HOME AGAIN
Author: kreepyk
Spoilers: Post- "Dead Things"
Rating: R (?)
Feedback: Please read and review.
Notes: This was written as a gift for Valerie and is submitted as part of her fiction challenge. It is caramel sweet fluff.
"Dawn, are you okay?" Buffy shouted, cringing at her hiss of pain. It sounded like she was burnt. "Are you hurt in there?" She dodged instinctively as the demon's hand reached for her.
Spike leaned back into the couch and lifted her foot, struggling to get a better angle. "If you don't want me to smudge your piggies, you'll just let her finish it herself. That's what the bloody smoke detector is for...we'll know soon enough if she sets herself afire." He smirked slightly then looked down as he dabbed "Blazing Crimson" on another of her toes.
"I just don't know how I feel about the solo-Dawn-Mexican-feast happening, especially since I sent the house insurance check in late." She grimaced and furrowed her brow; "It would be just my luck if the house burned down right before they got it. You know how insurance companies love to screw you on technicalities."
"Well so " Sixty Minutes" leads me to believe. Bunch of bastards." Spike scoffed and switched feet.
"You really watch that show? My God, you are old."
"I like to live vicariously through the evil of Big Tobacco." He looked up at her again as if relishing a delightful memory, "Now that's the Big Bad."
She shoved him in the chest with her feet.
"Mind the smudging, love. Unlike *some* people, I was still as a limpid pool when Dawn did me." His face was intense with concentration.
Buffy squirmed a bit further into the mound of bolsters and rubbed her free leg against Spike's knee. Hanging out on the couch together like this made her feel like a teenager again, except she never really had any sweet little boyfriends to cuddle at that age. *Just Angel, the anguished diva of the vampire world.* She sighed deeply.
Spike threw her a concerned glance. He fell right into a routine of obsessively devoting himself to making her happy, ever since she started letting him. Her lame job increased her martyr status immeasurably, well that and the whole resurrection-betrayal fiasco her friends pulled.
"Right, all done." He screwed the top back on and threw it into her make-up bag across the couch.
She inwardly reflected that she must never allow him to throw her nail polish, especially since she was in no position to afford Shisedo again any time soon. But that talk would come much later, after the wheedling. "Spike, you know I adore you, but you aren't going to talk or do something annoying like listen to the Remos when the figure skating comes on, are you?" She looked at him with her sweetest imploring look, jutting her lower lip out slightly. She took the Winter Olympics very seriously, so it was totally worth her most persuasive--if slightly demeaning--look.
He leaned towards her with his patented leer, "So you're saying if I don't make any noise I can do whatever I like during? And it's the Ramones, as by now you well know." He grabbed her underneath the blankets and was starting to work his way inside her shirt when they heard a crash from the kitchen.
"It's OK! I just didn't realize that the oven door slams shut if you turn away for a second!" Dawn shouted. This plan to make dinner for Buffy and Spike had seemed a brilliant inspiration at first. It kept them alone in the living room for hours while she prepared the food, Buffy and Spike would stay home for the evening and, most importantly, it proved how Dawn was a responsible and mature young-adult. Properly executed, this could be the first step towards a life without being treated as if she needed a baby-sitter, one where Buffy would confide in her and trust her with important Slayer related gossip. Plus the whole cheesy Mexican goodness thing. The problem is that Ms. Penshaw had been making tortillas since she was twelve and the whole process seemed much easier when she thought this up in Janice's kitchen.
"Its almost ready. Don't worry," she called out. Dawn looked around for a place to put down the dish of shredded pork on the cluttered and dripping counter. A glance towards the stove proved disheartening, since the pot of rice was smoking slightly. She muttered to herself and stuck the pot on the cutting board. A pungent odor filled the air as her smallish pile of minced garlic was vulcanized to the bottom of the blazing crockery. * So that's where I put it. Oh well, too much garlic probably wasn't a good idea anyway.* She hurried toward the stove, intent on saving the meal. Alone in the kitchen and preoccupied as she was, she couldn't help thinking about the last few weeks.
