A Recipe For Zany Smut


Dare H



A Recipe For Zany Smut
1) Get instructions from mushy brained Kitty.
2) Mix in large bowl: bottle of tequila, two bottle blondes, a few lines from two movies.
3) Fold in one gallon of Animal Lust (the Concentrated kind)
4) Pour into large 8 by 13 pan. Set oven to "Steamy Smut" and let bake for 69 minutes.
5) Remove, and DO NOT LET COOL! Unhot smut is not good smut!
6) Sprinkle in some Ground Zane (found in the spice section)
7) Enjoy!

Spike sang as he walked- or rather, stumbled- across the cemetery, occasionally hopping up on tombstones only to fall drunkenly off. His singing was all over the place- a line from Rocky Horror would blend into Zeppelin, which would then become that "Under the Sea" song from the Little Mermaid.

"But shh-" he told a gravestone conspiratorially, "don't let anyone know I bloody saw that movie!"

He laughed, holding up his bottle of tequila, worm and all. He peered through the glass at it, then tapped, trying to make it swim away like a startled fish.

Fish. Fish lived under the sea.

"Darlin' it's better, down where it's wetter, take it from me!" he sang loudly, then stopped midstride, nearly knocking himself over with his lack of coordination. "Y'know, Mr. Wormie, I never realized just how kinky that bleedin' line was! Yeah, I rather think I like it."

At that moment, the sounds of a struggle hit his ears and he turned to look. Ah...it was the little Slayer. "'Ello lil Slayer," he mumbled to himself. He watched her fight a newly risen fledgeling, her tiny miniskirt riding up, and he got quite the view everytime she kicked the vamp.

"That's right luv, go on, keep kicking him- no! No! Don't use your fists...that's right kick 'im! Kick 'im right in the bollocks. Use those legs..." he said. Those long, golden, muscled, perfect, luscious legs that could just wrap around his waist while he drove into her mercilessly....

Oh...oh yeah.

She knocked the vampire on the ground, then straddled him. What he wouldn't give to be that vampire right now. No doubt the lucky bloke had a nice view of Heaven- but what a way to die!

The Slayer drove the stake into the vamp's chest, but not deep enough to pierce the heart. Then she raised her foot and brought her Spice Girl-like shoe down, driving the stake completely through him. The only thing left was a stake in the ground, and Spike then got the absurd notion of pitching a tent with the Slayer, and making marshmallows smores- with the little ones of course- and then shagging rotten.

He was very aware of his tight jeans, of his hard cock that throbbed with the need to bury itself in the Slayer's heat. Oh, he could just imagine how hot she was, how wet...

"God, the Slayer's got a fabulous body," he thought out loud. "I bet she shags like a minx..."

"Bugger this," he said, striding straight up to the Slayer. What was he doing just standing around in the shadows and fantasizing when he could just go up to her and take her. He had charm! He had looks! He was dashing, and suave, and sophisticated, and he had the best damn pick-up lines in the world!

And if that all failed, they could always fight, and he could cop a cheap feel.

The Slayer's back was to him, and he called out in his sexy voice, "Would a fly without wings be called a walk?"

The Slayer turned to him, her expression one of...pity? Pity! *I'll teach the little minx to pity me!* He reached out and grabbed her by her waist, pulling her to him until she was flush against his body. Against his hard cock. She gasped in surprise, and he ground his hips against hers.

One hand stayed on the small of her back, while the other trailed up her bare arm to cup her face. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, his thumb idly stroking the smooth skin of her cheek.

"What are you doing, Spike?" she demanded as he nipped her earlobe. He blew gently into her ear and she shivered, unconsciously pressing herself even harder against him. *Ooh, Slayer, don't stop there...c'mon luv, get jiggy with it...*

"Nothing, Slayer...I'm doing nothing," he whispered, his tongue trailing from her ear down her neck.

"Do you want me to stop my doing nothing, luv?"

She moaned as his teeth gently nipped her, but even as her hips rocked against his, she still managed to say, "Yes."

He laughed, his lips on her throat causing the laughter to vibrate against her skin. He pulled away from her neck, and looked her in the eye. She could smell the liquor on his breath, but the bottle he had dropped when he pulled her to him had already been the dead give away that he was drunk off his ass. "I'll let you go, pet, if you can answer my question," he slurred.

She rolled her eyes. He took it as a an affirmative. Trailing his finger down her cute little nose- ooh, it was so cute, like a little button....He laughed. "Little button," he murmured. Then he remembered he was supposed to ask her a question. But he couldn't really think of any questions, he mostly just wanted her to jump his bones. So he finally thought of something that made sense to his liquor-addled brain.

"Slayer?"

"What, Spike?"

"How do they get the deer to cross at that yellow road sign?"

