Sticky Sweet

Dreamtree

Summary:Angry Buffy. Amused Wes. Mock breakfast. Trouble. Based on a challenge request involving the words treacle, parchment, and tumbler.
Rating: PG
Story Notes: This story assumes that the A.I. group has joined the mass numbers of SITs camped out in the Summers home, and fairly recently at that.
Author Notes: Minim (said issuer of aforementioned challenge) and Serasempre (overall bad influence) made me do it.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, and all the characters appearing on either show are property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, Sandollar, Kuzui, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, et al. This site is not officially involved with Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series, makes no profit, and means no infringement.
Distribution: Please do not take without asking.

Buffy had been long sick of tripping over the endless bodies that were stockpiling in her home. Constant "lead me, Buffy, lead me!" looks from many of the Slayers-in-training were driving her to drink—literally—and with Spike's aid, no less, from a tumbler she pretended was filled with coffee.

With Angel and his crew in town it was no better. They were all just more voices to question how she was running things. They seemed to have their large problems in waves and at the same time, so any time they resolved things first, now they had to do a happy dance and say, "ha-ha, we're here to patronizingly take over your operation"? She didn't. think. so.

*hic* Oh, god, just because Spike was now penitent didn't mean he had to drink the cheap stuff and sic it on her, too.

Well, this particularly fine (ha!) morning, she was going to make her way over the numerous bodies to the kitchen and have some waffles. Fuck these people. Her house, her breakfast. And if they had touched those Eggos, someone was going to die early. Screw the big fight. Burying you now.

When she got there, Wes was lying across her island counter top reading some old parchment. She was indignant for all of two seconds before she stopped and remembered that with what was going on in her house, she was lucky the authorities hadn't been called to investigate her running an unlicensed youth hostel. Who was she kidding? Those were much nicer.

"Good morning," said Wes. "I was just looking over—" Buffy held a hand up to stop him.

"Oh no, mister. Not until I have had my waffles." Wes bit his lip and turned to look at the garbage can—full and now capped with the empty Eggo box. All those tiny blueberries...in the mix and everything...gone. She turned to him and glared. "You. Bastard," she said hoarsely.

"We're going shopping today, Buffy. I just have to finish this passage and wait until someone is up to help man the other cart. In the meantime, there's still that treacle—it's beyond just syrup you know--brought that with me myself." He looked so proud of himself. She was going to stab him for that. She picked it up and read the label. "Wes, I know you're dumb, but you're English and this—" she held it up for him to see "—says it's a product of Canada." She let her eyes flutter sarcastically and grinned. "Did you change your citizenship?" Still holding the treacle in one hand, she guzzled more of the goodies in her tumbler. Slamming it down, she did so close enough to Wes' head where he smelled what was in it—what was on her breath. Part of him wanted to laugh—welcome to the world as we know it and all. Part of him wanted to have a little fun.

"The treacle," he continued, sitting up, "was a gift from an informant pal who happens to go fishing periodically in Canada. It's very good." He pulled a drawer in the island open and dug out a spoon before closing it. Getting some of the sticky mess on there, he fed it to a girl who was about to—he thought—kill him possibly for the sheer pleasure of it. She tasted it and he could tell that she both liked it and would admit it 5 seconds after hell froze over. "Good, huh?"

She grabbed the spoon and treacle from him and fed him back, but angrily as if to show how rude she found it. He just grinned—he couldn't help how funny he was finding this moment. She half growled at him and kissed him, just to have a place to put her frustration physically that wasn't violent. Well, mostly. She was disturbed by how he didn't seem shocked by it and wound up relaxing a bit. Then she realized who she was kissing and made a funny noise, pulling out of his arms. (Howdidthosegetthere?)

"Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Yech." She said. He couldn't stop grinning.

"See now. Wasn't that good?" He cocked his head as if to say, Any time you want to go another round, kiddo. She arched an eyebrow at him and then grinned, having to laugh, too, at what she'd just done.

"Yeah, I guess. But you're still not waffles."

The End