Fic: By the Book, S/B, G
Just a short, silly ficlet for Thanksgiving...
By the Book
Barb C
G
Barbverse - Spike/Buffy
"...pie's out of the oven, turkey's almost ready to go in - no, Connie, you can't slay your brother with the ricer! Help Bill get those yams mashed up. And let Vicki hold the bowl! Alex, stop that, you'll ruin your dinner." Kitchen insurrection momentarily quelled, General Buffy surveyed the carnage and swiped a flour-smudged hand across her forehead. To think she used to believe Thanksgiving was a carefree holiday. "Spike, can you - oh, for crying out loud!" Her husband froze guiltily, hand halfway to the platter of raw calves' liver marinating in lemon juice and mint. "You're as bad as Alex!"
"Least you know he comes by it honestly," replied Spike, licking his fingers.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "If you're going to steal food, at least be useful while you do it. Does the turkey blood need more sage?"
Spike took a dutiful sip from the spoon she offered. His eyes lit up. "Perfect."
"I hope so." She regarded the blood simmering in the double boiler with a sigh. "I've been doing this how long now, and I still don't feel like I'm actually cooking. I'm just..." She waved a hand at the phalanx of gravy-speckled cookbooks scattered across the kitchen counter. "Following instructions."
A deep, growly chuckle vibrated through her as Spike wrapped an arm around her waist. "I've a couple extra notches in my belt says you're a dab hand at following instructions."
"Please. You like Dawn's cooking." Buffy giggled and leaned into his embrace, fingers teasing the firm muscle of his belly. Which, yeah, was definitely better padded nowadays, though Spike's version of middle-aged spread probably amounted to all of fourteen percent body fat. She pillowed her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath of warm, fragrant, steamy air. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. "I wish I knew Mom's secret," she murmured. "She always made it look so easy."
Spike nodded at Bill and Connie, currently engaged in mass yam destruction, while Alex and Vicki made happy inroads into the marshmallows. "They'll remember you making it just as easy."
Weird to consider that maybe Mom, too, had just been faking it all those years. Whatever 'it' was. "So if there's no secret, then we're just, like, Da Vinci Coding a vast multi-generational conspiracy?"
He grinned. "Think you've just hit on the definition of parenting, love. But I prefer to think of it as culinary brinksmanship. Want a hand with that stuffing?"
Buffy rapped his nose with the spoon. "You only want to steal more liver."
It was indecent, how innocent those wicked blue eyes could look. "Just following instructions, Slayer."
END
By the Book
Barb C
G
Barbverse - Spike/Buffy
"...pie's out of the oven, turkey's almost ready to go in - no, Connie, you can't slay your brother with the ricer! Help Bill get those yams mashed up. And let Vicki hold the bowl! Alex, stop that, you'll ruin your dinner." Kitchen insurrection momentarily quelled, General Buffy surveyed the carnage and swiped a flour-smudged hand across her forehead. To think she used to believe Thanksgiving was a carefree holiday. "Spike, can you - oh, for crying out loud!" Her husband froze guiltily, hand halfway to the platter of raw calves' liver marinating in lemon juice and mint. "You're as bad as Alex!"
"Least you know he comes by it honestly," replied Spike, licking his fingers.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "If you're going to steal food, at least be useful while you do it. Does the turkey blood need more sage?"
Spike took a dutiful sip from the spoon she offered. His eyes lit up. "Perfect."
"I hope so." She regarded the blood simmering in the double boiler with a sigh. "I've been doing this how long now, and I still don't feel like I'm actually cooking. I'm just..." She waved a hand at the phalanx of gravy-speckled cookbooks scattered across the kitchen counter. "Following instructions."
A deep, growly chuckle vibrated through her as Spike wrapped an arm around her waist. "I've a couple extra notches in my belt says you're a dab hand at following instructions."
"Please. You like Dawn's cooking." Buffy giggled and leaned into his embrace, fingers teasing the firm muscle of his belly. Which, yeah, was definitely better padded nowadays, though Spike's version of middle-aged spread probably amounted to all of fourteen percent body fat. She pillowed her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath of warm, fragrant, steamy air. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. "I wish I knew Mom's secret," she murmured. "She always made it look so easy."
Spike nodded at Bill and Connie, currently engaged in mass yam destruction, while Alex and Vicki made happy inroads into the marshmallows. "They'll remember you making it just as easy."
Weird to consider that maybe Mom, too, had just been faking it all those years. Whatever 'it' was. "So if there's no secret, then we're just, like, Da Vinci Coding a vast multi-generational conspiracy?"
He grinned. "Think you've just hit on the definition of parenting, love. But I prefer to think of it as culinary brinksmanship. Want a hand with that stuffing?"
Buffy rapped his nose with the spoon. "You only want to steal more liver."
It was indecent, how innocent those wicked blue eyes could look. "Just following instructions, Slayer."
END