fanfiction

"Meet the Manservant"

the humble sequel to "Desperately Seeking Cookies"
Rating: NC-17.

Spoilers: Through "Chosen", and of course, DSC. Set about a month in the Winkyverse.

Summary: This is so B/A. Those kooky kids are at it again! Buffy POV, because she rocks my world! That gal is a serious comedian.

Disclaimers: What? Is this such a believable BA canon story that for a moment you thought "Joss wrote this!" I'm shocked...and a little hurt! The usual characters are to blame.

Feedback: Is hoarded like the Elmo's World tapes I play for the kids so I can come online and write naughty things. Email: pigpimping2000@yahoo.com


Chapter One--A Friendly Wager


I've come to some startling realizations this week.

Number One? For someone who shunned the company of the dead and undead alike for decades, and is known for his still quasi-antisocial ways, Angel has an abundance of clothes. The first time I looked in his closet, it was like walking into the men's department at Nordstrom's. Well, if Nordstrom's got really depressed and went on an all-black bender for a year. And, oh happy day, leather pants. Lots of leather pants. Not out for display, mind you. Tucked away in a footlocker in the very back, behind the 20 or so pairs of boots. Obsess much, Angel? After much nagging and bribery in the form of sexual favors, I got him to wear a pair two days ago. So, he walked out and spun around in a little circle, and not being able to control my mouth I blurted out "Holy sweet ass cheeks, Batman!" L.A. was then beset by a plague of leather ass pinching the likes of which the city had never seen. Film at 11.

Number Two? Angel has the stamina of a whole *team* of cross country runners. After three days of non-stop 'joined-at-the-groin'-edness, I was afraid I was gonna have to say I had a headache just to get a shower alone. Not that I can blame him. I can't even open the refrigerator door anymore without wondering if mayonnaise, while good for tuna salads, would be a tasty addition to my new favorite lunch, Angel's inner thigh.

And, most importantly, Number Three? For all his sweet words and poetic soul, Angel is still very much a *guy*. He burps if he chugs his blood too fast, he leaves hair all over the sink when he shaves, and the man adjusts himself all the livelong day In private AND public. He's very subtle about it; Angel isn't really one to go for the pronounced grab and shake technique. But, when you spend as much time checking out his crotch as *I* do, you notice everything.

Angel's genuine guy behavior yesterday is what earned him a spot in my number one favorite fantasy: Angel, Devoted Manslave.

Details? I'd be glad too!



So I'm working out in the *fabulous* W&H gymnasium, which includes such amenities as some killer stationary machines, a kick ass outdoor pool and hot tub (and I don't have to tell you how many Wet Angel fantasies THAT has spawned), and a room to the side set up for sparring. You know, punching bags, floor mats, the whole shebang.

After my first workout session here a few weeks ago, Angel decreed that it would be a closed gym when I wanted some exercise. Apparently, on an elevator ride up to his office, two schmoes from accounting were discussing how truly *choice* my ass looked in my little black gym shorts (which, of course, is precisely WHY I wore them). He did affirm later, after some sweet loving, that it looked "amazingly sexy". <Sigh> Is he a cutie or what?

I think those guys are working in the mailroom now. Oh well.

Anyway, he did allow Gunn, Fred and Wesley in, only because hey, they're family. So they wander in one by one and vacillate from working out to dilly-dallying. Fred and Gunn come in to watch me perform some Slayer-rific combat sequences with something that looked like awe. Yes, thanks, I can kick ass. How truly kind of you to notice!

Gunn, manly man that he is, decides he wants to spar with me. Just as I am reveling in the idea of taking him down a few pegs, in walks my sweetie, his Majesty, King Angel of Leatherland. One of my many new titles for him, which he rolls his eyes at but secretly loves. He drops his back of clothes (or, if I'm lucky, something naughty for us later) and walks up onto the mat.

"I don't think that'd be such a good idea, Gunn."

Gunn, of course, takes major offense and the two swiftly move from discussion to a testosterone packed pissing contest. Fred and I watch, waiting for someone to start thumping his chest. Of course, born diplomat that I am, I step in.

"You wanna give a shot instead, Snuggle Bunny?" Another name that Angel, while enjoying it in private, probably wishes I would never utter in public. Apparently, he feels these decrease his all-around macho-ness and intimidation factor. Please. The man could be in full leotard and tutu, and still pose for a monster truck magazine.

He gets that new patented 'I can't believe you said that, someone's getting a spanking' look that I absolutely love, and assumes the position. No, not that one, the fighting one. Perverts. "You think you can handle it? I wouldn't want to embarrass the Slayer in public."

Oh-ho. That's how it is? You are so dead, sugar pie. "Care to make a friendly wager on that?"

