Chapter 13    Wanker

Buffy had to admit that one of the nice things about being a guy was the easier maintenance.

She rubbed shampoo through her short hair, lathering it so much more quickly than her long hair.  It rinsed out again just as quickly as she backed under the water again.

She just stood there for long minutes, letting the hot water ease all her tight muscles.  The magic that had changed them carried over her strength and ability, but it couldn’t mimic the muscle memory that made her fighting easier.  Male muscle groups worked together differently than female muscles to get the same results.  Different centers of gravity, different points of balance, all made for one achy Buffy.  Not enough to slow her down, just enough to make all this hot water feel really good.

She grabbed the bar of soap and a washcloth, rubbing the soap into the fabric and then using the cloth to wash herself.  Arms and armpits (Hairy.  Ugh.), throat and the back of her neck, down over her chest.  She hesitated when she got to her groin.  How the heck do you wash that thing?  It was half erect, aroused by the sensual feel of water and soap running down over it.  She washed her thighs and legs as she pondered the problem.  There were lots of folds and creases she figured she’d better get into.  Which meant handling it.  She sighed.

She started at the bottom and worked her way up, rubbing the washcloth in and around her testicles.  Not wanting to even think about what she was doing, she allowed her thoughts to turn to their current situation.

She felt terrible that this had happened to her friends.  Somehow this seemed worse than one of them being hurt.  That they all expected, had accepted and endured as part of doing the work.  But this was such an invasion, stripping them of their identities like this.  Especially Tara.  She seemed so unhappy.  She was so new to the group, it just seemed unfair for her to get caught up in this.  Buffy had observed her yesterday, withdrawn and alone even in the group.  Tara didn’t have a partner sharing the same experience the way Xander and Anya did.  And Buffy had no clue how her sexual orientation was impacting her mental state.  Did this make things easier for her?  Harder?  Either way, she shouldn’t be going through this alone.  Buffy resolved to touch base with her tonight when they all got together.  Share some girl-guy bonding time.

It was actually kind of amusing watching Xander and Anya interact, she thought, her hand still working automatically.  She would have expected Xander to be the one to have the biggest problem with the change, but, while he wasn’t happy about it, he seemed to have come to terms with it.  His multiple orgasm comment yesterday morning still made her blush.  She was uncomfortable with her new equipment enough as it was without adding the overwhelming terror of performance anxiety.  And she had to admit to being a bit jealous.  She’d only achieved multiples a couple of times with Riley, so Xander having experienced it at all, let alone several times in his first night as a woman seemed grossly unfair.

She didn’t notice her breathing hitch as her attention drifted to Spike.  Him she wouldn’t feel bad about.  It was his own damn fault getting changed.  If he’d minded his own business, none of this would have happened in the first place.  And why did he have to be so damned comfortable with it, anyway?  What had he been thinking, letting that guy hit on him?  And trying on makeup and wearing that skirt of all things.  Her skirt!  Xander wasn’t turning all girly, what the hell was Spike’s problem?

She was suddenly assaulted by the image of Spike sprawled in the chair at the department store, legs splayed, pale, muscular thighs leading her eye up to the shadowed secrets under his skirt.  His whole posture was voluptuous, inviting, purely and naturally sexual.

Her whole body clenched, and she could barely draw breath.  “Oh god,” she groaned.  “Oh my god, what . . . what . . .” Her head fell forward and for the first time she noticed what she was doing.  “Oh god!”

Her hand, still holding the soap saturated facecloth, was working eagerly up and down the length of her cock, squeezing and pulling as though it were the most natural thing in the world.  The soft slipperiness of the lather and the nubbly friction of terrycloth only added layers of sensation to each stroke.

“God, no!”

But it was too late.  Her body jerked and seized, and with one last shuddering gasp she came, shooting opalescent semen across the shower tiles.

She leaned her forehead against the tile of the tub surround, panting, her face flushed in mortification.

She had just gotten herself off.  As a man.  Thinking about Spike.  As a woman.

Grimacing in embarrassment, she wiped the mess off the wall.  Maybe being male wasn’t so great after all.

But if that were true, why did she feel so incredibly relaxed?

Chapter 14    Female Hysteria

Xander slept to the decadently late hour (for a construction worker) of ten in the morning before dragging himself out of bed and into the shower.  He didn’t linger, but did enjoy a quick breast fondle.  These things were kind of nice to have all the time instead of just getting to play with them occasionally.  He wondered in passing if Anya felt the same way about her new toys.

He toweled off and ran a brush through his hair, grateful that whatever made the magic make them the way they were decided to give him short hair.  His coarse waves held a nice shape without the use of all of the mystifying products and tools Anya seemed to need every morning.

Dress for the day was blue jeans and a t-shirt, not all that different from what he normally wore.  Except for how he filled it out, of course.

He had breakfast and washed up the few dishes.  Then he looked around for something else to do.  Well, it was garbage day for the complex.  One of his domestic duties was trash guy, no reason that had to change just because he was a she.  Unless it was in the Rules for Being a Girl Handbook somewhere and he didn’t know it.

He had to get a copy of that book.

As he started gathering up the trash, he realized sheepishly that each can provided a map of their sexual activities over the last several days.  Two condoms in the waste can in the kitchen, three in the living room.  Seven in the bedroom.  “Go, us!”  None in the bathroom.

Wait, that couldn’t be right, could it?

He thought back.  No, that first time they had made it back to the bedroom.  And last night in the shower, they hadn’t actually . . .

And then it hit him.

Yesterday morning, after he’d helped her shave.  They had . . . and she hadn’t . . . and he didn’t . . .

He sank down onto the toilet seat in horror.

“Oh my god.”

Chapter 15    Big  Man on Campus

Tara woke up feeling warm and comfortable and relatively at peace.

The fact that Willow was in her arms probably had a lot to do with that.

They must have moved automatically in their sleep the way they did every other night.  This was the way they always woke up, with Willow spooned up against Tara’s chest, Tara’s arms holding her protectively.  The body may be different, but the sense of comfort was just the same.

Willow felt so small in these bigger arms, though, so much softer against Tara’s hard body.  She bent her head and inhaled the soft fragrance of Willow’s hair.  Better than any aromatherapy, this was the scent that eased her heart.  She pulled Willow nearer, snuggled closer.

And suddenly realized that her body wasn’t the only thing that was hard.

The soft curve of Willow’s ass pressed back into Tara’s pelvis, creating friction of the flannel pajamas against her very erect and prodding shaft.  She moaned softly and instinctively ground harder against her girlfriend’s backside.

It felt . . . oh goddess it felt so good.

“Good morning,” Willow said huskily.

Tara jerked back in guilt, but Willow just followed her, humming softly.

“I’m sorry,” Tara apologized, shame flooding through her.

“For what?”

“For taking advantage.”

Willow rolled over, a look of horror on her face.  “You took advantage?  Was I asleep?  Did I miss it?”

“No,” Tara replied, her shame transforming into confusion.

“Oh, good!”  Willow sighed in relief, draping an arm around Tara’s ribs and nestling up under her chin.  “If you’re going to take advantage, I don’t want to miss any of it.”

