cornerofmadness

STupid LJ, posts disappear, comments never get to you...anyhow, here's the first of those Drabble request that I've got done. It's for bashipforever The requirements and all that are with the story. Hope you enjoy now back to my manatee data

By D M Evans
Disclaimer - Nope, don’t own ‘em. Joss does
Written for the little LJ meme for drabbles from 100-500 words.
Written for bashipforever who wanted:
Title: Midnight Margaritas
Pairing: B/A
dialogue: "Ooo look an apocalypse, world in peril, I ran out of margarita"
future setting

"Ooo, look an apocalypse, world in peril, I ran out of margarita," Buffy moaned, fussing around in the kitchen of Faith’s Hellmouth accessible home.
"Last I knew we adverted that disaster three days ago," Angel took her hands, pulling her into the living room. "Faith called you guys in from Europe, me and my crew in from the coast, apocalypse averted. You can relax."
"Says you. I got home tonight just in time to see my sister disappearing behind closed doors with your brat and a can of whipped cream." She slapped his chest. "Tell me that’s not a sign of impending doom."
Angel laughed. "I’m thinking the margaritas came in soon after."
"Until they ran out." She pouted. "You couldn’t have left him in L.A.?"
Connor was helpful and "I don’t think that those two being together signal the end of the world." Angel smiled. "But I think they have the right idea."
Buffy arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really. And the curse?"
"Let’s just say I’ve gotten around it a few times." He smirked. "It can be done."
She blew a strand of hair off her face. "Now you tell me."
"Told you I’d be waiting." He kissed her. "Ah, raspberry margaritas."
She kissed him back to prove it. "You go rescue that can of whipped cream."
Angel canted an eye to the ceiling. "I’ll buy a new one."
The pink tip of her tongue curled over her upper lip. "I think Faith had a jar of caramel in the fridge."
"You find something to warm it up and I’ll get the caramel." Angel went into the fridge and got the caramel. "Glad the margarita mix wasn’t a snake or it’d have bitten you." He held aloft a bottle of pre-mixed melon margarita.
Buffy looked disappointed. "Not raspberry."
"Are you arguing with melon?" He wiggled the bottle.
"It’ll work."
Warmed caramel and cold margaritas in hand, they raced for her guestroom.
Faith came home, got out the ice cream, loaded up a bowl then opened the fridge. "Okay, who the hell ate all the sundae fixings...and where the hell are my margaritas?"