(sex) on a beach, with sharks
by not jenny

And they kissed.

My drink is bitter, the vodka reminiscent of paint thinner, so I order another.

They fucking kissed.


Just because B and I are both slayers, doesn't mean we have anything in common.


I'm lying, of course, but then you already knew that.

Don't get me wrong, I mean, B plays a good game. Waltzes around with her little fanclub, as if to say, 'look at me, I do charity work, I'm Mother Fucking Theresa. I befriend the weak and pathetic.' Like we're all just waiting to give her a medal.

But the girl fucked a vamp, you know?

She ain't all sweetness and light, no matter what her little pals think.


They kissed, while I watched, and now. Now I need another drink.

A cosmopolitan, tart like B. Cheap, like B.

And when she teeters in on too-high shoes, all flushed and looking for action, I'm not surprised. She orders a sex on the beach, and the bartender looks at her cross-eyed. She's blonde and California and every fantasy he's ever had, so he gives her the good vodka, the stuff that goes down smooth, and doesn't charge her a penny.

He doesn't know her like I do.

He doesn't know that she's twisted and dark and tastes like cheap vodka. That she likes to bleed, sucks vampire cock (or she would, if it wouldn't mean the end of the world).

And they call me the bad one.


They kissed, Angel and B, but he's too much of a fag to get the job done.

Hell, if I were a vamp, I'd have turned B the second I finished fucking her. Would've made her eyeballs roll back in their sockets with pleasure, and again in pain as I slowly drank her soul. I'd have made her scream.

So, hell yeah, I'm gonna kill her. I mean, prophecy does say there's only supposed to be one slayer.


She falls off her stool, and the bartender's looking at her like he's won the lottery. I just grab B's hand and head for the ladies'. Better strike when the iron's hot, or so they say. When B can't feel her fingers, let alone throw a punch.

She tastes like vodka and peaches when I kiss her, when I push her against the wall.

I'm still gonna kill her, don't you worry about it. But first, I think I'll lick her entire body, from the top of her California head to the tip of her cotton candy toenails. Lick her till it fucking bleeds.

Bite her, harder than Angel ever did (that pussy), break the skin on her inner thigh.

She tastes like cheap vodka.

Cranberry juice.


She whimpers, but I just suck harder. Moans, and I growl. My tongue near her clit, and she's begging me, crying like a fucking baby, to let her come. To let her die.

I bite.

She screams.



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