whedonist: (Default)
[personal profile] whedonist
Title: The River's Daughter
Pairing: Buffy/Willow
Rating: PG-13 (for the first two pieces) the rest is all NC-17
Disclaimer: They're not ours. We're mucking about in Joss' and Others' sandbox for fun.

A/N: This is the 6th piece in a series of one shots co-authored by [livejournal.com profile] valyssia. This piece is set after the series finales before Season 8 comics, in fact my head canon states that the S8 comics never happened. My head canon is a nicer place with more continuity and better character arcs.

So before I go off on a long tangent, I just wanted to say thanks to Howard and Valyssia for whipping this puppy into shape and to those of you that read, thanks!

Oh, yeah, there’s a scotch bit of plot, but mostly…it’s smut…you’re welcome.

Hesperus in Retrograde

They’re up to something. Why else would they hike all the way down here to find me?

Moments later, Xander’s whisper carries on the breeze. I catch just enough to make out that I’m not wrong. He’s plotting an overthrow.

Er, more like an ‘overboard.’

I don’t think he knows my hearing’s that good. Casually, I lift my leg up and position my foot flat on the dock. I hug my thigh, which carries the added bonus of making me look that much more broody.

Will tries to talk him out of it. “Xander, don’t tempt her, please?”

Maybe if I ignore them, they’ll just go away.

Nah, that’d be too easy. They want something.

They should know I’m done giving.

We’ve danced around wiping our slates clean, but seeing as how most of us only did what we felt we had to to survive, there isn’t much genuine remorse to go around. What we’re sorry for…

I know that about as much as I know what our next moves are going to be.

Whatever they expect from me, they should know I’m done. I’ve got nothing left.

The lake’s more interesting. It laps at the supports of the dock I’ve been sitting on for the better part of an hour. At least it’s pretty here. Very picturesque in that ‘you wouldn’t believe it exists’ type way. Keanu didn’t even get this nice of a view. The regroup location is better than some of the others that we could have chosen. L.A. was a big ‘not in this lifetime.’

Dropping my other leg over the edge, I let it dangle above the water’s choppy surface.

Two weeks, give or take, after making our home a landfill and we’ve managed to make it only fifty miles southeast, outside this little, quaint, ‘never seen a vamp in the history of its establishment’ town called Solvang. They’re big on food and windmills here. The people are a little too nice.

I’ve avoided it.

Well, really, I’ve avoided everyone. Better that way.

There’s space out here on the lake. Sorely needed space, I might add. The cabin is huge, roomy, bathrooms aplenty.

Thank God.

I feel more than see Xander and Willow flank me. He plops down on my right and Will on my left. She sort of semi-mirrors my position. What my position should be. What it is now. Both of her legs dangle over the edge. And so do mine. But I’m probably taking too much on faith. Xander sits with his legs tucked in and crossed in front of him.

No provocative actions so far, but we are talking about shenanigans that will produce cold, wet boobies and clingy clothing. I don’t trust him. Xander is still a boy in the truest sense of the word.

I squash the snicker before it forms.

Jeans and sneakers are a standard over the past two weeks. The matching flannels, however, are not. The variation in the shirts is the ones underneath the half-buttoned-up blue plaid monstrosities. Will has a green V-neck underneath while Xander’s opted for just a plain white crew neck.

I glance at Willow’s fidgeting hands. They don’t tell me much, except that she’s nervous.

Big surprise.

Moving on. I focus on Xander instead. His hands are resting on top of his thighs. Following his arms, I look up into his eye. The lack of a plural makes me wince.

Right, apologies…



His lips press together and he blinks breaking our connection.

“What’s going on?” I ask, wanting to move things along. Getting this over with soon might be nice. I was looking forward to some more quality alone-time with the pretty lake and the dock and the soothing, splashy waves.

Xander shrugs and Willow huffs.

“We, uh…” she stammers, fumbling over her words in a way that I haven’t heard in a long time. “I thought—well, we wanted to check on you ’cause you’ve—”

Directing my attention her way just shuts her off. She clams up, hangs her head, her dark red locks falling over her face. My attention equals an off switch for Willow. That’s new.

My eyebrows drop, getting all bunchy instead. I ask, “And why…?”

Xander gulps and picks at a thread on the hem of his flannel. It’s like he’s trying to—

I’ve never seen Xander this cautious. If he’s working up the nerve to say something, he’s sure taking his time picking the words.

