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 7 Pin Up Girl
The Promenade was empty as Spike cut through. Not surprising, actually. The shops had all been closed for hours, and at three in the morning, even the human bars had been closed for an hour. But it was the quickest way to get to Willy’s from his crypt, where he’d stopped to drop off the clothes and accoutrements that Dawn had helped him nick from the Slayer.
And how was that for a kick in the balls? He’d been lusting after the little bitch for years, and for a month had known he was actually in love with her. And now he was wearing her clothes. He pulled the lapel of her leather jacket up to his nose and inhaled the pungent aroma of her perfume and her sweat. God, it was enough to make him hard. Assuming he could get hard.
He glanced down at his new curves. He’d done as well as he could, but the best he’d been able to figure was that he was pretty good looking. Mirrors were obviously no help to him, and the Little Bit hadn’t been able to find Joyce’s Polaroid. But he could see for himself that he had great tits (and how much fun was it that they were bigger than Buffy’s?), a board-flat stomach and strong, supple thighs. He just couldn’t put all the pieces together.
He was about to turn off the mall when the small photo booth caught his eye. It was one of those self-serve things the girls liked to get their blokes into to remember their evening by. Sentimental rubbish. But it was lit, which meant it was still plugged in.
Spike looked around. The Promenade was still empty, the only sounds he could hear coming from Main Street and the highway beyond. He pulled out his wallet. A ten, a five and a handful of singles. Was it worth it?
Yeah.
He shucked off the coat and sneakers and chucked them into the bottom of the booth, following them in and drawing the curtain behind. Next came the jeans and the blue and purple plaid bikini panties he’d swiped out of the Slayer’s drawer. When he was down to his T-shirt, he leaned out through the closed curtain and fed the five into the slot. Dropping into the seat, he whipped the shirt off and smiled just as the flash went off. He stood up and the flash fired again, hopefully catching his chest. He jumped up on the bench as the booth shot again, and on impulse he turned around for the last shot.
He pulled the clothes back on quickly, tied the sneakers up and pulled his hair out of his collar before grabbing the strip of photos out of the slot.
Nice.
He sat at the far end of the bar at Willy’s, studying the photos in front of him. The face especially. He sort of looked like his mother, he thought. Same pointed chin, same broad forehead. Or maybe more like his Aunt Claire. But the rest . . . well, it was all still just pieces, wasn’t it? He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and began to very carefully slice along the lines. “Oy, mate!” He called for Willy’s attention. “You got any scotch tape back there?”
The greasy barkeep sauntered over, looking down at the pictures. “You know, babe, you want naked pictures of yourself, I know a guy . . .”
“Willy, that line couldn’t buy you jail time, let alone time with me. Now you got any tape or not?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You know, if you want something, sweet knees, you might wanna think about being a little nicer.” The emphasis he put on the last word left Spike in no doubt about what the snitch thought was nice.
Spike leaned forward and caught Willy’s shirt, pulling him closer. “And you might wanna think about getting me that tape and a whiskey and beer, or I’m going to tell all your mates and that obviously brain dead specimen of a girlfriend of yours about the incident between you and the duck. Got it?”
Willy’s eyes went wide. “How do you know about that? Nobody knows about that! Nobody but . . .” He stopped, realizing what he was seeing. “Ho-lee . . . Spike?”
“Yeah, and if you breathe a word of it to anyone, I swear I’ll find a way around this chip and kill you myself.” He shoved him away. “Now get me my drink.”
Willy came back a moment later with the stein, shot glass and a plastic roll of tape. Spike ignored him to put the final cuts in the pictures and began piecing them together. He glanced around. No Clem, none of his other usual contacts. A pair of Draygo demons by the jukebox, a handful of vamps scattered around, a Nerinian at the other end of the bar and, clustered around a table by the back door, three human guys, obviously slumming. Terrific. He slammed back the whiskey and a mouthful of beer before going back to his project.
Spike pulled off two pieces of cellophane from the roll and deftly stuck the pictures together along the back edges before turning it over. The results were less than satisfactory. His shoulders were missing, as was his navel and the ends of his legs. With a growl, he pulled the head off and stuck it in his wallet, wadding up the rest to toss over the bar into the trashcan.
He snapped his fingers to get Willy’s attention. “Give me a pen.”
Willy handed over a blue ballpoint and Spike grabbed a napkin to quickly sketch out the demon he and Buffy had taken on. “You see anything like this before?”
Willy studied the drawing before shaking his head. “Nah, nothin’ like that’s ever come through here. I can ask around for you, though.”
“You find anything, take it to the Watcher over at the Magic Box. He’s good for it.” He returned the pen and pulled out his wallet again to hand over the ten.
Willy stopped him. “Your tab’s already been paid.” And he pointed to the table by the backdoor.
Spike looked to see one of the guys wave as the other two checked him out.
“Oh bloody perfect.”
He shoved the money back in the wallet and stuffed the leather billfold back in his pocket as Willy grinned. “Just like you said, Spike. I didn’t say a word!”
“Wanker,” he growled, but it didn’t seem to have the usual effect. Gathering his dignity, he stalked out.
He hadn’t gotten further than the other side of the street before he heard the first voice behind him. “Now, baby, is that any way to show your gratitude?”
Spike didn’t turn around, just kept walking.
“Hey, bitch, I was talkin’ to you!”
He heard the feet moving behind him and turned to face the three thuggery bastards.
“You haven’t said anything yet I want to hear.”
“You know, a pretty thing like you should know better how things work. I scratch your back, you scratch my itch.”
“Mate, a pint and a shot about pays for the time I’ve wasted on you already.”
“Stuck up cunt.” He grabbed Spike’s arm and yanked him close.
Damn. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t fight these bastards without his head exploding. And he’d be buggered if his first sexual experience in this body would be getting pawed over by these wanks. Well, for a change he wouldn’t actually be buggered, depending on what they had in mind, but that was beside the point. How to get away? What would the Slayer do? No good, she’d pound the piss out of them. But what about the others? Red, or the demon bird? Well, Anya was easy. She’d just . . .
He dropped his shoulders and cocked his hip. And smiled. “You’re right. I forget myself sometime.” He lifted his hand to drift it down Head Thug’s arm. “You and your mates here look like a right party.”
Head Thug grinned at Thug One and Thug Two. “Yeah, we know how to show a lady a good time.”
Spike refrained from rolling his eyes. “Do you like . . . games?” He was using his best Marilyn Monroe routine, but didn’t know how well he was pulling it off.
It must have been good enough, because Head Thug licked his lips. “Oh yeah,” he breathed. “We really like to play.” And released Spike’s arm to reach for his ass.
That was what Spike was waiting for. With all his speed, he ducked under Head Thug’s arm and leapt for the fire escape five paces behind them, surging up to the roof. He stopped and turned to look down on them with a smirk. “Game’s catch me if you can, you bleeding ponces. Enjoy fisting each other, cuz it’s all the action you’ll see tonight!”
He laughed at their howls of frustration. It was easier to ignore how close a call it had been without a heartbeat pounding in his chest to remind him.
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