"Name it."

Smug, are we? "One round, nothing below the belt, first one pinned for the count is the winner's slave for a week. You game?"

"Oh, I'm game, sweetie." Oh, look at him, puffing his chest out. So hot, and SO in trouble now.

"Wes, you referee." Wesley nods, looking more amused than I've ever seen him. He might ACTUALLY crack a smile, then Angel would win, because I'd have passed out from the shock.

We circle each other, waiting for Wes to give the signal.


Chapter Two: To the Victor Go the Spoils


Wes gives us a go, and I circle Angel warily. Don't get me wrong, I am the Slayer, but I don't underestimate Snookums. He's got some serious skills.

I fake left, and deliver a swift sidekick into his stomach, sending him flying ass-first into the mat. General whooping and clapping ensue from Gunn and Fred. I turn to soak in the praise and as much as I'm ashamed to admit it, I raise the roof. I am pathetically uncool sometimes.

I'm also momentarily distracted, as Angel takes my inattention as his cue to heft me over his shoulder and slam me into the ground. Tricky, tricky, tricky. I catch my breath and wiggle out from underneath him before he can pin me, managing to both escape and arouse. I am a shameless, shameless woman.

"Come on, Buffy, I know you can do better than *that*." There's a collective "Ooooooh" from our spectators. Is he actually foolish enough to taunt me?

I circle him again until my back is to Gunn, Fred, and Wes.

"I can do lots better than that." Time to break out the heavy artillery.

Okay. I'm gonna tell you what I did. I'm not really proud of it. In fact, you're probably gonna turn on me, but maybe you'll be back.

I drop my arms to my sides and catch Angel's eye.

And then?

I flash him.

I know! Not my finest moment, I'll admit, but I get the expected response when he breaks eye contact and stares at my chest, stunned. His eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly, providing me with more than enough time to sweep his legs out from under him and jump onto his back, pinning him to the mat on his stomach. I grab his arms with both hands, and hold on as tightly as I can as he starts bucking and writhing beneath me, trying to escape. Oh, how I long to be that mat right now.

I giggle madly and shout "Wes! Give me a count!"

He shakes his head to alleviate the shock of my little peep show, and approaches us.

"One......Two......Three!" He slaps the mat and grabs my arm, lifting me off of Angel and holding the limb aloft with his hand.

"The winner--Buffy the Vampire Slayer!" The crowd goes wild, and I bow graciously, complete with knee-bending and arm sweeping. Thank you, thank you. You've been a great audience.

I turn and grab Angel's hand, pulling him off the floor. He crosses his arms against his chest and glares at me.

"Buffy. You cheated." OUTRAGEOUS! How dare he?! Well....maybe a little.

"Wes? Did you hear ANY rule regarding the prohibition of toplessness?" Don't cross me, Pierce Brosnan. I know where you live.

"I don't believe I did. Sorry, old man, but while she may not have won fairly, she did win squarely." Smart man. He pats Angel on the shoulder, and the three dork-ateers exit, giving me congratulatory slaps on the back.

I want to scream 'COME BACK' because Angel's looking at me like he's gonna throw me down again, and not in a good way.

I slink up to him and throw my arms around his neck. He pouts and turns his head to look over my shoulder. What a big baby.

"Don't be a sore loser, lover! I promise, this servitude thing will be REALLY good for you." And for me. In various and sundry positions and locations.

He doesn't respond. I slowly start walking him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the weight bench on one of the Nautilus machines. I'm positive the manufacturers never intended their workout equipment to be utilized in the fashion that I'm about to.

I shove his shoulders until he sits down, and turn his face to meet mine. "I'm sorry, baby." Actually, I'm not, but if I want some hot Angel action, I better act like I am.

"No you aren't." You know me too well. I lean down and take his earlobe between my teeth and nibble very gently. After a satisfactory lobesnack, I whisper in my sexiest voice, "Okay, but I'm sure I can think of *some* way to make it up to you."

I feel him smile against my neck. Gotcha. I suddenly shove him down so that he's laying along the bench, and sit astride him. I am giddy with triumph when I feel the extremely hard press of his erection against me. I knew the ear thing would work. Drives him crazy. Don't let it be said that Buffy Summers can't turn her vampire on.

I grind against him for a moment, but before he can get TOO excited, I slide farther down his legs and toy with the hem of his T-shirt. I meet his eyes as I slowly slide it up to reveal what is, by far, the most lickable tummy known to man.

I dip my head down and trace lines along his abs, stopping to taste his bellybutton. I swirl my tongue inside it (yes, it's an innie, and it's so cute I just want to take pictures of it to carry in my wallet and show to complete strangers. I'm not ashamed of my mental illness) and feel myself get wetter than should be humanly possible at his answering groan.

