Post by Emmie on Jan 22, 2010 23:28:17 GMT -5
This is an early birthday present for penny_lane_42 (her birthday is January 4!) - I hope it reaches you well, darling! I thought I'd post this early considering we're both experiencing difficulties getting online. Have a fabulous day and know that you are loved! ♥
Title: Of All That Is Sweet and Warm
Summary: Spike and Charlie have too much fun while Buffy is away.
Warnings: None.
Rating: G.
Timeline: Post-Not Fade Away Fluffy Babyfic.
Author's Note: This is an accompanying piece to my earlier stories To Be Born Again and His Girls. The more poetic title felt right for you, Lauren (and this story, natch) - I hope you do like it! And also many thanks to ladyofthelog for her wonderful beta. *hugs*
“So what’ll it be, Gingersnap?” Spike asked, running his fingers through Charlie’s springy blonde curls. Her chubby arms hugged his leg just above the knee, squeezing him tight with the irresistible excitement of a precocious toddler about to get a treat. He lifted her until her tiny feet were resting atop his left boot before stepping forward to open the refrigerator, charming elf firmly in tow. “Grape or raspberry?”
“Ew, gwape is gwoss,” Charlie said, tilting her head back to look up at him and sticking out her full lower lip in a perfect imitation of her mother's pout.
“Raspberry jam it is, then,” Spike conceded, pulling out the container and grabbing the still-hot baking sheet full of sweet buns. Jam held in the crook of his elbow, knife in one hand, sheet full of sweet buns in the other and his favorite girl holding on for dear life, he made his way towards the kitchen table. “High chair or big girl’s seat?”
“Hiiiiiigh chaiiiiiiiir!” Charlie trilled, releasing his leg to throw her arms up in the air in the time-honored ‘carry me, Daddy’ gesture.
“Aw, and I thought you were a big girl now,” he teased, setting the jam and sweet buns on the table.
“Imma big girl!” she insisted. “But I sees better in my high chair.”
“Clever minx, you are. Vying for higher ground, eh?” he chuckled, catching her under her arms and lifting her, kicking legs and all, into her high chair. He pulled out the nearest chair and turned it around until the back touched the edge of the high chair's attached table. He slouched down into the seat, arms crossed on the back of the chair, as he leaned in to say, “Now, no telling your mum about the treats. ‘Cause-”
“’Cause it hurts Daddy’s feelings when Mommy calls him bad fluence,” she finished for him, nodding with the certain vigor of a well-trained co-conspirator who knew their secret promise by rote.
“That’a girl,” he grinned, twisting open the jam and diving in with the knife. He spread a large dollop of jam over the tops of the buns, ripping off a corner and handing it to Charlie, who grabbed the treat, sticky jam covering her palms, and stuffed it into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s, undulating with each attempt to chew her too big bite.
Spike watched with an expression of amused awe and on-edge trepidation. When she swallowed the last bit and licked her lips, his worries melted away into a delighted grin. “Want some more, Charlie love?”
“More!” She grinned toothily, which was quite an accomplishment considering she was missing one of her front teeth. Her eager little hands danced in the air, reaching out for the next morsel. Spike handed her another piece, which she snatched from him only to pause with the treat touching her lips and question, “You not gonna have any?”
Her crestfallen expression, so dramatic a change from her joyful exuberance moments before, made Spike’s decision for him.
“’Course I am,” he assured, ribbing off a piece of pastry and raising it to his lips. He gobbled it whole, chewing his way through the jam and soft bread to tell her with a knowing look, “Was just letting you taste test it first.”
Her face wavered between satisfaction and a put-upon frown, though her cherub’s features were too round and sweet to do the chagrined expression justice. As if Charlie were aware of this, and vastly preferred to be happy anyways, her grin won out, stretching wide and lighting up her green eyes with pure delight. “See? It’s yummy!”
Laughter bubbled up inside him at the delightful story on her face and the moral therein – to joy above all else, be true. He held out another jam-covered sweet bun, waiting for her to grab the bread. When her sticky fingers caught the edge, he refused to let go, instead saying with a booming voice, “One… two… three!” With a giggle (from her) and a snort (from him), they pulled apart the treat like a wishbone at Christmas.
