Fair Trade -- SS for Icarus Rex! (Buffy - Spike, M)

[Winged]

Happy holidays, Icarus Rex! Hope you enjoy this little bit of Spike torture

--

It was early evening when he woke — Spike could tell by the faint light leaking in under the door of his crypt. Way too early to be up and moving. He swallowed back the prickly feeling in his throat and rolled over in a useless desire to go back to sleep.

Vampires didn’t really need to sleep, and they certainly didn’t need to be sleeping in the night hours, but ever since Spike had been implanted by those bastards at the Institute his entire circadian rhythm had been thrown out of whack. Who knows what else they’d done, digging around in his poor vulnerable brain like they had. But now that he could no longer feast on humans, what was the point in his sad and wasted afterlife? And Passions was only on in the afternoon hours, leaving him with giant gaps in his day that he could only fill with brooding and pacing.

Shit, it was like he was turning into Angelus.

With sleep far from his grasp now, Spike pushed himself into a seated position and dug his fingers into the corners of his eyes, which felt simultaneously dry and crusty. His whole body felt a little off, now that he was thinking about it: there was a thick, uncomfortable feeling in his sinuses, and as he sniffed experimentally he found that one of his nostrils was clogged.

“Damn it all,” he mumbled, and coughed.

If he was sick — which he wasn’t saying he was — it was all that damn Slayer’s fault.

—

She had barged into his crypt the other night at the end of a Passions rerun, and she was damn lucky it was a rerun she was interrupting, or he would have ripped her throat out, chip or no chip.

“I need intel,” she snapped, and he took his sweet time turning to look at her, just because he knew it would irk her.

“Oh, hello to you too,” he drawled. “Come to join me for Passions?”

“What?” She looked at his small TV set, confused, and shook her head as if to say whatever. “No, of course not. That’s an old one anyways, because Jonas is still alive.”

“He — what??” Spike leapt to his feet, incensed. His chair clattered to the floor behind him. “Was that a spoiler??”

Buffy opened her mouth to respond, then paused, her breath catching. Spike watched in disbelief as her eyes fluttered closed and she turned, almost in slow motion, to press her face into her elbow. “hhh’CHEE-oo!”

Was that a sneeze? Spike almost laughed out loud.

“You sound like a girl,” he chuckled, grin widening as Buffy turned the full force of her glare on him.

“Maybe because I am,” she snapped back, but the faint blush on her cheekbones gave away her discomfort. It amused Spike to no end — the Slayer, with all her bluster and stakes and ass-kicking, sneezed like a teenage girl. “And where are your manners? You’re supposed to bless someone when they sneeze.” She sniffled pointedly.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, the vampire, the most godly of all the supernatural creatures.”

It turned out she had come seeking information about an astaroth demon that had been chewing on the entrails of coeds. Yes, Spike had heard something about where the ugly bugger was staying, but he liked reminding her that she wasn’t the boss of him, so he took his time stringing her along before giving her the location. She was even more short-tempered than usual today (which was saying something), and even worse she spent the entire time sniffling and sneezing like an 18th century lady who had “caught a chill.” It was enough to make even Spike want to Lysol his crypt.

Which he hadn’t, of course, because, vampire.

—

So now he’d caught whatever bloody plague the Slayer had brought with her. How demeaning. And on a night when he had errands to run as well.

He owed Clement a pair of tabby kittens in payment for their last round of poker (which he’d royally botched), and he’d heard through the grapevine that a couple of humans living one neighborhood over from the graveyard had brought some home the other night.

Groaning, he roused himself from bed and made his slow, aching way to the hot plate in the corner where he heated up the blood that the Slayer and her cronies were patronizing enough to provide. Bunch of egomaniacs, they were.

He had one hand hovering over the hot plate to test the temperature when a vague sort of tension rippled through his clogged sinuses. He took a stuttering step back from the hot plate just in time to catch a surprisingly violent “HHAESHHh” in his cupped hands.

