.

What a girl. Bundle of contradictions, Christ, even in her walk, half-tripping, half-trudging down the stairs. A right bitch sometimes, and sometimes…

She looked panicked, almost. “We went over this, I thought.”

“Yeah, well, that was before you decided to lop off my bollocks and hold ‘em aloft in front of all an’ sundry.”

She flinched, glanced up at Dawn. Shit. Really shouldn’t be exposin’ the nibblet – and she was his, a little bit, even this colder, harder version – to that kind of thing. She huffed, swung that pretty hair around as she slammed the door. Must have got the Buffy eye. Or, more likely, just missed her mates or some bloody boyband on tv.

“Spike, you can’t go.”

“Thought I would go get wailed on and weep about it out of earshot.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I really suck at this motivational thing, don’t I?”

“Don’ spare my tender feelings.” He snorted. “Least you’re honest, now.”

He’d worked up a good anger, comfortable. Familiar. Her frightened eyes, so big… God, she still melted him, even now. Even when he knew… Never his, not even a drop of respect for him. So hard, so hard not to sweep her up and hold her until the edge melted from her eyes… Not bloody likely. Christ, but he got poncier by the day. But her eyes… “‘It’s not enough.’ That’s what it said, my dream. And they showed me – hundreds of those ubervamps, Spike, thousands of them, right under the Hellmouth. One of them… Just one, Spike, and it almost killed you and me both. We’re never gonna be enough.”

God, when she was like this, too thin and collapsing in on herself… A slip of nothing. You’d never know how strong she was, just to look at her. “You’re scared, Buffy…”

A sharp look, but it softened quickly. Oh, she was scared, his girl, terrified this time. Didn’t like it, would never admit it, but… “You can’t leave. Sometimes, when we talk…” Her head dipped, curtain of hair falling between him and her face. His muscles tensed, coiling all on their own. When she hid… She was sayin’ something real, this time. “You make me feel safe. I kinda need that, sometimes.”

He let out a long breath. Need. Not a word she threw around. Safe, safe with him, her rap – her attacker. Safe. He closed his eyes for a minute, steadied against the joy-terror cocktail brewing in his gut.

Her voice, so soft. Like bells. “Please stay.”

‘Till the end of the world, he wanted to babble. Of course, always, yours. Look at me and I’m yours. “Yeah.”

She smiled, then, a kind of soft half-grin. Almost worth it, that smile. A good trade for his balls. Almost.

So soft, her face. Almost looked like she might say something else. A long pause, silence, awkward as all hell. Just staring at each other. “Buf-EEEEEEEE!” They both jumped. It wasn’t a second before she was up the stairs with her apologetic grin hanging in the air behind her.

He flopped down on his cot, shoved the little pile of belongings to the ground. God, he really was love’s bitch. Her bitch. Hers.

 

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/147273.html

confusedkayt

confusedkayt