just_muse_me | 30.3 Accent
Co-written with naysowee
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
The Slayer caught her lip as she looked down at the Scotsman in his hospital gown, the covers already pulled back in step one of the dare she'd been given by Xander. Xander who had suddenly decided he had elsewhere to be after working her up into a nervous and horny mess. She shouldn't be doing this, right? The poor guy had just had his ass kicked and she was about to try and sneak a peek at his weapon. Curiosity was fast getting the better of her though. She could already see he worked out, and he had to know what he was doing to be hanging around in graveyards. It wasn't exactly a popular past time. Not like all the cool kids had woken up one day and decided chasing vampires was the way to catch a thrill.
Although it wouldn't have surprised Buffy if it did suddenly turn into a fad. It would just make her day that much harder. Amateurs and stupid teenagers had no place being anywhere near vamps. It was how they usually ended up on the dinner menu.
Green eyes slid up to look over his features and then down to the cast covering his broken arm. She let out a soft sigh. "Damn you for being so hot, Braveheart. And damn me for being that deep into a drought that I gotta go perving on unconscious Scotsman. There is no way I'm making it back into Heaven..." She took the plunge, and gently lifted up the hem of the hospital gown, her mouth falling open just a little bit at the sight that greeted her. "Oh my..."
Rory really did not know what the hell was going on when he woke up. All he knew at first was that there was a lot of pain, and pain really fucking sucked. It wasn't that he was a wuss, because he wasn't! At least, he would never admit to being one, anyway. Far, far from it. It would never do for any Hunter to admit he was chicken shit. But if, on the very rare occasion, he had a chicken shit moment, he wanted it to be without an audience. Only, right now there was an audience, he just didn't know who they were. His eyes opened just a crack to survey the scene, hoping to all wonderful heavenly beings that he had a sexy nurse, but he would settle for just cute. Maybe with a nice arse he could perve on when she bent over. Pressing his lips together, he found a blonde lassie lifting his gown and helping herself to a peek underneath. "What are you looking for, lassie? Nessie? Might be a monster, but we're sans scales... I hope," he offered with a groggy, yet cheeky smirk.
"Nope, no scales. Definitely no scales... Very scale-free and much with the, ah, bigness." Buffy had responded before her brain even caught up to the fact that Braveheart was awake and it took a moment before she gasped and dropped the gown, her hands quickly disappearing behind her back as she flushed a deep scarlet. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! I was... Xander dared me. And I really haven't been dreaming about your monster every night so far this week, or anything. It's so not been on my thoughts. Are you okay? Should I go? Do you need a drink? I'm Buffy," she added as she talked herself to a stop. "Hi."
"Much with the bigness? Didnae ever follow the Yank speech pattern. Seems to change too much, and nay with any tradition, like." Rory scrunched his face up a little in pain as he tried to sit up in bed, but he had to give up breathlessly when it got too much. It was like he had a hangover, only without the wonderful luxury of being pissed beforehand. He smirked at her again, though, not willing to let pain keep him down for long, and then winked at her. "Nay so wee, aye? Tha's the Buchanan genes, lassie. Cannae beat them. What the fecking hell is a Xander, like? Is that some sort of pet? Like those Furby things? Scary as all bollocks those, mind. Be giving the wee bairns nightmares." He paused, and pointed at her. "The cemetary, aye? Ahhh, I mind you now. For a minute there, I thought I was going nuts. Buffy? Oh aye, and I'm Elmo. Nice to meet you."
Buffy frowned a little before she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, stupid name. I know. I've made my peace with it. Just like I've made my peace with the fact I will never speak proper English. Sorry. That shouldn't stop you though. Scottish accents are knee weakening. Half the time I don't know what you guys are saying when it's a million miles an hour, but I'm getting better. Nice to meet you, Elmo. Interesting name you have there. Does that mean I have to tickle you?" She smirked just a little before she moved higher up the side of his bed and reached for the remote so he could adjust his bed if he wanted. "I think it's probably wise you don't try and push yourself right now. You lost a lot of blood and they had to give you a transfusion. At least you do remember me which is a nice surprise. And for the record Xander is my best friend, and no you're really not wee at all. I offer my appreciation to those Buchanan genes."
