KELLYCAKES! (miss_atom) wrote in _iconate_,

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[Buffyverse/Dollhouse] 2 pieces of Fanfiction. (Spike/Darla, Adelle/Giles)

Fic title: An Evening of Talk, Tea and Tentacles.
Fandom: Dollhouse/Buffyverse
Ship: Adelle DeWitt/Rupert Giles
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1187.
Summary: Adelle runs into a fellow Englishman at a bar and it doesn't really turn out as she expected.
Disclaimer: Don't own it. :(
Notes: Written for the Tongue Wrestling prompt for crack pairings @ whedonland. Any mistakes are my own, sorry :D.

She didn’t really know how she ended up here. In this dank, dark abandoned house hiding in a wardrobe with a very odd, but attractive and charming, fellow Englishman who was now chanting in some strange language and waving his hands while, on the other side of the door, the gurgling of what can only be described as a monster could be heard as well as the heaving swipes of its big, slimy tentacles.

Well, she did know how, it wasn’t as if she had just woken up here, pressed slightly awkwardly against Mr. Giles’ side, and she didn’t have amnesia, no blind folds were involved, no coercion or trickery of any kind. The how of ending up here was pretty clear to her. It was more she didn’t really understand the what of ending up here. She was experiencing a great deal of confusion and a more than mild amount of panic.

It started, as many things in Adelle’s life seemed to do, with a tumbler of whiskey. Or perhaps is started when she left Mr. Dominic in charge of the Dollhouse while she went on a business trip to Seattle. Whatever the beginning of this journey into insanity it was clear to Adelle that this was all Mr. Giles’, Rupert (if she was going to die with him in a cupboard and then, more than likely, be consumed by the creature from the black lagoon she may as well call him by his first name)’s fault.

All she wanted to do was relax in a bar, have a drink and try and put the hideous meeting, Clive Ambrose in particular, he really was incredibly odious, out of her mind. Then he had come in, taken a seat at the bar a few stools away from her and ordered a drink. Her interest was piqued at the sound of his accent as he ordered and she looked over in his direction. Not bad, she surmised, little bit disheveled, a little bit rugged, he had turned and caught her eye just as she smiled. To her surprise he smiled back. Her immediate thought was to just look away, leave it at a smile between strangers, but Topher had told her, in an extremely long and mostly inane rambling goodbye, to have fun and that ‘what happens in Seattle, stays in Seattle’ with a raise of his eyebrows. At the time she had ignored his comment, reminded him to behave and left but now, perhaps she should throw caution to the wind. It had been an awfully long time since she had met anyone outside of work and at the very least they could discuss the weather in England, there really wasn’t enough of that in America. Obviously there was weather; just nobody seemed to talk about it.

With that she had approached and asked if the seat was free. Cliché, yes but she didn’t do this a lot. Then there had been an exchange of names, a few pleasantries, some vaguely amusing half-jokes about two Brits in the big city on his part and some light, polite, laughter on hers. After those first awkward moments conversation began to flow freely and easily. They talked about Seattle, the things to see there, being British in America, had a long conversation about tea and they both brushed off questions pertaining to their work with half truths. More drinks had been ordered, easy conversation turned into deep conversation, that found its way into laughter and a little bit of giggling until the bell rang and time was called.

They then stepped out into the chilly night air together, she had shivered and he had offered her his jacket. It was all very chivalrous and at that moment Adelle would’ve congratulated herself on having such a nice evening. He had offered to walk her back and she had taken his arm in acceptance. As they walked the alcohol in her made her talk of adventure and excitement and how she wanted it (as if her life wasn’t complicated enough! Intoxicated Adelle seemed to be a thrill seeker) so he had told her, with a slight slur in his voice, that his whole bloody life was an unwanted adventure and, Oh! the things he had seen, she giggled at him requesting that, if the world was so exciting why didn’t he show her. At that he lead her down into a dark alleyway, whispering about monsters and demons, mostly making her laugh, not scaring her at all. From behind them came a loud crash and what was most certainly a very angry roar.

They turned.

There is nothing more sobering than the sight of a big, pulsing, slimy, purple, blob creature with many sharp looking white teeth.

Bugger. That was all he said as he dragged her away before she even had a chance to scream.

Bugger? Bugger? Adelle’s mind was been reeling! Was that all he had to say? Things became a little bit fuzzy at this point, there had been a lot of running, them, and some chasing, the horrifying crime against nature, and they had climbed through a window of the house (if Adelle had known she would not have worn her Louboutins) and she was impolitely bundled into the wardrobe where they sat now.

“Please tell me that whispering and hiding in a wardrobe isn’t your plan.”

He paused mid-chant, “The spell will keep the Crantoc demon at a distance, hopefully it will get bored and move on, they‘re notorious for having short attention spans.”

Spell? Demon? Notorious amongst what circles? Rupert said all these things like they were the most normal things in the world. Adelle decided that it might be in her best interest to just shut up.

