Fair Play

Fair Play

So, it goes like this: she and Angel defeat the forces of evil and live happily ever after.

Except not together. Or even particularly happily. Or at least not happy like she’d always imagined they would be. And she did imagine it, often and in living colour. Not, of course, perfect happiness- whatever that was. But some version of it.

Instead, Buffy lives alone and Angel lives alone and sometimes they meet in an alley: more good luck than good management.

Just last night, for example, they happened to be at the same place at the same time tracking the same vampire nest and once they’d dispensed with them, they’d stood eyeing each other warily across the dusty room.

“How are you?” Angel’d said.


“Buffy,” he’d said his voice a whisper that crawled straight down her spine into her belly.

So she’d crossed the room, tilted up on her tiptoes and pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. And he’d kissed her back- his mouth acquiescent even though his heart was not.

Suddenly she’d found herself pinned to the wall, her pants in a messy knot at her ankles, Angel on his knees, his tongue desperate against her cunt.

“This can’t keep happening,” she’d said at the exact moment Angel slid two fingers into her. She’d bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood, knowing the smell of it would drive him a little bit crazy. Her orgasm hit then and she’d shuddered on his fingers, against his mouth.

“I’ll walk you home,” he’d said, pulling her jeans back up her rubbery legs.

Her home. Not his.

“Do you want to come in?” she’d asked.

“I should--”

“Come in,” Buffy’d urged.


It was just as well he hadn’t come in, turned out. As soon as Buffy climbed the stairs to her apartment and opened the front door, she’d smelled the cigarette smoke.


“One and the same,” he said from his seat on the window ledge. “How come his Lordship didn’t come up? You two having a tiff?”

“Not a tiff, no,” Buffy said.

“Got a hug for an old friend, then?”

Buffy crossed the room. Spike looked the same, pale skin and sardonic smile.

“You just got a leg over,” Spike said.

Buffy twisted her lips prudishly. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to smell people?”

Spike shrugged. “I helped myself to a beer,” Spike said, lifting the bottle to show her. You want one?”

Buffy sank back down onto the couch and nodded.

“Right. Then you can tell me all about the dismal state of affairs between you and Cro-Magnon Guy.”


“Seems to me,” Spike said, twisting the top off his third Bud Light, “you need some help.”

“I know,” Buffy said.

“I mean, this beer is horrid.,” Spike said screwing up his face. “You need to choose something with some body, like a nice Newcastle Brown.”

“What are you talking about?”

Spike winked. “All right. Spare me the goriest details, if you can, though. My poor, battered heart couldn’t take it.”

“He’s so closed off,” Buffy began.

Spike stifled, just barely, a snort of laughter.

“What?” Buffy said.

“We are talking about the same vampire, right?” Spike said. “Tall, broody guy.”

“I don’t know why I tell you anything,” Buffy said slumping back against the couch.

“You tell me stuff because I am your best friend.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow.

“When you don’t want to kill me,” Spike paused. “Or fuck me.”

Buffy smiled. “I haven’t wanted to do either in a very long time.”

“Well, one of those is your loss and one is my gain, I suppose,” Spike said. He took another drink of beer. “Look, Angel has the emotional IQ of a tree stump.”

“Spike,” Buffy warned.

“Back in the day, we’d release our emotions- if you can even call it that- by way of the three F’s: fighting, feeding or fucking.”

“Classy bunch,” Buffy said.

Spike shrugged.

“So, now what? You make a cup of tea and watch a tearjerker?”

“Are you telling me you can watch Love Story without welling up?” Spike asked. “You’re a stone-cold, bitch.”

“Spike,” Buffy said.

“What, pet?”

“I’m losing him.”

“Seems to me--”

Buffy lifted her hand to stop him. “Can we have less commentary and more help, please.”

“Right.” Spike drained the last of his beer, put the bottle on the table beside him and stood up. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”



Foxy Lady was on the wrong side of town- although the divide between the good side and bad side was more ambiguous than it once might have been.

Buffy grabbed Spike by the forearm and stopped, staring at the blinking “sex!sex!sex!” sign.

“I thought you said we were going shopping.”

“Do you know of a mall open at--” he reached for Buffy’s wrist and consulted her watch, “ 2:15 a.m..”

“But this is a sex shop.” She whispered the word sex, even though the street was mostly empty.

Spike’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Oh my God! You’re not having sex are you, Slayer?”

Buffy dropped her hand from Spike’s arm and narrowed her mouth.

“Look. Do you want my help?”

“I don’t need sex aids, Spike,” Buffy said.

“You do for what I am proposing, pet.”

Spike pulled open the door of Foxy Lady and stepped inside.


Buffy couldn’t think of a single reason why the store needed to be so bright. As soon as she stepped inside she felt as though the clerk- a pimply-faced boy of about nineteen- had trained a huge spotlight on her, illuminating her naiveté for the edification of the store’s three other patrons- all of them men.