Tara let her arms close around Willow’s small form.  “I don’t understand how you can be so comfortable with this.  But I’m glad.”

“Honey, I love you.  I’d want to be with you even if you’d been turned into a goat.”  She thought about that for a moment.  “Although they don’t really allow animals in the dorms.  And I think bestiality is illegal in California . . .”

Tara couldn’t help but chuckle.

Willow squeezed her tighter.  “You are feeling better this morning, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”  Tara squeezed her back.  “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Good!  Because you still have to brave the horrors of the men’s showers.  You’ve got more than half a beard going already.”

Tara reached up and stroked her jaw, feeling how the stubble had turned into some substantial growth.  “And this is normal?”

“Oh yeah.”  Willow slipped out of bed and stretched lithely.  “My dad can grow a full beard in two days.”

“Wow.”

“Uh-huh.”  Willow looked around, thinking.  “So, why don’t you go down and shower first, and then I’ll go when you get back so you can have some privacy to get dressed and do your meditation.”

Tara felt her throat tighten at Willow’s thoughtfulness.  “Thank you for understanding.”

Willow smiled.  “I had a good teacher.  And Xander hit me with a clue by four.  That helped, too.”

“I’ll have to thank him later.”

“Just be careful how you do it.  You’re a good looking guy, you don’t want to make Anya jealous.”

Tara couldn’t help but blush.

This morning was much more successful than yesterday morning.

Tara had no uncomfortable encounters in the shower, and by stealing glances at the other guys working, managed to figure out how to give herself a decent shave without incurring too much blood loss.

Her morning meditation was also much better.  The energy flow that had so frightened her before came again, but now that she understood it, she could direct it through her channels, then allow it to pool in her center as she gave thanks for the day ahead and asked for guidance and support.  When she finished, the extra energy flowed out of her and back down into the earth, just the way it was supposed to, leaving her feeling grounded and centered and totally at peace.

Willow had to dash off to her IT class right after breakfast.  Rather than sit around the room all day, Tara decided to go to her own classes.  She couldn’t take any exams, but there was no reason she couldn’t at least sit in on the lectures and keep up with the coursework.  Most of her professors wouldn’t even notice her presence.

Cultural anthropology was covering fieldwork theory, and the discussion on participant observation got heated, although Dr. Klymyshyn looked pleased by it.  But Tara didn’t quite see the possibility of “going native”, being so affected by the community you were watching that you gave up all sense of detachment and became a part of them.  She was who she was, wasn’t she?  She might take on the trappings of her subject group, but underneath, she was still Tara Maclay.  Nothing would really change that.

And wasn’t that what Willow had been trying to tell her?

She and Will met back at the cafeteria for lunch.  Tara listened attentively but with little actual comprehension as Willow went on excitedly about some aspect of grouping theory they had covered.  She didn’t realize how quickly she was eating until suddenly there was nothing left on her plate, and she was still hungry.  “I’ll be right back, baby.  I guess I need to eat more now.”

Willow smiled playfully.  “Well, you are a growing boy!”

She grabbed a couple of hot dogs and a salad, then as an afterthought added a handful of chips and a piece of chocolate cake.  But when she turned back to the table, she saw that Willow wasn’t alone.

Katie Myers was the hall skank, with no plans for her college career but to spend as much of it in as many beds as possible.  She didn’t make a secret of it, and didn’t have time for anyone she saw as competition.  She’d never paid any attention to Willow before.  So why was she talking to her now?

Tara got her answer as soon as she got within hearing distance of the table.  “You know, Willow, you could do us all a favor and make up your mind.  Jumping back and forth like this just makes you look tacky.”

“It’s none of your business, Katie,” Willow replied coldly.  But Tara could see the tears welling up in her eyes.  Something inside her rose up, hot and strong.

She stormed over to the table, dropping her tray on the surface and making both the women jump.  “Is there a problem here?”

Katie’s face shifted snake-like into what she saw as her best come-hither expression.  “Not now.  My, you’re a big one, aren’t you?”

“Willow?”

“I’m fine.  Really.”  Tara knew the brave little toaster face when she saw it, though.

“Oh, forget about her,” Katie brushed her off, laying a hand on Tara’s chest and pressing her breast against Tara’s forearm.  ‘Let’s go somewhere and I can show you what a real woman is like.”

“I’m not interested in your definition of womanhood.”

“Oh, come on!”  She stomped her foot.  “The only reason she swings both ways is because she can’t get a date otherwise.”

“The reason she swings both ways is that both sexes find her attractive.  Unlike some people who have to be cheap and obvious to get any kind of attention at all.”

“Fine.”  Katie backed away, her face livid with fury.  “But don’t be surprised if she forgets who she’s screwing and tries to fuck you like a girl.”

“It’s better than being fucked like a piece of meat.”

“You . . . you . . . FAGGOT!”  And she stormed away.

Tara turned to Willow.  “Now, that just didn’t even make sense.”

Willow was looking up at her with shock and wonder.  “Where did you learn to talk like that?”

Tara took her hand and drew her to her feet, caressing her hair softly.  “No one is mean to my girl.”  And she bent her head to capture Willow’s lips.

The anger within her instantly transformed, taking the kiss with it.  Her arms enfolded Willow, crushing her close as her firm lips devastated Willow’s petal soft ones.  This was right.  Willow was hers, and now everyone with eyes knew it.

It was the thought of all those eyes that brought her back to herself.  She gentled and finally pulled away.  Willow’s eyes were dark and glittering, although her jaw hung loosely on its hinges.  Tara smiled sheepishly.  “Sorry.”

She felt Willow’s fingers in her hair an instant before her lover smashed their mouths back together.

This time it was a little less primal, but no less intense.  Willow guided and let herself be led, this time a much more active participant.  Tara felt signals coming in from all parts of her new body saying this was a good thing, but one spoke more loudly than the others.  Willow noticed it, too, and ground her hips subtly against Tara’s burgeoning hard-on.  Tara groaned.

Finally, it was Willow who pulled away.  Her eyes shone in a way that was all too familiar to Tara, but with a sigh Willow stepped away.  “I would really like to continue this conversation, but I have a calc exam in ten minutes.  Would you . . . could we maybe pick this up later?  If you want?”

Tara swallowed, nervous and giddy and aroused in a whole new way.  “Um.  Yeah.  I think maybe I might like that.”

Willow grabbed up her book bag.  “Are you still going to the Magic Box?”

Tara just nodded.

“How about I meet you there.  We can get some dinner downtown before the meeting.”

“That sounds . . . good.  Yeah.”

Willow smiled and stretched up on her toes to kiss Tara again, lightly this time.  “I’ll see you then.”

As Tara watched her leave, she began to think she might need to revisit her position on participant observation.

There seemed to be something to be said for going native, after all . . .

Chapter 16    Fighting Like A Girl

“Again.  Faster this time.”

Giles winced as Buffy’s knee came up into the sparring pads on his hand, followed by fists and foot in rapid succession.  Her strength had certainly increased.  “Higher,” he said sternly, raising the pads.  “Again.”

She braced herself at the ready and glared at him.  “Geez, Giles, what am I, spaghetti?  I’m getting them as high as I can.”

