Title: Dinner for Four Author: kindred Disclaimer: BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and others Rating: PG-13 Feedback: I welcome it Summary: A fluffy family situation. B/S, D/Other. "Remember Mike is coming tonight." Buffy turned her eyes from her task and looked at Spike. "Hmm?" he replied absently, not looking up from his book. "Mike, Dawn's Mike." Buffy counted the chicken wings on the cutting board in front of her. "Dawn has a mic?" Spike looked up at her, not trying to be obtuse. That got an eye roll. "Stop being such a two by four." The words escaped before she realized. Spike's eyebrows raised accompanied by an intimate snarl. "Is that all you can think of now? My work is never done." He sighed in mock exhaustion knowing the reaction he'd get. "Spike." Her nostrils flared briefly and then she chose to ignore his easy smirk. There was enough to contend with in front of her: knife, cutting board, chicken wings. Strong hands slid to her hips as Spike stepped behind her. His mouth found her ear. "Can I have a taste, love?" Impatience bubbled in her throat. "Raw chicken, Spike." "Better and better," he whispered. "Just pop me one, will you?" "Ew, gross...gross...all kinds of gross." Buffy's face twisted in disgust. "Come on, they taste good this way. I do have certain requirements you know." "No." "Please, love?" Spike tickled her hair with his nose. "Are you serious?" "Feed me." Pure petulance. The kind of petulance that ended up in a bed with handcuffs and-- Dinner guest. Yes, expecting a dinner guest. No naughty. "Fine." Buffy sighed heavily and brought a piece over her shoulder to his mouth, all bones, skin and hanging gristle. Hugging her closely Spike caught her elbow carefully and drew her slimy fingers into his mouth. He rolled his tongue around her fingers and made that squeaky slurping sound. She loved that sound. That was her sound. Buffy gulped as he released her arm. Chewing contentedly he leaned closer for a kiss of thanks. "Are you conscious!?" she huffed, regaining her composure. "Can you spell Salmonella?" "Ooh. Talk dirty to me, baby." Buffy froze and changed her tack. She stepped back against him and lowered her voice. Her left buttock purposefully grazed his fly front. "Two hours, stud." She breathed sensuously, arching her voice toward him. "Two hours and he'll be walking through that door...and if you screw this up for Dawn, well...she's not so forgiving, is she?" "Demon." Eyes clear, hands off, two steps back. "I know you are, but what am I?" A cheery sing-song voice over her shoulder. Spike sucked the chicken bone and then tossed it into the trash. "Yeah. Right...Mike." "From camp?" Buffy prompted while soaping her hands. "They worked together all summer? You know...the guy." "Yeah, yeah. Canoes. Marshmallows. Fished off the dock. Put a worm on her hook...my hero." A snide grin for good measure. The platter of chicken wings found its way into the refrigerator. Buffy did not respond to Spike being Spike. He reached up and scratched his eyebrow. "What is this whelp? Seventeen?" "Eighteen," Buffy chimed, gently mimicking Dawn's enthusiasm. "He's a Capricorn, his eyebrow's pierced and his upper lip tickles." She considered Spike's darkening eyes. "Yes Spike," she pursed her lips and sassed, "smoochies, kissing, racing hearts--" "Racing hands," he deadpanned as his hand slid down over her bottom and rotated into her jeans gusset. "STOP!" She raised her hands as if directing traffic. Hello, serious voice. "Dawn, Spike. Dawn. She knows how to live her own life and you can't stop her." Buffy sighed deeply and continued. "She needs this Spike. It's hers and no one else's and tonight she wants to share. She wants you to like him. To like him." Her tone found its edge. "So get ready to like him." "He's gonna be a wanker." Spike's tongue idly swept his front teeth. "Ugh!" she snorted. "Go do something useful, will you? Brush your teeth until the doorbell rings." She pushed him out of the kitchen, down the hall and toward the stairs. They met Dawn bursting through the front door, shopping bags in hand and singing loudly. The door slammed and bags of purchases dropped at her feet. Dawn attacked them with an enormous hug. She was flying. "Buffybuffybuffy." The words collided accelerating beyond her tongue. "I got those earrings you liked, but the shoes didn't fit. Well, no big, I need my toes anyway..." Spike smiled looking at this ferocious bundle of sunshine. "...I got these cool jeans and that suede shirt and the jacket with the fringes. Sixty percent off!" She raved in triumph and captured Buffy's hand. "Comeupcomeupcomeup," Dawn squealed and tugged Buffy to the stairs. "I'm gonna need your advice." Buffy obeyed Hurricane Dawn. The excitement was contagious. Buffy giggled as she climbed the stairs, miming a tooth brushing motion to Spike. Spike caught his sigh in his throat, wanting to savor it a while. "That's right, Bit, put on all your new duds. The more, the better." * Dawn answered the door to a slouching young man who straightened at seeing her smile. He wore an odd flower pot of a hat pulled down low, revealing a nose and mouth and dubious sideburns, an over sized sleeveless shirt and the most ridiculous pants Spike had ever seen. Dawn preened in the doorway in her new jeans and shirt. "Hey Dawn." "Hey Mike." Their tone was flat, laden with faux disinterest. Adorable. She stepped back to let him enter. Mike took off his hat. He saw two adults staring at him from down the hall. Dawn led the way, trying to conquer her excitement. "Mike, this is my sister, Buffy." "Hi Mike," Buffy smiled kindly. "Welcome to our home. I hope you like chicken wings." "Hi. Yes, I do. Thanks." Dawn gushed. "This is my Sp--" A brief pause, then surely. "This is Spike." Dawn's smile threatened to fly from her face. "Hi." Mike looked at Spike. "Michael," Spike offered his hand. "Good to meet you." Maybe he had practiced a little. Dawn took Mike's hand and led him through the kitchen. "We'll be on the porch, Buffy." Dawn's eyebrows flexed in full seizure mode. Buffy leaned into Spike as they lazed back into the kitchen. Her hand gently stroked the back of his neck. Spike's gaze followed Dawn as she bounced out the door, his eyes narrowing to a glower. "See? That wasn't so bad--" "Buffy...this one hasn't even learned to pull up his own bleedin' pants! Oh, nothing but the best for our princess." He set his jaw for a pout. "Wanker." Buffy opened her hand to the sides of Spike's neck and squeezed.