In Which Spike Gets Turned Into a (Human?) Woman After Doublemeat Palace. Spell Lasts Until After As You Were.
"Can't you—can't you walk?"
"Yes, I can bloody well—" but he stumbled right then and Buffy grabbed his elbow to keep him from going down.
"Guess you won't be modeling the Jimmy Choos any time soon."
"The Jimmy whos?"
"Four-inch heels."
"Sod off."
Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Okay!" released his elbow and turned to leave him.
"Wait." Buffy crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow. "I need help."
***
Poor Spike gets fashion advice from four women at once. Buffy eventually boots everybody out of her closet. The art of wearing wee tank tops w/o looking slutty. "You used to wear all these cute, bright little things," Spike whines. "Says Mr. Black on Black." Buffy's somewhat startled to notice the drabness of her own wardrobe. Spike's highly annoyed about spending his recent poker clear-out on women's underwear. "Can't I just go without?" Buffy eyes his selection of itty-bitty skirts. "Not with those, honey."
***
Buffy shuts down his invitation to fuck, but not before she hints at a bit of naughty history with Faith.
"Jeez. I am not fucking you like this."
"Why not? Scared of a little pussy?"
*
"Wanna fuck?"
"Oh my God, you're depraved."
"You'd say that to Willow, would you? 'Oh my God, you and Tara: so depraved!'"
"That's not what I meant. We had to stop this anyway. It's sick, it's not good for either of us. Now's a good a time. Now's a great time."
""
"Okay, how's this? I. Don't. Like. Girls."
"How d'you know? Never tried one."
Buffy glanced at him sidelong, flashed an unexpected she-devil grin. "That's what you think." Before he could pick his jaw off the ground, she'd dashed off after a vamp pulling himself up out of the dirt halfway across the cemetery.
"Who."
"Hm?"
"Who?"
Faith.
"Well, you really are drawn to the bad ones, aren't you?"
pisses her off
scuffle in grass, "Buffy, stop."
"What, you wanted your first time to be all pillows and candlelight?"
"Actually, I wanted not to be eaten by the Dudelsack standing right behind you."
"Oh....That's reasonable."
***
Spike, returning Buffy's clothes for laundering and rummaging for new ones, finds her vibrator (acquired during the Riley era. no Riley bashing; she used it with him. mostly.). He experiments. Won't go in; he's too virginal. Gives up, frustrated, after a minute. Turns it on high, touches his clit. "AHH!" Drops it like a hot poker. At which point Buffy walks in. She's initially appalled, ("Oh my God, clean that up!" or "Oh my God, that isn't waterproof!") but it's undeniable fun to have knowledge someone else doesn't have, and hey, it's fun to talk to other women about sex. And Spike's still her dirty secret anyway. "I mean, sometimes I need it really hard, right there, but usually—softer is better." Spike's looking at her like she's a holy prophet. "Show me." How far do they go? Mutual masturbation? Also, she has advice for his tight hymen dilemma—Buffy's slaying didn't leave her with much of one, but she can tell him to stretch himself with his fingers. Dru's virginal vamp-hymen wouldn't stay stretched, Spike reveals, but Spike's human. Funny vibrator conversation: Spike describes the first vibrators and what they were used for (1)—and Dru's reaction to them. Ends with Buffy, alone in her bedroom, slipping the vibe into her cunt.
***
explosive, hot, dirty sex scene. Spike goads Buffy into a fight, she taunts him for his problems with his new centre of gravity. He's completely uncoordinated. When it devolves into sex, she has him completely at her mercy, does things to his body that astonish him. Get at Buffy's psyche—inwardly quaking (omg girlsex) but bitchily determined to get it right. Really, really right.
***
Spike becomes Warren's target, very nearly gets raped (anvilicious preemptive lesson about forcing women, blah blah), Buffy hauls him off. His crypt is closer than the house, so they go there. Get in some vicious language as a shaken Buffy tries to comfort Spike. "Get away. I don't need you forcing yourself on me tonight, too." Since it's the first time she's ever attempted to *hold* him with no thought of sex, this is quite the blow. (Note: strong Spike POV w/ agenda, NOT authoritative reading of canon S6.) She leaves him in the cold crypt. Night thoughts: denial, revelation.
***
Buffy's mini-epiphany makes her return the next day to bring him back to her house. He's gone. Panic! Panic! Suspense!