He stepped back, dropping his hands with a sigh.  “Buffy, even in this arguably less flexible body, you should still be able to throw a decent side kick.  You’re barely reaching my hip.”

“It’s the stick up her bum,” Spike’s musical snark piped up.  “Pokin’ her in all new ways.”

Giles glanced back over his shoulder at the peanut gallery that had formed along the fringes of the training room.  Normally combat training was even less interesting to them than research, but the oddity of the current situation had them all curious.  The only one not there was Anya, who had refused to leave the register as long as the store was open.  Willow and Tara sat on the sagging love seat, books open but ignored in their laps.  Riley leaned against the wall near the door, arms folded across his chest as he watched critically.  Xander leaned over the empty counter, watching but somehow distracted.  Spike perched atop the vaulting horse, his hands fidgeting on the pommels, his legs swinging.  Somewhere he had come up with a tight baby doll t-shirt with the words “I’m not a princess, I’m a goddess!” emblazoned across the chest.  He was smirking widely, obviously enjoying carping at their training attempts.

Giles turned his back to Spike without responding.  “Riley, would you care to demonstrate?”

Riley looked surprised, but pushed up off the wall to cross to the middle of the floor.  Buffy backed off, positioning herself to observe better.  Riley settled himself into fighting stance in front of Giles, raising his fists.  “All out?” he asked respectfully.

Giles braced himself, positioning the pads again to protect his head and chest.  He’d taken enough missed shots from Buffy to be defensive.  “Full speed, half strength.”  No need to take foolish chances.

Riley just nodded, focusing on the pads as he bounced on his toes once, twice, before his fists lashed out, tagging the bags in rapid succession before snapping out his right leg, catching the pad just as Giles got it in front of his chest.  He instantly pulled back into ready stance.

Giles nodded his approval.  “Excellent.”

Buffy was impressed.  “How did you do that?”

Riley relaxed his posture.  “You’re used to being able to kick without any major adjustments to your torso.  I can only kick so high, so I lean to raise it up higher.”

“Show me again.”

He demonstrated it slowly several times and then again at full speed.  Buffy copied him, and by the fourth time seemed to be getting the difference.  But meanwhile Giles’ hands were starting to buzz.  He pulled them out of the mitts and shook them lightly.  “Why don’t you two spar with each other while the feeling returns to my fingers.”

Buffy grinned and quickly moved back into the middle of the floor to face off against Riley.  “Think you can take me this time?”

He grinned back, already in motion.  “Well, you’ve lost your advantage.”  He threw a punch at her head that she easily dodged.

“Oh yeah?  And what’s that?”

He blocked her combination, catching her wrist for a moment.  “You aren’t a girl, so I’m not going to feel bad hitting you.”

And then there was no more talking.

Giles was impressed with the grace of their fighting.  Riley’s military training showed clearly.  Every punch he threw was precise, every kick going exactly where he intended.  Buffy simply responded, purely defensive.  But Giles could see her studying him, learning until she was able to predict his next attack.  And that’s when she struck.

Riley had been prepared for the kick they’d been practicing.  The palm heel strike in the middle of his chest surprised him, flinging him backwards to crash into the wall and then to the floor where he lay, stunned.

Giles reached him at the same time Buffy did, and between the two of them they helped him sit up.  He simply sat there, head between his knees, wheezing, before he was finally able to lift his head and smile ruefully.  “Well, at least I can still sort of hold my own against you full strength.”

Giles glanced at Buffy in surprise.  That hadn’t looked like full strength, even for her female form.  She didn’t say anything, just surreptitiously shook her head.

Finally Riley was able to get to his feet.  “I’m fine.  Just needed to catch my breath.”

“Yes, well, I believe Buffy has gotten the hang of things.  Perhaps we should take a break.”

“But what if she comes up against something smaller than her?”  Xander spoke up curiously from his position behind the counter.

“I think I can take the little guys, Xander,” Buffy said impatiently.

“But that’s just it.  You’re so little yourself, you’ve never fought anything smaller than yourself except Gaknar, and he really doesn’t count.”

“But still . . .”

“No, Buffy,” Giles interrupted, “I think Xander has a point.  You are used to aiming above you.  A miscalculation at the wrong point could be catastrophic.”

“Well, what do you want me to do, fight on my knees?”

“Spike . . .”

“Oh, no!” Spike protested from his perch on the horse.  “‘M not your punching bag, Watcher.  Can’t hit back, remember?  I’m not gonna get worked over just so your girl can learn how to kick my ass better.”

Giles sighed.  “Fine.  Will you at least let us use you for a demonstration with Riley?  Just so Buffy can see the difference?”

“I think not.”

“What’s the matter, Spike,” Buffy taunted.  “Afraid you’ll get hurt now that you’re just a girl?”

He glared at her.  “You should know better.”

“Yeah, but do you?”

His eyes narrowed, but he slid down off the vault.  “Fine.  Come on, Cardboard, let’s show the lady what you can do.”

Giles saw Riley’s face shift through emotion quickly—anticipation, embarrassment, just a touch of anger—before he focused himself.  “My pleasure, Toothless.”

Their first moves were feints, designed to feel each other out.  Giles moved behind Buffy to comment as they watched.  “Fighting a smaller target isn’t just about aim,” he said quietly, never taking his eyes off the fighters.  “You always have to remember that an opponent who is smaller is probably also quicker and more dexterous.”  The two moved across the floor slowly, Spike defending as he retreated, Riley pressing his advantage a little harder each time.  “They are more likely to dodge you, and if they can get hold. . .”

It was as though Spike were following Giles’ coaching.  Frustration finally overcame him, and when Riley launched a side kick at him, Spike caught Riley’s calf in both hands without thinking and yanked with all his might, throwing him end over end to land in a crashing heap on the mat.

Spike didn’t twitch.

Everyone froze, the implication dawning on them all in an instant.  They all surged into sudden action, but Spike was the fastest.  Fisting both hands together, he drove them down at Riley’s head with a feral screech.

The screech turned into a scream of agony before the attack could ever land.

An instant later, Buffy tackled him, driving his twitching body to the floor feet away from Riley.  Giles snatched a sword off the wall behind him, cursing the fact that they didn’t actually train with stakes.  A quick glance showed him that everyone in the room was on their feet and armed, Xander with a small labrys, Tara and Willow with crossbow and knives snatched from their storage locker near the couch.

Spike didn’t move, just echoed Riley’s groans of pain.  When he didn’t struggle, Buffy abandoned him, going to help Riley back to his feet.  Giles offered the same service to Spike, then cursed his automatic chivalry that had him treating Spike like the woman he wasn’t.    Fortunately Spike ignored the offered hand, sitting up just enough to hold his obviously aching head.  “What the hell, Rupert?”

Giles set the sword aside, hearing the others do the same, releasing a collective sigh.  They wouldn’t have to fight an unchipped Spike today.  “Did you feel anything when you threw him?”

Spike gingerly shook his head.

“But you obviously did when you attacked.”

Spike swallowed painfully.  “Yeah.  It was like the first time it happened.  Searing, blinding.”