“Bloody hell,” he sniffled, his nose now running like a tap. How was it possible to have his nose both stuffed and running at the same time? It wasn’t fair. He wiped his nose petulantly on his shirtsleeve and wriggled his nose. His sneezes rarely came alone, particularly when he was catching cold, and sure enough, another tickle in his nostrils turned his breathing into gasping hitches, an exploratory sniff, and a pair of monosyllabic sneezes. “HESSHH! AESCHH!”

He resurfaced with a cough and a very liquid sniffle and went to find something to serve as a handkerchief.

—

The kitten heist had gone off without too much trouble, and Spike was heading back to his crypt with a wriggling paper bag in his arms.

“Shut the hell up,” he growled at his captives, who ignored him and promptly began to meow louder.

“Got some new friends?”

Spike spun around, clutching the kittens protectively to his chest, and snarled. There, perched on a gravestone with legs crossed perkily, was the cause of all his misery.

“Bugger off, you,” he snapped at Buffy, who was twirling a stake around her fingers like a schoolgirl with a pen.

“Mm, don’t feel like it,” she shrugs, and bounces up from the gravestone. “Your intel was stale. No demon.”

“Well.” Spike turned slightly away from her and tried to subtly paw at his running nose. It didn’t work, and he gave into a very liquid sniffle.

“So what else do you have for me?”

A foot for your arse, Spike thought to himself, but all that came out was an itchy “HEESHH!” that he just barely managed to catch in his shoulder.

“Geseundheit.” Damn, she was so obnoxiously perky, wasn’t she? “Got a cold?”

“Ndo.” Spike sniffled into his shirtsleeve, trying to rebalance the kittens in his arm. “Dust.”

“In a graveyard?”

Annoyed, Spike whirled to glare at her. “Fidne, you gave me your bloody cold, happy?”

Buffy stared back at him, eyes narrowed. “What are you going to do with those kittens?”

Thrown by the abrupt swing in conversation, Spike just blinked at her for a moment. “What do you think I’m going to do with them? Have a tea party?”

The Slayer dug through her coat pockets and emerged with…oh good lord. A packet of travel tissues. Spike nearly let out a whine of desire.

“I’ll trade you.”

“The tissues…”

“For the kittens.”

Well damn. Spike looked down at the sack in his arms, then looked back towards the tissues. He could almost feel their gentle caress on his raw and irritated nostrils.

Well, he could always get more kittens.

“Deal,” he sniffled, and held out the bag. Buffy took it and obligingly handed over the tissues.

“Good.” And without another word, she flounced off, leaving Spike to blow his nose in privacy.

[SneezyHolmes]

Splendid! I'm such a Spike fan girl~

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

Ahhhhh my BTVS OTP!!! Adore Spike and his snarkyness. Loved it!

[Icarus Rex]

Oh. OH, WINGED. Snark me right out the front door and back again-- I was NOT expecting anyone to honor my extremely dated and generally disgraceful fandom request. <3_<3 How embarrassing, but, moreso: thank you very much...!

Hope you enjoy this little bit of Spike torture

... because, honestly, this remark alone is enough to put a song in my putrid little heart. :awesum:

leaving him with giant gaps in his day that he could only fill with brooding and pacing.

I laughed out loud at this, for its canonical accuracy. You've nailed that sort of intentionally-heavy-handed, comedic self-awareness vibe that this universe has. I love it.

If he was sick — which he wasn’t saying he was — it was all that damn Slayer’s fault.

Yeah! She's so dreamy-- I mean, TERRIBLE.

He took a stuttering step back from the hot plate just in time to catch a surprisingly violent “HHAESHHh” in his cupped hands.

HEH HEH, HO HO.

Also, one of my favorite things ever-- in this show, especially, but also in general-- are those fantastical-yet-mundane, in-between, character-interaction bits, so I'm stoked to see you've taken that route. Oh, and the banter is on-point. So snide, so good.

Thanks again!

Edited January 4, 2016 by Icarus Rex

[Winged]

Oh no, I had a blast writing Spike! Getting in the heads of snarky characters appears to be my specialty, and it was super fun to write him all sickly So glad you enjoyed!

[AquaEyes]

Buffy was one of my all time favorite shows. Too think of Buffy giving Spike a cold is awesome. Love the sneezy descriptions!!

[Artemis]

That wass epi