They finished the remaining buns with a wide assortment of games – (“Can you catch this in your mouth if I toss it, Charlie love?” “Doesn’t this one look like a duck?”) – and teasing queries – (“Who should get the last bit? ‘Cause I’m awfully hungry,” he growled to drive the point home. “No, me! Me! I’m more hungrrr-y!” she countered) – until the baking sheet was licked clean. Literally.
The baking sheet being the only clean surface left in the kitchen.
“Uh oh,” Spike rumbled, eyeing the jam spatters on the cabinets and smears on the countertops that dribbled over the edge and fell onto the floor. “Mum’s gonna have herself a hissy when she sees the mess we made.”
“I dinnit make no mess,” Charlie denied, crossing her arms in an obstinate posture that Spike recognized all too well.
“So that’s how it is, eh? You get the goods then you leave me hanging?” He mimed tying a rope around his neck and pulling it taut, his neck tilting to the side.
“Yep. Dat’s how it is,” she agreed, giving him an evil grin. With the red jam dribbling down her cheeks, all that was missing to complete the cherub’s evil visage was a pair of fangs.
Head still held aloft by the invisible rope, Spike shot her a sidelong measuring look. “That’s right evil of you, love. You know that?”
“Yep. I’m evil. Grrr!” she growled, making claws out of her jam-covered fingers.
“Oh ho! You are now, are you?” he laughed, standing and lifting her out of the high chair to stare her down the way an Alpha dog stares down an uppity pup.
She playfully grabbed him by the hair and pulled, forcing out a surprised yelp.
“Oy! No hair pulling!” he scolded, putting her down so his head was out of reach.
“I win! I win!” she crowed, dancing around his legs in triumph. “I’m da biggestest bad dere ever was!”
Spike shook his head at the lingering tingle in his scalp, then let his vamp features come to the fore. “That right?” he growled through his fangs.
“Yep yep!” Charlie jumped up and down in a circle around him.
“Slowly I turn,” Spike said in a low, menacing voice, raising his arms up to loom over Charlie’s tiny figure.
Charlie squealed and ran out of the kitchen, her patent leather shoes banging on the wooden floorboards as she raced to hide.
“Step by step!” Spike’s voice boomed throughout the house. He prowled after her, turning towards the dining room even though he knew she’d scrambled under the living room couch. It was her favorite hiding spot, after all.
“Inch by inch!” he bellowed like he always did, holding back a grin when he heard her muffled squeal.
Leaving the dining room, he stepped into the living room, rumbling, “Slowly I turn,” as he walked past the couch where the tip of a black Mary Jane peeked out from under the dust cover. “Step by step,” he said with menace, turning back to stare at the couch. “Inch by inch,” he whispered, his voice quieting as he crouched down and reached for the couch’s dust cover. “Until I’ve got you!” he roared, hand diving under the couch to reach for Charlie.
She shrieked and scrambled out from under the other side, running towards the kitchen when she heard her mother call, “Hey, I’m home!”
“What’s everybody want for dinner – oomph!” Buffy reached down to steady Charlie who clutched at her dress, frowning at the sticky jam staining the floral fabric. Charlie grinned up at her, raspberry jam dribbling down her chin.
“Looks like someone’s been spoiling her appetite,” Buffy chastised, grabbing a dishcloth and rubbing her chin clean.
Charlie growled in response, which sounded more like a bark, and bit the cloth just as Spike ran into the kitchen, growling through his fangs, lines of jam running from his mouth.
“Spike,” Buffy scolded. “Stop encouraging her to play Big Bad with you.”
He responded with a wounded, ‘woe is me’ expression, laying his hands on his chest to cover the wound caused by Buffy’s glare. “What’d I do now?”
“God only knows,” Buffy answered, rolling her eyes. Which was a bad idea because she caught sight of a piece of raspberry pastry stuck to the ceiling. “Why is that-” she pointed up “-on my kitchen ceiling?”
Spike tilted his head to the side to gaze up at the incriminating evidence. “Well, whaddya know? Looks like the Pastry Demon's struck again. That’s the third time this month. Best gather the troops for a round of research so we can slay that evil.”
Buffy’s only response was a widening of the eyes to intensify her glare.
