Spike had been asking himself why he'd agreed to play dress—up again. And then Dolores' palms were pressed up against his chest and their lashes fluttered and they jut their cute lip out and oh, yeh, cos he's an easy cunt is why. He ——
Spike purrs under the mask, pretending to lean into the touch, nosing his snout against their cheek.
" Lovely. Now that 've worn this for bout all ten seconds can I take this shite off? Feel like 'm on me way to the furry convention. "
'Cept you clearly aren't dead or a demon. Got the smell all over you though. What's your deal, luv? Cultist? Possessed? Demon lackey stand—in? Or 're you jus' the receptionist? Heard the bar's in hell for the job market these days.
Yeah, an' there's no leprechaun at the end o' any rainbows or a stork delivering babies either but I prob'ly didn't need to tell you that. Got any more melodramatics you want to add? An' don't try to say ' there's only me ' next.
Fucken hell, if I wanted someone that judges me an' doesn't answer back I'd have called out to God instead.
Was expectin' a conversation through the board but s'pose this'll be a helluva lot easier in person. So, what's your name, pet?
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