Fic - Who Would Win?
Title: Who Would Win?
Pairings/Characters: Spike, Wesley, Angel and Gunn (some implied Spike/Angel maybe, if you squint.
Rating: R for language.
Summary: Inspired by the Caveman vs. Astronauts scene in season 5 of AtS.
The argument over cavemen and astronauts had gotten heated.
“It’s bollocks, Angel, it’s your brand of bollocks from first to last!”
By the time Angel had gotten into Spike’s face to illustrate his point about the superstitious terror of Spike’s pure aggressors (cavemen), they’d been at it for almost an hour when they were interrupted and ended up getting Wesley drawn into the debate.
In the end, Spike and Wes won the argument that without any technology, on equal footing, the cavemen would emerge victorious over the astronauts. But they just couldn’t manage to stop themselves there.
Hour Two
Three glass tumblers of whiskey were being drained intermittently at Angel’s conference table with the next topic of conversation.
Wesley was far more passionate about this particular argument. “Dangermouse is clearly of superior intellect and has many more resources at his disposal. Mighty Mouse has a squeaky voice and isn’t in the least bit intimidating. I fail to see why this would even be a question.”
“Hey, if the astronauts can’t have weapons, neither can Dangermouse”, Angel replied. “Even playing field, remember? You both just like Dangermouse because he’s fucking British, and you know it.”
Spike had to concede this point, and Wesley regretfully awarded this round to Angel.
Hour Three
“You’re being ridiculous, Spike! Ninjas would kick the shit out of pirates in a matter of minutes. Have you had that much to drink?” asked Wesley.
“Pirates are badass motherfuckers, you poofs. Ninjas can’t fight being keelhauled”, Spike retorted, empting his glass (again), sitting back and admiring his superior analytical skills.
Wesley looked over at Angel sympathetically, as if they should both feel sorry for Spike for making such a lame-ass argument. “Pirates”, Wes started, quietly, “are generally uneducated, have no instinct to assimilate to a new situation and they’re also”, by this time he was shouting like an idiot, “fucking hammered most of the time!”
Apparently, the volume had attracted another spectator.
“Everything all right in here?” asked Gunn, poking his head into Angel’s office with trepidation. He figured it was important, whatever it was they were discussing so loudly, but he didn’t really want to get pulled into a fight when it involved two vampires and a man who could easily kill a person just as soon as he would look at them.
Spike was the first to speak up, feeling outnumbered and hoping maybe he’d get some support for his argument. “Ninjas versus pirates, Charlie. Who emerges victorious from that battle?
To his bitter disappointment, Gunn sided with Wes and Angel.
“Ninjas have nunchucks and throwing stars, man. Seriously? No contest.”
The three men already seated simultaneously shouted “NO ONE HAS ANY WEAPONS!”
“Well, all right, but sneaking up on people is kind of the specialty of ninjas, Spike. Pirates would be relatively easy to sneak up on, what with the pirates always being drunk and probably not knowing what a ninja is.’”
“Fuck you”, was Spike’s response to that. Three against one, and Spike lost again.
A second bottle had been broken out by this time, the first one long gone, and Gunn seated himself at the table with the other men. Gulping down half his glass in one swallow, he smiled. “You know, when I was a kid, my friends and I played this game all the time. Some of the matches were pretty easy to decide, but there were times when we’d argue about it for hours. Which looks like what you’ve been doing in here tonight.”
Hour Four
By this time, even Spike and Angel were feeling the effects of the alcohol. Gunn was still all right, considering he was a couple of hours behind on drinking, but Wesley was slurring his words and gesturing wildly with his hands as Gunn plead his case zealously that there was no way, without weapons, that James Bond would stand a chance against Han Solo. Spike was on his side, but Angel and Wesley steadfastly maintained that Bond’s quick reflexes would result in his kicking Han Solo’s ass.
Spike and Gunn conferred for a moment. “Bond depends too much on his high-tech gadgets. No weapons, remember? This is a fistfight, guys. No magical watches that turn into lock-picks or watches that turn into laser guns”, Spike pointed out.
All right, finally. This round goes to Spike. He was giddy with his victory, and maybe with his alcohol content. Angel and Spike, however, weren’t willing to stop there.
