For the Blossoms
Title: For the Blossoms
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: Nekid-Spike: Spike... Gets A Job! and Ficlets 13: Disgust
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 515
Date Written: 20 March 2019
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
“SPIKE! SPIKE!”
“WHAT?!” Spike roared, whirling around and snarling. The black, leather trench coat he insisted on wearing even when in uniform twirled around him. All the female patrons, a few of the males, and even some of the waitstaff sighed with longing.
The manager closed his eyes and stilled his nerves. He had known, since day one, that hiring a man who thought he only needed one name would eventually bring trouble, but the sight of the blonde Brit had instantly increased the sales. He should have known that dealing with his attitude would never make up for the increased profit.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but you can’t work here any more.”
“WHAT?!” Spike snarled again, bites of fried batter and onion flinging from his dark lips.
“I SAID YOU CAN’T WORK HERE ANY MORE! I’m sorry,” the manager said more softly, shaking inside his non-skid shoes as Spike glowered at him, “but I can’t keep somebody on the staff who’s eating all the bloody profits!” He stopped, realizing what he’d said and that the Brit was definitely making an impact on everyone around him, including himself.
“FINE!” Spike roared. “I DIDN’T WANT THIS STUPID JOB ANY BLOODY WAY! I JUST WANTED THE BLOODY RECIPE, and you know what?” He stopped yelling suddenly, and a truly sinister smile spread slowly over his wicked mouth. “I’ve got the bloody recipe now. So bollocks to all you wankers!”
Grabbing every onion blossom off of the serving tray, Spike headed for the exit. He never should have lowered himself to waiting on these blasted Happy Meals with legs anyway. He stopped suddenly and looked slowly back over his shoulder at where the manager was still watching him. A mixture of fear, hatred, and disgust filled the young punk’s face.
“But before I go -- “ Spike snarled, set the blossoms down, and sprang into action. He leapt over the tables that separated them and the heads of the customers, ignoring the shrill cries of the interested females. (There was always interested females wherever he went.) He landed before the manager, but as his hands gripped his shoulders, pain shot through his head.
“BOLLOCKS!” he screamed again, falling back and grasping his head. He writhed for a moment in pain, then flinched again as he struck the manager. The pimple-faced kid screamed as he fell backwards onto his butt. Actual tears started streaming down his face as Spike turned swiftly away from him.
“THIS ONE’S MINE TOO!” he thundered, grabbing an onion blossom off of the nearest table. He picked up the rest of his blossoms, along with his remaining pride, and stalked back out into the night, where he belonged. As the shadows wrapped around him, the Vampire smiled. Moonlight glistened off of his fangs. At least he did have that recipe now, which meant he could create endless onion blossoms all for his own enjoyment. He’d never have to drink blood again, even if his stomach already rumbled at the thought. He buried his desire for the sweet, crimson liquid in digging his fangs into the top blossom.
The End
Author: Katya Starling
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt: Nekid-Spike: Spike... Gets A Job! and Ficlets 13: Disgust
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 515
Date Written: 20 March 2019
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
“SPIKE! SPIKE!”
“WHAT?!” Spike roared, whirling around and snarling. The black, leather trench coat he insisted on wearing even when in uniform twirled around him. All the female patrons, a few of the males, and even some of the waitstaff sighed with longing.
The manager closed his eyes and stilled his nerves. He had known, since day one, that hiring a man who thought he only needed one name would eventually bring trouble, but the sight of the blonde Brit had instantly increased the sales. He should have known that dealing with his attitude would never make up for the increased profit.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but you can’t work here any more.”
“WHAT?!” Spike snarled again, bites of fried batter and onion flinging from his dark lips.
“I SAID YOU CAN’T WORK HERE ANY MORE! I’m sorry,” the manager said more softly, shaking inside his non-skid shoes as Spike glowered at him, “but I can’t keep somebody on the staff who’s eating all the bloody profits!” He stopped, realizing what he’d said and that the Brit was definitely making an impact on everyone around him, including himself.
“FINE!” Spike roared. “I DIDN’T WANT THIS STUPID JOB ANY BLOODY WAY! I JUST WANTED THE BLOODY RECIPE, and you know what?” He stopped yelling suddenly, and a truly sinister smile spread slowly over his wicked mouth. “I’ve got the bloody recipe now. So bollocks to all you wankers!”
Grabbing every onion blossom off of the serving tray, Spike headed for the exit. He never should have lowered himself to waiting on these blasted Happy Meals with legs anyway. He stopped suddenly and looked slowly back over his shoulder at where the manager was still watching him. A mixture of fear, hatred, and disgust filled the young punk’s face.
“But before I go -- “ Spike snarled, set the blossoms down, and sprang into action. He leapt over the tables that separated them and the heads of the customers, ignoring the shrill cries of the interested females. (There was always interested females wherever he went.) He landed before the manager, but as his hands gripped his shoulders, pain shot through his head.
“BOLLOCKS!” he screamed again, falling back and grasping his head. He writhed for a moment in pain, then flinched again as he struck the manager. The pimple-faced kid screamed as he fell backwards onto his butt. Actual tears started streaming down his face as Spike turned swiftly away from him.
“THIS ONE’S MINE TOO!” he thundered, grabbing an onion blossom off of the nearest table. He picked up the rest of his blossoms, along with his remaining pride, and stalked back out into the night, where he belonged. As the shadows wrapped around him, the Vampire smiled. Moonlight glistened off of his fangs. At least he did have that recipe now, which meant he could create endless onion blossoms all for his own enjoyment. He’d never have to drink blood again, even if his stomach already rumbled at the thought. He buried his desire for the sweet, crimson liquid in digging his fangs into the top blossom.
The End