New fic: The Skinny and the Babbling and All
The Skinny and the Babbling and All
A Crackfic Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Doctor Who crossover.
by vaudevilles and woolly_socks
For catageek on her birthday because the Tenth Doctor is secretly a lesbian and, really, nobody is too gay for a little Spike.
“Pansy buggery bollocking bastard!” Spike shouted, as Giles shut the door behind him and turned the key in the lock.
“Handcuff the scary monster to your plumbing would you?” Spike rattled the cuffs that chained him to the cross pipe of the faucet. He grinned as they made a right annoying clanking sound that should have the twat-for-brains back to untie him in minutes. OK. Hours maybe.
Ten minutes later Spike's head was ringing, and even when he took a small - intelligence gathering - break from clattering his cuffs against the piping, the echoes kept bouncing around the small bathroom. It reminded him of the poncy boyband Drusilla had found rehearsing in a restroom one time when they were in Germany. Their harmonies had been nice, but the screams and pathetic pleading had been even sweeter, though not quite as tuneful. A picture of that particular room ten minutes after Dru and he entered? Now that was what they should use in the dictionary to define blood bath.
Ah fuck. Now he wanted to mope about Dru and that bloody drippy coat stand again.
Spike banged the cuff around his left wrist against the faucet half-heartedly. Bugger. Not even a "shhhhh" from repressed book-boy, and if he didn't do something to up the stakes he'd be sat here like a tourniquet on a three-day-old corpse until someone deigned to bring him his mug of arterial ambrosia. He struck a few more lackluster jangles before inspiration struck.
"Oi. Ripper!" Voice loud enough to wake the dead for a second time. "Hey! Watcher-wanker-wopsy. If you keep me chained up here I'm gonna have an accident in your tub." No response from downstairs. "D'you hear me? You've got twenty seconds to get in here or I'm pissing in your tub." Spike began popping the buttons on his fly one-handed. He was just pulling out little spike-o-glory when a strange noise came out of nowhere, and echoed around the white walls. It sounded a little like the 'whumpf whumpf' noise a Katatresh Demon makes after you've used its head for a game of football.
But the ten-foot-tall blue object that was apparating inside Giles's bathroom looked nothing like a Katatresh Demon. In fact it looked exactly like an English police box. Spike hadn't been back to the mother country in a while but he was pretty sure even the English coppers had upgraded to cellphones by now. And also. What the fuck?
Ripper's bathroom was not exactly palatial, and the box was now taking up every available piece of tastefully-tiled floor. Crammed inside the bathtub with the thing looming over him, Spike was beginning to feel a familiar coffin-like sense of claustrophobia. It wasn't helped by the fact that the blue box had appeared directly in front of the bathroom door.
The door of the police box swung open, banging into the toilet. The bloke who poked his head out was exactly the sort of idiot Spike wanted to point out whenever anyone mentioned the amount of hair-gel he used. It was a different sort of quiff from the Great Whinging Ponce's, but it was still pretty bloody pouffy. A bony shoulder in a rumpled brown pinstripe suit followed, and then the rest of the man squeezed himself into the small gap between the toilet and the bath. Git was tall. And skinnier than the high school girls that had been Spike's last snack before the commando-nazis had got him. It'd taken seven of the human-pencils to make him anywhere near full. Bloody nouveau cuisine.
The stick in a suit was looking around Giles's bathroom like indoor plumbing was the pinnacle of human achievement. There was some sort of repressed berserker madness behind his expression that Spike recognized. He was pretty sure it was exactly the sort of expression that had gotten Spike into more trouble than a sackful of monkeys on numerous occasions before Angelus had gone all soft and squishy-centered.
"Well. How impressive are you then?" The plonker was English. Of course. Made perfect sense of the police box. Except in the way that it totally bloody didn't.
And then Spike realized that he still had his free hand down the front of his jeans and most of his cock was on show. And the pinstriped upper-class pillock had stopped examining the room's plumbing and was taking an interested gander at Spike's.
"Must be some kind of temporal instability matrix left over from..." The toff's voice faded out a little and the berserker look got more pronounced. Then a disturbingly Ripper-on-a-research-bender gleam crossed his face and a manic grin emerged. "Oh, how marvelous! The return from a parallel universe must have sent the TARDIS's inveracity cadence modulators into a reverse alignment with the polarity of... Oh yes! YES! That's brilliant. Mickey must have left the season four discs on the excogitate drive. And whoopsie-diddle here I am meeting the famous William the Bloody. In the... um, rather anatomically correct flesh. Hello!"
