Narrator: I suppose it all started with guilt. You see, it was a very special kind of guilt. A guilt to make the guilty guiltier and the responsible even more responsible-r. It was a guilt born from a botched spell, making natural enemies, betrothed. And though this was not the first, nor would it be the last, spell cast by one meddling, red-headed witch to wreak havoc upon Sunnydale, or more specifically the Scoobies, this was one spell no one would forget. For this was our first glimpse of “magic” between our favorite vampire and slayer. And as any Spuffy lover can tell you, there's a certain magic of a very first kiss…
Willow carefully set the cookie sheet down on the stovetop, and took off her oven-mitts. “There. Last batch.” With a spatula at the ready, she skillfully removed the slightly cooled gingerbread from another sheet and arranged them on the wire cooling rack.
“So, you think puttin’ the Slayer in a sugar coma with biscuits will make all right in the world?” Spike pondered his words for a moment. “Actually, not a bad idea. Have at it.” Spike smirked. “I’m puttin’ in my order now for two dozen jammie dodgers next, Red.”
Willow skeptically eyed Spike. “Not tryin’ to make things alright, just better, is all. Plus…” Willow held up a piping bag of frosting. “Who can resist decorating cookies? I mean, who can?” Willow glanced over to the clock, eyes widening. “Oh my goddess, I’m gonna be late for class!” Willow dropped the frosting, rounded the kitchen counter gathering up her macrame messenger bag and coat along the way, and headed for the door. Half way out, she stopped, as if she remembered something really important, and turned back to the roped, chair-bound Spike. “Now, be good. Well, not exactly good, ‘cause hello, vampire. Just be, um, less with the evil until Giles gets back, okay? And no touching the cookies, especially the frosting!” On this warning, she was gone.
Narrator: Now, why Willow would believe Spike wouldn’t be evil was quite silly. As everyone knows, our favorite bleached vampire enjoys making trouble. Especially in doing something he was told specifically not to do. However for Spike, making trouble has recently been a little less of an evil affair with that government chip all nestled and snuggled deep in his noggin. And in turn, this unfortunate event has made our resident bleached devil’s Idle Hands ever more seeking playthings. So much so, that not even tormenting the Slayer’s Watcher with paper airplanes, Post-It Notes, and a massive linen geteld, was enough.
So Spike decided to give the baking world his not-so-evil, but way naughty, touch.
Spike slid out of his loose bindings--which were less of the fettering nature and more of an accessory at this point--and heading into the kitchen, taking in the spread Red left behind: bowls of candies from cinnamon red hots, sprinkles, tiny candy hearts, chocolate candies and edible balls of silver and black. And off to the side, the two forbidden bags of royal icing.
Eyeing the bags with disdain, he sighed heavily in frustration. “Bloody hell, ‘ve clearly been watching far too much daytime tele knowing what these are for.”
He picked up one bag and headed over to the cooling rack. “And how all these walking, talking blood bags haven't a bleeding clue Martha Stewart is a witch, is beyond me.” Spike aimed the metal tip at one gingerbread man and squeezed. “As if any human could possibly know 101 ways to decorate an entire room using just cloth napkins.” Spike shook his head. “If you ask me, bint’s wasting her talents on decoupage and decorating, instead the proper use for death and dismemberment. A soddin’ tragedy, is what it is.”
Spike’s eyes twinkled with growing mischief as he generously squeezed layers of frosting, and carefully nestled rows of black edible balls for a candy trench coat, rows of edible silver balls for hair, cinnamon red hots for eyes, and then the finishing touch, frosting fangs. “Not bad.” With a raised brow, he critique his work, “Handsome bloke, if I say so myself.”
