by Mona

Someone wasn't a happy camper.

Not that I didn't like and kind of expect the stunned, open-mouthed expression B. was sporting. But it still stung.

Tuned out Giles's long-winded apologies trying to pass as explanations, her all-too-reasonable counters. Decided to scram.

Till her impatient hand on my shoulder stopped me.


Moving bodies, flickering beams of light cutting through the haze, thunder of club-sounds. Still easy to spot her.

She was dancing.

Not wildly, not with reckless abandon. But not shy or fake either.

Dancing the way they tell you to in rip-off motivation calenders-- like no one's watching.

"You her chaperone, or what?"

Sweet. Einstein here got it just wrong on first try. 'Course, not like I'd picked him after checking out his IQ test results.

"Try the other way around, Buster."


Now I couldn't shake the image of Buffy Summers in a prim, starched skirt with an apron.


I came to with my face in a pile of shit-- or something that smelled a damn lot like it-- aching everywhere. Didn't really help that it was freezing cold in these parts that time of year.

The hand on my arm was warm.


Soft yet strong voice that would've sounded dead calm to anyone.

"I know you like them big, Faith, but that droppage from the roof on top of the demon? Not too smart when they have a long, bludgeoning tail that's more flexible than the whole Cirque du Soleil."

She was scared.

Good on her.

When I opened my eyes and gingerly turned my head, trying to focus, her face swam into view, hovering just above mine. Strained and slightly bruised, but determined-- Buffiness as usual.

Whoa. Was that a smile? Never mind how forced, right? Smile's a smile.

I took the hand she offered me.


Five feet something stretched out on the bed before me, propped up on deceptively slim elbows, she was tilting her head; her hair was tumbling onto the pillow, revealing the graceful arc of her neck.

What a perfect place to start.

When I licked my way down her spine. Buffy moaned-- surprisingly loud. Emboldened, I lifted myself up and let one hand follow the trail of my tongue, bump for bump. Passed her tiny waist when stroking down her flanks with my other hand, and she drew in a sharp breath and wiggled her sweet little ass.

Too tempting. I gave it a short, playful swat.

"Faith-" She bucked up at that, almost throwing me off, and twisted around.

An dark sliver of chill in my belly; but she reached for me- strong hands gripping my shoulder, my hip.

Her eyes were wide and dark in the dim light. And Buffy's mouth was on mine.

Hot, wet, all those things mouths are; tangy but spicy like unripened strawberries and pepper, like one of those fancy-ass, kinda exotic dessert dishes in the food section of the Cosmo I used to read for the silly sex parts.

I let myself fall.


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