Ficlet - Spike and Tara
More fic housekeeping. Another story reposted from summer_of_spike, this one a Spike and Tara ficlet.
Title: Changing Tastes
Author: Cindy (cindergal)
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Not mine, no harm, no foul
Setting: Season 6, just post-Dead Things
Summary: Spike finds he doesn't see things quite the way that he used to.
A/N: Thank you to mommanerd for the great beta.
Changing Tastes
He felt like his head was wrapped in cotton, and his mouth stuffed full of it. It wasn't a bad feeling, really, except that each time he slipped into the blissful unconsciousness of sleep, his body would betray him. Every involuntary shift of position brought a new kind of pain to his battered head, until he'd finally manage to doze off once more.
Vaguely, he realized he was awakening once again. It wasn't pain, this time, though. Whatever senses of his that were still operational had alerted him to the presence of a stranger. His body screamed danger at him, even though he didn't have the energy to do anything about it. Not that he would if he could in his current state of mind, anyway. But then the warning levels dropped - the scent was somewhat familiar, and not unfriendly. Her gasp of shock was what finally brought him all the way around.
Spike lifted his head up off the pillow and gazed at Tara with his one good eye. She tried to cover her stunned expression with a wavery smile. He must be a sight.
“Not exactly up for company, pet.” His head fell back on the pillow.
“I b … brought blood.” She went closer and opened the container.
Spike hadn't realized how hungry he was until that sweet, metallic aroma wafted over to him, and his stomach clenched. He struggled to sit up, and she set the blood down and helped him, propping the pillows up behind him like he was some damn invalid.
Tara reached for the blood and helped him wrap his hands around the jar. “Buffy asked me to check in on you,” she said, as he took a sip. He nearly choked, and she patted him on the back.
“Did she now? Must ‘a told you that Kelrath demon that did this was a nasty bugger too, eh?”
She stared down at the hands folded in her lap. “Spike. I know it was Buffy. She told me." She looked up at him. "She feels terrible about it.”
If Spike could have formed an expression on his swollen face, it would have been shock. She'd asked the girl to check on him. More than that, Buffy’d told Tara ... something. Couldn't hope that she'd confided everything that was going on, but even so. He wondered what had gotten into the Slayer. Well, the girl did have that quiet, trustworthy thing going for her.
Lost in thought, the jar tipped precariously in his hand, nearly spilling. She righted it quickly. “Now drink your blood,” she said with authority.
"What are you, my mum?"
But he did as she said. The warm liquid slid down his throat and filled his belly. It took away some of the ache, at least the one in his gut. He guzzled it down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“More?” she asked. “There’s another jar in the fridge.” She began to smooth the covers over him with her hands.
"Oh for Christ's sake, I'm not your bloody patient, Florence Nightingale! I'm gettin' up." She moved up and out of his way, but he hesitated as he went to stand. “And you'd better turn your head unless you want an eyeful, pet.”
She rolled her eyes at his feeble attempt at chivalry. “I've seen a naked man before, Spike. Though it did scar me for life,” she said with a smirk, before dutifully turning her back.
So the quiet one had a sassy side. As he pulled on his jeans, Spike took a moment to drink her in. Why did he always go for the skinny birds? With her full breasts and round bottom, this one was ripe, like the peaches he used eat as a child. How he’d love to sink his teeth into her, let the juice run down his chin.
“Are you decent yet?” she asked, as he finished the last button.
“Hardly. But that’s nothin’ new.”
She laughed, full and throaty, and turned her head to smile at him over her shoulder. Yes, he would enjoy a taste of this one. He imagined the feel of her in his arms, breathy, pulse fluttering. Sinking into that soft, smooth skin. The flavor. The heat. And then he had a vision of her slack body sliding out of his arms to the ground, staring up at him with cold, dead eyes. His stomach lurched, and he swayed on his feet; suddenly he was sitting down again, hard, on the edge of the bed. Spike shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Bad mistake; his head screamed in pain. His injuries had made him soft, that’s all. Or he’d gotten a bad batch of blood.
“Are you okay?” She was at his side now, a warm hand on his back, sweet concern on her face. Concern. For him. Tasty or not, he decided then and there that he liked her just the way she was. Warm and alive.
“Drank that down a bit too fast, is all. Came over a bit queasy.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Now here’s the Big Bad instillin’ fear and dread in all who enter his lair, right?”
She smiled and ducked her head. “You'd still be able to scare me if you wanted to.”
