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“All right, Willow. Got the bag?” Tara called out to her girlfriend, knowing she was rounding up the last of the wayward clothing.

“Well, I think the bag’s got me. This thing’s bigger than I am. There’s got to be about three months worth of laundry in here!” Willow tried dragging the bag down the hallway to the basement steps, but it wouldn’t budge. “A little help?” Tara quickly moved to where her counterpart stood and they both hefted the bag over to the door and down the steps.

“That’s what we get for waiting so long, Will. I mean look at what we’re wearing! Even this stuff looks like it should be going in the wash. But, then if we did that, we’d be standing here naked.”

Willow’s left eyebrow shot up as she contemplated that idea. “Well, ya know…that doesn’t sound like too bad an idea. You, me, laundry, soap…a shag.”

“A Shag?” Tara laughed, wondering where Willow got that idea from. Then she remembered. “Sweetie…you’ve been watching BBC America again, haven’t you?”

“No…ok, well, maybe a little. But, you’ve got to admit…we bought that laundry soap we use because they were shagging. The power of suggestion.”

“Willow, we bought it because it cleans well. *Not* because the actors were in the throes of passion.” Tara rolled her eyes, but had to laugh watching the sparkle in her girlfriend’s eyes.

“Yeah, right…you know you wanted to shag, baby…the advertisement tells us to.”

“Sweetie, you are exactly what advertisers are looking for in an audience. You know they get paid huge bunches of cash, in brown bags, in order to subtly adjust our minds.”

“But when they’re adjusting my mind to shagging…what’s the bad in that? Remember last time, when we used that new floor wash to wash the kitchen floor…hmmm?” Willow smirked, as she began removing the clothes from the giant canvas bag and separating them.

“Vixen.” Tara laughed, reached around and kissed the redhead. Shaking her head at her girl’s continued use of the word “shagging,” the blonde aided in separating the clothes by color. When they finished, Tara stood in front of the washing machine, perplexed. “You know…I still can’t figure Buffy’s machine out. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful she let’s us use it, but, these dials are confusing. What the hell do they have all the letters on the alphabet here for anyway?”

“I dunno, baby. What setting did we use last time?” Willow asked as she hefted the giant bundle of whites on top of the dryer.

“I think we used ‘I’ last time, and we’ve been going backwards on the dial…so, um, let’s try ‘H’ today.”

“Ok, cycle ‘H’ it is.” As Tara set the cycle setting, Willow began tossing the white clothing into the wash basin.

“Will, honey…you’re sure we’ve got all the whites, right? We didn’t leave anything?”

“No baby, I checked and double-checked and so no white article of clothing should be left alone.” She finished tossing the clothes in, poured in the liquid soap, and closed the lid. “Oh Tar-aaa,” Willow sing-songed, grinning. “I’ve got the soap…fancy a shag?”

Tara turned around quickly, and sprinted for the stairs. “I might be persuaded, if you catch me first!” The redhead set off after her, and as she reached the top of the stairs and into the kitchen, she halted.

“Ahh, damn it!” She looked down, and resting comfortably in a corner near the basement door, were a pair of white socks. She picked them up and headed back down to the basement, muttering, “Stupid socks. Probably sat there thinking ‘are we supposed to be in there? Sorry we’re late!’” She tossed them into the washer and ran back upstairs. “Ok, Tara…where are you?”

“Where do you think I am, sweetie?” Willow followed the sound of Tara’s voice, and stopped dead in her tacks at the sight of her girlfriend lying across their bed. “Hi baby…ready for that shag, luv?” Faster than the speed of light, Willow slammed the door shut and leapt on to the bed…allowing the seductive power of the washing soap to take over.

Forty-five minutes later, the spent couple once again descended the staircase, ready to pop the clothes out of the washer and into the dryer. As Willow removed the clothes from the basin, her eyes grew wide as saucers. “No…no…no, no, no!” Tara turned around at the redhead’s anguished cries and saw the horror. Every piece of white clothing was blue. Every single piece. “Oh God. Noooo!! Tara! I can’t believe this! What the hell?!”

The blonde looked through the pile of wet, pale-blue clothes and found the stealth saboteur. “Ah ha! Here it is Will. Hidden inside your white peasant blouse…a blue pair of underpants.” Even though her clothes were ruined too, she couldn’t help but laugh at the utterly pathetic guilt-ridden look that ran across Willow’s face.

“Oh baby…I’m sorry. Awww, crap. I can’t believe this.” She placed two shirts in the dryer, just so that they could have something other than the holey messes they were currently wearing. She left the rest in the washer. “Oh! I know…it’s a conspiracy. The dark clothes were pissed that we decided to wash the whites first. So, they sent the undercover pants to infiltrate the white load and turn them all into that ugly ‘pants left in wash’ color. So, the blue underpants stayed hidden until we were distracted upstairs and then ‘surprise! Hello! I’m here! Muahahahaha!’ She continued, ‘evil underpants.’”

Tara couldn’t help but agree there, but for different reasons. “Yes, I agree…underpants can be evil.”

This time it was Willow’s turn to remark, “Vixen.”

“Don’t I know it.” She turned on the dryer so the shirts could finish. “Come on Will…as soon as these are dry, we’ll walk down to the store and get some bleach. We’ll get those clothes white again.”

“Ok.”

An hour later, Willow and Tara approached the entrance of the SuperMart, ready to buy the bleach that would cure the ‘pants left in wash’ color. Before they could enter the store, however, they were approached by a man…a man with a clipboard thing. “’Scuse me, Miss. Are you happy with your wash?”

“Am I happy with my wash? AM I HAPPY WITH MY WASH? Look at me…I’ve got clothes the color of ‘pants left in wash!’ Does it look like I’m happy with my wash?!” At that, Willow glared at the man, and stormed in to the SuperMart. Tara could hear her muttering, “BUNCH OF FLOWERS!”

The End
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The authors own nothing. Joss, UPN, WB, etc. own Buffy, the show, the characters, the places, and the backstory. The authors own any original plots.