It’s like they’re trying to defuse a bomb. Since when am I bomb-like?

Okay, so…maybe since always, but—

I’m not that bad am I?

Well, it’s that or they’re mad. Are they mad? They could be mad.

How long can they stay mad at me?

Yeah, there’s anger there. Guilt too. It’s like we’re sitting around a Lazy Susan heaped with endless guilt, passing it around, sharing it out.

Maybe we should just not?

“’Cause we’re family,” Xander says. His head rises. He looks me in the eye. “We can fight, be stupid with each other, callous even, sometimes, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t worry.”

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He reaches for my leg, but stops short, hovering above my thigh for a second before he withdraws.

“You’ve been extra lonery, and if we sent one of the girls, they would have ended up in the lake. If we sent Dawn, there would have been screeching, so we—well, here we are,” Willow whispers next to me.

I run a hand through my hair, pulling it back off my face as their words tumble around in my head. The wind shifts, bringing with it a fresh, piney scent. I close my eyes. How much anger can I hold on to?

This is about me too.

I sigh. How much should I hang on to? Should I be pissed at them for everything that’s happened over the last few months?

Hell, the last few years?

“Also…” Xander’s hushed voice makes me open my eyes. “…we haven’t gone to a mall so you and Will can drag me from store to store in a quest for the ever-elusive ‘perfect pair of shoes’.”

Will slides a wrapped box, suspiciously long and shoebox shaped, onto my lap. Xander sets a cupcake on top and Will says, “So, we thought we’d bring the shoes to you and maybe some post-apocalypse snack-cakey goodness.”

Her dark green eyes blink at me through her fallen locks. I swallow. The lump lodged in my throat doesn’t budge.

Maybe Xander’s right.

My lips purse and puff as my arms fall to my sides. I plant my hands on the aged wood beneath me and look down at the cupcake. I tilt my head to the side and blink.

There’s a happy face on top drawn in yellow and green M&Ms that looks suspiciously Willowy in construction.

My eyes play mixy-matchy games with the lump in my throat, doing that annoying, ‘misty,’ ‘weepy’ thing, all stingy and bad. I manage, “I’m worried too.”

“Eh?” Xander asks, bumping shoulders with me.

I try to urge a moratorium on our collective complexes by saying, “I’m sorry about Ahn—”

“I can’t,” he chokes out, sputtering and coughing at the sudden topic shift. This time, when he reaches out, covering my little hands with his own large, manly ones, he squeezes and whimpers, “Maybe in ten years, not now.” His lone brown eye pleads with me for understanding.

I do. Shrugging it off, I pull my hand away and draw in a deep breath.

It almost feels like I could really cry. The regretful, upset, emotional-basketcase kind of crying, not the ‘isn’t that sweet,’ Hallmark moment kind of crying. I’ve never had trouble with that. Gimme a copy of ‘Steel Magnolias’ and I’m all over that.

I’d like to—really cry that is—but I think my ducts are Duck Taped shut. Or maybe glued or crusted or, like, wilted.

Whatever they are, they won’t work for that and Anya at least deserves my tears.

I clear my throat and reach for the cupcake. The cake is moist and soft under my fingertips. I rip it into thirds and hand over a piece each to my friends. Will smiles, Xander offers a lopsided grin and says, “Should’ve went with the Twinkie.”

My mouth pinches, nose crinkling and I shake my head. “Chocolate, Xand…it’s all about the chocolate.”

“Hmm-hmmm,” Will hums her agreement around the morsel in her mouth.

I take my piece and pop it into my mouth.

With a mouthful of cupcake, Xander tries to sing, “If I were kiiinnnnggg, of the forrrrest! Not Queen! Not Duke! Not Prince!”

From the corner of my eye, I see Will lean forward to stare at our friend. I’m sure her look of ‘what the hell?’ matches my own.

His mouth snaps shut and he shrugs. “It’s been playing in my head since we got here. Better than the Paul Bunyan song from that cartoon.”

I bob my head and let it go. It’s Xander. I don’t need much more of a reason to just accept and move on.

Will lays her head against my shoulder as Xander leans back, arching his back and wincing. A few of his bones crack. He rights himself. Through a sigh, he says, “I’m gonna go find Dawnie. Last I heard she was threatening to pull a ‘Parent Trap,’ honey and all, on Andrew.” The dock creaks beneath his feet as he stands. “My work’s never done.”

