Title: I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt
Author: Delia
Contact: xodorketteox@aol.com
Rating: PG-13. Some swearing, sex references.
Summary: Set just after Hellbound, the 4th eppy of Season 5 of Angel. Spike has this new ability to bend reality to his will. He has fun with it.
Spoilers: Up to Hellbound on Angel, some season 5 of Buffy.
Disclaimer: ::throws Spike doll in the corner:: I just manipulate. All belongs to Joss and Co.
Distribution: It would be nice to admire my work on an actual website. Just let me know where it's going.
Feedback: Please! I crave it like naked James.
Special Thanks: Melpomenethalia. There was a post by this person on the AOL Buffy boards, pondering the idea of Spike getting bored and playing dress up with his abilities to change his clothes at will. Thank you for the inspiration.


*

Spike sat on the couch in Angel's office, waiting for Grand Master Brood to come back from whatever do-gooding he'd gotten himself into. Spike did this often these days - sat around in random offices, waiting for the occupants' return in order to scare them silly once they stepped foot inside the door. Thing was, no one bothered to take much notice. They knew Spike's condition and pretty much expected he'd be up to his old (and only) antics of walking through walls and pulling a "boo" face or throwing small objects their way. None minded; most seemed to find it humorous. But Spike didn't want to be found humorous. He'd settle for pain in the ass.

And so he sat, staring at the table in front of him, willing his feet to be solid enough so he could rest them atop it. He admired his shoes from a distance, proud that the same pair had stuck with him all these years. Wouldn't be too bad getting a new one, though. Maybe some Docs. Brown, too. Gettin' sick of this black. Be right wonderful if I could just change them whenever I wanted, but no, Spike can't even pick up a damned shoe unless he nearly busts a vein in his head trying...

And that's when it hit him. Pavayne's voice telling him that reality can bend to his will, "the way it was meant to."

"Brown shoes, eh? Yeah, I can do that." He concentrated on his feet, imagining his boots slowly turning brown. Suddenly, they matched the shade of the coffee table. "Alright!" Spike stood up quickly, pumped a fist into the air, then sat back down. He looked around, out the panes of glass that seperated Angel's office from the other employees. The hallway was empty. To be absolutely sure, Spike got up again and popped his head through the door, scouring the hall for any sign of life. Nothing.

He smirked to himself as he extracted his head from the door and turned his back to it. He closed his eyes and pictured a pair of jeans, matched with a white t-shirt. He opened them and looked down to find just that. Spike chuckled, knowing damn well that he could have fun with this - too much fun.

He imagined feeling no clothes at all. He didn't need to open his eyes to know he was naked - a breeze around his midsection told him enough. Saving himself a possible embarassment in case Angel chose that moment to walk in, he willed his normal clothes back on his body. Then he imagined just the ass of his pants gone. Again, a slight breeze on his backside saved him the trouble of turning about to wonder whether it worked or not. Could moon at the drop of a hat.

That was certainly a new office trick no one would be expecting.

Spike paced the length of Angel's office, pondering possible outfits. He never really paid attention to the fashions of the day, at least not during his unlife. Which led him to think of the clothes worn during his actual life, before he was reduced to a blood sucking sex fiend accompanied by his beloved Drusilla.

Drusilla. A smile played on his lips at the thought of the days when she first corrupted him, broke him in, if you will. The dresses she wore pooled wonderfully on the floor of whatever bedroom they borrowed any given night. The dresses...pulled so tight at the waist, breasts spilling over the top of her corset. How he loved to untie it, nearly ripping the strings off the dress, feeling Drusilla let out unneeded breath at the absence of the tightly bound clothing. That must have been a pisser of a thing to put on, he thought. Huggin' her poor stomach so tight. Wonder how she could've walked around like that all day and night, even to hunt.

A rush of pressure hit Spike's stomach and chest, nearly knocking him backward. It felt as though hands were pushing inward all about his body, crushing the dead organs within. He groped at his abdomen, searching for the source of pain. His hands were greeted with silky material, seemingly spread tight over cardboard. He looked down to find a red dress flowing over the floor, the top of a black corset peeking out of the neckline - an outfit of Dru's she often hunted in.

"Shit!" he spat, spinning in circles in an attempt to reach a zipper or cluster of strings on his back. His hands scratched blindly at the back of the gown. His foot stomped down on the bottom material, sending him toppling over onto the floor.  He flopped on the ground, rolling back and forth in hopes of loosening the corset some. It only resulted in immense pain to his nipples, which were being chaffed with every movement. He finally settled on his back, staring hard at the ceiling. He must have been thinking too hard about Drusilla's clothes and the way they felt, unconsciously willing himself to actually experience it.

"I got myself into this, I can get myself out," he muttered to no one. His voice strained to sound manly and in control, despite the garb he wore and his spread eagle position. He relaxed himself and concentrated on other outfits, even a lack of clothing,  but his mind constantly went back to Drusilla. He tried to think of other people he knew and the outfits they wore that struck him as worthy at one time, then ended up with his manhood tightly constricted in a pair of leather pants.

He inhaled sharply through his nose before shouting, "God damn Faith taking over Buffy's body!" He lay still, not daring to move in fear that the pants would rip, and concentrated once again. There had to be SOME person who possessed the clothing Spike so desperately needed, wouldn't mind wearing. Lord knew that with this power he would never go back to the old duster and jeans.

Perhaps a person whose fashion sense he deeply admired-

Suddenly, the door burst open. Angel stomped into his office and slammed the door. He turned to throw his car keys on the desk, but the sight in front of him brought his rampage to a standstill.

Black dress shoes, black pants, each leg neatly creased down the middle. A shirt, perhaps one shade lighter than the pants, hung close to the crotch. Pale arms peeked out from underneath sleeves that fell just below the elbow. A split at the neck, easily closed by gray buttons, gave way to equally pale skin.

Angel continued to stare in disbelief, then said, "Spike...how in the hell did you get into my clothes?"

*

END