Giles rose to his feet, looking around him as he reviewed the events of the fight.  “Riley,” he asked finally, “do you know if Professor Walsh did gender based comparisons on the efficacy of this chip?”

Riley stood up, rubbing his neck.  “I don’t think so.  We never had a lot of female vampires to work from.”

“Yeah, why is that?”  Willow interjected curiously.  “Is Sunnydale the sports bar of hellmouths or something?”

“Nah,” Xander pitched in, hanging the axe back up.  “The girl vamps were all just smart enough to ask for directions to get outta town.”

“People, please,” Giles sighed.  He turned back to Spike.  “Without better information, this is strictly conjecture.  But some gender theorists believe that in the instinctive human mind, when threatened, male brains are wired more for fight, while women’s are more for flight.  When you threw Riley, it was an instinctive defense maneuver which probably processed itself in your brain chemistry as preparation for escape, bypassing the chip’s detection of hostile intent.  You didn’t intend to hurt Riley, so regardless of the outcome, it didn’t fire.  Only when you actively sought to do harm did it register and discharge.”

“That’s a hell of a loophole,” Xander whistled.

Giles shrugged.  “It’s an indication of how little we really understand the finer physical differences between the sexes.  It would be interesting to document the differences . . .”

“Why do I always end up a bloody science experiment around you lot?” Spike complained, finally dragging himself to his feet.

“Because you’re a freak of nature?”  Buffy replied snidely.

“Well, now I’m a scientist.  Come on, Slayer.  Let’s do this.”

“Do what?” she asked suspiciously.

“Wanna see if I can control this, keep the chip quiet while handing you your ass.”

“You have got to be joking.”

“Do I look like I’m jokin’?” he asked, readying himself for her attack.

She looked to Giles, but he just shrugged to indicate it was her decision.  If Spike wanted to risk the pain, it certainly couldn’t do her training any harm.

Her face focused and she moved once again into the center.  “Okay, Spike, let’s see what you can do.”

They had barely started when he winced and stepped back.  “Bugger.”

“Didn’t think so.”  She started to back away.

“Come again, Slayer,” he commanded, preparing himself once more.

“Spike . . .”

“Come.  Again.”  There was something cold, controlled in his voice.

She looked at him curiously, but stepped back up and attacked again.

They got only a little further this time before he grabbed his head in pain.

“Oh, for pity’s sake.”  The pedagogue in Giles could stay quiet no longer.  “Stop anticipating her.  The chip is reading it as an attack response.  You need to empty your mind and simply respond to what she does.”

Spike glowered at him from behind his fist.  “Who are you, Mr. soddin’ Miyagi now?”

“Spike, if you want to master this, you’ll listen to me.  Otherwise the rest of us should very much like to go home.”

“Fine, fine.”  He shook it off, releasing the frustration that had built up in his whole body.  Then he took a deep, unneeded breath in through his nose and slowly blew it back out.

Interesting.  Perhaps just the action of cleansing breathing had an effect on vampires, regardless of the exchange of oxygen.  He’d have to ask . . .

Spike was right.  They did treat him like an experiment.

“Don’t anticipate, just respond,” Spike repeated several times, focusing and relaxing as he prepared himself.  Finally he looked to Buffy and just nodded.

She came at him with a quick one two punch which he easily blocked.  She kicked low and punched high, both of which he easily dodged.

They both grinned ferally.  And cut loose.

Giles had never seen the two of them fight before.  The only time he had been present at one of their battles, he’d been busy fighting for his own life.  If her match with Riley was graceful, this was pure artistry.  It was as though, having mastered all the rules of combat, they were now able to disregard them and let their well-trained bodies direct them.  Spike held his own admirably despite his limitations, advancing as much as he retreated, even managing to land several blows without triggering the chip.  Buffy for her part seemed exhilarated.  Giles had never seen her fight so well.  Spike challenged her, forced her to draw on all her training, using techniques Giles had taught her but didn’t know she had retained, and some he wasn’t even aware she knew.  And unlike her fight with Riley, these two were far from silent, taunting and insulting each other freely as they moved about the floor.  A part of Giles shuddered.  If this was how they sparred, their life and death battles must have been ferocious.

They struggled back and forth for almost fifteen minutes before Buffy was finally able to get an advantage over him, gripping his arm as she swept at his feet, dropping him to the mat with his wrenched arm still in her grip.  “Give?”

With a panting laugh he nodded, and she released his arm.

“I’ll always be the better woman, Spike,” she towered over him, mocking.

“Oh yeah?”  He closed his eyes and with a surprise kick, he smashed her knee out, making her tumble and drop on top of him.  “But don’t forget I’ll always be the better man,” Giles thought he heard him mutter.

When Buffy didn’t instantly move away, Giles had a sudden premonition of what was to come, could almost feel the implacability of fate pushing it along.

Not again.  Not another one.  Oh lord, not this one.

After a moment’s hesitation, she got to her feet, leaving him sprawled on the floor as she grabbed her workout towel.

“Thanks for the rough and tumble, pet,” Spike smirked, getting to his feet himself.  “I learned a lot.”

“Alright, everyone,” Giles interrupted before Buffy could respond, “that’s enough for tonight.  Buffy, you still need to patrol, but the rest of you can head home.  I don’t think we can do any more here tonight.”

Buffy nodded.  “Riley, you with me?”

“Sure.  Just let me get our coats.”

“My turn tomorrow, Slayer,” Spike said when Riley had left the room.  “Want to see if I can put these new skills to good use.”

“Whatever, Spike.  It’s not like there’s a sign up sheet.”

He picked up his coat and turned to her with a smirk.  “Maybe there should be.  Might help you keep track.  Keep from forgetting where your interests are supposed to be.”  And before she could retort, he had disappeared out the back door.

“Buffy.”  Giles caught her attention before she could follow Riley.

“Yeah, Giles?”

He moved to her, removing his glasses uncomfortably.  “Buffy, I hate to bring up such a delicate matter . . .”

“Uh-oh.”  She looked horrified.  “Are you giving me The Talk?  This is The Talk, isn’t it?”

He grimaced sheepishly.  “You have a young man’s hormones now, and you aren’t used to dealing with them.  I just wanted to remind you that starting any kind of relationship or experimentation right now could have . . . awkward consequences.”

“Giles, I’m already in a relationship, remember?  No need to start one.  And I’m sooo not interested in experimenting.  I just want to get things back to normal and get back to the good old Buffy bod.”

“So you haven’t felt any attraction to anyone since you were changed?”

He caught her eyes darting to the back door before she met his look.  “Nothing worth worrying about.  I’m not the type to jump sorority girls at the Bronze.  So you can relax, Dad.  Now if you don’t mind, I’d really like to go out and kill things.”

“Be careful,” he said to her retreating back.  And knew despite her reassurances that she was going to need it.

Chapter 17    A Boy's Life

It had been a mentally and emotionally draining day.

Buffy had started it out right, by sleeping in.

Lying in her own bed in her own room, listening to the sounds of her mom and Dawn rustling around starting the day, she could almost feel normal.  She let herself drift back comfortably to sleep when she heard the Cherokee pull out of the drive.