Rory shook his head. "Dinnae mind how I got here. Before. The other day. Night. I take it hanging oot with gravestones is a wee bit of a pasttime for you?" His hand... at least, his good hang, reflexively went to his throat, and there was a dressing around the area of his pulse point, causing the Scot to fall into a long string of colourful and broad expletives, ending with a succinct, "Fecking gigantic fecker!" He hated losing, and he hated being got the better of. His game must've been off, or maybe he was hormonal. Either way, he had an urge to sulk extensively, and maybe started to scowl just a little bit when he realised he had been the victim of an attack. It didn't help that he hated hospitals and always seemed to get nurses that reminded him of cranky school teachers.
Buffy bit back a grin as she watched him, amused at his response. She pulled back her hair to keep it out of his face as she leant down to kiss his forehead. "There, there. The blood sucker's dust. You don't need to worry about the, ah, fecker. And yeah, I guess you could say me and gravestones have a bit of history. I could say the same for you, though. Not often I meet another person that has a tendency to spend their nights in graveyards. Impressive moves, by the way. The other night, not so much last night. No offence."
"You try being all Saturday Night Fever when a creature of the night is fanging on your jugular," Rory threw back with a huff and was once again trying to get out of the bed, even going so far this time as to push the cover back and hook one leg over the edge of the bed. "I have to get home. Wee Willy will be wanting his dinner. You know, it isnae safe for lassies to be hanging 'round dark places at night, nay matter what the circumstances or if you have a dead people fetish. Sure there isnae anything wrong with that, but I dinnae want details, mind. Prefer my bed partners to be a bit more on the warm side, if you get my drift. Your name is really Buffy? Ach, lassie, your parents need more than a wee talking to, like."
"Wee Willy? Is that what you call your..." Buffy held up her hand before she finished the question. "Never mind. And just so you know, I hate hospitals as much as you do, but you might just want to hold out for a few moments before you start trying to do a Steve McQueen, okay? First, as much as I want a glimpse of your ass in that gown, you might just want to take a moment to gather your energy. And second, you still have an IV attached that's feeding you some pretty good painkillers. And don't you go worrying about this lassie, I can more than take care of myself." She put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from moving any further, applying just a little of her Slayer strength to make sure he stayed put. "My Mom's dead and my Dad's a deadbeat. They aren't gonna be getting a talking to any time soon."
Rory managed to sit up and was hit with a strong dizzy spell that had him gingerly easing back down on his side so his head at least had something soft to connect with. He wasn't foreign to hangovers, but this was a whole other story. "You really think I would call my willy Wee Willy? Isnae anything wee aboot it, lassie! I thought we covered that. In all it's glory, it'd give the Eiffel Tower a run for it's money, like." He gave a small nod for emphasis and realised now he had his right hand in a cast. Nothing but a load of bullshit for someone right-handed. "Where's my truck? Did you get my truck? Fecking hell, where are the keys. If some tosser has nicked it, like, I'll tear off their nads and shove them up their nose so the wee dangly bits are hanging oot the nostrils. And what is with that grip, lassie? Are you some sort of dominatrix. That isnae sexy, just so you know. I guess you've had to make up for something with a name like Buffy, mind. I'd be wanting to learn how to whip a laddie's arse with that, too."
"Wow, you really aren't letting up on my name any time soon, are you, Elmo? And to think I thought you were hot. Now you're just an angry man with a large weapon. So who is Wee Willy, then? Your imaginary friend?" Buffy let go of him, and pulled open the drawer next to his bed to reveal a plastic bag with his belongs. "Keys are in here. I didn't see a truck, I just carried you. With Xander. We both carried you. I'm not a dominatrix! I just eat lots of spinach. I guess that's not sexy either, huh?"
Rory raised his eyebrows at her. "I doubt it, lassie. Doesnae spinach make you fart? Cannae be much of a sound judge, mind. Nay a huge fan of green things in general. Except the Hulk. The Hulk rocked, and that green Fanta? Total win," he explained, still staying safely on his side as he watched her with an air of suspicion. He couldn't help it, over the years, he had learnt to be just a naturally suspicious person, especially in weird situations like this. He was pretty sure she wasn't a Hunter, or he would have heard about her. At least, if she was infiltrating on his territory, he would have. "Wee Willy is my best mate. Only, just more on the furry side. Four legs, likes to piss on the neighbours pansies."
"Oh, a dog! Well, that makes sense." Buffy smiled as she tried to imagine what kind of dog Wee Willy was meant to be and whether it was one of those things where it would turn out to be gigantic. "Frozen green Fanta is win. Until you try to slurp it too fast and get that headachey thing going on. That's just not fun at all. So, can I ask you something? You a Hunter, or you just like tempting fate while looking hot in a kilt? I just want to be clear."
