"It's true," Drusilla interjected as she bounced and clapped, "The emperor has no clothing."
Spike looked down at his suddenly naked self then around the pub in absolute disgust. The normal pub chatter dropped to zero as people stared.
"Oops, sorry mate," said the short, hairy bloke at the bar. "I pulled out the wrong thing" Dropping the weird looking machine on the bar, he pulled a sawed off shotgun out from beneath his trench coat and promptly shot out the light over Spike's head.
Glass crashed down on him, nicking his shoulders and mussing his hair.
"Oh, you shouldn't have done that," Drusilla scolded. "My Spike doesn't like it when his hair is out of place."
"Your Spike doesn't like being naked in a room full of ogling perverts either, Dru," Spike snapped, but made no attempt to cover himself as he stormed towards the gun waving idiot. "How the hell did you make my clothes disappear?" he asked as he grabbed the guy and lifted him off his feet to shake him.
"De...fab...ricator," the shooter gasped out.
"Okay, wait a second. Did you just say defabricator?" Dawn started to giggle which made her choke on her popcorn.
Spike glowered at her until she stopped gasping. "You wanted a story of the good old days."
"How come half your stories of the good old days end up with you naked. I'm not sure Buffy would approve."
"Then she should stop asking me to babysit."
"Hey! I told you not to call it that."
Smirking, Spike reached for a handful of popcorn to float in his mug of blood, then took a sip before continuing.
"You're making that up."
"No, really. Can you put me down now?"
Spike dropped his captive who fell in a heap on the floor, then reached for the weapon/machine laying on the bar. He examined it carefully, then pointed it at a buxom waitress and pulled the trigger.
She shrieked as her clothes disappeared, revealing really large breasts and a tattoo of a kitten on her arse.
People finally seemed to unfreeze and started fleeing the pub, causing a momentary bottleneck at the door.
"I'd thank you kindly not to scare away my customers, Spike," growled the bartender, a passing Foregner demon whose double penises were carefully hidden by his apron. "And put on some clothes. Unlike Molly's, your naked arse is not a pleasant sight.
Spike snarled and kicked the guy who'd shot him and was still cowering on the floor.
"Did you make the bartender with the two thingies clothes disappear?"
"You have the makings of a perv, luv. Should I be proud of that?"
Dawn beamed at him and waved him to continue as her adolescent mind tried to imagine a guy with two thingies.
"Spike, I'm bored," Drusilla whined. "All the food left."
"No killing in my pub," yelled the demon bartender. "You gave your word."
"Can't expect her to remember that," Spike explained. "She barely remembers to get dressed every evening." As he said that, he watched Drusilla picking at her clothing, the straps of her dress sliding down her arms. Grinning, he waved the weapon again at the bartender and the guy on the floor--the only two left in the pub--and said, "Jimmy, take this moron into the back somewhere and stay there for a while."
As Spike leveled the machine on Drusilla, Jimmy--a demon with a strong feel for the better part of valor and one who knew that anyone who saw Drusilla sans clothes tended to lose his eyes or privates or both--grabbed the other guy and hauled him by the nape of his neck through a door behind the bar.
"Spike?"
"Dru."
And he shot her.
"Ooh, Spike..."
"EWWWW! You did it right there?"
Spike gave Dawn an indulgent look and quaffed more popcorny blood. "Vampires, niblet. We'll do it anywhere, and being naked always makes me randy."
"EWWWW!" As he laughed, she stopped being squicked and gave him an intrigued look. "So...going to tell me what happened next? All the graphic details?"
"Yeah, sure. I have that much of a death wish," he snorted. "We'll skip that part."
An hour later, after the smashing of a table, a couple of bloody love bites, rolling around on the sticky floor, a couple of clawed up leather bench seats, and Drusilla howling her pleasure to the moon--and Spike doing a bit of howling himself--they lay exhausted on the bar, Drusilla draped sinuously around him as he lazily tangled his fingers through her curls and she purred in contentment.
"People really howl during you know?"
"Will you stop interrupting, and, yeah, sometimes. If you do it right. And stop looking so damn intrigued. You're way too young."
"Oh come on, I'm nearly sixteen."
"And if I have my way, you'll be a happy forty year old virgin some day."
Dawn rolled her eyes at that overly-dramatic statement. "And how old were you when you lost it? Fifteen? Sixteen? Twelve?"
Spike shifted his eyes away from her and gulped more blood, mumbling into it, "Twenty five."
"Huh?"
"Nothing."
"You said twenty-five! Oh my god, there were really twenty-five year old virgin men back then?" As she started to snicker and giggle again, Spike threw popcorn at her.
"That's not the point. The point was that Drusilla..."
"You want to what?"
"Make the whole world naked," Drusilla replied, dreamily as she traced patterns on Spike's chest with one bloody finger.
"Why? Do you know how many ugly naked people there would be? And all that flesh and squishy bits dangling in the wind?" He shuddered at the thought of the Queen of England naked.
"And also all those handsome men and sweet innocent girls to play with." Suddenly sitting up, she scrambled over him and dropped to the floor.
