Dinner Dates & Idle HandsAuthor:
BtVS/Evil Dead TrilogyDisclaimer:
Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that neither BtVS nor Evil Dead are mine. ^^;Summary: There are some things you just can’t rush. One of those things is getting rid of a runaway Deadite hand inside your pants.Author's notes:
Comics? What comics? >.> This is set post season 7 for Buffy, and post AoD for Ash.
Dinner Dates & Idle Hands
“For the love of god, where are they all comin’ from?”
“Don’t-” A punch punctuated the reply, followed by a duck, the whoosh of a flying form, and a sharp scowl. “-know! They’re your
baddies, you tell me!”
“Hey! They’re not my
anything!” Ash glared right back, throwing the look over his shoulder, as the petite blonde at his back performed an impressive flip-kick that sent the Deadite attacking her soaring back and into a nearby wall. She was graceful, beautiful, and entirely deadly to any and all enemies as she fought like she’d been born to do exactly this. Unfortunately, though, he couldn’t exactly stop to admire the sight, because he was pretty damn busy with his own faceful of evil, rotting, undead demons- a fact he was reminded of when one of the things managed to get a hit to his solar plexus while he was distracted. It tore a loud grunt from him before he growled and swung his chainsaw at the demon’s arm; the limb came off with a spurt of viscous green fluid and he followed up by thrusting the butt of the chainsaw into its face, knocking it back. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with them!”
“Okay, let’s get this straight!” He caught a flash of hazel green eyes in his peripheral vision, accompanied by the audible sching
and shine of that ax she loved so damn much, and then there was a decaying head flying in his direction. She kept going as if they weren’t fighting a horde of blood and soul thirsting demons, like they were still sitting at the restaurant they’d started the fight in, eating freaking tea and crumpets or something. “Me, Chosen, you, Promised. Vampires- mine. Deadites? So yours!”
“Awww, shut it, sweetcakes. This’s no worse than when ‘your
’ vampires came poppin’ outta the woodwork last time we had dinner in Cleveland!” And for cryin’ out loud, every time he got rid of one Deadite, there were five more of ‘em showing up! Frustrated, Ash kicked out as one made a grab at his leg and, with a nimbleness belied by his tall frame, scaled the counter beside them and yanked his shotgun out of its back holster. Weaponry; if you’re Promised, never go without it. If you’re Promised and dating a Chosen One- well, that just meant he was always doubly
armed. That was, after all, why he had both his gun and his saw now. Of course, he’d had to go all the way to the car to get trusty old Buzz, since the fancy pants restaurant she’d picked wouldn’t let him in with it, but Buffy’d held down the fort just fine while he grabbed it and her ax. It was her own fault anyway, for makin’ him take them somewhere like that. His poor paycheck was gonna be hurting from this dinner- or it would have, if dinner hadn’t been interrupted by the attack. Hell, maybe they’d even get off scot free, since the waiter’d gone Deadite and all. Staff trying to eat the customer’s soul had to be worth something
?” she quipped back as she pulled a couple fancy moves of her own, so she could get up on the counter beside him. “What’s your excuse?” He glowered at her.
“What can I say, baby? I don’t do tea.” There, finally he gave her a smirk. No way she was gonna out-smartass Ash Williams. ‘Sides, she was gonna hate his next comment, which made him smirk even more. “Gun time, Buff.”
He was rewarded by a roll of her eyes, and a side comment of “God, I hate these things,” then the little break in the battle they’d gotten by getting up on the counter was broken, and he was covering her with a shotgun blast in the face of a particularly disgusting Deadite as it tried to climb after them. She took the opportunity to harness her ax and draw one of the guns he’d all but conned her into buying awhile ago, a Firestar that he’d joked fit her smaller hands perfectly. Granted, it hadn’t been as amusing when she’d ‘forgotten’ to pull a punch with those smaller hands during their next sparring session, but Ash was tough. He’d survived the pain of sawing off his own hand with a smirk and a laugh, he could survive a punch from his girlfriend without wincing… visibly.
Right. Macho Ash. Ash who didn’t double over with a good punch from Buffy? Ash who could hold his own against her in a hand to hand fight? Better yet, Ash who kicked her butt at the gun range, Slayer prowess with weapons or not. And he did. Ash thrived when he got to bring his shotgun out to play, especially when it was to blow holes in a bunch of stinking Deadites. Buffy was practically a goddess in battle with her shiny red ax, and she was great with a gun no matter how much she hated it, but Ash was right in his element with his boomstick and a buncha no good demons to point it at. A grin she’d called maniacal in the past lit up his features as he quick-shot gunned down the Deadites still attacking, spirits not dampened in the least by the putrid flesh and squirting, oddly colored bodily fluids each shot caused to go flying as he reloaded with ease. On the other side of the counter, he could hear the faster rings of her handgun as she shot with the holy ammunition she carried; they’d found it worked wonders on vampires and Deadites alike, which was probably the only reason he’d finally convinced her to start packing. Seemed the creepy crawlies of the night didn’t like church blessed lead in their bodies, no matter what
kinda monster they were. Speaking of which-
“Oh god! Ash, you owe me a new blouse!” He chanced a glance to see how bad the damage was, and the muzzle flare of her gun nicely illuminated the green gore splattered across her chest. Ash let himself take a moment to just grin, because the stuff was runny enough to plaster her white top across her breasts, the material see-through with the liquid, and he waggled his eyebrows at her.
“S’long as you take that one off right now, you’ve got’a deal. Bra too. Wouldn’t want to, uh- ruin it, right? Maybe we can even save the shirt, return it, ya know?”
