SB Fag Ends Birthday Comment Fics

[shapinglight]

So, over on sb_fag_ends, our comment fic party is still going strong. Lots of lovely prompts still for the taking. Hurry on over and grab one.

I've written four so far, and I thought I'd post them here as well since it can be a bit hard to find the prompt fills when the comment threads get very long. I've made a few very slight corrections, because of course you can't do that once the comment's been answered.

1) Prompt quinara: Crossrail
So, there's this big development going on in London right now, with this new railway Crossrail. It's involved lots of stuff getting dug up, but also a lot of stuff getting knocked down. What do Spuffy make of this? Spike specifically? Or - take this prompt in another direction; what is the price of progress???? Or just trains????

Setting: Some nebulous time post-series. Buffy and Spike are a couple. How that happened, who knows? They just are, okay?
PG


"I knew this Crossrail thing was a bad idea!"

Spike threw himself flat on the ground as a huge, spiny tail sliced through the air.

"You mean on account of the excavations waking the humongous dragon sleeping under London?" Buffy asked, as she cartwheeled over a jet of flame and landed athletically on a giant, taloned forepaw.

"Bloody hell, watch it, mate. You nearly took my head off." Spike turned from berating the dragon, which looked suitably chastened, to roll his eyes at her.

"No, I do not mean that. The dragon isn't the sodding problem."

"Well, what, then?" Buffy asked, rubbing the dragon under the chin with the pointy stake end of the Scythe, which made it purr like a large scaly kitten.

Spike gave the dragon another stern look. "Keep your mitts off her, all right? Slayer's spoken for."

The dragon pouted, but Spike ignored it (because what the hell business did dragons have pouting anyway?). "In fact, dragon's gonna come in right handy, given that - duck, Slayer!"

Buffy ducked, just in time to avoid a pair of clutching skeleton hands.

Later, surrounded by a pile of diseased looking bones that had once been the skeletons of plague victims brought to eerie life by the vibrations of the Crossrail tunnelling machine, and with the dragon still breathing fire to cauterise the site, Spike said, "And this is only the beginning. Sodding works haven't even got to Seven Kings yet."

"What's at Seven Kings?" Buffy asked. Then she said, "Oh. Right." She went white as a sheet. "So what you're saying is, the real villain of the piece is..."

"Yeah." Spike drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Neil sodding Gaiman."



2) Prompt: brutti_ma_buoni AU with Illyria in a different body
The God King of the Primordium doesn't so much end up with Fred as its vessel as...

Choose your own adventure from there.

Does Illyria inhabit Spike or Buffy?
Hideous angsty death scene?
Hilarious training montage?
Weird sex?
Blue shoes?
All of the above?

AU AtS season 5
PG



"'S weird, this," he says. "Not used to bein' able to kick your arse so easily, Slayer."

With an effort that costs her the last of her failing strength, Buffy wrenches her arm from his grip.

Shards of the Scythe clutched tight in her uninjured hand, she retreats until the wall slaps her in the back. All she can do then is watch his slow advance, prowling, predatory; a big cat toying with its kill.

She's seen him like this before, of course, so many years ago, stalking her in the high school corridors. He'd sent shivers down her spine at the time, along with raising her hackles (whatever those are).

He was just a vamp, like all the others, she remembers thinking. She would not be intimidated by his bad boy act.

And even then, there'd been ways to get under his oh, so sensitive skin. It'd taken her all of ten seconds to find one.

"Do we really need weapons for this?"

A smirk, a pale hand reaching down to frame his crotch.

"I just like them. They make me feel all manly."

But things are different this time. The face he turns on her is implacable. It doesn't understand the concept of mercy - not even enough to sneer at it.

Fists thud into the wall on either side of her head. There's the sound of crumbling plaster. She raises her chin defiantly and looks him in the eye.

"If you're gonna kill me, damn well do it. But you're not him, Illyria. You're not my...my friend. Stop pretending to be."