I raise my head. "Still mad?"

"That depends." So, he's speaking to me again. Progress!

"On?" I slide back up, resting against his groin again and wiggling.

Another groan, and a sigh. "Whether you can stop calling me Snuggle Bunny in public."

I grab the hem of his shirt again and strip it off of him, momentarily spellbound by naked Angel chest.

"After your servitude? Yes. But during your tenure as my love slave? I make no promises."

I swoop down and capture his mouth in a kiss, dominating his tongue with mine and forcing it into submission. Sometimes, it's good to be me.


Chapter 3: I Got the Hooch, Baby



I just *love* the smell of aroused vampire in the morning.

Especially when said vampire is underneath me, letting me take the reins and do to him what I will. Manservants are the BEST!

I break our kiss and duck my head down to his clavicle, and taste him from collar to chin in one hard lick. He arches his head back, allowing me easy access to the many tasty places he has ABOVE his belt.

I grab a small mouthful of flesh between my teeth and bite down just the tiniest bit, just enough to make the hard flesh between my thighs jump in response. He gasps and brings his hands up to hold my hips, pressing me into him and sliding me against him very slightly.

I moan and move down, flicking my tongue against his nipple and enjoying the answering sigh.

"Buffy." He's whispering, but it's so filled with need and desire and love that he might as well have screamed my name. And he'll do that too, very soon.

I gently remove his hands and stand to the side of his body, taking in his *super* smoking hotness (which is strange for a dead guy, no?) as I reach for the waistband of the shorts he wore to workout in. I slip just my index finger underneath it, tickling him lightly. He's writhing around now, wanting me to take him in my hand, take his shorts off, SOMETHING besides teasing him.

"Snuggle Bunny?"

I continue the maddening light pressure of my finger, teasing just above where he wants my hand most. He narrows his eyes, but doesn't stopping moaning except to grunt a response to me.

"What?"

A little antsy, are we? Wanting to skip the appetizer and get to the main course? Well, you're gonna have to come at me a little nicer than THAT, Angel. You are my manslave now, after all.

I seat myself on his stomach, my body half turned and one hand still caressing him while I splay my other on his chest for support.

"What do you want?" You know, I gotta be honest here. Sure, I could take him and do what I want, but it's much nicer sometimes to reward the man. I did cheat, after all. Maybe we can just start all manslave sexual chores after this. Something to ponder, for sure.

"You, love." I move my hand down and take him fully into my palm, giving him just enough firm pressure to make him even crazier.

"What do you want me to do, hmmm?" I slide down past his erection and pull his shorts down enough on his hips so that his cock springs free, unhindered.

I rise just long enough to slip my own shorts off, and then position him close enough to my entrance that he is soaked by how wet I am.

He raises his head just enough to be able to look down his body and see us, nearly joined. I know, I'm also enjoying the view, sweetie. But I'd *love* to be enjoying more....

"Do you want to be inside me, lover?" He nods exaggeratedly, and I reach down, guiding him into me slightly, so that only the head of his cock is inside me. God, I need more. But, I tease, as it is my lot in life to drive this man crazy with lust for me. I guess it's better than working at the Doublemeat Palace.

He closes his eyes at the feel of being inside me, even if only a little, and bites his tongue. The tip of it peeks out from between his lips and teeth, and it's so darn cute that I just have to taste it with mine. He tries to kiss me but I pull back, ready to feel him fully seated in me, where he belongs.

I pull the hem of my top up over my breasts, mimicking my actions of earlier. He tries to raise his hands once again to touch my breasts, but I stop him with my hands and place them on my hips instead.

"No touching unless I tell you to." Am I crazy? Possibly, or maybe I just know that he loves for me to do what I'm about to do.

"Now....what do you want me to do?" I teasingly raise my hand to just between my breasts, drawing one finger up and down between my cleavage enticingly.

"Touch yourself." Oh, yeah. He loves this more than he wants to admit.

"Where?" I'm not a blond, really. I just like making him say it.

"Touch your breasts."

"Like this?" Still only using one finger, I trace patterns across my breast, gazing down at his face to gauge his reaction.

"No. Like this." He blatantly disobeys me and brings *both* his hands up to cup my breasts, squeezing them lightly and flicking the nipples with his thumbs. As I'm torn between making him stop and begging him to have his hands surgically grafted to my breasts permanently, he drops his hands and wraps his arms around me, lifting me and carrying me to the mat.

Not what I had in mind, but I'm past the point of argument, because as he stood up he pushed all the way into me. It should be illegal to induce this type of feeling with your dick alone. Does he coat it in narcotics or something? Because baby, I'm addicted. No pun intended.

