Sex on Sundae

“And Giles,” Xander said, winding up his improvised lecture on why Anya reminded him of tutti-frutti ice cream, that had expanded to cover everyone they knew, “is vanilla.”

He took a quick slurp of his rapidly melting chocolate fudge and nodded wisely, oblivious to his sudden acquisition of a moustache. “Not boring, no, just sort of bland.”

Spike, a silent observer, sighed. “Tell me, Harris; what’s two plus two?”

“Four?” Xander said cautiously, suspecting a trick.

“Nice to see there’s something you can get right,” Spike replied, stalking off.

Vanilla, his aching, well-whipped arse. Giles was clearly a passion fruit.

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