Movies, Mayhem and Magic
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Spike paced the
floor of the mansion, watching Willow curled up on the sofa reading a book. He
was waiting for the sun to go down. Sometimes he was happy to stay in the
mansion, other times, like today, he simply had to escape. It wasn't so much
the mansion he wanted to flee from, it was what the mansion held...videos. Not
just any videos, but the ones he and Willow had watched during the course of
the day. Early last night it had started raining and Spike, much to Willow's
amusement, had demanded that she would have to miss the next day of college
because of the rain. He'd expected an argument, some logical and undeniable
explanation why she couldn't stay at home, instead she had nodded and requested
that they pick up a few video's ~ declaring that rainy days demanded a video
fest.
Movies were a problem. A problem that Spike had gotten around, or so he thought
until their trip to the video store. Their favorite choices included Baz
Lurhman's Romeo and Juliet - Willow liked the romance, he liked the bloodshed
and body count - and Titanic, probably the worse movie for him, hours of
sickening romance before the blood curdling screams and a huge body count,
although it was disappointing in the lack of blood, but the bodies floating
about did ease that a little. So yesterday at the video store when Willow had
gone on an Emilio Estevez frenzy, he was a little dubious. Especially when she
told him that Emilio, he really hated that lovesick teenager look she got when
she said the damn name, was just soooooo (enough o's to make him want to heave)
cute and talented. Strange that talented was added as an after thought. Choices
were made and Spike had groaned as he read through the various titles.
"Last Night, Champions, Young Guns, Young Guns 2...Great, fucking sequels
- this sucks already!"
It had basically been, apart from a few scenes of mindless violence and blood
shed, hours of torture of Willow gushing and lusting after some little git who
was probably gay. He'd even considered ripping the wiring out of the VCR,
shrugging it off and hauling her into the bedroom to make sure she totally
forgot how cute Emilio was...and talented, he couldn't forget that aspect of
this Emilio...but that was soon forgotten as she curled up against his chest
and fell asleep. Fortunately the movie playing at the time had been Young Guns
and he was happy to watch the various actors shoot the crap out of each other.
But now, as he paced waiting for the sun to go down, all he wanted was to get
rid of the loathsome Emilio riddled videos. Turning around he glanced at Willow
and wandered over. He dropped down next to her and stretched out along the
sofa, resting his head in her lap. Willow smiled to herself and shifted
slightly so that she could stroke his hair.
"What are you reading, love?" he asked, wrapping one of his hands
about her leg and closing his eyes, perfectly content to lay there. "Is it
one of those books the wanker dropped off? You've had those for weeks."
"No, it's not one of Giles books. It's something far more important,"
Willow stated, running her nails lightly along his scalp.
"What's that then?"
"It's a psych text, I'm trying to work out the significance of Pope
Angel," Willow smiled as Spike's shoulders tensed against her thigh.
"Bloody hell. It was just a stupid dream I had ages ago," he paused
and frowned, vivid images of fishnet stockings and Union Jack Docs assaulting
him. "Doesn't mean anything..."
"Dreams are very insightful. It's your subconscious trying to make sense
of chaos," Willow continued to stroke his hair, easing the tension.
"Actually it's interesting that you put Angel into a situation of power
and respect, then humiliated, dominated and killed him..."
"Piffle, anyway that's not important," his thumb started tracing
small circles on the inside of her knee. "What about the fishnets and
Docs? Explain the significance of those."
"Easy, Angel's a cross dresser with a fetish for Union Jack Docs. If you
had been able to see any further he was probably wearing frilly pink panties
with a matching bra..."
Spike glanced up at her face, the faintest trace of a smile graced her lips as
she tried desperately not to laugh. Suddenly the image of Angel in the
aforementioned garments flashed through his mind and he groaned loudly, curling
up against her.
"Oh please, Red. I've just eaten," he grimaced, quickly conjuring up
the image of Willow in a sea of silk sheets, covered in a fine sheen of sweat
and totally sated. Closing his eyes, he relaxed back against her, sighing as
her hand swept through his hair and down to caress his throat. "I think
the old farts spell books are far more interesting."
The only answer he received was a slight pause in the movement of her hand and
a rather detached sound of acknowledgement, neither in agreement or denial.
