Fic: The Scientific Method, PG, B/S
The Scientific Method
By Barb C
Disclaimers: The usual. All belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy, and naught to me.
Rating: PG
Pairing: B/S
Distribution: Ask and you shall receive, I'd just like to know where it ends up.
Synopsis: Spike performs an experiment.
Author’s notes: This story takes place in the same universe as "Raising In the Sun," "Necessary Evils," and "A Parliament of Monsters," and contains spoilers for previous works in the series. It's set shortly after POM and shortly before "The Devil And William Pratt." This was written for bloodypoetry, who asked for hurt-comfort. This is probably not quite what she had in mind...
The long and short of it was, Spike liked food. Always had done, ever since he was a pinafore'd young'un trying to sweet-talk Cook out of more jam. It wasn't quite up there with fucking and fighting in his personal pantheon of carnal delights, but it definitely made the top five. Becoming a vampire hadn't much changed that - yeh, sure, a nice plate of bangers and mash didn't taste quite as good as it had when he was alive (certainly not compared to the ambrosia of human blood fresh and warm from the vein) but that didn't mean it tasted bad, never mind what Angel had to say about the matter. And the fact was, no matter how ambrosial one's usual diet, a bloke wanted a bit of variety now and again. Particularly once the aforementioned human blood was off the menu.
So the Mohra Blood Incident (as Buffy called it, complete with capital letters) wasn’t without its compensations. Turned out that a fair number of the things that had tasted not quite as good to an undead vampire tasted bloody fantastic to a revivified one. Even the much-reviled pig's blood had a new zing to it.
'Course, he hadn't quite gone about discovering that in the approved manner.
"Are you nuts?" Buffy demanded.
"No," Spike replied somewhat indistinctly. "Just hungry. Haven't had a decent meal in days. Fred's got me on some synthetic hemoglobin shite while she runs her tests. So I nicked - er, borrowed her cell phone and ordered takeout. Want some? Think I've hit my limit."
"No! You're supposed - " She sighed and extended a hand. "Oh, all right."
"Here you go." Spike handed off the decimated carton, washed his last mouthful of curry down with the dregs of his pig's blood, and pushed away from the lab table. Definitely not hungry any longer. He felt...full. Really full, not just in that taking-up-stomach-room way that eating human food used to give him. Warm, happy, satisfied full. Over-full, even. Ooooh. Possibly not the best of ideas, mixing mu shu pork and stuffed jalapenos. "Be a love and roll me over to Fred's cot, will you? Think I’ve ruptured something.”
“Considering you've just put away more like six decent meals, I'm afraid you'll explode if I try.” Buffy’s tone was distinctly lacking in sympathy. She set the half-eaten curry carton down and folded her arms across her chest with a schoolmarmish frown. “Fred gave you a meal plan. A nice, scientific, itemized - "
“Boring,” Spike interrupted.
“ - safe meal plan." The Slayer produced a crumpled piece of paper and waved it in front of his nose. Bloody hell, he thought he'd consigned that thing to the dustbin, where it belonged. "'Speculative Dietary Requirements Of Metabolically Active Obligate Hemovores.' Has Latin in the title and everything.”
"Greek, pet. Well, both, strictly speaking - " In the face of continued Slayerly indifference to his plight, Spike sighed and heaved himself to his feet. Oooooooh. Buck up, mate, only a few steps to the cot.
"Whatever. The point is, said very scientific list doesn't include hot wings, pizza, Mongolian stir-fry, or beef enchiladas!" Buffy stabbed an accusing finger at the polyglot pyramid of empty take-out boxes the lab table. "We don't know exactly what the Mohra blood did to you yet, and - "
Spike collapsed onto the cot with a groan. Thank God for loopy scientific birds who worked the clock round. He loosened his belt a notch, then undid it altogether. Better. "Look, love, grateful as I am for the Burkle's efforts in compiling a list of Things Other Than Blood It's Healthy For Revivified Vampires To Eat, Probably, Really We're Just Guessing As Spike's The Only One, if I thought I had to spend the rest of my life on a diet of nothing but pig's blood and raw liver, I'd end up grateful I've gone all mortal, just to end the tedium."
Buffy recrumpled the excessively scientific meal plan and bounced it off his nose. "You love raw liver."
"Beside the point." Mmmm, raw liver. His stomach twinged, but only a little; things seemed to be settling in more comfortably now that he was horizontal. He gave it a fond pat. Should have figured; the cast-iron Pratt digestion hadn't let him down in a hundred and fifty years, and it wasn't about to let a little thing like mortality interfere with its sterling record now. Maybe in an hour or two... "Theory's well and good, but I'm for empirical evidence, me. Faster we find out what makes me tick now, faster Fred'll give me a clean bill of health and we can go home."
"Guess there's nothing more empirical than a stomachache." The cot creaked as Buffy perched on its edge beside him, and her small strong hand began massaging warm little circles down the taut rise of his belly. Ah, yeah, that felt good. Better than good. His eyes drifted shut as a sleepy, sated rumble built in his chest.
"So have we learned a lesson from this, Mr. Creosote?" Buffy asked, Slayer-stern.
"Mmm hmm." One eye slitted open, and Spike's face split in a huge grin. Obviously he was going to have to add a few more sets to his workout regime, but fuck, it was going to be worth it. "Next time I'm getting the papadums."
