ficlet: I'm not a piece of meat, Buffy!
I wrote this for nekid_spike's April First "Clothed Spike" day.
It's Spuffy, worksafe, and maybe just a tiny bit wish-fulfill-y. ;)
Buffy fought the impulse all day long. She told her self she hated it, hated what Spike did to her, what he was... and for a few hours, believed herself. But she always stopped fighting, oh, about three yards from Spike's crypt, when the weight of her conflicted feelings would fall away like a dropped jacket and she'd quicken her steps, thinking only how to get the foreplay over as quickly as possible.
A punch in the nose should do it. Then he'd be on his back. Buffy ran the last few feet to the crypt and threw open the door.
Spike was leaning forward in his chair, intent on the television. He flinched back at the noise of the door opening and turned a surprisingly hostile gaze on her.
Eh, whatever. She balled her fist and went for his nose.
And was surprised to hit the back of the dirty old recliner as he danced out of the way. "Oi! None of that, love," he said. "And you can just turn right around and go home. We're not playing tonight."
"Excuse me?"
Spike raised his chin, folded his arms, and said, "I've been watching Oprah."
Buffy shrugged. "Great. I caught a few episodes of Friends last week." She approached him again, this time intent on his belt buckle, but again he avoided her, side-stepping like a matador. She stomped her foot. "Spike, I don't have all night and I'm tired. Stand still."
"So you can molest me? No, I don't think so."
Buffy mouthed, "Molest you?"
"Right. See, Oprah's been doing a whole week on bad relationships, and today is 'men who withhold themselves emotionally' and I realized that was what was happening here."
Buffy put her hands on her hips. "The last thing you do is withhold emotion. You're like an overflowing emotion bowl."
"That right there? That was sexist. You're the emotionally withholding bloke here." He pointed at her savagely and then drew himself up. "And I'm not going to take it anymore. Until you start treating me like a person instead of a walking vibrator, you can just rely on the un-walking variety."
Buffy's mouth hung open. "You are dumping me?"
He softened, just a fraction, but then quickly regained his hard expression. "Don't think of it as being dumped. I'm withholding the sex until you stop withholding the love. Simple as that."
"Spike..." Buffy floundered, suddenly afraid that this whole conversation could actually mean a night without sex. "Wait, wait a minute."
"I'm not a piece of meat, you know."
She snapped her fingers like a small lightbulb clicking on and pointed at him. "You want sex too."
"Well... yeah. But I'm making a sacrifice for love." He nodded firmly.
"Spiiiiike." Buffy pouted.
"Oh no, not the lower lip."
She threw in some batted eyelashes and rubbed a hand along the side of her neck.
Spike turned his head away. "No. I'm standing firm. I have my pride."
She tip-toed up to him and whispered in his ear.
A heavy shudder ran down his left side and he twisted away. "Bloody hell, you have a filthy mind! And I'm evil."
Buffy batted her eyelashes.
Spike could stand no more, he squared his shoulders bravely - and ran like hell.
In a bar on the far side of town, he met the bloke he'd played poker with last night in LA. "You had better be right and this had better work - my balls are bluer than sapphire here."
The green demon smiled a secretive smile and raised a pink drink with an umbrella in it. "Don't worry. It doesn't take a seer to figure you two out, creamcake. Two days, and she'll break."
"Two whole days?" Spike whined, but shook his head, smoothed his hair, and picked up his beer.
He'd give her one.
It's Spuffy, worksafe, and maybe just a tiny bit wish-fulfill-y. ;)
Buffy fought the impulse all day long. She told her self she hated it, hated what Spike did to her, what he was... and for a few hours, believed herself. But she always stopped fighting, oh, about three yards from Spike's crypt, when the weight of her conflicted feelings would fall away like a dropped jacket and she'd quicken her steps, thinking only how to get the foreplay over as quickly as possible.
A punch in the nose should do it. Then he'd be on his back. Buffy ran the last few feet to the crypt and threw open the door.
Spike was leaning forward in his chair, intent on the television. He flinched back at the noise of the door opening and turned a surprisingly hostile gaze on her.
Eh, whatever. She balled her fist and went for his nose.
And was surprised to hit the back of the dirty old recliner as he danced out of the way. "Oi! None of that, love," he said. "And you can just turn right around and go home. We're not playing tonight."
"Excuse me?"
Spike raised his chin, folded his arms, and said, "I've been watching Oprah."
Buffy shrugged. "Great. I caught a few episodes of Friends last week." She approached him again, this time intent on his belt buckle, but again he avoided her, side-stepping like a matador. She stomped her foot. "Spike, I don't have all night and I'm tired. Stand still."
"So you can molest me? No, I don't think so."
Buffy mouthed, "Molest you?"
"Right. See, Oprah's been doing a whole week on bad relationships, and today is 'men who withhold themselves emotionally' and I realized that was what was happening here."
Buffy put her hands on her hips. "The last thing you do is withhold emotion. You're like an overflowing emotion bowl."
"That right there? That was sexist. You're the emotionally withholding bloke here." He pointed at her savagely and then drew himself up. "And I'm not going to take it anymore. Until you start treating me like a person instead of a walking vibrator, you can just rely on the un-walking variety."
Buffy's mouth hung open. "You are dumping me?"
He softened, just a fraction, but then quickly regained his hard expression. "Don't think of it as being dumped. I'm withholding the sex until you stop withholding the love. Simple as that."
"Spike..." Buffy floundered, suddenly afraid that this whole conversation could actually mean a night without sex. "Wait, wait a minute."
"I'm not a piece of meat, you know."
She snapped her fingers like a small lightbulb clicking on and pointed at him. "You want sex too."
"Well... yeah. But I'm making a sacrifice for love." He nodded firmly.
"Spiiiiike." Buffy pouted.
"Oh no, not the lower lip."
She threw in some batted eyelashes and rubbed a hand along the side of her neck.
Spike turned his head away. "No. I'm standing firm. I have my pride."
She tip-toed up to him and whispered in his ear.
A heavy shudder ran down his left side and he twisted away. "Bloody hell, you have a filthy mind! And I'm evil."
Buffy batted her eyelashes.
Spike could stand no more, he squared his shoulders bravely - and ran like hell.
In a bar on the far side of town, he met the bloke he'd played poker with last night in LA. "You had better be right and this had better work - my balls are bluer than sapphire here."
The green demon smiled a secretive smile and raised a pink drink with an umbrella in it. "Don't worry. It doesn't take a seer to figure you two out, creamcake. Two days, and she'll break."
"Two whole days?" Spike whined, but shook his head, smoothed his hair, and picked up his beer.
He'd give her one.