She finally got up several hours later and showered and shaved without incident.  Then, stuffing her gear into her backpack while bemoaning the social pressures that robbed her of her good Coach handbag, she headed out to meet Tara for lunch at the student union. 

“It’s getting a little easier,” Tara said over her tuna sandwich.  “It’s nice to get to eat whatever I want.”

Buffy looked at her cheeseburger and fries.  “This will be the only thing I’ll be sad to leave behind.”

“Silver linings.”

“Don’t you have to use the community showers, though?”  Buffy took a bite out of her burger.  “That’s got to be weird.”

“Yeah, it’s embarrassing.  But it’s not so bad.  I think it would be worse if I were straight.  Naked boy parts don’t interest me, so I don’t have to worry sending the wrong signals.”

Buffy nodded sympathetically as she swallowed.  “I’m starting to understand why guys seem so dumb.  It’s distracting having this thing popping up between your legs all the time.  And it doesn’t even do anything useful.  Like point north or find water or something.”

Tara couldn’t help laughing.  Finally she said, “Well, I’ve been lucky.  Mine hasn’t been too intrusive.  Although Anya says she can’t get rid of hers.”

“She must be thrilled,” Buffy commented wryly.  “Poor Xander will probably be walking like a cowboy for weeks.  I keep waiting for her to ask to compare sizes.”

Tara looked horrified.  “She wouldn’t, would she?”

“This is Anya.  It’s not a question of if, but when.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes before Tara asked, “So, how are you and Riley managing?”

Buffy was surprised at the question.  “Fine, I guess.  We still hang out together, go patrolling, that sort of thing.  We can’t really do much else, not with me being like this.  I guess we’re just kind of on hold until this is over.”

“Oh.”  Tara flushed, looking like she wanted to say something else.  Instead she focused on her lunch, letting the conversation turn to more mundane topics.

After lunch, she walked Tara out onto the quad en route to Tara’s next class before saying her goodbyes.  “I’m glad we got a chance to talk,” she said, hugging Tara supportingly.

Tara squeezed back.  “Yeah, me too.  It helped a lot.”

From just behind her, Buffy heard someone mutter, “Faggots.”

Without even looking, Buffy lashed out with her foot, catching someone in the knee and dropping them like a rock.  She turned and looked down at the guy lying on the sidewalk next to her, his pimply face shocked.  “You should be careful who you insult,” she growled menacingly.  “Some faggots aren’t afraid to fight back.”

Tara caught Buffy’s upraised forearm.  “Don’t,” she said softly, the pain and resignation clear in her voice.  “He’s not worth it.”

Buffy backed off, and the kid skittered away, clutching his backpack.  “Freak!” he yelled back over his shoulder.

Buffy felt embarrassment, anger, hurt well up inside her.  “Have you had to deal with that a lot?” she asked Tara.

Tara just nodded.  “Since I was sixteen.”

Buffy suddenly had a lot more respect for Tara.

When she got to the Magic Box, Giles put her to work training, running drills over and over and over until they were as natural in this body as they were in her own.  He wasn’t having any success locating an n!Graaltoch or any of the Teirganan elixir, and she could tell he was feeling the failure personally.  It was one thing to joke about watching the first male slayer, but quite another to have to consider the possibility seriously.   She could tell she would be working hard until they found a way to reverse this or until he was satisfied she was as good a Slayer as ever.

So now she was heading through Peaceful Meadows  Cemetery to meet  Spike for patrolling.  She didn’t really need to take him, any more than she needed  to take  Riley.   Riley she took for quality time, a nice evening walk with her guy punctuated by occasional violence.  She didn’t examine her motives for taking Spike too closely.

The main chamber of his crypt was empty, but she found the ladder going down to a lower level and climbed down. 

She had expected to find him still in bed.  She hadn’t thought he’d still be awake.

The room was dimly lit by a half a dozen candles burning on the bedside tables and a nearby dresser.  Spike was sprawled artlessly across the bed, naked and amber in the candlelight, the sheet tangled around one long leg.  His right hand pulled and rolled the  nipple of one perfect round breast, his full lower lip caught between his teeth as his left hand delved and stroked between his legs. From her place about thirty feet from the foot of the bed, she could see everything clearly.   The honey blond curls covering his mound, the heavy rise and fall of  his chest, the moisture glistening on his fingers.  He was panting and moaning softly, his head pitching against the pillows.

The rational portion of her brain insisted she get out now, that she had no business seeing this, watching this, responding to this.  The primal male voice hard wired in her screamed for her to move forward, take what he was offering.  The two instincts warred against each other, locking her in place.

She saw him begin to tremble, the moans turning to soft mewling cries as he rubbed faster and faster, his fingers focused on one spot, his whole body suddenly writhing across the linens.  And for one flaring instant, she visualized what that writhing would feel like pinned beneath her larger body, her cock thrusting into him over and over . . .

He came with a string of curses, his body arching against the bed before he collapsed, panting and limp.  She couldn’t do anything but watch him as he lay there enjoying his recovery.  Eventually he sat up with one last sigh and swung his legs over the edge of the bed to drift sinuously over to the dresser, taking a pair of her panties out of the drawer and stepping into them gracefully one foot at a time before sliding them up to cover all his intimate places.  Reaching into another drawer, he pulled out a navy blue t-shirt and slipped it on, scooping his tousled waves out of the neckline.  When he turned around, she saw that the shirt read “God, I wish these were brains.”

“You can come out now, Slayer.”

She stepped out of the shelter of the entry, mortified but determined to brazen it out.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Why not?”  He went back to the dresser for jeans and a pair of socks.  “I was always good at pleasuring the ladies, thought I should take advantage of it for myself.”

“That’s disgusting.”  But she couldn’t help watching his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull his socks on.

“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t taken yourself in hand, Slayer.  Curious about the other half and all that.”  He purposely misread her flush of embarrassment.  “Or maybe you got Soldier Boy to take care of it for you.  I always did have him pegged as a bit light.”

“Shut up, Spike.”

“Ooo, maybe not.  You know, Slayer, you wouldn’t be so cranky if you’d get a decent shag once in a while.”  He stood up, pulling up the jeans to button them, then glanced at the front of her pants.  “You don’t give that a seeing to, you’re gonna end up all kinds of uncomfortable.”

“Mind your own business.”

He smirked, studying her up and down as he sauntered closer.  “Maybe you’d like me to help you with that.”

Buffy saw the promise in his eyes as he caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth.  The blood roared in her head, blinding her, deafening her, stealing away all thought except of grabbing him and burying herself in him.

And then, with the realization of how close she was to actually doing that, the mind numbing fear closed in.  She backed away from him in horror.

“No?”  He followed her.  “Are you sure?”

She broke and ran.

“Have a nice wank!” drifted down the tunnel after her.

Chapter 18    Maternal Instincts

For the first eight hours, Xander was able to ignore the possibility that anything was wrong.  Training and research had helped provide distraction for a little while. He had several chocolate bars.  That seemed to help, too.

Anya made love to him that night.  While they both enjoyed it, he just wasn’t able to focus properly.  But he made certain she used a condom.

