the bunny warren v. Faith

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Author: Meltha
Rating: PG
Feedback: That would be kind, thank you. Melpomenethalia[at]
Spoilers: Not a thing.
Distribution: Here. If you’re interested, please let me know.
Summary: Spike loses a bet to Willow sometime in an alternate season 4. Now he has to pay up. Utterly fluffy fluff. Quite pointless.
Author’s Note: I actually had this particular thing happen to me for the first time recently and enjoyed it tremendously. I remember the thought of “how could it get any better than this?” going through my brain… it was immediately followed by a mental image of a certain peroxide blond.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Awards: View

“Um, Spike, really, I’d rather not do any breaking and entering tonight. I mean, the whole bet thing, it’s okay, you don’t have to pay up,” Willow half-squeaked as they approached the back door of the darkened building.

“Pet, when I lose, which, I grant you, is a rare occurrence, I lose gracefully. And we’re not breaking in. I know the woman. She owes me. We’re expected,” the vampire explained none-too-patiently. For pity’s sake, you’d think I was taking her to be tortured, he thought in annoyance.

This is going to be torture, the redhead thought morosely.

It had all started out innocently enough. Spike had been free from Giles’s appartment for over a month now, but he still dropped by on occasion to see if they needed any help, basically because he was always up for a scrap. Somehow or other, along the way, the vampire had begun to be tentatively accepted in the group. After the witch’s boyfriend had run off and left her, Spike couldn’t help feeling a bit of sympathy for her. She was always decent to him. As time had passed, he’d been pleased to see her slowly starting to smile and laugh again, quite often over something he’d said. Quite honestly, she was fun to play with.

On patrol the previous week, the whole gang had been struck with a fit of the giggles over the ludicrous-looking fiend they had to face. Called a Fooshel demon, it resembled nothing so much as a two-foot tall dustbunny. Unfortunately, the dustbunny also happened to have six-inch, razor sharp teeth and a voracious appetite for human kneecaps.

As Buffy cornered the oddly fluffy adversary in a vacant alleyway, Willow had whispered conspiritorially to Spike, “Bet you she makes a pun about having to kill a Muppet.”

“No way, pet. She’s going to go for Sunnydale-needs-a-cleaning-service-instead-of-a-Slayer witty retort,” was his self-assured reply.

As Buffy’s scimitar swung home, cleaving the Fooshel in two and sending a jet of violently orange liquid shooting into the air and spattering the sidewalk, she called out, “Well, guess we better call Elmo and tell him his next of kin just went to the big Creature Shop in the sky!”

Willow laughed heartily as Spike rolled his eyeballs until only the white showed.

“Well, Red, you won fair and square. Guess I’m just going to have to pay up.”

Willow stopped laughing abruptly. “But, it was just for fun. You don’t really owe me anything.”

“Course I do. And since we didn’t specify exactly what you’d be winning, I’d say the choice is up to me, innit?”

Willow gulped audibly at the wicked grin that spread over his face and the twinkle of mischief behind his eyes. Oh, did he have plans in mind for her!

Which brought them to where they were now, standing at ten o’clock in the evening in the alley behind the only luxurious day spa in the whole of Sunnydale. Spike rapped loudly on the door with his knuckles, and it opened to reveal a smiling, somewhat plump lady in her mid-forties with a nametag that read “Giselle.”

“Evening, Gizzy. How’s the business going,” the blond purred at her in a smooth voice that would have melted butter.

“Not bad at all, Spike, especially since you drove off those Sravok demons who were living in the store room,” Giselle answered with a smile.

“Couldn’t have them running off the only place in this town that carries my favorite brand of peroxide, now could I?” he replied with a wink. “Everything all set?”

“The room’s just round the corner. Everyone else has cleared out for the night, so you don’t have to worry about your little reflection problem, and I’m just leaving now myself. Make sure you lock up on the way out. The key’s on the hook next to the door.” She turned her attention to Willow. “You’re in for quite a treat, dearie. Have fun! Night!”