"You know," he squeezed her thigh, opening his mischievous blue eyes
and meeting her green. "There is an impotence curse...you should try it
out on Xander...it'd be a laugh."
"Mmm," Willow stated non-comittedly. Spike shifted his head in her
lap and looked at her.
"Go on, it'd piss Anya off," he grinned manically at the thought of
Anya and Xander being faced with the consequences of impotence. Willow shook her
head and Spike frowned. "Why not? It's not like it'd be permanent or
anything."
"No? What if it gets messed up?" she pulled a face at him and went
back to reading her psych text. "I'm not casting anything so you can get
over it. Won't happen."
"Won't get messed up, it's a simple spell," Spike yanked the book
from her hand and shut it.
"Really?" asked Willow, trying unsuccessfully to get the book back.
"So was the Latin and bend thy will spells..."
Spike shrugged and tossed her psych textbook across the room, before she even
had time to protest he'd spun them about, pinning her down to the sofa with his
body.
"Things happen, didn't do any harm," he murmured, looking her over
before lowering his mouth to her neck, kissing her softly.
"You asked Buffy to marry you," Willow stated pointedly.
Spike growled lifting up and frowning down at her before his face softened and
he pouted. "Thought we weren't going to talk about that...anyway this is
making Xander impotent, won't affect me. Come on, it'll be fun..."
"Spike, I'm not doing it," Willow stated, not even looking at him as
he tried his best puppy dog-pleading look that usually vetoed any negative
response. But it didn't work. "Now get off me."
It was rather a shock for Spike to find himself suddenly lying on the floor
with Willow stepping over him and heading off to retrieve her psych book. He
watched as she bent down to pick it up, chewing at her lip and frowning.
"What is it, love?"
"Nothing," Willow stated, not even bothering to look at him. Spike,
with his usual cat like grace, arched his back and flipped up to stand on his
feet.
"Willow?" he knew as soon as she said nothing that something was
bothering her. There would have been an argument about his question, but this
cold short statement left no doubt that there was something wrong. He watched
her for a moment, still scowling and pretending to take a great interest in her
textbook, and thought back over the conversation. It couldn't have been the
dream, she'd joked about that, teased him even. Maybe it was the mention of
Xander and Anya, she was touchy about that but usually she'd just roll her eyes
and they'd fight and make up, not this sulking miles across the room from him.
Then it hit him with all the subtlety of a feather pillow with a brick in it.
"Why don't you cast anymore?"
"What?" she asked, trying to keep the tone of her voice nonchalant.
It would have worked better if her face didn't flush bright red as she kept her
eyes firmly fixed on the book. Once more the book was torn from her hands and
flung across the room as Spike grabbed hold of her arm and spun her to look at
him.
"Why don't you cast anymore?"
It was a pretty clear question and Willow couldn't really side track it,
especially with him holding her so tightly. So she shrugged.
"There's been no need for it."
"Well there's no need for us to have sex, since we can't procreate,"
he smirked and pulled her in close. "But that doesn't stop you being an
active participant."
"Spike," she all but growled at him, frowning and pulling herself
free of his hold.
"So why," he wrapped a hand about her arm again, stopping her escape.
"Would that stop you from casting?"
"I just don't want to."
"Why? Because your last few spells went astray?" Spike smirked and
then frowned as Willow dropped her head. He'd hit the nail on the head.
"Come on, love. Two spells went haywire, doesn't mean you have to stop.
Hell you've probably just got a bit of a funk going on. Do a cleansing spell,
that'll clear you right up. Then you can curse Xander."
She pulled away from him and he thought that maybe he should just drop the
Xander thing until she got her confidence back.
"I'm not doing any spells," Willow could see him open his mouth to
say something. "No! You aren't listening to me. I don't want to. I can't
do magic. The last few times they've been really simple spells and they just
totally stuffed up. But what's worse is that they hurt people, people I care
about. What would have happened if Giles hadn't been able to reverse the Latin
spell?"
"I would've had marvelous fun insulting people and making lascivious
suggestions to you during those bloody dull and useless research sessions
you've been dragged to."
"That's not funny," she stamped her foot, nearly in tears, her fists
clenched and her face pale. Spike stood for a moment, studying her carefully.
No matter what he said she wasn't going to listen to him, not tonight anyway.