"I'm a stripper, didnae you see the moves, like? Pfft, and you call yourself a graveyard expert," Rory joked with a laugh, at least until his ribs hurt. Hurting was a pain in the arse, and he needed a few shots of whiskey in that IV line. "I'm curious, though. Why should you be clear on my situation, without you offering me any information in return? I always was a big fan of the give and take thing. How can I even know that you werenae the one feeding on my plasma, huh?"
Buffy bared her very human teeth before she snapped her jaw and then started laughing. "Your plasma was never the bodily fluid I was interested in, Elmo the Stripper. Alright, give and take. I can deal with that. First thing's first, ever heard of the Slayer? I need to gauge how much ground I have to cover."
"Aye. In passing," Rory revealed, though only revealing as much as he needed to for the moment. "I hear there is more than one these days, though. Or something. Dinnae know. Wasnae like they ever make a habit of hanging oot in Scotland, aye? Nay on my watch, anyway," he said with a small shrug.
Buffy sat down in the chair next to his bed and started to run her fingers along his sheet. "Well, that's me. I'm the Slayer. The Original Slayer, accept no substitutes. Only I kinda had to jump start all the other Slayers while I was trying to close a Hellmouth. Kind of like the mecca for all things evil? My town in California is now a huge crater. But I was called as the Chosen One and for a little while it was just me. It's a really long story, but now there's hundreds of Slayers. Guess I'm technically their general now. General Buffy. I never was good at following the rules, you know? I'd have been in Scotland years ago if I had ever truly realised how hot Scots were."
Rory pointed to her with a smirk. "We need to talk about your punctuality skills. Could have used you just a wee bit before the fecker sucked my blood, aye," he told her, not overly phased by what she was saying because he wasn't foreign to anything supernatural, by any means. It took a lot to surprise him lately. "And just on the fang front, some have the ability to conceal that, mind. You could be one of those. Just saying. Nay necessarily accusing you of anything. Call me wary, but I did wake up to you with your face three inches from my willy. Please dinnae ever call yourself General Buffy again. It sounds like a character oot of a bad porn film. I'm imaging a busty lassie dressed like a band leader waving a baton with nay panties. Do you realise how much evil likes to hang aboot in Scotland. A lot more history in Edinburgh than Star Spangled Banner Land can only dream aboot."
"Then maybe you need to give me a guided tour, Elmo. And I never once claimed to be punctual. At least this way I get you at my mercy, huh? Check, no calling myself you know what ever again. And for the record, it was a dare! And I was maybe a little too quick to give into temptation when I snuck a peek. Can't blame a girl for trying." Buffy offered him a slight shrug before she smiled. "Need some help getting dressed there, slugger, or do you want to be alone with your monster?"
Rory rose up on his good arm and tilted his head at her. Another smirk flickered on his lips and he cleared his throat. "I more just want to know what you're doing in my territory now, lassie. I dinnae share so well, you know. Slayer or nay. If that was a veiled attempt at calling me a tosser, I know I should be offended, like, but cannae be denying the fact I'm a huge tosser. Just have to ask my pals."
Buffy held her hands up. "I would never call you a tosser. Mostly because I'm still not quite fluent in English-English. I'd probably just call you a douche if I thought you were one. I didn't know it was anyone's territory. For the most part I stick to my own, but we brought all the girls here for training. Figured they'd be safe in Scotland. Plus, you know, a castle's about the only thing big enough to house them all. If you want to start getting into a pissing contest pretty sure I can take you on. The only thing is that I don't deal so well with being locked up with all those girls, so I need to stretch my legs now and again. Not like I'm getting any action, so I just do some old school slaying. Is that alright with you?"
"Ohhh, aye? Pretty wee lochs and a few big laws... which is a mountain, by the way, for your Yank Speak. Laddies running 'roond in kilts and munching on haggis playing Flower of Scotland on the pipes. Couldnae possibly be anything scary and evil here, aye?" Rory started to snigger at her and shook his head in amusement. "I dinnae want to get into nay pissing contests with a lassie. When you all can aim up a wall and write your name in the snow withoot pissing on your shoes, then we'll talk. But this is my territory and you'll be respecting that, lassie. I'll work with you, but nay against you. Like I said, I dinnae share, and I was born and raised in Bonnie Scotland. You might be all with the big Slayer talk, but I'm sure there is a thing or two I can teach you aboot my country to keep you safe. Dinnae take anything for granted."