He didn’t remember dreaming, but he must have, because he woke up more than once in a cold sweat.  Anya complained in the morning about how much he tossed and turned.  When she tried for another round of sex, he begged off, giving her a blow job to keep her from getting upset. He was grateful when she went to work.

He’d never realized before how many ads related to pregnancy and babies there were on TV.  Finally he gave up and turned it off.

He couldn’t be pregnant.  It just wasn’t possible. You couldn’t get pregnant from just one time.  The chances of it happening had to be astronomically bad.

Didn’t they?

But he should know if he was, shouldn’t he?  Women always seemed to just know when they were pregnant.  He didn’t feel any different.  But maybe he wouldn’t.  Maybe he hadn’t been a woman long enough for whatever it was that told them to work for him

Oh god, he was pregnant.

His mind went round and round like that for hours despite his best efforts of self-distraction.  He cleaned the entire apartment, including scrubbing out the bathtub.  He baked a chocolate cake from one of the box mixes Anya had in the cupboard.  And ate half of it.  By the time she got home, he had made dinner as well.  She was pleased at his thoughtfulness.  He didn’t correct her.

After dinner, they settled down on the couch to watch television, and for a while he was able to relax in the comfort of her arms, his mind empty of all concerns.

Until she started kissing meaningfully along his neck and shoulders.

He pushed away from her and moved down to the other end of the couch.  “I’m really not interested tonight, Anya,” he said defensively.

“All right, Xander Harris, what is wrong with you?”  She asked indignantly.

“Nothing!  Why does something have to be wrong with me because I don’t want to have sex all the time?”

“Because you do want to have sex all the time.  Even since the change, you’ve been ready every time I have.  You’re one headache away from a cliché, Xander.  If I did something to make you angry, tell me so we can fight fair about it.”

He sagged beneath her words.  “It’s not you.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She moved closer, taking his hand.  “Then what is it?”

“I think . . .” he studied her fingers, unable to look her in the face.  “I think I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.”  She thought about that for a long moment before asking, “Why?”

He looked up at her in confusion.  “What?”

“Why do you think you’re pregnant?”

He hesitated.

“Well,” she continued impatiently, “are your breasts tender?”

“No.”

“Do your stomach muscles feel weak?”

He sucked in his gut.  “Not that I can tell.”

“Are you sick to your stomach in the morning?”

“Not so far.”

“Then what makes you think you’re pregnant?”

“Well, we had sex the other morning without any protection.”

“Oh.”  This time the word sounded more knowing.  “You aren’t afraid you are pregnant, you’re afraid that you might be pregnant.”

“And there’s a difference?”

She nodded.  “Might be means you probably aren’t, but you’re afraid to find out for sure, just in case you are.  That explains the oral sex this morning, and the lack of interest tonight.”

“It does?”

“In the might-be mindset, having sex only makes it more likely that you are pregnant, but if you don’t, you’re more likely not to be pregnant.”

“Ahn, that just doesn’t make sense.”

She studied him critically.  “Have you felt very rational since you found out?”

He looked sheepish.  “No, not really.”

“Do you want to find out?  We could go out and get you a home pregnancy test.”

“Will it help?”

“Not really,” she shrugged.  “If it comes back positive, at least you’ll know.”

“What if it comes back negative?”

‘You won’t trust it.”

“So then what do I do?”

“What women have done for centuries.  Pray for your period.”

“What?  No!  I don’t want to have a period!”

She looked at him sternly.  “I’ll bet that’s not true right now, is it?”

And he realized it wasn’t.  As embarrassing and disgusting as it would be, he would be grateful for it as long as it meant he didn’t have to make all the hard decisions a pregnancy would make him face.

She saw the truth in his face.  “Times like these are the only reason a woman ever looks forward to her monthly cycle.”

“God, Anya.  Do you go through this every time?”

“No.  Just if I’ve missed a pill during the month.  Or if I’ve been sick.  Or if I’m late, but that usually fixes itself in a day or two.”

“Why do you do it?  Why do you keep coming back for more?”

She shrugged.  “I like sex.  And I love you.  Sex with you is worth the risk.”

He let her enfold him in her arms then, stroking his hair gently.  “I was really freaking out there,” he said quietly.

She nodded against his head.  “I know.”

He looked up at her.  “How?”

“You cleaned the apartment.  And you ate half a sheet cake.”

‘Yeah, I guess I did.”  He chuckled wryly.  “I’m starting to understand you women and your thing with chocolate.”

She pulled him close again.  “And you thought I was making it up.”

After a moment, he added, “I’m still pretty scared.”

“I know.”  She squeezed him comfortingly.  After a while she gave him a gentle nudge.  “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“To a drug store.  To buy lots of pregnancy tests and several gallons of your favorite ice creams.”

“Will that help?  Make me feel better, I mean?”

“The tests?  Probably not.  But at least you’ll know you did something.  The ice cream always helps.  Something about endorphins and round molecules and milk solids.  It makes the world seem like a better place.”

Xander let her help him to his feet.  “I’m beginning to think you women have a really good coping system.”

“You’re a woman, too, now, sweetie,” she reminded him.  “And don’t worry.  By morning, you’ll be worrying how much of it went to your hips . . .”

Chapter 19    Cocktease

The Bronze was crowded.  All the college students who had managed to avoid Friday classes, or just didn’t plan on going, were there, crowding out the local high school kids.  They had always resented it when they were those local high school kids, but now somehow Buffy was grateful.  High school girls on the prowl were frightening, and she didn’t know if she was up to fending them off.

They had all decided they needed a night out.  A chance to at least pretend to be normal for a few hours.  Here were people who didn’t care what they had been, just what they were now.  No pressure from Dawn’s curiosity, Mom’s concern, Giles’ sympathy.

She glanced over at the bar.  Riley’s discomfort was still on her menu for the evening.  When they had decided to go, Riley had insisted on coming along.  Just to hang out.  She sighed.  It was nice that he wanted to be a part of her life, but his presence was awkward.  She could almost feel the force of his attempts to keep an open mind, not to judge. But he never quite looked at Anya and Xander when they were affectionate, watched Willow’s interaction with Tara closely, ignored Spike altogether.  Buffy got the feeling they were all one big psychology case study to him.

She watched him come back across the room to the circle of chairs they had claimed for the evening, drinks in hand.  A part of her kind of felt sorry for him.  He was trying, but he just wasn’t sure whether to treat her like a girlfriend or a buddy.  Like the drinks.  He had insisted on getting them, but then had been surprised when she didn’t want a beer.  It was kind of cute.  And very tiring.

He gave her her Coke with a friendly smile and sat down next to her.  “So,” he started, then seemed to realize he had nothing to say.  “Um.”  Another long pause.  “Oh!”  He smiled brightly suddenly as he thought of a topic of conversation.  “You know, I’ve never asked you, what kinds of sports are you interested in?”

“Figure skating, mostly,” she answered enthusiastically.  “Some gymnastics.  I like to watch soccer, but that’s mostly to check out the players.”  She blushed a little when she realized she’d said too much.

“Oh.”  Obviously none of their interests aligned.

They sat silently, watching the dancers for a while before he tried again.  “So, how are your classes?”

