Fanfic: Foot Fetish (The Odd Couple Series 1/7)

[smokingmirror]

Title: Foot Fetish
Series: The Odd Couple (1/7)
Author: Avarice
Rating: PG
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Spoilers: -
Summary: Spike annoys Angel in his home.
Word Count:
Date First Posted: 2000
Date Revised - 12-05-2011
Beta: -
Awards: -
Notes: First in a serious of ever-increasingly-ridiculous dialogue fics :)
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.

(Angel enters his small living room to find Spike sprawled over his furniture, reading a comic book)

ANGEL: Feet off the coffee table.

SPIKE: (doesn't look up) I missed you too, Peaches.

ANGEL: I didn't.

SPIKE: Didn't miss yourself? (looks at an imaginary watch) Awfully early on in the evening for you to be getting cryptic, isn't it?

ANGEL: You know what I mean. Feet off the coffee table.

SPIKE: Sure know how to enter a room, dontcha? (impersonates Angel) "Feet off the coffee table". You'd carry off some semblance of authority if you weren't such an absolute toff, y'know?

ANGEL: I'm not.

SPIKE: Oh, very convincing.

ANGEL: I don't need to convince you.

SPIKE: Then why do you persist in trying?

ANGEL: (deadpan) I eventually thought one day your IQ would rise above that of a glass of water, but I guess I was wrong on that one.

SPIKE: (mild shock) Did you just make a joke?

ANGEL: Yep, it's still at the same level as usual -- that of substitute chemistry teachers.

SPIKE: Ha bloody ha.

ANGEL: Yes, it was rather funny. Feet off the coffee table.

SPIKE: I do believe you overestimate your comedic abilities.

ANGEL: Oh I don't know about that.

SPIKE: Name the funniest thing you've ever done, wanker.

ANGEL: Well, I sired you, and you're a laughing stock. That counts for something.

SPIKE: (growling) Watch it, Paingel.

ANGEL: Matter of fact, I haven't had to make a joke in years, you're still causing people to fall over in hysterics.

SPIKE: Well... at least I don't mince...

ANGEL: What?

SPIKE: Mince. You don't walk, you mince.

ANGEL: (irritated) I do not.

SPIKE: You sway your hips when you walk! Admit it!

ANGEL: I admit to nothing.

SPIKE: (triumphant) See?

ANGEL: See what?

SPIKE: You know as well as I do any non-admission is a bigger admission than if you made the admission in the first place.

ANGEL: I'm impressed.

SPIKE: Good. (beat) By what?

ANGEL: Your use of three-syllabled words. Well, I guess, to be fair, it's only one three-syllabled word used numerously.

SPIKE: Fag off.

ANGEL: Oh, you've gone back to one. (sighs dramatically) Don't worry, you'll master rudimentary speech one day.

SPIKE: And end up talking like you, Mr Dic-tion? No thankyou.

ANGEL: What's the matter with the way I talk?

SPIKE: (shrugs) You talk like a nancyboy.

ANGEL: I don't.

SPIKE: You do. Especially when you're insulting me.

ANGEL: (puzzled) How so?

SPIKE: Just before. You could have said anything to me. You could have called me a little arsewipe or a stupid fucker or anything. What did you do?

ANGEL: What did I do?

SPIKE: You likened my IQ to that of a substitute chemistry teacher. Fuck, that's pathetic!

ANGEL: Just because I'm right...

SPIKE: Sure you are, pet. And I'm a humanitarian.

ANGEL: (protests) It was a good joke!

SPIKE: Oh, bloody hilarious. You can take that joke out on the road.

ANGEL: You're a jackass.

SPIKE: That one, too! Mortals all over the country will fork out hard-earned dosh to see you perform your two jokes in crowded comedy clubs and smoky bars.

ANGEL: Why do I put up with you?

SPIKE: You could be famous, and rich, and have lots of jokies.

ANGEL: You could be staked, and dust, and have your very own urn.

SPIKE: Building up your repertoire, huh? That's three and counting...

ANGEL: I'm seeing where you're going with this. Feet off the coffee table.

SPIKE: (grinning maniacally and re-crossing his feet) Oh really?

ANGEL: Yes.

SPIKE: That transparent am I?

ANGEL: Like a pain of glass.

SPIKE: Oooh, the Mick's got wordplay happening. That's four.

ANGEL: Have you got my big finale sorted out in your twisted mind, yet?

SPIKE: I'm thinking maybe you could pull your pants down and show them your dick. That always makes me laugh.