Buffy gave him a mock salute. "Aye, aye, Cap'n Elmo. I'll take anything you want to teach me. It might be refreshing to find out there are still things I can learn. It's a little easy to get complacent when you've been doing the same thing for several years. Plus I'm sure Faith can take the Slayerettes for the mean time. I have more than earned a working vacation. Also - didn't exactly say there wouldn't be big bads here. Just that it was probably safer for them here than near any more Hellmouths. Edinburgh might have its own evil, but it's not after my girls just yet. There's some spells keeping them safe from detection. And now I'm just tempted to start trying to piss my name in the snow... We didn't exactly get a lot of it in California."
"Slayerettes? Oh my god." Rory held up his hand and then covered his face in it. "Stop, stop. You're ruining my love for cheesy porn, and making it sound like you're the head of an army of blonde cheerleaders, or something! Talk aboot doing a lad's head in. I've been caught up in a supernatural 90210 and I cannae get oot! Several years. Aye, that's a lifetime," he snorted. "I work with laddies who have been doing it for thirty... forty years. Didnnae get complacent, lassie. There is always more shit oot there to learn. Isnae possible to ever know everything. Edinburgh's evil is after itself. You'll understand what I mean by that one day. Doesnae mean us humans dinnae get caught in the crossfire sometimes. I really need to get oot of here. My truck. I cannae afford a new one, so I'll crawl back to it if I have to."
Buffy stuck her tongue out at him before she got up and crossed over to wear they'd stashed his clothes in the closet. She grabbed them up in her arms and threw them on the bed. "You don't need to crawl. I carried you once, I'll do it again. I promise I won't even make any damsel jokes. Just get dressed and we'll find it. Then I'll leave you to you and your territory so you don't feel like you're going to get cooties from associating with me."
"Hey, just because I know what a Slayer is, doesnae mean I want you making me look like a pussy with your Shera powers. I'll walk, and if I trip, you'll laugh so I can get up and save face like a real man," Rory decided with a nod as he got back into a sitting position. "Feck me, the fecker did a right job on me, aye? Might need more than a wee dram to get through this. Whatever happens when a laddie is unconscious, didnae really happen. That's the rule. Ach, now you're gonna sulk like a teenager? You're nay fun when I pull the piss. What's this Faith like? Got a nice rack?"
"Her rack is famous, just like her attitude. She's like you with breasts," Buffy revealed with a slight smirk. "Only she had a whole murderous period there where she was all yay killing. And I'm not sulking. It's just hard with you Scots to work out when you're making fun of me. I'm still amazed I'm having a conversation and not just sitting here drooling. So please, just give me a little credit, okay? And you do mean a little drink, right? I got that right, right? Okay, so no carrying, and much laughing. Check. Can I see your monster again? You know, one more hit for the road..."
Rory quirked an eyebrow. "'Yay killing'? What, she go oot and get a Dr Phill self-help book and get over it? As lovely as she sounds, I like living, so I might pass. Was worth a shot, though. You cannae blame a laddie for wanting a good root after being sucked dry by Dracula wannabe. Gotta make sure that transfusion is flowing in all the right directions, like." He stood up and with another mischievous smirk at her, he winked. "Aye, lassie... you play your cards right, and I might even let you enjoy more than a wee bit of Nessie spotting."
Buffy pretended to fan herself as she smirked back at him. "Ooh baby, don't tease me like that. Although if I'm totally honest, I wouldn't mind helping you out with a good... root? Jeez, and you think I make things sound traumatic. I feel like I'm a field and you're about to try and plough me, or something. Better get that kilt on then just so I can take it off later. After you feed Wee Willy, of course."
Rory sniggered as he started to unpeel the tape on the IV. "Aye, lassie. A good and decent ploughing is exactly what I intend to do. Been a wee while, like. A good four days, at least." With the medical lines gone, all he did was simply reach behind him to undo the tie on the gown, letting it drop to the floor and leaving him standing there in all his glory. "Nay time like the present. And to think, people wonder why Scots need sporrans."
There might have been a time when Buffy would have played coy and acted like she was too shy to take advantage of the moment. But she'd lived a lot since then, and she'd become more comfortable with her sexuality. Although you couldn't blame a girl for being awkward about it when your first time ends in your boyfriend turning into a psychotic vampire. She took Elmo's face between her hands and kissed him as she pressed her body up against his. "Four days? Try over a year... I think you're the one about to get ploughed, Braveheart."
