Pairing: Spike and Xander
Rating: Light Teen
Disclaimer: Joss created, just playing!! The ownership of Ralph's was not consulted in the writing of this story and Mrs. Jones' organization is fictional as far as I know.
Word Count: 1077
A/N: Ages ago I requested some prompts for short Spander pieces. Here is the not so prompt reply to darkhavens's and tsugath's requests which I will list at the end. Beta'd by desoto_hia873 Thanks sweetie!
Lost in the Supermarket
"Come on Bleachie. You've filled your dead demon quota for the night."
"Home, then?" Spike replied with an arch of his eyebrow, tilting his head to the 'want to do you now' position.
"Yup, but first have to grab some groceries."
That earned him a growl of displeasure. It sounded like the horny growl, but his cock knew the difference.
"Well, if SOMEONE had let me do the errands I was supposed to do today, then I wouldn't need to do them now, would I?"
"Didn't hear you complaining, pet."
"But you will if I wake up tomorrow with only blood in the house. So," and here Xander tried out his own version of the sexy head tilt, "Food, then fun? Oh, and then fun with food!"
"Is your neck all right there?"
So much for sexy head tilts. But there was one gun in his arsenal he could count on.
"Oh bloody hell, not the pout! Fine, but be quick about it!"
Leaving Spike outside the twenty-four hour Ralph's, he grabbed a cart and headed down the outer aisles of the store. Milk for cereal, ohh chocolate whipped cream -- cliché but tasty -- eggs and why don't they keep the bacon by the eggs? Cause they are a match made in heaven, being separated by the cruel forces of grocery store layouts and how much sugar HAD he had?
His internal babble was suddenly cut off by what sounded like a torrential hail storm two aisles over. Followed by a distinctly pissed off: "Bugger."
He was waiting outside. He hated grocery shopping. He never came into the store. But who else in SunnyD had that accent?
He didn't have to wonder long as a duster-clad shape stormed out of an aisle and headed towards the beer fridge. Or that's where Xander assumed he was heading, when an end-of-aisle display caused Spike to stop.
He really didn't like the gleam that was filling Spike's eyes.
"Bloody brilliant, they come in Louisiana hot sauce now! All pre-spiced."
Spike began dismantling the pile of odd shaped cans and tossing them into the cart. Xander took a quick look and gulped.
"Sardines? Brunswick sardines? And I thought the blood was gross."
"Not gross pet, just both squishy and crunchy in one bite."
"See: gross. And are you taking ALL of them?"
"Why, did you want to try the ones with hot Tabasco peppers?"
"No, I did not." He had to get control of this situation, and quick. Maybe that line about a best defense being a good offense? "And what was that crash?"
Spike's shoulder's hunched a little and there was some muttering. It worked, though; he stopped adding cans to the cart.
Having achieved his goal, Xander should have stopped. But, being Xander, and enjoying seeing Spike on the ropes, he didn't.
"I didn't hear that."
"Sodding stupid place to put the flavoured peanuts."
Realizing what Spike was talking about, since the snack aisle was more familiar to him than the back of his hand, and who looks at the back of their own hands anyway?, Xander tried to control his grin.
"You mean the big jars on the top shelf?"
"Way up there, far beyond the reach of -"
"Knock it off, Harris." Spike interrupted in a foul humor. "Have you know that I was considered quite tall for my day. Those cow steroids just breed giants. Hmph" With a flick of his duster, he stormed off towards the beer selection, where he stood bitching over the piss water which someone had bloody well confused with beer.
Of course, he was bitching loud enough and with enough curses that a middle-aged woman wearing a "Jesus Loves You" sweatshirt glared at him and then spun her cart around as if on a mission.
"Spike, I don't know why you're complaining about the selection, you'll drink anything."
"Doesn't mean I'll enjoy it. And you lot know nothing about a proper pint. Belgium has breweries twice as old as your country."
Xander just rolled his eyes as Spike launched into Ignorant Americans Rant Number 23, and grabbed two different six packs -- one of which was Spike's current favorite.
Continuing towards the frozen foods, the main stay of his diet, he saw a grocery worker wearing a tie heading his way.
"Hey George, what's up?"
"Xander." His friend was looking tense. "I'm the night manager now."
"Congrats, did that come with a pay raise? And do you have those special water guns?" George had survived graduation, so was more aware than most of Sunnydale's special night life.
"Yup, Father O'Brien blesses them every time he comes in. But I've just got a complaint about… look, I know you're dating him. Is there any way you could ask him NOT to take the Lord's name in vain quite so loudly?"
"Who, Spike?" The very concept of controlling Spike's diatribes had him grinning. "Not likely. Can you throw a person out for swearing at the beer? At a worker, sure, that's harassment, but the beer display?"
George looked uncomfortable, but shrugged. "Trying to prevent mayhem in the store. They actually have that in the job description." He scuffed his feet like kids in movies but never in real life do.
"Mrs. Jones is head of the local Christians for a Better Society group and she's threatening a boycott if I don't do something and it's only my second week. So?" George looked up through his slightly shaggy brown hair. Not the puppy dog eyes of doom, but still.
Sighing, Xander responded. "Look, I'm almost done. We'll be out of here in a jiffy. It's all I can promise."
A look of relief danced over George's round features. "Thanks, man. I knew I could count on you!"
Grabbing the final items, he retraced his steps looking for Spike. Who was back in the snack aisle. Who was climbing up the shelves, extending his hand toward the large glass jars with labels of monocled peanuts.
Xander squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't look, but he did slowly back away from impending disaster.
He opened his eyes to see Spike surrounded by broken glass and peanuts, but triumphantly cradling an intact jar to his chest.
"Come on Spike, I think there's a soccer game in the offing."
"Bloody groceries. In my plan, by now it wouldn't be the match getting off."
Ah yes, the simple life on the Hellmouth with your vampire lover.
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