Things had improved a lot since Buffy's birthday. She spent a lot of time helping Anya clean the cobwebbiest corners of the Magic Box and trying to convey the illicit rush of shoplifting. The proprietress was a great deal calmer by then and explained that she had seen plenty of desperate women doing evil just to get the attention of a boyfriend or husband. "Of course, by the time they got to me their relationships--and heck their lives-- were pretty hopeless. I'm sure you haven't reached that point yet Dawn, despite Halfrek's rationalizations to the contrary. That woman puts the 'arid' in 'harridan' I tell you. And that perm!" Despite ministrations such as these, Dawn realized that Anya had forgiven her--or at least transferred much of her anger to her successor. Not that she would let Dawn slack on her repayment duties. She spent hours scrubbing out deadly-smelling bins, cleaning grungy shelves and washing gritty windows. But the labor made her feel like she and really worked off the debt, and that she wasn't just glossing over the problem.
Buffy didn't say much afterwards, but the vengeance demon's condemnation of her parenting singed her in ways the social worker's hasty walk-in assessment couldn't. Things changed right away. She delegated the intelligence-gathering on Geek Squad's disappearance to Tara and Willow. Buffy rearranged her work schedule to allow her to be home when school let out. Spike started to come over to watch TV with her again, while Buffy went on patrol, and then sleep over to "see her off to school in the morning." Which Dawn thought was a ridiculous pretence and an insult to her intelligence, except he actually did wake her up and make her breakfast every morning. Dawn smiled a bit, remembering the fight they had when he tried to make her eat soft-boiled eggs.
"Its a perfectly respectable thing for a young girl to eat of a morning. Loads of protein." He demanded, "I even found proper egg cups in the china cabinet."
Dawn stared down at the gooey mess in front of her, surrounded by toast points, next to half a grapefruit. She glared at him with a look of revulsion. "Its super nast! And don't make it sound like this was hard work, it couldn't have taken more than five minutes."
"Count yourself lucky it isn't bangers and mash!"
"I don't even know what that *is* but it sounds disgustor. I am going pour about a half an inch of sugar on this grapefruit and *hope* that I can forget about this thing's insides oozing everywhere sometime before I'm thirty."
"Damn, now you've got me hungry. Where's sis hiding the blood these days?" he said, rooting into the freezer. He found what he was after and set the dial to defrost. "You know, you had us worried there, little bit."
Dawn started in mid-sprinkle at his change of tone. "Yeah?"
"Yes, you did." He continued to watch his meal rotate in the microwave. "She's really trying to do a good job raising you. She loves you a great deal."
"I know. I just missed her so much... when she was gone. Its really hard having her back, but still... gone. You know?"
"I know, pet." He turned to look at her, leaning into the counter heavily. "Trust me, she's getting there. We all just need to be a bit patient," he sighed.
Dawn reached into the cabinet for the cumin, remembering how tense things had been for so long. * Thank God he was right.*
***
Meanwhile, Buffy was parrying with Spike's grab for the remote and attempting to scroll through the on-screen guide to figure out when the skating started and the stupid curling would stop. "I can't believe this is even considered a sport. It's performance squeegeeing. I bet these guys don't help clean-up at home either."
"The whole point of curling is the fun of watching a bunch of fifty-year old men with names like Lars stalking about it as if they're running a nuclear disarmament treaty. And we Brits never tire of slagging Canadians. 'S practically a sport unto itself." He grinned as the Americans sent another stone into the opponent's guards and it ricocheted into the center of the house. "Plus it's the one event in the Winter games that you Americans don't have to worry about losing to a bunch of Alpine ski-bunnies or Russkie blade-moppets."
Buffy deftly stuffed the remote between the sofa cushions in mid-rant. She looked over at him, deciding he probably hadn't noticed. "Please tell me you are getting all of your loud talkiness and Russian bashing out now, before the skating, yes?" She nodded hopefully and looked for some sign of recognition. "Hey, evil dead... I'm talking to you." Perhaps, she could think of a way to distract him from the pulse-pounding thrills of world-class curling. Men and television. She put her hand on his knee and waited for him to look away from the TV. He pretended not to observe her checking him out. She went for the inner thigh, caressing a bit more heavily, and pretended not to notice his buttery new leather pants. * Making an effort...mmm.* He pretended not to register her advance into Lapland and squinted at the screen, feigning concentration.
He sat up suddenly. "I'm going to survey the wreckage, seems a bit too quiet in there."
"Spoilsport." She felt a smug sense of contentment. She managed to drive him into a anxious state of lust and got him to leave the room long enough to let her set up the video-taping. * There, even if I get... distracted later, skating is go.* She fiddled around for a few more minutes and then wandered into the kitchen.