Words: 3965
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
The Slayer caught her lip as she looked down at the Scotsman in his hospital gown, the covers already pulled back in step one of the dare she'd been given by Xander. Xander who had suddenly decided he had elsewhere to be after working her up into a nervous and horny mess. She shouldn't be doing this, right? The poor guy had just had his ass kicked and she was about to try and sneak a peek at his weapon. Curiosity was fast getting the better of her though. She could already see he worked out, and he had to know what he was doing to be hanging around in graveyards. It wasn't exactly a popular past time. Not like all the cool kids had woken up one day and decided chasing vampires was the way to catch a thrill.
Although it wouldn't have surprised Buffy if it did suddenly turn into a fad. It would just make her day that much harder. Amateurs and stupid teenagers had no place being anywhere near vamps. It was how they usually ended up on the dinner menu.
Green eyes slid up to look over his features and then down to the cast covering his broken arm. She let out a soft sigh. "Damn you for being so hot, Braveheart. And damn me for being that deep into a drought that I gotta go perving on unconscious Scotsman. There is no way I'm making it back into Heaven..." She took the plunge, and gently lifted up the hem of the hospital gown, her mouth falling open just a little bit at the sight that greeted her. "Oh my..."
Rory really did not know what the hell was going on when he woke up. All he knew at first was that there was a lot of pain, and pain really fucking sucked. It wasn't that he was a wuss, because he wasn't! At least, he would never admit to being one, anyway. Far, far from it. It would never do for any Hunter to admit he was chicken shit. But if, on the very rare occasion, he had a chicken shit moment, he wanted it to be without an audience. Only, right now there was an audience, he just didn't know who they were. His eyes opened just a crack to survey the scene, hoping to all wonderful heavenly beings that he had a sexy nurse, but he would settle for just cute. Maybe with a nice arse he could perve on when she bent over. Pressing his lips together, he found a blonde lassie lifting his gown and helping herself to a peek underneath. "What are you looking for, lassie? Nessie? Might be a monster, but we're sans scales... I hope," he offered with a groggy, yet cheeky smirk.
"Nope, no scales. Definitely no scales... Very scale-free and much with the, ah, bigness." Buffy had responded before her brain even caught up to the fact that Braveheart was awake and it took a moment before she gasped and dropped the gown, her hands quickly disappearing behind her back as she flushed a deep scarlet. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! I was... Xander dared me. And I really haven't been dreaming about your monster every night so far this week, or anything. It's so not been on my thoughts. Are you okay? Should I go? Do you need a drink? I'm Buffy," she added as she talked herself to a stop. "Hi."
"Much with the bigness? Didnae ever follow the Yank speech pattern. Seems to change too much, and nay with any tradition, like." Rory scrunched his face up a little in pain as he tried to sit up in bed, but he had to give up breathlessly when it got too much. It was like he had a hangover, only without the wonderful luxury of being pissed beforehand. He smirked at her again, though, not willing to let pain keep him down for long, and then winked at her. "Nay so wee, aye? Tha's the Buchanan genes, lassie. Cannae beat them. What the fecking hell is a Xander, like? Is that some sort of pet? Like those Furby things? Scary as all bollocks those, mind. Be giving the wee bairns nightmares." He paused, and pointed at her. "The cemetary, aye? Ahhh, I mind you now. For a minute there, I thought I was going nuts. Buffy? Oh aye, and I'm Elmo. Nice to meet you."
Buffy frowned a little before she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, stupid name. I know. I've made my peace with it. Just like I've made my peace with the fact I will never speak proper English. Sorry. That shouldn't stop you though. Scottish accents are knee weakening. Half the time I don't know what you guys are saying when it's a million miles an hour, but I'm getting better. Nice to meet you, Elmo. Interesting name you have there. Does that mean I have to tickle you?" She smirked just a little before she moved higher up the side of his bed and reached for the remote so he could adjust his bed if he wanted. "I think it's probably wise you don't try and push yourself right now. You lost a lot of blood and they had to give you a transfusion. At least you do remember me which is a nice surprise. And for the record Xander is my best friend, and no you're really not wee at all. I offer my appreciation to those Buchanan genes."
