tabaqui | Fic Rec and Bloody Odin, part five!

Fic Rec and Bloody Odin, part five!

Saturday, August 27th, 2005 12:14 pm

*waves*
Hallo, flist!
:)

kita0610 rec'd this fic in her LJ and i clickity-clicked like a good fangrrl and...damn.
And wow. And lots of other words. This fic is post-everything Wes and Angel and it's just...utterly...gorgeous. So go. Read In a Handful of Dust by

yhlee. You will NOT be disappointed.

And now - with all due thanks to

reremouse, i give you Bloody Odin!
Previous parts are here.

"And then - and then - then he - he had to take off his pants -" Buffy's voice dissolved into giggles and she rolled from side to side on the exercise mat, clutching her stomach. Tara looked down loftily from her lotus position and poked her.

"Probably sh-shouldn't be telling s-stories like this behind their backs."

"You mean, behind their butts," Willow said, and Buffy laughed harder, pulling her knees up toward her chest.

"Ow, ow, ow! Sss-stop! I'm gonna pee!" Buffy gasped. Willow giggled too and flapped her hands lazily. She was anchored by a long scarf and some towels to Tara's left wrist and rowed in an unsteady circle six feet over their heads. Tara watched her, smiling, then suddenly started frowning.

"Yeah. Pee. Ummm...I need to g-get up."

"So - get up," Willow said, and floated another inch higher. Buffy lifted her feet and pointed her toes at Willow, who breast-stroked over to them. "Buffy, you're getting a hole in this - butt. Boot." Willow stuck her lower lip out and blew her bangs out of her eyes. "I think there was codeine in those Tylenols."

"I can't unfold my legs," Tara said, pulling her skirt up over her knees and staring accusingly at her legs.

"What are you guys doing?" All three women flinched from the shrill voice by the door. "Why is Giles on the floor? Why is Willow - floating - and - and tied up and - Tara! Pull your skirt down!" Dawn darted over from the doorway, backpack bouncing.

Tara grinned, studying her legs. "I can't f-feel my legs. But they still look good." She plucked at her knee. "I think I n-need to ssshave."

"They look great, baby," Willow crooned, slowly revolving until she was pointing at Tara. Her feet floated up behind her until she was almost standing on her head.

"Oh. My. God. You guys are drunk!" Dawn pointed accusingly at the empty bottle on top of the exercise horse. "I don't believe it! Where are Spike and Xander?"

"Naked!" Buffy chortled, clapping her heels together. Willow snorted and then covered her mouth with her hand.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," she mumbled, her face taking on an ashy sort of grey-green color.

"No! Don't do that! Willow - get down! You'll - you'll choke or something!" Dawn grabbed the scarf and tugged. Willow clamped her hand tighter over her mouth and shook her head frantically. "Shit."

"Dawnie! Language!" Buffy's boots thudded to the floor and she wobbled into a sitting position, frowning.

"Hello! Willow's gonna choke if she throws up upside down! I think I'm allowed a few curse-words. Help me get her lose!" Dawn yanked at the knot on Willow's wrist.

"No, no, no, Dawnie!" Tara plucked at the towel around her own wrist. "Don' - don't untie her, we'll never get her off'a the c-ceiling. Just - gotta get this - knot -" Willow made an urgent squeaky noise behind her hand and Buffy lurched to her feet - grabbed Tara under the armpits and hauled her upright. Tara yelped and staggered on legs that were obviously asleep.

"We gotta tow her to the bathroom." Buffy stomped across the mats, dragging Tara along behind. Tara grabbed the towels and jerked Willow into motion. Willow closed her eyes and moaned.

Dawn stared after them for a moment and then followed, shaking her head. "I can't leave you guys alone ever." She stopped and looked speculatively around the room. "Hey -guys? Are Spike and Xander really naked?"

"It's Latin."

"But they're Vikings! I don't get it."

"He's a monk. He's why we're here - his sect will make Niblet the bloody Key and squish Glory into whatever poor sod they finger to try and contain her." Spike stared hard at Xander and Xander stared back, a Twinkie half-way to his mouth.

"What?"

"Didn't you pay any attention?"

"It's not my fault!" Xander waved the Twinkie aloft. "You were wearing that shirt, the one with the rip in it? And you kept doing that thing. With your tongue."