Still feeling inspired, he started on his next creation, a Gingerbread!Slayer. Yellow candies for her stupid hair, cinnamon red hots for her pouty mouth, and green candies for her dumb eyes--though the green was completely the wrong shade, as this hard candy shell was more a Kelly green, not the lush jade with speckles of gold, of that bitch’s. But they would have to do. He then set to work on her outfit of a pair of candy mock-leather pants and a top fashioned of only frosting, skillfully piped into perfect, perky handfuls. Yeah, he might've embellished a bit, giving this tasty treat bigger titties than her non-cookie counterpart, but he wasn’t gonna trade creativity for accuracy. He stood back and appraised his work, his growling stomach being his only critic.
Spike really wanted to bite the head of something, literally. But with the bug zapper in his noggin and the Watcher taking his sweet ol’time coming back from the grocer’s with fresh Wilbur, he decided a cookie would have to suffice. So with a few frosting strokes and strategically placed candies (though it was a lot harder than he’d wagered to get the same gravity-defying hair height. And the head, though quite bulbous, was far too small in his opinion) he made a Gingerbread!Angel. Yet, before he was able to make his fangs, Spike ran out of frosting.
Narrator: Before Spike started on the second bag, he decided Gingerbread!Angel didn’t need a mouth, since who wanted to listen to his holier-than-thou preaching, even coming from a cookie. And still feeling slightly festive, completely in a naughty way of course, Spike headed over to the second rack of gingerbread men...or is it more politically correct to say gingerbread person?
Now, would it be accurate to say gingerbread person, as it is not technically a person, in using the truest sense of the word, since it's not alive? And, what is far more vexing: for argument sake, say this is a gingerbread!person, why is this particular cookie considered more important than all other cookies? Is there actually one cookie superior to all others? And if so, who decides one cookie’s significance over another? Are there cookie experts--cookie connoisseurs if you will--a panel of cookie magnates featuring the likes of the Keebler Elf, Mrs. Fields, and Little Debbie, being the chosen few to make decisions for the masses. Or is this determination made in the spirit of democracy? All deciding together? Yet, regardless of the means establishing an order of significance, isn’t the act of choosing one cookie, by simply using a cookie’s ingredients, or baking needs, or taste, feeds into one's biases, which in turn, is a discrimination against a certain type of cookie? And isn't this in fact, cookieism? And isn’t any type of ism, as many ‘isms’ are, wrong?
Well, I guess this is a discussion for another time, as our favorite vamp is now done decorating.
After Spike had made a Gingerbread!Red, with cinnamon red hots for hair and green candy eyes, and a Gingerbread!Watcher with a brown candy tweed jacket and piped frosting specs, he hung up his apron (figuratively of course) and headed to the loo for a much needed shower. Not only to clean up and have himself a nice, long wank, but he was on a mission: what was a better way to thank the Watcher for being a piss-poor host by running out of Post-its and Weetabix, than using up all the hot water before the Watcher got home. Now nothin’ says 'Ta' for the hospitality like a cold shower.
Narrator: Although our Spike, being a vampire and having a deeper connection to the supernatural more than most, hadn’t sensed or known what would happen next.
Now, as we all know that Willow, though having the best of intentions, rarely took the hard road of forgiveness and this time was no different. She had added a sprinkle of pixie dust (which was surprisingly inexpensive) to the first bag of frosting Spike had used. At the time she’d done so, Willow was hoping to make a long-lasting (an instantaneous) amends to the group by putting a smile on their faces with festive, dancing gingerbread persons. Especially Buffy, who had been wearing a perma-frown since her engagement to Spike--though, on a personal narrator's note, I know none of us clearly share her feelings. I mean, come on? Lips of Spike? Definitely not a bad thing. Neither are any other of Spike’s body parts…
Huh? What is that? Oh, yeah, the rest of the story…
It all started with the slightest shift. The barest of movements, followed by another then another. And soon, Gingerbread!Spike lifted his ginger-head from the cooling rack, with his cinnamon red hot eyes searching and two sugary points of royal frosting fangs at the ready. And with all the grace a cookie could muster, Gingerbread!Spike stood and surveyed his surroundings, searching for what had his ginger-cookie senses tingling and on full alert. There!