I'm on my back and he's throwing one leg over his shoulder and wrapping the other around his waist. He slides in and out of me slowly, trying to turn the teasing tables I suppose. Screw that!

I use the leg around his waist to force a hard thrust into me, and we both moan. I grind against him, driving us into a harder, brutal rhythm. I feel like my eyes are crossing, I can't even focus. The sensation of him inside of me is all I know.

He dips his head down and takes a nipple into his mouth, suckling and using his tongue to tease the hard tip. I'm about to come harder than I think I ever have before, and I sure hope he's ready, because I can't hold back.

I wrap my arms around him and dig my nails into his back, drawing blood as I feel the force of my orgasm start to overtake me.

"Angel, oh god, yes, I love you, please, please, *please*!" He groans my name in response and I know he's on the edge. I bite my lower lip, a little on purpose, knowing what he wants. He doesn't need my blood to come, but I know it's that extra something he loves.

He meets my eyes, scenting the small about of blood I drew with the bite, and licks my lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and nursing slightly.

And then I spontaneously combust. Like, I think all that's left of me is the Buffy-stumps of my legs. From the knees up? Incinerated. I hear him come on the heels of my orgasm, releasing my lip to yell my name hoarsely.

He collapses onto my chest, and rolls us onto our sides.

"That was amazing." He grins at my comment, and there's that smug look again.

"Snuggle Bunny." I titter and the smug look? Gone.





We dress and head upstairs, giggling like school girls.

The elevator doors open on the top floor, and we exit. I am a woman on a mission, planning on heading over to my new computer at my new desk and making my new manservant a new list of new sexual favors. He is truly like the Love Boat, both exciting and new.

I am stopped by what is possibly the most horrific sight I've ever seen.

Now, let my just fill you in: Angel won me this little stuffed pig at a street fair a few days ago. We named him Son of Gordo, after the pig that meant so much to us. RIP, Mr. Gordo.

Son of Gordo had been making his home on my desk, but from time to time he has been found in the lobby being chewed on by Harmony's hellspawn. No, not another vamp. I wish.

Harmony got a dog.

Not just any dog. A Pomeranian. Now, I love animals as much as the next girl, but this dog is....special. Like, in the same mentally defective way that Harmony is special. She's spayed, she's 4, and her name? Hooch.

I couldn't explain that one even if I wanted to.

Hooch has a sick obsession with Son of Gordo. I find it disturbing and I want it to stop now. And, as I recall, the LAST time Hooch was using Son of Gordo as her personal chew toy, I had a stake pressed against Harmony's heart quicker than you can say....well, Hooch. I also recall telling her then that if Hooch EVER came near Son of Gordo again, heads were going to roll.

I never imagined how horribly, terribly wrong things could go.

And wrong they have. Why? Because the sight greeting us is Hooch. With Son of Gordo. Doing some major humping.

I scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" and launch myself at the intimately involved pair, grabbing Son of Gordo and cuddling him to my chest. I comfort my violated little baby, stroking him soothingly. And instantly regretting it.

"HARMONY! Your little...dog is DEAD! There's HOOCH JUICE ON SON OF GORDO!" I drop Son of Gordo (sorry, buddy, but that's really gross) and make a move to tackle Harmony, only to feel Angel catch me around the waist and hold me to him.

I flail my arms wildly, trying to grab anything I can. This cannot go unpunished. My poor little pig. Sigh. Now I have to find him a support group. But, much as I may love him, I'm not touching him again until HARMONY gets him dry cleaned.

That bitch is gonna pay!


Chapter Four: Pretty Fly for a Dead Guy


I glance down at Angel, his brow furrowed in concentration as he gazes at his handiwork.

"You messed it up." He frowns at me.

"Did not. You moved."

"Nope, 'fraid not. That's all you." I'm sure I'm not really doing much for his concentration, either, given my present attire.

My affirmation comes as he once again glances up my thighs, trying to catch a peek at anything between my legs. I shoulda known better than to let him do this after I got bikini-ed up, instead of before.

"It might help if you were actually *looking* at my toes while trying to polish them." He glares at me and caps the polish, and I examine the damage.

"Hmmm. Not bad, for a toe-virgin. How long before this stuff dries?" I wiggle my toes around in the air while he reads the label.

"Says less than 2 minutes." I nod and raise my hand up, and he pulls me to a standing position. I waddle over to the closet, grabbing my sarong.

"Let's go downstairs. This stuff should be dry by then."

He agrees, and grabs towels from the bathroom. I stare *very* appreciatively at his ass in those trunks. You know, I can count on one hand the times I've seen him in shorts. It's made me very aware of my insane need to fondle knee-caps. I'm seriously turning into a perv here. I hobble to the door, and turn back to see him right behind me.