Rory shook his head. "Dinnae mind how I got here. Before. The other day. Night. I take it hanging oot with gravestones is a wee bit of a pasttime for you?" His hand... at least, his good hang, reflexively went to his throat, and there was a dressing around the area of his pulse point, causing the Scot to fall into a long string of colourful and broad expletives, ending with a succinct, "Fecking gigantic fecker!" He hated losing, and he hated being got the better of. His game must've been off, or maybe he was hormonal. Either way, he had an urge to sulk extensively, and maybe started to scowl just a little bit when he realised he had been the victim of an attack. It didn't help that he hated hospitals and always seemed to get nurses that reminded him of cranky school teachers.
Buffy bit back a grin as she watched him, amused at his response. She pulled back her hair to keep it out of his face as she leant down to kiss his forehead. "There, there. The blood sucker's dust. You don't need to worry about the, ah, fecker. And yeah, I guess you could say me and gravestones have a bit of history. I could say the same for you, though. Not often I meet another person that has a tendency to spend their nights in graveyards. Impressive moves, by the way. The other night, not so much last night. No offence."
"You try being all Saturday Night Fever when a creature of the night is fanging on your jugular," Rory threw back with a huff and was once again trying to get out of the bed, even going so far this time as to push the cover back and hook one leg over the edge of the bed. "I have to get home. Wee Willy will be wanting his dinner. You know, it isnae safe for lassies to be hanging 'round dark places at night, nay matter what the circumstances or if you have a dead people fetish. Sure there isnae anything wrong with that, but I dinnae want details, mind. Prefer my bed partners to be a bit more on the warm side, if you get my drift. Your name is really Buffy? Ach, lassie, your parents need more than a wee talking to, like."
"Wee Willy? Is that what you call your..." Buffy held up her hand before she finished the question. "Never mind. And just so you know, I hate hospitals as much as you do, but you might just want to hold out for a few moments before you start trying to do a Steve McQueen, okay? First, as much as I want a glimpse of your ass in that gown, you might just want to take a moment to gather your energy. And second, you still have an IV attached that's feeding you some pretty good painkillers. And don't you go worrying about this lassie, I can more than take care of myself." She put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from moving any further, applying just a little of her Slayer strength to make sure he stayed put. "My Mom's dead and my Dad's a deadbeat. They aren't gonna be getting a talking to any time soon."
Rory managed to sit up and was hit with a strong dizzy spell that had him gingerly easing back down on his side so his head at least had something soft to connect with. He wasn't foreign to hangovers, but this was a whole other story. "You really think I would call my willy Wee Willy? Isnae anything wee aboot it, lassie! I thought we covered that. In all it's glory, it'd give the Eiffel Tower a run for it's money, like." He gave a small nod for emphasis and realised now he had his right hand in a cast. Nothing but a load of bullshit for someone right-handed. "Where's my truck? Did you get my truck? Fecking hell, where are the keys. If some tosser has nicked it, like, I'll tear off their nads and shove them up their nose so the wee dangly bits are hanging oot the nostrils. And what is with that grip, lassie? Are you some sort of dominatrix. That isnae sexy, just so you know. I guess you've had to make up for something with a name like Buffy, mind. I'd be wanting to learn how to whip a laddie's arse with that, too."
"Wow, you really aren't letting up on my name any time soon, are you, Elmo? And to think I thought you were hot. Now you're just an angry man with a large weapon. So who is Wee Willy, then? Your imaginary friend?" Buffy let go of him, and pulled open the drawer next to his bed to reveal a plastic bag with his belongs. "Keys are in here. I didn't see a truck, I just carried you. With Xander. We both carried you. I'm not a dominatrix! I just eat lots of spinach. I guess that's not sexy either, huh?"
Rory raised his eyebrows at her. "I doubt it, lassie. Doesnae spinach make you fart? Cannae be much of a sound judge, mind. Nay a huge fan of green things in general. Except the Hulk. The Hulk rocked, and that green Fanta? Total win," he explained, still staying safely on his side as he watched her with an air of suspicion. He couldn't help it, over the years, he had learnt to be just a naturally suspicious person, especially in weird situations like this. He was pretty sure she wasn't a Hunter, or he would have heard about her. At least, if she was infiltrating on his territory, he would have. "Wee Willy is my best mate. Only, just more on the furry side. Four legs, likes to piss on the neighbours pansies."
"Oh, a dog! Well, that makes sense." Buffy smiled as she tried to imagine what kind of dog Wee Willy was meant to be and whether it was one of those things where it would turn out to be gigantic. "Frozen green Fanta is win. Until you try to slurp it too fast and get that headachey thing going on. That's just not fun at all. So, can I ask you something? You a Hunter, or you just like tempting fate while looking hot in a kilt? I just want to be clear."