Pursing his lips, he turned partially away from the fuming redhead, taking a
moment to collect his thoughts.
"Bugger this, we're going out," he muttered, dropping down to grab
her about the legs and throwing her over his shoulder.
"Spike," she screamed, slapping his back and grabbing at him.
"Put me down!"
"Nah," he walked over and grabbed her coat, keeping a firm hold on
her wriggling body. "We're going out."
"Spike," Willow muttered, resigning herself to the fact that he was
stronger and there was no way he was going to let her go.
"What?"
"Videos."
"Oh yeah, we can't forget Emilio," he muttered, walking back to the
bag of videos and turning around. Without hesitating or being asked, Willow
reached out and grabbed the bag. Spike tickled the back of her knee, making her
squeal again. "Let's go then."
Half an hour later, after the dreaded videos were safely back at the video
store, they were speeding through the streets of Sunnydale with Spike happily
splashing through the puddles and drenching innocent pedestrians. To even the
keenest observer there was no distinguishing the two people on the bike from
any other couple. Both wore full helmets, black with dark visors, leather
coats, gloves, boots and jeans. The only distinctive feature was Spike's
duster, which when wrapped about him and with Willow holding on tightly wasn't
really that noticeable. Especially not to a blonde Slayer as she wandered along
the pavement, hand in with her commando boyfriend, listening to the glorious
details of his childhood home.
"Oh, this is just too precious," murmured Spike to himself as he
gunned the motor of the bike and headed for an enormous puddle. Moments later
the muddied water surged forth in a huge wave and totally drenched the blonde.
With a squeal of the bike's tires, they were around the corner and out of sight
before Buffy even had the chance to pull her drenched hair away from her face.
Unfortunately, Spike didn't escape unscathed from the whole encounter. Even as
he slowed the bike down, pain exploded through his head. It wasn't the chip, it
was a furious Willow head butting him from behind and the act only served to
increase his mirth. After he'd bought all the gear for the bike and it became
their usual mode of transport, it was less obvious than the Desoto, they had
set down some ground rules. Well, Willow had and Spike ignored them, however
the head-butting thing was a joke that they'd agreed to do if he pissed her
off. He gathered that splashing the Slayer with dirty water was something that
pissed her off, especially when her gloved hand snuck beneath his duster and
pinched his nipple...hard.
"Hey," he said, squeezing her thigh. Of course she couldn't hear him
through the helmets, but he had to make a protest of sorts. Needless to say the
squeezing of her thigh became a caress and he nearly missed the turn to take
them back to the main shopping area of Sunnydale. They were barely meters away
from where he'd splashed the Slayer, but he didn't really care about that as he
parked the bike and helped Willow off, removing his helmet and setting it down.
"Aren't there some books you needed to get?" Spike asked as he took the
helmet she held in her hands.
"Yes," Willow pulled off her gloves, shoving them into the pockets of
the 3/4 leather coat she wore when riding on the bike.
"Go get them then," ordered Spike, turning his back to her and
glancing at the nearly deserted street.
"Why? What are you going to do?" asked Willow, narrowing her eyes in
suspicion.
"I've got some stuff to do..." the suspicion stayed on her face and
Spike bowed his head and looked up at her from under his lashes. "Vampire
stuff that I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate..."
With that she turned on her heel, thinking he meant getting his supply of fresh
blood delivered.
"Back here in half an hour, love," he called out, watching with a
smile as she walked away. Once he was certain she wasn't going to turn back, he
went into the magic shop. As usual it was practically empty. The sole occupant
was the shopkeeper who happily rushed over to Spike, smile gracing her lips as
the usual 'blessed be' slipped through them.
"Yeah, I need some stuff..." Spike muttered, glancing around the shop
at the various supplies and bits and pieces.
"What exactly were you looking for?"
"Well..." he paused for a moment, not knowing where to start.
"You know the little redheaded witch, about yay tall, big green
eyes?"
"Yes, Willow. She hasn't been in for some time..." the shopkeeper
paused and looked at Spike skeptically.
"Everything she's ever bought, or would need, I want," Spike
blatantly disregarded the 'no smoking' sign and lit up a cigarette, moving over
to the display case that held ritual Athames and chalices.
"Umm...I suppose I could..." she hesitated, her eyes taking in his
appearance and backing away slightly. "Why, exactly do you need..."