"Say. Do you own a loincloth?" He purses his lips and shakes his head negatively. Damn. A girl can dream, right?



I'm still a little sad about the loincloth. Angel is alternating between massaging my back, and feeding me grapes, in true manservant fashion.

He pours a little more oil into his hands, and I hear him briskly rubbing his hands together before returning them to my back. He rubs in long up and down strokes, stopping to untie the back of my bikini top and move the straps out of the way.

I'm turning into a slut. Like, those girls in high school who you just *knew* were sleeping with the football team in it's entirety. Okay, not quite like them, because I keep it to ONE guy, but still. I can't help it. I don't know if it's the years of separation, or the fact that this man knows more moves that a porn star, but geez. I'm like Buffy, version 2.0, the Horny model. Not that he's complaining, actually he's in the same boat. It's like Erection City in his pants, and he's the mayor.

Speaking of......

"So, you ready to hear the new name?" I have a hard time getting this sentence out coherently, because he's brushing the sides of my breasts now and I'm about to jump him in a very unlady-like fashion.

"New name for what?" I turn my head towards him, and am met with a lovely view of his groin. I grin and kiss him through the trunks lightly.

"Him."

"I'm almost afraid to ask." I snort uncontrollably, because it's not like *I'm* the one that named it Mr. Winky in the first place. Please, I'm MUCH more creative than that.

"Before I tell you, grape me." He obliges and pops a grape into my mouth. I chew thoughtfully and slowly, wanting to drag out the suspense.

I swallow and sit up, turning to face him. Then, I crane my head up because I'm like an Oompa Loompa compared to him, height-wise.

"Okay, once I tell you, there is no negotiation. In return, I will release you from your duties as my manslave, after one more little task. Deal?" Now, I know what you're thinking. Why in the HELL would I release him from being my willing sex-monkey? Well, here's the thing. Any sexual gymnastics I would want, he's more than willing to do anyway. There's really only one other thing I want him to do, and it's a doozy. Plus? He really does suck at pedicures.

He ponders this for a moment, and nods in agreement. "Okay, deal. But it better not be anything stupid."

Again, I refer you back to the original name.

I smile and nod, and pull him down towards me. "Seal it with a kiss, sailor."

He kisses me soundly, and pulls back. "Let's hear it."

I tie my bikini back on, because I don't want him to be distracted. This is serious business. He sits in the lounge chair across from me, looking for all the world like he's meeting with the Board of Directors or something.

"Well, in deciding on a name, I reviewed a number of factors. First, of course, there's....size. No complaints in that department. Secondly, I had to consider the subject in it's natural environment, and it's interaction with other flora and fauna. Lastly, barometric pressure and the current cycle of the moon."

"Quit stalling." I hate it when he does that. How did he know?

I'm suddenly kind of embarrassed. Ridiculous, I know, especially considering the close contact his cock and I have been in over the past few weeks. Okay, here goes.

"Well....how do you feel about...Clyde?"

He looks, well, confused. "Huh?"

"Clyde. It's short, sweet, to the point. Also a shorter version of a certain 'wagon-full-of-beer-pulling' horse made famous by the nice folks at Budweiser, with whom you share certain anatomical similarities. It's really very complimentary once you think about it." It is, right?

He mulls it over for a minute, nodding slowly and I find myself wondering if he's actually asking his penis it's opinion.

He grins. "I like it! Better than Mr. Winky, anyway. He's eternally grateful."

"Cool, 'cause I'm getting it put on your business cards." A huge lie, because there's no way I'm gonna advertise the circus going on in my honey's pants. I'm blond, but only from a bottle.

He snickers and stands. I rise and head over to the hot tub, which I had ready and running earlier. Always plan ahead, that's my motto. Well, that and "Hey, bitch! Back up before I poke your eyes out for looking at my man's ass!" I'm a little possessive like that.

I grab his hand and pull him with me, climbing in and ducking my head under. When I surface I see him sitting across from me, his feet barely touching mine at the bottom of the tub.

I want to squeal with delight because he's TOTALLY undressing me with his eyes. I really should give him a visual aid. I reach back and remove my top, then rest both my arms along the sides of the tub and exhale deeply. God bless those jets!

I close my eyes, and suddenly open them again when I feel two cool but rapidly warming hands rest on my breasts.

"You know, that's considered inappropriate touching in the work place, buddy. One could construe that as harassment." He grins wickedly and lowers his head to lick the beads of water from my collar bone.

"Do you want me to stop, Ms. Summers?" Here we go with the sexy voice. He could quit here and make a killing in the phone sex industry. Well, except for the women I would have to hunt down and maim for asking Angel for a 'spanking'.