Spike stood with the door of the fridge open and reached for a bottle of Dos Equis from the six he brought over around sunset. "You want one pet?" he asked without turning.
"I'm going to assume you mean Buffy." Dawn quipped, "I'm more of a rootbeer gal, y'know."
"Hint taken." Spike cracked open a bottle for her an set it near the stove.
"Overcooked much? God, I hate working the grill, I just can't visualize cooking for fun ever again. Its a good thing one of us likes to make dinner, I could maybe get used to this." She peered at the flour-dusted floor and the mound of dishes near the sink. "Well, the not-cooking part at least."
"Willow and Anya are out pretty late, huh?" Dawn said. She grabbed the skillet and made an abortive attempt to toss the food like a chef. The peppers and onions were stuck to the pan and didn't budge. She started poking at them with a wooden spoon.
"Yeah, I think of a convention center full of wedding merchants and hordes of brides-to-be and shudder, but they must be having fun." Buffy shrugged. She conveniently omitted the 'Willow sleeps over at Anya and Xander's and allows me and Spike have a night with fewer people to overhear us making with the sex in the basement' part of the plan.
"Either that or they're bruised and unconscious, trampled under the heels of a horde of future wives."
Dawn and Buffy, looked to each other rolled their eyes wearily, and chose to ignore his remark.
"What exactly is for dinner, Dawnmeister?"
"Well, at this point we can either do fajitas or burritos. Ms. Penshaw said that burritos are not really authentic, but they are easy to make and serve. Fajitas are also easy, but since you make them yourself at the table they are pretty serving dish intensive. So whatever you guys want." Dawn put some more body english into her scraping.
"You mean there are dishes you haven't used?"
"Spike..." Buffy warned.
"I just mean, looks like you've gone to a lot of trouble already and I think you should take the quick and easy way, me'self." His gaze was directed at Buffy.
"Oh, well there's a shock."
"Burritos it is!" Dawn sighed, "This has been fun, but I think I may be funned out at this point. I'm really glad I didn't start the "Tres Leches" after all."
"Yeah, dessert's a real spot of work, that. Why don't you ladies set the table and let the master take over here?" Spike started to roll up his sleeves. Dawn hugged him with visible relief and skipped off to the dining room. He shot Buffy a look saying, "See, not all evil."
Buffy smiled warmly and turned to the door, calling out "I'll get a tablecloth, Dawn."
***
"So what's new at school ?" Buffy panted slightly from the chiles and sipped at her beer.
"Well, I was totally dreading PE class, because you know, the hell of square-dancing is legendary. But Ms. Tremusini had, like, a New Age conversion over the summer or something and we're doing yoga and tai chi half the time, which makes running around the football field kinda bearable. Also, I am like, totally a yoga superstar. Even Tina Clark is jealous and she's a cheerleader and stuff."
"Tai Chi is good for stress."
Buffy nodded. "Yeah, and no one needs stress reduction in Sunnydale, or anything. I think Giles would have taught me more of it, but it isn't exactly the demon-destructive powerhouse of the martial arts world."
"You'd be surprised what those old Chinese geezers can do with that pushing hands stuff." Spike poked at the air with his fork. "Keep at it Dawn, and you'll find it pretty useful for defending yourself against the baddies. When I was in Shanghai I saw this old woman push a pickpocket back twenty feet with just a wee shove. Right impressive. You don't have to be the Slayer to take care of yourself."
"Spike, we're all carefully minding the line between empowering Dawn and encouraging scary acts of bravado, right?" She glanced back and forth at them, both briskly assuming looks of doe-eyed innocence.
"Noooo worries Buffy! Line. Me. Totally not crossing." Dawn grinned and self-consciously changed the subject. "Boy, thanks for helping me finish the meal, Spike! That was kind and thoughtful of you." Dawn glanced at her sister looking for signs of relenting.
Spike fell into lockstep, "But Dawn, surely I should thank you for all your efforts, so responsible and capable-like. Yes." He did his best to project sincerity.
"OK, OK, I'll give. I am stepping off the Smothering-Mothering Wagon and placing my feet firmly onto Non-Paranoid Sister Avenue."
Dawn astutely gauged the need for a subject change. "So is Clem still banned from your regular poker game?"
