All About Spike - Print Version
the little things
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DISCLAIMER: Joss owns all. I
have accepted that I am ME’s faithful bitch.
SUMMARY: “He thinks he loves her for the little
things.” Spike and Fred, sometime in the future past Chosen. Not two champions,
just two people trying to figure it all out.
DEDICATION: For bub, because she has convinced me that
a Spike/Fred pairing could actually somehow work. She’s crafty like that.
wonders if this is really love.
She isn’t Buffy. And what he has with her—it
isn’t grand, it isn’t epic, and it isn’t illustrious. Not something that’s deep
as blood, not tragically romantic. He thinks he loves her for the little
things. Like how she holds his hand in public without thinking twice. How she
listens with such avid interest when he reads her passages from Shakespeare,
like she really cares. How she always makes sure to warm his blood up to the
right temperature in his favorite mug. How she likes to come up and hug him
when he comes home just because she can. No, she certainly isn’t Buffy. But she
gives him something nobody else ever in his existence has.
Fred gives him
the feeling of being happy.
Not to say that
he was never happy with Buffy; that’s far from the case. Sometimes he would
just look at her, and an incredible bliss would overwhelm him at the mere
knowledge that he could be in the very presence of such a beautiful, incredible
woman as she. But even then, the elation he had of being with her was always
tainted by the inevitable truth that she would never be able to love him the
way he loved her. Every shard of happiness was smashed with the piercing pain
of reality; each caring caress marred by the memory of a brutal fist, each kind
utterance spoiled by the memory of words that cut like knives.
Being with Fred
is something new to him, and for that fact alone it’s fairly terrifying. He
isn’t used to being openly loved back. He isn’t used to love without pain,
isn’t used to love that isn’t rooted in violence and darkness. Fred is like
twilight and red wine, soft and serious, slightly intoxicating. There is so
much she doesn’t know of, but she’s seen enough to understand. She’s faced
dark, awful things, and she knows what it’s like to shape monsters out of
shadows, to be haunted by inner demons. There are some things that neither time nor love cannot vanquish, and she understands
that there are broken pieces that will remain inside of the both of them
One time, they laid together in bed, and she asked what he wanted from
The answer came
naturally to him. “To be loved.”
So Fred bought
him a dog.
“A dog?” he’d
cried out vehemently. “You got a dog?
Are you mad, woman?”
“Oh, come on!”
Fred had held the scruffy black mutt up inches away from his face, and it
looked at him with big, soulful puppy-dog eyes. “Look at him. Isn’t he just the most adorable thing?”
avoided looking into the puppy’s gaze. “Fred, we can’t have a dog. What are we, the bloody Brady
never had a dog,” she corrected him. “Except for that one, Tiger, but that was
only for a few episodes and— It doesn’t matter. He
doesn’t have anywhere else to go. If I take him back to the shelter, they’ll
just put him down, and I couldn’t stand it, and he’s so sweet, and I already
hell.” Spike had rolled his eyes in deference, knowing that once she started
babbling on like this, there would be no changing her mind without having to
bear the brunt of hours of endless nagging. It would be easier to just give in.
“So, go on and tell me. What’d you name the pup?”
“Sydney!” she exclaimed
excitedly, and when he just blinked at her blankly, her beaming face shifted
into a frown. “You know, Sydney? Like Sydney
Vicious, that punk guy you always make me listen to
when we’re in the car?”
And then he got
it. He had exploded into rip-roarious, side-splitting laughter, holding his
ribcage and doubling over. Fred looked bewildered and cradled the puppy in her
arms, watching Spike as he almost fell over to the ground.
demanded in confusion. “What’s so funny?”
“His name is Sid Vicious,” he explained through
gasping spasms of laughter. “Sid, not Sydney.”
“Oh.” Fred’s face
crumpled a little. “I bought the dog tag with his name engraved and
everything.” She blinked her wet doe eyes, and when he saw how she was about to
cry, he came over to her and set his hands on her cheeks.
“It’s fine, kitten,” he assured her with a huge grin. “The
He was still
laughing when he kissed her, and then she started laughing too, leaning down
and setting the puppy down at their feet so she could reach his lips more
Now he sits as
his desk, Syd Vicious the mutt laying in a pile at his
feet, smiling a little at the memory as he looks down at the snoozing hound. He
turns back to his notebook and taps his pen on the wood, trying to concentrate.
He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice Fred coming up behind him
until her fingers brush through his hair. He turns and looks at her.
“Hey, pet,” he
greets with a smile.
your glasses.” Fred smiles back.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make a big thing of it.” He knows she
likes it when he wears his glasses. Just a pair of thin wire frames that makes
it easier for him to read. She thinks they make him look scholarly and erudite,
and she’s always thought that geeks are hot. Not that she’d ever tell him she
thinks he has a geeky side.
“What is this?”
she asks, peering over his shoulder and squinting at his sheet of paper that is
sitting on the desk. “Wait… Is that poetry
“No!” he says
much too quickly, whipping off his spectacles and starting to cover the paper
up. Fred reaches down and snatches it before he can find a suitable hiding
place, and she turns away from him, reading it aloud.
