Drabble: Fatal Boob
Rating: PG13 at most. Title: Fatal Boob. BtVS S2, no pairing. 250-word ficlet/drabble.
Fatal Boob
Buffy’s forehead creased up as she accepted the strange contrivance. “What is it?” she asked.
“A battle bra,” Xander explained. “Body armor, kinda. A last line of defense against Angelus.”
“Uh, thanks,” Buffy said. She was slightly wigged, but she didn’t want to hurt Xander’s feelings, and she forced a smile onto her face. “I’ll wear it every night on patrol.”
Two nights later Angelus attacked from ambush. His first strike knocked her stake from her hand. “You’re slow, Slayer,” he taunted her. “And out of style. That cone-shaped breasts look went out of fashion in the fifties.”
“Hey, what about Jean-Paul Gaultier, Madonna, nineteen-ninety?” Buffy reminded him.
“Who?” Angelus said blankly. Pop culture knowledge was not his strong suit.
Buffy tried to slip past him towards the stake. Angelus reacted faster than she had expected and seized her before she could reach her target.
“Don’t fight, Buffy,” he grinned. “You’ll enjoy it. No more fighting, no more responsibilities, no more stress. Just the painful pleasure of the bite and then you can rest.” He dragged her towards his fangs.
Buffy suddenly stopped resisting and hurled herself forward. The pointed cones of the battle bra, cunningly designed and crafted by the gifted young carpenter, pierced Angelus’ chest and sank deep.
Angelus snarled in agony. “You would have loved it, you fool,” he told her, and then suddenly he disintegrated into dust and was gone.
Buffy rapped on the battle bra with her knuckles. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Wooden tit be nice.”
Fatal Boob
Buffy’s forehead creased up as she accepted the strange contrivance. “What is it?” she asked.
“A battle bra,” Xander explained. “Body armor, kinda. A last line of defense against Angelus.”
“Uh, thanks,” Buffy said. She was slightly wigged, but she didn’t want to hurt Xander’s feelings, and she forced a smile onto her face. “I’ll wear it every night on patrol.”
Two nights later Angelus attacked from ambush. His first strike knocked her stake from her hand. “You’re slow, Slayer,” he taunted her. “And out of style. That cone-shaped breasts look went out of fashion in the fifties.”
“Hey, what about Jean-Paul Gaultier, Madonna, nineteen-ninety?” Buffy reminded him.
“Who?” Angelus said blankly. Pop culture knowledge was not his strong suit.
Buffy tried to slip past him towards the stake. Angelus reacted faster than she had expected and seized her before she could reach her target.
“Don’t fight, Buffy,” he grinned. “You’ll enjoy it. No more fighting, no more responsibilities, no more stress. Just the painful pleasure of the bite and then you can rest.” He dragged her towards his fangs.
Buffy suddenly stopped resisting and hurled herself forward. The pointed cones of the battle bra, cunningly designed and crafted by the gifted young carpenter, pierced Angelus’ chest and sank deep.
Angelus snarled in agony. “You would have loved it, you fool,” he told her, and then suddenly he disintegrated into dust and was gone.
Buffy rapped on the battle bra with her knuckles. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Wooden tit be nice.”