- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (1/7: The One With The Dragon)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (2/7: The One With The Time Travel)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (3/7: The One With The Wings… in Pylea)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (4/7: The One With The Books)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (5/7: The One With The Discworld Crossover)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (6/7: The One With The Post-Apocalyptic Schmoop)
- Brutti’s pick your own adventure day (7/7: The One With The Porn)
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Pick Your Own Adventure 3/7: The One With The Wings (in Pylea)
Rating and warnings PG
Word count 390
Setting Post-series, Rulesverse. A sequel to my Faith/Giles wingfic Learn To Fly, and its sequels, in which Slayer powers manifest as wings in Pylea
“Come on, I want to see.” Spike is truly fascinated by them. Buffy, weirdly shy. She faces him, firm and distinctly unlikely to let him poke around her shoulder region. “’S not like I’m not familiar with every bit of you, love. Just intrigued by the extension.”
“They’re so weird,” she says, unhappily.
“Not still pouting because Faith got the cool wings?” Low blow, William, and Buffy clouts him properly for it. Even though she was the one who pointed out how discreet her little buff (heh) flappers were compared with Faith’s soaring ravens. Spike chooses to find them cute.
And he’s curious. Never was a man for dissection or anatomy, apart from the practical stuff he’s picked up in a century-plus of widespread murder. He never took up offers to torture baby birds the way his school contemporaries did with great thrill. So he doesn’t actually know how this wing business works.
Plus, she won’t lie down to sleep, which is going to bring their mission to a premature end when he throttles her, or the natives manage to outsmart a Slayer operating on 72 hours without rest. So: time for the revelation.
The line about Faith works, as covert dares usually do for his Slayer, and she finally snuggles down, back to him, wings neatly folded so that he can get close.
Probably the oddest thing of all to Spike is just how natural the things look, springing out of her. All bone, tendon, muscle, feather, everything springs out of her human-skinned back, with the join quiet, sealed, perfect. The feathers grow right down to her back, and he stirs them gently. She squeaks and squirms away.
“Ticklish, hmm?” He wonders whether birds are, if you could catch one and find out. But it’s late, and they’re on another planet, so he has mercy and stops. Runs his hands lightly over the outside of the wings, gentling her now. “Time to sleep, eh? Plenty of fighting to be done tomorrow, in’t there?” He hopes. So far, it’s been near bloodless and dull.
Buffy shifts and settles, exhaling on a half laugh. “No promises. But yeah, let’s hope. These guys, with the slavery and the shooting arrows at girls with wings… I think they deserve a little wake-up fun with Slayers.”
Dreaming of destruction, they drift off.
Don’t like cracky premises? How about a nice quiet musing upon Spike and books instead?
Originally posted at https://seasonal-spuffy.dreamwidth.org/791130.html