Spike's larger brain had been trying, redundantly, to follow techno-babble-boy's gibbering, but the combination of being recognized and having his family jewels examined with such interest was completely frying his self-control. Any minute now and he'd be indulging in a not at all metaphorical dick-waving contest, with himself as the only entrant. He made an enormous attempt to gather his fraying wits and put this be-suited twat in his place.
"Sod off."
Oh that was brilliant that was. Master of erudition he was. Bloody nothing had changed in a hundred and fifty years. But the wanker wasn't going anywhere. In fact he was leaning over Spike and offering him his hand to shake.
"Fabulous to meet you. Did you know you're my first vampire? Well, my first official vampire, I think there was something back in my third incarnation that may have seemed a little like vampires, but I'm almost certain you're the first actual blood-sucking demonic fiend I've met. Not that you can drink human blood right now anyway, if I have the time line right. Chip in the head, yeah? So, yes. First real vampire. Brilliant to meet you. I'm The Doctor."
Spike was pretty sure that he should be wearing the expression akin to the one Ripper wore when confronted with some of the more Californian aspects of the scooby-should-be-snacks. But as The Doctor leaned over him, hand extended, every single one of Spike's senses stood up, saluted, and proceeded to tell him in no uncertain terms that this numbskull wasn't human. And if he wasn't human, he could be bitten. And if he could be bitten Spike could, maybe, get some of his strength back and get out of this bloody lavatorial prison.
Spike let go of his cock slowly - he'd had his hand around it for so long he had to give it a quick tug goodbye or it might have felt abandoned - and grasped The Doctor's outstretched hand. Oh definitely demon. The hand in his was exactly the same temperature as his own and he could feel the blood pulsing underneath the skin. Pulsing fast. Hard. Full. Jesus-fuck-on-a-cross. The bloke was more than stuffed to bursting with it. Like he was Spike's own personal blood pinata. Spike pulled on the hand a little and The Doctor's face came a bit closer. For a non-human he smelt disturbingly delicious.
Strangely The Doctor didn't seem too concerned at the way Spike was sniffing at him. In fact he just raised one eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, exposing his neck. The plonker may not have been human, but he'd just shown Spike an entirely homo-sapien-like vein that was pulsing a dinner invitation.
"It's strangely hypnotic watching the demon transform your facial structure you know," said the weird upper-class-wanker demon. "Not really like a special effect at all. It's fantastic how the ridges swallow your eyebrows. Must make it awkward if there's blood running down your forehead though. Although... the slight cranial overhang could compensate, and possibly all vampires have very long eyelashes, as you do." He was babbling, but it wasn't the terrified pleading-type babbling that usually ensued when Spike went all bumpy. It was far more... scientific. Inquisitive.
It was a bloody challenge, was what it was.
The Doctor still had his hand in Spike's. It took only a split-second to tug him off balance and into the tub. It brought his neck close enough to lick, and it wasn't like Spike was well-known for his won't-power. If this bloke was presenting himself as a living, breathing, walking and far-too-garrulously-talking bloodsicle, who was Spike to refuse to lick his neck?
"Ah. Well. This would..." The Doctor's voice trailed off. He sounded a lot less scientific now. Spike would have tried to figure out exactly what that tone of voice meant - it was nice when your dinner had the added piquancy of a fuck-load of adrenaline - but the combination of the bloody wonderful taste of The Doctor's neck and the way the slightly rough wool of his trousers was rubbing up against Spike's cock was utterly de-commissioning his brain for anything approaching thought.
And then there was even more pressure on Spike's cock as The Doctor's hips began moving, almost delicately, against him. It wasn't so much of a thrust as a gentle pulsing. In fact it was pulsing in time with the slow beat of blood through his jugular. Pulsing in a inexorable, heavy, double time.
"Oh fuck." Spike was harder than a Kryogen Demon's horn and about as... horny. "You got... Oh sodding yes." Spike's free hand was wrapped around the back of The Doctor's head, keeping his neck steady as Spike tried to gather his confused demon enough to bite and suck. "Oh fuck me. You've got two hearts?"
The Doctor looked down at Spike. His mouth was open, and his gaze had lost its beserker cast. His breath was coming out in short pants, but he could have been looking right through Spike, even as his groin kept drumming out its gentle rhythm against Spike's cock.
"Yes," he said. "Two hearts, but only one Doctor."
He was eerily like Dru when he did that, what with the skinny and the babbling and all. Not a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all. Especially not when he smelled like that and he was letting Spike's fangs pierce his neck just slightly. Enough to let out a tiny drop of blood. Blood that wasn't really blood. It tasted... it tasted like too much life.
