***
"Right, then, birthday smut fic for ChelleBelle.'
"What're we gonna do?"
Shrug
"Well, we could call it "boy's night out" and have wild
sex on
the dance floor at the Bronze." Brood, brood, mope.
"I myself favor the oak library table. It
sees a lot of action. It
must be comfortable."
"Shut up, Wesley. Had to refinish the bloody thing
4 times
already to keep that git Snyder from noticing."
"Weed, dudes?" Toke, pass.
"Right, back on target. Birthday smut fic for Chellebelle."
"So what're we going to do?"
*Ahem. Boys!*
"Yes, Lady Angel?" (full chorus)
*Get naked and get on with it, or I'll make you sing.*
"Not an idle threat, mates. She'll do it too."
"Belle Notte. Shudder."
"Do we draw straws or what?"
"I want Giles."
"We all want Giles, you sodding twit. But you know
Lady
Angel doesn't write G/X. She always gives him to
me." preen,
preen.
"Shut up Wesley." (Full chorus)
"I say we gang-bang the tweed twit."
"Ewww! Devon!"
*Boys!*
"Yes, Lady Angel?" (full chorus)
*If I don't see some pecs in about 2 seconds, you'll be
singing
the Barney theme in less than five lines. And if
you're really
going to be tedious, we'll move into Webber. Spike,
you'll get
'Don't cry for me Argentina.' After that I get
ugly.*
"Mates, get those shirts off, now!"
"Better now, Lady Angel?"
*OK for now, but if you don't want to wind up at Angel's
feet
singing 'I don't know how to love him' you'll get the
rest to get
on with it, Rupert.*
"Could we have a little help on the pairings, Lady Angel?
You
shoved us in here and said have fun. We're confused.
Setting
would help too."
*Fine. But for making me do this, I'm going to write
another
Liarverse fic and give Xavy the stomach flu. By
day. And you
get to deal with Poop-a-saurus Rex, Xand. Alright:
Oz and
Spike. Devon, you can have Wesley since you want
him. Giles,
Xander and Angel in a threesome. And for goodness
sake, do
something! Here's the library. And nothing
kinky with the 15thcentury manuscripts or I'll throw Snyder in to liven
things up.*
"Shall we then, wolf-boy? Top or bottom?"
"Not picky. Sixty nine? No biting."
"Right." Strip, strip, suck, suck.
"Show me what they learn in those boys' schools, dude.
I mean,
no girls, what do you do?"
"Bend over the table. We do this." Pants down,
cane, whimper,
bugger.
"Angel, Giles, what?"
"On your hands and knees, boy. Pants off."
"What's that thing, Giles?"
"I don't think we told him he could talk, did we, Rupert?"
"No. Silence him."
"Mmmph!"
"A little cold, isn't it, boy? Now, no teeth.
You know how that
feels."
Spiked leather slipping around sensitive parts.
"You really don't
want to get hard, lad. The gates of hell will perforate
you rather
thoroughly. Although, Angel might enjoy licking
you clean, I'd
rather spare him the temptation. Brace yourself."
Hardness burning its way in, stretching tearing.
Then vigorous
thrusts that shove him on and off of the man in front
of him.
Great gushing jets of cum, down throats, up asses, across
chests,
and in hair. Sweaty heaps of male flesh, live and
undead
scattered about the library.
*Very nice, boys. But, you still have to sing.*
"Oh all right."
Full chorus:
"Happy happy birthday
happy happy birthday
happy happy birthday
Chellebelle!"
"Cool, but why'd we do it to 'the Lone Ranger' song?"
"Copyright, dude. Lady Angel doesn't want to pay
royalties."
Slayerettes wished Michelle a happy birthday.