Romance, Hellmouth Style
Prompt: A Valentine:
Setting: The Future, sometime after Heat Pack, Heat Pack II, Welcome to the Hellmouth, and How to Have Fun on a Hellmouth
Rating: PG
Words: 270
Romance, Hellmouth Style
Buffy takes a step back, startled, when Spike launches himself at Nick, knocks him to the ground, and thrusts his fist straight into the other guy’s chest. There’s a nasty squelchy ripping sound that comes through loud and clear beneath poor Nick’s gurgles and screams. Spike’s arm emerges, dripping with thick, dark blood.
“For you,” he says, handing Buffy the still-beating heart. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”
“Ew! Seriously, Spike, we need to discuss your ideas of romance.”
“Take it,” he growls, a little testily. “Got to get Nick here’s second heart yet. And then, oh Particular One -”
He shoves Nick’s first heart into her hands. Buffy recoils, but doesn’t drop the warm, still-pulsing mass. If it touches the earth, it’ll grow, presto magic, into a second full-sized demon, and that’s so something she doesn’t want to deal with right now. She holds it at arm’s length, though, as far as her boy-she-wishes-her-arms-were-longer arms will allow. Hey, it’s a brand new dress. And shoes.
The squelchy sound repeats itself, and both Nick and the heart in her hands dissolve into a puddle of steaming ooze. “And then,” Spike repeats himself, panting a little, “we’ll go out to dinner at that romantic little restaurant you’ve been hinting none-too-subtly about for the last several weeks.” He stands, looks down at himself, and sighs. “Right after I wash what’s left of Nick out of my clothes.”
“And they say romance is dead,” Buffy says. She looks down at her own no-longer brand new dress, and with a mental shrug, throws herself into Spike’s arms. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too.”
Setting: The Future, sometime after Heat Pack, Heat Pack II, Welcome to the Hellmouth, and How to Have Fun on a Hellmouth
Rating: PG
Words: 270
Romance, Hellmouth Style
Buffy takes a step back, startled, when Spike launches himself at Nick, knocks him to the ground, and thrusts his fist straight into the other guy’s chest. There’s a nasty squelchy ripping sound that comes through loud and clear beneath poor Nick’s gurgles and screams. Spike’s arm emerges, dripping with thick, dark blood.
“For you,” he says, handing Buffy the still-beating heart. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”
“Ew! Seriously, Spike, we need to discuss your ideas of romance.”
“Take it,” he growls, a little testily. “Got to get Nick here’s second heart yet. And then, oh Particular One -”
He shoves Nick’s first heart into her hands. Buffy recoils, but doesn’t drop the warm, still-pulsing mass. If it touches the earth, it’ll grow, presto magic, into a second full-sized demon, and that’s so something she doesn’t want to deal with right now. She holds it at arm’s length, though, as far as her boy-she-wishes-her-arms-were-longer arms will allow. Hey, it’s a brand new dress. And shoes.
The squelchy sound repeats itself, and both Nick and the heart in her hands dissolve into a puddle of steaming ooze. “And then,” Spike repeats himself, panting a little, “we’ll go out to dinner at that romantic little restaurant you’ve been hinting none-too-subtly about for the last several weeks.” He stands, looks down at himself, and sighs. “Right after I wash what’s left of Nick out of my clothes.”
“And they say romance is dead,” Buffy says. She looks down at her own no-longer brand new dress, and with a mental shrug, throws herself into Spike’s arms. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too.”