She stepped around a rack of skin magazines in search of Spike, who had made it to the back of the store in record time.

“Spike,” she hissed. She swung her gaze to the left: a wall of whips and leather masks; to the right, racks of naughty schoolgirl outfits: tiny plaid skirts and plain white blouses with Velcro fastenings.

“Back here,” came Spike’s amused voice.

Back here turned out to be the back wall on which hung every imaginable type of dildo.

“What are you doing?” Buffy hissed.

I am not doing anything,” Spike said. “You are.” He turned back to the wall of fake cocks. “Pick a colour, luv.”

“What?” Buffy moved closer to Spike. “I thought you were going to help me with Angel’s issues.”

“I don’t fancy these neon colours myself,” Spike mused, touching the package containing a bright pink dick. “How about you?”

“I don’t care,” Buffy said. “I don’t even know what we’re doing here.”

Spike smirked. “I’m helping you with Angel’s, as you so delicately put it, issues.”

“He doesn’t have,” Buffy inclined her head towards the wall of silicone and glass, “this kind of issue.”

“No, I suspect not, but that’s not what this is about, really.” Spike moved a couple feet down the wall and said, “Ah ha.”

Buffy moved to join him just as he pulled a package containing a flesh coloured cock of rather large proportions from its hook on the wall.

“What is Angel going to be doing with that?” Buffy asked.

“Angel isn’t going to be doing anything,” Spike said. “He’s going to be the do-ee.”


Next stop- harnesses, which to Buffy looked like leashes for two-headed dogs.

“Here, step into this one.” Spike was holding contraption made of straps and buckles.

Buffy looked around, but no one was paying them the slightest bit of attention.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Spike was bent down, holding the harness out like she was a little girl in need of help with her panties. And there was an image she needed right out of her head.

Spike adjusted the straps and then stood back: “Look, there’s even a little sheriff’s badge right there.” He pointed to the place just above the opening where Buffy knew the cock was meant to attach. She could feel the beginnings of a furious blush along her jaw.

“How’s it feel?”

“It feels ridiculous,” Buffy said.

“Yeah- I’m not sold on it myself.”

He turned back tot the selection of harnesses. “Oh, I like the sounds of this: Jaguar Cherry. You like red leather, don’t you?” Spike turned back to look at Buffy- his eyes innocent.

Buffy held out her hand for the harness. Pig she thought.

This harness did feel better- if she was going to be forced to compare them. It was soft and sleek and settled in a very interesting place against her pubes.

“Oh, to be a fly on the wall,” Spike sighed.

A final stop for lubricant and they were back out onto the street.


“He’s not even going to let me into his place,” Buffy said. She came out of her bathroom trailed by a cloud of sweet-smelling steam. “It’s off limits.”

“Just make up some story about someone in distress. He goes all gooey for that crap,” Spike said.

Buffy smiled.

“And then,” Spike said, stepping closer and resting his hand, briefly, against her cheek, “just don’t take no for an answer.”

“Thank you,” Buffy said.

“You’re welcome.”

Buffy picked up her overnight bag and headed for the door.

“Do you think it would be too much trouble to ask for a few snapshots of the event?”

Buffy rolled her eyes dramatically.

** The look on Angel’s face said that there had to be something wrong. Daylight was close and Buffy never came to his place. Ever.

He asked the obvious question: “Is something wrong?”

“Can I come in?”

“What is it?”

Why did he have to make this so difficult?”

“There’s this girl,” Buffy said. “She needs help.”

Spike was right. Angel opened the door wider and stepped back. Buffy slipped inside and shifted her bag from one hand to the other.

“Vampires?” Angel asked.

“Sort of.”

“Buffy,” Angel said, “there’s not really any such thing as sort of vampires.”

Buffy was about to argue, but time wasn’t really on her side. The longer she debated semantics with him, the less time there’d be for the other stuff.

“It’s really just one girl and one vampire,” she said.

“And the reason you couldn’t handle one vampire by yourself?”

“Oh, I can handle him,” she said. “It’s just slightly more complicated than that.”

Angel looked confused. Spike was right: sometimes Angel really wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.

“Look. I’m the girl in trouble, all right,” Buffy said.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not hurt. Please stop talking.”

Angel’s faced darkened.

“I’m the girl and you’re the vampire.”

“Buffy,” Angel said. He was going to launch into a big speech; Buffy could almost see the words assembling themselves in his throat.

“You need to understand that I am doing this for your own good,” she said and then she stepped closer, reached up and kissed him.


It was hard for Buffy to say why Angel didn’t resist. Perhaps it was the time of day. If he hadn’t trained his body to keep somewhat normal human hours, this might be the time he was most vulnerable. Whatever the reason, he sank into Buffy’s kiss with almost wholehearted abandon. Buffy believed that if he wasn’t already- she’d be able to kiss him until he was breathless.

“Buffy,” he murmured against her lips.

“Shhh. This is going to play out a little differently than you expect.”