"I'm a stripper, didnae you see the moves, like? Pfft, and you call yourself a graveyard expert," Rory joked with a laugh, at least until his ribs hurt. Hurting was a pain in the arse, and he needed a few shots of whiskey in that IV line. "I'm curious, though. Why should you be clear on my situation, without you offering me any information in return? I always was a big fan of the give and take thing. How can I even know that you werenae the one feeding on my plasma, huh?"
Buffy bared her very human teeth before she snapped her jaw and then started laughing. "Your plasma was never the bodily fluid I was interested in, Elmo the Stripper. Alright, give and take. I can deal with that. First thing's first, ever heard of the Slayer? I need to gauge how much ground I have to cover."
"Aye. In passing," Rory revealed, though only revealing as much as he needed to for the moment. "I hear there is more than one these days, though. Or something. Dinnae know. Wasnae like they ever make a habit of hanging oot in Scotland, aye? Nay on my watch, anyway," he said with a small shrug.
Buffy sat down in the chair next to his bed and started to run her fingers along his sheet. "Well, that's me. I'm the Slayer. The Original Slayer, accept no substitutes. Only I kinda had to jump start all the other Slayers while I was trying to close a Hellmouth. Kind of like the mecca for all things evil? My town in California is now a huge crater. But I was called as the Chosen One and for a little while it was just me. It's a really long story, but now there's hundreds of Slayers. Guess I'm technically their general now. General Buffy. I never was good at following the rules, you know? I'd have been in Scotland years ago if I had ever truly realised how hot Scots were."
Rory pointed to her with a smirk. "We need to talk about your punctuality skills. Could have used you just a wee bit before the fecker sucked my blood, aye," he told her, not overly phased by what she was saying because he wasn't foreign to anything supernatural, by any means. It took a lot to surprise him lately. "And just on the fang front, some have the ability to conceal that, mind. You could be one of those. Just saying. Nay necessarily accusing you of anything. Call me wary, but I did wake up to you with your face three inches from my willy. Please dinnae ever call yourself General Buffy again. It sounds like a character oot of a bad porn film. I'm imaging a busty lassie dressed like a band leader waving a baton with nay panties. Do you realise how much evil likes to hang aboot in Scotland. A lot more history in Edinburgh than Star Spangled Banner Land can only dream aboot."
"Then maybe you need to give me a guided tour, Elmo. And I never once claimed to be punctual. At least this way I get you at my mercy, huh? Check, no calling myself you know what ever again. And for the record, it was a dare! And I was maybe a little too quick to give into temptation when I snuck a peek. Can't blame a girl for trying." Buffy offered him a slight shrug before she smiled. "Need some help getting dressed there, slugger, or do you want to be alone with your monster?"
Rory rose up on his good arm and tilted his head at her. Another smirk flickered on his lips and he cleared his throat. "I more just want to know what you're doing in my territory now, lassie. I dinnae share so well, you know. Slayer or nay. If that was a veiled attempt at calling me a tosser, I know I should be offended, like, but cannae be denying the fact I'm a huge tosser. Just have to ask my pals."
Buffy held her hands up. "I would never call you a tosser. Mostly because I'm still not quite fluent in English-English. I'd probably just call you a douche if I thought you were one. I didn't know it was anyone's territory. For the most part I stick to my own, but we brought all the girls here for training. Figured they'd be safe in Scotland. Plus, you know, a castle's about the only thing big enough to house them all. If you want to start getting into a pissing contest pretty sure I can take you on. The only thing is that I don't deal so well with being locked up with all those girls, so I need to stretch my legs now and again. Not like I'm getting any action, so I just do some old school slaying. Is that alright with you?"
"Ohhh, aye? Pretty wee lochs and a few big laws... which is a mountain, by the way, for your Yank Speak. Laddies running 'roond in kilts and munching on haggis playing Flower of Scotland on the pipes. Couldnae possibly be anything scary and evil here, aye?" Rory started to snigger at her and shook his head in amusement. "I dinnae want to get into nay pissing contests with a lassie. When you all can aim up a wall and write your name in the snow withoot pissing on your shoes, then we'll talk. But this is my territory and you'll be respecting that, lassie. I'll work with you, but nay against you. Like I said, I dinnae share, and I was born and raised in Bonnie Scotland. You might be all with the big Slayer talk, but I'm sure there is a thing or two I can teach you aboot my country to keep you safe. Dinnae take anything for granted."
