Fic: DeLuxe Instant GenderBender
Title: DeLuxe Instant GenderBender
Author: thenewbuzwuzz
Setting: s5 between The Replacement and Out of My Mind
Rating: T
Words: 1257
Summary: So maybe that bottle Spike had won in a poker game wasn't liquor. So maybe he should have made sure before drinking the whole thing. Nobody’s perfect.
Notes:
What a quiet weekend so far. :) To those who are still writing/making art/editing, good luck! You can do it!
halincandenza kindly beta-read this twice! once, but I rewrote half the thing afterwards, so who knows what may be wrong with it now! Read if you dare. New version, updated with minor edits.
The other Femme!Spike ficlets turned out not to be Spuffy, so I'm not going to post them here. The whole set, including the final version of this one, will eventually be here: AO3, LJ, DW.
I'm here to learn (that and make weird things happen to Spike), and I'm a big fan of feedback. If nothing about this was off, I'd be most surprised. Feel free to disagree - let's talk about Spike and gender and stuff. :)
DeLuxe Instant GenderBender
At first, Buffy thinks Faith somehow escaped prison and returned to Sunnydale. The stranger looks an awful lot like Faith at first glance, with the long dark hair and the cleavage, and the zest with which she fights four vampires in Buffy’s favorite cemetery. There’s something eerily familiar in her fighting style, Buffy muses as she joins in the party. There’s the technique of an experienced fighter mixed with the oddest fumbles, like when someone’s fighting with an unfamiliar weapon. Except the trespasser only has a stake. What gives? But then the girl loses balance in a weird way and swears in British. Buffy has lived in Sunnydale long enough to know where this is going.
“Spike? Did Toth split you into two?”
“Noooo,” Spike drawls before pausing to snap a vamp’s neck. “That part didn’t really happen, Slayer. Must have been a dream you had.”
Buffy stares. He’s wearing lipstick and red nail polish, and he smells cloying, rather like the pudding cups you can get at Walmart by the four-pack. Maybe the scent is from a hair product, but it’s different than his hair usually smells. Trust Spike to go to a beauty salon first thing and perfect a new, dreadful look.
***
Spike’s having a weird evening.
The first thing he notices after waking up is someone’s long, silky hair in his face. It smells like vanilla. What went down last night? He thinks he would like to remember, especially if the question is who went down. He’s still dressed and collapsed in his armchair, which isn’t unusual after a poker night. Slowly, bracing for a hangover that doesn’t come, he opens his eyes. The hair falling into his face is dark; Spike feels a twinge of disappointment before he’s awake enough to question it. He lifts his head and sits up. The hair moves with him. So he’s wearing a wig? How out of it was he?
Spike discovers the painful way that the “wig” is attached straight to his scalp. In the process, he jostles an empty glass bottle of what he assumed last night was liquor when he won it from Linus the Lizard. He looks at the label now. “Dressing in drag can be such a drag! Explore your feminine side anytime with DeLuxe Instant GenderBenderTM.” The bottle bears the caption “Delightful Brunette” and a picture of a busty dark-haired thing smiling widely, made up with dark red lipstick and nail polish.
Not liquor, then. So maybe he should have made sure before drinking the whole bottle. Nobody’s perfect.
He chances a look down. His black T-shirt has turned into a clingy V-neck. There’s a pair of breasts on his chest. They are not bad to look at. Of course, he’d prefer them in their proper place, on some chit he was draining, but as such, it’s a respectable rack. The black jeans are, thankfully, still jeans, though there seems to be some sort of flowery print on them - he decides not to look too closely. They still fit him perfectly, anyhow.
He gets up carefully, puts on his duster, and starts fishing in a pocket for his lighter, but the pocket pushes his hand out and disappears, leaving behind only a decorative trimming. The coat shifts, hugging his figure, and the other pockets go AWOL as well. His belongings clatter to the floor, including a second, unopened bottle with the caption “Incredible Blonde”. Now Spike is pissed off. He'd better be able to reverse this, or Linus will die slowly.
So much for changing into normal clothes. At least he can do something right away about the nail polish. It’s not like he can focus on any serious plans with this bright red nonsense in his field of vision (especially because the tone is appetizing). Spike fetches his acetone and gets to work, but it turns out the polish won't come off. He grabs the potion bottle again. Sure enough, “Your look will be resistant to water, smudging, scratches, and most other conditions. Use with DeLuxe Patented Remover." Sodding perfect.
One nice, anonymous phone call later, he has a date in an hour to exchange the unopened bottle of Incredible Blonde for a vial of the remover. Giles even promises to go back to the Magic Box despite it being closed for the night. Must be making quite a profit, but Spike isn't in a position to bargain. That leaves him with just a little time to kill. In fact, killing something sounds like a great way to relax.