Hour Five
The second bottle was long gone and all four of them were at the very least two and a half sheets to the wind. Wes especially. He could hardly form a coherent sentence, let alone a valid argument. He put in a lot of effort, though, because this one he really felt some passion for. It was the most evenly-matched, weaponless duo they’d come up with so far (Gunn had introduced this particular pairing after his third glass of whiskey).
“Superman would…you know…he would do that thing, that world spinning backward thing, and keep on doing it until he won the fucking fight, wankers! You’re all dumb and I hate you for ganging up on me. It’s not fair”, he finished, looking down at his empty glass.
“Wes, when you’re beat, you’re beat. Hulk would crush Superman like a bug before he even had time to fly away. Come on, now, just accept your defeat here and take it like a girly British man”, Gunn said, in a soothing manner. Apparently being wasted made Gunn more sensitive than his sober self ever was. Certainly more smartassy, there was no question about that, which was really saying something considering how much of a smartass Gunn was on an everyday basis.
Wes knocked over his empty glass and his head landed hard on the table. He tired really hard to muster up some righteous indignation or maybe another, different, more persuasive point, but his higher brain functions seemed to be eluding him.
The sun was going to be up in half an hour or so, which necessitated the breakup of this all-night drinking and arguing binge.
“Guys, we all won at least once, right? I gotta get outta here before I give myself alcohol poisoning”, Gunn finally said.
Angel stepped in. “All right, man, I’ll have a driver take you home. You too, Wes.” He picked up his phone and gave the instructions to whoever had answered it.
The two humans accepted graciously. It has been a long time since they’d been afforded the opportunity to just sit around and bullshit with each other, and they were thankful for the reprieve even through their drunken stupors.
Wesley and Gunn grabbed their jackets and got ready to head to the parking garage where their drivers were waiting.
The last thing Wesley slurred before he closed the door to Angel’s office was “Next time, the first matchup is Spike versus Angel.” Both he and Gunn chuckled and started to make bets as they made their way out of Angel’s office.
Once they were alone, Spike cocked an eyebrow at Angel and asked, “So, you wanna figure out who wins that one?”
Angel gave Spike a knowing look, and responded, “Sure, Will. But we’ve already played that particular game, you have to know the outcome by now.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Peaches. I may still have a fighting chance at this one.”
Both of them knew it wasn’t true, but Spike was certain it would at the very least be fun to try.
Pairings/Characters: Spike, Wesley, Angel and Gunn (some implied Spike/Angel maybe, if you squint.
Rating: R for language.
Summary: Inspired by the Caveman vs. Astronauts scene in season 5 of AtS.
The argument over cavemen and astronauts had gotten heated.
“It’s bollocks, Angel, it’s your brand of bollocks from first to last!”
By the time Angel had gotten into Spike’s face to illustrate his point about the superstitious terror of Spike’s pure aggressors (cavemen), they’d been at it for almost an hour when they were interrupted and ended up getting Wesley drawn into the debate.
In the end, Spike and Wes won the argument that without any technology, on equal footing, the cavemen would emerge victorious over the astronauts. But they just couldn’t manage to stop themselves there.
Hour Two
Three glass tumblers of whiskey were being drained intermittently at Angel’s conference table with the next topic of conversation.
Wesley was far more passionate about this particular argument. “Dangermouse is clearly of superior intellect and has many more resources at his disposal. Mighty Mouse has a squeaky voice and isn’t in the least bit intimidating. I fail to see why this would even be a question.”
“Hey, if the astronauts can’t have weapons, neither can Dangermouse”, Angel replied. “Even playing field, remember? You both just like Dangermouse because he’s fucking British, and you know it.”
Spike had to concede this point, and Wesley regretfully awarded this round to Angel.
Hour Three
“You’re being ridiculous, Spike! Ninjas would kick the shit out of pirates in a matter of minutes. Have you had that much to drink?” asked Wesley.
“Pirates are badass motherfuckers, you poofs. Ninjas can’t fight being keelhauled”, Spike retorted, empting his glass (again), sitting back and admiring his superior analytical skills.
Wesley looked over at Angel sympathetically, as if they should both feel sorry for Spike for making such a lame-ass argument. “Pirates”, Wes started, quietly, “are generally uneducated, have no instinct to assimilate to a new situation and they’re also”, by this time he was shouting like an idiot, “fucking hammered most of the time!”
Apparently, the volume had attracted another spectator.
