Summary: Two vampires with souls, the women who love them, and the date night that brings them all together.
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Spike, Angel/Cordy
Timeline: Post-Not Fade Away
Word Count: ~850
Author's Note: Written for dollsome's wonderful Shiny Happy Comment Ficathon. Unbeta'd so any whoops factor is my bad.
After ordering the appetizers, Buffy fiddles with the rim of her martini glass and works up the nerve to break the awkward silence. "So I, uh, heard you died?"
"Kinda. Became a higher being. Got bored. Came back. You know, you'd think being tapped into all that power and knowledge would be fulfilling or at least give you a buzz from the nonstop gossip, but it all starts to blur together after a couple hours. I thought being elevated to a higher plane for round two would be different without the crazy bodysnatching badness, but no. Just not my thing. Give me a foot rub"--Cordy bumps her shoulder against Angel's--"a glass of wine and a horde of demons to smack around and I'm a happy camper. Not that I camp. I lounge. On the beach." Her gaze shifts to Angel and she quickly adds, "At night."
"Right. Moonlit beach time. Nothing better," Buffy says, grinning. Then she sighs and leans forward. She considers reaching for Cordy's hand but rejects the idea. Not their style. "But still, sorry about the whole dying thing."
Cordy nods and takes a sip of her margarita. "Yeah, that sucked."
Eyes wide, Buffy nods. "Seriously."
"Ow! Spike!" Angel growls and lunges across the table to grab Spike by the collar.
"Hands off, grandpa!" Spike snarls, jerking back to dodge Angel's hands and nearly toppling his chair.
Buffy bangs her fist on the table and hisses, "If you two don't cut out the childish antics, I'm gonna--"
"Hey! Back off, bossy britches! You're not gonna do anything to my boyfriend, got it?" Cordy waits for Buffy to sit back in her chair before she turns to Angel. "If you don't cut out the childish antics, I'm gonna introduce you to a whole new level of atonement. You got me?"
"He keeps throwing dinner rolls at me," Angel grumbles, slouching into his chair.
Spike scoffs. "Oh please. Does that sound like something I'd do?"
"Yes," Buffy and Cordy answer, turning to glare at him.
"Well yeah, okay, but I was just testing his reflexes. Gotta keep him sharp in case there's evil afoot at the Olive Garden."
"You know the neverending pasta bowl's back, right?" Buffy teases.
"God, keep the carbs away from me." Cordy tosses her hair over her shoulder. "I've already got some higher being hip action to work off at the gym."
"I like your hip action," Angel adds with a half-smile that grows into a full grin when Cordy blushes.
Spike leers. "Who doesn't?"
"Honey, sitting right here," Buffy snaps. "You do realize I'm sitting right here?"
"Hark, my lady calls!" Spike singsongs, catching Buffy's hand and pressing kisses up and down her arm.
"Idiot," Buffy says fondly, twining her fingers with his and squeezing his hand.
Cordy taps Angel on the arm and nods at Buffy and Spike, mouthing 'tell them'.
"Oh, uh, Buffy, congratulations on..." Angel trails off and leans over to whisper in Cordy's ear, "What was I supposed to say again?"
Seeing him flounder, Cordy takes charge. "We're really happy for you guys. Really. 'Cause you guys seem...happy, you know?"
"You too," Buffy replies, catching Angel's eye and smiling. "Really."
"All right. Let's get one thing straight." Spike kicks back his shot of whiskey and signals the waiter for another. "I'm gonna need a drink for every Hallmark moment you ladies have planned. Bloke can only take so much before he goes all queasy."
Buffy rolls her eyes. "This from the guy who wrote me a sonnet and picked nightblooming flowers for our one month anniversary."
"Heartfelt and classy, love," Spike replies. He catches Angel nodding in agreement and adds, "Women these days--no appreciation for a romantic gesture."
"Save us from the snoozefest," Cordy snarks. "Any time you guys feel the urge to break out the poetry and overshare about the moonbeams shining in our eyes--don't. Just don't."
"Oh! Oh! And don't forget the whole 'your hair smells like sunshine' weirdness." Buffy glares at Spike. "Smelling? Gross. Quit it."
"Ugh, yes," Cordy groans. "Angel's always smelling my hair. Not even smelling. Inhaling. But he's never said it smelled like sunshine, so I'll count my blessings."
"It does smell like sunshine," Angel says with a frown. Then he sputters when a piece of bread hits him dead between the eyes. "Spike."
Spike shrugs, the beginnings of a shiteating grin spreading across his face. "S'what happens when you let your guard down."
Angel growls, prompting Cordy to lay her hand on his arm.
"It's for the greater good. Can't let the great and powerful champion go soft." Spike flicks his eyes down to take in Angel's girth. "Guess it's too late for that, though."
One: Angel leaps to his feet.
Two: he throws the table to the side.
Three: he wraps his hands around Spike's neck and squeezes.
Drinks in hand, Cordy and Buffy roll their eyes and call out, "Check!"