Fic: Accomplished S/X PG
Got the first fic for my 100moods table.
Title: Accomplished (not the most original, I know, all titles will be the prompts.)
Fandom: Buffy The Vampire Slayer
Characters: Xander/Spike
Prompt: Accomplished
Word Count: 720
Rating: PG
Warning/Spoilers: Umm, S4 roughly, but no real spoilers and definitely no warnings.
Summary: Spike can't stand living in filth. Blech.
That feeling he’d had, when the little witch’s face fell and the Slayer’s pet human just looked defeated, that almost euphoric feeling of having done something worthwhile with his time?
Yeah, it was gone, and he was stuck again in the dankest excuse for a hovel he’d ever had the misfortune to experience - including the crumbling mineshaft Angelus had hated so much. Even the walls of this hole were damp and moldy. Disgusting, really. But that Harris kid lived here and was tolerating his presence, keeping those poncy, taser-toting soldiers off his back. Also, and this was a nifty little plus that Spike certainly hadn’t expected, the little bugger had taught him how to keep from shrinking his clothes.
“You don’t want to use hot water on the black stuff, Spike. It’ll shrink and fade, and umm, being toothless already? I don’t think you want to deal with faded darks too.”
“Ta, ever so, nancy-boy.”
Xander leveled a glare on him. “Whatever.”
Spike watched him put on yet another outrageously ugly uniform, slap some paper hat on his head and leave. When he was sure the boy was gone, he undressed, threw his kit into the washer. Sneering as he turned the dial, “Cold water only, please,” he dumped the soap in and slammed the lid shut. Settling down, he started to watch some telly, but couldn’t stand the stench of old carry-out containers. With a huff and an eye roll, he picked up the mess around the basement. Naked. Because it’s easier to wash the grime off skin than it is out of clothes.
Once he got the filth off the floor, into trash bags and out of the basement, he stalked upstairs for a mop and cleaner. “Can’t believe I’m doing this, but dammit, I’m not living in filth. Been on this planet for over 150 years, never lived in the kind of squalor this boy does. Wish I had minions.”
Three hours, several times over the floor with the mop and even more buckets of hot water later, the basement resembled something he might consider worthy enough to squat in. Dressed in dry and too-sweet smelling clothes - damn dryer sheets! - Spike sat drinking the last beer in Xander’s minifridge and watching the last few minutes of some forgettable Seagal flick, feeling a sick sense of domestic accomplishment. He rolled his eyes at himself.
A little after 8 pm, heavy steps on the stairs let him know Xander was home. The steps stopped at the base of the stairs, and Xander hissed out a breath. “Ah man! I told her not to come down here! I pay rent, now; the least they can do is leave me alone. Spike?!” The note of concern in the boy’s voice startled Spike.
“What?” he barked out.
“Oh, ok. Just checking. Did my mom say or do anything to you?” Xander shrugged out of the ugly polyester thing and flung it on the floor.
“Do you mind? Place is finally clean enough to stand. Don’t go makin’ a mess.” Spike groused, then took a swig from the bottle in his hand.
Xander picked up the shirt again. “Is that my last beer? And did you pick up the apartment?”
“Well, yeah.”
“‘Yeah’ to what?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “The beer, nitwit. Like I’d lift a finger in this place.” He turned back to the television.
“Oh.” Xander looked around at the now cleaned and fresh basement, then eyed Spike in his freshly clean clothes. He smiled and shook his head, turning toward the kitchenette. “Well, good thing I bought some more, then. And it looks like mom did a better than usual job; she doesn’t usually mop down here. Cool.” He put the beer in the fridge. “But at least the place looks and smells better. Thank goodness.”
Spike, a little surprised at the genuine appreciation in the kid’s voice, asked, “You always live in filth like that?”
Xander sighed and grabbed a juice box from the fridge. “I’m not a slob, Spike. Not the neatest person around, but not a slob either. The filth wasn’t mine. Ok, the take out stuff was, but the rest?” He shrugged. “Was here when I moved down here. Been trying to get it cleaned, but between patrolling, working, and looking for jobs, I just haven’t had enough time.” He sat down, sipping his juice and watching t.v.
Spike dutifully ignored him, but for a tiny nod.
A couple hours later, Xander stood and looked over at Spike.
“Ok. Well, I’m gonna shower. Meeting tonight. You coming?”
“Don’t think so. Not one of you Scoobies. Not going to your boring meetin’s, am I?”
“Ah. True, the Big Bad can’t be seen sleeping - scuse me - plotting with the enemy.” Xander rose and headed to the bathroom. “Well, enjoy your night, Spike,” he whispered.
Spike watched him until the bathroom door shut. When the water came on, Spike snatched his eyes from the bathroom door and took another sip of beer, glad that there was more for later.
