Buffy the Vampire Slayer Preferences + imagines/one shots

Spike Imagine - Babysitting

"Oh, good! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten. Come in, please."

I smile as Joyce disappears down the hall, blonde hair all done up and heels clacking against the floor. 

"Dawn! Have you seen my keys?"

I glance at Spike with a smile, pointing at the set of silver keys that sit in a dish by the door. He smirks back, shutting the door softly behind us. It's automatic that I slip off my shoes, but Spike marches right into the kitchen, coat, shoes and all. He turns to raise his eyebrows at me as we enter the room, silently commenting on Joyce's frazzled state. 

"Sorry, I'm suddenly feeling a little nervous." she laughs a little too shrilly for it to be genuine. 

I exchange a look with Spike. He puts on an understanding smile. 

"When's he picking you up?" he asks Joyce in a soft tone, like how a parent may soothe a crying child. 

"Five minutes." she answers without consulting a watch. She shakes her head a little and takes a deep breath. 

"You look amazing, Ms Summers." I say politely and she smiles.

"Thank you! And thanks again for looking after Dawn for me. I know it's good that Buffy's doing her slayer duty, but it leaves me stuck sometimes." 

She disappears again, muttering something about a necklace, leaving Spike and I alone.

"I've got half a mind to tell on the slayer." Spike says. There's a touch of bitterness in his voice, but it's offset by the smirk that plays on his lips. 

"Come on, it's Riley's birthday." I remind him, "Let them have tonight." I'll happily cover for Buffy because I know she'd do the same for me without question. She rarely gets a night off anyway, so I think spending Riley's birthday with him is a reasonable excuse. Although, Joyce isn't to know that's what she's doing - she thinks Buffy's out with Giles, patrolling.

Spike does a massive, childish eye roll. 

I know he doesn't mind really. He likes Dawn, likes looking after her. And, whether he knows it or not, Dawn loves having him around too (that's why I invited him to babysit her with me). 

"Bet they're slutting it up at The Bronze," he wonders aloud, bitterness gone, replaced with mischief which I find slightly unsettling.

He takes a step closer to me, his boots smacking on the shiny kitchen floor, and holds one of my hands. I wonder for a second what he's doing before he pulls me towards him so suddenly I almost stumble over my own two feet. I don't know if he intends for me to bash into his chest at full force, but I do. 

"Hey!"

He smacks on the radio with one hand and we start to sway to a slow pop song that plays. I laugh as I step on his feet because I can't dance to save my life.

"You think Buffy and Riley are doing this?" His voice is right in my ear, breath cold and smelling faintly of copper. "Or," his voice quietens, "Do you think they're doing this horizontally?"

I whack him in the chest and he chuckles as I push him away. He stumbles backwards into the kitchen counter, his back hitting it with a thud, but he tries to cover it up by circling around to the other side of the counter. He leans over it, fingers splayed out across the solid surface. I count eight silver rings across his hands. 

"Get your mind out of the gutter."

I lean over from the other side too, our eyes locked in a staring contest. I study his face as he studies mine and he's about to say something when a high voice breaks the silence before he can.