END
By Barb C
Disclaimers: The usual. All belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy, and naught to me.
Rating: PG
Pairing: B/S
Distribution: Ask and you shall receive, I'd just like to know where it ends up.
Synopsis: Spike performs an experiment.
Author’s notes: This story takes place in the same universe as "Raising In the Sun," "Necessary Evils," and "A Parliament of Monsters," and contains spoilers for previous works in the series. It's set shortly after POM and shortly before "The Devil And William Pratt." This was written for bloodypoetry, who asked for hurt-comfort. This is probably not quite what she had in mind...
The long and short of it was, Spike liked food. Always had done, ever since he was a pinafore'd young'un trying to sweet-talk Cook out of more jam. It wasn't quite up there with fucking and fighting in his personal pantheon of carnal delights, but it definitely made the top five. Becoming a vampire hadn't much changed that - yeh, sure, a nice plate of bangers and mash didn't taste quite as good as it had when he was alive (certainly not compared to the ambrosia of human blood fresh and warm from the vein) but that didn't mean it tasted bad, never mind what Angel had to say about the matter. And the fact was, no matter how ambrosial one's usual diet, a bloke wanted a bit of variety now and again. Particularly once the aforementioned human blood was off the menu.
So the Mohra Blood Incident (as Buffy called it, complete with capital letters) wasn’t without its compensations. Turned out that a fair number of the things that had tasted not quite as good to an undead vampire tasted bloody fantastic to a revivified one. Even the much-reviled pig's blood had a new zing to it.
'Course, he hadn't quite gone about discovering that in the approved manner.
"Are you nuts?" Buffy demanded.
"No," Spike replied somewhat indistinctly. "Just hungry. Haven't had a decent meal in days. Fred's got me on some synthetic hemoglobin shite while she runs her tests. So I nicked - er, borrowed her cell phone and ordered takeout. Want some? Think I've hit my limit."
"No! You're supposed - " She sighed and extended a hand. "Oh, all right."
"Here you go." Spike handed off the decimated carton, washed his last mouthful of curry down with the dregs of his pig's blood, and pushed away from the lab table. Definitely not hungry any longer. He felt...full. Really full, not just in that taking-up-stomach-room way that eating human food used to give him. Warm, happy, satisfied full. Over-full, even. Ooooh. Possibly not the best of ideas, mixing mu shu pork and stuffed jalapenos. "Be a love and roll me over to Fred's cot, will you? Think I’ve ruptured something.”
“Considering you've just put away more like six decent meals, I'm afraid you'll explode if I try.” Buffy’s tone was distinctly lacking in sympathy. She set the half-eaten curry carton down and folded her arms across her chest with a schoolmarmish frown. “Fred gave you a meal plan. A nice, scientific, itemized - "
“Boring,” Spike interrupted.
“ - safe meal plan." The Slayer produced a crumpled piece of paper and waved it in front of his nose. Bloody hell, he thought he'd consigned that thing to the dustbin, where it belonged. "'Speculative Dietary Requirements Of Metabolically Active Obligate Hemovores.' Has Latin in the title and everything.”
"Greek, pet. Well, both, strictly speaking - " In the face of continued Slayerly indifference to his plight, Spike sighed and heaved himself to his feet. Oooooooh. Buck up, mate, only a few steps to the cot.
"Whatever. The point is, said very scientific list doesn't include hot wings, pizza, Mongolian stir-fry, or beef enchiladas!" Buffy stabbed an accusing finger at the polyglot pyramid of empty take-out boxes the lab table. "We don't know exactly what the Mohra blood did to you yet, and - "
Spike collapsed onto the cot with a groan. Thank God for loopy scientific birds who worked the clock round. He loosened his belt a notch, then undid it altogether. Better. "Look, love, grateful as I am for the Burkle's efforts in compiling a list of Things Other Than Blood It's Healthy For Revivified Vampires To Eat, Probably, Really We're Just Guessing As Spike's The Only One, if I thought I had to spend the rest of my life on a diet of nothing but pig's blood and raw liver, I'd end up grateful I've gone all mortal, just to end the tedium."
Buffy recrumpled the excessively scientific meal plan and bounced it off his nose. "You love raw liver."
"Beside the point." Mmmm, raw liver. His stomach twinged, but only a little; things seemed to be settling in more comfortably now that he was horizontal. He gave it a fond pat. Should have figured; the cast-iron Pratt digestion hadn't let him down in a hundred and fifty years, and it wasn't about to let a little thing like mortality interfere with its sterling record now. Maybe in an hour or two... "Theory's well and good, but I'm for empirical evidence, me. Faster we find out what makes me tick now, faster Fred'll give me a clean bill of health and we can go home."
"Guess there's nothing more empirical than a stomachache." The cot creaked as Buffy perched on its edge beside him, and her small strong hand began massaging warm little circles down the taut rise of his belly. Ah, yeah, that felt good. Better than good. His eyes drifted shut as a sleepy, sated rumble built in his chest.
"So have we learned a lesson from this, Mr. Creosote?" Buffy asked, Slayer-stern.
"Mmm hmm." One eye slitted open, and Spike's face split in a huge grin. Obviously he was going to have to add a few more sets to his workout regime, but fuck, it was going to be worth it. "Next time I'm getting the papadums."
END