“Oh, come on now, Slayer! It’s not like you even know how to use this room.”
“I cook! I cook all the time.”
“You microwave. There’s a difference.”
Buffy huffed in affront, still a bit sensitive about her cooking abilities after the last failed holiday meal. The Christmas turkey had looked like a giant ball of charcoal. No one knew how it had tasted. No one had been brave enough to try.
“I like Mommy’s food!” Charlie added, grabbing Buffy’s hand in commiseration and shooting Spike a ‘stop being mean’ look.
“Aw, me too, Scruffin,” Spike reassured her, tweaking one of Charlie’s curls before sliding his arms around Buffy, who tensed, leaning away from him in displeasure.
“Give us a kiss, Slayer,” he said with a leer, diving in to catch her lips for a quick peck before leaning back.
“You’re cleaning up this mess,” Buffy said in her oh-so-serious tone while licking raspberry jam off her lips. “And you’re cooking dinner for the next month.”
“That my punishment?”
“No,” she informed him with a haughty raise of the eyebrow. “Your punishment comes later.”
“Looking forward to it, love,” he chuckled.
“Mommy, no! I made da mess. I gets a timeout for da mess,” Charlie insisted with a tug on Buffy’s hand. She was the image of contrition in miniature.
“Don’t worry, baby,” Buffy said, rubbing her back. “Daddy likes the timeouts I give him.”
“Daddy’s weird,” Charlie replied with a frown.
“Why’s everybody ganging up on me?” Spike jumped in.
“Karma?” Buffy suggested.
“Yeah, car mum,” Charlie agreed, nodding her head against Buffy’s hip.
“Alright, alright. I’m outnumbered. I get it. I’m your willing slave. Order me, abuse me, do what you will. So what do my girls want most in all the world?”
Buffy and Charlie shared a look before Buffy said, “Enchiladas,” with Charlie nodding along. “And quesadillas,” Buffy continued. “And tacos.”
“And gwakmoles!” Charlie added.
“Your wish is my command,” he said, giving a mock salute and reaching for ingredients to pull from the cupboards. He chuckled to himself, murmuring, “And don’t they know it?”
Charlie surprised him by hugging his knee and whispering, “Yah huh, Daddy, we knows.”
Title: Of All That Is Sweet and Warm
Summary: Spike and Charlie have too much fun while Buffy is away.
Warnings: None.
Rating: G.
Timeline: Post-Not Fade Away Fluffy Babyfic.
Author's Note: This is an accompanying piece to my earlier stories To Be Born Again and His Girls. The more poetic title felt right for you, Lauren (and this story, natch) - I hope you do like it! And also many thanks to ladyofthelog for her wonderful beta. *hugs*
“So what’ll it be, Gingersnap?” Spike asked, running his fingers through Charlie’s springy blonde curls. Her chubby arms hugged his leg just above the knee, squeezing him tight with the irresistible excitement of a precocious toddler about to get a treat. He lifted her until her tiny feet were resting atop his left boot before stepping forward to open the refrigerator, charming elf firmly in tow. “Grape or raspberry?”
“Ew, gwape is gwoss,” Charlie said, tilting her head back to look up at him and sticking out her full lower lip in a perfect imitation of her mother's pout.
“Raspberry jam it is, then,” Spike conceded, pulling out the container and grabbing the still-hot baking sheet full of sweet buns. Jam held in the crook of his elbow, knife in one hand, sheet full of sweet buns in the other and his favorite girl holding on for dear life, he made his way towards the kitchen table. “High chair or big girl’s seat?”
“Hiiiiiigh chaiiiiiiiir!” Charlie trilled, releasing his leg to throw her arms up in the air in the time-honored ‘carry me, Daddy’ gesture.
“Aw, and I thought you were a big girl now,” he teased, setting the jam and sweet buns on the table.
“Imma big girl!” she insisted. “But I sees better in my high chair.”
“Clever minx, you are. Vying for higher ground, eh?” he chuckled, catching her under her arms and lifting her, kicking legs and all, into her high chair. He pulled out the nearest chair and turned it around until the back touched the edge of the high chair's attached table. He slouched down into the seat, arms crossed on the back of the chair, as he leaned in to say, “Now, no telling your mum about the treats. ‘Cause-”
“’Cause it hurts Daddy’s feelings when Mommy calls him bad fluence,” she finished for him, nodding with the certain vigor of a well-trained co-conspirator who knew their secret promise by rote.
