Once More, With Squealing

Fashion Victims

It was early afternoon and Xander and Anya were out on the street, walking on either side of Giles, talking at him furiously.

"It's my nightmare! It's my curse!" said Xander. "It's my nightmare curse!"

"It has to be stopped, Rupert," said Anya, talking at the same time as Xander. "My libido's doing the Lambada."

Xander continued, "I used to be incredible, but now I'm a shrinking man. My small guy's a fall guy."

"Even as a demon I was never this horny," said Anya, still talking over Xander, but at least she wasn't singing over him.

"If things carry on at this rate, I'll be singing..." Xander and Anya began in unison, but then paused as they realized they were saying exactly the same thing.

"...castrato," said Xander, finally finishing his sentence.

"... vibrato," said Anya.

At which point Xander decided to keep quiet, since Anya would just talk over him anyway.

"Even the half-dressed firehunks who came round to deal with our waffle fire couldn't help," said Anya. "Their hoses kept malfunctioning."

Giles raised his eyebrows, no doubt wondering whether she was being literal or euphemizing, whereas actually it was a bit of both.

"You've had a fire?" Giles asked. "Is everything alright? Is that why you're dressed like that?"

"The house is fine," Anya reassured him, resplendent in her red lingerie. "It's just that we were too angry to get dressed."

"Much too angry," said Xander, resplendent in his speedos. "Though thinking about it, that seems like a weird excuse for semi-nudity. Giles, you gotta stop this."

"Well, I am following a few leads, and ..." Suddenly he noticed that both Xander and Anya were staring at him.

"Do you always dress as Frank N Furter?" asked Xander, unable to believe that it had taken him till now to notice this. This must surely be one powerful spell.

"Oh, my outfit? It's just a little something I used to wear in London, back when they called me Ripper."

"I'm guessing your first name was Saint," said Xander, but he just got a blank stare from Giles, while Anya was still fully occupied with her starefest. Looked like Xander's 'ST. RIPPER' joke had fallen as flat as everything else recently.

Anya continued to stare wide-eyed at what Giles had been fiddling with, now that he had no glasses to keep his hands occupied. Finally, she spoke, "Rupert! It seems you've not been affected by the spell at all. It might even have worked in reverse."

"Well -" began Giles.

"Take me, Giles! Take me now," said Anya, flinging herself at him. "Let's rip each other's clothes off!"

Once upon a time, Xander might have got jealous, but that was numerous floppy firemen ago. "Everybody loves Rupert the Bare," he quipped, but that also fell flat, only raising a smile from Giles. Great, now he was telling jokes only English people could understand.

Giles pushed Anya away. "That's just the spell talking," he told her.

"I don't care, my quim's a-mewling, and you've got what I need." She thrust her hand into his posing pouch and then she froze, her mouth gasping, her eyes opening even wider. Slowly, she pulled out something long and black and stripy, and then threw it to the sidewalk and stamped on it. "I need sex, not socks," she groaned, as Giles shrugged and blushed and resumed his fiddling.

"Could this day get any more disturbing?" asked Xander.

Giles replied, "Well, I've also learned something..."

As they walked, Giles updated them on his latest findings. Xander was slightly distracted on the way, by a young woman bending over the hood of a car, while a cop looked on. As they passed her, her song filled the air:

I've been such a bad girl today

Make me spread them and have your way

I'm telling you, cop, go!

I need a man, I need a hunk

Need to chase away this funk

I've got a cave you can spelunk

Oh, please don't tell me no

You can't be saying that it's shrunk

That's what my guy told me, the punk

And now his body's in the trunk...

As they got further away from her, and her singing faded, Xander's mind went back to what Giles had just said. "As in, burnt up?" he asked. "Somebody set people on fire? That's nuts!"

"I don't know," said Anya. "Great excuse for a torch song."

Giles shook his head. "As far as I could tell the victims burnt up from the inside. Spontaneously combusted. I've only seen the one - I was able to examine the body while the police were busy doing a Cop Rock revival."

"But we're sure the three things are related?" asked Xander. "Sex and songs and burning souls?"

"We're not sure of much," replied Giles. "Buffy's looking for leads in the local demon haunts... At least, in theory she is."

Buffy was supposed to be looking for leads in the local demon haunts, but there was only one guy she wanted to haunt - that peroxided piece of punk perfection who called himself Spike.

As the last rays of the sun faded, Buffy entered Spike's crypt.

