Fic: Holiday Songs: All Roofies, Gold Diggers, and Murders
Title: Holiday Songs: All Roofies, Gold Diggers, and Murders
Author: Laure Alexander
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Warnings: Not much
Disclaimer: Nothing about BtVS belongs to me; it's all Joss; I'm just playing with his characters and making them do naughty things as I have been for nearly seventeen years.
Distribution: Please ask first. Will be at my site Meandering Muse.
Word Count: 1189
Summary: All Spike wants to do is drink rummy eggnog, listen to holiday songs, and wait for Buffy to get home so they can decorate the tree, but Dawn just has to rant about lyrics.
A/N: For my day at Noel of Spike on LJ. I have no clue why I thought signing up for the 24th would be a good idea! I had to work, was heavily involved with the service at church tonight, and still have to clean the kitchen for tomorrow! But, here's a little something just under the wire. The idea came from a comment made by delphipsmith.
Humming along to Ella and Louis crooning "Baby, It's Cold Outside" on the radio, Spike tasted the eggnog, then poured another cup of rum into it. Their London flat was decorated with fresh greenery and red and gold bows, there was mistletoe over every door frame, and the boxes of ornaments were stacked next to the perfect tree waiting for Buffy to get home from work.
Suddenly the music turned to static then suddenly BBC news was boring him.
"What the hell, 'bit?" he asked, scowling at Dawn who stood next to the stereo, arms crossed over her chest, annoyed look on her face.
"It's a song about date rape, Spike."
His scowl turned to confusion. "Huh?"
"That song. It's horrible. Were you even listening to the lyrics? The guy roofied her!" She punctuated each righteous statement with a flail of her arms and ended with a stamp of one expensively booted foot.
"You mean the line about 'what's in this drink'?" Rolling his eyes at the juvenile delinquent he used to babysit who seemingly overnight became a feminist activist, he added, "It's just a song, Dawn."
"That's like saying 'it's just a video game' when it leads young kids to commit real violence."
Spike scoffed and Dawn huffed, each narrowing their eyes at the other.
"Video games didn't make me violent, girl."
"Duh. Vampire, formerly with no soul." She rolled her eyes at him.
Pouring himself a pint glass of eggnog, Spike drank half of it in one gulp, wishing he could still get drunk.
"And, that song isn't about date rape. It was a bit risque when it was written, but it's just about a guy wanting his girl to stay the night AND stay safe in bad weather. So, he's a bit persuasive, she's willing to be persuaded." As he spoke, he moved past Dawn to the radio and found the Christmas station again.
Sadly, that song about the red shoes and dying mum was playing. What sop. When he saw Dawn making a face, he snorted, "Gonna compare this song to something ridiculous, too?"
"No, it's just sappy and they play it all the time."
"No kidding."
Thankfully, it ended quickly, and Eartha Kitt started in on "Santa Baby."
And Dawn made another face. "This one is about a gold digger. I mean, really, what's with these Christmas songs from the middle of the last century?" Throwing up her hands in disgust, she retreated to the living room to glare morosely at the bare tree.
"Well, we could switch over to my iPod. I have Elvis Costello's 'St. Stephen's Day Murders' on there." Spike grinned at the look of horror she shot him.
"You made that up."
"Nope. That's the Irish for you."
"Who was murdered?"
"St. Stephen, one of those martyred Catholic saints the Irish are so fond of. Legend has it a wren gave his hiding place away, so it's become a tradition for parents to send their kiddies out to chase down a wren on the day after Christmas, which gets them out of their hair for a while."
"That's just..." Dawn gaped at him. "Wait, you just made that up, right?"
"Nope. Personally, I prefer the more sober English tradition of Boxing Day, giving away the leftovers from the Christmas Day feast to the poor. But, then the English have always been more dignified than the Irish."
Dawn smirked. "You're just saying that because of Angel."
"Stupid bog-trotter," he muttered, finishing his eggnog. "Needs more rum."
Giving him a suspicious look, she went to pour herself a glass, then took a sip and nearly gagged. "Jesus, this is almost PURE rum." The suspicious look deepened. "Are you trying to get my sister drunk?"
Spike grinned broadly. "What, so I can have my wicked way with her? 'Bit, I get to do that when she's stone-cold sober."
"Gack."
"Was that comment from the rum or the thought of me and Buffy doing the horizontal tango?"
"Both."
The music switched again, and "Little Drummer Boy" started to play. Dawn opened her mouth and Spike quickly cut her off. "Don't even, Dawn. The kid is not a part of any forced child labor. It's a bloody song."