Title: Accomplished (not the most original, I know, all titles will be the prompts.)
Fandom: Buffy The Vampire Slayer
Characters: Xander/Spike
Prompt: Accomplished
Word Count: 720
Rating: PG
Warning/Spoilers: Umm, S4 roughly, but no real spoilers and definitely no warnings.
Summary: Spike can't stand living in filth. Blech.
That feeling he’d had, when the little witch’s face fell and the Slayer’s pet human just looked defeated, that almost euphoric feeling of having done something worthwhile with his time?
Yeah, it was gone, and he was stuck again in the dankest excuse for a hovel he’d ever had the misfortune to experience - including the crumbling mineshaft Angelus had hated so much. Even the walls of this hole were damp and moldy. Disgusting, really. But that Harris kid lived here and was tolerating his presence, keeping those poncy, taser-toting soldiers off his back. Also, and this was a nifty little plus that Spike certainly hadn’t expected, the little bugger had taught him how to keep from shrinking his clothes.
“You don’t want to use hot water on the black stuff, Spike. It’ll shrink and fade, and umm, being toothless already? I don’t think you want to deal with faded darks too.”
“Ta, ever so, nancy-boy.”
Xander leveled a glare on him. “Whatever.”
Spike watched him put on yet another outrageously ugly uniform, slap some paper hat on his head and leave. When he was sure the boy was gone, he undressed, threw his kit into the washer. Sneering as he turned the dial, “Cold water only, please,” he dumped the soap in and slammed the lid shut. Settling down, he started to watch some telly, but couldn’t stand the stench of old carry-out containers. With a huff and an eye roll, he picked up the mess around the basement. Naked. Because it’s easier to wash the grime off skin than it is out of clothes.
Once he got the filth off the floor, into trash bags and out of the basement, he stalked upstairs for a mop and cleaner. “Can’t believe I’m doing this, but dammit, I’m not living in filth. Been on this planet for over 150 years, never lived in the kind of squalor this boy does. Wish I had minions.”
Three hours, several times over the floor with the mop and even more buckets of hot water later, the basement resembled something he might consider worthy enough to squat in. Dressed in dry and too-sweet smelling clothes - damn dryer sheets! - Spike sat drinking the last beer in Xander’s minifridge and watching the last few minutes of some forgettable Seagal flick, feeling a sick sense of domestic accomplishment. He rolled his eyes at himself.
A little after 8 pm, heavy steps on the stairs let him know Xander was home. The steps stopped at the base of the stairs, and Xander hissed out a breath. “Ah man! I told her not to come down here! I pay rent, now; the least they can do is leave me alone. Spike?!” The note of concern in the boy’s voice startled Spike.
“What?” he barked out.
“Oh, ok. Just checking. Did my mom say or do anything to you?” Xander shrugged out of the ugly polyester thing and flung it on the floor.
“Do you mind? Place is finally clean enough to stand. Don’t go makin’ a mess.” Spike groused, then took a swig from the bottle in his hand.
Xander picked up the shirt again. “Is that my last beer? And did you pick up the apartment?”
“Well, yeah.”
“‘Yeah’ to what?”
Spike rolled his eyes. “The beer, nitwit. Like I’d lift a finger in this place.” He turned back to the television.
“Oh.” Xander looked around at the now cleaned and fresh basement, then eyed Spike in his freshly clean clothes. He smiled and shook his head, turning toward the kitchenette. “Well, good thing I bought some more, then. And it looks like mom did a better than usual job; she doesn’t usually mop down here. Cool.” He put the beer in the fridge. “But at least the place looks and smells better. Thank goodness.”
Spike, a little surprised at the genuine appreciation in the kid’s voice, asked, “You always live in filth like that?”
Xander sighed and grabbed a juice box from the fridge. “I’m not a slob, Spike. Not the neatest person around, but not a slob either. The filth wasn’t mine. Ok, the take out stuff was, but the rest?” He shrugged. “Was here when I moved down here. Been trying to get it cleaned, but between patrolling, working, and looking for jobs, I just haven’t had enough time.” He sat down, sipping his juice and watching t.v.
Spike dutifully ignored him, but for a tiny nod.
A couple hours later, Xander stood and looked over at Spike.
“Ok. Well, I’m gonna shower. Meeting tonight. You coming?”
“Don’t think so. Not one of you Scoobies. Not going to your boring meetin’s, am I?”
“Ah. True, the Big Bad can’t be seen sleeping - scuse me - plotting with the enemy.” Xander rose and headed to the bathroom. “Well, enjoy your night, Spike,” he whispered.
Spike watched him until the bathroom door shut. When the water came on, Spike snatched his eyes from the bathroom door and took another sip of beer, glad that there was more for later.