Spike had gotten drunk on Slayer blood twice. He knew what history tasted like. But the blood in the man-shaped thing grinding down on him was wrong somehow. Who knew what would happen if he drank this lunatic's blood? Might end up as batty as his dark princess, and he was pretty sure the band of merry morons wouldn't line up to keep him in blood and kittens.
Of course, just because he wasn't going to indulge in one vice didn't mean his other itch had to go begging.
Spike felt his rather overwhelmed demon recede. His erection had completely failed to register any of this weirdness and was still demanding something. Fuck. Anything. His left hand was still chained to the faucet and he tried desperately to wrench it free, wanting to feel it fisted in the back of The Doctor's trousers. The steady push against his cock was building him higher but leaving him aching. He wanted to break this Doctor open and fuck him apart.
Spike growled as his yanking failed to free him from the handcuffs. The tugging had done its job though, and The Doctor's relentless pulsing was definitely more of a thrust now. The scratch of wool against his naked groin was perversely painful. Exactly Spike's favourite feeling. Or it was right now anyway.
"Fuck," Spike never whined and he certainly wasn't going to start now. This was more of a wheedling demand. "Touch me, you wanker."
The Doctor grinned down at Spike. "Why not?" he said. And then he laughed and the beserker was back in full bloom as he wriggled purposefully down the bathtub, slidding one leg between Spike's thighs and pushing one hand between their bodies to grasp Spike's cock. He had exactly the right grip, and an angle that made Spike's head thump back against the cold porcelein.
Spike closed his eyes and thrust up into the wrong-thing's fist once, twice, three times. It was all he needed.
By the time he gathered his scattered... whatever, The Doctor had tucked not-so-little-spike back into his jeans and was borrowing one of Giles's handtowels to mop down his suit. He looked... almost gallant. And a lot less distant.
"Well then," he said a completely different grin on his face. "That was a marvellous experiment in alternative sexualities. Do you know, I look like a man, and for... some intents and purposes, I suppose... but I believe that actually, deep down, I'm a... I'm a lesbian."
And he stepped back inside the Police Box and closed the door. The odd 'whumpf whumpf' sound started up and Spike just sat in the bathtub, slumped where The Doctor had left him as the blue box disapparated in front of him.
Spike blinked.
"Well that was weird. Even for Sunnydale."
A Crackfic Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Doctor Who crossover.
by vaudevilles and woolly_socks
For catageek on her birthday because the Tenth Doctor is secretly a lesbian and, really, nobody is too gay for a little Spike.
“Pansy buggery bollocking bastard!” Spike shouted, as Giles shut the door behind him and turned the key in the lock.
“Handcuff the scary monster to your plumbing would you?” Spike rattled the cuffs that chained him to the cross pipe of the faucet. He grinned as they made a right annoying clanking sound that should have the twat-for-brains back to untie him in minutes. OK. Hours maybe.
Ten minutes later Spike's head was ringing, and even when he took a small - intelligence gathering - break from clattering his cuffs against the piping, the echoes kept bouncing around the small bathroom. It reminded him of the poncy boyband Drusilla had found rehearsing in a restroom one time when they were in Germany. Their harmonies had been nice, but the screams and pathetic pleading had been even sweeter, though not quite as tuneful. A picture of that particular room ten minutes after Dru and he entered? Now that was what they should use in the dictionary to define blood bath.
Ah fuck. Now he wanted to mope about Dru and that bloody drippy coat stand again.
Spike banged the cuff around his left wrist against the faucet half-heartedly. Bugger. Not even a "shhhhh" from repressed book-boy, and if he didn't do something to up the stakes he'd be sat here like a tourniquet on a three-day-old corpse until someone deigned to bring him his mug of arterial ambrosia. He struck a few more lackluster jangles before inspiration struck.
"Oi. Ripper!" Voice loud enough to wake the dead for a second time. "Hey! Watcher-wanker-wopsy. If you keep me chained up here I'm gonna have an accident in your tub." No response from downstairs. "D'you hear me? You've got twenty seconds to get in here or I'm pissing in your tub." Spike began popping the buttons on his fly one-handed. He was just pulling out little spike-o-glory when a strange noise came out of nowhere, and echoed around the white walls. It sounded a little like the 'whumpf whumpf' noise a Katatresh Demon makes after you've used its head for a game of football.
But the ten-foot-tall blue object that was apparating inside Giles's bathroom looked nothing like a Katatresh Demon. In fact it looked exactly like an English police box. Spike hadn't been back to the mother country in a while but he was pretty sure even the English coppers had upgraded to cellphones by now. And also. What the fuck?