I moan quietly and shake my head. "That'd be a big no."

I gasp as I feel something else *big* against me as he presses his body into mine. He grinds the newly christened 'Clyde' against me, and I decide right then to devote myself full force into becoming a devoted Clyde groupie. Like, I want to make big signs that say "Buffy and Clyde 4-ever!" and "I heart Clyde!" and wave them around, shrieking wildly when he enters the office. I swear, I'm turning into a twelve year old Hanson fan.

I kiss his ear, and whisper softly, "Hey, Snuggle Bunny? Can you do me a favor?"

He whispers in my ear, "Anything, sweetie."

I'm about to be naughty! And he loves it! Watch! "Fuck me. Hard. Now."

He pulls his head back and stares at me for a second, and I realize I've never actually talked to him that way before. I briefly wonder if I managed to offend a 273 year old vampire by saying the word 'fuck', but I realize I am very much mistaken when he roughly raises me up out of the water until I'm standing on the bench seat of the hot tub.

He pushes me forward until I'm bracing my hands on the concrete surrounding us, and stands behind me. We're at just the right height for him to enter me from behind and I'm suddenly so wet that I could open up a theme park called "The Buffy Summers Slip-and-Slide" in my bikini bottoms.

He rips them off me, and while I have a small twinge of regret regarding how much the suit cost, I'm very okay with it when I feel his tongue probing my entrance.

He maneuvers around until he's sitting on the bench in front of me, his face even with my throbbing clit.

"I thought you were gonna fuck me, lover." He might not have understood that, because I'm panting like I just ran the Boston Marathon.

"Make no mistake. I will fuck you, my love, but I wanted a little snack first." He slides his tongue into my folds, grabbing my ass and holding me to his head.

I'm certainly not arguing. I am, however, worried about my arms, which are now supporting me about as well as two cooked spaghetti noodles.

He flicks his tongue over my clit teasingly, then pushes it into my opening, wetly suckling any flesh he can fit into his mouth. God, just the sounds of what he's doing could be enough to make me come. I feel that familiar 'low-down tickle', and rub myself against his face, moaning and trying to get his tongue to return to my clit before I have to harm him physically.

He takes mercy on me and whispers "Buffy" before moaning and taking my clit into his mouth, teasing the nub of flesh with his tongue and gently nibbling with his teeth.

This, of course, throws me into a screaming frenzy, and only his preternatural strength holding my hips to his face keeps me from cracking my skull and his onto the concrete. He doesn't even wait for me to recover before returning us to our previous position, and I feel him enter me, his hand on my back pressing me down into the ground.

I'm certain feeling this good could be illegal in the State of California, but since *I* am the only one Angel is allowed to do this too, no one will be the wiser.

He lets up the pressure of his hand on my back, opting to reach around me and fondle my nipples. Good man. I thrust back into him roughly, wanting him to take me over completely. He gives as good as he gets, and his thrusts are progressively harder as he drives into me.

"You like it like this, lover? You like me fucking you?" He's got his teeth clenched so tight that I'm positive they're gonna to start chipping off and littering the ground above me. I realize that I'd still love Angel in dentures.

I reach back and caress his head, then grab his ass and force him into me even harder. Good thing I'm the Slayer, or this would REALLY leave a mark in the morning.

"Oh god, baby, yes! Harder, Angel, Please! I need you!" He complies, and I squeeze him tightly, knowing how much that excites him. He pinches my nipples in reply, and I'm gone again, spinning off into that little world that only Angel sends me to, the one where I think I might be having an out of body experience, but don't really care. It's about as close to Heaven as I've been in a long time.

He shudders behind me, crying out my name and emptying into me. He wraps his arms around me, remaining inside me as he sits down on the bench, with me in his lap. He taps little kisses along my shoulder and neck, and I caress his forearms lovingly. I lean my head back to rest on his shoulder, and don't fight the satisfied, lazy smile that graces my face.

I turn to look at him, and see that same smile reflected. God, I want to scream and cry and kick some serious PTB ass for denying us this simple act for so long. Thinking back, I realize how many things in my life would have been different if I had had Angel by my side.

These kind of thoughts, though, have no place in the hazy warmth of Angel-glow, so I banish them from my mind as I kiss him softly.

"Angel?"

"Hmmm?" He's still out in lala-land, yay me!

"I love you, Snuggle Bunny." He tries to look perturbed, but just grins and kisses me in return.

"You make me so happy, Buffy. For so long, I never thought we'd have this. I gave up even wishing for it, because it hurt too much. I may not always say and do the right things, but I want you to know how blessed I feel every morning I wake up beside you, and that I'll do anything in the world for you, without hesitation." Why did he do that? Now, I'm gonna cry. The old Buffy Water-works strike again.

