Trick For Your Treats: A Maypole Dance Around Spike

October 31st, 1997

Part 7: Caught Red Handed

19. Are you still keeping track?

Snogging Sounds.

Buffy:Mmmm…

Angel:So, am I forgiven?

Buffy:lipsmack

Maybe…

lipsmack

I'm thinking about it.

Angel: I did save you tonight.

Kisses slayer passionately.

Buffy: Siiigh. Okay, you're forgiven. This time.

Downstairs door opens and closes.

Joyce: Buffy, I'm home! I've brought a friend!

Buffy broke the kiss, licking her lips. The cool, delectable taste of Angel's mouth remained on her tongue even as they drew apart, panting hard. Buffy stared up at her boyfriend, and he stared back before his dark gaze flickered towards her bedroom door, listening for the sound of Joyce Summers' footsteps on the stairs.

"You'd better go," Buffy said, her fingers clinging to his shirt, reluctant to let go. As usual, she is Jell-O, and Angel is an ice cube. Though she appreciates that her creature-of-the-night boyfriend never turns their intense make out sessions into Grope-apalooza, Buffy still longs to see him lose his unfailing self-control.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asked.

"No, not mad." The slayer frowned faintly. She loved Angel with all of her heart, but The Incident with Spike has planted seeds of doubt. She can forgive Angel, but her trust has been broken, and is now on the mend. It might never be as strong as it was before.

Angel's a good guy, but his hat is dusty gray from having gone too long without a thorough washing.

"I am sorry," Angel asserted, sounding a little irritated and somewhat offended that he's still having to grovel. His expression is bitchy.

"I said you're forgiven," Buffy snapped in return, tensing. He'd better not push it. She's not in the mood, and this isn't the time. And if Angel wants to compete for the title of Queen Bitch, then he's got some serious contenders to take down. Buffy herself, and Cordelia, to start…

Angel scowls, and his expression is adorable: sulky and mutinous. Abruptly, Buffy smiled at him, softening again. It helps that he's dedicated so much time and energy to groveling following The (Spike) Incident. It shows that he cares about her.

And while Buffy rightly recognizes her right to be called a heroine, there's that part of her that longs to be a normal girl. Deep down, she is secretly pleased that it was Angel who came to her rescue when her Halloween costume transformed her into an 18th century noblewoman.

Angel played the part of dashing hero and saved the girl, rescuing Buffy from a horde of demon minions. Then, afterward, he'd been sweet and adamant about asserting his preference for tough and together Buffy-slayer to Buffy-ditz.

Yeah, she can forgive him. This time.

There are voices coming from downstairs in the kitchen. Buffy's mom has brought home a man, a thing that causes gooseflesh to crawl along Buffy's arms and the back of her neck. A potential mom's boyfriend is creepier than a hundred vampires.

"You'd better go," Buffy repeated with urgency, leaning in to steal a final passionate kiss from Angel. She needs to get downstairs and make sure that her mother's chastity isn't being compromised.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Angel said, slipping backward out the window of her bedroom. He flashed her a final smile and then vanished into the night.

Buffy performed a quick self-inspection in the mirror to make sure that she doesn't look unkempt, and ran a quick brush through her hair. Then she descended the stairs on silent slayer feet.

The sound of laughter reached her ears before she could make out the words. Sly n' stealthy, Buffy reached the bottom of the stairs, easing around the corner in order to eavesdrop. A tingle along her spine acted as a premonition to warn Buffy that her mom's guest is a demon. A second later, she recognizes Spike's voice.

"There the two of us are, arse over elbow on the nastiest Spanish Fly rotgut you can imagine! We're up on top of this inn on a slanty roof overlooking an avenue where they're runnin' the bulls down below. It was a sweet vantage, if you can imagine-"

"Oh, I can imagine!" Joyce replied with a husky laugh.

"-only the tiles are sorta slippery cause there'd been some rain earlier on. Angel makes like he's seen something right below us and he says to me-"

Buffy froze in the act of bursting forth from her hiding spot in order to interrupt the brash bout of way too much fun going on in her kitchen. The name of her boyfriend froze the slayer in her tracks.

"'Will me lad, look at the titties on that whore! Will me lad, they're enormous!' 'n he makes with his hands like this! 'Will me lad, it's a fucking miracle she can stand upright!' he says-" Spike mimed a thick Irish accent unlike anything Buffy'd ever heard Angel speak.

"Noooo!" Joyce denied, gasping for air.

"'Yeah?' I said, peering on over the edge. Cause I had to look, tits that large. Was droolin' at bit, imaginin' them titties. Mind you, I was havin' one of my dumber moments, trustin' Angel like that."

"What happened?" Joyce prompted, gushing laughter.

"'Don't see her,' I say. 'Lean on out a little further. She's right below an overhang,' says Angel. So, I lean out and sure enough-"

"He didn't!" Joyce exclaimed.

"He did. Wanker plants his foot to my arse, and sends me right on over the edge. I landed flat on my back in the mud with about a hundred enraged bulls comin' right at me-"

"Oh. My. God." Joyce's laughter should've drowned out Buffy's disbelieving gasp, but for certain factors that couldn't be taken into account. Acute vampire hearing for one.

Spike's head poked around the kitchen corner, and Buffy got caught red handed, eavesdropping. "Evenin'," he said. His brow is her arched enemy.

End Part 7.