***
Sparring session, Buffy belatedly teaches him how to defend himself. sweat, lust, shower, etc. locker room type scene, fumbling with bra
"Lower! Lower! From the pelvis, you're still driving too high. There you go. Torque! From the side. Forget the punches, you'll just smash your knuckles, palm strike, solar plexus, again!
"Good. Now what did you miss?"
"Er?"
"Knee to the groin. I gave you a perfect opening and you didn't even notice. That hurts girls, too, by the way. And hey, good pelvis move: try it now." Buffy braced the fat blue shield against her hip with one hand and stretched the other away from her body, holding it parallel to the floor. "At a run. Go!" The tiny blonde—the other tiny blonde—pelted across the floor and slammed her thigh into the shield with a yell. Buffy oofed, and grinned with teeth. "Nice. Don't rear back so much. Put your foot down in front, like this, and then you can drive your other knee into his face while he's doubled over."
"Tried that, have you?"
"Uh-huh. Way fun."
"Your glee disturbs me."
"You're disturbed? Okay, that's disturbing."
"The ball-cracking feminist routine...?"
[gutpunch]
Spike's short hair was damp with sweat
***
"I want to be touched. Been so fuckin' long since I've been touched."
"I touch you all the time!"
"You fuck me. You grab me and pinch me and tease and claw, but you don't touch me."
Buffy looked at the pale figure in flannel boxers and cotton tank hunched over the windowsill. Here is Spike, she told herself, and made it sound new in her mind. That's his solid back, his cheekbone. She reached out and caught his chin, turned his face to catch his eye. These are his eyes. Yes. "Come here." She skimmed her hands lightly up his arms, saw and heard his sharp inhalation. Then she awkwardly pulled him in, and pressed one hand on his back until they were flush together. Spike remained stiff for another moment, before threading his thin arms around her shoulders and returning her embrace. Buffy breathed, deep and easy, and smiled when, after a few breaths, Spike began to copy her rhythm. I guess I don't, she thought, stroking his back and shoulders through the tank top. Actually, I don't remember the last time I hugged anybody like this. Just cursory hellos and goodbyes and, 'Raise your arms so I can get this bandage around your middle.'
Spike wasn't going to let go if the house fell down around them, so it was Buffy who gently pulled back and whispered, "I have to check the locks. Stay here." Spike nodded and mumbled, "'K," looking soft and unfocused and a little damp. Buffy slipped out the door.
She found Willow in the kitchen, doing the lock-check and grocery tally herself, while her bagel heated in the microwave. "Twelve o' clock and all's well," she carolled softly, looking up with a little grin. "Except we're out of apricot jam."
"Spike's sleeping with me tonight," she told her. "Just so y'know."
Willow blinked. "Anything wrong?"
"...No. It's just ... been a rough day."
"Okay. 'Night, Buffy."
Buffy padded back up the stairs and into the bathroom, pondering Willow's unfraught reaction to the ex-undead evil scheming vampire in her bed.
The ex-undead was sitting cross-legged on the coverlet. "Crawl in. Sleep here."
He complied immediately, like he'd been waiting for the invitation. His ass is even perkier than mine, and that's ok, Buffy thought, watching said ass briefly swing into the air as Spike pulled the covers down and rolled inside. She followed, nudging him until he relinquished her favourite pillow, but they settled together with surprisingly little negotiation, Buffy's arm draped over Spike's middle, Spike's knee stealing forward to bump against her thighs.
Girl legs. He'd gotten the hang of the plastic razor; he was silky smooth. He smelled like her chamomile shampoo.
"Better?" she whispered. He lifted a delicate hand and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
***
Riley walks in on Buffy and ... yeah.
***
Willow tries to reverse it in the Magic Box. Spike: "Oh, God. Wait! Stop it! NOW! Willow STOP!" Buffy smashes the crystal. Willow: "What?" "My soul," Spike croaked in a shaking contralto, before sliding unconscious to the floor. [ch. end]
He's bruised all over, as if his bones tried to grow faster than his skin. "I'm taking him home," said Buffy, hooking her arms beneath his knees and back and lifting him up. "We can reconvene there."
Spike has a soul—of course. It didn't even occur to Buffy. "You weren't—guilt-racked?" ... "You—want to keep it?" Hoarse whisper: "Buffy. I would be anything for you." difference in way she's treated him as a woman. why? is the body less of a threat? gender politics, blar blar. ugh.