I sniffle and turn in his arms, sitting in his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. "There is nothing in this world that could ever make me stop loving you. Don't ever doubt that the only thing I ever needed to live a normal life was you. And don't ever doubt that I will love you until the end of time." He kisses the tears tracking down my face, and I realize his own eyes are a little watery.

"Oh, and I'm totally getting Clyde some flowers and a thank-you card." He chuckles and hugs me.

I wonder if he meant that 'I'll do anything in the world for you' part. I sure hope so, because when he sees what I have planned for his final duty as my manslave, he *might* change his mind.



Chapter Five: Sing It Loud!

"It came, it came, it came!" I screech and burst into Angel's office, cradling the brown paper-wrapped package in my arms.

He looks up briefly from the paperwork on his desk, and asks absently, "What came, love?"

I perch on the edge of the desk, and sit the package down in front of him. "Your final task of servitude to yours truly, of course."

He eyes the box suspiciously, and shakes it, putting his ear close and listening for ticking. Right, I'm gonna blow up my own personal sex machine. Blow him, maybe, but the other is too unfortunate to even think about.

"Open it." He glances at me, then hesitantly unwraps the box, breaking the tape sealing it and opening the lid.

"It's a...shirt." Very astute of you, sweetie. Never said he was a brain surgeon.

"Not just any shirt. Take it out."

He lifts the shirt out and reads the writing on the front. He then lowers the shirt and looks at me. "No way. Whatever you're planning, there's no way I'm wearing this shirt except MAYBE to clean the bathroom in."

It's not that bad, really. Here's what it says:

"Attention: Clyde is the Property of Buffy.

All trespassers will be prosecuted. And Flayed.

Thank you!"

And then there's an arrow.

It points ALLLLLL the way down to the lovely and talented Clyde.

Did I mention the very large font of the lettering?

He's really being immature.

"Now, now. I thought we agreed last night that you would be released from the bonds of slavery if you performed one last duty. Behold, your task. You will wear this shirt, tonight, to the locale of my choosing. You may remove the shirt only when I give my permission. And it's gonna be a long night, baby."

His eyes say no, but his mouth and body totally want to say yes.

"I'll really make it worth your while."

Now, he's looking intrigued.

"How so?"

"You'll find out AFTER you publicly show the female population of Los Angeles that you, my dear, are very much *off* the market." God knows how many skanks have been throwing themselves at my sweet little muffin of manliness. That has got to be nipped in the bud!

"Alright. But nowhere that I'll run into someone I know."

Now where's the fun in that? I nod innocently, and leave him to witness the wonder that is the Clyde Shirt, and proceed with part two of my plan. I close Angel's office door behind me and look over at Harmony.

Hooch is looking great, especially after I sent him to the groomers with the explicit instructions to take it ALL off. He kinda looks like that cat off Austin Powers, but, you know, sadder and lonelier. As intended, of course. No way, Hoochie, no Son of Gordo loving for you!

"Oh, Harmony?" She looks frightened at the sing-song tone of my voice, just as she should.

"Got any plans tonight?" If so, change 'em, Slut-zilla, because retribution is about to be made.

--------------------

We enter the bar through the alley entrance, the sleek limousine pulling away and honking as it glides out of sight. Gotta love a guy with a limo at his beck and call!

Gunn, Fred, and Wes enter, dragging a less-than-thrilled Harmony inside with them.

Angel is stalling just inside the doorway. "Buffy, please. Can't I at least wear my coat?"

"No way, handsome. Let's get going! And remember, posture is important. Want that lettering to hang right."

He pouts, and I want to just bite that lower lip. "But....people are gonna see me. People I know. You don't know what kinda place this is, Buffy. I have...friends here."

"Female friends?"

"No, just business acquaintances. But Buffy, they're gonna laugh at me." I pull on his arm and force him farther inside, to where the rest of our group waits beside the bouncer.

"With you, sweetie, not at you. Or, with *me*, anyway."

We approach the bouncer, who stands next to a sign indicating that all forms of weaponry are to be left at the door. Whatever happened to simple coat-checking?

The guy is big, burly, and teal. Yikes. I make to walk by him, but he holds his arm out, pointing at the sign and looking at me. He motions towards the basket.

"All right, all right." I pull the stake out of my waistband and put in it the basket. Bouncer guy keeps right on staring at me expectantly.

"Fine!" I unfasten the knife and sheath from my upper thigh, and place it in the basket with my stake. They better be careful with Mr. Pointy.

Blueman keeps right on with the buggy-eyes. How does he know?

"Dammit, you guys are totally gonna pay if something happens to my stuff." I reach down into my boots and pull out the matching daggers that Angel got me yesterday.