"Oh. Yeah." Spike grinned suddenly - did that thing with his tongue. "That, you mean?"

"Uh - yeah. That thing." Xander took a step toward Spike, who reached out and snagged a belt loop. "I like that thing."

"I know. Makes you all - flushed," Spike purred. Xander reached up and slid his non-Twinkie-holding hand into Spike's hair and Spike leaned in, mouth in 'kiss me now' mode. A callused, fairly grimy hand thrust between them and Spike and Xander both recoiled.

"Jesus!"

"Sod off!"

"Látið af þessu!" the skald snapped. A very clear 'stop it now before I throw a bucket of water on you!' if his irritated expression was anything to go by. Then something in Latin and Spike nodded. Thorgils glared at both of them - made a 'come along' gesture with his hand and stalked out of the longhouse, cloak swirling.

"What'd he say?"

"Going to meet the blacksmith. Apparently he's some - step-half-cousin's nephew of Thor or some such bollocks." Spike jerked away from a grabby Viking and put his arm around Xander's shoulders - got a cigarette out of his pack with his other hand and groped for his lighter. The Luggage trotted behind, snapping at Vikings who got too close.

Xander stuffed the last of his Twinkie into his mouth and licked his fingers. "So he's gonna make our god-catching box?"

"Got it in one. Hang on - got a bit of - " Spike leaned in and licked at the corner of Xander's mouth, lapping up Twinkie cream and getting in a grope. Xander groped back and a Viking somewhere behind them muttered something and prodded at them both with a spear-haft. The Luggage recoiled - drew up its straps and leaped.

Spike sighed - jerked Xander backwards by the waist of his jeans as Xander attempted to jump in and - do something. Rescue the Luggage, probably. About five minutes later Thorgils came stamping back, waving his scroll and shouting.

The Vikings had formed a loose circle around the combatants and Xander was pretty sure bets were being made. He shifted from side to side, ready to dart in and help if the Luggage looked like it was losing. Spike turned his back and got into a huddle with three or four Vikings, muttering in fractured Latin and passing something back and forth.

The Luggage had latched on to the Viking's thigh and was worrying it like a dog with a meaty bone. The warrior - prone in the trampled snow - was beating weakly at the Luggage with the broken haft of his spear.

"Látið af þessu!" Thorgils thundered. The warriors fell silent, heads ducked like naughty school children. Xander wrestled the Luggage off of the fallen Viking and hastily threaded the straps through the buckles.

There was a chorus of mumbled words - Xander imagined that the Vikings were apologizing but they didn't exactly look sorry, just - nervous. The sort of nervous Willow got when she did unauthorized casting and Giles found out. The skald leveled a finger at the Luggage who cringed away, doing its best to burrow into Xander's ribs.

"Hey! Spike, tell him to stop scaring the Luggage!"

"We need to get going," Spike said, hastily stuffing several things in his pockets and grabbing Xander by the arm. He towed him down the path, past the scowling Thorgils and into the heart of the village. Xander let the Luggage wiggle free and it trotted happily beside him.

"You were betting on the fight."

"Of course I was! Bloody hell, did you see the pot? Got some lovely trinkets for the girls." Spike patted his pockets, which clinked, and Xander rolled his eyes - stumbled over an exposed root and then staggered to a stop. The Luggage bumped into his calves and Spike absently swatted at it.

"Is that the blacksmith?" Xander whispered.

"Yup," Spike said.

"And who's that - other guy?"

"He's the - blacksmith's...bloke." It was the two men from the beach-trail. Once again, they were locked in a passionate embrace. Once again, all that was visible was fur, leather, metal, and brown and blond hair. This time the skald actually heaved an armful of snow. The two broke apart, spluttering, and the blacksmith's - bloke - snarled something at Thorgils. The blacksmith crossed his arms and glowered, his sleek black beard dripping chunks of snow.

"Spike, is that -?"

"Yup." Spike found his flask and took a long drink - offered it to Xander. Xander took a drink and choked. "Sorry, pet. You know - you look good with a beard."

"You look good in braids," Xander wheezed, watching...Viking-Spike tear the skald a new one. The Luggage heaved a sort of creaky sigh and trotted into the forge to bask in the glow of the coals.

Part six.

Tags:

odin,
spander

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