The body doesn’t bother him as much as you might think, he muses as he ambles through the cemetery. It isn’t his body, clearly, but it’s like he isn’t even here to be properly freaked out. He is one step away, looking on. He’s a puppeteer, putting on a show. And it isn’t bad, as puppets go. (Spike should know - he lived for decades with the doll expert.) He discovers there’s a decent range of motion in the hips, good for kicking stuff. He’s having fun when the Slayer shows up and recognizes him. Once he sees how easy it is to unnerve her today, he’s even more pleased.
***
Buffy decides to check if Giles is still at the Magic Box in case she can pick up another book on Slayer history. Spike tags along; she doesn’t even listen to his excuse.
He’s downright chipper tonight, full of bouncy energy, which makes him a whole lot bouncier than usual - particularly in the chest area. She feels like averting her eyes, which makes her mad. Does Spike always have to shove his body in everyone’s face (absurdly fit as it is, she tries not to think)?
“You should look into a sports bra or three,” she says in a clipped tone.
“That so? Are you offering?” He stares at where Buffy’s bra isn’t.
This is when Buffy punches him in the boob. He hisses through his teeth and spews something about playing dirty. “Isn’t it fun”, yadda yadda. Somehow, he still manages to make it sound so… well, dirty.
“What, are you lining up to be my evil twin now?” That let’s-seduce-Buffy-to-the-Dark-side spiel is so two years ago.
“Oh, no, baby,” he says. It comes out in this really disturbing phone sex operator kind of voice. “I’m the one that’s good.” And does that thing with his tongue. A tongue, anyway. The tongue currently in his mouth.
The way from Restfield to the Magic Box has never seemed so long.
***
If he has to be weirded out tonight, damn if he won’t take the Slayer down with him. (He’d love to do that in other ways. Pin her body under his in a tangle of muscle and fury…) Their fight to the death will have to wait until he gets the chip out, but in the meantime, he wonders in how many ways he can wind her up tonight. It’s almost too easy.
In fact, it’s much easier than he expected. Who knew Buffy Summers doubles as a breast gal? That IS interesting. A bloke wonders if she had a thing for the other Slayer (or with?). Spike gets the weirdest phantom boner, imagining those two. Christ, that is creepy. It’s creepy and going nowhere. He plunges back into conversation to distract himself.
“What, no sympathy? I look in the mirror, and I can’t see myself!”
The Slayer scowls. Seriously, it’s like she hates fun.
But then they’re finally at the Magic Box, and Spike doesn’t need a distraction anymore. Still, it’s nice to know he’s always man enough to fluster the Slayer.
Author: thenewbuzwuzz
Setting: s5 between The Replacement and Out of My Mind
Rating: T
Words: 1257
Summary: So maybe that bottle Spike had won in a poker game wasn't liquor. So maybe he should have made sure before drinking the whole thing. Nobody’s perfect.
Notes:
What a quiet weekend so far. :) To those who are still writing/making art/editing, good luck! You can do it!
halincandenza kindly beta-read this twice! once, but I rewrote half the thing afterwards, so who knows what may be wrong with it now! Read if you dare. New version, updated with minor edits.
The other Femme!Spike ficlets turned out not to be Spuffy, so I'm not going to post them here. The whole set, including the final version of this one, will eventually be here: AO3, LJ, DW.
I'm here to learn (that and make weird things happen to Spike), and I'm a big fan of feedback. If nothing about this was off, I'd be most surprised. Feel free to disagree - let's talk about Spike and gender and stuff. :)
DeLuxe Instant GenderBender
At first, Buffy thinks Faith somehow escaped prison and returned to Sunnydale. The stranger looks an awful lot like Faith at first glance, with the long dark hair and the cleavage, and the zest with which she fights four vampires in Buffy’s favorite cemetery. There’s something eerily familiar in her fighting style, Buffy muses as she joins in the party. There’s the technique of an experienced fighter mixed with the oddest fumbles, like when someone’s fighting with an unfamiliar weapon. Except the trespasser only has a stake. What gives? But then the girl loses balance in a weird way and swears in British. Buffy has lived in Sunnydale long enough to know where this is going.
“Spike? Did Toth split you into two?”
“Noooo,” Spike drawls before pausing to snap a vamp’s neck. “That part didn’t really happen, Slayer. Must have been a dream you had.”
Buffy stares. He’s wearing lipstick and red nail polish, and he smells cloying, rather like the pudding cups you can get at Walmart by the four-pack. Maybe the scent is from a hair product, but it’s different than his hair usually smells. Trust Spike to go to a beauty salon first thing and perfect a new, dreadful look.
***
Spike’s having a weird evening.
The first thing he notices after waking up is someone’s long, silky hair in his face. It smells like vanilla. What went down last night? He thinks he would like to remember, especially if the question is who went down. He’s still dressed and collapsed in his armchair, which isn’t unusual after a poker night. Slowly, bracing for a hangover that doesn’t come, he opens his eyes. The hair falling into his face is dark; Spike feels a twinge of disappointment before he’s awake enough to question it. He lifts his head and sits up. The hair moves with him. So he’s wearing a wig? How out of it was he?