***
He eventually gets turned back not in a flash, with Buffy watching from the table in the Magic Box, but while they're in each other's arms, and possibly having sex, so she *feels* the transformation. [That's fun, hot, but watch the subtext, possible "fuck him straight" interpretations.]
***
S7 Alternates, Set After Potential
"I am bloody fucking sick of being the poor little victim! Every time I turn around you're dragging me out of another basement, cave, cellblock, dressing my poor abused hide, buying me breakfast and giving me pep talks. Is it too much to want to—want to—"
"Be the man in the relationship?" Dawn supplied.
Spike breathed hard through his nose and looked at the ceiling. Then he looked at the floor. "Give something back."
*
"This is not my best year ever."
Dawn: "Spike? When was the last time you had a best year ever?"
"Get some sleep," said Buffy, gaze contemplative but unrevealing.
***
- Some middle-aged postman: "Thank you, sweetheart."
- Random arse-grab, Spike decks him. Buffy shoots out and grabs him before his
head hits the pavement. "He grabbed my arse!" "Offensive, yes,
but not a capital offence!
- Date with Wood. "How do you two know each other? "He's my sister."
***
She'd always been aware of his body, but now she was hyper-aware. She wanted to touch it. She itched to understand this bizarre incarnation, feel out the differences between this and the other. Would his skin feel the same? Would his belly have the same supple hardness? Ass. Curves. What did his nipples look like from their new accommodations on the tips of C-cups? Would they crinkle the same way if she licked them? She wondered about his lips, she wanted to spread his legs and peer between his thighs. Spike with no dick. Novelty. Would he react the same way to her touch, or did his desires flip with his gender? She'd heard Willow babble about material feminism, but how could she know for sure?
He turned her on. And how weird was that? Buffy thought she was pretty secure in her straightness. But she'd watch him moving in the kitchen and catch herself, "Hey, that's his head tilt, it's still there!" and be struck by a little surge of affection. His speech patterns, even in an alto, were impossible to mistake or ignore. It wasn't the body, the remembered sexcapades, it wasn't physical.
And how weird was that.
***
She had one hand pressed against her stomach, right above her pubic bone. The other hand was moving slowly underneath the waistband of her jeans.
Frustrated by the tight denim, Spike scrabbled at the button fly and, when that failed to yield enough manoeuvring room, pushed the jeans off her hips entirely, and spread her knees. She didn't take off her red cotton panties, but they were thin enough that Buffy could pretty much tell what was happening underneath.
She was only using one or two fingers, tracing the edges of her labia, slowly. She cupped herself, and Buffy saw her knuckles move, undulating. She slid her fingers in deep and rocked them. Her abs flexed, and Buffy's abs flexed in sympathy.
Her eyes shot open and her hand scrabbled for the sheet.
Later, startlingly: "Spike? Trade secret: Try out the detachable shower head in the master bathroom."
***
"I just. I wanted to be touched. Been so fuckin' long since I've been touched."
"What? Your solution to feeling horny is to go out and grab the nearest—"
"No! Not sex, that's not why I—fuck it, I was a witless idiot, wasn't I?"
"Really were."
"I—Those first few weeks after you rescued me, before this happened, you used to touch me. Just little things—hand on my shoulder, fingers brushing mine—just enough to let me know you were solid, that I was ... home safe. Felt like connection, like you were building a bridge for me and I was walkin' across, your hands to guide me. Sounds stupid, sentimental."
"Spike, I—"
"It changed. Yeah, you still pat my shoulder now and then, but you're skittish. Like you're scared of me again, or don't want to impose on this skin. That warmth, that easiness.... It's gone."
Buffy looked at the pale figure in flannel boxers and cotton tank hunched over the windowsill. That's Spike, she told herself, and made it sound new in her mind. That's his solid back, his cheekbone. She reached out and touched his chin, turned his face to catch his eye. Those are his eyes. Yes. "Come here." She skimmed her hands lightly up his arms, saw and heard his sharp inhalation. Then she pulled him in, and pressed one hand on his back until they were flush together. Spike remained stiff for another moment, before threading his thin arms around her shoulders and returning her embrace. Buffy breathed, deep and easy, and smiled when, after a few breaths, Spike began to copy her rhythm. We've never hugged, she thought, stroking his back and shoulders through the tank top. Actually, I don't remember the last time I hugged anybody like this. Just cursory hellos and goodbyes and, 'Raise your arms so I can get this bandage around your middle.'
