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 8 Mars and Venus
When Buffy came downstairs the next morning, her mother was already up.
Joyce hesitated only a moment before smiling brightly. "Good morning, sweetie. I didn't expect you up quite so early."
Buffy shrugged. "I couldn't sleep anymore." She wasn't about to admit that that was because she'd woken up with an erection hard enough to pound through steel.
"Well," Joyce went on, "how about some breakfast? I can make eggs, or . . ."
Dawn bounded in. "Pancakes? I love pancakes for breakfast."
"Not for you." She kissed her daughter on the head. "You have school. Eggs I can do. You want some?"
Dawn sighed. "Nah, I'll just have cereal." She reached into the cupboard for a bowl. "Buffy has classes too, you know."
Joyce gave Dawn a stern look. "Buffy also has extenuating circumstances."
But Buffy groaned. "Oh god, classes! And I've got a history midterm on Friday."
"Mr. Giles called this morning to say he was working on that," Joyce said, breaking eggs into a bowl, "so you don't need to worry. He also said he might have a lead on the head you brought him, and wanted you all to meet him at the shop this afternoon."
"Go, research man." Buffy dug into the fridge for the orange juice. "So now I just have to kill the morning."
Joyce put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her. "Which you will do by going shopping with your mother."
Buffy froze with her fork halfway to her plate. "What? No! I'm not setting foot outside this house until I'm a girl again!"
Joyce gave her the mom look. "Well that's obviously not true, because you have to go to the Magic Box this afternoon. I'm not going to embarrass you, Buffy, but you need clothes that actually fit you. At least for a couple of days."
"Oh god." She looked up at her mother with pleading eyes. "I don't want to be a guy for a couple of days."
"Well, you are. Now eat up, and then you can call your friends. We'll all go together and you can commiserate."
"Don't forget Spike," Dawn said with her mouth full.
Buffy’s eyes widened in horror. "Oh, I am so not taking Spike to the mall!"
"Mom!" Dawn protested. "Spike needs things, too! He borrowed my best sneakers last night, and I don't want him to get gunk all over them fighting whatever for Buffy."
Joyce's voice was calm. "Of course, Spike is coming, too. He probably needs as much support as the rest of you."
It was Buffy's turn to talk with her mouth full. "Did you see him last night? Did he look like he needed support? He's such a big girl anyway, he probably didn't even notice the difference."
"I did," Dawn mumbled under her breath.
Buffy had to admit she did, too. And this body had responded accordingly. Which she didn't want to think about.
"Spike is coming, and that's final. Now finish your breakfast. You have phone calls to make."
"Can I come, too?" Dawn asked innocently.
Alto and baritone voices both replied with a resounding "No!"
Wrapped up in her oversized bathrobe, her shower caddy clutched in one meaty hand, Tara stumbled down the hall towards the bathrooms.
She was just reaching for the door when it was jerked open and out of her grip, revealing one of her floor mates, bundled up in two large towels and nothing else. She glared at Tara. “The housing is co-ed, not the showers. Little boy’s room is across the hall.”
Tara blushed furiously, backing away from the door. The girl sighed and brushed past her to go back to her room. Tara was tempted to do the same, just go and hide in her room until this was all straightened out.
But Willow was in their room, too.
And this new body desperately needed a shower.
With a deep breath and a prayer that the men’s showers were set up like the women’s, she pushed her way through the door.
It was early enough that there were only a few people up. She was grateful to see that the facilities were set up like the women’s for the most part, with a row of stalls and urinals facing a row of sinks and beyond that the showers in their individual stalls with privacy curtains. So she wouldn’t have to bathe in front of all these guys.
She paused in front of the mirror, her hand lifting to touch her rough beard. She was going to have to shave. Fortunately, she had a new razor in her caddy. But didn’t she need to use shaving cream? Maybe her conditioner would work.
“Hey.”
She looked up to see Mitch Brewster looking at her. “Didn’t I see you come in with Rosenberg last night?” he asked.