"I just do," he turned from the cabinet and took a long drag on his
cigarette, smirking at the very sight of the woman cowering away from him. He
dropped the cigarette down and took two steps forward, so he was towering over
her and exhaled. "Get the key."
"What?" she whispered.
"For the display case," he smirked as he turned away, taking another
deep drag and examining the various items it held. He only half listened to her
nervous ramblings and explanations as she moved about, fetching the key and
opening up the case. Ignoring her idiotic questions, he started pulling out the
various athames, not really caring about the shopkeepers ongoing monologue
about how many of the items had been blessed by various respected Wicca's. Most
of the ritual knives were light and small with carved handles and dull blades.
Although pretty, they had no real meaning and did nothing for him.
Then he spotted it. A decadent silver number that seem to hide amongst the
others. There was something about this one that was obvious as soon as he
picked it up. It was heavier than the rest, the curved handle was ornately
engraved and on the heel was a stone. Strength hidden by delicate detail, just
like Willow. Fascinated, he ran his index finger along the blade slashing the
flesh, leaving a trail of scarlet against the silver. Cocking his head, he
rolled his wrist, tilting the blade and catching the light. He could see, in
his mind, the perfect image of Willow lying on the bed, hands resting above her
head as he ran the ornate knife down between her breasts, pressing hard enough
to draw blood.
"Fuck!" he screamed, slamming the heel of his palm into his forehead,
his grip tightening on the athame as the image was shattered by pain.
"Sir?" the shopkeeper took a few steps back, all the horror stories
regarding the past shop owners and their untimely deaths being played on
surround sound in her mind.
"Fuck," he repeated as the pain died off to a dull ache. Clenching
his jaw, he dropped his hand from his forehead and waited a moment, gathering
his thoughts. "How long will it take for you to get everything ready?"
"Well, she's bought so much here," the storekeeper began, only to be
shot down by a withering stare from Spike. "A few days."
He nodded. "That'll suit me. I'll need everything delivered..."
For the next fifteen minutes he wandered about the little shop, giving orders,
making demands and grabbing one or two books he deemed necessary. Even as he
left by the back door, pocketing a receipt that would have most storeowners
grinning, the poor woman who had so eagerly greeted him wondered if it was too soon
to consider early retirement.
Flicking the cigarette butt away, Spike walked out of the alleyway back into
the street where the bike was parked. The few things he had taken with him from
the magic store, the books and athame, were neatly tucked away in his duster
and now all he wanted was Willow so they could get on with their evening.
Scanning the street, he stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted her, the
jacket slung around her waist leaving her arms exposed in the sleeveless green
turtleneck she wore, chatting merrily with some bloke who looked vaguely
familiar. Clenching his jaw, he walked towards the couple. From the position
they were in he couldn't see Willow's face, he could hear her though, making
small chat and then she mentioned a name. Graham.
Spike didn't miss a
beat as his arm stretched out and he ran his fingers across the smooth flesh of
her upper arm. He'd heard mention of Graham, another commando, one of Riley's
chums. Keeping his eye's fixed on Graham's, he spooned in behind her, his free
arm slipping casually about her waist as he continued to stroke her arm. Even
as she leant back against him, the hold tightened and his eyes darkened with
promises of death should this Graham even consider doing anything than talking
to her.
"Ready to go, love?" Spike murmured, his mouth brushing against her
ear and his fingers kept drawing lazy slow strokes on her arm.
"Yep," she shifted slightly to glance at him, her hand resting on the
arm wrapped about her waist. "You took your time, did you get everything
done?"
"Everything I need for the time being," he paused and kissed her lips
lightly, his hand leaving her arm to wrap across her chest.
"Well, we should get going then," she smiled and looked back to
Graham. "See you later, Graham, thanks for your help with the books."
"Not a problem," Graham acknowledged as Spike shifted and turned them
away from him. For a moment, he stood and watched as they walked away,
separating then coming together again, Spike's arm wrapped tightly around
Willow's waist as he took the bag of books from her hand, kissing her and
whispering something in her ear that made her laugh. Once they reached the bike
the books were tucked away and as Spike helped Willow on with her jacket,
Graham received a look that made him turn around and wander away, leaving the
couple to themselves. Shaking his head and burying his hands in his pockets, he
walked down to the coffee shop.
