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This fic was written in response to
the alarming amount of Spuffy we've been seeing this summer and also
because Amejisuto
egged me on. Blame her for the method of death.
This fic is posted in celebration of Kittypalooza. Happy birthday, luv!!!!
And yes, well observed, this is my first ever Spangel. I'm starting off
slow.
“Whoops.”
“Yup. You can say that again, luv.”
“Whoops.”
“Well, what a bloody stupid place to put an anvil.”
Angel nodded, crossed his arms and stared down at Buffy’s lifeless body.
“Spike, tell me again why we have an anvil in the first place.”
Spike lifted his arms in exasperation. “For my new hobby! Don’t you ever
listen to me?!”
“Oh, the amateur blacksmith thing. Yes, I’d forgotten about that. And what
exactly were you planning on doing with all those horseshoes?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, I’m gonna start writing all this down. I want the
horseshoes for the pub.”
Angel stared with an expression that was completely blank - except for a
slight twitch to his left eye that meant he was trying to think very hard.
“Pub?”
“You really are a total plank. *Our* pub, remember? The one that we’re
gonna have in England? I’m collecting horseshoes, Toby Jugs and silver
tankards.”
“Oh, *that* pub thing.” Angel had a quick think. This time his right eye
twitched and his left nostril flared. “Aren’t the horseshoes supposed to
be brass?”
Spike shrugged. “Who cares? We’ll be serving the best bloody ale in the
South East of England. I don’t think anyone is going to care what the
horseshoes are made of. And besides, I looked on Ebay for some brass ones;
they were all crap.”
Angel nodded in agreement, toed Buffy’s leg, and sighed. “You’re just not
getting the quality on Ebay anymore.”
“Naaah.”
“Hmmm.”
“Anything on telly tonight, luv?”
“New season of Lost is starting.”
“Yeah? Give it a go, shall we?”
“I don’t see why not. Then we’ll have an early night.”
“That’s a bloody great idea.”
The front door opened and Wesley bounced in, full of the joys of spring.
“Ah, there you are. Have you heard the…news? Good heavens, who’s that?!”
Angel flapped a casual hand. “It’s just Buffy.”
“Oh!” Wesley exclaimed, clutching his heart and staggering back slightly.
“Thank goodness for that! I thought it might be some poor innocent.”
“News, Wes? You said something about news?”
“Yes, yes. Have you heard…? Erm, why exactly do you have an anvil?”
“Pub,” Angel and Spike said in unison.
“I see. And the reason that it is currently residing upon a rather dead
Slayer?”
Angel and Spike looked at each other and shrugged. “Because it was funny?”
“Oh, well, that explains everything.”
“News, Wes?”
“Ah, yes, sorry, Angel. I was distracted by the anvil. It is rather
magnificent.”
Spike beamed with pride.
“But anyway, news. Poor Rupert Giles slipped on a copy of Demons' Weekly
and has grazed his knee.”
“Blimey!”
“Oh my god, Wesley, is he okay?”
Wesley nodded solemnly. “He will be. But it was a bit of a blow to the
others. Miss Rosenberg went into deep shock and was unable to babble for a
full minute, and Mr Harris has turned suddenly gay.”
“Harris? Gay? Really?” Spike asked.
“Yes indeed. Rupert is most pleased at the development.”
“I bet he is,” Spike said with a smirk. “Always thought those two had the
hots for each other. Making a go of it, are they?”
“I do believe so, yes. But, putting all that aside for a moment, what
should we do with Miss Summers' body?”
“Who?” Angel was genuinely puzzled.
“He means Buffy,” Spike prompted.
“Who?”
Wesley pointed to the squashed body.
“Oh!” Angel said with an embarrassed chuckle. “Whoops. Spike, what do you
think?”
“Drag her arse outside and wait for the coyotes to get her?”
“Splendid!” Wesley cried, joyfully. “You two grab the anvil and I’ll sit
over here and watch.”
Ahhhh, life was good, gay sex was good, anvils were great and Slayers were
totally insignificant.
THE END.
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Suki Blue Fiction