Finally, the arm drops, and I'm allowed past.

I take in the charming ambience. Angel told him his friend Lorne owns this place, rebuilt it after some funky explosion. Apparently it's a karaoke bar, which is just perfect for a little Harmony payback.

We're swooped down upon by a green guy with horns in what is probably the most hideous yellow suit I've ever seen.

"Angelcakes! You made it!" There's a pause as he takes in Angel's fabulous new shirt, and he makes a valiant effort to keep a straight face. "And who's this pretty little slip of a thing?" He gets closer and obviously feels that special Slayer vibe that usually tips off most demons. He stands a little straighter and offers me his hand, which I shake with more than a little trepidation.

"Lorne. Pleasure to meet you, Toots. You must be Buffy. That kinda power coming off of you, you gotta be the Original Chosen One." Now, not that I'm one to judge, but I do have some minor questions about this guy's sexual orientation. Not that there's anything *wrong* with that.

Just saying....maybe a little sugar in the old gas tank, you know?

He leads us over to a table with a GREAT view of the stage, and I pull him to the side as everyone else takes a seat.

"Lorne? I need a big favor. See my friend Harmony, the blond?"

"The vampire?"

"That's her. She's really shy, but she's got a great singing voice. I thought maybe you and I should help her get over her stage fright. I had a few suggestions for what she could sing."

He grins excitedly. "Step into my office, sugar pie."


I am in heaven. Seriously. I am laughing so hard tears are rolling down my cheeks. Plus, I'm sitting in Angel's lap, which I think is more him trying to conceal the T-shirt of doom than anything else.

What is so hysterically funny?

The public humiliation of Harmony. She's onstage, screeching out the lyrics to that mega-hit, "Hit Me Baby One More Time." The crowd is torn between booing and laughter, and Harmony looks like she's on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

I love it when a plan just...comes together like this.

The song ends, and Harmony looks hopeful, glancing over at me pleadingly.

I shake my head and motion back to the mike, just as the strains of "Oops, I Did It Again!" come blaring through the stage speakers.

She darts her eyes crazily as the crowd groans, and doesn't even get a word out. Patrons are throwing empty beer and beverage containers at her, and she's had enough. She finally runs of the stage and into the ladies room. Good, think about what you've done!

Vengeance, thy name is Britney Spears.

I sigh and lean back, relaxing into the lusciously strong body of my favorite blood-sucker, and signal to Lorne that 'yes, Buffy would like another margarita'.

He eyes me and determines that, indeed, I am snookered. Completely and utterly wasted. What a grand old time we've had!

"Angel?" Though slightly slurred, I'm sure he can understand me.

"Yes, Buffy?"

"I want you." And I do, in a very, very naughty way. I was thinking maybe the ladies room, after Harmony slinks out. It could be awhile, though.

He pacifies me, knowing my state of inebriation and that, more than likely, I will pass out before we get to any kind of lovemaking tonight. He better get while the getting's good, you know?

"Do you want to go?"

"Yes, love."

"Good, because I am really ready to take off this stupid shirt." I don't know why. I mean, Gunn and Wes didn't laugh TOO loud on the way over. And Fred just sat there, confused, asking over and over, "Who's Clyde?"

"I'm really, really ready for you to take that shirt off. And mine. Any chance you can get that limo here? 'Cause I've always had this fantasy about you in the backseat of a car."

Witness Angel, the man of action. He's instantly on the phone with the driver, and he hauls me up to stand next to him, wrapping his arm around me and helping me to the exit. He doesn't even say goodbye to the Co. part of Angel & Co, but with as many times as they've surely overheard us in the past month, they know what's up.

We stop at the door to get my weapons and his, and I strap up as best I can, stakes akimbo and leg sheath falling down around my ankle.

We stand wrapped in each other's arms, waiting for the limo, and I pull him down for a kiss. It rapidly becomes way too heated for a public sidewalk, and I pull back, deciding that the merits of taking him in an alley are greatly outweighed by the drawbacks, given the large number of winos passed out in it.

"Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"Do we have any cool-whip? There's this other fantasy I've had, but there's wrestling and nudity involved. I don't know if you're....up for it."

He presses against me, and I feel my new best friend, Clyde, digging into my thigh.

Sigh. How did I get to be this lucky? I dunno.

And the other burning question?

How am I gonna wait till that car gets here?

--The End--

Well, it's been a great ride guys, but for now, the WinkyTrain has pulled into the station. It may yet depart again, for destinations unknown, but hey, who knows?

You guys are the shizzle, yo! Go, Gunn-speak!

PigPimping

"Winkyverse--It's like the Whedonverse, only anatomically correct!"--Yours truly