Imagining that is a horrible, terrible, awful idea, so of course, that’s right where my brain goes. Go figure, I snicker too. I really am twisted and wrong. Let’s see, how can I make it worse? “Tell her there’s some leftover rope lying around my room.” I glance over my shoulder, wiggle my eyebrows and grin.

Yup, that was it.

I mean, not that I don’t like Andrew.

Well, uhm…I don’t hate him. That has to count for something. I hope.

Xander kisses the top of my head and then Willow’s. “You girls behave, and if you go skinny dipping later, make sure you find me.”

Will and I give a collective groan as he scampers away. Shame, Willow’s swat misses him by a mile.

“You know,” I say as I open the door to my suite and flip the switch for the lamp on my nightstand. “I’ll admit I was going a bit Carson Kressley on you and Xand for the matching flannels, but I take it all back. I totally see the appeal now.” A fresh round of shivers makes me tighten my jaw as the wind rattles the windows of my room.

We overstayed our welcome at the lake. As soon as the sun set and the wind picked up, inside became the better choice.

“It’s okay,” Will lets me off as she shuts the door and joins me on my wonderfully large California King bed. “It wasn’t my first choice, but the town didn’t have much in terms of outerwear.”

I shrug. She’s right. I had to go with an ill-fitting Carhartt brown corduroy jacket. Talk about lack of shape and making me look twelve in the process.

“So,” I say, instead of bitching about our fashionless wardrobe, “where’d Kennedy run off to?”

Will’s feet kick the end of the bed and she shrugs. “Didn’t bother asking. I’m not worried about her right now.”


I guess.

Maybe things aren’t so peachy on Planet Sappho. No need for the third degree. She’ll talk when she’s ready…maybe.

Right now, I want to open my present.

A grin spreads over my face as I drum my fingers along the top edge of the box.

“Well, are you gonna open it or look at it all night?” Will says excitedly. She gives a little hop on the bed that bounces us both.

That’s the only encouragement I need to rip off the plain, light-blue wrapping paper and open the lid. Inside is a pair of nice, knee-high, black leather boots with just the right amount of heel and a bottle of wine.

Not sure about the wine, but whatever…shoes first. My sneakers hit the floor. I pick up the right boot, slip my foot inside and zip up the side.

It’s perfect.

Not too tight, not too loose.

“You did a great job, Willow,” I gush and wiggle my foot for her to see.

She gives me a classic Willow smile and says, “Xander picked out some hooker boots. I don’t even know why I took him.”

I compliment her again, “Well, you done good,” and slip the boot off. “Thank you.” Replacing the boot, I heft the bottle of wine and wave it in front of her.

She produces a corkscrew from her pocket and says, “I talked Xand out of buying a vampire themed bottle.” Her face scrunches causing her tongue to peek out between her lips as she shakes her head. “This one looked nifty and, oh, plus, its description at the store said it had a zest for life and it was bright and perky.”

Her brows knit together. “My mom used to have a glass of wine before bed most nights. She claimed it helped her relax. I thought we could—relaxation seemed—I thought it couldn’t hurt.” She cracks a smile and nudges my shoulder with her own. “Some might even say we deserve it.”

I shrug and look the bottle over. A picture of the Earth hangs in the background of a black sky, below it there’s a gold-foiled ‘Zin’ and a small fire at the bottom.

I know nothing about wine. “Cool,” I say and hop off the bed to go open it up at the little kitchenette in my room.

The place isn’t bad. They avoided the whole ‘cabin in the woods’ motif—no bear skin rugs or serious rustic wear—just simple stuff that makes it more homey than hotely. Browns and reds mostly make up the color scheme and the kitchenette helps when you don’t want to leave. “No wine glasses,” I say as I unwrap two plastic cups. “We’re going classy here.” I hold the cups up for her approval.

Willow snickers. “Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Deal,” I agree and pull the cork from the bottle. It gives off a loud pop. I bring it up to eye level to inspect.

Totally weird.

How do they fit it in there to begin with?

Oh, well. I toss the cork in the sink and pour two generous cups. The bottle gets abandoned on the counter next to the sink. There’s no way it’s coming within five feet of my bed. I know nothing about wine, except that it leaves big, ugly purple stains on stuff. I spin back to Willow who’s made herself comfortable against the pillows and headboard. She smiles and pats the spot to her right.