Dawn started to giggle. "Actually, I was thinking about that weirdly cool duet of Drummer Boy and some song about peace by that old guy and, well, that other old guy. I'm guessing they're both dead?"
Spike shot her a truly scandalized look. "David Bowie is not dead!"
She shrugged. "I saw the video once. He looked like some androgynous punk rocker. Or...y'know, you."
"He was a glam rocker. I was never glam. You really need a lesson on music."
"That stuff you listen to from a hundred years ago is not music. It's all screaming and harsh non-rhythmic I don't know what."
"My Christmas present to you will be a musicology lesson in punk. We'll start with the gods of punk, the Sex Pistols and their seminal album, 'Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols', then the Buzzcocks, the Clash with "London Calling', which is almost as good as the Pistols, the Damned, skip over the pond to the Ramones and Patti Smith, go back for PIL. I'll get Rupert to assist." He shot her a gleeful look and clapped his hands. "I've seen his record collection, y'know. Thank whatever it was in England when Sunnyhell fell. He has all the classics. Oh, yeah, and he even as a copy of Wire's 'Pink Flag'. Yeah, that's the ticket."
Holding up her hands in surrender or horror, Dawn slowly backed away from him. "No, that's okay, really. We can go back to listen to the date rape Christmas song, okay?"
Spike shot her a gleeful grin of all teeth. "Ever had safety pins in your ears?"
"ACK!" Dawn fled to her room.
Snorting in amusement, Spike turned off the radio and fetched his iPod, quickly finding Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Jordan's top twenty hit version of "Baby It's Cold Outside". As it played, he took a full glass of eggnog over to the couch and sprawled across it, letting his days drift to the times he saw Ella live.
He could appreciate many more genres of music than punk, but he wasn't going to let Dawn know that. She was too much fun to rile up."
"Did that guy roofie that girl?" Buffy asked as she snuck up behind him.
Rolling his eyes, Spike sighed and reached for his earbuds to tune her out because he really didn't want to have this inane argument again. She stopped him with a hand on his wrist and smile on her face.
"Kidding. I had to listen to Dawn rant about this song for a good twenty minutes the other day. All this higher academia is making her uber annoying." Climbing over the back of the couch, she curled up beneath his arm and reached for his glass to take a sip. "Needs more rum."
Spike laughed and kissed her, tasting rum with a hint of nog on her lips and tongue.
And Ella and Louis bantered back and forth.
End
Author: Laure Alexander
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Warnings: Not much
Disclaimer: Nothing about BtVS belongs to me; it's all Joss; I'm just playing with his characters and making them do naughty things as I have been for nearly seventeen years.
Distribution: Please ask first. Will be at my site Meandering Muse.
Word Count: 1189
Summary: All Spike wants to do is drink rummy eggnog, listen to holiday songs, and wait for Buffy to get home so they can decorate the tree, but Dawn just has to rant about lyrics.
A/N: For my day at Noel of Spike on LJ. I have no clue why I thought signing up for the 24th would be a good idea! I had to work, was heavily involved with the service at church tonight, and still have to clean the kitchen for tomorrow! But, here's a little something just under the wire. The idea came from a comment made by delphipsmith.
Humming along to Ella and Louis crooning "Baby, It's Cold Outside" on the radio, Spike tasted the eggnog, then poured another cup of rum into it. Their London flat was decorated with fresh greenery and red and gold bows, there was mistletoe over every door frame, and the boxes of ornaments were stacked next to the perfect tree waiting for Buffy to get home from work.
Suddenly the music turned to static then suddenly BBC news was boring him.
"What the hell, 'bit?" he asked, scowling at Dawn who stood next to the stereo, arms crossed over her chest, annoyed look on her face.
"It's a song about date rape, Spike."
His scowl turned to confusion. "Huh?"
"That song. It's horrible. Were you even listening to the lyrics? The guy roofied her!" She punctuated each righteous statement with a flail of her arms and ended with a stamp of one expensively booted foot.
"You mean the line about 'what's in this drink'?" Rolling his eyes at the juvenile delinquent he used to babysit who seemingly overnight became a feminist activist, he added, "It's just a song, Dawn."
"That's like saying 'it's just a video game' when it leads young kids to commit real violence."
Spike scoffed and Dawn huffed, each narrowing their eyes at the other.
"Video games didn't make me violent, girl."
"Duh. Vampire, formerly with no soul." She rolled her eyes at him.
Pouring himself a pint glass of eggnog, Spike drank half of it in one gulp, wishing he could still get drunk.