Spike discovers the painful way that the “wig” is attached straight to his scalp. In the process, he jostles an empty glass bottle of what he assumed last night was liquor when he won it from Linus the Lizard. He looks at the label now. “Dressing in drag can be such a drag! Explore your feminine side anytime with DeLuxe Instant GenderBenderTM.” The bottle bears the caption “Delightful Brunette” and a picture of a busty dark-haired thing smiling widely, made up with dark red lipstick and nail polish.
Not liquor, then. So maybe he should have made sure before drinking the whole bottle. Nobody’s perfect.
He chances a look down. His black T-shirt has turned into a clingy V-neck. There’s a pair of breasts on his chest. They are not bad to look at. Of course, he’d prefer them in their proper place, on some chit he was draining, but as such, it’s a respectable rack. The black jeans are, thankfully, still jeans, though there seems to be some sort of flowery print on them - he decides not to look too closely. They still fit him perfectly, anyhow.
He gets up carefully, puts on his duster, and starts fishing in a pocket for his lighter, but the pocket pushes his hand out and disappears, leaving behind only a decorative trimming. The coat shifts, hugging his figure, and the other pockets go AWOL as well. His belongings clatter to the floor, including a second, unopened bottle with the caption “Incredible Blonde”. Now Spike is pissed off. He'd better be able to reverse this, or Linus will die slowly.
So much for changing into normal clothes. At least he can do something right away about the nail polish. It’s not like he can focus on any serious plans with this bright red nonsense in his field of vision (especially because the tone is appetizing). Spike fetches his acetone and gets to work, but it turns out the polish won't come off. He grabs the potion bottle again. Sure enough, “Your look will be resistant to water, smudging, scratches, and most other conditions. Use with DeLuxe Patented Remover." Sodding perfect.
One nice, anonymous phone call later, he has a date in an hour to exchange the unopened bottle of Incredible Blonde for a vial of the remover. Giles even promises to go back to the Magic Box despite it being closed for the night. Must be making quite a profit, but Spike isn't in a position to bargain. That leaves him with just a little time to kill. In fact, killing something sounds like a great way to relax.
The body doesn’t bother him as much as you might think, he muses as he ambles through the cemetery. It isn’t his body, clearly, but it’s like he isn’t even here to be properly freaked out. He is one step away, looking on. He’s a puppeteer, putting on a show. And it isn’t bad, as puppets go. (Spike should know - he lived for decades with the doll expert.) He discovers there’s a decent range of motion in the hips, good for kicking stuff. He’s having fun when the Slayer shows up and recognizes him. Once he sees how easy it is to unnerve her today, he’s even more pleased.
***
Buffy decides to check if Giles is still at the Magic Box in case she can pick up another book on Slayer history. Spike tags along; she doesn’t even listen to his excuse.
He’s downright chipper tonight, full of bouncy energy, which makes him a whole lot bouncier than usual - particularly in the chest area. She feels like averting her eyes, which makes her mad. Does Spike always have to shove his body in everyone’s face (absurdly fit as it is, she tries not to think)?
“You should look into a sports bra or three,” she says in a clipped tone.
“That so? Are you offering?” He stares at where Buffy’s bra isn’t.
This is when Buffy punches him in the boob. He hisses through his teeth and spews something about playing dirty. “Isn’t it fun”, yadda yadda. Somehow, he still manages to make it sound so… well, dirty.
“What, are you lining up to be my evil twin now?” That let’s-seduce-Buffy-to-the-Dark-side spiel is so two years ago.
“Oh, no, baby,” he says. It comes out in this really disturbing phone sex operator kind of voice. “I’m the one that’s good.” And does that thing with his tongue. A tongue, anyway. The tongue currently in his mouth.
The way from Restfield to the Magic Box has never seemed so long.
***
If he has to be weirded out tonight, damn if he won’t take the Slayer down with him. (He’d love to do that in other ways. Pin her body under his in a tangle of muscle and fury…) Their fight to the death will have to wait until he gets the chip out, but in the meantime, he wonders in how many ways he can wind her up tonight. It’s almost too easy.
In fact, it’s much easier than he expected. Who knew Buffy Summers doubles as a breast gal? That IS interesting. A bloke wonders if she had a thing for the other Slayer (or with?). Spike gets the weirdest phantom boner, imagining those two. Christ, that is creepy. It’s creepy and going nowhere. He plunges back into conversation to distract himself.
“What, no sympathy? I look in the mirror, and I can’t see myself!”
The Slayer scowls. Seriously, it’s like she hates fun.
But then they’re finally at the Magic Box, and Spike doesn’t need a distraction anymore. Still, it’s nice to know he’s always man enough to fluster the Slayer.