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“I don’t know how you can eat those. They’re disgusting.” Buffy plops down on the worn vinyl booth cushion and stares across the table at Spike.
He meets her wrinkled nose and acerbic comment with an indulgent smile. “You don’t know what you’re saying, luv. They’re delicious.” He slowly lifts one of the fried petals to his mouth and flicks his tongue out to catch it, deliberately humming low in his throat as he closes his lips over the treat.
Buffy wrinkles her nose even harder. “You’re a pig, Spike.”
Spike raises both eyebrows high. “Yeah? How so?” he asks innocently as he plucks another petal from the fried blooming onion in front of him. He gives it the same treatment as before and finishes off by licking just the pads of his index and middle finger, all the while leering at Buffy.
She crosses her arms over her chest and wiggles in her seat. “You’re disgusting.”
Spike pulls his thumb between his lips and sucks on the pad. “Uh-huh.”
Ten minutes later, they are making out under the staircase to the catwalk and Buffy’s hand is under his shirt.
The rest of Spike’s appetizer sits forgotten on the table.