Buffy couldn't help it. She laughed. He scowled at her. *Why the bloody hell is she laughing?* When she saw his scowl, she laughed even harder. *Yeah, I'll teach her to laugh at me!* he thought, then moved his hand from the small of her back to her curvy bottom, squeezing as he rolled his hips against hers.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, almost against her will, as the heated feeling that had started low in her stomach traveled through the rest of her body. True, it was Spike, who was evil- but he hadn't been *all* that evil recently. Especially since now he was the Scooby gang's newest, and by far oddest, member.

"Well, pet..." He tugged on her lower lip with his teeth, his tongue darting out to brush against it lightly before releasing it, "how do they?"

"I don't know," she breathily answered before she realized it.

"Oh, goodie," he said, his voice chipper and way too damn perky than he normally would sound. *Arrgh! I sound like a bloody cheerleader!* He cleared his throat and said in a low voice that rumbled like thunder, "Now I don't have to let you go."

And with that he kissed her, his cool lips pressing against hers urgently. To her, it was even more intimate than his hard cock pressing against her had been. His hand slipped from her cheek to the back of her head, angling her so that his mouth fitted against hers perfectly. He tasted of liquor and cigarettes, and though it wasn't the most pleasing of combinations, she wanted more. When her tongue reached out to lick his lips, he could swear he felt electricity jolt through his body.

*Probably just the tequila,* he thought, even though he knew otherwise. He'd always felt something for the Slayer- it just hadn't been until he showed up last year in Sunnyhell that he'd known what it was...lust. Unbridled, animal lust.

He wanted her. Oh, how he wanted her.

When she broke for air, he almost giggled with giddiness. He was going to shag the Slayer! *Yeah, baby, yeah!* he thought in his Austin Powers voice. He giggled this time, remembering that movie.

He picked the Slayer up, trying his best not too fall...after all, it was hard enough to walk straight, let alone walk with 5 feet and 2 inches of luscious Buffyness in his arms. He realized after two steps that she would most likely fall, as would he, if he went any further. So he shifted her, tossing her over his shoulder so that her lovely rear was right near his head. He patted it with his hand as he walked over to one of those park bench things. Why the hell they had park benches in a cemetery was beyond him, because what the hell was there to look at? The grass growing? Puh-leaze! The bench was there for him to shag!

As he made his way over to it, her rump distracted him again...it was small, but rounded, firm...it was completely edible! He gave another drunken giggle and bit her lovely butt. She yelped. He giggled again. Rump...rump roast. Hehe.

He set the Slayer down and sat on the bench, moving her until she was standing in front of him. Even completely smashed, he was able to pull her tank top off, then divested her of her bra. Ah...much better than rump roast. He pulled a pert little nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it and eliciting a moan from her. He liked hearing her moan, so he did it again, harder. He nibbled on the little bud, taking care not to bite her too hard. He moved to the other breast, showing it the same attention as the first. *So it doesn't get jealous,* he thought, then stifled a laugh at the thought of a jealous breast.

The Slayer still standing, her trailed his tongue down her narrow stomach, his fingers dipping into the waistband of her skirt. He slid off the bench and onto his knees, then yanked down on the skirt. He wanted to take her soaking panties off with his mouth, but he couldn't quite get the coordination down. So he just ripped them off.

His cool cheek rubbed against her, and he inhaled her heady scent. *So bloody good...they should have Slayer scented Glade plug-ins...I'd put them up all over...in the car, in the lair, attached to my nose....ooh...yummy...* Her hair was soft, and he liked snuggling against it. It was fuzzy, and it brought an old saying back to mind.

He darted his tongue inside her, stroking lightly over her clit, and she choked out a cry, thrusting her hips against his face. "Fuzzy wuzzy..." he mumbled, then lapped at her again. "Not a bear," he continued to mumble, his words interchanged with light, teasing strokes on her throbbing center. She buried her hands in his hair, urging him for more, but he ignored her. His hands slid up her hips, then forward, parting her delicate flesh. He kissed her clit, his mumbling continuing. "Not a bear..." he repeated, the breath he used to speak brushing over her and making her hiss in pleasure.

He slipped a finger into her, feeling for the first time her wetness, her heat. Oooh, such promise for later. She shuddered, her muscles clamping down on his finger, and he sucked on her clit hard, flicking his tongue over the tiny nubbin. *That little crab was right..it *is* better down where it's wetter.*

She came with a cry, thrusting against him, quivering. She slumped in his arms as her orgasm subsided, and he chuckled against her. "Fuzzy wuzzy was a woman!" he said, as though it were some great revelation. She just gave a contented moan in reply.