Ripper's bathroom was not exactly palatial, and the box was now taking up every available piece of tastefully-tiled floor. Crammed inside the bathtub with the thing looming over him, Spike was beginning to feel a familiar coffin-like sense of claustrophobia. It wasn't helped by the fact that the blue box had appeared directly in front of the bathroom door.
The door of the police box swung open, banging into the toilet. The bloke who poked his head out was exactly the sort of idiot Spike wanted to point out whenever anyone mentioned the amount of hair-gel he used. It was a different sort of quiff from the Great Whinging Ponce's, but it was still pretty bloody pouffy. A bony shoulder in a rumpled brown pinstripe suit followed, and then the rest of the man squeezed himself into the small gap between the toilet and the bath. Git was tall. And skinnier than the high school girls that had been Spike's last snack before the commando-nazis had got him. It'd taken seven of the human-pencils to make him anywhere near full. Bloody nouveau cuisine.
The stick in a suit was looking around Giles's bathroom like indoor plumbing was the pinnacle of human achievement. There was some sort of repressed berserker madness behind his expression that Spike recognized. He was pretty sure it was exactly the sort of expression that had gotten Spike into more trouble than a sackful of monkeys on numerous occasions before Angelus had gone all soft and squishy-centered.
"Well. How impressive are you then?" The plonker was English. Of course. Made perfect sense of the police box. Except in the way that it totally bloody didn't.
And then Spike realized that he still had his free hand down the front of his jeans and most of his cock was on show. And the pinstriped upper-class pillock had stopped examining the room's plumbing and was taking an interested gander at Spike's.
"Must be some kind of temporal instability matrix left over from..." The toff's voice faded out a little and the berserker look got more pronounced. Then a disturbingly Ripper-on-a-research-bender gleam crossed his face and a manic grin emerged. "Oh, how marvelous! The return from a parallel universe must have sent the TARDIS's inveracity cadence modulators into a reverse alignment with the polarity of... Oh yes! YES! That's brilliant. Mickey must have left the season four discs on the excogitate drive. And whoopsie-diddle here I am meeting the famous William the Bloody. In the... um, rather anatomically correct flesh. Hello!"
Spike's larger brain had been trying, redundantly, to follow techno-babble-boy's gibbering, but the combination of being recognized and having his family jewels examined with such interest was completely frying his self-control. Any minute now and he'd be indulging in a not at all metaphorical dick-waving contest, with himself as the only entrant. He made an enormous attempt to gather his fraying wits and put this be-suited twat in his place.
"Sod off."
Oh that was brilliant that was. Master of erudition he was. Bloody nothing had changed in a hundred and fifty years. But the wanker wasn't going anywhere. In fact he was leaning over Spike and offering him his hand to shake.
"Fabulous to meet you. Did you know you're my first vampire? Well, my first official vampire, I think there was something back in my third incarnation that may have seemed a little like vampires, but I'm almost certain you're the first actual blood-sucking demonic fiend I've met. Not that you can drink human blood right now anyway, if I have the time line right. Chip in the head, yeah? So, yes. First real vampire. Brilliant to meet you. I'm The Doctor."
Spike was pretty sure that he should be wearing the expression akin to the one Ripper wore when confronted with some of the more Californian aspects of the scooby-should-be-snacks. But as The Doctor leaned over him, hand extended, every single one of Spike's senses stood up, saluted, and proceeded to tell him in no uncertain terms that this numbskull wasn't human. And if he wasn't human, he could be bitten. And if he could be bitten Spike could, maybe, get some of his strength back and get out of this bloody lavatorial prison.
Spike let go of his cock slowly - he'd had his hand around it for so long he had to give it a quick tug goodbye or it might have felt abandoned - and grasped The Doctor's outstretched hand. Oh definitely demon. The hand in his was exactly the same temperature as his own and he could feel the blood pulsing underneath the skin. Pulsing fast. Hard. Full. Jesus-fuck-on-a-cross. The bloke was more than stuffed to bursting with it. Like he was Spike's own personal blood pinata. Spike pulled on the hand a little and The Doctor's face came a bit closer. For a non-human he smelt disturbingly delicious.
Strangely The Doctor didn't seem too concerned at the way Spike was sniffing at him. In fact he just raised one eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, exposing his neck. The plonker may not have been human, but he'd just shown Spike an entirely homo-sapien-like vein that was pulsing a dinner invitation.