I slip onto the bed and snuggle up next to her. We both eye the cups in our hands before I propose a toast, “To our keen apocalypse avoidance, umm…” Not ‘issue.’ But ‘avoidance’ and ‘issues,’ uh…

What’s the opposite of an issue? All I’ve got is—

“To skill,” Willow fills in. “And when we can’t manage that, there’s pure, dumb luck.”

I laugh. “I’ll drink to pure, dumb luck.” Our cups come together and I down my glass in one gulp. The wine is sickeningly sweet at first and then spicy. It burns the rest of the way down.

Gross. I’ve had tastier cough syrups.

Willow’s nose is scrunched up and she’s trying not to gag. Once her eyes open, she looks to me.

I shake my head. Right there with ya, Will.

Not needing to be asked, I set my empty cup on the bedside table, hop up and dump the rest of the bottle.

Guess I’ll remain ignorant in the wine department.

Kind of a bummer. Always wanted to pull a ‘Sideways’ weekend. Without the motorcycle helmet to the schnoz, ’cause that looked ‘ouch!’

Leaving the empty bottle in the sink, I turn back to the bed.

Will’s already in bed. She left my side of the covers pulled back. She smiles and beckons me to join her.

I can’t argue. It’s not exactly warm in here.

Will wraps her arms around my middle, pulling me up to her. She doesn’t talk…which is good ’cause I’m not really up for any more serious conversation. Instead, her fingers thread gently through my hair. I listen to her heartbeat.

That’s all I really hear. The wind outside fades. The hum of the fridge goes away. I focus on her. Her heartbeat. Her blood flowing through her veins. It’s all Willow.

It’s comforting.

It’s comforting in a way that so few things are anymore.

This is like being pulled into a treasured memory. We used to do this in high school. We’d lay and cuddle and just—we’d be us. We took care of each other back then in a way that doesn’t happen much now. There’s too much hurt under the bridge. We’ve lost touch. But back then, when Will would get needy, I’d sense it and this would happen, and other times, she’d do the same for me. She’d just let me be. Like now.

These types of moments have been so few and far between. Fact is, that in terms of the number of people I’ve had this with, there’ve only been a few.

Angel—even without the heartbeat—being wrapped in his arms was as intimate as I’ve ever been.

Sex not factored.

There’s a difference. Intimacy and sex, or even snuggling-up, are different animals.

I was never just that relaxed with Riley or with Spike. Never, except once. Spike and I found this once right before the end. We sort of ran the pool of naughtiness dry—well, not ‘dry,’ but having pretty much done everything two people can do, we arrived at this.

Will and I just had this. We got here and there wasn’t any need to go anywhere else. She’s the only person I’ve been able to just be with and be intimate with without the expectation of something more.

Why am I just now noticing?

No clue.

I just know it feels nice.

Nicer than I’ve felt in longer than I care to remember. That’s a pretty sweet revelation.

“This is nice,” I hum and break the silence. Not sure on the ‘why’ for that either. I just—I wanted her to know.

Her finger slips under my chin, tilting my head up. I blink and barely have time to register her lips pressing against mine.

Their heat carries a jolt of energy. I react by holding her tighter.

Somehow, I end up on my back, and when I open my eyes, Willow’s looking down at me.

She’s exposed. More naked than actual nudity. The look on her face is like—

Like Angel. The looks he gave me sometimes. It was like I was the missing piece to complete his puzzle.

My heart’s all a flutter. Poor little thing.

I’m warm and happy. And who needs blankets?

Her leg swings over me. She settles low on my hips as we connect again.

I gasp and her tongue slips inside, gliding over my own. They dance together. My hands gather the back of her shirt and squeeze.

The whole firework metaphor seriously lacks. She sucks on my lower lip, teasing it with her teeth. Pretty lights and explosions don’t even come close.

Her mouth moves, breaking away from mine, gasping. Her lips glide up briefly and then down my right cheekbone to nip at the shell of my ear. Her tongue licks out. I hear, “May I?”

I nod. Forming words—stringing them together into coherent thoughts—not so much. Not going so well. Pretty much overrated anyhow. Uh…

Her hands slip underneath my thermals. Way overrated. She motions me up and pulls it over my head in one fluid motion. Her head lowers and I close my eyes, just feeling, letting myself relax. Who needs wine? My hands fall limply at my sides.