“Pretty good, actually.  I think I’m going to regret taking Astronomy for one of my science requirements.  But my poetry class is pretty interesting.”

“You’re taking poetry?”  Riley looked surprised.

“All semester.”  Didn’t he remember her telling him about it when she’d registered?

“So, Slayer’s studyin’ poetry,” Spike’s amused soprano spoke behind them.  He came around and dropped into the seat opposite them.  She waited for him to start ridiculing her, but he only asked, “What have you covered?”

Surprised by his question, she hesitated.  “Um.  We started with epic poetry.  The Iliad, the Kalevala, and Beowulf.  Then we did Chaucer, and we just finished two weeks on Shakespeare.”

“Two weeks?”  He brushed it aside, appalled.  “No wonder you Americans are so ignorant.”

“Well, it’s only a survey class.  There are four other classes dedicated just to his work.”

“This survey cover anything besides British writers?”

To her surprise, she found she actually enjoyed talking about this with Spike.  He seemed genuinely interested.  She really looked at him for the first time.  He wore the ubiquitous Docs and her leather skirt and jacket.  Underneath he had on a deep purple halter that showed generous amounts of skin and made her wonder how much more it revealed under his coat.  His eyes and lips were carefully made up, and he seemed to have taken the chance of adding mascara as well.  He’d mastered the hair which hung in loose waves around his head, pulled back from his face by two silver clips that looked remarkably like the ones her dad had given her for her fourteenth birthday.  Dawn was in so much trouble.

But they looked good on him.

“You’ll probably like Walt Whitman,” he was saying.  “Not a lot of structure, but more joyous passion than you’ll have seen anywhere except maybe in Old Will’s work.”

“How do you know so much about poetry?” she asked, surprised that she actually cared.

“Been a round for a while, haven’t I?  Had to do something to pass the time.”

She was about to pursue that when they were interrupted by a dark haired waitress tapping Spike on the shoulder.  “Excuse me.  The gentleman at the bar sent this over.”  She offered him the tray on which a shot of whiskey sat.

“Thanks, pet.”  He took the glass and lifted it in the direction of his benefactor.  Then he knocked it back in one shot.

The pickup artist’s eyes widened in awe.

She turned on him.  “Have you been doing this all night?”

He shrugged.  “Haven’t been here that long.”

He was spared her lecture by the arrival of Xander and Anya, who flopped in chairs as well.  Anya wore slacks and a blue poet’s shirt, and had apparently talked Xander into a shopping trip, as his jeans and sneakers were topped by a purple paisley silk tank top.  He leaned forward to grab the cup he had left there, chugging down half the contents.  “This was a great idea, Buffster.  I feel better than I have in days.  But you should be out dancing!”

“Probably not tonight.  I’m a little shy on partners of the opposite sex.  And I’m not as brave as Tara and Willow.”  Not to mention the fact that Riley would probably bolt if she asked him.

“Tell you what,” he swallowed another mouthful of beer, “As soon as I get back from the little girl’s room, I’ll dance with you.  I figure I owe you for all the pity dances you’ve given me over the years.”

She smiled.  “They weren’t pity dances, Xander.”

“You’re cute when you lie.  C’mon, Spike.”

Spike looked up in surprise.  “C’mon where?”

“To the bathroom.”

“’M not goin’ to the bathroom.”

“You have to.  Girls go to the bathroom in packs, and I have to go, so you have to go with me.”

“You’re out of your tree, Harris.  I’m not gonna stand in line with a bunch of twittery, whispery bints for who knows how long just so you can make water and powder your nose.”

“Please, Spike, you have to.  It’s going to be embarrassing enough going into a public restroom like this without standing out like a sore thumb by being there all alone.”

Spike studied Xander for a long moment before conceding.  “Why didn’t you say abject humiliation was involved in the first place?”  He unfolded himself gracefully from his seat.  “I’m in.”

As the two squeezed through the crowd in the direction of the girls’ room, Riley spoke up, reminding Buffy of his presence.  “Why do girls all go to the bathroom together?”

Buffy looked at Anya, and Anya at Buffy before Buffy answered.  “So we have someone to talk to while we’re standing in line.”

Anya nodded.  “And there’s always a line.”

“But if only the people who needed to go went, wouldn’t that take care of the line?”  Riley asked reasonably.

They just stared at him.

“Oooookay, maybe not.”  He slouched back in his chair, hiding behind his cup.

Xander was back within five minutes, although Spike had disappeared.  Xander kissed Anya affectionately and whispered something in her ear before coming over to claim Buffy.  “I believe this is our dance.”

She laughed.  “Aren’t I supposed to be saying that to you?”

He grinned, making his smaller face look even more pixie-ish.  “It’s the new millennium.  Things change.”

“Yes, they certainly do.”  She took his hand and let him lead her out onto the dance floor, looking back apologetically into Riley’s thoughtful face.

She hadn’t held anyone in this new body, so it surprised her how small Xander seemed.  She started to understand why men felt so protective of women.  He just seemed so fragile.  They didn’t dance close, but she rested her hands on his waist while he put his on her shoulders and they just moved comfortably to the quieter song the deejay was playing.  She took the opportunity to look around.  Off to one side, she saw Tara and Willow in a posture similar to hers with Xander, only much more intimate.  They swayed slowly in time to the music, hands lightly stroking over each other’s backs, reaching up to toy with each other’s hair.  Every once in a while, Tara would drop her head to steal a soft kiss, leaving Willow smiling shyly.

“They seem to be doing better,” Buffy said close to Xander’s ear so he could hear her over the noise.

“Finding silver linings, like the rest of us,” he replied.  “I don’t think Tara was coping to well at first.”

Buffy nodded in agreement.  “We had lunch a couple of days ago.”

“And I talked to Will.  But it’s getting easier.  And at least now they can show how much they care about each other without worrying about getting attacked.”

Buffy nodded again.  “Sometimes I’m not so sure I like living in a world where people like them, who love each other that much, aren’t allowed to show it in public.  That just seems so wrong somehow.”

He nodded and rested his head against her shoulder for a moment.  When he looked up again, he asked, “Do you think we’ll forget?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think if we stay like this long enough, we’ll forget that I was a boy and you were a girl, forget what that was like?”

She shook her head and hugged him fiercely.  “That will always be a part of us.  It’s defined who we are for twenty years.  That doesn’t just go away.  So, you’ll be a butchy girl, and I’ll be an effeminate guy, and no one will want to have anything to do with us because we’re such freaks.”

“Wow.  Way to go for the silver lining, there, Buff.”

She squeezed him again.  “Giles will fix it.”

He nodded.  “You’re right.  I know.  G-man always comes through in the pinch.”

“He does.  He will.  He has to.”

As soon as the music ended, Anya was right there, her lean face sharpened by an overly bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “Did you have fun?  Are you finished now?”

Xander rolled his eyes, but Buffy just smiled.  “I did, very much.  Thank you for sharing him.”

Anya’s smile now was genuine.  “You’re welcome!  But I would like him back now.”

