OK... Daisy is *very* naughty!! We *just* finished one and she always does this when I have tonnes on at work!... sighs... see what you think... (Happy to smack the faerie muse and shut her up if folks don't like!)
Archived at: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=rngrdead
Rating: Mature Audiences – for content and themes
Summary: Anya utters a final garbled set of words that sets off a wish that will alter Xander’s existence forever…
Spoilers: Canon is Post S7 BtVS and S5 AtS.
Warnings: M/M – if you don’t like boys together, don’t play here! *Toys* and angst too… and lovin’ eventually
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters nor make any money from stories etc, and bow down to their original creators Joss, et al., plus all the wonderful online writers who continue to give the Buffy/Angel verse characters life.
He would have snorted if he could have… but no… that was no longer an option except on a Sunday evening when his stiff form sagged, breathed… and cried.
Who knew Anya’s dying thoughts as she bled out after they were attacked by the First’s forces would have been, “Last night…thank you…love you… wish you were… even… in a few years… you… sex toy… every day… someone to love … always the man… give… orgasms… Xander… Love…”
Dehoffran stood over his most successful vengeance demon and simply said, “My darling Anyanka, for you… It is done.”
Four years later, after Africa for two volunteering in malaria ridden Mozambique, and visiting Willow then Buffy in Europe (and feeling decidedly like they had all moved on), he wandered back to California, and ended up in San Francisco.
He had been fortunate to secure a job quickly though the apartment was a different issue. With little collateral he ended up subletting above, of all things, a shop specialising in the ‘occult’. For the most part it was simply a lot of herbal tea, strange looking rocks, pendants and artifacts, and incense – lots and lots of incense!
The very beautiful, rather enigmatic, Hispanic male who ran the establishment, Santiago, claimed his grandfather had been of the original Mayan people adding that, in his day he had been a lay healer of great power (admitting later that the family had skipped the Mexican border and he had tended gardens for cash to support his family). Nevertheless, Xander was a man who had grown up on the Hellmouth and could but wonder...
There had only been three people through the shop that night, he had checked his Email and sat online for more than his budget could afford, but Willow *had* to come through.
His life had been drifting of late – though he was ‘staying above water’, at least that’s what his latest LJ said to the ‘friended’. He thanked various folks who had replied for posting encouragement then wandered downstairs. The ‘Hey’ to Santiago was habitual but no less affectionate, the man had been nothing but supportive, and appreciated Xander’s understanding of the 'other'.
But off work and two hours and four beers later, Xander found himself standing in front of an ‘Adult Entertainment’ shop. It was Buffy’s birthday, and she had admitted on MSN that the Immortal was ‘it’ for her… for as long as… ever… and it was her twenty-ninth (and did any woman get any older?!) and so… what does a good friend buy?
He grinned and wandered in. Surely that Immortal guy would enjoy some blue fluffy cuffs. It would be the ultimate *go for it* present… and would apparently be no problem through customs – especially Europe (and there was a weird wink that went with that that was all too… well just… all with the odd). His present needed to be all legitimately packaged and labelled these days due to the laws, then shipped pronto to arrive by Buffy’s birthday in five days via express post…
He paid on his card and pleased that the guy was still talking to him… but he was beginning to feel decidedly odd. He thought he saw the man’s eyes change but was feeling a little too queasy to decide then saw a flash, heard chanting and recognised only two words of English in the incantation, “Sex Toy.”
He had woken, completely sentient but utterly inanimate in the corner of the same shop he had so recently wandered around. Apparently his package had been sent but his now utterly stiff arms had ‘fluffy cuffs’ attached. His plasticised nether regions were unnecessarily bound as an example and his rear was currently filled with an upmarket vibrating plug. He wondered how many other of the twenty or so mannequins were ex humans trapped as he was.
Fortunately, six months on, *this* week there had only been the standard small cock gags – his permanently slightly open jaw really did not lend itself to anything larger and some of the larger balls were positively horrible. He also objected to the one or two college boys that seemed to delight in lifting out the gag and pushing their fast food papers or … worse into his mouth. But the experimental ‘spanking the dummy’ by drunken twenty somethings of a Friday night, or worse, and the numerous giggling, tentative caresses of 'hens night' ladies over his tightly bound, permanently erect member… pure torture… and even worse (for no reason he could account for) the agony if it happened to be a male doing the touching.… And he had plenty of time to contemplate but had utterly no explanation.
So he each day, simply stood watched as his limbs were moved in impossible directions and his nether regions (well endowed apparently) and all were dressed… or not… and he waited... for Sunday night... his only reprieve... when he simply collapsed onto the floor still touching his stand, accesories attached or embedded and rarely any hope of removal. But at least he was able to slump and cry and sleep, and wake on his stand, to wonder whether it had really happened, whether he was real any more.
He had tried to move away early in his time as mannequin, but found himself unable to detach from his base. There was a chain and padlock around knees, so he could not be stolen it seemed. He could slump but regardless of struggle, was trapped and condemned to simply slide down his pole and rest for a time.
At least he was the upmarket model, actually designed for pleasure rather than the shop floor, nevertheless, six months on had him utterly resigned to the idea that his nether regions would be used for demonstration and left on show rather than the lucky ‘boy next door’ Jacob (who Xander always wondered regards any former human existence) was purchased, folded into a large box, and removed.
Then it was apparently his turn, but he just knew… demon magnet to the end! It was a vampire (obviously a minion) who ‘convinced’ Esperanza to let him have the attractive life sized male for a significant discount provided other toys were purchased,
The former human was consequently ‘folded’ into the box and transported to places unknown. It was Sunday evening, all he could do was pull his now manoeuvrable knees to his chest and sob. There was no point in fighting, he would be inanimate again in less than six hours… and at least he was out of the shop… How bad could that be?
Shall I let muse Daisy have her way?