Fic: DeLuxe Instant GenderBender

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Title: DeLuxe Instant GenderBender
Author: thenewbuzwuzz
Setting: s5 between The Replacement and Out of My Mind
Rating: T
Words: 1257
Summary: So maybe that bottle Spike had won in a poker game wasn’t liquor. So maybe he should have made sure before drinking the whole thing. Nobody’s perfect.

What a quiet weekend so far. :) To those who are still writing/making art/editing, good luck! You can do it!
halincandenza kindly beta-read this once, but I rewrote half the thing afterwards, so who knows what may be wrong with it now! Read if you dare.
The other Femme!Spike ficlets turned out not to be Spuffy, so I’m not going to post them here. The whole set, including the final version of this one, will eventually be here: AO3, LJ, DW.
I’m here to learn (that and make weird things happen to Spike), and I’m a big fan of feedback. If nothing about this was off, I’d be most surprised. Feel free to disagree – let’s talk about Spike and gender and stuff. :)

DeLuxe Instant GenderBender

At first, Buffy thinks Faith has somehow escaped prison and returned to Sunnydale. The stranger looks an awful lot like Faith at first glance, with the long dark hair and the cleavage, and the zest with which she fights four vampires in Buffy’s favorite cemetery. There’s something eerily familiar in her fighting style, Buffy muses as she joins in the party. There’s the technique of an experienced fighter mixed with the oddest fumbles, like when someone’s fighting with an unfamiliar weapon. Except the trespasser only has a stake. What gives? But then the girl overbalances in a weird way and swears in British. Buffy has lived in Sunnydale long enough to know where this is going.

“Spike? Did Toth split you into two?”

“Noooo,” Spike drawls before pausing to snap a vamp’s neck. “That part didn’t really happen, Slayer. Must have been a dream you had.”

Buffy stares. He’s wearing lipstick and red nail polish, and he smells like lousy cheap perfume. Maybe the scent is from a hair product, but it’s different than his hair usually smells. Trust Spike to go to a beauty salon first thing and perfect a new, dreadful look.


Spike has had a weird evening. The first thing he noticed when he woke up was someone’s long, silky hair in his face. It smelled like vanilla. What had gone down last night? He had the feeling he would have liked to remember, especially if the question was who had gone down. He noticed he was still dressed and in the armchair, which wasn’t unusual after a poker night. Slowly, bracing for a hangover that didn’t come, he opened his eyes. The hair was dark; Spike felt a twinge of disappointment before he was awake enough to question it. He lifted his head and sat up. The hair moved with him. So he was wearing a wig? How out of it had he been?

Spike discovered the painful way that the “wig” was attached straight to his scalp. In the process, he jostled an empty glass bottle of what he’d assumed last night was liquor when he won it from Linus the Lizard. He looked at the label now. “Dressing in drag can be such a drag! Explore your feminine side anytime with DeLuxe Instant GenderBender(TM).” The bottle bore the caption “Delightful Brunette” and a picture of a busty dark-haired thing smiling widely, made up with dark red lipstick and nail polish.

Not liquor, then. So maybe he should have made sure before drinking the whole bottle. Nobody’s perfect.

He chanced a look down. His black T-shirt had turned into a clingy V-neck. There was a pair of breasts on his chest. They were not bad to look at. Of course, he’d have preferred them in their proper place, on some chit he was draining, but as such, it was a respectable rack. The black jeans were, thankfully, still jeans, though there seemed to be some sort of flowery print on them — he decided not to look too closely. They still fit him perfectly, any road.

He got up carefully, put on the duster and started fishing in a pocket for his lighter, but the pocket pushed his hand out and disappeared, leaving behind only a decorative trimming. The coat shifted, hugging his figure, and the other pockets went AWOL as well. His belongings clattered to the floor, including a second, unopened bottle with the caption “Incredible Blonde”. Now Spike was pissed off. He’d better be able to reverse this, or Linus would die slowly.

So much for changing into normal clothes. At least he could do something right away about the nail polish. It wasn’t like he could focus on any serious plans with this bright red nonsense in his field of vision (especially because the tone was appetizing). Spike fetched his acetone and got to work, but it turned out the polish wouldn’t come off. He grabbed the potion bottle again. Sure enough, “Your look will be resistant to water, smudging, scratches, and most other conditions. Use with DeLuxe Patented Remover.” Sodding perfect.

One nice, anonymous phone call later, he had a date in an hour to exchange the unopened bottle of Incredible Blonde for a vial of the remover. Giles would even go back to the Magic Box despite it being closed for the night. Must be making quite a profit, but Spike wasn’t in a position to bargain. That left him with just a little time to kill. In fact, killing something sounded like a great way to relax.

The body didn’t bother him as much as you might think, he mused as he ambled through the cemetery. It wasn’t his body, clearly, but it was like he wasn’t even here to be properly freaked out. He was one step away, looking on. He was a puppeteer, putting on a show. And it wasn’t bad, as puppets go. (Spike should know — he lived for decades with the doll expert.) He discovered there was a decent range of motion in the hips, good for kicking stuff. He was having fun when the Slayer showed up and recognized him. Now that he sees how easy it is to unnerve her today, he’s starting to have even more fun.


Buffy decides to check if Giles is still at the Magic Box in case she can pick up another book on Slayer history. Spike tags along; she doesn’t even listen to his excuse.

He’s downright chipper tonight, full of bouncy energy, which makes him a whole lot bouncier than usual. She feels like averting her eyes, which makes her mad. Does Spike always have to shove his body in everyone’s face (absurdly fit as it is, she tries not to think)?

“You should look into a sports bra or three,” she says in a clipped tone.

“That so? Are you offering?” He stares at where Buffy’s bra isn’t.

This is when Buffy punches him in the boob. He hisses through his teeth and spews something about playing dirty. “Isn’t it fun”, yadda yadda. Somehow, he still manages to make it sound so… well, dirty.

“What, are you lining up to be my evil twin now?” That let’s-seduce-Buffy-to-the-Dark-side spiel is so two years ago.

“Oh, no, baby,” he says. It comes out in this really disturbing phone sex operator kind of voice. “I’m the one that’s good.” And does that thing with his tongue. A tongue, anyway.

The way from Restfield to the Magic Box has never seemed so long.


If he has to be weirded out tonight, damn if he won’t take the Slayer down with him. (He’d love to do that in other ways. Pin her body under his in a tangle of muscle and fury…) Their fight to the death will have to wait until he gets the chip out, but in the meantime, he wonders in how many ways he can wind her up tonight. It’s almost too easy.

Who knew Buffy Summers doubled as a breast gal, though? That IS interesting. A bloke wonders if she had a thing for the other Slayer (or with?). Spike gets the weirdest phantom boner. Christ, that is creepy. It’s creepy and going nowhere. He plunges back into conversation to distract himself.

“What, no sympathy? I look in the mirror, and I can’t see myself!”

The Slayer scowls. Seriously, it’s like she hates fun.

But then they’re finally at the Magic Box, and Spike doesn’t need a distraction anymore. Still, it’s nice to know he’s always man enough to fluster the Slayer.


Originally posted at