action + joint post ✪ out of some sentimental gain -- i wanted you to feel my pain

[herotypical]

[ buffy and spike have been out a-missioning -- only it hasn't gone quite as...merrily as they might have hoped. you see, they’re back a little early. spike decided to make an escape attempt and, in doing so, he’s brought malnosso justice down on both their heads. it’s all terribly unfair.

their punishment? one doozy of a bodyswap. spike is buffy and buffy is spike. and neither of them are too pleased about it.

sartre once claimed that 'hell is other people'; however, a situation like this makes a convincing argument that hell is, in fact, being other people. after they argue their way out of a proverbial wet paper bag and manage to find better clothing than the new feather garb they're initially given, they'll be available (throughout the next few days) to be mocked or sympathized with or awkwardly avoided all around town, depending on the individual.

find top comments below for either buffy's thread or spike's thread or -- if you’re looking for a thread with both of them -- buffy and spike. buffy’s tags will come from deadhero and spike’s tags will come from heroatypical. please don’t hesitate to tag all three options if that’ll float your boat. ]

Comments

[heroatypical]

"Let me know if you get peckish, then."

It would be quite a twist, him preparing the blood for her. For them, anyway. To the outside observer, not much had changed.

[deadhero]

Buffy nodded. And tapped the counter with an idle thumb. And wondered about whether she really wanted Spike's help.

What she really wanted was his insight.

"Is it always like this? Like you're a kid in a candy store and you nearly can't control your grubby little hands?"

[heroatypical]

"All the time," he confirmed. "But we've got souls, don't we? And those little Happy Meals with legs also have got faces now. Delicious, but not worth it. Not in a million sodding years. Don't get a taste of human blood, Buffy. Not even accidentally. You won't forget it. Vampire or human."

[deadhero]

"Oh. Please. I'm, like, ten leagues away from even considering actually snacking on a loved one. But..." Dracula. Spike hadn't been there to witness it -- no one had, really -- but Dracula had compelled her to drink from his wrist. And it had been truly disgusting.

She nodded her head across the space that separated them. "Your cuts aren't even serious anymore and I know they're there."

As if to drown the knowledge, she pawed at the bottle-o-pig once more and took a generous swig. And then grimaced as she fought to keep the game-face off. Like some fricking learned response.

[heroatypical]

"Well aware of that. Likely you still smell your boy in here too. And the girls as well."

He stared at his new fingers, They seemed so laughably small now. It was so mind boggling. He was so curious too. Not even in a sexual way. He couldn't be turned on just inhabiting a woman's body. But it was different and. So very beyond the borders of what they should be allowed.

[deadhero]

"Each of them. Distinctly."

Not to mention herself. That was possibly the toughest part -- coming to grips with how alluring and primal that kind of base pheremone might be. It was enough to live through this sensory overloard; she didn't have to guess at what other mysteries the swap held for her.

Though she did keep trying to breath only to realize she hadn't been doing so for ages. Each time, it was startling.

"They're not gonna bite you," she finally said. This of his finger-staring habit, of course.

[heroatypical]

He held the hands up for her to see. As if they were some mystery.

"Different. They do the same thing, but they're different. Tiny, for one. Softer, too. No offense." A pause. "They'd look good with black polish though."

[deadhero]

Curious, now, she held his up for comparison. Wider in the palm; sturdier in the fingers. And yet she didn't feel any stronger with them than she did with her apparently tinier and apparently softer hands. Being Spike meant not having her self-possessed strength. His body was strong but it wasn't her strength. She didn't own it. She didn't command it. It was wild and primal in a way she could appreciate but couldn't love. There was a demon inside of her and it wanted out.

"If there's one thing I'm not afraid of," she decided at length, "it's a manicure. From you."

That? That might have been permission. Spike did okay work on nails.

[heroatypical]

A manicurist might have been his calling in another life. But he was able to at least put his hands away. On his lap, at first, then crossed, then flatly on the sofa. He was trying really hard to not touch, but it was all so very instinctive.

"We can't do this for however long it lasts, you know. If there's going to be rules? You better spell them out now before your body decides it needs to take a leak."

[deadhero]

She pulled a face at his crudity. But the point was understood. Buffy gathered the bottle into one arm and cradled it at the crook while she exited the kitchen and came 'round to the living room proper.

She sat across from Spike and looked straight into his eyes.

"Well. I think that, uhm, some things probably go without saying..."

[heroatypical]

"Do they? Because I'm not even sure if I get to go and have a shower on my own."

For all he knew, they were both in for some incredibly awkward spongebaths administered by their own bodies.

[deadhero]

"As much as I hate the idea? I think the alternative is actually worse..."

Being naked was one devil; but being naked together? Not advisable. Not desired.

[heroatypical]

"Agreed."

He really didn't fancy being face to face seeing himself naked. Took all the fun out of it.

"I'll use a loofah." He'd never used a loofah. But he figured it would mean no touching.

[deadhero]

"No going off-script, wardrobe wise. That's a rule. I don't like it when other people dress me."

There were some deviations she could probably handle. And she wasn't even all that worried about how Spike would dress her -- he knew too much and he knew better than to push the envelope on that front.

And yet -- power monger as she was -- she had to say it anyway.

[heroatypical]

"Off-script? Am I supposed to fake your accent too? Call myself Buffy and go about on patrol for all the big bad vampires?"

Not that there was any way he could ever be convincingly Buffy.

[deadhero]

"God, no. That's the last thing my social rep needs. I just -- last time something like this happened, some bad fashion choices were made. I'd like to avoid that."

[heroatypical]

"I remember. Didn't seem so bad to me."

[deadhero]

"A-actually? I was talking about a time here. There were fa--

Wait. Didn't seem so what? I didn't think you'd..."

Ran into her. Buffy remembered telling Spike about the swap -- after the fact. But had there been...?

[heroatypical]

"There was a time here?"

The other bit didn't concern him. He ran into Faith. Things were said. He didn't want to talk about it.

[deadhero]

She leaned back on the chair with a theatrical sigh. She understood, now, that the breath was superfluous. But she liked expressing herself with it all the same. She hadn't yet managed to change out of the New Feather pants but it didn't seem so important anymore.

It wouldn't make her any warmer.

"Twice, actually. Once with a sweet girl named Fina. That wasn't so bad. Uneasy. But not horrible."

[heroatypical]

Twice. Bloody hell.

"And the second time?"

[deadhero]

"Not a swap, per se. Just -- people turning into things and other people. Someone turned into me. It was like having a twin. A very poorly dressed twin. I wasn't affected -- bully for me."

[heroatypical]

"So who was it then?"

[deadhero]

"Why the big urge to find out, huh?"

Another clumsy dodge. Hell, her -- his -- voice practically cracked.

[heroatypical]

"Well you had no problem mentioning this first girl, did you? So why not this other one?"