“Um, yeah.”
Mitch grinned. “Knew it. Didn’t figure it would take her long. Do you know if her girlfriend straightened out, too?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, she’s really cute, when you can get a word out of her. And if Rosenberg’s gone back to guys, maybe Tara’d be willing to give it a shot, too.”
Tara was offended, disgusted, confused. Is that what he thought? That her sexuality was something she could just “get over”? But all she said was, “I think Tara’s just gone for a few days. Willow’s letting me crash until she comes back.”
“Oh.” He looked disappointed, but shrugged. “Oh well, maybe next time.” And he wandered off.
Tara stumbled into the first empty shower stall and dropped her caddy, pulling the curtain to ensure her privacy as she collapsed on the shower bench, shaking. She’d been so lost in her own issues of identity that Willow’s reaction hadn’t even registered. She’d been so open, so accepting of Tara’s radical change, as though it made no difference. But what if it didn’t? What if Willow preferred her like this? She had never complained about being unhappy, unsatisfied in her relationship with Oz. What if Tara was the exception for her, a bit of experimentation before finding a real relationship?
She let the water sluice over her alien body, washing quickly and with no attention as thoughts whirled chaotically in her head.
What if Willow preferred her this way?
She returned to the room without shaving, too lost in her disquiet to risk a blade near her skin.
Willow as just hanging up the phone as Tara came in. “That was Buffy,” she said with a smile of greeting. “Her mom’s taking everyone shopping for new clothes to tide you over. They’ll be here in a little bit.” She studied Tara in concern. “Are you okay?”
Tara looked away, hiding her agitation. “I’m fine. Shopping. That should be fun.”
The bathroom was still steamy from their shower as Anya stood in front of the mirror, studying her penis critically. It was only about six or six and a half inches long, but with a thick girth that made her wish she could be on the receiving end of it. She wrapped her hand around it, enjoying the feel of her coarse palm on the sensitive skin. It had felt even better buried in Xander, though. No wonder guys thought about sex all the time if it felt that good.
Her jawline caught her eye and her attention shifted to examining her face carefully, running her hand along her cheeks. Her beard was coming in her natural dark shade, but it looked like it might be fairly sparse. No point in growing in a beard if it wasn’t going to be full.
She reached for Xander’s shave cream and squeezed some out into her hand, slathering it heavily over her neck and jaw like she’d seen him do any number of times. Double checking that everything was covered, she took up his razor and began wiping it off.
Xander came back in from answering the phone, wrapped up in her robe. “That was Buffy,” he started, then stopped at the sight of her. “What are you doing?”
She met his eyes in the mirror. “Shaving.”
“Hari kiri by razor is more like it.” He plucked the razor from her fingers and sat her down on the toilet. “You’ve got too much cream on.” He wiped it off carefully, spreading the remainder around and letting her see in the mirror. “You just need enough to make the razor slide.” He picked up the razor and began working gently, rinsing the blade regularly. “You just go slowly and lightly. Pushing down hard won’t get more hair, it’ll just get your skin. Now push your cheek out like this.” He stuck his tongue in the inside of his mouth, rounding his cheek out. Anya did the same, and he began moving over it. “And you always go in the direction of your beard. Other side.” She moved her tongue. “If you go against the grain, it’ll just catch the hairs under the skin and itch like crazy.” He tilted her chin up and began working up the long column of her throat. “That was Buffy on the phone. Her mom’s taking us all shopping for new clothes.”
“That’s nice of her.”
“Hold still. I’m almost done.” He stroked the blade gently over and around her Adam’s Apple. Then he wet a facecloth and wiped away the remnants of soap and stubble. “There. All done. What do you think?”
She caught his curved waist and drew him close. “I think I’m hard again.”
“Anya,” he protested, but let her draw him close enough to straddle her legs. Even through the towel she wore about her hips, his softness felt good, welcoming against her rigid cock. He draped his arms around her neck. “Not every erection is a mandate for sex.”