"Yeah, and for some reason," he shot a campy look of accusation at Buffy. "So am I. No troubles though, Clem prefers playing at Xander's anyway. And the Slayerettes don't have to worry about him cheating, the motivation isn't there without the kitt..." he stopped abruptly after Buffy stepped on his toes. "Without such a big kitty, you know Xander and them play much lower stakes than at the bar. Guess he thinks it isn't worth cheating. Victory just doesn't taste as sweet now," he favored Buffy with an arch look. *Satisfied?*
"Well, I think you guys should have it over here next week. Clem was cool. And I could make quesedillas. After this, that would be a total breeze."
"I'll ask, but we play pretty late. Dunno if sis wants you up till all hours."
"Oh, I don't think once or twice would be a big deal. Especially if its a weekend." Buffy made eye contact with Dawn, "Of course, good grades would factor heavily in this decision. And no more school lateness."
"Yeah, like that's even a factor with Mr. Slavedriver rousting me out of bed in the morning. Its so not fair, you don't even sleep at night." Buffy's eyes grew wide with panic. Dawn continued meekly, "I mean, because of the whole vampire thing...not that he would have any other reason to not sleep."
"Well, then if you've been getting to school on time and your grades are good then I'm sure that we could have game night over here. Or maybe watch movies or something." She dropped her silverware onto her plate.
"Well, at the risk of gilding the lily...are we almost done here?" Spike looked at their plates checking for proper gustation. The Summers females groaned to indicate fullness. "Because, I didn't just bring culturally appropriate beer." He arched an eyebrow wickedly. "I also have chocolate ice cream, and it's the good stuff like the microbrew of the ice cream world."
Smiles all round. "Right then, off to the Ice Capades with you. I'll clear up dishes and Dawn can raid the sweets." She bolted for the kitchen.
Buffy looked over at Spike with a look that melted from calm appreciation to pure carnality. She snaked her bare foot up the leg of his trousers, wriggling her toes slightly against his shin. "I feel certain you are going to be rewarded for this later."
He reached down for her other foot and lightly kissed the ends of her toes. He started tracing circles on her instep with the tip of his tongue. She slumped forward on the wooden chair, hands gripping the edge of the table fiercely.
"Are you sure that it would warp Dawn's mind for life if I inflicted terrible perversions on you under the afghan while she's watching Olympics, oblivious?" Spike whispered.
She shuddered with delight, "Preeeeetty sure, hon."
"Damn."
*finis*
Author: kreepyk
Spoilers: Post- "Dead Things"
Rating: R (?)
Feedback: Please read and review.
Notes: This was written as a gift for Valerie and is submitted as part of her fiction challenge. It is caramel sweet fluff.
"Dawn, are you okay?" Buffy shouted, cringing at her hiss of pain. It sounded like she was burnt. "Are you hurt in there?" She dodged instinctively as the demon's hand reached for her.
Spike leaned back into the couch and lifted her foot, struggling to get a better angle. "If you don't want me to smudge your piggies, you'll just let her finish it herself. That's what the bloody smoke detector is for...we'll know soon enough if she sets herself afire." He smirked slightly then looked down as he dabbed "Blazing Crimson" on another of her toes.
"I just don't know how I feel about the solo-Dawn-Mexican-feast happening, especially since I sent the house insurance check in late." She grimaced and furrowed her brow; "It would be just my luck if the house burned down right before they got it. You know how insurance companies love to screw you on technicalities."
"Well so " Sixty Minutes" leads me to believe. Bunch of bastards." Spike scoffed and switched feet.
"You really watch that show? My God, you are old."
"I like to live vicariously through the evil of Big Tobacco." He looked up at her again as if relishing a delightful memory, "Now that's the Big Bad."
She shoved him in the chest with her feet.
"Mind the smudging, love. Unlike *some* people, I was still as a limpid pool when Dawn did me." His face was intense with concentration.
Buffy squirmed a bit further into the mound of bolsters and rubbed her free leg against Spike's knee. Hanging out on the couch together like this made her feel like a teenager again, except she never really had any sweet little boyfriends to cuddle at that age. *Just Angel, the anguished diva of the vampire world.* She sighed deeply.
Spike threw her a concerned glance. He fell right into a routine of obsessively devoting himself to making her happy, ever since she started letting him. Her lame job increased her martyr status immeasurably, well that and the whole resurrection-betrayal fiasco her friends pulled.
"Right, all done." He screwed the top back on and threw it into her make-up bag across the couch.
