Slaying In by NautiBitz

Show | Pairing | Rating: Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Spike/Buffy | PG13

Summary: BtVS Executive Producer Marti Noxon asked, "Can you really see Spike and Buffy in a condo deciding what they should watch on TV that night?" This is my answer.

Timeline: Post-series.

Originally Published/Completed: March 2002

Genres: Romance, Comedy, Futurefic, Short

Length: 870 words

Awards Won: "Best Comedy/Fluff" from the Shades of Grey Awards, "Best Fluff Fiction" from the Immortal Moonlight Awards, and more.

Author's Note: This was written in mid-2002, so a lot of the TV references are seriously outdated now. Hopefully it's still somewhat enjoyable. (And I'm probably the only one who ever saw it, but take my word for it, HGTV's 'Dream House' rocked.)

Distribution: Links only, please. Do not reprint. Do not post translations. Thanks!

Rights: I do not own these characters or the worlds they inhabit. However, the text I have written is not YOURS to paste into your own fic in any way, shape or form. That is called plagiarism, and it is not cool. Not that YOU would ever do that, because YOU are awesome. Obviously. :)

"I don't wanna do anything but lie here forever and ever," Buffy declared, exhausted, face mushed against her boyfriend's chest. "That okay with you?"

"Fine with me, love," Spike said, rubbing his foot against her smooth, bare leg. "But you may get hungry eventually."

"Don't care. Just hook me up to an IV or something."

"And if I get hungry?"

"Chew on this." She offered an arm.

He chuckled. "I am feelin' a mite peckish..."

"Knock yourself out," she said with a shrug. "As long as you promise not to move my bloodied head from this spot."

"What if I moved it down about, oh, a foot and a half?"

She didn't bother to lift her head. "Pig."

"Not what you said this morning." He frowned, reconsidering. "But then again, your mouth was full. Could've recited Hamlet for all I know."

"You think you're cute, don't you?" Her fingers idly tapped against his lips.

"Don't you?" He kissed her fingertips.

"Oh, oh! Turn back."


"That channel, turn back." She pointed lazily at the TV.

"Which one?" He repeatedly pressed a button on the remote control, flipping several channels down.

"The one with the car chase and the kung fu guy and the — Oh forget it. It's gone. Will you go to the TV Guide channel already?"

"What, and watch with a plan? That's no fun."

"No, it's so much more fun watching you speed through all 86 channels over and over and over again without stopping. Oh yeah. Party."

"All right, all right, have it your way." He input a couple of numbers and they stared at rolling program titles while Buffy added a running commentary.

"Boring. Dull. Boring. 'Psycho Beach Party': Yeucch. What's 'The'?" she asked, referring to a severed movie title.

"I believe it's 'The Annoying Couchmate.'"

"I'm annoying? You're the one who channel speeds like you just discovered cable. Leadfinger."

"Hello? I did just discover cable. Not like I had HBO back at the ole' crypt."

"But you're missing the point. You can't watch all the channels at once. You have to choose your poison. Or — pick your battles, or... you know what I mean."

"You've got a lot to learn about TV watching, love. Bit of an art to it."

She snorted. "Zen and the art of channel surfing."

"I'm not kidding!" he play-whined. "This is serious business!"

She giggled. "You're adorable."

"Knew you'd fess up to it sooner or later."

"Oh, did I say adorable? I meant deplorable."

"That hurts, love. Here I am just trying to be helpful — Oi, what about 'Angels With Dirty Faces'? Great old Jimmy Cagney flick."


"Well, it's almost over anyway. Your terrible taste is forgiven. This time."

"But sadly, I have to deal with this glaring example of my terrible taste every day," she barbed, poking his solar plexus. "Turn to E. We can catch the last ten minutes of 'Talk Soup'."

"And you thought my choice was dull?"

"'Talk Soup' is funny! And you of all people should love it. Snippets of brawls and random nakedness?"

He shook his head. "Give me the real full-length debacle, where I can really get involved."

"So you'd rather be a part of it than laugh at it. Figures."

"Nothing on telly at 3am," he complained with a sigh. "Just crap movies and bloody infomercials." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Wanna rent the Spice channel?"

"Honey," Buffy pointed out, "Our life is the Spice channel."

"You mean without the extra girl."

"Okay, now you're asking for it." She sat up. "Where did I put that stake?"

He caught her searching hand and smirked. "I thought nothing could get you off me."

Eyes flashing, she said, "The thought of hurting you always gets me off."

"Mm..." He tugged her close and murmured before drawing her in for a deep kiss, "That's my girl."

As they kissed on the couch, Spike opened one wandering eye and extricated himself with a "Hold on pet — my show's on!"


He concentrated on the remote. "Channel... thirty..."


"Yes!" he exclaimed, his show on, just as the guide had promised.

Buffy flopped down on the opposite end of the couch. "I can't believe you. Stopping quality makeout time for this?"

"Shhh!" He motioned for her to return.

Begrudgingly giving in, she fell into his distracted embrace and huffed with an eye-roll, "What's Bruno up to this time..."

"No bloody way!" Spike laughed. "The nutter's gone and got himself hitched!"

"What? He's married now? To who? What about the roommate?"

They quieted for a moment as they were filled in on the sordid details by the show's host and accompanying montage.

Buffy gasped. "The roommate's moving out? After all this time?"

"Well, any fool can see she's in love with him," he said haughtily. "Can't stand to be the third wheel."

"Does he really think a new wife will go for all his crazy design plans? I mean, gothic cathedral kitchen? Look at her, she's all milk and cookies!"

"Oh, he's in for it now..."

"This will never work out..."

The host chimed in: "Coming up this hour on Dream House..."

...and Buffy and Spike sighed into each other.

Another night in.


Characters and settings property of respective creators.
Story, dialog and prose property of NautiBitz.
All rights reserved. (IE, it is not okay to borrow it for your fic.)