Fic: Shove With Your Hips.
Title: Shove With Your Hips.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Spike/Fred
Summary: Fred and Spike take part in an old teenage pasttime... (Probably takes place some inordinate amount of time after my fic Retrieval and Return.)
Notes: omgod. I've been so dead right now, with school and acting and all. But the other day I was listening to my sister talk about her exploits as a teenager and I thought about what Sock Monkey said about Fred and Spike like two big, crazy kids romping around, and was like- 'skdfwlkdhgf she would DO THAT.'
THIS is the result.
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Spike couldn't believe she'd talked him into this. He could understand dragging him to Texas to meet her parents, slightly less understanding on why they came the week of Halloween, but not thinking too much on it.
He could understand her convincing him to dress up like Jack Sparrow and her as Pippy Long Stockings, sort of, and going with her to take her younger cousins trick or treating. He was fond of the little munchkins Sean and Cory, so traipsing around in costume hadn't been bad, hell, it'd even been fun.
And she let him have all the skittles she collected, because she knew they were his favorite.
Spike could EVEN understand her showing him all her old haunts around the town, the spot behind her high school where she'd first smoked pot, the old shack by the train tracks where her and her band geek buddies had done their homework, and her favorite place on her parent's farmhouse roof to watch the stars.
Okay, Spike didn't really need to understand all of that, because he'd enjoyed it. They had even engaged in some extracurricular activities, alone in the old shack with a blanket on the ground.
It had been fun, it had been wonderful. It'd been fan-bloody-tastic. The Burkles were brilliant, in his opinion, and the town had all the charm of Sunnydale, minus a Hellmouth.
But for the unlife of him, he couldn't figure out why he'd let her talk him into this.
"Why are we doing this, pet?"
"Shhh, you'll wake 'em up, just follow me, I'll show you what to do."
He lowered his voice, and crept after her in the night, the waning moon hanging over them like the blinking eye of a parent. "I know what we're doing, I mean why."
"Because... it's fun. Okay, here's a good one."
Fred was dressed all in black, her hair tied up in a ponytail high on her head, she'd even gone all out and put two black streaks on her cheeks. She looked, to Spike, the world's most adorable Football player.
Spike lifted his head a little to peer across the field, which was dotted with cows. Three feet from him was a particularly docile looking bugger, all boney hips and hanging stomach, head dipped down in sleep. Fred was settling herself near it's abdomen, hunkering down with her palms on it's hindquarters.
He simply could not believe she had convinced him to go cow-tipping.
"You have to shove with your hips. Watch me," hardly containing her giggles, she shoved against the cow, who tumbled onto it's side with a loud MOOOOOO of discontent.
Fred danced back towards him, giggling like mad, while the cow stared around in total confusion. Spike found that, bizarrely, he too was cracking up.
"Your turn, your turn, go on!"
She shoved him off towards another cow, which was snoozing up near the fence, tail subconciously swishing.
They snuck up to the side, leaving the other cow to idignantly lumber away. Spike situated himself just as Fred had done, while she sat herself on the fence some feet away, urging him on.
He shoved.
Clearly, he had not shoved with his hips, because while the cow toppled, so did he.
Fred was laughing, the cow was mooing, and he was wiping thick brown mud from his face. A flashlight reached them, and Fred let out a tiny shreak.
"Winnie Burkle, izzat you!? Dammit girl, didn't I tell you when you were sixteen not t'come messin' with my cows!?" Came an angry voice at the other end of the field.
Fred grabbed him around the middle and they bolted over the fence, both laughing histerically until they reached the edge of the road. Feeling safe from the wrath of old man Jenkins, Spike pulled off his coat, silently lamenting his loss, and sat on the hood of Fred's car, still trying to wipe off all the mud from his face.
She sat beside him, still doubled over in giggles. Spike snorted.
When she'd sobered up, Fred took his hand away from his face and clasped in between hers. "Thankyou so much for coming down here with me, Spike. You don't know how much it means to me." Then she leaned up and kissed him softly, and when she pulled back, her lips were muddy. He snickered, and wiped her lips clean.
He swung his arm around her shoulders. "Pleasure, pidgeon, it really is."
She snuggled into his side. "Does this mean you'll dress up as Lestat next year?"
"Only if Angel goes as Count Chocula."