Fic: Learning Curve
Title: Learning Curve
Words: 170
Prompt: Forty Lashes
Rating: PG? PG-13? Nothing explicit. Fluffier than the prompt would suggest.
Setting: Post-Series
He used to think he and Dru had perfected the art of torture. Chains, whips, candle wax- anything and everything- were instruments in their hands, with which to compose symphonies of the other’s screams of ecstatic pain.
But as had happened so often since meeting Buffy, he realized he didn’t know anything.
Forty of Dru’s lashes were nothing compared to Buffy’s foot sliding up his leg at dinner with the Scoobies or her hand slipping strategically beneath the tablecloth if they sat next to each other.
Blunt teeth sinking gently into his neck when she pretended to hug him in the halls of the Slayer Academy, while perfectly manicured nails raked across his scalp, giving him JBF hair without the F.
A small grinding motion after she had tackled him in class that none of the Slayerettes would notice but which he’d feel for an endless afternoon.
A soft whisper in passing of what she would do to him later.
Never had torture hurt so much, nor felt so good.
Words: 170
Prompt: Forty Lashes
Rating: PG? PG-13? Nothing explicit. Fluffier than the prompt would suggest.
Setting: Post-Series
He used to think he and Dru had perfected the art of torture. Chains, whips, candle wax- anything and everything- were instruments in their hands, with which to compose symphonies of the other’s screams of ecstatic pain.
But as had happened so often since meeting Buffy, he realized he didn’t know anything.
Forty of Dru’s lashes were nothing compared to Buffy’s foot sliding up his leg at dinner with the Scoobies or her hand slipping strategically beneath the tablecloth if they sat next to each other.
Blunt teeth sinking gently into his neck when she pretended to hug him in the halls of the Slayer Academy, while perfectly manicured nails raked across his scalp, giving him JBF hair without the F.
A small grinding motion after she had tackled him in class that none of the Slayerettes would notice but which he’d feel for an endless afternoon.
A soft whisper in passing of what she would do to him later.
Never had torture hurt so much, nor felt so good.