This the first piece of fanfic I've written or posted in 6 years as well as my first for 'Press Gang', so I am very rusty. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story and whether or not you think I should come out of retirement ;) Anyway, please R&R.
Nothing in this story belongs to me other than the idea, much as I'd like my very pet Kenny to feed tea and biscuits to or a Spike to play Trivial Pursuits with.
Lynda watched him shuffling his feet beside her desk from the corner of her eye as she subbed the next issue's articles. Or tried to. She generally favoured ignoring him rather than getting into a sparring match these day and besides, she had work to do. But when her eyes kept wandering over the same incongruous sentence and she couldn't concentrate enough to identify the problem, she reluctantly dragged her eyes up to those of Spike Thompson; star reporter for the Junior Gazette and star pain in it's editor's backside.
"Spike, can I help you with something, or are you just gouging a hole in the floor with your foot in the hopes of making me trip and fall into your arms?"
The feet in question, shoed in battered white sneakers, immediately stopped moving as his body refocused the errant energy into that killer smile that Lynda would never in a thousand years admit sent clouds of butterflies fluttering through her mid-section.
"I did want to talk to you, but I like your plan better," he drawled, sinking to his knees and miming digging.
Lynda rolled her eyes in reply.
Getting up, Spike settled against the edge of desk and far too close to Lynda for her equilibrium. Far too close for her work too and she allowed herself to shove him off the pile of now-crumpled papers she'd been working on.
"Really though, Boss, I wanted to talk to you."
"How long have we known each other?"
Here he goes, Lynda thought. "If this is another one of your stupid chat-up lines-" she started.
"Hey, hear me out!" Spike seemed genuinely annoyed and Lynda lapsed into a dignified silence, refusing to feel chastised.
"As I was going to say," he huffed, "We've known each other a long time."
"We've known each other for several months!" Lynda sputtered.
"Well, it feels like a long time," Spike said, casting his eyes heaven-wards, " and in that time we've gotten to know each other pretty well-"
Lynda scoffed. "But not well enough for your liking, apparently."
"Boss, are we gonna talk or not?" He was definitely annoyed now.
"Spike, we are talking, despite the fact I haven't exactly the time."
"Shut up and let me get it out then!" Spike shouted, drawing the eyes of everyone else in the room in their direction.
"Do let him get it out, Lynda," Tiddler smirked from her desk.
"Shut up, Tiddler!" Spike and Lynda yelled in unison.
"Can we go somewhere private?" Spike said in more hushed tones from between gritted teeth.
"I don't see why when-"
"Lynda, just let's go somewhere private, okay? Sheesh!"
With that, Lynda found herself being bodily dragged from her chair and hauled after Spike. Meeting Tiddler's amused look, she summoned her will into forming perfect eye-daggers to cast back before she found herself unceremoniously thrust into the dark room. Spike pulled the door shut after him and fumbled around for the switch. A dim red light slowly filtered through the gloom and Lynda felt her pique subside when she took note of Spike's barely contained anger.
"I only wanted to talk to you," he hissed. "Why do you got to make everything so hard?"
"Fine, what do you want to talk about?" Lynda sighed.
"We've known each other a long time," Spike began, pre-emptively gagging Lynda with his hands over her lips as she opened her mouth to retort, "And we've gotten to know each other pretty well."
His hands feel nice, she thought. Warm. The slightly roughened texture of his palms made her acutely aware of the sensitivity of her lips and the feeling of her breath trapped between between their skin was uncomfortably intimate.
"I respect you," he was saying, "And-" but all she could hear was the first part; echoing around her mind. The rigidity she usually fought to maintain around him seeped out of her and she felt the wings of those butterflies beating in her chest.
"I want you to respect me, so I've been trying to come up with ideas, y'know, things that I think-"
I'm going to mush, Lynda thought. I've been manhandled into a cupboard, gagged with the most indignity and I can't stop myself from melting. A warm little tingle sashayed through her limbs as she realised she could feel his breath on the upper parts of her face and she mused: There go my bones, just liquefying.
"And it then it came to me, as if from God," Spike was saying animatedly. "Sex!"
With that, Lynda wrenched herself away from him and made herself tense.
"I knew it!" Furious with herself for wilting and furious with him for wasting her time, she slammed open the door of the darkroom and into the newsroom, oblivious to the stares.
"How dare you-"
Spike had followed, trying to catch one of her arms. "No! Wait! Lemme finish, Lynda, I swear-"
"And you can go on swearing because I won't hear another word!"
"I want to do a special issue!"
She turned and presented him with her back as she strode away. She stopped at the newsroom door and marshalled the eye-daggers into swords. "That will hardly be necessary when we already have a special issue- you!"
Spike followed her into the corridor and rushed to block the door."Lynda, I want to do a special issue," he said again. "On teen sex."
"Oh, sure, so that you can take out a full-page ad directing all the girls to you, right! Hah!"
"I was thinking we could talk to a nurse and a doctor and-"
"No, Spike, not ever!" Lynda fumed, arms crossed. "We're on thin ice enough as is without publishing sensationalist rubbish that will get us into trouble with all the parents as well as the council, the police, Matt Kerr and local business owners!"
"But it won't be sensationalist rubbish, Lynda," Spike was giving her a beseeching look that she refused to be taken in by.
"I said no!"
Lynda spun on her heels and marched back into the newsroom, leaving Spike alone in the corridor. The outside door was pushed open a moment later, admitting Kenny.
"Well, did you talk to Lynda yet. About the special issue?" Kenny asked.
"Yeah," Spike said, slumping against the wall.
"And she went for it? We're going to run it?" Spike took in Kenny's encouraging smile and shook his head in disgust.
"Of course she didn't go for it," he spat. "Why would she if the idea didn't come out of her own brain?"
Kenny visibly deflated. And then looked alarmed. "I thought for sure she'd go for it, so I already sent Colin out to the Family Planning Clinic to get a lot of...well, you know."
Spike gave him a knowing look. "You didn't," he said, not even bothering to suppress his growing grin. Drawing himself to his full height, he sauntered over to Kenny and tossed an arm over his shoulder.
"I guess there's nothing you and me can do about it now, huh?" Spike said, guiding Kenny to the newsroom door. "The only thing left to do is sit back and wait for Lynda to find out." He could barely contain his glee.
A smile slowly dawned on Kenny's face. "Lynda IS always telling me to take some initiative."
Spike laughed. "This time, you maybe took too much, but you gotta make up for all those other times you didn't, right?"
Kenny's smile was by now all-encompassing and the two made their way into the newsroom.
The Next Day...
"Colin, can you explain to me why the pet shop has just called to place an order for "special cat toys"? Or why the Graphics team are filling...ahem...certain things with catnip?"