![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
The Shiny Happy Comment Ficathon STRIKES BACK
I doubt this will catch on like its predecessor, but I figured, 'Hey! You know what I'm in the mood for? Some shiny happy fanfiction.' And nothing says a shiny happy fanfic party like ...
1. Make your prompts cheery in nature!
2. Prompt format should go thus:
Fandom -- Pairing or characters -- prompt
3. For the fic you've written, please put the following in your comment's subject line: 'Fandom -- pairing -- title.'
4. Be nice!
5. Spread the fun, if you are so inclined!
1. Make your prompts cheery in nature!
2. Prompt format should go thus:
Fandom -- Pairing or characters -- prompt
3. For the fic you've written, please put the following in your comment's subject line: 'Fandom -- pairing -- title.'
4. Be nice!
5. Spread the fun, if you are so inclined!
no subject
~~~
Set in S7
~~~~
Spike sat in the basement his left hand braced on his upraised knees a black permanent marker in his right hand and his tongue poking out between his lips. Buffy paused at the top of the stairs and watched him concentrate on painting his nails with the felt tip. She left after a few moments and returned with a small basket that clinked as she walked. Spike had moved on to his right hand but he looked up as she hit the bottom stair.
"Something fascinating about me today, pet?" he drawled.
Buffy rolled her eyes but plopped down next to him on the bed. "The Potentials are afraid of your crazy which makes this," she gestured to the basement, "a stress free zone," she said while digging through her basket. She pulled out a bottle of black nail polish she was fairly certain had been Faith's from the bottom. She shook the bottle listening for the rattle of the ball against the glass to assure her the polish was still good. She plucked his hand from his thigh, and laid it casually on hers, though the gesture between them was anything but casual. Spike could feel her muscles tense beneath his palm but her hand was steady as she swept the brush across his pinky nail painting a shiny black stripe over the matte black ink. She worked in silence and Spike for once held his smart tongue, watching the bare bulb catch the highlights in her hair. He thought of last year when he'd called her goldilocks with those curly ribbons of blonde hair all down her back and how she'd chopped it all off as if to spite him immediately after that. It was getting long again now. Buffy looked up, her eyes looked dark in the dim light. She gestured for him to give her his other hand which he did and he waved his painted fingers in the air to encourage them to dry.
Buffy smirked but turned back to her task. Spike found himself holding his tongue, wanting her to stay down here with him, not wanting to scare her away. He felt more solid when she was around, more real after a summer of being haunted by his madness.
Finally Buffy finished the last stroke on his nail and capped the bottle. She put it back in the yellow plastic basket carefully and Spike found his mouth opening to say something stupid to keep her from leaving. Instead her fingers plucked a pink bottle of nail polish out of the basket and she turned plunking her feet in his lap and wiggling her toes.
"My turn," she announced and Spike laughed. Buffy smiled back at him and for a moment Spike truly felt like he was saved.
He painted one, two, three nails before she kicked him lightly in the ribs with her other foot. "You're terrible at this. You're getting paint all over my feet," she grumbled.
Spike dipped the brush again. "Oh, no love, this is getting paint all over your feet," he corrected and quick as a flash painted a pink streak up her bare calf. Buffy shrieked and struggled but Spike grabbed hold of her ankle and spread dots and streaks of polish along her leg as she flailed and giggled, Spike found himself laughing along with her in the dim gloom of the dusty basement. Their tussle ended with Buffy straddling his stomach as she crowed her victory when she succeeded in wrenching the brush from his hands and leaving a pink splash up his arm that he wore with pride for the rest of the day.
no subject
no subject