"And, that song isn't about date rape. It was a bit risque when it was written, but it's just about a guy wanting his girl to stay the night AND stay safe in bad weather. So, he's a bit persuasive, she's willing to be persuaded." As he spoke, he moved past Dawn to the radio and found the Christmas station again.
Sadly, that song about the red shoes and dying mum was playing. What sop. When he saw Dawn making a face, he snorted, "Gonna compare this song to something ridiculous, too?"
"No, it's just sappy and they play it all the time."
"No kidding."
Thankfully, it ended quickly, and Eartha Kitt started in on "Santa Baby."
And Dawn made another face. "This one is about a gold digger. I mean, really, what's with these Christmas songs from the middle of the last century?" Throwing up her hands in disgust, she retreated to the living room to glare morosely at the bare tree.
"Well, we could switch over to my iPod. I have Elvis Costello's 'St. Stephen's Day Murders' on there." Spike grinned at the look of horror she shot him.
"You made that up."
"Nope. That's the Irish for you."
"Who was murdered?"
"St. Stephen, one of those martyred Catholic saints the Irish are so fond of. Legend has it a wren gave his hiding place away, so it's become a tradition for parents to send their kiddies out to chase down a wren on the day after Christmas, which gets them out of their hair for a while."
"That's just..." Dawn gaped at him. "Wait, you just made that up, right?"
"Nope. Personally, I prefer the more sober English tradition of Boxing Day, giving away the leftovers from the Christmas Day feast to the poor. But, then the English have always been more dignified than the Irish."
Dawn smirked. "You're just saying that because of Angel."
"Stupid bog-trotter," he muttered, finishing his eggnog. "Needs more rum."
Giving him a suspicious look, she went to pour herself a glass, then took a sip and nearly gagged. "Jesus, this is almost PURE rum." The suspicious look deepened. "Are you trying to get my sister drunk?"
Spike grinned broadly. "What, so I can have my wicked way with her? 'Bit, I get to do that when she's stone-cold sober."
"Gack."
"Was that comment from the rum or the thought of me and Buffy doing the horizontal tango?"
"Both."
The music switched again, and "Little Drummer Boy" started to play. Dawn opened her mouth and Spike quickly cut her off. "Don't even, Dawn. The kid is not a part of any forced child labor. It's a bloody song."
Dawn started to giggle. "Actually, I was thinking about that weirdly cool duet of Drummer Boy and some song about peace by that old guy and, well, that other old guy. I'm guessing they're both dead?"
Spike shot her a truly scandalized look. "David Bowie is not dead!"
She shrugged. "I saw the video once. He looked like some androgynous punk rocker. Or...y'know, you."
"He was a glam rocker. I was never glam. You really need a lesson on music."
"That stuff you listen to from a hundred years ago is not music. It's all screaming and harsh non-rhythmic I don't know what."
"My Christmas present to you will be a musicology lesson in punk. We'll start with the gods of punk, the Sex Pistols and their seminal album, 'Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols', then the Buzzcocks, the Clash with "London Calling', which is almost as good as the Pistols, the Damned, skip over the pond to the Ramones and Patti Smith, go back for PIL. I'll get Rupert to assist." He shot her a gleeful look and clapped his hands. "I've seen his record collection, y'know. Thank whatever it was in England when Sunnyhell fell. He has all the classics. Oh, yeah, and he even as a copy of Wire's 'Pink Flag'. Yeah, that's the ticket."
Holding up her hands in surrender or horror, Dawn slowly backed away from him. "No, that's okay, really. We can go back to listen to the date rape Christmas song, okay?"
Spike shot her a gleeful grin of all teeth. "Ever had safety pins in your ears?"
"ACK!" Dawn fled to her room.
Snorting in amusement, Spike turned off the radio and fetched his iPod, quickly finding Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Jordan's top twenty hit version of "Baby It's Cold Outside". As it played, he took a full glass of eggnog over to the couch and sprawled across it, letting his days drift to the times he saw Ella live.
He could appreciate many more genres of music than punk, but he wasn't going to let Dawn know that. She was too much fun to rile up."
"Did that guy roofie that girl?" Buffy asked as she snuck up behind him.
Rolling his eyes, Spike sighed and reached for his earbuds to tune her out because he really didn't want to have this inane argument again. She stopped him with a hand on his wrist and smile on her face.
"Kidding. I had to listen to Dawn rant about this song for a good twenty minutes the other day. All this higher academia is making her uber annoying." Climbing over the back of the couch, she curled up beneath his arm and reached for his glass to take a sip. "Needs more rum."
Spike laughed and kissed her, tasting rum with a hint of nog on her lips and tongue.
And Ella and Louis bantered back and forth.
End