Drabble: Weetabix, Willow/Spike/Tara, PG-13
Title: Weetabix
Author: maryfic
Disclaimer: Wow. So very not mine.
Rating/Pairing: PG-13, Willow/Spike/Tara
Word Count: 446
A/N: Part of the Thanksgiving Drabble Challenge, which ends @ midnight on 11/26, so I am definitely running out of time - but I shall prevail, or sweat blood trying.
It was rare that Giles ever raised his voice. Even when Spike was involved, he managed to keep that stiff upper lip that Brits were famous for in song, if not in deed.
But when Giles came home to a blood covered living room with chunks of Weetabix sticking to various objects, including the walls, his sofa, and the television, his stiff upper lip exploded into a display worthy of a fireworks celebration.
Spike had done the diplomatic thing and run, leaving Willow and Tara to stare, nearly an hour later, at the destruction he’d caused.
“Giles - what - how long did you leave him alone for?” Tara asked.
“Not more than half an hour,” he replied. “He was watching Passions.”
“Oh, no,” Willow replied.
They both looked at her.
“It’s the big Alistair come back from the dead episode,” she tried to explain.
Nobody got it.
Frustrated, Willow said, “Don’t you pay any attention to what Spike likes?”
Negatives all around and she sighed. “Well, fine. Giles, why exactly are we here, besides magical clean-up duty?”
His eyes glinted behind his glasses, or maybe the glasses themselves flashed as he said, “Punishment.”
Which is how Spike ended up naked and chained in his own bed, underneath the crypt he’d called home for several years now, aside from stints in a bleedin’ bathtub for christ’s sake, with two witches staring down at him, odd looks on their faces.
They were lesbians. He didn’t have anything to worry about - did he? Were his parts safe?
“Oi, girlies, come on now. Be a pair of doves and let old Spike up. We can just make up some nasty things you did to me, yeah? For old Rupert’s heart, you know?” he trailed off dismally as Tara began to shake her head.
“No. You - you should have been more careful, Spike.”
He turned to Red. His Red. They were friends, weren’t they?
But she held up a hand. “Don’t beg, Spike. Not yet. Save it for when the main event arrives.”
Now he was terrified. There was more? He wiggled uncomfortably and noticed there was a plastic sheet under his bare ass. No. No. No. No.
He heard a door just as Willow unscrewed the jar of blood she held and began to dress him like salad - an even coating all over - even getting his balls! His eyebrows leaped along with his cock. Hey - girl was hot, and it ain’t like the mouse was lookin’ away. “Got a good view, pet?” he snarked at her, and then a much, much more dangerous blonde came into the room.
“Spikey!”
When he screamed and turned back to the witches, they were gone.
END
Author: maryfic
Disclaimer: Wow. So very not mine.
Rating/Pairing: PG-13, Willow/Spike/Tara
Word Count: 446
A/N: Part of the Thanksgiving Drabble Challenge, which ends @ midnight on 11/26, so I am definitely running out of time - but I shall prevail, or sweat blood trying.
It was rare that Giles ever raised his voice. Even when Spike was involved, he managed to keep that stiff upper lip that Brits were famous for in song, if not in deed.
But when Giles came home to a blood covered living room with chunks of Weetabix sticking to various objects, including the walls, his sofa, and the television, his stiff upper lip exploded into a display worthy of a fireworks celebration.
Spike had done the diplomatic thing and run, leaving Willow and Tara to stare, nearly an hour later, at the destruction he’d caused.
“Giles - what - how long did you leave him alone for?” Tara asked.
“Not more than half an hour,” he replied. “He was watching Passions.”
“Oh, no,” Willow replied.
They both looked at her.
“It’s the big Alistair come back from the dead episode,” she tried to explain.
Nobody got it.
Frustrated, Willow said, “Don’t you pay any attention to what Spike likes?”
Negatives all around and she sighed. “Well, fine. Giles, why exactly are we here, besides magical clean-up duty?”
His eyes glinted behind his glasses, or maybe the glasses themselves flashed as he said, “Punishment.”
Which is how Spike ended up naked and chained in his own bed, underneath the crypt he’d called home for several years now, aside from stints in a bleedin’ bathtub for christ’s sake, with two witches staring down at him, odd looks on their faces.
They were lesbians. He didn’t have anything to worry about - did he? Were his parts safe?
“Oi, girlies, come on now. Be a pair of doves and let old Spike up. We can just make up some nasty things you did to me, yeah? For old Rupert’s heart, you know?” he trailed off dismally as Tara began to shake her head.
“No. You - you should have been more careful, Spike.”
He turned to Red. His Red. They were friends, weren’t they?
But she held up a hand. “Don’t beg, Spike. Not yet. Save it for when the main event arrives.”
Now he was terrified. There was more? He wiggled uncomfortably and noticed there was a plastic sheet under his bare ass. No. No. No. No.
He heard a door just as Willow unscrewed the jar of blood she held and began to dress him like salad - an even coating all over - even getting his balls! His eyebrows leaped along with his cock. Hey - girl was hot, and it ain’t like the mouse was lookin’ away. “Got a good view, pet?” he snarked at her, and then a much, much more dangerous blonde came into the room.
“Spikey!”
When he screamed and turned back to the witches, they were gone.
END