"Freezing to death at the first snow."
"So? It will take years to defabricate all the clothing on all the people of the world and some of them live in warmer climates. Some of them go naked already. Do you remember our trip up the Amazon in the 1920s? All those lovely naked natives to play with and eat? The whole world could be like that."
"No."
She began to pout, and Spike jumped off the bar, shaking the remaining bits of glass from his hair.
"We need to find clothes and get out of here before someone comes back with the local constable and we find ourselves in jail for public indecency."
"It's against the law to show your dangly bits in public?"
"Can we not refer to them as my dangly bits?"
"She really referred to them as your dangly bits?"
Noticing Dawn's eyes dropping to his crotch, Spike snapped, "Oy," at her and crossed his legs. "Stop that."
"Does this story have a point besides you being all randy and trashing a bar naked?"
"..."
"Your hair's all messy."
"I can tell," Spike snarled, patting at it. "At least I'd taken off my duster before that idiot defabricated my clothes." Reaching for the leather coat, he pawed through the pockets until he found a small bottle of Lucky Tiger Hair Gel, the same stuff he'd been using since the 1930s. Tossing the duster to Drusilla with the order to put it on because he'd be damned thrice-over if he was going to allow her to put on a show for the worm who'd shot him and that double-donged bartender, he poured some of the gel into his hand and began to work it through his hair.
Drusilla wrapped herself in the leather coat and wriggled. "It feels like you."
"Just keep it over your naughty parts." He watched her wriggle a bit more and smiled a bit sloppily as his body recalled their recent activities on the bar...against the piano...in that booth that now had half the stuffing pulled out of the cushions...
"So, it's true, that male vampires can get it up over and over again?"
"Soap, mouth," Spike threatened, making Dawn roll her eyes again.
"So, why did the guy shoot you with the clothes disappearing thing?"
"I'm getting to that."
"I bet it's a stupid reason."
"Well..."
At his shout, Jimmy and Nigel--as the shooter's name turned out to be which gave Spike much more understanding into why he was going around making peoples' clothing disappear--shuffled out from the back room, and while Nigel tried to angle his shuffling to the front door, Jimmy stopped, arms akimbo, and stared at the destruction.
"What the hell...? You're going to pay for this, Spike. You broke...you tore...and it reeks..."
"Oy, we do not reek!"
Nigel leered at Drusilla. "Someone got lucky."
She hissed at him and he nearly pissed himself as he jumped away from her. Spike was on him in an instant, grabbing him by the front of his trench coat and slamming him against the nearest wall.
"Why did you shoot me with that doohickie?" he enunciated clearly, trying to keep his temper under control.
"Y'know, if you hadn't made Dru's clothes disappear, you could be wearing your coat and I wouldn't be subjected to that flat arse of yours," Jimmy said mournfully.
"Will you stop fixating on my arse?"
"I could give Spike his coat," Drusilla offered helpfully.
"NO," yelled Spike.
"She really is a tramp, Spike," Dawn interjected, patting him on the shoulder. "You're much better off mooning over Buffy."
"I do not moon and Drusilla can't help it. It's all Angel's fault."
"Uh huh."
"Look, I'm nearly done with the tale. Finish your popcorn like a good girl."
"Hurry up. Buffy will be home soon and then it'll be all angst and mourning and soulful looks from you..."
"No soul, girl."
"Yeah, right, like that matters," Dawn mumbled but dutifully turned back to the dregs of her popcorn as Spike continued his story.
Convinced that Drusilla wouldn't strip herself naked any time soon, Spike turned back to Nigel who was cringing nicely and kind of green in the face. "Defabricator?"
"I told you, that was an accident. I pulled out the wrong thing. See, this coat has all these inner pockets and I can never remember which one has the gun in it."
"Okay, so why the hell were you going to shoot me with a gun?"
"Well, it all started about a hundred years ago and the killing of my great-grandda by the Scourge of Europe and we descendants have been hunting you ever since, well between a lot of losing our shirts in every stupid marketing scheme known to man and turning the occasional trick to get by."
"I'm not the Scourge of Europe."
"Huh?"
"You're talking about the big Irish git, forehead like a pancake, abysmal hair that stands up."
"But..." Nigel squinted his eyes. "Y'know, you are kind of short..."
"Hey!"
"And I think he's supposed to have brown hair and brown eyes and be a hulk. Huh." A chagrined semi-smile crossed the greenish face. "Oops?"
"I can see why your family is doing so very well in the world," Spike snarled sarcastically before picking up Nigel and tossing him through the window.
"Spike!" Jimmy groaned.
"Put it on my tab and go find me something to wear."
"Why did the little smelly man want to kill Angel?"
"For being a poofter, I'm sure."
"Well, that's just silly."
"And so is this story. Come on, Spike, that didn't really happen. There's no such thing as a defabricator."
Spike just smiled enigmatically as he sipped the remainder of his blood and wondered if it would be worth it to have Jimmy send him the defabricator he'd stored for him for the last dozen years. It would certainly get the Slayer out of her knickers faster than usual.
End