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 roll 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
BtVS/AtS -- Buffy/Spike, Angel/Cordy -- "Midnight in the Olive Garden of Good and Evil" (2/2) -- PG
Date: 2010-11-09 12:16 am (UTC)"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 roll 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.
"You--trying--to--choke--me--you--stu--pid--bas--tard?" Spike grits out.
Drinks in hand, Cordy and Buffy roll their eyes and call out to the waiter, "Check!"