A fic that isn't.
I have a silly post-RPG reality_bends fic that I want to write, but I'm never going to have the time. It goes something like this:
Spike and Wes go to the Met (a.k.a. The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York). Wes says that it's because he heard that there's a dangerous magical object in one of the galleries that somebody is planning to activate, but Spike's fairly certain that it's just a ruse to get him to go to the museum with Wesley. Wes doesn't know what or where the object is, so they have to wander through the galleries. Wes is interested; Spike is not. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries not to dissolve spontaneously into dust from utter boredom.
There's banter. Spike mocks everything - the Asian armor with moustaches on the helmets ("Guess seeing an army of Groucho Marxes would make you think twice about fighting them..."), the Egyptian statues (*points to a statue standing in a very stiff pose* "All this one needs is some hair gel and he'd be the spitting image of Angel."), the Baroque paintings ("If this cupid were any doughier you could smear butter on him and have him for breakfast.")...
Then they get to the Greek section. Spike likes it better because there are lots of naked people, and he amuses himself comparing Wesley's attributes favorably to the statues and vase paintings. Wesley turns more and more purple with the attention, and an old lady nearby looks him up and down and winks at him, making him flush even more deeply. Wesley tells Spike to stop, that they're supposed to be working, and Spike wanders off down the gallery.
"What is it with Greek blokes and chickens?" he asks, staring at one case in which pretty young men are carrying, being given, or in one case riding on chickens. Roosters, to be precise.
Wesley comes over and reads the labels at the base of the case. "They are apparently love gifts."
"From one bloke to another?" Spike looks more closely at the vases.
Wesley nods. "Yes. You know that young men and older men frequently had relationships in ancient Greece. This was apparently part of their courting rituals."
"I love you; here's my cock?" Spike says. As Wesley chokes, Spike muses, "Guess it does have a certain ring to it."
"It is direct," Wesley says in a tight voice.
"This one looks very happy riding his giant cock."
Wesley clears his throat and glances around to be sure that no one is overhearing them.
"Look at the smile on his face," Spike says, pointing. "Like he's never felt anything better."
"Spike..."
Spike looks over at him and raises his eyebrow. His lips twist up into a wolfish grin as he leans in, setting his hand on Wesley's arm. "You know, pet, I've got - "
"Come on," Wesley says. "I think I hear something." He probably doesn't, but he has enough of a sense of self-preservation to keep Spike from finishing that sentence.
So they go off and find some guy chanting over an ancient whatsit, stop him from activating its powers, and keep the world safe for another day. There could be a fight where Wesley keeps telling Spike to watch out for the artifacts.
As they're leaving, Spike grumbles that he still thinks he Wes dragged him to the museum to look at the art and they just stumbled across the other guy.
Wesley shakes his head and says, "Perhaps you deserve a present for all of your patience."
"Does it taste like chicken?" Spike asks.
"You'll have to tell me."
And then there could be an alley blowjob (I seem to have a thing for alley blowjobs with these two - lights and people on the street thirty feet away, Wesley pushed up against the wall, trying to remain silent as Spike sucks him for all he's worth, fast and hard). Or a furtive handjob in a cab (eewwww - but we've got Wesley wanting to stop but unable to resist Spike's clever fingers - Wes trying not to move, trying to remain silent, his coat over their laps to disguise what Spike's doing). Or some nice giant cock-riding at home (Wes on his back, Spike straddling him, hands on Wesley's shoulders, moving with fierce concentration as Wesley grips Spike's hips and pulls him down to fuck him again and again). Ahem.
The end!
Most of my bantery fics start out something like this in my head. I have a vague setting and build-up, a couple of punch lines, and the general shape. As I actually set words to the page, I'd flesh out the fic, probably change the beats and some of the jokes, and create something postable. Usually the starting point isn't the smut, but sometimes it just creeps in there, as it did above. *coughs*
Spike and Wes go to the Met (a.k.a. The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York). Wes says that it's because he heard that there's a dangerous magical object in one of the galleries that somebody is planning to activate, but Spike's fairly certain that it's just a ruse to get him to go to the museum with Wesley. Wes doesn't know what or where the object is, so they have to wander through the galleries. Wes is interested; Spike is not. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries not to dissolve spontaneously into dust from utter boredom.
There's banter. Spike mocks everything - the Asian armor with moustaches on the helmets ("Guess seeing an army of Groucho Marxes would make you think twice about fighting them..."), the Egyptian statues (*points to a statue standing in a very stiff pose* "All this one needs is some hair gel and he'd be the spitting image of Angel."), the Baroque paintings ("If this cupid were any doughier you could smear butter on him and have him for breakfast.")...
Then they get to the Greek section. Spike likes it better because there are lots of naked people, and he amuses himself comparing Wesley's attributes favorably to the statues and vase paintings. Wesley turns more and more purple with the attention, and an old lady nearby looks him up and down and winks at him, making him flush even more deeply. Wesley tells Spike to stop, that they're supposed to be working, and Spike wanders off down the gallery.
"What is it with Greek blokes and chickens?" he asks, staring at one case in which pretty young men are carrying, being given, or in one case riding on chickens. Roosters, to be precise.
Wesley comes over and reads the labels at the base of the case. "They are apparently love gifts."
"From one bloke to another?" Spike looks more closely at the vases.
Wesley nods. "Yes. You know that young men and older men frequently had relationships in ancient Greece. This was apparently part of their courting rituals."
"I love you; here's my cock?" Spike says. As Wesley chokes, Spike muses, "Guess it does have a certain ring to it."
"It is direct," Wesley says in a tight voice.
"This one looks very happy riding his giant cock."
Wesley clears his throat and glances around to be sure that no one is overhearing them.
"Look at the smile on his face," Spike says, pointing. "Like he's never felt anything better."
"Spike..."
Spike looks over at him and raises his eyebrow. His lips twist up into a wolfish grin as he leans in, setting his hand on Wesley's arm. "You know, pet, I've got - "
"Come on," Wesley says. "I think I hear something." He probably doesn't, but he has enough of a sense of self-preservation to keep Spike from finishing that sentence.
So they go off and find some guy chanting over an ancient whatsit, stop him from activating its powers, and keep the world safe for another day. There could be a fight where Wesley keeps telling Spike to watch out for the artifacts.
As they're leaving, Spike grumbles that he still thinks he Wes dragged him to the museum to look at the art and they just stumbled across the other guy.
Wesley shakes his head and says, "Perhaps you deserve a present for all of your patience."
"Does it taste like chicken?" Spike asks.
"You'll have to tell me."
And then there could be an alley blowjob (I seem to have a thing for alley blowjobs with these two - lights and people on the street thirty feet away, Wesley pushed up against the wall, trying to remain silent as Spike sucks him for all he's worth, fast and hard). Or a furtive handjob in a cab (eewwww - but we've got Wesley wanting to stop but unable to resist Spike's clever fingers - Wes trying not to move, trying to remain silent, his coat over their laps to disguise what Spike's doing). Or some nice giant cock-riding at home (Wes on his back, Spike straddling him, hands on Wesley's shoulders, moving with fierce concentration as Wesley grips Spike's hips and pulls him down to fuck him again and again). Ahem.
The end!
Most of my bantery fics start out something like this in my head. I have a vague setting and build-up, a couple of punch lines, and the general shape. As I actually set words to the page, I'd flesh out the fic, probably change the beats and some of the jokes, and create something postable. Usually the starting point isn't the smut, but sometimes it just creeps in there, as it did above. *coughs*