“That’a girl,” he grinned, twisting open the jam and diving in with the knife. He spread a large dollop of jam over the tops of the buns, ripping off a corner and handing it to Charlie, who grabbed the treat, sticky jam covering her palms, and stuffed it into her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s, undulating with each attempt to chew her too big bite.
Spike watched with an expression of amused awe and on-edge trepidation. When she swallowed the last bit and licked her lips, his worries melted away into a delighted grin. “Want some more, Charlie love?”
“More!” She grinned toothily, which was quite an accomplishment considering she was missing one of her front teeth. Her eager little hands danced in the air, reaching out for the next morsel. Spike handed her another piece, which she snatched from him only to pause with the treat touching her lips and question, “You not gonna have any?”
Her crestfallen expression, so dramatic a change from her joyful exuberance moments before, made Spike’s decision for him.
“’Course I am,” he assured, ribbing off a piece of pastry and raising it to his lips. He gobbled it whole, chewing his way through the jam and soft bread to tell her with a knowing look, “Was just letting you taste test it first.”
Her face wavered between satisfaction and a put-upon frown, though her cherub’s features were too round and sweet to do the chagrined expression justice. As if Charlie were aware of this, and vastly preferred to be happy anyways, her grin won out, stretching wide and lighting up her green eyes with pure delight. “See? It’s yummy!”
Laughter bubbled up inside him at the delightful story on her face and the moral therein – to joy above all else, be true. He held out another jam-covered sweet bun, waiting for her to grab the bread. When her sticky fingers caught the edge, he refused to let go, instead saying with a booming voice, “One… two… three!” With a giggle (from her) and a snort (from him), they pulled apart the treat like a wishbone at Christmas.
They finished the remaining buns with a wide assortment of games – (“Can you catch this in your mouth if I toss it, Charlie love?” “Doesn’t this one look like a duck?”) – and teasing queries – (“Who should get the last bit? ‘Cause I’m awfully hungry,” he growled to drive the point home. “No, me! Me! I’m more hungrrr-y!” she countered) – until the baking sheet was licked clean. Literally.
The baking sheet being the only clean surface left in the kitchen.
“Uh oh,” Spike rumbled, eyeing the jam spatters on the cabinets and smears on the countertops that dribbled over the edge and fell onto the floor. “Mum’s gonna have herself a hissy when she sees the mess we made.”
“I dinnit make no mess,” Charlie denied, crossing her arms in an obstinate posture that Spike recognized all too well.
“So that’s how it is, eh? You get the goods then you leave me hanging?” He mimed tying a rope around his neck and pulling it taut, his neck tilting to the side.
“Yep. Dat’s how it is,” she agreed, giving him an evil grin. With the red jam dribbling down her cheeks, all that was missing to complete the cherub’s evil visage was a pair of fangs.
Head still held aloft by the invisible rope, Spike shot her a sidelong measuring look. “That’s right evil of you, love. You know that?”
“Yep. I’m evil. Grrr!” she growled, making claws out of her jam-covered fingers.
“Oh ho! You are now, are you?” he laughed, standing and lifting her out of the high chair to stare her down the way an Alpha dog stares down an uppity pup.
She playfully grabbed him by the hair and pulled, forcing out a surprised yelp.
“Oy! No hair pulling!” he scolded, putting her down so his head was out of reach.
“I win! I win!” she crowed, dancing around his legs in triumph. “I’m da biggestest bad dere ever was!”
Spike shook his head at the lingering tingle in his scalp, then let his vamp features come to the fore. “That right?” he growled through his fangs.
“Yep yep!” Charlie jumped up and down in a circle around him.
“Slowly I turn,” Spike said in a low, menacing voice, raising his arms up to loom over Charlie’s tiny figure.
Charlie squealed and ran out of the kitchen, her patent leather shoes banging on the wooden floorboards as she raced to hide.