She inwardly reflected that she must never allow him to throw her nail polish, especially since she was in no position to afford Shisedo again any time soon. But that talk would come much later, after the wheedling. "Spike, you know I adore you, but you aren't going to talk or do something annoying like listen to the Remos when the figure skating comes on, are you?" She looked at him with her sweetest imploring look, jutting her lower lip out slightly. She took the Winter Olympics very seriously, so it was totally worth her most persuasive--if slightly demeaning--look.
He leaned towards her with his patented leer, "So you're saying if I don't make any noise I can do whatever I like during? And it's the Ramones, as by now you well know." He grabbed her underneath the blankets and was starting to work his way inside her shirt when they heard a crash from the kitchen.
"It's OK! I just didn't realize that the oven door slams shut if you turn away for a second!" Dawn shouted. This plan to make dinner for Buffy and Spike had seemed a brilliant inspiration at first. It kept them alone in the living room for hours while she prepared the food, Buffy and Spike would stay home for the evening and, most importantly, it proved how Dawn was a responsible and mature young-adult. Properly executed, this could be the first step towards a life without being treated as if she needed a baby-sitter, one where Buffy would confide in her and trust her with important Slayer related gossip. Plus the whole cheesy Mexican goodness thing. The problem is that Ms. Penshaw had been making tortillas since she was twelve and the whole process seemed much easier when she thought this up in Janice's kitchen.
"Its almost ready. Don't worry," she called out. Dawn looked around for a place to put down the dish of shredded pork on the cluttered and dripping counter. A glance towards the stove proved disheartening, since the pot of rice was smoking slightly. She muttered to herself and stuck the pot on the cutting board. A pungent odor filled the air as her smallish pile of minced garlic was vulcanized to the bottom of the blazing crockery. * So that's where I put it. Oh well, too much garlic probably wasn't a good idea anyway.* She hurried toward the stove, intent on saving the meal. Alone in the kitchen and preoccupied as she was, she couldn't help thinking about the last few weeks.
Things had improved a lot since Buffy's birthday. She spent a lot of time helping Anya clean the cobwebbiest corners of the Magic Box and trying to convey the illicit rush of shoplifting. The proprietress was a great deal calmer by then and explained that she had seen plenty of desperate women doing evil just to get the attention of a boyfriend or husband. "Of course, by the time they got to me their relationships--and heck their lives-- were pretty hopeless. I'm sure you haven't reached that point yet Dawn, despite Halfrek's rationalizations to the contrary. That woman puts the 'arid' in 'harridan' I tell you. And that perm!" Despite ministrations such as these, Dawn realized that Anya had forgiven her--or at least transferred much of her anger to her successor. Not that she would let Dawn slack on her repayment duties. She spent hours scrubbing out deadly-smelling bins, cleaning grungy shelves and washing gritty windows. But the labor made her feel like she and really worked off the debt, and that she wasn't just glossing over the problem.
Buffy didn't say much afterwards, but the vengeance demon's condemnation of her parenting singed her in ways the social worker's hasty walk-in assessment couldn't. Things changed right away. She delegated the intelligence-gathering on Geek Squad's disappearance to Tara and Willow. Buffy rearranged her work schedule to allow her to be home when school let out. Spike started to come over to watch TV with her again, while Buffy went on patrol, and then sleep over to "see her off to school in the morning." Which Dawn thought was a ridiculous pretence and an insult to her intelligence, except he actually did wake her up and make her breakfast every morning. Dawn smiled a bit, remembering the fight they had when he tried to make her eat soft-boiled eggs.
"Its a perfectly respectable thing for a young girl to eat of a morning. Loads of protein." He demanded, "I even found proper egg cups in the china cabinet."
Dawn stared down at the gooey mess in front of her, surrounded by toast points, next to half a grapefruit. She glared at him with a look of revulsion. "Its super nast! And don't make it sound like this was hard work, it couldn't have taken more than five minutes."
"Count yourself lucky it isn't bangers and mash!"
"I don't even know what that *is* but it sounds disgustor. I am going pour about a half an inch of sugar on this grapefruit and *hope* that I can forget about this thing's insides oozing everywhere sometime before I'm thirty."
"Damn, now you've got me hungry. Where's sis hiding the blood these days?" he said, rooting into the freezer. He found what he was after and set the dial to defrost. "You know, you had us worried there, little bit."
Dawn started in mid-sprinkle at his change of tone. "Yeah?"
"Yes, you did." He continued to watch his meal rotate in the microwave. "She's really trying to do a good job raising you. She loves you a great deal."
