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sb_fag_ends2015-10-26 08:51 pm
drizzlydaze.livejournal.com) wrote in sb_fag_ends2015-10-26 08:51 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Party Hard
Title: Party Hard
Creator: drizzlydaze
Rating: PG
Setting: AU
Word count: 474
Prompt: Party Arty (AU)
On Buffy’s sixteenth birthday, her parents were out of town. Her house was going to explode. The second fact was ontologically dependent on the first. Anyway. The double-glazed windows were bursting at the frames, the walls were shuddering, the roof might as well have had a hole in it because they’d blown right through it!
Clean-up would be hell, but what was she doing thinking about the clean-up anyway? She took a shot and another, and wow, she was sixteen. Like, responsibility and stuff. Driving!
Some guy came up to her and shouted in her ear. She didn’t hear what he said, but she turned to look. She didn’t recognise him; he obviously didn’t go to Hemery, then, and anyway he was too old. Not that he looked old—older, but not old. Plus he had piercings and bleached hair, a little bit stuck in the 70s much? But hot.
“What!” she shouted back, but of course he couldn’t hear her either. So she followed him out.
“Great party!” he said once they were in a slightly quieter room, where the walls were only shaking a little bit.
Oh, he was British. Definitely hot—not that she was trying to do anything, she wasn’t like that, but she had eyes. She felt a bit weird from the shots. Not not-in-control weird but… she had a funny feeling. “Yeah, it’s my sixteenth.”
“Ah, the birthday girl.” He smiled, but she had the feeling all his smiles turned out like smirks. He had that sort of edge to him. “The name’s Spike.”
Since she couldn’t throw stones, she said, “Buffy. Who let you in?” she said, like he was some kind of stray dog. She almost regretted that.
He turned even more smirkish (why was that so attractive?) like there was a joke only he knew. “Someone or other,” which wasn’t an answer at all. “Think his name was Arty.”
“There’s no way anyone at my sixteenth would be called Arty,” she said. “God, I can see the thick glasses already. Like, pocket protector thick.”
“You’re a shallow chit, aren’t you?” he said.
“Did you just call me a chit?” she said, insulted.
“I don’t think that word means what you think it means,” he said slowly. He shook his head. “Ah well. You look young and sweet. You smell delicious.”
“Er, thanks?” Creep. She would back her way to the door but only now did she realise that he was between her and it. “This is my house and it’s full of people. Don’t try anything, mister.”
“Yes, full of lovely, bloody people,” he said.
Buffy had a stake in her purse. One week ago, a crazy old guy told her she was somebody and gave it to her. She’d never bothered to take it out. Now something was thrumming through her veins.
Spike frowned.
Creator: drizzlydaze
Rating: PG
Setting: AU
Word count: 474
Prompt: Party Arty (AU)
On Buffy’s sixteenth birthday, her parents were out of town. Her house was going to explode. The second fact was ontologically dependent on the first. Anyway. The double-glazed windows were bursting at the frames, the walls were shuddering, the roof might as well have had a hole in it because they’d blown right through it!
Clean-up would be hell, but what was she doing thinking about the clean-up anyway? She took a shot and another, and wow, she was sixteen. Like, responsibility and stuff. Driving!
Some guy came up to her and shouted in her ear. She didn’t hear what he said, but she turned to look. She didn’t recognise him; he obviously didn’t go to Hemery, then, and anyway he was too old. Not that he looked old—older, but not old. Plus he had piercings and bleached hair, a little bit stuck in the 70s much? But hot.
“What!” she shouted back, but of course he couldn’t hear her either. So she followed him out.
“Great party!” he said once they were in a slightly quieter room, where the walls were only shaking a little bit.
Oh, he was British. Definitely hot—not that she was trying to do anything, she wasn’t like that, but she had eyes. She felt a bit weird from the shots. Not not-in-control weird but… she had a funny feeling. “Yeah, it’s my sixteenth.”
“Ah, the birthday girl.” He smiled, but she had the feeling all his smiles turned out like smirks. He had that sort of edge to him. “The name’s Spike.”
Since she couldn’t throw stones, she said, “Buffy. Who let you in?” she said, like he was some kind of stray dog. She almost regretted that.
He turned even more smirkish (why was that so attractive?) like there was a joke only he knew. “Someone or other,” which wasn’t an answer at all. “Think his name was Arty.”
“There’s no way anyone at my sixteenth would be called Arty,” she said. “God, I can see the thick glasses already. Like, pocket protector thick.”
“You’re a shallow chit, aren’t you?” he said.
“Did you just call me a chit?” she said, insulted.
“I don’t think that word means what you think it means,” he said slowly. He shook his head. “Ah well. You look young and sweet. You smell delicious.”
“Er, thanks?” Creep. She would back her way to the door but only now did she realise that he was between her and it. “This is my house and it’s full of people. Don’t try anything, mister.”
“Yes, full of lovely, bloody people,” he said.
Buffy had a stake in her purse. One week ago, a crazy old guy told her she was somebody and gave it to her. She’d never bothered to take it out. Now something was thrumming through her veins.
Spike frowned.
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