Buffy gave him a mock salute. "Aye, aye, Cap'n Elmo. I'll take anything you want to teach me. It might be refreshing to find out there are still things I can learn. It's a little easy to get complacent when you've been doing the same thing for several years. Plus I'm sure Faith can take the Slayerettes for the mean time. I have more than earned a working vacation. Also - didn't exactly say there wouldn't be big bads here. Just that it was probably safer for them here than near any more Hellmouths. Edinburgh might have its own evil, but it's not after my girls just yet. There's some spells keeping them safe from detection. And now I'm just tempted to start trying to piss my name in the snow... We didn't exactly get a lot of it in California."
"Slayerettes? Oh my god." Rory held up his hand and then covered his face in it. "Stop, stop. You're ruining my love for cheesy porn, and making it sound like you're the head of an army of blonde cheerleaders, or something! Talk aboot doing a lad's head in. I've been caught up in a supernatural 90210 and I cannae get oot! Several years. Aye, that's a lifetime," he snorted. "I work with laddies who have been doing it for thirty... forty years. Didnnae get complacent, lassie. There is always more shit oot there to learn. Isnae possible to ever know everything. Edinburgh's evil is after itself. You'll understand what I mean by that one day. Doesnae mean us humans dinnae get caught in the crossfire sometimes. I really need to get oot of here. My truck. I cannae afford a new one, so I'll crawl back to it if I have to."
Buffy stuck her tongue out at him before she got up and crossed over to wear they'd stashed his clothes in the closet. She grabbed them up in her arms and threw them on the bed. "You don't need to crawl. I carried you once, I'll do it again. I promise I won't even make any damsel jokes. Just get dressed and we'll find it. Then I'll leave you to you and your territory so you don't feel like you're going to get cooties from associating with me."
"Hey, just because I know what a Slayer is, doesnae mean I want you making me look like a pussy with your Shera powers. I'll walk, and if I trip, you'll laugh so I can get up and save face like a real man," Rory decided with a nod as he got back into a sitting position. "Feck me, the fecker did a right job on me, aye? Might need more than a wee dram to get through this. Whatever happens when a laddie is unconscious, didnae really happen. That's the rule. Ach, now you're gonna sulk like a teenager? You're nay fun when I pull the piss. What's this Faith like? Got a nice rack?"
"Her rack is famous, just like her attitude. She's like you with breasts," Buffy revealed with a slight smirk. "Only she had a whole murderous period there where she was all yay killing. And I'm not sulking. It's just hard with you Scots to work out when you're making fun of me. I'm still amazed I'm having a conversation and not just sitting here drooling. So please, just give me a little credit, okay? And you do mean a little drink, right? I got that right, right? Okay, so no carrying, and much laughing. Check. Can I see your monster again? You know, one more hit for the road..."
Rory quirked an eyebrow. "'Yay killing'? What, she go oot and get a Dr Phill self-help book and get over it? As lovely as she sounds, I like living, so I might pass. Was worth a shot, though. You cannae blame a laddie for wanting a good root after being sucked dry by Dracula wannabe. Gotta make sure that transfusion is flowing in all the right directions, like." He stood up and with another mischievous smirk at her, he winked. "Aye, lassie... you play your cards right, and I might even let you enjoy more than a wee bit of Nessie spotting."
Buffy pretended to fan herself as she smirked back at him. "Ooh baby, don't tease me like that. Although if I'm totally honest, I wouldn't mind helping you out with a good... root? Jeez, and you think I make things sound traumatic. I feel like I'm a field and you're about to try and plough me, or something. Better get that kilt on then just so I can take it off later. After you feed Wee Willy, of course."
Rory sniggered as he started to unpeel the tape on the IV. "Aye, lassie. A good and decent ploughing is exactly what I intend to do. Been a wee while, like. A good four days, at least." With the medical lines gone, all he did was simply reach behind him to undo the tie on the gown, letting it drop to the floor and leaving him standing there in all his glory. "Nay time like the present. And to think, people wonder why Scots need sporrans."
There might have been a time when Buffy would have played coy and acted like she was too shy to take advantage of the moment. But she'd lived a lot since then, and she'd become more comfortable with her sexuality. Although you couldn't blame a girl for being awkward about it when your first time ends in your boyfriend turning into a psychotic vampire. She took Elmo's face between her hands and kissed him as she pressed her body up against his. "Four days? Try over a year... I think you're the one about to get ploughed, Braveheart."
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