Minutes passed with chanting, roaring and fidgeting. It really was a small wardrobe and Adelle could not get comfortable, not that she planned to be in there for much longer, hopefully. When she wasn’t listening in fear to the sound of the demon her focus drifted to the smell of aftershave a whiskey.

She studied him in the dark, he was very handsome, but this was not at all how she saw this evening ending. He stopped chanting then, turned to her and said, “I think that’s it.”

“It’s gone?” She felt relief wash over her.

A few moments of silenced passed, “Yes, it’s gone.”

Now without the terror of impending death she felt the warmth of his breath so close to her skin.

“Rupert?” She whispered.

“Yes?” He whispered back and she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. She didn’t know what made her do it, if it was the remnants of alcohol or because only moments ago she was sure they would both die. Whatever the reason the kiss was soft and warm, she touched his cheek and could feel the slight stubble against her palm, he tangled his hand in her hair. She pulled back from the kiss and sighed.

He cleared his throat, flushed from the kiss and maybe a tad embarrassed, “Yes, well, should we get going then?”


Fic title: Broken Glass.
Fandom: Buffyverse
Ship: Darla/Spike
Rating: PG
Word Count: 670.
Summary: Angelus is gone and Spike is left to pick up the pieces of their family.
Disclaimer: Don't own it. :(
Notes: Written for the Tongue Wrestling prompt for non-canon pairings @ whedonland. Any mistakes are my own, sorry :D

When he found Darla she was knelt amongst the ruins of their greeting room, mirrors, furniture and pictures all strewn about her. Destroyed by her rage. Angelus was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Angelus?”

“He is gone.” She replied with a hint of something that sounded like sadness. “He has left us, this time for good.” The finality of the words brought out her anger. He was gone, left them, left her behind. He didn’t know why, Darla had never told them for his leaving the previous year, he doubted she would be forthcoming this time.

“We don’t need that ponce.” Spike said, the insult covering the sting of abandonment. “I’ll be the man of this family now.” He straightened up with pride.

“Really?” She asked incredulously, rising from the floor. “You, the man of this family?” She laughed, a bitter hateful sound, barbed with condescension. “You are pathetic.” She squared up to him, her slender frame challenging his larger one.

“Hey, watch it, I just killed myself a Slayer.” He smiled smugly and leaned over her, trying to use his height to gain a physical advantage.

“Ahh, yes. You killed a Slayer.” The triumphant sounded like failure on her tongue. Her hands darted out and she grabbed his face between her fingers, squeezing his mouth together, forcing it open like fish and her sharp little fingernails cut at his cheeks. She tugged him closer, cold breath danced on his lips. “William, William, William. The Slayer of Slayers.” Her voice was mocking and she laughed again, the sound of broken glass that shredded his pride. She lifted her face closer to his, inhaling the scent of Slayer’s blood on his breath. “It’s all rather poetic, isn’t it?” Each word made a tiny cut.

He sneered at her and she released him from her grip, instead she put a hand on either side of his face, holding him in place.

“It’s Spike.” That was all he could muster as she stared him down, eyes clear and dead.

“Well,” She paused for effect, always a great show woman, “Spike,” She said, her voice was light with patronizing acquiescence. Instead of finishing her sentence she pushed herself against him, lips colliding with his, the force of impact throwing them back leaving Spike trapped between the cold, hard wall and her cold, soft body. Darla’s lips hungrily devoured his, she was insistent and vicious, her teeth nipping and biting, her cool, sweet tongue thrust into his mouth. Her hands moved to the base of his skull, fingers threaded through his hair. He held onto her body, feeling the smooth silk of her dress and exploring her gentle curves with his hands.

She pulled back, leaving him slightly dazed, a smug little smile danced at the corner of her lips. “The Slayer’s blood tastes sour on your tongue, “ She taunted him with the raise of one eyebrow. “It reminds me off the taste of cheap wine when it ‘s drunk by a Mama’s boy.” She pushed his face away with the palm of her hand as she took a step backwards. “You will never be the man of my family.” She spat. “You are beneath me.”

With that she turned and stalked out of the house, pushing past Drusilla who had just arrived in the doorway, and was away into the night.

“Spike,” Drusilla whined. “Grandmother is all broken.”

“Yea, Pet, that’s one thing we could call her.” He pulled her into his arms.

“Daddy’s gone again. That beast. His insides are ablaze but Grandmother couldn’t touch, too hot, burn her it did and she fell to pieces.”

He nodded but didn’t quite understand.

“We can’t let her cut us Spike, we need to stick her back together. Good as new. Smooth and cool she will swim with the moon.”

He looked out into the darkness of the street. Darla would be back eventually and then he would set everything right. “Yea, of course, Dru, we’re a family. We’ll put each other back together.”


Feedback and comments are appreciated! :D
Tags: adelle, angel, buffy, challenge, darla, dollhouse, fanfic, giles, spike, whedonland

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