Damsel
in Distress
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Author: Dark Star Summary: Sometimes a girl wants the fairytale… Disclaimer: Joss Whedon's playground. The crappy story is
mine! Rating: Anyone over the age of two. Actually, two might be
better… Written for the birthday at the Angel Elders
Mansion I apologise
in advance for this silly piece of nonsense. Read at your own risk! ** Buffy padded softly over the cold stone floor. Her feet
were getting chilly, and she made her way to the only splash of colour on the
grey floor. The rich red of the rug contrasted strikingly with the pale blue
of her silk dress as it rustled round her toes, and she sat down on the rug
to pull on her deerskin slippers.
She crossed over to the window and peered outside. Her
view from the tower stretched for miles; the river was clear and still, the
rolling green fields lush and inviting, and there wasn't a cloud in the
perfect blue sky. Buffy sighed, turning away from the window and made her
way down the stone spiral stairway to the lower floor. Passing through the
great hall and down a side corridor, she stopped outside an open oak door,
afraid to venture inside. The scene that met her was horrific. So much chaos!
Slowly, she backed out of the room, and her wail of anguish could be heard
for miles. "Please! Can nobody help me?" As if in answer to her plea, the sound of hoof-beats could
be heard coming down from the fields. She crossed to the window and peered
out, just as she heard the horse clip-clop across the cobbled courtyard. A gorgeous white stallion had arrived outside her window,
and she saw a suit of armour dismounting from it. The armour clanked across
the yard, paused just outside the door to remove its helmet, and Buffy's
breath caught at the sight of the angel standing outside her door. "May I be of service?" he asked politely. Buffy grabbed his hand and pulled him through the door and
back to the room she had left. "In here," she cried. "It's in
here." The angel entered the room bravely, and saw what had so
alarmed her. "Fear not!" he cried valiantly. "For I will save
you!" "Oh thank you, sir!" Buffy said, before adding doubtfully,
"But there is rather a lot of it." The angel surveyed the remnants' of last night's banquet,
and declared, "It is nothing I cannot handle, fair one." He began
to clank across the kitchen, and added, "But first, I need to slip into
something more comfortable." Buffy looked away modestly, and when she looked back, the
angel had removed the cumbersome suit of armour and hung it neatly upon a
hook. He stood before her, clad only in a little white apron. With a frill
around its hem. The angel turned and crossed courageously to the sink.
Buffys' eyes were drawn to the tight muscles of his but… shoulders, and was
mesmerised by the way the little apron bounced up and down as he walked. Miraculously, it stayed in place, and
Buffy wondered if it would be impolite to open a window… The angel became a whirlwind in her kitchen. He was
everywhere, fighting grime, and mucky saucepans, until finally, he was done.
He stood before her triumphantly, his dishcloth dripping puddles on the
kitchen floor. The kitchen shone. There was no mess anywhere, except the
puddle on the floor, and everything glistened in the sunray that streamed
through the sparkly kitchen window. "Oh!" Buffy cried, clasping her hands together
in delight. "My hero!" The angel started toward her, first putting his wet cloth
on the drainer, and hugged her tightly to his manly body, hoping he was going
to get a decent reward. Buffy reached up on tiptoe, her arms circling his neck,
her lips joining with his in a fairytale kiss that made her want to die. The
world spun, and it was all so perfect, and her fingers reached down for the
hem of the apron… * The buzz of the alarm pulled Buffy reluctantly from her
dream. Figures, Buffy grumbled, slamming the alarm off and
staggering out of bed to pull on her robe. She needed a drink, and she padded
across the room toward the kitchen, smiling as she remembered the way Angel's
tight bottom had moved beneath the starched white apron. Just as she reached halfway, the telephone rang. "Hello?" "Buffy?" He sounded out of breath. "Are you okay?" "Yeah… but I've just had this really weird
dream." She couldn't help herself. "Do you want to come over
and tell me about it?" Silence. Then he said tentatively, "I'd like that.
Shall I bring an apron?" End. Return to Fiction Index
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