"The sun sets, and she appears," Spike said. "Come to tell me everything's okay? That it's just a bad spell I'm going through? That it happens to everyone?"

Buffy smiled, glad that Spike clearly knew what was going on.

"So, come to pump me again?" Spike continued. "You're certainly dressed for it."

"What? This?" she said, looking down at her latest outfit, a tasteful and demure red leather lace-up outfit with fishnets and thigh-high boots. "Just something I picked up from this adult store. Surprised I haven't been in there before; they had all sorts of interesting magazines." To tell the truth, Buffy was a little offended that Spike, a vampire who still thought the Billy Idol look was fashionable, could criticize her wardrobe. Still, she was prepared to overlook all that for his stunning stud-muffinliness. "But, yeah, if you want to try again, I'm up for it."

"Not sure that's a good idea," said Spike.

"Well, I tried phoning Angel, left him a voicemail rock opera detailing all the things I wanted to do to him, but for some reason he hasn't returned my call."

"It could be that turning to Angelus thing," suggested Spike.

"Well, I know sex makes him kinda cranky," reasoned Buffy, "but this is an emergency."

She pushed herself up against Spike, but he just moved away.

"What's up?" she asked. "You're all bad moody."

"It's nothing," he said, opening the door to her. "I'm glad you could stop by."

Buffy knew that something must be wrong with Spike, to turn her away in her hours of neediness.

"It's nothing," Spike insisted.

"What?" Buffy asked, wondering what could be bothering Spike.

"I cried," he began singing, startling himself in the process, "just two days ago." As Buffy watched him, turned on by his troubadoracity, he continued singing:

When I failed to make you squeal

'Cause it wouldn't grow

But now you come to be with me

All dressed up like a ho

Mmm mmm

Spike started to walk up to Buffy, no doubt admiring her curvy curviness, as his song continued:

I'm stirred

Aflamed and full of zeal

But though you are the one I love

I still can't seal the deal

A whimper is the thing I fear

Which wouldn't be ideal

Spike paused for a moment, just in front of Buffy, his eyes staring into hers, then started his next verse:

You're great

I know you wanna play

And being with you touching me

Would blow me away

But since my manhood's gone to goo

I'm saying stay away

And let me rest my piece

He walked past Buffy and flopped down onto the stone slab of the tomb. Buffy was just considering climbing on top of him, when he was back up again, circling her, his voice now full of emotion, like a man who'd just discovered his chorus:

Let me rest my piece

Let it get some sleep

Let me sing small Spike a lullaby

And let him count some sheep

I can't lay you, Buffy, now

Our hijinks must desist and cease

So let me rest my piece

He grabbed her from behind, and sang into her ear:

God knows

I've been a thrilling knave

And you just love that I'm the sort

Who could get depraved

But then, just when she was getting excited, he let go of her and started to walk away.

But till I'm fixed I'm saying nix

The prognosis is grave

So let me rest my piece

Spike threw the door open and walked out into the night, and straight into a graveyard that was so much closer than it usually was. As Buffy followed him, she couldn't help but notice a funeral procession taking place, and six men carrying a tiny coffin, all respectively dressed in black, from their shiny footwear right up to their gimp masks.

As they carried the tiny coffin toward an open grave where the latex-clad priest and mourners were waiting, Buffy noticed that the music had gone softer. She walked next to Spike, as he continued his song:

You know you should go

But you follow me like you're in a trance

You're just craving sex, but not romance

So I'm sad to say that there's just no chance

The party's over and it's left my pants

Not even time for one last dance

So leave me be

Suddenly the music went up in volume as Spike sang his chorus again, and jumped off a tombstone right onto the tiny coffin that the men were carrying. As they dropped the coffin, Spike jumped off into the midst of the mourners, and morphed, his features turning vampiric, frightening them all away.

At this point, Buffy roughly grabbed Spike, who de-morphed. As they were standing there, Spike and Buffy looked at the gravestone, and saw the words engraved on it: Here lies Spike's penis.

Shocked by the metaphor, they lost their footing and stumbled, tumbling down into the open grave. As Buffy landed on top of him, aware of their closeness, he finished his song, singing loudly into her face:

So let me rest my piece

Why won't you

Let me rest my piece?

The music stopped, and she looked down at him.

"So... can I take that as a maybe?" she asked.

But before Spike could answer, Buffy's mouth was on top of his, swallowing any reply he might have.

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