"I know. I just missed her so much... when she was gone. Its really hard having her back, but still... gone. You know?"
"I know, pet." He turned to look at her, leaning into the counter heavily. "Trust me, she's getting there. We all just need to be a bit patient," he sighed.
Dawn reached into the cabinet for the cumin, remembering how tense things had been for so long. * Thank God he was right.*
***
Meanwhile, Buffy was parrying with Spike's grab for the remote and attempting to scroll through the on-screen guide to figure out when the skating started and the stupid curling would stop. "I can't believe this is even considered a sport. It's performance squeegeeing. I bet these guys don't help clean-up at home either."
"The whole point of curling is the fun of watching a bunch of fifty-year old men with names like Lars stalking about it as if they're running a nuclear disarmament treaty. And we Brits never tire of slagging Canadians. 'S practically a sport unto itself." He grinned as the Americans sent another stone into the opponent's guards and it ricocheted into the center of the house. "Plus it's the one event in the Winter games that you Americans don't have to worry about losing to a bunch of Alpine ski-bunnies or Russkie blade-moppets."
Buffy deftly stuffed the remote between the sofa cushions in mid-rant. She looked over at him, deciding he probably hadn't noticed. "Please tell me you are getting all of your loud talkiness and Russian bashing out now, before the skating, yes?" She nodded hopefully and looked for some sign of recognition. "Hey, evil dead... I'm talking to you." Perhaps, she could think of a way to distract him from the pulse-pounding thrills of world-class curling. Men and television. She put her hand on his knee and waited for him to look away from the TV. He pretended not to observe her checking him out. She went for the inner thigh, caressing a bit more heavily, and pretended not to notice his buttery new leather pants. * Making an effort...mmm.* He pretended not to register her advance into Lapland and squinted at the screen, feigning concentration.
He sat up suddenly. "I'm going to survey the wreckage, seems a bit too quiet in there."
"Spoilsport." She felt a smug sense of contentment. She managed to drive him into a anxious state of lust and got him to leave the room long enough to let her set up the video-taping. * There, even if I get... distracted later, skating is go.* She fiddled around for a few more minutes and then wandered into the kitchen.
Spike stood with the door of the fridge open and reached for a bottle of Dos Equis from the six he brought over around sunset. "You want one pet?" he asked without turning.
"I'm going to assume you mean Buffy." Dawn quipped, "I'm more of a rootbeer gal, y'know."
"Hint taken." Spike cracked open a bottle for her an set it near the stove.
"Overcooked much? God, I hate working the grill, I just can't visualize cooking for fun ever again. Its a good thing one of us likes to make dinner, I could maybe get used to this." She peered at the flour-dusted floor and the mound of dishes near the sink. "Well, the not-cooking part at least."
"Willow and Anya are out pretty late, huh?" Dawn said. She grabbed the skillet and made an abortive attempt to toss the food like a chef. The peppers and onions were stuck to the pan and didn't budge. She started poking at them with a wooden spoon.
"Yeah, I think of a convention center full of wedding merchants and hordes of brides-to-be and shudder, but they must be having fun." Buffy shrugged. She conveniently omitted the 'Willow sleeps over at Anya and Xander's and allows me and Spike have a night with fewer people to overhear us making with the sex in the basement' part of the plan.
"Either that or they're bruised and unconscious, trampled under the heels of a horde of future wives."
Dawn and Buffy, looked to each other rolled their eyes wearily, and chose to ignore his remark.
"What exactly is for dinner, Dawnmeister?"
"Well, at this point we can either do fajitas or burritos. Ms. Penshaw said that burritos are not really authentic, but they are easy to make and serve. Fajitas are also easy, but since you make them yourself at the table they are pretty serving dish intensive. So whatever you guys want." Dawn put some more body english into her scraping.
"You mean there are dishes you haven't used?"
"Spike..." Buffy warned.
"I just mean, looks like you've gone to a lot of trouble already and I think you should take the quick and easy way, me'self." His gaze was directed at Buffy.
"Oh, well there's a shock."
"Burritos it is!" Dawn sighed, "This has been fun, but I think I may be funned out at this point. I'm really glad I didn't start the "Tres Leches" after all."
"Yeah, dessert's a real spot of work, that. Why don't you ladies set the table and let the master take over here?" Spike started to roll up his sleeves. Dawn hugged him with visible relief and skipped off to the dining room. He shot Buffy a look saying, "See, not all evil."