He stares at her a moment from Spike's blue eyes, but then the blue darkens, to violet, to indigo. His lips are tinted blue too, and blue shadows lie under his cheekbones.

He tilts his head, like Spike and yet not, gaze intense and unblinking. One hand drops onto her shoulder, and she finds herself pushed inexorably downwards.

"I am not him, it is true," Illyria says. "For now it's you that are beneath me."



3) Prompt: foxstarreh Narwhal
Spike gets transformed (or reincarnated or something) into a narwhal.

Buffy still loves him. Or falls in love with him. Or something. I don't know, it's your fic, the point is that Spike is now a narwhal.

Setting: AU early BtVS season 5(ish)
PG



"So can anyone be a whale," Buffy asked, "or is it just you?"

Spike (the narwhal) looked at her from soulful (ironic) dark eyes, which didn't detract from the comedy factor of him having a great big horn sticking out of the front of his face.

"Dunno," he said, or rather whistled, because, narwhal now. "S'not like I sodding asked for it. S'just what happened when I went through the magic waterfall."

Buffy glanced over her shoulder at where, in the dim starlight, she could see the waterfall in question plunging over the edge of the glacier and into the sea below.

When she turned back, Narwhal!Spike was giving her an accusing look. "Which is all your fault, Slayer, in case you've forgotten. You dragged me to this sodding place."

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. "Yeah, like when I asked for volunteers to come with me to the Arctic in winter to fight the latest Big Bad, you didn't stick your hand up first. Also, I don't remember saying to go through any magic waterfall. I mean, who does that?"

Narwhal!Spike gave her the narwhal equivalent of a pout. "Was just followin' the Big Bad, wasn't I? That's where it went."

He tried to look over his shoulder, which of course resulted in him swimming around in a circle and bumping his horn (how the hell long was that thing?) against an icefloe.

"Oww!" he whined. "Dunno where it's gone now. Could be anywhere. Prob'ly it's a whale too and half way to Iceland while we're standin' - er, swimmin' here yakkin.'"

"You're right." Buffy sprang to her feet. "We can't just let it get away. Who knows what it's doing to all those poor fish even as we speak? There's only one thing for it."

"Now just wait a bloody minute, Slayer-" Narwhal!Spike began to protest, but it was too late. Buffy had already disappeared into the magic waterfall.

For a long time, there was silence. Narwhal!Spike found himself admiring the pretty green lights in the sky overhead, as well as experiencing a sudden desire for halibut (though fuck knows how he was going to eat it with this sodding great horn in the way).

Suddenly, a sort of shiver ran down his blubbery spine (which he wasn't happy about, as he'd never been overweight before) and he had the distinct - and very unpleasant- feeling of being hunted.

A moment later, a big triangular black fin broke the surface of the water, while underneath, slicing towards him with predatory intent, Narwhal!Spike made out a black and white streamlined body. An orca!

It was too much of a coincidence.

"Sodding hell", he thought, as he dived under the nearest iceberg, "whale or no whale, she's still the Slayer."



4) Prompt: rbfvid Shakespearean Insults
Buffy, Spike, Shakespearean insults.
(Bonus points if “You scullion. You rampallian. You fustilarian. I'll tickle your catastrophe.” is used.)

Setting: BtVS early season 5, before OoMM, goes a little AU, or maybe Spike is dreaming again?
PG



Giles: (taking his glasses off and polishing them). "I have to say, Spike - with some reluctance, I admit, since it's you - I'm quite impressed. Your knowledge of Shakespeare appears to be extensive."

Spike: (impatient) Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

Giles: (putting his glasses back on). There's no need to be like that. I mean it.

Spike: (still impatient) You are more saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry.

Giles: (irritated) Now, look here-

Buffy: (bewildered) Can someone please tell me what's going on? (Glares at Spike). In English.

Spike: (dancing up and down on the spot) Frailty, they name is woman. They have a plentiful lack of wit.

Buffy: (still bewildered, but becoming angry). Did you just call me stupid?

Spike: (throws his hands up). The rest is silence.