Several rows down, there she lay. Ever the picture of a fairytale princess, awaiting the kiss of her comely prince to awaken her from her slumber. Yet, in this case, he was her cookie!vamp awaiting to plunge his icing fangs into her soft ginger-neck. Gingerbread!Spike stalked closer. Just mere inches more and he’d have his One Good Day. Then ever as cunning as her human counterpart, Gingerbread!Slayer sprung into action. A dervish of ginger and candies and frosting, she was a tasty sight to behold. Gingerbread!Spike felt his frosting fangs just itching for a this dance. And what a dance they would have!
Parry, counter, jab, kick, punch....they were equally matched, neither backing down. Then Gingerbread!Spike saw his in and took the upper bulbous hand when Gingerbread!Slayer dropped her left ginger-shoulder. With a strategically placed southpaw punch, he threw her off balance sending the Gingerbread!Slayer stumbling back and disappearing amongst a stack of Christmas cards. Ever alert, Gingerbread!Spike watched and waited for her to emerge, but nothing. Not a cinnamon red hot mouth or frosting titties in sight. Then against his better ginger-ment, Gingerbread!Spike cautiously approached and in an instant, found himself pinned to the countertop, straddled by Gingerbread!Slayer and a sharpen toothpick pressed against his tiny ginger-heart.
They stayed in this stalemate, green and red hot candy eyes locked and tiny ginger-chests heaving, until Gingerbread!Spike’s fangs slid away, drawing the Gingerbread!Slayer’s attention to his frosting mouth. The toothpick soon slipped away as her cinnamon candy mouth and his softened ginger-features moved closer and closer. But just before they met in a sweet kiss, Gingerbread!Slayer leapt to her ginger-feet and fled to the safety of the nearby beginnings of a gingerbread house.
Just as Gingerbread!Spike was to give chase, he was grabbed from behind and roughly tossed aside by a clearly angered Gingerbread!Angel. The pair brutally fought, bits of gingerbread crumbs and hardened frosting littering the countertop in their wake. They were equally matched, until Gingerbread!Spike used to his advantage his frosting fangs and superior decoration, and overpowered Gingerbread!Angel. With a skilled spin kick to his soft ginger-middle, Gingerbread!Spike sent him over the edge of the countertop and hitting the kitchen floor below with a satisfying crunch. With a smirk, Gingerbread!Spike sauntered his way over to the gingerbread house with every intention of resuming his and Gingerbread!Slayer’s dance.
Narrator: Now, our favorite spicy pair continued their dance until they heard the front door open by the slightest breeze. It appeared that Willow, in all her worries of being late for class, hadn’t closed the door properly and it was in this hasty exit, Gingerbread!Spike now had his means of an escape. Without hesitation, he had done just that. By running out of the gingerbread house, skillfully making his way across and down the counter, then out the open door with the now very determined and equally skillful Gingerbread!Slayer hot on his bulbous ginger-heels.
Not long after the ginger-pair’s own hasty exit, Buffy stormed through the same open door. “Giles!” Ever determined, she rushed towards the center of the room. “Giles, you wouldn’t believe what I just saw!” Still not finding her Watcher, she made her way to the base of the stairs and raised her voice. “Giles, you here?”
Off to her right, Buffy heard and followed the noise coming from down the hall. Just as she was about to give a perfunctory knock to the bathroom door, it swung open revealing Spike, in a towel. Just a towel. Buffy, not trusting herself, focused on his face and definitely not on the towel loosely wrapped around his slim hips.
“Oh, it’s you.” Buffy tried to muster all the disgust she could, which seemed to be really hard lately with the lingering effects--complete with way necessary cold-showers and freakydeaky dreams--complements of Willow’s stupid spell.