"Hey Graham," Graham glanced around, spotting Riley sitting at one of
the many tables spread about the shop and made his way over.
"Hey," Graham offered as he sat down next to his mate. "Where's
Buffy?"
"She's in the bathroom, cleaning herself up," stated Riley, twisting
the coffee cup on the table around. "Some idiot on a bike tried to run her
over."
"A bike?" Graham frowned and then smiled wistfully. "Probably
Willow's boyfriend. Strikes me as the sort that'd be in for that..."
"What?" asked Riley, the comment immediately catching his attention.
"Oz is back?"
"No, her new guy," Graham frowned at his friend. "You know, bit
taller than her, older, blond hair, English, had a big BMW, tourer I think, and
lots of leather to go with it...not someone I'd thought she'd go out
with..."
"Blond, English and wearing leather? Are you sure they were, you know, together?
He could have just been a friend..."
"Friends?" asked Graham dubiously, he shook his head and leant back
in the chair, smiling slightly. "Yeah sure, if you hold hands with a
friend, not to mention swapping some serious spit and playing touchy feely."
"But...she...blond and English?" stuttered Riley, not believing the
description. "No, you must have been mistaken. She'd never date a...a...an
English guy."
"Well, she dated a musician before didn't she?" Graham asked glancing
about the coffee shop.
"Yeah but that's way different to a..." Riley looked at his friend
and shook his head. The only blond, leather loving Englishman he was aware of
Willow associating with was Spike, a hostile, a vampire. "Brit."
"David Bowie," stated Graham. "Not to mention Billy Idol. Of
course there's Mick Jagger and John Lennon."
"What?" Riley asked, totally confused by his friends apparent
fondness for naming musicians.
"They're all English AND musicians."
"What's so special about being English and musicians?" asked Buffy as
she sat down next to Riley, still looking very much like the drowned rat.
"Nothing," said Riley, smiling broadly at her.
"Then why mention it?"
"We were just talking about Willow," Graham offered, only to be cut
off by Riley.
"And her love of...of..." Riley struggled for a moment, wondering if
Buffy knew of the astounding facts just presented to him by Graham.
"English musicians," Graham interjected, sensing his friend's
discomfort.
"English musicians?" Buffy asked skeptically. She glanced between the
two friends and raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know that.
Although..."
"What?" Riley asked, wondering what his girlfriend knew and Buffy
shrugged.
"I was just thinking I haven't seen much of her since Oz left, so I
wouldn't really know. She's always going home, or spending time studying, or
I'm not there," she looked at Riley and they shared a secret smile. Riley
shook his head and decided to steer the conversation back to the problem at
hand.
"So," he tried to sound casual. "Has she been seeing anyone
lately?"
"Willow? No, she's not mentioned anyone and she's been so busy..."
Buffy glanced up at Graham and smiled. "Maybe we could arrange a double
date with you two," she turned around and grabbed Riley by his sleeve.
"Don't you think that'd be great? Graham and Willow would be perfect for
each other."
"No," it was a clear and persuasive and absolute denial. Graham stood
up and shifted uncomfortably on his feet, he could remember the unspoken threat
that the leather fiends blue eyes had held not so long ago. No way was he
stepping on anyone's toes. "No, no, no. Wouldn't really be a good idea.
Gee, look at the time, I've got to go."
With that he turned and left, leaving behind two very bemused individuals.
Buffy frowned and watched Grahams fleeing form. "Well that was odd."
***
"What is this?" asked Willow, panic creeping into her voice. Spike
smirked and closed the double doors behind them so she couldn't run away, as he
fully expected her to try and do. It had taken him nearly a week to get
everything together, longer than he expected to fix up this room especially for
Willow, for her magical studies, and he fully intended to make sure she used
it, no matter how much of a protest she made.
"Somewhere for you to practice your casting," Spike said smugly,
taking her hand and leading her deeper into the room. He was quite proud of
everything he'd done. He'd widened the doorway, putting in double doors with
heavy dark stained glass panels, and stripped the interior so he could start
from scratch.
The dark colors of
the room had been replaced by soothing pale walls with a hint of soft purple.