He got up, seating himself on the bench, and pulled his Slayer to him. She straddled his lap, her knees on either side of him, her hands gripping the back of the bench. He could feel her heat through the denim, and he immediately undid the fly of his jeans, his cock springing free, eager to bury itself in Buffyheaven.

She impaled herself on him, gloving him with her warmth and her wetness. He groaned, immediately thrusting up to be as far inside her as possible. His hands roamed from her waist to her breasts as she drew herself up, then slammed down on him again. Sliding his hands into her hair, he pulled her face down to his and kissed her hungrily, her pace quickening as the kiss became more frenzied. Their tongues clashed and duelled. *En garde!* he thought to himself, and tried to keep the kiss going even as he broke into a grin.

He was so close, so close to coming, and she was grinding herself against him, using the bench as leverage to bounce up and down. *Up and down, up and down,* the litany repeated in his mind, and he broke the kiss to scrape his teeth against her neck. She groaned, squeezing her vaginal muscles even tighter around his cock.

"That's right, pet," he murmured, his voice rough and needy. "Keep doing that, luv...you feel so good, so fucking good. Oh, poodle...poodle, the other white meat....that's what you are, do you know that? Good enough to eat, to eat in every bloody way possible," he babbled, then vamped out and sank his fangs into her neck.

She came again, her orgasm even more forceful this time as every nerve ending in her body felt like it was on fire. Her walls fluttered uncontrollably against him, the aftershocks rolling through her. Her blood was so sweet, so delicious, so incredibly erotic...

He exploded with a growl, thrusting up into her in a mindless rythm that nearly made his eyes cross with the pleasure. His cold seed spurted into her, and he lapped at the trickle of blood that came from the two wounds in her neck. *Yummy...much better than tequila...no worms...*

He cradled her in his arms, dropping light kisses on her neck, her jaw, her cheek. "You definitely shag like a minx," he told her, still blissfully drunk. As she ran her hands through his hair, he began to purr, and she giggled.

"Well, you purr like a cat. Like a big, sexy cat."

"Do cats and minxes- or is it minx, like deer? Oh who bloody cares! Do cats and minxes have sex in the wild?"

She shrugged her shoulders and cuddled even more with him. "I don't know...but we can have wild sex and pretend we're a cat and a minx."

"Sounds like a good plan to me, poodle....poodles. Oodles of poodles...I love you oodles and oodles, do you know that? Do you know how long I've loved you? And do you know that my sock is all wet?"

She had smiled when he said he loved her, but instantly scowled at the sock remark. "What?" she asked.

"My sock. It is wet. It has water in it. Which made it bleedin' wet." He said the words slowly to mock her. She bit his neck in retaliation. He purred. Then she looked down at his feet. He was only wearing one shoe, and the other foot had on it one wet sock.

"Where's your other shoe?"

"Don't know. My sock is wet," he complained again. "It's made of wool, and wool is made of goats. How come goats don't shrink in the rain? Wool shrinks in the rain."

She rolled her eyes. "Your sock is made of cotton, not wool. And wool is made from sheep, not goats. And neither goats nor sheep shrink in the rain because...because..." She couldn't quite think of how to explain it, so she settled for, "because they just don't!"

She sighed and reached down to take off his wet sock. It had started to gather leaves and mud, and was looking pretty nasty. As she took it off, she noticed a drawing on the inside of his ankle. Curious, she slid off him and knelt between his knees.

"While you're down there, pet," he said suggestively, and she gave him a Look. She lifted his foot and looked at the tattoo.

And proceeded to laugh her ass off.

"What?!" he demanded.

"Your...tat...too..." she managed to gasp out between the laughter.

"Shut up!"

"But-"

"Shut up!"

"Bu-"

"Let me tell you a little story about a man named SHH!"

"You have *got* to stop watching that movie."

"But I like it!"

"Yeah, but apparently all that 60s 'flowerpower' has gotten to you."

"Didn't I already tell you a bloody story about a man named SHH?"

She giggled and climbed back onto his lap. "How'd you get it...I mean, what would make you, Spike, the Slayer of Slayers, Mr. Evil is as Evil Does, make you get a tattoo of a-"

He cut her off. "It *was* the 60s love, and here's a little tip...never, ever, ever feed off someone who's doing drugs. Makes you do the wacky."

She leaned her head on his chest. "Nuh uh...*love* makes you do the wacky. And I love you...even if you're totally nuts."

He kissed her head. "Even if I'm drunk?"

"Yup."

"Even if I wear a tutu and start dancing around your library?"

"Uh huh."

"Even if I sing a whole bunch of Disney songs."

"Yeppers."

"Even if I-"

She cut him off, placing her finger on his lips. "Even if you have a happy-faced daisy tattoo on your ankle."

"Y'know, pet, I have a whole *bag* of SHH-"

"Shut up and kiss me."

Purr.


-the end-

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