I still very much want the story where Spike is this long, slinky vamp-toy, lolling around in feral grace, wearing only a jeweled cat collar and leather pants. And occasionally there's a tug on his leash and he rolls over and rests his chin on his master's thigh, and a hand lazily pets his hair.
Wrapped around that kernel of an image needs to be 300k of plausible story that doesn't bitchslap characterization completely out of shape. Too bad I'm such a shiftless sloth or I would try to write it.
I went looking for a photograph I thought I remembered, one matching the tone of my little fantasy; I found several but not the one I wanted. If I could have combined them all I'd maybe have gotten something approximating the face of candle-waxen, luminous-eyed, lip-parted exotica inhabiting my inner vision. But not quite. So I'm letting that one go. Let me just say though: time spent browsing through Marsters image galleries is never wasted.
Though I am. Kind of wasted.
