Scene: the bedroom of a comfortable London loft. Buffy in dark jeans and a lacy red halter, Spike in black jeans, bare-chested.
"Holy crap!"
"I took your 'pick a toy' offer seriously."
"Oh, my god."
"Don't you like? We don't have to use it right away ... or at all. Jus' thought it might be fun."
"It's huge!"
"I know what I can take."
"Oh. Okay, implications belatedly sinking in. Er, no pun intended. So, ah, you like..."
"You do."
"...True. Whoa. Jeez."
"Seriously, Buffy, we don't do anything you don't want. Not sure it's refundable, but hey, I'm sure it's got its uses in the kitchen. Pestle... juicer..."
"There's one way to break ice at a dinner party."
"Or, wall art. You know—some people display moose heads, some people display—"
"Don't finish that."
"Sorry."
"But no; startled, here, not ... necessarily appalled."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You know penis envy's a big old lie, 'cause I really like my woman parts. Penis curiosity, however..."
"And I love your womanly parts with a fiery passion, but once in a while 's fun to switch gears."
"Insert stick shift joke here."
"As given."
"Uh, how much of this is actually necessary?"
"I just liked the corset. It's pretty."
"Weirdo."
"It is!"
"Black lace on red ... you're such a traditionalist."
"Well, they had beige, chocolate, and turquoise."
"...Tradition's good."
"Too right. But yes. Me and red silk, kind of a thing."
"Okay. Suit me, er, up."
"Yeah?"
"Well, kinda wigged, but—"
"Slayer, you're gonna be stunning. God, I love you."
"You'd better!"
"Hm, let's take this off, shall we?"
"You have naughty fingers, Mr. Vampire. How do I—"
"Well, see, first I grab you, like this, and then I kiss you..."
___
"I can't believe I'm... We are so weird."
"There, feel that?"
"Uh, yeah. Oh, there. Getting it now. Hey, how thoughtful..."
"It has to be snug. That ok?"
"Yeah, could even be tighter—oh!"
"That good?"
"I... think so."
"Oh. Buffy. Buffy, look. Look at yourself."
"ACK! ...Holy moly. What? Stop laughing!"
"Holy moly?"
"Shut up. You ... like?"
"Yeah, love. I like."
"Ahh... do that..."
"There isn't a man or woman on the planet who could look at you right now and not be turned on. Turn around."
"Oh..."
"C'mere. Come down."
"Spike. Baby, what should I..."
"Touch me. Touch me, Buffy. All over. Ahh, god."
"Here?"
"Sweet..."
"Like that?"
"Here, take this. Oh, god, your fingers..."
"Call me a quick study..."
"Yeah... Shit, yeah, like that. God, Buffy, you're so good—Ah! There, now... Slowly, yeah, let me—There, there we go—fuck!"
"Spike!"
___
"Oof. Whoa."
"You good?"
"Yeah. You? Did I..."
"You're perfect. Perfect. Here, want some help with that?"
"Please."
"Thank you for that, Buffy. You're—amazing. Did you like it?"
"It's... It's, um, kinda ... cool ..."
"There ... ooh, messy—allow me."
"Mmmm. I wanna--"
"Mm?"
"Jeez, am I blushing? —Hey! That tickles! Stop it! Would you teach me—how to be good at it? You clearly like it."
"I do, at that."
"I liked it, too. It was neat. Mmpf. You're welcome?"
"Kinky bitch."
"Moi?"
___
Now send me feedback. I'll make it easy:
Dear Stulti (stultiloquentia AT yahoo DOT ca),
Your story is
A) hot, funny, beautiful, and punctual. But. What the hell are you
smoking?
B) a dire augury for the Elf pr0n you've been threatening to write.
C) an embarrassment. For the love of little apples, take it down this instant.
D) all of the above.