Buffy smiled warmly and turned to the door, calling out "I'll get a tablecloth, Dawn."
***
"So what's new at school ?" Buffy panted slightly from the chiles and sipped at her beer.
"Well, I was totally dreading PE class, because you know, the hell of square-dancing is legendary. But Ms. Tremusini had, like, a New Age conversion over the summer or something and we're doing yoga and tai chi half the time, which makes running around the football field kinda bearable. Also, I am like, totally a yoga superstar. Even Tina Clark is jealous and she's a cheerleader and stuff."
"Tai Chi is good for stress."
Buffy nodded. "Yeah, and no one needs stress reduction in Sunnydale, or anything. I think Giles would have taught me more of it, but it isn't exactly the demon-destructive powerhouse of the martial arts world."
"You'd be surprised what those old Chinese geezers can do with that pushing hands stuff." Spike poked at the air with his fork. "Keep at it Dawn, and you'll find it pretty useful for defending yourself against the baddies. When I was in Shanghai I saw this old woman push a pickpocket back twenty feet with just a wee shove. Right impressive. You don't have to be the Slayer to take care of yourself."
"Spike, we're all carefully minding the line between empowering Dawn and encouraging scary acts of bravado, right?" She glanced back and forth at them, both briskly assuming looks of doe-eyed innocence.
"Noooo worries Buffy! Line. Me. Totally not crossing." Dawn grinned and self-consciously changed the subject. "Boy, thanks for helping me finish the meal, Spike! That was kind and thoughtful of you." Dawn glanced at her sister looking for signs of relenting.
Spike fell into lockstep, "But Dawn, surely I should thank you for all your efforts, so responsible and capable-like. Yes." He did his best to project sincerity.
"OK, OK, I'll give. I am stepping off the Smothering-Mothering Wagon and placing my feet firmly onto Non-Paranoid Sister Avenue."
Dawn astutely gauged the need for a subject change. "So is Clem still banned from your regular poker game?"
"Yeah, and for some reason," he shot a campy look of accusation at Buffy. "So am I. No troubles though, Clem prefers playing at Xander's anyway. And the Slayerettes don't have to worry about him cheating, the motivation isn't there without the kitt..." he stopped abruptly after Buffy stepped on his toes. "Without such a big kitty, you know Xander and them play much lower stakes than at the bar. Guess he thinks it isn't worth cheating. Victory just doesn't taste as sweet now," he favored Buffy with an arch look. *Satisfied?*
"Well, I think you guys should have it over here next week. Clem was cool. And I could make quesedillas. After this, that would be a total breeze."
"I'll ask, but we play pretty late. Dunno if sis wants you up till all hours."
"Oh, I don't think once or twice would be a big deal. Especially if its a weekend." Buffy made eye contact with Dawn, "Of course, good grades would factor heavily in this decision. And no more school lateness."
"Yeah, like that's even a factor with Mr. Slavedriver rousting me out of bed in the morning. Its so not fair, you don't even sleep at night." Buffy's eyes grew wide with panic. Dawn continued meekly, "I mean, because of the whole vampire thing...not that he would have any other reason to not sleep."
"Well, then if you've been getting to school on time and your grades are good then I'm sure that we could have game night over here. Or maybe watch movies or something." She dropped her silverware onto her plate.
"Well, at the risk of gilding the lily...are we almost done here?" Spike looked at their plates checking for proper gustation. The Summers females groaned to indicate fullness. "Because, I didn't just bring culturally appropriate beer." He arched an eyebrow wickedly. "I also have chocolate ice cream, and it's the good stuff like the microbrew of the ice cream world."
Smiles all round. "Right then, off to the Ice Capades with you. I'll clear up dishes and Dawn can raid the sweets." She bolted for the kitchen.
Buffy looked over at Spike with a look that melted from calm appreciation to pure carnality. She snaked her bare foot up the leg of his trousers, wriggling her toes slightly against his shin. "I feel certain you are going to be rewarded for this later."
He reached down for her other foot and lightly kissed the ends of her toes. He started tracing circles on her instep with the tip of his tongue. She slumped forward on the wooden chair, hands gripping the edge of the table fiercely.
"Are you sure that it would warp Dawn's mind for life if I inflicted terrible perversions on you under the afghan while she's watching Olympics, oblivious?" Spike whispered.
She shuddered with delight, "Preeeeetty sure, hon."
"Damn."
*finis*