She untied the knot at his waist and pushed his robe open, the silk falling away to frame his ripe curves. She rubbed one hand along the full curve of his breast. “It should be.”
Xander’s breath caught slightly at her caress, but he continued. “Having been on the other side, I have to agree, but it’s really not—oh god!” He cried out, clutching at her head as she bent to lick and suck eagerly at one tight nipple. She thrust up against him, grateful that this body knew instinctively how to pursue its own pleasure.
He groaned as she shifted her attention to his other breast, and he reached down between them to release her towel. “They’re going to be here any time,” he whispered hoarsely, sliding his damp pussy along her length, looking for the head. She could tell he wanted this as badly as she did, despite his protests.
“Then we’ll have to hurry,” she murmured as she found his channel and steadily forced her way into him.
“Just . . . oh god . . . don’t hurry . . . too fast,” he grunted as he began riding her.
Anya let her hand slip between them to circle his clit, making him scream as she felt the force of her own orgasm building. “Don’t worry,” she promised, sucking his nipple back between her teeth. “I won’t ever leave you unsatisfied.”
Buffy pushed open the crypt door without knocking and marched in with a peremptory “Spike!” When he didn’t respond right away, she called again. “Spike! Don’t make me come down there after you!” She paced the length of the room, hearing him moving around downstairs.
“What is it, Slayer?”
She turned towards the sound of his voice. “My mom insist . . . oh my god.”
He was dressed in the red sneakers and brown leather miniskirt, topped off by one of his own black t shirts. His eyes were carefully outlined, emphasizing his dark lashes and brilliant blue eyes, and his mouth the brilliant red he had taken from her collection the night before.
And his head was covered all over in enormous sausage curls.
She covered her mouth, but it didn’t prevent her laughter from escaping. He raised his hands to his head self-consciously. “What? What’s wrong?”
“You look like Shirley Temple,” she snickered.
“Can’t be. Niblet wouldn’t do that to me, and she said this would help.”
He looked so disconsolate that she took pity on him. “It would, if you had the patience to do it right. You have to do little pieces at a time. Come here and sit down. I’ll fix it. Have you got a pencil or a sharp stick or something?”
He dug through a pile on the table by his chair and pulled out a chopstick. “This do?”
“Perfect. Now sit down.”
He did as she said, and she carefully began separating each fat curl into a half dozen loose tendrils. Dawn must have given him some kind of conditioner for it, because it was soft and less fly away than it had been last night. She drifted into a comfortable trance as she worked steadily. He was unresistant, just sitting quietly under her hands.
“I’d never realized how wavy your hair is,” she said softly.
He didn’t open his eyes. “’S why I slick it back. Too hard to take care of when I can’t see it.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks.”
“My mom wants you to come shopping with us,” she added.
“Hmm?” His query was a soft, relaxed purr.
“To the mall. She’s taking us all to get new clothes, stuff that fits, and she wants you to come with us. God knows why,” she tacked on, but there was no malice to it.
“Cuz she’s a good woman. Don’t know how she ended up with a shrew like you for a daughter.” But his tone was equally mild.
“Are you going to come or not?”
“Yeah, I’ll come. For Joyce.”
“There.” She stepped back to examine the results of her work. Long, loose ringlets now framed his soft face, emphasizing his mouth and cheekbones. She felt her body reacting to his appearance and stepped back.
He reached up to touch it apprehensively. “Well? Does it look better?”
“Yeah, you look fine.” Her defensiveness was back in place. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, grab your blanket and come on.”
He shook his head. “I’ll meet you there. No sense risking the daylight when I don’t need to. Where’s she taking you?”
“Macy’s, I think. She can get things for all of us there.”
“I’ll meet you there in half an hour or so.”
“Don’t be late. You don’t want my mother mad at you.” Why was she looking for excuses for him to come? She didn’t want him there.
Did she?
He smiled, a surprisingly gentle expression that softened his features. “No, that I don’t. You tell her I’ll be there.”
Buffy hated the sense of relief she felt as she closed the door behind her.
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