The comment earned him a glare, a flip of her hair so that it smacked him across the face, and an exclamation of “Ash!” Of course, the distraction earned him a Deadite hand grabbing his ankle at about the same time, so he didn’t have long to worry about suffering her wrath before he had to lower his boomstick and dismember the arm with a well placed shot. It didn’t help though, as, even dismembered, the thing had a life of its own, and it slid inside his pant leg and began to scuttle up his body. Ash’s eyes widened almost comically.
“Crap! Cover me, doll! I got trouble!” The shotgun shoved hastily back into its harness, and he didn’t wait for her to draw her second gun before his own hands flew down his body after the thing. There was an edge of something anyone else woulda’ called fear as he tried to catch the damn thing before it could get too far; it was way too much like being back in that cabin in Tennessee with his own hand gone bad. Of course, Ash wasn’t afraid, because he wasn’t the kind of guy who was a scaredy cat, he was just angry. Yeah, that was it; angry, annoyed, and that thing was obviously aiming for some low blows under the belt. He wasn’t about to be unmanned by some random Deadite hand.
“C’mere, ya little bastard,” he muttered, eying the leg the hand had disappeared into, where he could feel it roaming. He was vaguely aware of Buffy firing both her guns to either side of the counter, giving him the time he needed to concentrate on pinning down the critter as it scurried around his leg. For safety, he closed his right hand around the top of his thigh, carefully guarding the family jewels, certain the thing couldn’t get past the metal gauntlet. With his left hand, he drew one of the knives he’d brought from the car with him. He was gonna stab the damn thing and cut it outta his pants if he had to.
“I can’t hold them forever, Ash. Whatever you’re doing, hurry it up.” Buffy’s voice was sharp- controlled, but sharp, and interposed with the gun shots. They were coming fewer and farer between by now, which must’a meant they were finally getting to the last of the demons, but he was far too busy with the rogue hand to worry about it. He trusted Buffy to take care of things.
“I’m workin’ on it, just- just gimme a minute!” There were some things you just couldn’t rush, and one of those things was getting rid of a runaway Deadite hand inside your pants, especially one that was- “Holy hell!”
The knife dropped from his hand, and she turned to look at exactly the wrong time; his right hand was still holding onto the top of his thigh by his crotch, and his left hand flew back to grab at his rear, the hand apparently trying to play dirty, and he jumped, thrusting his hips forward in shock. It looked entirely wrong- and his girlfriend suddenly looked entirely
too pissed, and for all the wrong reasons. This wasn’t ‘Deadites are attacking and ruined our date’ pissed, or ‘the restaurant manager just tried to swallow my soul’ pissed. This was Buffy-is-going-to-kill-her-boyfriend pissed, a look Ash’d been on the wrong side of a couple’a times before. This time, at least, he really was innocent! Now to get her to believe it- and get rid of the damn hand!
“W- whoa! It’s- it’s not what it looks li- GAH!” Without thinking, he put his right hand out, palm forward, to placate the anger in her eyes- it was an opportunity the bastard hand didn’t miss, as it darted forward between his legs and grabbed at him. It formed an oddly shaped lump in the front of his pants as his eyes rolled back into his skull, his legs shoving together in surprised pain, and he sunk down to the ground. He wasn’t quite aware enough to see the confusion chase away the anger in the blonde’s eyes as she stared at him; he was far too occupied to grabbing at that lump with his right hand and jerking it away from certain sensitive parts of his body. “Now- good time to help!” He- no, not squeaked, because Ash Williams did not squeak, but- told her
She reacted without hesitation, both guns smoothly disappearing into their proper places before she drew her ax. The sight of that razor sharp red blade swinging towards his crotch, at any other time, would have terrified him, but she had expert control over it. Ash held the writhing, wriggling hand trapped his in unyielding metal gauntlet, pulling it out and away from his body, and the blade slid cleanly through the excess fabric of his pants. It effortlessly sliced it away from the rest of the material, leaving his family jewels safe- if somewhat exposed for all to see- and suddenly Ash felt himself breathe again.
Relief flooded through him as he dropped down on his butt on the counter, leaning against the wall he’d backed himself up against before; he wasn’t
going to have to chop off his most precious body part and unman himself. The relief was strong enough that it took him a moment to realize that Buffy was holstering her ax and moving across the counter toward him with a worried look on her face, and that she wasn’t fighting any more Deadites- apparently she’d finished them off before the runaway hand started pokin’ at his goods. Well, that was just fine and dandy to him, and left him with nothing but the still squirming hand he kept trapped in his metal grasp, held out and away from his body. No way was he chancing the thing getting’ free and making a second go at his jewels. In front of him, Buffy dropped down so her face was level with his, those beautiful green eyes of hers searching his face.
“Hey, you alright?”
“Yeah, baby- yeah.” He loved that she looked so worried for him, and it made his voice soft for a moment, before he remembered that he wasn’t really a soft kinda guy. Nah, he handled crap like this all the time- well, okay, so maybe the damn thing goin’ for his gonads was unusual, but still- no need to get worked up over it. A smirk spread across his lips as a confident look settled in his eyes, and he squeezed good old Righty around the hand. It made short work of the rotting flesh and weak bones, a kind of ‘pop’ sounding and a horrible smelling white liquid squelching out of the open wrist before he threw it to the ground. Oh yeah, he was just fine.
“C’mere, doll,” he told her, reaching with both hands to grab her to him. “Gimme some s-”
Somehow, neither the disgusted squeal, the Slayer powered slap that followed, nor even the gigantic bruise he’d have from it later, could take away from the huge grin on his face as he held her close and kissed her anyway.