Spike wasn't going to let go if the house fell down around them, so it was Buffy who gently pulled back and whispered, "I still have to check the locks and wash my face. Stay here." Spike nodded and mumbled, "'K," looking soft and unfocused and a little damp. Buffy slipped out the door.
She found Xander in the kitchen, doing the lock-check and grocery tally himself, while his bagel heated in the microwave. "Twelve o' clock and all's well," he carolled softly, looking up with a little grin. "Except for the dire lack of pizza pockets. Andrew seems to have a compulsion."
"Spike's in my room tonight," she told him. "Just so y'know."
Xander blinked. "Anything wrong?"
"Nah. It's just ... been a rough day."
"All right. I'm on duty till two, then I'm waking Willow. 'Night, Buffy."
Buffy padded back up the stairs and into the bathroom, pondering Xander's unfraught reaction to the ex-undead evil rapist vampire in her bed.
The ex-undead was sitting cross-legged on the coverlet. "Crawl in. Sleep here."
She expected him to protest, declare his unworthiness, insist he was fine now, but he complied immediately, like he'd been waiting for the invitation. His ass is even perkier than mine, and that's ok, Buffy thought, watching said ass briefly swing into the air as Spike pulled the covers down and rolled inside. She followed, nudging him until he relinquished her favourite pillow, but they settled together with surprisingly little negotiation, Buffy's arm draped over Spike's middle, Spike's knee stealing forward to bump against her thighs.
Girl legs. He'd gotten the hang of the plastic razor; he was silky smooth. He smelled like her chamomile shampoo.
"Better?" she whispered. He lifted a delicate hand and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
***
Drinks. "How unutterably girly." "Shaddup." Spike takes her hand at some point, giving her a pep talk, waitress catches them, assumes gayness. "Do you care?" She deliberately re-laces their fingers. Bronze: S repeatedly propositioned (by Kennedy, among others), B gets jealous. S + B wind up dancing together, indifferent to the looks they're getting.
***
Spike wants to fuck a man before he gets changed back. (Comical moment w/ Andrew.)
"Since when do you care?"
"Buffy, I'm not screening for marriage partners, I'm on a quest for information."
"Yeah, but—"
"What? Nobody good enough for me here?" Spike whirled on her, got in her face. "That's a laugh. There isn't a single person here who wouldn't fling me off in repulsion if they knew what I really was."
"Well there's a bet I wouldn't cover. I bet I couldn't swing a pool cue in here without hitting a vamp-loving perv. You are so not repulsive, in this body or the other."
"Don't mean the body. Mean me. Inside."
"Oh, boohoo, I am so not in the mood for your pity party. Come on. There's nobody here you want."
Spike shrugged, resigned. "True, actually." He paused. "Present company excluded."
Buffy spluttered. "Spike!"
Spike tossed her a look that said, "Duh," and led the way out of the club.
(they're both a little drunk)
"You're not missing out on that much," Buffy informed him.
"You hardly qualify as a judge, sweetheart."
"Hey! I've kissed a girl."
Spike's jaw dropped. "Y-you have?"
Buffy felt the flush travel from her hairline down to her breasts. "Uh, Faith. A long time ago, before she went completely psycho-bitch. We made out once."
"Wow, Miss Straight Laces, I never would have guessed you had the stones."
"Not that straight-laced. For a while there Willow was all Kinsey-scale this, material feminism that."
"Did you like it?"
"What?"
"Kissing Faith."
Buffy didn't deign to answer. They patrolled.
*
"Thinking about you cruising for stupid jocks at the Bronze tonight made me so jealous I couldn't breathe. You're mine."
Spike's look was all smoulder. "Damn straight I am."
"Or not, as the case may be." And she kissed him, finally, on the mouth.
***
Angel. knows immediately that it's Spike. And is immediately hard for him. (credit to frimfram)
***
"The way you talk to me, the way you see me. The lengths you're willing to go for love and honour. The way you roll with the punches and never stay down. Your tenacity and your snark and your illimitable heart. That's you."
March 27, 2006
Leave
a comment (LJ)
Back to Foolish Words