“Everything all right in here?” asked Gunn, poking his head into Angel’s office with trepidation. He figured it was important, whatever it was they were discussing so loudly, but he didn’t really want to get pulled into a fight when it involved two vampires and a man who could easily kill a person just as soon as he would look at them.
Spike was the first to speak up, feeling outnumbered and hoping maybe he’d get some support for his argument. “Ninjas versus pirates, Charlie. Who emerges victorious from that battle?
To his bitter disappointment, Gunn sided with Wes and Angel.
“Ninjas have nunchucks and throwing stars, man. Seriously? No contest.”
The three men already seated simultaneously shouted “NO ONE HAS ANY WEAPONS!”
“Well, all right, but sneaking up on people is kind of the specialty of ninjas, Spike. Pirates would be relatively easy to sneak up on, what with the pirates always being drunk and probably not knowing what a ninja is.’”
“Fuck you”, was Spike’s response to that. Three against one, and Spike lost again.
A second bottle had been broken out by this time, the first one long gone, and Gunn seated himself at the table with the other men. Gulping down half his glass in one swallow, he smiled. “You know, when I was a kid, my friends and I played this game all the time. Some of the matches were pretty easy to decide, but there were times when we’d argue about it for hours. Which looks like what you’ve been doing in here tonight.”
Hour Four
By this time, even Spike and Angel were feeling the effects of the alcohol. Gunn was still all right, considering he was a couple of hours behind on drinking, but Wesley was slurring his words and gesturing wildly with his hands as Gunn plead his case zealously that there was no way, without weapons, that James Bond would stand a chance against Han Solo. Spike was on his side, but Angel and Wesley steadfastly maintained that Bond’s quick reflexes would result in his kicking Han Solo’s ass.
Spike and Gunn conferred for a moment. “Bond depends too much on his high-tech gadgets. No weapons, remember? This is a fistfight, guys. No magical watches that turn into lock-picks or watches that turn into laser guns”, Spike pointed out.
All right, finally. This round goes to Spike. He was giddy with his victory, and maybe with his alcohol content. Angel and Spike, however, weren’t willing to stop there.
Hour Five
The second bottle was long gone and all four of them were at the very least two and a half sheets to the wind. Wes especially. He could hardly form a coherent sentence, let alone a valid argument. He put in a lot of effort, though, because this one he really felt some passion for. It was the most evenly-matched, weaponless duo they’d come up with so far (Gunn had introduced this particular pairing after his third glass of whiskey).
“Superman would…you know…he would do that thing, that world spinning backward thing, and keep on doing it until he won the fucking fight, wankers! You’re all dumb and I hate you for ganging up on me. It’s not fair”, he finished, looking down at his empty glass.
“Wes, when you’re beat, you’re beat. Hulk would crush Superman like a bug before he even had time to fly away. Come on, now, just accept your defeat here and take it like a girly British man”, Gunn said, in a soothing manner. Apparently being wasted made Gunn more sensitive than his sober self ever was. Certainly more smartassy, there was no question about that, which was really saying something considering how much of a smartass Gunn was on an everyday basis.
Wes knocked over his empty glass and his head landed hard on the table. He tired really hard to muster up some righteous indignation or maybe another, different, more persuasive point, but his higher brain functions seemed to be eluding him.
The sun was going to be up in half an hour or so, which necessitated the breakup of this all-night drinking and arguing binge.
“Guys, we all won at least once, right? I gotta get outta here before I give myself alcohol poisoning”, Gunn finally said.
Angel stepped in. “All right, man, I’ll have a driver take you home. You too, Wes.” He picked up his phone and gave the instructions to whoever had answered it.
The two humans accepted graciously. It has been a long time since they’d been afforded the opportunity to just sit around and bullshit with each other, and they were thankful for the reprieve even through their drunken stupors.
Wesley and Gunn grabbed their jackets and got ready to head to the parking garage where their drivers were waiting.
The last thing Wesley slurred before he closed the door to Angel’s office was “Next time, the first matchup is Spike versus Angel.” Both he and Gunn chuckled and started to make bets as they made their way out of Angel’s office.
Once they were alone, Spike cocked an eyebrow at Angel and asked, “So, you wanna figure out who wins that one?”
Angel gave Spike a knowing look, and responded, “Sure, Will. But we’ve already played that particular game, you have to know the outcome by now.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Peaches. I may still have a fighting chance at this one.”
Both of them knew it wasn’t true, but Spike was certain it would at the very least be fun to try.