Spike raised a brow. “Sorry to disappoint, Slayer.” He used another towel to give his wet hair a brisk, drying rub. “I always wondered about you two…”
“Oh, gross, Spike!” Buffy turned and stormed back towards the kitchen with a nearly naked Spike in tow. Feeling him closing in, Buffy spun around and stood her ground. “Stop following me!”
Spike smirked. “No.” Spike stepped closer. “If you want me to go, you gotta put your hands on my tight lil’ body…”
Before he could finish his way wrong, way pervy suggestion, Buffy brandished her stake and held it menacingly at heart level. Spike stepped back and rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun, Slayer.”
“What?” Buffy twirled her stake. “This is way fun.”
At a safe distance, Spike moved past her into the living room. “Yeah, well, not that this exchange of witty banter and threats of staking wasn’t a slap and a tickle, is there a reason why you’re here?” He settled onto the couch, sprawling across several cushions.
Buffy’s focus moved from his face, downwards, to the towel now riding high on his thighs. Guh…
Spike noticed her shifting attention and wagged his brows. “Well, well, Slayer. If you came over here to give ‘nother jingle to my bells, all you had to do was say so.”
Buffy’s focus snapped back to his face, his words a figurative slap in the face reminder of why she so hated him. “You just didn’t go there, did you?”
“That I did.” Spike rested his legs on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles. “So what’d ya lil’ eye spy that got your knickers all in a twist, Slayer?”
“Huh?” Buffy shook her head, again trying to stop her focus from going rogue. She needed desperately to focus on anything that wasn’t related to the minimal clothing wearing vamp (like how hard she’d have to tug said towel to get rid of it or the type of sleigh ride he could be giving her right now).
Focus...focus...ah there, focus on cookies. Nice safe, cookies.
“Oh, yeah. I saw two gingerbread men making with a grand escape and heading down Weatherly Drive.”
“Live and kickin’ wayward cookies, you say?” Spike snorted, “Yeah, that is odd, even by Sunnyhell’s standards.” Spike pulled his legs from the table, sat up straight and brows furrowed. “By any chance, does Red idolize Martha Stewart?”
“Huh?” To distract herself further by using the whole cookie mindset, Buffy headed into the kitchen. Needing to be as far away from Spike as possible. “Why are you asking that? ‘Cause they both like to bake?” Buffy gestured to the smörgåsbord of candies and frosting clearly left by her friend in question.
Spike settled back on the couch and rolled his eyes. “Slayer, with you being handed the One Girl in the World gig, you’re really naïve to all the evils lurking about, aren’t you?”
Narrator: While our favorite pair continued discussing the finer points of evil, neither had noticed a now battered and crumbled Gingerbread!Angel making his way back to the field of battle. It was surely slow going, as he was missing one leg and countless hair candies which had broken free when he’d landed onto the kitchen floor. Yet, these trivial injuries never swayed the brave. And upon finally reaching the summit, Gingerbread!Angel laid down on the countertop to catch his unneeded ginger-breath before he resumed his role as hero.
Buffy was done listening to Spike and decided to focus on something, anything, which was way better than all this bullcrap he was saying about Martha Stewart being some sorta witch like the one from Hansel and Gretel. And gratefully, she found something way worthy of her attention. Her growling tummy. And of course, cookies.
While still completely ignoring Spike, Buffy hungrily eyed the selection and commented to herself, “Willow wouldn’t miss just one. Especially one that’s broken.” Buffy grabbed the gingerbread man with the missing leg. As she brought this to her open mouth, Spike said something equally ridiculous about napkins, so her attention was on him and not on the gingerbread man’s brown candy eyes widening and tired ginger-arms weakly raising in protest.
Then she took a big bite.
Narrator: This boys and girls ends our tale. As you all enjoy this magical holiday season, please remember this: no matter what religion we practice, or language we speak, or the color of our skin, we all share in one of the greatest gifts brought to us by Joss and fanfiction writers alike: the ongoing love of Spuffy!