With that, the woman picked up her purse from beside the door and walked out, leaving the two of them quite alone.

“Um, Spike, what exactly are we going to ‘have fun’ doing?” Willow asked nervously.

“Come see for yourself, pet,” he said, slightly relishing her timidness. He stepped behind her, rested his hands on her shoulders, and propelled her through a doorway to their right.

Willow’s eyes widened slightly as she took in the small, comfortable room she had entered. It was painted in lovely, muted shades of blue and lilac to look like an early evening sky speckled with stars. Soft strains of classical music played over hidden speakers, scented candles filled the air with the fragrance of cinnamon and vanilla, and the lights, although still quite bright, lent a warm glow to the space. But this wasn’t what immediately struck Willow’s attention. What startled and dang near terrified her was the presence in the center of the room of a very large, raised, black chair that appeared to have a basin at its foot and loads of buttons and dials.

“You’re planning on electricuting me?” she asked in confusion.

Spike smothered a laugh before answering, “No, Will. I’m planning on giving you a pedicure. You’ve never had one before?”

“I’ve painted my toenails, sure, but no one’s ever done it for me,” Willow trailed off uncertainly. Quite frankly, she had always been a bit embarassed about her feet. There really wasn’t anything wrong with them; they were fine as feet went: ten toes, no bunions, everything in working order. Still, she could never quite shake the feeling that they weren’t exactly her best feature.

“Pull off your shoes and socks and hop up in the chair,” he instructed as he turned a tap that began to fill the basin with bubbling, steaming, churning water. To his surprise, when he turned around, she was still in the same spot and most definitely still shod. “What’s the matter, pet? Can’t get your laces untied?”

Willow shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, twisting her hands behind her back. “I… uh…”

“Oh, sod it,” Spike muttered, kneeled down at her feet, and began undoing the bows of her shocking-pink tennis shoes himself. “Bashful or not, you are going to get this pedicure, Red. I’m a morally depraved vampire. Trust me when I say I’ve seen far more shocking things in my life then your bare tootsies.”

By this time, he’d flung the first shocking pink tennis shoe, purple flowered sock still attached, over his shoulder. It thunked against the wall with a dull kerplop. Willow’s green eyes stared fixedly up at the fake-star painted ceiling as he completed the same operation on the other foot.

“Much better,” he said in a self-satisfied voice. He’d been right. She did have cute feet under the clunky shoes she always wore. He offered her his hand and helped her up to the swiveling, black, vaguely-menacing chair.

“Um, Spike, why does this chair have a remote control?” she asked picking up the small control box hanging from the arm. It was labeled with such odd switches as wave, pulse, and zone.

“Give the ‘on’ button a push and see for yourself,” he suggested with a wink.

Willow quirked an eyebrow and momentarily wondered whether the chip would still activate if she wound up being blown to kingdom come on his suggestion. Eventually, she decided to throw caution to the wind and pushed the button.

“Whoa,” she yelped in surprise as the whole chair started to vibrate. It was actually kind of fun. Deciding to go with it, she started to play with the settings a bit. After a moment or two, she decided her favorite was ‘wave’, which slowly sent a lovely shudder starting behind her shoulders travelling down through the rest of the chair to the backs of her legs and then back up again in an endless massage.

She yelped in surprise again as she felt two strong hands wrap firmly around her ankles and guide them into the very warm water swirling below her.

“Not too hot, is it?”

She shook her head numbly. Oh, this was heaven! Spike added a splash of soap into the water, and the submerged jets immediately made it foam up around the tops of shins, practcally touching the bottoms of her khaki shorts.

“Hee! That tickles!”

“You’re just going to soak in there for a few minutes. Hang on. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Spike turned and exited the room as Willow wiggled her toes in front of the forceful jets in the basin, feeling more relaxed than she had since, well, forever. Easing herself back into the chair, she closed her eyes and let herself go completely limp, the heat from the water creeping up her whole body and making her feel lusciously boneless.