He pulled away and stared down at her.

She took the opportunity to take his hand and pull him into the room. There was a comfortable looking arm chair, a table piled with books, a lit floor lamp, a small area rug, an apartment sized fridge in the corner, a dead plant. Austere was the only word Buffy could think of to describe Angel’s living quarters.

“I would have--”

“Bought a couch?”

“No, tidied up,” Angel said with a small smile.

Buffy smiled back. “I want you to take your clothes off,” she said.

Angel’s face barely registered the request.

“And do it with your back turned.”

“Look, Buffy, I appreciate that you--”

“What? You appreciate that I survived the apocalypse? That I waged war on evil-doers and won? That I am still standing? That I still find you attractive even though you, for reasons that just don’t seem worth all that much to me given the crazy state of our lives, push me away at every turn.” Buffy folded her arms. “Take them off, Angel.”

Angel lifted his hands to his shirt buttons and Buffy lifted hers to make a little swirly circle in the air. Angel sighed and turned around.

Buffy peeled off her jeans in record time. She was already wearing the Jaguar Cherry, all she had to do was attach the dildo, which she did like a pro. (For some reason, Spike knew an awful lot about this sort of thing.) As Angel toed off his shoes and pulled off his pants, Buffy took off her sweater revealing a sexy black stretch lace tank top. She was ready when he turned around.

And gratified to see that he was already sporting a hard on, which seemed to grow when he registered Buffy’s own package.

“Here’s how this works,” Buffy said, swaggering closer to him. “We fought the battle and we won. Okay before you say anything, I know there’s always more bad stuff, but we survived, Angel. We’re here- together.”

“What does any of that have to do with--” Angel licked his lips and looked down.

“My cock?”

Angel nodded.

“I’m not sure actually. Spike said--”

Angel groaned. “I should have known.”

“I think he may be right about this one, though.”

“Spike’s never right about anything,” Angel replied.

“He was right about you and me never being friends,” Buffy said softly.

“Lucky guess.”

Buffy smiled. “We make our own luck,” she said. She reached out a hand and stroked Angel’s dick. It was beautiful- this hard flesh, alive in her palm, a pulsing heart. “Please let me fuck you.”


It was all she could do not to scramble out of the harness and let Angel do to her what she so wanted to do to him after that next kiss. Angel had a mouth worthy of poetry.

Instead, though, Buffy pulled out of his embrace and draped him over the arm of his chair. Angel’s ass- seen from this viewpoint- was pale and muscular. She reached for the lube and stroked a liberal amount over her silicone erection. Slow and steady wins the race, Spike had told her. He had told her other stuff, too, but she wasn’t going to think about that right now.

She leaned over to kiss the small of Angel’s back, and slid a wet finger down the crack of his ass. When she found the opening, she slipped her finger inside, just a little. Buffy squeezed more lube right on the place where her finger disappeared into Angel’s flesh and began a slow exploration of his depths. It was like pushing her hand into a glove that was a little too tight. The tattoo on Angel’s shoulder rippled. Two fingers and he let out a hiss.

This wasn’t anything like she had imagined. Her own bits were throbbing at the sight of him, acquiescent beneath her. She withdrew her hand and stepped a little closer, nudging him with the dildo. The head of the fake cock was much larger than her two fingers and at first it seemed as though he was resisting. Buffy pushed a little harder and Angel groaned and pushed back.

Buffy wondered if she’d be able to reach Angel’s cock; she ached to touch him and wondered if he felt that same sense of urgency to be touched. She pulled back a little and then thrust her hips forward. She slid past resisting muscle- her thighs flush against Angel’s backside- and stopped, her breath in her throat, her nipples knotted with desire.

“Buffy,” he said.

Buffy pulled her hips back and thrust again. A little ripple of electricity flared through her cunt. Again. She settled her hands on Angel’s hips, digging her hands into the muscle and bone like a rodeo cowboy grips the horn of his saddle. She wiggled a little, stirring his insides with her dick, watching him try to match her movements, to find that elusive rhythm.

“Is this okay?” she asked.

Angel turned his face back towards her. His eyes were a rich concoction of lust and wariness, of predator and submissive.

“Do it like you mean it,” he said.


Buffy’s legs were trembling by the time Angel came. He rolled over and slid into the chair, pulling Buffy into his lap.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, his hands coming up to cup her breasts.

“I wasn’t expecting to like it so much,” Buffy said.

She felt Angel’s chin rest against her shoulder, felt his fingers pull at her nipples, felt her growing arousal.

“And I’m not sure it actually proves Spike’s theory,” she said. She felt for the buckles of the harness, anxious to expose herself to Angel’s touch. Under her lap, she could feel Angel’s growing hardness.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Spike’s theories,” Angel said. “Do you want to know what it feels like to be fucked up the ass?” Angel whispered.

Buffy let the dildo drop to the floor.

“Oh yes,” she said.

It seemed only fair.


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