He took her hand and squeezed it briefly. “No worries, pet. No worries.”
Title: Changing Tastes
Author: Cindy (cindergal)
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Not mine, no harm, no foul
Setting: Season 6, just post-Dead Things
Summary: Spike finds he doesn't see things quite the way that he used to.
A/N: Thank you to mommanerd for the great beta.
Changing Tastes
He felt like his head was wrapped in cotton, and his mouth stuffed full of it. It wasn't a bad feeling, really, except that each time he slipped into the blissful unconsciousness of sleep, his body would betray him. Every involuntary shift of position brought a new kind of pain to his battered head, until he'd finally manage to doze off once more.
Vaguely, he realized he was awakening once again. It wasn't pain, this time, though. Whatever senses of his that were still operational had alerted him to the presence of a stranger. His body screamed danger at him, even though he didn't have the energy to do anything about it. Not that he would if he could in his current state of mind, anyway. But then the warning levels dropped - the scent was somewhat familiar, and not unfriendly. Her gasp of shock was what finally brought him all the way around.
Spike lifted his head up off the pillow and gazed at Tara with his one good eye. She tried to cover her stunned expression with a wavery smile. He must be a sight.
“Not exactly up for company, pet.” His head fell back on the pillow.
“I b … brought blood.” She went closer and opened the container.
Spike hadn't realized how hungry he was until that sweet, metallic aroma wafted over to him, and his stomach clenched. He struggled to sit up, and she set the blood down and helped him, propping the pillows up behind him like he was some damn invalid.
Tara reached for the blood and helped him wrap his hands around the jar. “Buffy asked me to check in on you,” she said, as he took a sip. He nearly choked, and she patted him on the back.
“Did she now? Must ‘a told you that Kelrath demon that did this was a nasty bugger too, eh?”
She stared down at the hands folded in her lap. “Spike. I know it was Buffy. She told me." She looked up at him. "She feels terrible about it.”
If Spike could have formed an expression on his swollen face, it would have been shock. She'd asked the girl to check on him. More than that, Buffy’d told Tara ... something. Couldn't hope that she'd confided everything that was going on, but even so. He wondered what had gotten into the Slayer. Well, the girl did have that quiet, trustworthy thing going for her.
Lost in thought, the jar tipped precariously in his hand, nearly spilling. She righted it quickly. “Now drink your blood,” she said with authority.
"What are you, my mum?"
But he did as she said. The warm liquid slid down his throat and filled his belly. It took away some of the ache, at least the one in his gut. He guzzled it down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“More?” she asked. “There’s another jar in the fridge.” She began to smooth the covers over him with her hands.
"Oh for Christ's sake, I'm not your bloody patient, Florence Nightingale! I'm gettin' up." She moved up and out of his way, but he hesitated as he went to stand. “And you'd better turn your head unless you want an eyeful, pet.”
She rolled her eyes at his feeble attempt at chivalry. “I've seen a naked man before, Spike. Though it did scar me for life,” she said with a smirk, before dutifully turning her back.
So the quiet one had a sassy side. As he pulled on his jeans, Spike took a moment to drink her in. Why did he always go for the skinny birds? With her full breasts and round bottom, this one was ripe, like the peaches he used eat as a child. How he’d love to sink his teeth into her, let the juice run down his chin.
“Are you decent yet?” she asked, as he finished the last button.
“Hardly. But that’s nothin’ new.”
She laughed, full and throaty, and turned her head to smile at him over her shoulder. Yes, he would enjoy a taste of this one. He imagined the feel of her in his arms, breathy, pulse fluttering. Sinking into that soft, smooth skin. The flavor. The heat. And then he had a vision of her slack body sliding out of his arms to the ground, staring up at him with cold, dead eyes. His stomach lurched, and he swayed on his feet; suddenly he was sitting down again, hard, on the edge of the bed. Spike shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Bad mistake; his head screamed in pain. His injuries had made him soft, that’s all. Or he’d gotten a bad batch of blood.
“Are you okay?” She was at his side now, a warm hand on his back, sweet concern on her face. Concern. For him. Tasty or not, he decided then and there that he liked her just the way she was. Warm and alive.
“Drank that down a bit too fast, is all. Came over a bit queasy.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Now here’s the Big Bad instillin’ fear and dread in all who enter his lair, right?”
She smiled and ducked her head. “You'd still be able to scare me if you wanted to.”
He took her hand and squeezed it briefly. “No worries, pet. No worries.”