I Blame the Dutch (mpoetess) wrote,
I Blame the Dutch
mpoetess

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WIP Coming Out Day?

Like anyone needs me to announce that? Honey, I tumbled out of the WIP closet with my pants around my ankles (TM kaylafic I think) sometime around February of 2002...

That said, I ain't gonna say the "never again" words about the WIPs for which I'm most infamous, because they are mine, mine, mine and I'm not letting them go until they drag me screaming down into the frozen depths. Nodnod.

This, however, would be something I attempted to write during the janedavitt-inspired week-o-spankfic, and failed miserably to either finish, or enjoy. It was meant to be a Domestic Piranhas flashback fic, showing how Spike first found out about Xander's kinky getting-spanked-by-Giles fantasies, aka an extrapolation of the tiny bit in Gauntlet With A Gift In It where Xander is thinking about imaginary library books.

--

"Library books???" Spike shook his head, face wrinkled in obvious disgust, and shoved at Xander's shoulder. The impact rolled Xander off the couch to land on the floor with a disgruntled *oof*.

"Hey!" Which is to say, Xander *let* the impact roll him off the couch, so he'd have better ammunition to glower upwards at his lover, complete with slightly-moist eyes from the shock of it all. The unshed tears were key, as Xander had determined during a long afternoon that he'd spent looking in the mirror and trying to re-create the most devastating of *Spike's* arsenal of pouts. They magnified the size of the pupil to almost toon-like proportions. He'd wondered at the time how Spike had managed to figure that out with no reflection, but didn't want to think too hard about who might have given him pointers.

"Don't hey me, you welcher." The tone *sounded* firm, but Xander caught the tiny flicker of black-lined lashes that indicated Spike was... basically a great big damn sucker.

He hid his own grin and continued to look put out."I'm not a welcher; I'm not even a Smuckerser." Xander glared balefully as he stood up, rubbing his ass. Not that it really hurt, and not that he thought Spike would even *believe* it really hurt, but it was all part of the overall portrait of injured innocence he needed to convey here. If he was going to win. "You *said* to tell you my dirtiest, most embarrassing fantasy that doesn't involve you."

"And your naughtiest, kinkiest fantasy involves *library books*?" Spike snorted, and crossed his arms. "For *this* I risked having to go downstairs in a proper suit and tie and spend the whole day playing temporary receptionist for Cordelia?"

Xander shrugged, and flopped back down onto the couch. He realized a second too late that he should still be playing up the 'Spike broke my butt' angle; he did give a half-hearted wince, but Spike didn't look like he was buying it. "Hey, you didn't have any problem with the terms at the time."

"Sure, 'cos I knew I was gonna w-- I mean, 'cos I thought you were gonna make it worth my while by having an *interesting* fantasy." Spike rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't have even made the bet if I'd known I was doing it for 'library books.' "

Xander's turn to rotate his orbs, and living with Spike, he had *far* more practice at that than the other way around. "Spike, you'd have done it for a Klondike Bar. In fact, you *did*." Considering that the bet had involved who could eat the most ice cream the fastest, without getting brain-freeze.

"Not the point. Point is, I won, didn't I?"

"Yes, because you have no brain to freeze," Xander lied. Not about the no brain, but about the winning. Spike only *thought* he'd won. If Xander could convince Spike of how utterly, mind-numbingly boring his naughtiest fantasy was, without actually having to *tell* the fantasy... then, er. He wouldn't have to tell the fantasy. Which would mean he won. Or maybe the point was not to have to tell his deepest, darkest secret. He wasn't quite sure anymore; his brain was a little bit frozen.

"Exactly. Except for not. I won because you kept stopping to lick the wrappers."

This was in fact true. "You can't not lick the wrapper. It's sacrilegious!"

"And I'm a demon, numb-brain. And you have to tell me your dirtiest, secretest fantasy. And it better not be about *library books*!"

Xander shrugged, inwardly gloating. "But it *is* about library books. You don't want me to *lie* about it, do you? I mean, I could make something up, but--"

"No, I don't want you to make something up -- the whole point is to get you to tell me your deepest, darkest, don't wanna tell anybody everest stuff. You can make something up any day of the week. I want the truth!"

"Well, the truth is it's about library books!" He was pretty good at pretending to be pissed off when he really wasn't -- god knew being with Spike gave him enough practice at the real thing. "I'm sorry if that's too vanilla for you; after all, I haven't had a hundred years to work my way up to the really kinky stuff like, oh, eating whipped cream off each other's dicks."

Spike growled, just under his breath, where Xander could feel, more than hear it. "You said you liked that."

"I did. Point being, your fantasies aren't always straight out of A Thousand and One Nights In The Sultan's Inner Harem of Darkest Debauchery either. And if mine are too boring for you..." He sniffed, but lightly -- didn't want Spike actually feeling guilty here, or he'd get just the opposite of what he wanted. Which was "Feel free to call the whole thing even and we'll forget all about it."





the...petering off into nothing

------



What did we learn from this experience? That aside from individual character portraits, I cannot write DP without zortified. Which seems only proper. The ebb and flow isn't there, and it feels fake to me, to try to create it artificially out of my own portion of The Brain.

Other stuff? I shall have to check my folders/disks at the Place Which Is Not Here, once I am Not Here.
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