“ ‘Cor, the stars do shine,
Above in yonder sky;
I lay beneath the moonlight
And sing my love a lullaby.’”
Fred gasps in
joyful delight, scurrying across the room to avoid Spike’s vehement efforts to
take back the paper, and bursts into giggles. When Spike’s attempts to steal it
back are to no avail, he stands with his arms stiffly at his side, hands balled
up into angry fists. He glares as she grins, his face flushing a bright
crimson. She’s surprised by the fact that vampires can even blush at all. She’s
never seen him this red before.
“What is it?” she
asks when her fit of giggles eventually dies down.
laughing at me,” he says peevishly.
Uncontrollable laughter falls from her mouth again. “No, sweetie, I’m not! I
love it. It’s just… It’s so cute!”
face turns even redder at the notion. “You think it’s cute? Bollocks! I am not
cute! I am a bad, bad man, you hear me? I am not remotely effeminate in the
slightest bit! Every bone in my body is one hundred percent pure manliness!”
“I’m not calling
you effeminate,” she replies, smiling still. “I thought what you wrote was
amazing. You have a real gift.”
“I don’t care for
being patronized,” he snaps petulantly, sounding rather hurt. “You don’t have
to go and mock me, you know.”
“Spike, I swear,
I’m not mocking you.” She becomes suddenly serious, lays a hand calmly on his
arm. “I meant what I said. Your poetry is beautiful.”
saying that.” He shakes his head, averting her gaze, and then a moment later, glances
at her with a hint of hope in his eyes. “You really think so?”
Fred smiles at
the eagerness in his voice. “I do. I was just laughing because I was
surprised—I never knew that you had such a talent. It surprised me.”
He blushes a new
shade of scarlet and has to look away for a moment. When he meets her eyes
again, his bashful smile is replaced by a devilish grin. “You wanna be
surprised? I’ll surprise you.”
forward and grabs her around the waist, and Fred lets out a squeak of surprise
as he picks her up off the ground and twirls her in the air. Drops her on the
bed and tackles her with tickles, taking pleasure at the sight of her squirming
and squealing happily beneath him. Leans down and covers her pretty face with
playful kisses. Her hair smells delicious, like coconut shampoo, and he closes
his eyes to relish the aroma.
A sound escapes
from Fred’s throat as she slips her tongue into his mouth, hands running over
his smooth skin. She has lips the color of berries, eyes the color of honey.
She’s lovely in her own right. Not anything like the ones he’s been with
before. But her beauty is more than just skin deep. He loves her because she
his confusion about where he fits in in the world. He thought he’d found
it—found his purpose in his sacrifice, his gift to the world. Thought that he
was finished, but apparently the Powers That Be hadn’t agreed with him. Spit
him back out three months later, and he’d been back to square one: Vampire with
a soul, except now with an additional lack of direction. There had been no
Sunnydale to go home to, and the only place he knew could give him answers was L.A.
nothing more than a friend at first. Offering him a cup of tea and lending an
ear to listen, a person to talk to about, well, almost anything— the various
ongoings of the Fang Gang, debates over the benefits of Wheetabix versus Sugar
Bombs, the weather. As time had progressed, he’d been able to open up his heart
to her a little more. Talk of his past. His fears. And
she’d always been there to tell him everything would be okay.
Fred still likes
to act that way even now. He will never admit this to her, but part of him
secretly enjoys her coddling. Sure, he’ll roll his eyes and make a fuss when
she’s in a cuddling mood, but really, when they’re splayed out on the couch
watching game shows until two in the morning, bodies spooned together and legs
entangled, he can’t help but love her. She’ll snuggle up against his chest, and
when she drifts off to sleep, he’ll lightly pet her hair, drinking in her
gentle, waif-like beauty. She appears so fragile on the outside, like a china
doll, and he thinks it’s ironic that such a delicate girl could ever find
comfort in a creature such as himself.
Sometimes he has
to remind himself that she is just a girl. Not a vampire, not a Slayer, not a
mystical being bestowed with any kind supernatural strength. He tries to check
himself in everything that they do for the fear that he could somehow break
her. At night when they sleep together, he’s careful not to hurt her. Doesn’t
plunge or plunder, just eases his cock into her slowly, like walking over
broken glass. Slides into her as gently as he can.
Sometimes he forgets and pushes a little too hard, causing her to let out a pained
whimper. And sometimes when he’s accidentally a bit too rough, he’ll try and
pull out, but she’ll grab his head and tug him back, pushing into him for more.
His girl’s a quirky one. Just when he thinks he has her figured out, she always
goes and surprises him, catches him off-guard. He kind of really likes that
Yes, he thinks,
looking at the peaceful sleeping girl in his arms. He loves her for the little
things. The way her eyelashes rest so softly against her cheek that he thinks
he could spend hours just counting them one by one, the way she smiles even
when deep in restful slumber, the way one of her hand remains draped around
him, like she doesn’t want to let go quite yet.
And that’s okay.
Because he doesn’t think he wants to let go, either.