In honor of her 34th birthday, Laure asked for a fic:
>...It should be set in Season 4 of Buffy
>or Season 1 of Angel, and please include at least five of the
>music from a Lillith Fair participant--lyrics or just a cd laying around, I don't care
>it's someone's b-day (doesn't have to be a Buffy person) and
>silly hats involved
>someone steps in something nasty
>a Linda Blair movie
>quote from Baudelaire "She fills my life like air, laden with
> smell of honeysuckle. And my insatiable soul she fills with
> longing for eternity."
>Frango mints from Marshall Fields in Chicago
>someone drinks too many pina coladas
>a watch is broken
>Ripper shows up
>a demon doing the Charleston shows up
>someone dyes their hair and it goes horribly wrong
>an animal gets vamped
>a Baby names book
>an anatomically correct Ken doll
>clap on lights
>a bean bag chair with the beans coming out
>someone tries a cigarette for the first time and that goes horribly wrong
>a kiss from someone unexpected
>a picture of someone in the bath tub ala David
TITLE: Birthdays, Beanbags, and Dancing Demons
SPOILERS: None, really, but set in Season 4 of BtVS/Season 1 of ANGEL
DISCLAIMER: Characters=not mine. Story=kind of mine.
SYNOPSIS: BADFIC. The gang tries to throw Cordelia a surprise birthday party.
DEDICATED: To Laure, on her 34th birthday. Baby, you just keep on getting better. <VBEG>
"What is he DOING?" Buffy Summers moaned as her boyfriend frolicked wildly around their living room, a silly birthday hat perched on his usually impeccable hair.
She was sitting on her favorite ratty old bean bag chair, a chair that was so old most of the beans had long since disappeared, a baby names book clutched over her ample stomach.
Spike looked up from the couch, where he was engrossed watching 'The Exorcist'. "Hey, Slayer, can you turn your head around like this chick here? Maybe projectile vomit pistachio ice cream?"
Buffy glared. "No, buttmunch. And I ask again: what the hell is Angel doing?"
Peering over at his sire, he said, "Looks like he's doing the Charleston to me."
"It's a dance. An old dance," Willow piped up from her position on the floor next to Buffy.
"And Dead Boy's doing it," Xander snickered. "Who knew that pina coladas would affect him like that?"
They were all gathered in the living room of Buffy and Angel's apartment with the intent of throwing a surprise birthday party for Cordelia, who had yet to show. Doyle was the one responsible for getting her to the apartment on time, but so far he seemed to be failing miserably in his duty.
Everyone else was there, with the exception of Giles. He'd had a meeting of some sort with the Board of Education, and he was going to be late. When it became obvious that Doyle and Cordelia were not going to be prompt, the gang had started without them. Xander broke out the cheese whiz and chips, and Oz went for the Frango mints.
"Angel? Honey?" Buffy said as her lover Charlestoned past her. "Help me up," she muttered to Oz, who was standing near her. "I can't get out of this damn chair." Oz reached down and hoisted the extremely pregnant Slayer to her feet, trying not to wince from the effort.
She walked (okay, waddled) over to Angel, grabbing his arm to stop his dancing. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
Angel turned to look at her precious face, and dropped to his knees before her, taking her soft little hand in one of his much larger ones. Clearing his throat, he began to speak. "She fills my life like air, laden with the smell of honeysuckle. And my insatiable soul she fills with longing for eternity."
"Nice use of Baudelaire," a voice from the doorway intoned. Everyone looked up to see a leather-clad Giles lounging in the doorway, cigarette in hand. No, not Giles, everyone mentally corrected themselves.
Ripper was present tonight.
Giles had been taking steps to embrace his whole self, so every so often, Ripper emerged for a little fun. They had gotten used to his slightly rude, slightly lecherous ways. Besides, Giles was always mortified when he remembered what his alter ego had done. It was a great source of amusement for the gang.
"Are we having fun?" he purred, stalking over to them.
"The only thing more fun than this is mini golf," Oz replied.
An hour later, Cordelia and Doyle still hadn't shown. The drinks were flowing freely, and everyone, with the exception of Buffy, was well on their way to being completely trashed.
Spike was mesmerized by an anatomically correct Ken doll he had found in the basement. "I didn't know Mattel made shit like this."
"Wasn't Mattel," Xander informed him around a mouthful of mixed drink. "It was Will."
"Huh," Spike said. "Not bad. I think I like her sense of proportion."
"No one's built like that," Xander said, shaking his head.
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Want to make a bet?"
"So how do I do this?" Willow questioned, sidling up next to Ripper.
"Well, luv, you just suck on it. I bet you're good at that," he leered at her.
"Oz? Am I good at that," she asked as she grabbed the cigarette in Ripper's pocket.
"Sure, baby," Oz agreed amicably, too busy playing with the clap on lights and listening to the Indigo Girls to really pay attention to what his girlfriend was saying.
Willow lit up, sucked in a breath full of nicotine, and promptly choked.
Ignoring their houseful of guests, Buffy and Angel had made their way upstairs, to their bathtub. Angel had stopped Charlestoning long enough to have some wet, naked bathtime fun with his favorite Slayer. As she lounged, sated, on his chest, she said, "Wait. Don't move. I want to take a picture of you like this."
"So I can look at it when you're not here and get all hot and bothered."
"Would you still, by chance, be hot and bothered when I got home?"
"You can bet on it."
"Then what are you waiting for? Go and get the camera."
Meanwhile, on the other side of town...
"Oh, god, Doyle, fuck me, please fuck me," Cordelia babbled, tightening her hold on the demon. "I'm so wet for you, I want you so much, please..."
A desperate groan rose up in Doyle's chest. He wanted nothing more in life than to hitch her legs around his waist and plunge deeply into her, so that he could feel nothing else but her soft flesh squeezing him. He should have never started this, not when he knew that he had to take her to the party in mere moments. Surreptitiously, he checked his watch.
It was broken.
How did it get broken?
But moreover, if it was broken...he had an excuse to be late. He just didn't know what time it was. It wasn't his fault. With a smirk worthy of Angelus in its sheer deviltry, he pulled her ass up, pinned her to the door, and thrust home.
Cordelia shrieked in joy.
An hour later...
Everyone jumped up as Cordelia opened the door, and then they screamed 'Happy Birthday!'.
Truly surprised, Cordelia stumbled forward, only to place her sandaled foot in a wet, slimy mass. "Ewwwww!" she bellowed. "What the fuck is this?"
Buffy looked down. "Looks like Vlad threw up another hairball."
"Buffy! Why did you have to adopt that damn cat anyway! It's a demon!"
"But he's so cute! He looks like Angel when he makes that face--"
"Slayer, could you bloody well spare us the details?"
Buffy fell silent. Then she noticed Cordelia's hair. "Uh, nice hair color."
Cordelia touched her maroon locks, and burst into tears.
Doyle sighed loudly. "Did you have to say that to her?" He wrapped his arms around Cordelia from behind, nuzzling his face into her neck. "It's okay, baby. You're beautiful no matter what color hair you have."
Suddenly, Angel Charlestoned up to her. "Happy birthday, Cor." She sniffled loudly, then leaned up and pressed a kiss to her boss' cheek. "Thanks, boss man."
Cordelia looked around at all her friends gathered to wish her a happy birthday. They were certainly an odd collection of people and, well, demons. But they were hers, and despite her damp foot, moist inner thighs, and badly dyed hair, she wouldn't have chosen to be anywhere else on her birthday. These people would always be her home.
With a gleaming smile, she stepped further into the living room. "Someone needs to get the Birthday Girl a drink." She looked at Angel. "But not whatever he was drinking."