Summary: The Scoobies have a small accident that leads
to some major changes in their lives
Rating: NC17
Timing: Takes place S5, shortly after Family but before Fool for Love
Disclaimer All kinds of gender stereotypes were harmed
in the writing of this story. Any injured copyrights were unintentional
Notes Mydeira is my Beta Nazi, but she knows I'm her bitch.
This story was inspired by a very old Star Trek fanfic titled The Procrustean Petard,
by Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath. Of course, they didn't actually have sex in theirs . . .
The title is a quote from Storm Front, by Jim Butcher.
You haven't lived until you've heard James say those three words
together in that soft, caramel rich voice of his . . . guh.
Chapter 4 Clothes Horse
Buffy wiped the steam off the full-length mirror in the bathroom and looked at herself, really looked, for the first time.
The man in the mirror was attractive in a wholesome, all-American sort of way. Spike had called her “corn-fed,” and that wasn’t far off. She and Riley could be cousins. She wasn’t too tall, six feet or just a little shy of it. Her face was more oval than Riley’s square visage, and her hair more pale, parted on the left and away from her forehead.
She had a decent physique. Muscled but not freakishly so. No flab, but she wasn’t a hard body, either. Not someone you’d expect to be able to bench press five hundred pounds. She flexed an arm and watched the muscle pop out. Amused, she assumed the traditional body builder’s pose, arms curled and flexed in front of her, and she watched in satisfaction as her pectorals rose up, firm and round. Not steroidal scary man-breast round, just . . . strong looking. She was built much like she had been as a girl. Averagely athletic, but nothing unusual.
She straightened up to toy thoughtfully with the downy white hairs scattered along the midline of her chest, darkening as they descended over her stomach to a straw color that continued down her legs and clustered at the junction, providing a nest for what lay there.
Finally, embarrassed, she forced herself to look at it. Her penis nestled there, all soft and retracted, framed by her testicles and the curling hair, looking for all the world like an Easter basket treasure. She poked it tentatively. It stretched out its head a bit in response, then retreated back. “Okay, that’s just creepy.”
She shook off the fascination and wrapped the large towel around her chest, grateful Mom had splurged for bath sheets. The regular bath towels they used would never have covered her. She ran a comb quickly through her still-damp hair and went back to her bedroom.
“Not that one. The color’s terrible on you.” Dawn’s voice came from Buffy’s room.
Buffy threw the door open and stormed in. “What are you doing in my room?”
Two pairs of surprised eyes turned to her. Spike was holding a brown leather miniskirt up to his slender waist and a yellow sleeveless turtleneck to his chest while Dawn held two more tops for him to try.
He laughed when he saw her. “You’re wearin’ your towel like a girl, Slayer. Got nothin’ up top to show anymore.”
“I don’t care, Spike! Why are you here?”
“He needed some clothes,” Dawn volunteered, “and he asked me to help.”
He shrugged. “No reflection. Couldn’t tell what looked good.”
“You can’t just take my clothes!” She snatched the blouse out of his hand and stuffed it back in the closet.
“What’s the problem, Slayer? ‘S not like you can wear any of it now. I’m not keepin’ it or anything.”
“Dawn, please go to bed,” she said through gritted teeth.
“But we aren’t done! He still needs . . .”
“Dawn, go to bed before I tell Mom you’ve been hanging out with vampires. Again.”
“Fine!” she sulked, slamming the door behind her as she left.
Buffy turned to see Spike stuffing the skirt and a red handkerchief top into a nylon duffel bag sitting on the bed. “So you’re just helping yourself to my wardrobe?”
He shrugged, crossing over to the dresser. “Well, except for your shoes. You have freakishly small feet, even for a bird.” He fished around in the top drawer, coming up with three colorful sets of panties.
“Oh no!” She snatched them away from him. “You are not borrowing my underwear!”
He shrugged again. “No bother. Don’t usually wear them myself. Bet the inseam of your best leather pants’ll feel real interestin’ on my bare girly parts.”
She grimaced and handed them back. “Here. Just . . . burn them when you’re done.”
He smirked at her as he added them to the bag. “Good thing I don’t need any lift-and-separating. Don’t think there’d be enough room in your tiny little things for my full figure.”
What infuriated her the most was that he was right. He had probably two sizes and a cup on her usual chest measurements, and they were high and firm in the way only silicone could recreate in a human woman.
“How can you be so comfortable with all of this?”
“Oh, come on, Summers!” He stopped, leaning back against her dressing table. “This is a merry romp. Even you have to see the humor in bein’ the one bloke in all the world. You’re the first male Slayer in the history of Slaying. It’d give your ruddy Council twelve kinds of fits if they knew it. You and the Watcher and your Scoobies’ll figure it out in a day or two, and in the meantime you get to walk on the other side for a while.”
“I like the side I was on.”
He cocked his head at her, studying her for a moment. “Yeah, I gotta admit you carry the other better. This look is a little too white bread for my liking. But you seem to like that.” He turned and began poking through her makeup basket, finally choosing a lipstick which he pulled the cap off of to check the color.
“What good is makeup going to do you?” she derided. “You can’t even see yourself to put it on.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, obviously taking her words as a challenge. With a deft twist of his wrist he exposed the lipstick, raising both brows in a knowing, amused manner. Then he brought his hand to his mouth and slowly, almost sensually, wiped a smooth swath of deep crimson across his full lower lip. Then he delicately curled both lips over his teeth and rubbed them gently into each other before releasing them with a soft pop. With a quick run of his pinky down the divot in his upper lip, he was done, his bow of a mouth perfectly outlined in scarlet. Buffy felt as though all the blood had rushed away from her head. “When I wasn’t applying Dru’s makeup myself, I was watching her do it.” He sauntered over to the bed, dropping the lipstick into the duffel and zipping it shut before turning back to her, eyes bedroom soft. “I love watching a woman put on her face. She touches all the places I love best.” He looked lost in the memory for a moment before shaking it off. “Lighten up Slayer. A couple of days and you’ll be back to your old, uptight, stick up the ass self, no worse for wear.” He grabbed Buffy’s favorite leather coat, single breasted with a cinched waist, off the back of the closet door and slipped it on. “Relax and live a little.” He started towards the window. “Oh, and Slayer?”
“What?” she replied, trying to control her breathing.
He grinned and let his eyes drop. “Your towel is saluting.” And with that he disappeared back over the windowsill.
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