Giles: (patting Buffy on the shoulder) I believe what Spike is trying to tell you, Buffy - and do correct me if I'm wrong, Spike - is that he's been put under a spell so he can only talk in Shakespearean quotes and that he'd like you to do something about it.

Buffy: (bewildered again). Oh. (To Spike). Is that true?

Spike: (Nods) Your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone.

Buffy: (bewildered again) Say what, now?

Giles: (long-suffering) I think he means you can't take this demon on alone. The two of you should hunt it down together. (Frowns) Either that, or he's saying Dawn would be more use than you are, I'm not certain.

Door bell chimes off.

Spike: (very agitated suddenly)Thou leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, knot-pated, agatering, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish pouch!

Enter demon, painted full of Shakespeare quotes.

Demon: Go, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, thou lily-liver’d boy.

Spike: You scullion! You rampallian! You fustilarian! I’ll tickle your catastrophe!

They fight.

Buffy: (picking up battleaxe) Hey, hey. No fighting in the Magic Shop.

Buffy and Spike fight the demon.

Spike: (to demon) Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee.

Demon: (to Buffy) Take her away; for she hath lived too long, to fill the world with vicious qualities.

Buffy: (Beheads demon) Whatever. Oops. (Wipes blood off her hand).

Giles: Oh, no!

Buffy: (nudging dead demon with her foot) Away, you mouldy rogue, away

Buffy: (Claps hand to mouth) O thou vile one!

Giles: (polishes his glasses again) Oh dear. I'm afraid you've been infected with Shakespeare too, Buffy.

Buffy: (speechless)

Giles: (Puts his glasses back on) Never mind. When Willow and Tara get back from college we'll work on a spell to restore you both. In the meantime, I suggest you and Spike go into the work-out room and...and hit each other a bit. That'll make the time pass quicker.

Spike and Buffy (together): Take you me for a sponge?

Giles: Quite possibly. Now, if you don't mind, I have some curses to inventory.

Exit Giles.

Buffy: (to Spike) I scorn you, scurvy companion.

Spike: (sneers) Your virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese.

Buffy: (hits him) O braggart vile and damned furious wight!

Spike: (hits her back) Hag of all despite!

Buffy: (panting) Such antics do not amount to a man.

Spike: (also panting) More of your conversation would infect my brain.

They stare at each other, both breathing heavily.

Buffy: I do desire we may be better strangers.

(They kiss, then jump away from each other)

Exeunt in different directions, as if pursued by a bear.



5) Prompt: the_moonmoth Bed Sharing
Spike and Buffy are forced to share a bed.

Setting: probably early season 5 again. After OoMM, so Spike no longer in denial, but before Crush so Buffy still clueless. Ki-ind of creepy.
PG13/R(ish) (for creepiness)



"I am not sharing a bed with you!"

Buffy glared at the lump under the comforter.

"Fine," said the lump. "You can sleep on the floor, then."

"Fine," Buffy echoed, contemplating whether to accuse the lump of ungentlemanly behaviour (pointless, the lump being Spike), or simply to grab it by the scruff of the neck and evict it from the bed by force.

Or maybe both.

While contemplating, she surveyed their surroundings, which weren't promising. Okay, as snow holes went, it had a lot going for it by virtue of having a bed in the first place (Buffy suspected Willow's input), but there wasn't room for anyone to sleep on the floor, not even a short annoying bleach-blond. No convenient chairs to exile him to either.

Okay, she could make him sleep outside, but so far it hadn't stopped snowing once since they'd arrived in this dimension, in quest of the magical doohickey that Giles insisted would prevent the next apocalypse.

If Spike was going to be any use in the fight against the aforementioned doohickey's demon guardians, Buffy didn't want to have to waste time digging him out of a snowdrift, or thawing him out, like some kind of blood-flavoured undead popsicle.

Suddenly, the lump sat up.

"Stop being so bloody loud, Slayer. Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"

"Huh?" Buffy gaped at him in surprise. "What do you mean loud? I didn't say anything."

