“Stupid vending machine.”
Spike rolled his eyes at Connor’s mutter. He had told the lad to eat dinner before they came to the office for that stupid meeting, hadn’t he? Always the same thing; now Connor would overdose on sugar and he’d be hyper all night and—
And that wasn’t such a bad thing, come to think of it. Spike dug in his pocket for the couple of dollar bills he kept for instances just like this.
“Still don’t like dried scorpions, then?” he asked as he straightened a crumpled bill between his fingers.
Connor gave him a sharp look at that. He’d tried the scorpions, but only after Spike dared him to. Spike had rarely laughed so hard, but Connor had not been amused.
“What d’you want, then?”
“I wanted Hostess Cup Cakes. But of course they’re out of them.”
There was a joke in there about nervous eating, frustrations and Angel’s waistline, but Spike bit his tongue rather than voice it; he had plans for the night once that stupid meeting was over – really, why couldn’t they all just admit that it was Papa Bear’s weekly ‘Is he treating you right?’ check in, and be done with it? – and his plans didn’t have room for Connor being offended on the old man’s behalf.
“Why don’t you get some of those?” Spike pointed at the row of Suzy Q’s. He’d known a Suzy, once. Sweet as sugar, she’d been, especially when—
“I do not want to know what you’re thinking about,” Connor said suddenly, and Spike gave a guilty start before he could catch himself. “And Suzy Q’s aren’t as satisfying as the Cup Cakes.”
“Seeing how there aren’t Cup Cakes, luv, I’m thinking you’ll have to make do.”
Spike slipped the bill in the machine – had to try three times before the damn thing actually took his money – and pressed the button for the Suzy Q’s. It fell with a soft noise and Spike pulled it from the machine. Connor grimaced when he held it out to him.
“I told you I don’t want it.”
Unfazed, Spike ripped the package open and brought the treat to his mouth. Eyes holding Connor’s, he slipped his tongue between the cakes, gathering a bit of cream on the very tip. Curled his tongue in, let his eyes roll in delight that was only a little bit exaggerated. Of course, it wasn’t artificially flavored cream he was imagining he had in his mouth.
And judging by the flames consuming Connor’s eyes, he knew exactly what Spike was up to.
“Want a bite?” he offered with his best shit-eating grin.
By the time Connor was done eating the whole thing from Spike’s fingertips, alternating tiny bites and flicks of his tongue, that meeting was the last thing on Spike’s mind. Thankfully, his stint as a wandering ghostie had left him with a comprehensive list of ‘get a quick shag in’ places – and he still had half a dozen of them to show Connor.