“Step by step!” Spike’s voice boomed throughout the house. He prowled after her, turning towards the dining room even though he knew she’d scrambled under the living room couch. It was her favorite hiding spot, after all.
“Inch by inch!” he bellowed like he always did, holding back a grin when he heard her muffled squeal.
Leaving the dining room, he stepped into the living room, rumbling, “Slowly I turn,” as he walked past the couch where the tip of a black Mary Jane peeked out from under the dust cover. “Step by step,” he said with menace, turning back to stare at the couch. “Inch by inch,” he whispered, his voice quieting as he crouched down and reached for the couch’s dust cover. “Until I’ve got you!” he roared, hand diving under the couch to reach for Charlie.
She shrieked and scrambled out from under the other side, running towards the kitchen when she heard her mother call, “Hey, I’m home!”
“What’s everybody want for dinner – oomph!” Buffy reached down to steady Charlie who clutched at her dress, frowning at the sticky jam staining the floral fabric. Charlie grinned up at her, raspberry jam dribbling down her chin.
“Looks like someone’s been spoiling her appetite,” Buffy chastised, grabbing a dishcloth and rubbing her chin clean.
Charlie growled in response, which sounded more like a bark, and bit the cloth just as Spike ran into the kitchen, growling through his fangs, lines of jam running from his mouth.
“Spike,” Buffy scolded. “Stop encouraging her to play Big Bad with you.”
He responded with a wounded, ‘woe is me’ expression, laying his hands on his chest to cover the wound caused by Buffy’s glare. “What’d I do now?”
“God only knows,” Buffy answered, rolling her eyes. Which was a bad idea because she caught sight of a piece of raspberry pastry stuck to the ceiling. “Why is that-” she pointed up “-on my kitchen ceiling?”
Spike tilted his head to the side to gaze up at the incriminating evidence. “Well, whaddya know? Looks like the Pastry Demon's struck again. That’s the third time this month. Best gather the troops for a round of research so we can slay that evil.”
Buffy’s only response was a widening of the eyes to intensify her glare.
“Oh, come on now, Slayer! It’s not like you even know how to use this room.”
“I cook! I cook all the time.”
“You microwave. There’s a difference.”
Buffy huffed in affront, still a bit sensitive about her cooking abilities after the last failed holiday meal. The Christmas turkey had looked like a giant ball of charcoal. No one knew how it had tasted. No one had been brave enough to try.
“I like Mommy’s food!” Charlie added, grabbing Buffy’s hand in commiseration and shooting Spike a ‘stop being mean’ look.
“Aw, me too, Scruffin,” Spike reassured her, tweaking one of Charlie’s curls before sliding his arms around Buffy, who tensed, leaning away from him in displeasure.
“Give us a kiss, Slayer,” he said with a leer, diving in to catch her lips for a quick peck before leaning back.
“You’re cleaning up this mess,” Buffy said in her oh-so-serious tone while licking raspberry jam off her lips. “And you’re cooking dinner for the next month.”
“That my punishment?”
“No,” she informed him with a haughty raise of the eyebrow. “Your punishment comes later.”
“Looking forward to it, love,” he chuckled.
“Mommy, no! I made da mess. I gets a timeout for da mess,” Charlie insisted with a tug on Buffy’s hand. She was the image of contrition in miniature.
“Don’t worry, baby,” Buffy said, rubbing her back. “Daddy likes the timeouts I give him.”
“Daddy’s weird,” Charlie replied with a frown.
“Why’s everybody ganging up on me?” Spike jumped in.
“Karma?” Buffy suggested.
“Yeah, car mum,” Charlie agreed, nodding her head against Buffy’s hip.
“Alright, alright. I’m outnumbered. I get it. I’m your willing slave. Order me, abuse me, do what you will. So what do my girls want most in all the world?”
Buffy and Charlie shared a look before Buffy said, “Enchiladas,” with Charlie nodding along. “And quesadillas,” Buffy continued. “And tacos.”
“And gwakmoles!” Charlie added.
“Your wish is my command,” he said, giving a mock salute and reaching for ingredients to pull from the cupboards. He chuckled to himself, murmuring, “And don’t they know it?”
Charlie surprised him by hugging his knee and whispering, “Yah huh, Daddy, we knows.”
*~*~*
