Buffy the Vampire Slayer Preferences + imagines/one shots

Spike Imagine - Domestic

Your POV

"Do you need help with that?" I hear a voice full of sass from behind me and I whip around to face him.

"No," I say, and Spike only smiles. "I don't need a big strong man to open my jars, thank you very much."

With a pop, I twist the lid off and Spike hoists himself up to sit on the opposite counter. "Atta girl."

I roll my eyes playfully. He used to protest when I cooked, insisting that he much prefers blood to me 'slaving away' for hours in the kitchen. He doesn't understand that I just really enjoy cooking - it helps me stay in touch with my humanity too, since becoming a vamp. With half a century of being together, he lets me get on with it now. And hey, he usually gets a nice meal out of it, when I'm not experimenting with escargot (never again...).

I dump the sauce into the pan of pasta. Spike watches me placidly.

RING. RING.

"I'll get it," he sighs, annoyed that he has to tear his gaze away from me. He answers the phone: "Hello. Oh, right. Is now okay? Yes, thanks, Al."

"Al?" I call over my shoulder.

"Our stuff's ready." Spike is already shrugging on his duster jacket, "I'll go get it. Won't be a minute."

"Hey!" I shout and he comes back into the kitchen.

"I didn't forget, love." he reassures me, grabbing an umbrella from the table and placing a kiss on my cheek.

"Thank you," I sing, smiling to myself. He never leaves without a kiss.

As promised, he returns shortly with a massive bag of dry-cleaning. As vampires don't sweat, we don't need to wash our clothes much - only when patrolling gets messy.

Spike takes each item out, folding it neatly. "Ahh," he sighs happily, "He got blood out of my red shirt! And the mud out of your white dress."

"Good old Al. Hey, come here a sec..." I call over my shoulder.

Spike folds the last shirt and appears behind me, hands on my hips. "What's up?"

I turn and give him a long, sweet kiss on the lips. "That's all. You can go now."

"Wow." he deadpans before gathering up the clothes, whisking them away to our bedroom. He remerges with a CD in his hand, which he pops into the retro player that sits on top of the microwave.

"What album?" I ask, sprinkling some herbs into the sauce. I take it off the heat and start scooping the steaming pasta into two bowls.

"ABBA."

"ABBA!" I smile. He skips ahead to my favourite song and then fills up two glasses of chilled blood. He places them on the table with a soft clink.

"Don't go wasting your emotion, lay all your love on me! Don't go sharing your devotion, lay all your love on me," I sing to Spike as I place the food on the table. He smiles a small smile, one that reassures me he'll never get bored of my antics.

Spike actually took me to an ABBA concert on our first date. We'd met in a bar, bonded over both being vampires and I suppose the rest is history. This album is consequently very special to me.

As I sit down to eat, I think quietly of how grateful I am. How proud I am, of myself, for being here today. Being turned into a vampire wasn't easy - and I've done things I regret - but I'm still here. It got better, and Spike played a part in that.

"What you think' 'bout, love?"

"You," I reply, meeting his blue eyes from across the table. I shake my head gently, "Eat up. I hope you like it."