Buffy stepped back.  “All yours.”  She watched as Anya swept Xander away, holding him indecently close as she re-established her territory.  Buffy shook her head, smiling.  Those two had such an odd relationship, but somehow it was also very romantic.

She glanced in the direction of Willow and Tara.  Despite the increased tempo of the music, they continued to drift lazily in each other’s eyes.  It still moved her to see how much they cared for each other.

With a sigh, she turned to head back to their table where, presumably, Riley was waiting for her.  But raucous laughter from behind the catwalk stairs drew her attention.  She peered around the column to see what was going on.

It was Spike, surrounded by half a dozen guys, holding court like some decadent princess or movie star.  He had shed the jacket to reveal bare shoulders and arms pale as milk, the soft blue veining barely visible.  He had a beer in one hand as he gestured with the other, emphasizing his words and his willowy limbs.  These guys weren’t entranced, Buffy thought.  They looked more like a pack of wolves waiting for their prey to not notice them so they could attack.  One of them in particular was overly aggressive, feeling free to coast the back of his fingers down Spike’s arm or lay a hand across his upper thigh.  Spike didn’t seem to notice, so intent was he on the tale he was spinning.  He was just asking for trouble.

She pushed her way through the crowd to stand in front of him.  “Spike!”  She had to shout to get his attention.

Spike looked up at her, surprised.  “Oh, hey, pet.  I was just makin’ some new friends.”

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest.  “I’m not sure I like your taste in friends.”

Mr. Hands rose first.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just about what you might think.”  She reached out and caught Spike’s wrist.  “Come on.  You need to dance.”

As she dragged him away, he swallowed a last mouthful of beer and dropped the cup on the table.  “Thanks for the drinks, fellas.  We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

Buffy didn’t stop until they were in the middle of the floor, far away from the admiring throng, before turning around and pulling him into her arms.  “You’re just asking for trouble, you know that?” she said, moving them naturally into the flow of dancers.

“Those guys?”  He scoffed.  “They’re harmless.”

“They’re harmless unless they put enough booze in you to think that they’ve earned something and that you’re too drunk to stop it.”

“Won’t they be in for a surprise, then?”

“Won’t you be if your little concentration trick doesn’t work and you can’t fight back.”

“Jealous, Slayer?” he smirked at her.

“I’m just trying to keep you from getting beat up.  Or worse.”

“I think you saw me talking to those blokes and got jealous that I was payin’ all that attention to them and none to you.”

“You’re delusional,” she said derisively.

“Am I?  Then why are you hard?”  And he ghosted his hips lightly against hers, showing her the truth of his statement. 

Buffy blushed but kept her face stern.  “That doesn’t mean anything.  That thing goes up and down for no reason at all.”

He didn’t quite laugh at her.  “Oh no, Slayer, it goes up and down for very specific reasons.  It’s a part of you, not its own separate entity.  And it’s responding to what goes on in your head, consciously or unconsciously.  You want me.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Oh, you think so?  Let’s take a little survey, eh?”  They were moving automatically to the rhythm of the music, but Buffy gave no thought to actual coherent dancing.  “Did it come up, as you put it, when you were dancin’ so close with Harris?”

“No, of course not!  He’s my friend, I don’t . . .”

“What about Red?  Nice girl, pretty package, hell, you probably saw her naked a time or two when you were roomies.  She get a standing ovation?”

“I don’t think of her like that . . .”

“Okay then, what about Soldier Boy?”

“That’s just disgusting!”

“The male body’s renowned for inappropriate responses, luv.  You love him, or so you say, and you’re still Buffy in that noggin of yours.  Be perfectly natural for all those squishy feelings to make their presence felt.  But nothing, huh?”

She didn’t answer him.

“But you know what’s interesting?  Every single time you’ve been around me in the last five days, you have been hard as nails.  Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tipped his head up to look at her, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue.  “You can lie to me all you want, but you can’t control your reaction.  You want me.  You want me bad.”

She could hear the blood pounding in her ears, feel it coursing straight into her khakis, her eyes nearly crossing from the sudden pressure of her fast swelling cock.  God, she did want him.  So much.

And then he moved a little closer.  “So you know, pet, I want you just as much.  Maybe more.  Want to know what it feels like to lie with you, touch you, feel you slide into me . . .”

She pushed him away like a viper, trembling with her own reaction, the desperate need sucking her in to do everything he was suggesting.  He looked at her, hopeful, suggestive, and she felt herself weaken.

In a panic she turned and ran, leaving him alone on the dance floor.  She fled back to the table where Riley was talking with Xander and Willow.

“Buffy?”  Riley rose, laying a hand on her forearm.  “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”  She snatched a cup up off the table and quickly swallowed some of the flat beer inside, hoping to settle her nerves.  “It’s just really hot out there.”

Riley was about to pursue his concern when they all heard from nearby a very familiar accent insisting, “Shove off!  I’m not goin’ anywhere with you!”

“Think you can tease us like that all night and not have to follow through?” a raspy, angry male voice responded.

“That’s exactly what I think, you . . . Hey, let me go!”

As one, they all turned to race towards the sound of the argument.

They found Spike in the grip of Mr. Hands near the pool table, obviously en route to being dragged out of the club.  Riley grabbed Spike’s arm and yanked him out of Hands’ grip, shoving him back behind them to relative safety.  “I don’t think the lady’s all that interested in leaving with you.”

“Yeah?” came the surly reply.  “What’s it to you?”

“She came with us.”

“Big fuckin’ deal.  She’s leaving with me.”

“No,” Buffy stepped forward, “she really isn’t.”

“Try and stop me.”  And he lunged forward to grab Spike.

Buffy grabbed his arm and with a fierce twist, threw him spinning into the air to land on the pool table, sending balls shooting off in all directions.

“Hey!” one of the bullies with Hands protested.  “You can’t do that to Steve!”

“Looks like I just did.  Want some for yourself?”

Three more guys charged them, this time intent on her and Riley, giving Spike no thought.  Buffy cold cocked the first one as Riley grappled with the second.  The third nearly tripped over his fallen comrade trying to get to Buffy, and she used his imbalance to fling him against the far wall, fighting to limit her strength so as not to kill him despite her fury.

Steve was just starting to rise from the pool table when the bouncers arrived.  “What’s going on here?”

“Sorry, Gary,” Riley apologized.  “These guys got overly familiar with the lady and weren’t going to take no for an answer.  We didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

Gary, the head bouncer, looked at the dazed and fallen thugs, examining the situation.  “Okay,” he said finally.  “There isn’t any serious damage, and no blood, so I’ll let it go since it’s you, Riley.  But I’m still going to need you to make a statement for my incident report.  And the rest of you should head home.  I think your evening’s done.”

“I think you’re right,” Riley confirmed.

“I’ll go find the girls,” Xander offered, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

“And I’d better walk Spike home,” Buffy said grudgingly.  “Make sure his admirers don’t come looking for him.”

“Don’t need any favors from you, Slayer,” Spike grumbled, obviously embarrassed.

She sighed.  “It’s in the job description, Spike.  You helpless, me protect.  Now get moving before I decide to stake you and spare myself any more aggravation.”

She ignored the looks she got from Riley and Spike, one quizzical and one very, very smug.

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