She opened her eyes again when Spike re-entered the room, carrying a tray covered with a white towel. With a flourish, he whisked away the covering, revealing a sinful-looking slice of chocolate mousse pie and a huge cup of mocha café au lait.

“See anything you like, Red,” he asked in amusment as her tongue literally lolled out of her mouth. “Coffee shop next door keeps odd hours. Quite convienent, I must say.”

He set the tray across the arms of the chair, effectively trapping her hands underneath.

“Um, Spike, can’t really eat pie without using a fork… well, I could, but it’d be pretty messy.”

“You, little miss, have been working far too hard. You are not to move one solitary muscle unless it is absolutely necessary. And since I happen to be here, it’s not necessary,” he explained as he took the fork and lifted a bite-sized bit of mousse to her lips, which she hungrily devoured.

When exactly did I fall for this girl, he asked himself as he continued to feed her the pie, occasionally having her sip a bit of mocha through the whipped cream foam. As she smiled up at him with a little smudge of chocolate decorating her nose, he decided it really didn’t matter. He adored her. He adored doing this for her. And he really adored seeing her smile.

“That should be about long enough,” he said with a small hitch in his voice as he plopped the tray on the floor and knealt at her feet again. Slowly, he lifted one foot out of the water and patted it dry with a fluffy, snowy-white towel. Next, he carefully began to work a foot file over her heel, rubbing back and forth, inching his way up towards her toes. After that, he slathered on a thick, grainy gel, working it into her sole and across the tops of her feet. Then, he guided that foot back into the water and repeated the process on the other one.

“This is so nice,” Willow almost moaned, and still she thought that had to be the understatement of the year. He had taken her other foot back out of the water again, and was now slathering it in a lotion that smelled of peppermint. His fingers wove around her toes, pulling and stretching each one in turn, then continued to spread the lotion over the tops of her feet and up and down the lower half of her shins. “Very, very nice.”

“I’m glad you approve,” he smirked at her. He placed the foot on a cushioned rest above the basin, then performed the same magic on her other. An orange stick and brush were used in quick succession.

“So, when do I get to choose the polish?”

“Already picked one out for you, pet.”

“It’s not black, is it?”

“You don’t exactly strike me as the black nail polish type, witch.” He held up a bottle of emerald green paint. “This meet with your approval?”

“Spike! Green? What will people say?”

“Not a thing. After all, it’s February. Who’s gonna see your feet?”

She giggled, then relaxed once again as he held her foot in her hand, covering the nail at the tip of each digit with the rich color. This was very, very nice indeed, she said again to herself. And it wasn’t just the pampering that was nice. Spike was really quite wonderful as well.

“Now for the finishing touch,” he declared as he dropped a single, sparkling crystal on the center of each of her big toenails. “There. All done. But you’ll have to wait a good twenty minutes or so before you can slip your socks back on.”

“Spike, where on earth did you learn this,” Willow asked in bewilderment.

“Drusilla. Rather obsessed with nails, she was,” he answered fondly. “But her feet weren’t quite as pretty as yours are.”

“Nah, mine are all ugly and icky…”

“Bite your tongue, Red! I’d wager there isn’t a square inch of you that isn’t perfectly perfect,” Spike interrupted her.

Willow blinked in shock at his declaration. “Um, thanks.”

“Just tellin’ the truth’s all,” he muttered as he suddenly felt a bit awkward.

Willow smiled shyly at him.

“Oh, to bloody hell with it!” he yelled as he stood up, threw his arms around her shoulders, and kissed her soundly.

After the maximum amount of time it was possible for Willow to go without breathing short of passing out, he drew back from her, his eyes wide with shock at what he’d just allowed himself to do.

“Um, Spike,” Willow managed to get out in a dazed voice.


“That was very, very, nice, too,” she said with a grin. “So, twenty more minutes to wait, huh? Gosh, think we can find anything to do to pass the time?”

He gave her a wildly wicked leer.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

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