Title: Sensorial Nonsense
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairing: Spuffy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word count: 100 (Google Docs)
Setting/Spoilers: Set post-S11 (comics) in an alternate reality where Buffy and Spike are an established couple.
Summary: Buffy signed up for a couples’ cooking class. She and Spike are attending their first lesson.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created for fun and no profit has been made. All rights belong to the respective owners.
Prompt: #434 - Cook
Crossposted:
anythingdrabble,
sweetandshort, My journal, Sunnydale After Dark
—
“What many people often fail to see is that cooking is a form of art,” said the guy in a chef hat. “There’s poetry in the careful choice of ingredients and in blending them together into a delightful work of beauty. Cooking is a profound sensorial experience. Whether you’re beginners or semi-pro, this course is for every taste…”
Buffy stood with Spike behind their assigned table, fidgeting nervously as their teacher rambled on about beauty and sensorial nonsense.
Spike squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, pet. William the Bloody Awful Cooking Poet will give that clown a run for his money.”
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairing: Spuffy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word count: 100 (Google Docs)
Setting/Spoilers: Set post-S11 (comics) in an alternate reality where Buffy and Spike are an established couple.
Summary: Buffy signed up for a couples’ cooking class. She and Spike are attending their first lesson.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created for fun and no profit has been made. All rights belong to the respective owners.
Prompt: #434 - Cook
Crossposted:
—
“What many people often fail to see is that cooking is a form of art,” said the guy in a chef hat. “There’s poetry in the careful choice of ingredients and in blending them together into a delightful work of beauty. Cooking is a profound sensorial experience. Whether you’re beginners or semi-pro, this course is for every taste…”
Buffy stood with Spike behind their assigned table, fidgeting nervously as their teacher rambled on about beauty and sensorial nonsense.
Spike squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, pet. William the Bloody Awful Cooking Poet will give that clown a run for his money.”