"It's strangely hypnotic watching the demon transform your facial structure you know," said the weird upper-class-wanker demon. "Not really like a special effect at all. It's fantastic how the ridges swallow your eyebrows. Must make it awkward if there's blood running down your forehead though. Although... the slight cranial overhang could compensate, and possibly all vampires have very long eyelashes, as you do." He was babbling, but it wasn't the terrified pleading-type babbling that usually ensued when Spike went all bumpy. It was far more... scientific. Inquisitive.
It was a bloody challenge, was what it was.
The Doctor still had his hand in Spike's. It took only a split-second to tug him off balance and into the tub. It brought his neck close enough to lick, and it wasn't like Spike was well-known for his won't-power. If this bloke was presenting himself as a living, breathing, walking and far-too-garrulously-talking bloodsicle, who was Spike to refuse to lick his neck?
"Ah. Well. This would..." The Doctor's voice trailed off. He sounded a lot less scientific now. Spike would have tried to figure out exactly what that tone of voice meant - it was nice when your dinner had the added piquancy of a fuck-load of adrenaline - but the combination of the bloody wonderful taste of The Doctor's neck and the way the slightly rough wool of his trousers was rubbing up against Spike's cock was utterly de-commissioning his brain for anything approaching thought.
And then there was even more pressure on Spike's cock as The Doctor's hips began moving, almost delicately, against him. It wasn't so much of a thrust as a gentle pulsing. In fact it was pulsing in time with the slow beat of blood through his jugular. Pulsing in a inexorable, heavy, double time.
"Oh fuck." Spike was harder than a Kryogen Demon's horn and about as... horny. "You got... Oh sodding yes." Spike's free hand was wrapped around the back of The Doctor's head, keeping his neck steady as Spike tried to gather his confused demon enough to bite and suck. "Oh fuck me. You've got two hearts?"
The Doctor looked down at Spike. His mouth was open, and his gaze had lost its beserker cast. His breath was coming out in short pants, but he could have been looking right through Spike, even as his groin kept drumming out its gentle rhythm against Spike's cock.
"Yes," he said. "Two hearts, but only one Doctor."
He was eerily like Dru when he did that, what with the skinny and the babbling and all. Not a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all. Especially not when he smelled like that and he was letting Spike's fangs pierce his neck just slightly. Enough to let out a tiny drop of blood. Blood that wasn't really blood. It tasted... it tasted like too much life.
Spike had gotten drunk on Slayer blood twice. He knew what history tasted like. But the blood in the man-shaped thing grinding down on him was wrong somehow. Who knew what would happen if he drank this lunatic's blood? Might end up as batty as his dark princess, and he was pretty sure the band of merry morons wouldn't line up to keep him in blood and kittens.
Of course, just because he wasn't going to indulge in one vice didn't mean his other itch had to go begging.
Spike felt his rather overwhelmed demon recede. His erection had completely failed to register any of this weirdness and was still demanding something. Fuck. Anything. His left hand was still chained to the faucet and he tried desperately to wrench it free, wanting to feel it fisted in the back of The Doctor's trousers. The steady push against his cock was building him higher but leaving him aching. He wanted to break this Doctor open and fuck him apart.
Spike growled as his yanking failed to free him from the handcuffs. The tugging had done its job though, and The Doctor's relentless pulsing was definitely more of a thrust now. The scratch of wool against his naked groin was perversely painful. Exactly Spike's favourite feeling. Or it was right now anyway.
"Fuck," Spike never whined and he certainly wasn't going to start now. This was more of a wheedling demand. "Touch me, you wanker."
The Doctor grinned down at Spike. "Why not?" he said. And then he laughed and the beserker was back in full bloom as he wriggled purposefully down the bathtub, slidding one leg between Spike's thighs and pushing one hand between their bodies to grasp Spike's cock. He had exactly the right grip, and an angle that made Spike's head thump back against the cold porcelein.
Spike closed his eyes and thrust up into the wrong-thing's fist once, twice, three times. It was all he needed.
By the time he gathered his scattered... whatever, The Doctor had tucked not-so-little-spike back into his jeans and was borrowing one of Giles's handtowels to mop down his suit. He looked... almost gallant. And a lot less distant.
"Well then," he said a completely different grin on his face. "That was a marvellous experiment in alternative sexualities. Do you know, I look like a man, and for... some intents and purposes, I suppose... but I believe that actually, deep down, I'm a... I'm a lesbian."
And he stepped back inside the Police Box and closed the door. The odd 'whumpf whumpf' sound started up and Spike just sat in the bathtub, slumped where The Doctor had left him as the blue box disapparated in front of him.
Spike blinked.
"Well that was weird. Even for Sunnydale."