Spike just glared at her. "Didn't have to. You're shiverin' loud enough to wake the dead, ie. yours truly."

Buffy tore her gaze (with more difficulty than she'd ever admit) from his mop of mussed-up curls (soo much more attractive than the helmet-hair he usually sported) and looked down at herself. She was shivering, it was true. In fact, she was shivering so much her whole body was beginning to shake. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the involuntary movement, but that seemed to make it worse.

"Now your teeth are chattering," Spike said, in an accusing tone. "Bloody stop it, can't you?"

Buffy glared back at him. "I'm not doing it on purpose, and no, I 'bloody' can't stop it. If you were any kind of gentleman, Spike, you'd get out of that bed and let me have it instead."


Spike's eyes narrowed. "No. Way. In. Hell."

Buffy rolled her shoulders - which wouldn't stop shaking, dammit! - but before she could grab any annoying vampire scruffs, Spike muttered, "Oh, for....", flung back the comforter, patted the empty side of the bed, then held his hands up in surrender.

"Look, Slayer, just come and lie down. I promise not to touch you, all right? On my honour as an evil soulless monster."

"Er..." Buffy began, because parts of that sentence sounded...off somehow? But Spike interrupted her.

"We're supposed to work together on this mission, remember? Saving the world and all that white hat bollocks, even if some of us are doing it because we're strapped for cash. That being so, you should know that vampires are very sensitive to cold, on account of only being room temperature, and if we get too chilled, we hibernate and are no bloody use to anyone."

"Hibernate?" Buffy echoed, drawing her coat closer around her.

"Yeah," Spike said, the definite hint of a smirk on his face, "like squirrels, only not so sodding fluffy."

When she still didn't move, he rolled his eyes, reached down to the floor and produced a sword, which Buffy knew for a fact (because she'd sharpened it herself) was very sharp indeed.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'll put this between us, all right? That Sir Galahad enough for you?"

Buffy wasn't sure she approved of the idea of deadly weapons in beds. On the other hand, she was freezing, and that comforter looked awfully inviting.

"All right," she said, at last. "But keep your hands to yourself, Mister, if you don't wanna lose 'em."

Spike just rolled his eyes again. "Like I'd ever cop a feel of you, Slayer. Vampire here. Havin' to share a bed with a Slayer is like...like sharin' it with...with the last thing in the world you wanna share a bed with. I'm doin' this under protest."

Was it Buffy's imagination, or did he look extra-flustered suddenly?

She shrugged inwardly. Put it down to vampire=weird.

"Well, good." Buffy lay down next to him and pulled the comforter up to her chin. "And just so we're clear, me too."

"Glad we got that settled." Spike's voice was now unnervingly close to her ear.

"Me too," Buffy said again. Turning onto her side, facing away from him, she rolled herself into a tight ball. "Get some sleep."

There was blissful silence for all of two minutes. Then Spike said, "You'd better not snore, that's all."

Buffy sighed. Something told her it was going to be a long night.

"Guess you're soon gonna find out."

There was further silence. She felt the mattress dip as Spike rolled over in turn. Suspicion prickled down her spine. Was he staring at her butt? Why had she worn these pants?

More silence. Buffy was feeling sleepy by this time, plus a lot warmer, so when an odd sort of vibration started up in the bed, accompanied by some drafts of cold air wafting under the comforter. she ignored it. But after a while, the vibration grew more intense, building and building, until the whole bed was shaking. Then, Spike moaned aloud.

Oh my God! Buffy sat up all in a rush. "What the hell are you doing?"

Spike had his eyes shut. He didn't respond, except to let out a tell-tale gasp and go all limp.

"You...you..."Buffy was lost for words. "You're a pig, Spike. You're...you're disgusting. You gave me your word of honour."

At this, one blue eye cracked open, gleeful and wicked. Spike smirked at her.

"An I kept it, Slayer. Promised I wouldn't touch you. Don't remember sayin' anything 'bout not touching myself."



If I manage to write any more, I'll add them to this post.