By Mint Witch
RATING: NC-13, this part only, for adult themes
SPOILERS: Through S6
DISCLAIMER: Do I look like a paunchy guy with male pattern baldness? No. Okay. Let’s all move on.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a wishful thinking S7. As in I WISH! And big thanks to Canada for the world’s fastest Beta. And giant double Martini thanks to the Gutter for the loads of support and encouragement. I love the Gutter.
DISTRIBUTION: I’m not only easy, I’m free. Just ask.
FEEDBACK: Give it to me baby, uh huh uh huh!
Rubbing the sore spot, Buffy unhooked the leash and brought it inside. The Slayer mused on how extremely kinky this was becoming while she started coffee and got breakfast ready. One never knew what Spike necessarily intended, but what she had done probably wasn’t it. Or maybe it was.
She scooped up the leather and went upstairs to wake Dawn, tossing the leash into her room on the way.
“Dawnie! Hey, time to get up, breakfast is almost ready.” Buffy tapped lightly on her sister’s door.
“I’m up, mmmmmph.” Dawn’s voice was definitely sounding less up and more ‘leave me alone, I’m sleeping.’ Buffy waited for a moment, listening for getting up sounds, and tapped again.
“I’m up, I’m up, okaaaaaay?”
“No, you’re not up, you’re trying to make me go away, which is so not gonna happen.” A muffled groan reached her through the door, followed a few seconds later by Dawn wrenching open said door and stomping into the bathroom.
Buffy smiled to herself. She was getting the hang of this Mom-thing. Cheerfully, she headed back downstairs to finish breakfast.
“What is this?” Dawn was staring at her breakfast in disgust.
“A protein shake and banana-bran muffins.” Buffy was obviously pleased with herself: a real, honest to goodness breakfast, complete with baked goods.
“Ummm, Buffy? What happened to Pop-Tarts? I like having Pop-Tarts for breakfast.” Dawn turned wounded teenager eyes towards her older sister. “Tell me we have Pop-Tarts?”
Buffy shook her head. “Sorry, you ate the last of them yesterday. Besides, they’re not good for you, they’ll rot your teeth. And they’re expensive.”
Dawn sighed. There was no fighting the money. Hockey pucks and yellow sludge would be her fate.
Once Dawn was safely off to school, Buffy went upstairs again, but instead of just grabbing her robe and going into the bathroom for her shower, she found herself staring at the collar and leash pooled on her sheets.
The collar could just be a Spike-thing, the sort of item he would leave as a gift or a threat. But the lead... that was definitely a Buffy -and- Spike thing. Years of Scooby sarcasm, her own snarky comments, and Spike’s bitterness about the chip could be read in that piece of hide and metal. And the sex. She couldn’t ignore the things they said, that they did.
Buffy reached for the leash, running the supple leather through her fingers. It was short, less than three feet long. A short leash. Spike had given her a choke collar and a short leash. Buffy laughed out loud.
She sang in the shower that morning.
As she dressed, her eyes kept returning to the traffic lead. Unconsciously, she chose a gold silk blouse and rust colored slacks. Taking a last spin in front of the mirror, Buffy caught sight of the leash in the mirror. Almost against her will, she paced back to the bed and picked it up. The leather was remarkably supple, a rich, deep brown with an oiled gleam. It seemed to caress her hands, touching her back. The color was a surprise; she would have expected black or even something garish and red. That would have been more obviously sexual. This was a well constructed tool, something useful and beautifully utilitarian.
Buffy turned back to the mirror and wrapped the glossy length of the lead around her hips. She fastened the spring clasp through the wrist loop; the leash draped languidly over her hips, looking for all the world like a trim, chic belt. Buffy spun before the mirror again, a tingle prickling through her groin. There was a hidden naughtiness to this. The idea of wearing it all day, at work, on errands, colored her cheeks a deep pink and brought a sparkle to her eyes.
Buffy stared at herself for a long moment. She should be angry, repulsed, or disgusted. Instead she just felt charmed. It had been a long summer, a summer of playing Mommy to a teenager, working a Mommy job, and Slaying. She hadn’t felt like a woman, well, ever. Spike, intentionally or not, was giving her a taste of that richness. Her hand stroked lightly up her side, outlining the still young breast of the woman in the mirror.
Buffy jerked away from her image and grabbed her jacket. Today would be another long day, but for some reason she wasn’t minding so much anymore.
Her hips switched wickedly as she trotted down the stairs and out of the house.
Continued in 3. Enemy Action (fyi The Longest Act)