As Deb goes, so goes my nation.

Or, the relationship between those two characters was my favorite on the show, and this captures it. Perfectly, I think.

Hey, thanks, kids. I've been systematically disemboweling my plot bunnies, and there's was a scribbled note about Buffy finding the Tales of the Slayer (said note was made while I was reading Volume One of the short stories in Nashville and eating bad greek food) and I was feeling kind of nostalgic for season one.

psst.... if someone wants to write me kinky Ethan/Buffy, I'd be very happy.

no, I don't understand it either.

must have something to do with the monkeys at work...

Plei, I'll write you some shortshort kinky Ethan/Buffy.

But I want some feedback, madam.

SA, those were both very gorgeous. I loved the image of Buffy feeling the connection to the long history of the Slayers, and I really, really, schmoopily want Angel to sketch Spike. That's my big wish for the next season: angst everywhere, of course, but at least One.Damn.Moment of connection. One moment of quiet to speak of everything that has gone on before. Or will everything that has gone before be nothing but pain?

Oh, damn ... there's another plot bunny behind me, and it keeps whispering "You were my Yoda!" in a betrayed voice. You don't get that pissed if you didn't care. Bugger, where's the Bunny-Be-Gone?

Help.

Why is my brain refusing to disgorge the name of the friend of Giles who wasn't quite killed by the Bringers? Tyson? Roston? Something like that?

I'm writing Plei's kinky and I need it.

Robson.

YES!

Thankee, ma'am.

t tips hat

Beginning of Plei's kinky, post S7. No spoilers.

Ethan Rayne's Terrible Awful Day

Headache, the worst kind of headache. This was no way to wake up.

Unfortunately, as Ethan Rayne was about to discover, this was going to be a very minor point in a genuinely bad day.

The headache, however, took first precedence. He decided, hazily, to massage his temples; that might not only roll the pain back, but clear his memory, as well. He'd left his flat last night, gone down the pub for a pint and a smoke. He remembered that. He'd flirted with a girl, a young American bird. They'd gone out in the alley together. He'd decided he wanted to make her, she'd decided otherwise. He remembered - grabbing? Had he actually grabbed?

Beyond that, nothing.

Massage the temples. Right.

Ethan Rayne's morning got worse, as he discovered that he wqasn't going to be rubbing anything, what with him lying on his stomach, with a cool breeze indicating that his trousers were down around his ankles somewhere, and his hands were securely bound to the legs of -

"Oh, look. Our would-be rapist awakens. Sleeping Beauty, not so much."

Ethan stiffened. He knew that voice; its owner had chased him down the corridors of his nightmares ever since that wretched little incident with the school candy. Crap. He was in deep trouble. What in sweet sodding fuck was she doing in London?

"What are you going to do to him, Buffy?"

That voice, now, he knew that one as well. That was the bint he'd tried rogering last night. Just his luck, she knew the Slayer.

"Me? Nothing at all. Um, Dawnie, why don't you head back to Robson's place? You know Olivia said she wanted to take you to the King's Road."

"But Buffy, if he gets loose -"

"He won't. Here - take some money. If Olivia's taking you shopping, you'll need some cash. Here's twenty quid. Go on. It's daylight, you can walk there from here."

There was a layer of steel in her voice, for that first sentence anyway. Ethan suddenly lost all desire to wake up any farther than he'd already done. But the Slayer had said she wasn't going to do anything to him. She wasn't a liar, not if he remembered properly. He was aware of a faint trickle of hope. Maybe the Slayer just happened by last night, and recognised him, and decided to save this girl, whom of course she'd never seen before, from -

"Thanks." There was a kissing sound, and Ethan's stomach tightened. So much for the "unknown girl" theory. "You're the best sister ever."

Fuck. Her sister. Buffy's sister. He'd tried rogering the Slayer's sister, apparently against her will. He was fucked.

The door to wherever they were slammed shut in the distance. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, not wanting to admit the reality of the situation. Maybe if he pretended to still be sleeping....

Her hand snaked between his thighs, fastened one one testicle, and tweaked. It was just hard enough to make him jettison the "pretending to sleep" idea. He let fly with a short, high-pitched squeak.

"So. Ethan Rayne, drunk in an alley behind the Hare and Roses." She walked forward and squatted down, smiling into his face. His gorge rose. She was not a happy Slayer, not with that smile. "Of all the places to bump into you, pulling you off my screaming baby sister? I wouldn't have guessed that one, not in a million years."

"Um -" He cleared his throat, managing a quick glance down to see what he was tied to. It looked like the sort of examination table you'd find in a casualty ward. "Hullo, Buffy. What brings you to London?"