ANGEL: Actually, it makes you moan like a bitch in heat.

SPIKE: (indignantly) Does not.

ANGEL: I'm thinking-

SPIKE: Does it hurt?

ANGEL: It kind of itches...(continues as if never interrupted) maybe you could come out for the finale. You're the biggest joke I know.

SPIKE: (sourly) Oh sod off.

ANGEL: (leans in close) It'd slay 'em.

SPIKE: (pushing Angel away) Fuck you.

ANGEL: Already have.

SPIKE: Yeah, worst four seconds of my unlife.

ANGEL: You're full of it

SPIKE: S'cuz you don't do a good enough job...

ANGEL: That's not what you whimpered last night...

SPIKE: (snorts) that was a general sound of boredom.

ANGEL: So boredom sounds like (in a breathy voice) 'Angelusssss.. ooh yeah..baby...ride 'em cowboy' now?

SPIKE: That's called taking the piss. Something which you do quite well...(grins lecherously) ...literally.

ANGEL: (huffily) That's rich coming from someone who's gag reflex was completely gone before they were turned...

SPIKE: Y’get that if you’re the best shag in the state. I started early.

ANGEL: You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?

SPIKE: Oh, I know it, you mincing hairstyle.

ANGEL: (startled) I’m a what?

SPIKE: Like that? Or do you prefer trotting poof?

ANGEL: You're an idiot.

SPIKE: (thoughtfully) I could say mincing poof...

ANGEL: (sighs loudly)

SPIKE: ... or trotting hairstyle...

ANGEL: I'd recommend that you never have childer of your own, but then I remember you're impotent, so I'd only be wasting my voice.

SPIKE: (scowls) And what a lovely voice it is, all nasal and dripping with 'yes, mortal. No, mortal. Three bags full, mortal.'

ANGEL: Ooh, you wear bitchiness well, Spike.

SPIKE: You think? Does it go with my eyes?

ANGEL: Feet off the coffee table.

SPIKE: (scratches his ankle with one boot) Say pretty please.

ANGEL: I'd rather have a sword shoved through my chest.

SPIKE: It can be arranged

ANGEL: Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

SPIKE: Oh yeah...the one that says 'Fashion Cafe: Vladivostok'

ANGEL: Speaking of which... how did that shirt get in your drawer, anyway?

SPIKE: I like the baby tee cut. Gotta show off my rippling shoulder blades now, don't I?

ANGEL: (rolls eyes) You can't get over yourself, can you?

SPIKE: Well... if I removed a rib or two....(trails off seriously thinking about it)

ANGEL: Spike?

SPIKE: (shrugs and smiles brightly) But that's what I have you for, isn't it, Peaches?

ANGEL: Spike?

SPIKE: Yes?

ANGEL: Hell is other people -- and all of them are you.

SPIKE: That makes five, doesn't it?

ANGEL: Six, you forgot the inherent hilarity in you.

SPIKE: Nonce.

ANGEL: Nonce's Childe.

SPIKE: You're an embarrassment, you know?

ANGEL: Just returning the favour.

SPIKE: I don't know why I put up with you...

ANGEL: Because you love me.

SPIKE: (snort) Right.

ANGEL: And you don't like to admit it, so you act like an insufferable juvenile to get my attention.

SPIKE: That’s not true.

ANGEL: No..(thinking) it’s not.

SPIKE: Good.

ANGEL: You don’t need to act, you're naturally a pain in my ass

SPIKE: That's seven...but I'm good pain, if I remember correctly.

ANGEL: (smirks) Possibly...I was going to say 'pain in the neck', but you're not exactly that to anyone anymore...

SPIKE: Eight?

ANGEL: Yeah.

SPIKE: How long are you going to throw the chip thing back in my face?

ANGEL: How long are you going to throw the soul thing back in my face?

SPIKE: (thinks) Hmmm... catch 22 then.

ANGEL: I guess so.

SPIKE: (curses) I hate you.

ANGEL: I hate you too.

SPIKE: (pause) Wanna shag?

ANGEL: (shrug) Okay. (Angel leans in close and looks from under long lashes) Just one last thing, though...

SPIKE: (beginning to pant) What's that?

ANGEL: (knocking Spike's ankles) Feet off the coffee table.

SPIKE: Pillock. (grin)

ANGEL: Jackass. (smirk)

SPIKE: Jackass' Sire. (chuckle)

(Angel lifts Spike by his collar and drags him off to the bedroom)

~finis