One wall was a bookcase, a few books sat on the shelves along with various
magical bits and bobs in jars and boxes. A small stereo system and collection of
various CDs were also stored in the bookcase within easy reach while speakers
sat in each of the four corners of the room. Opposite the bookcase, on the
other side of the room, was a large marble fireplace. The room also housed a
large desk with a comfortable leather chair, a rocking chair and other little
bits of pieces. But the most significant part was the large circle in the
middle of the floor. He'd stripped back the floor and painted the circle in a
deep purple before sealing the boards and color with a high gloss lacquer. To
show it all off to her, he'd lit dozens of candles, most of them scattered
about while a number of them sat at various points on the outline of the
casting circle.
"We've been through this before..." began Willow, trying to pull her
hand away from his as she took in the beautiful room.
"No, you've stated that you can't, when we both know that's a load of
crap," Spike stopped in front of the circle and turned to face her.
"You cursed Angel. That takes a strength about which you have no real
understanding. You possess that strength, it's part of you...a big part of
you."
"Spike, I...can't," she stumbled over the words. "Look at what
happen the last few times..."
"And where did you perform those? Somewhere that was unique to you?"
Spike asked, bringing her in closer, speaking softly. He glanced about the
room. "This Willow, is yours, only yours. For you and your magic. It has
everything you need."
"So did the other places," she argued. Spike laughed and shook his
head.
"No, they didn't," he sighed and pursed his lips together, bringing
his hand up to caress her face. "Tell you what, do a cleansing
spell...just one spell, a simple incantation. If it doesn't work, then fine,
I'll rip this all down and burn the bloody lot. But if it works then you use
this room...on a regular basis."
She was quiet for a moment, glancing about the room with its soft colors and
the candles burning, finally going back to Spike.
"It's just an incantation?"
"Yes, simple straightforward English," he could see the mixed
emotions in her eyes and smiled softly. "I'll be here, Red, nothing will
go wrong."
She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, turning away from him facing the circle
and hesitatingly took a few steps towards it, pausing as her foot fell on the
dark purple of the outline. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes briefly
before stepping across the line and walking into the center where one of Giles'
books lay open at the spell. She dropped down, crossing her legs and picked up
the book, resting it in her lap, her eyes taking in the incantation.
From outside the circle, Spike watched her like a hawk, never taking his eyes
off her as she shut hers and concentrated, starting the chant, softly speaking
the words. He could feel it, the energy as she called on it, making the flames
burn brighter and slightly higher, a rush of warm air and it was done. The
chant was completed and she opened her eyes to a still room and Spike staring
at her. As she closed the book, he walked toward the circle and was pulled up
short at the edge by some sort of barrier.
"What the bloody hell?" he swore to himself, pushing against the
invisible barrier and frowning.
"Spike?" Willow asked, standing up and tossing the book aside. She
reached out, her fingers entwining with his and couldn't pull her hand back.
Her face furrowed in fear. "What's going on?"
Spike stepped back, keeping a firm grip on Willow's hand, and threw himself at
the boundary of the circle, once more coming into contact with a barrier. It
was solid for him, but Willow's hand and arm could pass through it with ease.
"Willow," he growled at her, his thumb caressing her hand, calming
her. "Invite me in."
"What?"
"Invite me in," he repeated, standing as close to the circle as the
barrier would let him and kissing her hand.
"Come in, Spike," as soon as the words left her lips the barrier
disappeared and Spike stepped into the circle, capturing her other hand and
grinning. She watched amazed as she realized that she had made the circle
exclusively hers with the casting. "Wow."
"You can't deny what you are, Willow," he fixed his gaze on her as he
turned them about in the circle, inching his body closer to hers. He could feel
the air buzzing around them, feel the warmth radiating off her body.
"You're strong, you need to do this. I can feel it...the heat," he
brushed his lips across hers and tilted his head. "The power. The magic.
You can't deny it Willow, or it will destroy you."
"What if it destroys me anyway?" Willow whispered, pressing against
him.
"Won't happen, love," he kissed her again, his tongue brushing
against her moist lips, teasing them open and delving into her warm mouth.
Breaking the kiss he smiled down at her. "I won't let it."
He was rewarded with a small smile and eyes full of trepidation.
"Promise?"
"Promise, love," he whispered, smiling before kissing his way down to
her neck "Now..." he nuzzled her neck. "Can you do the impotence
curse on Xander? It'll be fun..."
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