The distinction of lips and teeth and tongue blur. I only feel her.

I should be wigged.

I should stop this.

I don’t.

I can’t.

She works her way down, slipping my bra straps over my shoulders and releasing the clasp at my back. The move would probably make Fabio look like an amateur.

And with the words—and the stringing them together—

The bra goes in the same general direction as my shirt, dropped carelessly over the side of my bed as her attention shifts. She goes for my right nipple. Lips—soft and smooth—cover it. And wetness. And warmness.


She rolls my left nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Pulling on it just enough.

Groaning, my hips arch. I crash into her and break—

“Relax,” she coos, looking up at me, exposing a whole new Willow that makes me weak.

She’s always been pretty, beautiful on most days, but with her lips slightly swollen and moist, her skin ruddy and her kind of breathless…she’s nothing short of stunning.

“Please,” she says, “just let me take care of you for once?”

I reach up and cup her cheek, smoothing my thumb over her skin.

Always have a hard time saying no to her.

Actually, I suck at it.

She turns in to the touch. Playfully, she nips the pad of my thumb before returning her attention to my chest.

Heat builds in the wake of her touch. She winds her way down my chest and tummy, stopping to pay more attention to certain spots when I gasp or shudder. She’s attentive. Totally tuned in to me.

More than I thought someone could be.

Her hands explore along my sides, teasing me. She pays extra special attention to the raised pink scar.

Thank you, stupid, ugly Toucan Sam.

Eventually, she moves on. Reaching the waistband of my jeans, she snaps them open and works the zipper down, slowly revealing simple pink satin. She nuzzles the skin right above. My breath hitches.

She sits up just a bit—just enough to peel back my jeans. Barely tugging them past my hips, she leans down and nuzzles me through my panties. Her breath bleeds through the fabric, hot and wet against sensitive skin.

My eyes drift shut, cool air hits my legs and the pulsing, needy flesh between them.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet.

Turned on?



Yes. Hopelessly.

Feeling like my entire body is wired directly to my clit?

Not before now.

She slides back up my legs. Just as naked as I am. No more icky flannel. Her smooth skin feels amazing against mine. That twitchy, archy thing my back is doing stops. I hit the bed. Her hair tickles my legs. More twitches.

Who knew that sensation could be…that it could feel so damn good?

She peppers kisses along my inner thighs, slowly spreading them open.

I watch as her head dips and she plants a kiss at the top of my center, fondles the trimmed, wiry, curls there. My legs, just like the rest of me, have been kind of doing their own thing. They must like her thing, ’cause they fall completely open and she settles between them.

Her hands drift down and cup my bottom, raising me up. I bend my parted knees to help with leverage. In thanks, her thumbs sweep up and spread me open. Our combined heat mingles sending a small tremor through my frame.

She hasn’t touched anything remotely near the parts that really make me gooey and spastic, but I’m right there, hanging on the edge anyhow. Teetering on the brink and I can’t—

I don’t want to cum yet ’cause that’ll mean ending this…whatever this is, and…

The thought makes my heart stutter.

“You’re beautiful, Buffy,” she whispers. “Beautiful and perfect and amazing.” Her voice is thick, insistent and…

My hips twitch upwards, deeper.

Will’s sexy voice is just...

I gather fistfuls of sheet.

She hovers, breathing me in, staring at me, studying me…

Her lips brush against the inside of my thigh, high up and nowhere near where I want her mouth, but she’s not budging. Well, there’s some budging. She teases me, offering a playful nip in response to my jutting hips.

I finally crack under her scrutiny and beg, “Willow, please.”

She nuzzles my center with her cheek and sighs. “I should have known that your impatience would’ve carried over to making love.” Her breath drifts, hot and steamy over my thigh.

Is that what we’re doing…?

I haven’t done that in…

Once, really.

Her eyes appear from between my legs and I know she’s smiling. “Relax, Buffy,” she kisses my left hip and then...

Her tongue takes one firm drag downwards, from top to bottom.

My thighs tremble.

She doesn’t stop there. Oh, no, she dives in. Earnestly, even. Swirling around my opening. Will licks and sucks with just as much enthusiasm as she takes on most things. This time, though, she’s also…tender. As much as I hate that word…

She is though. She uses her mouth to tell me how much I mean to her.

Swirls and figure eights, firm licks and blunt strokes push me further along the edge to the loss of self-control. Just when it starts to get good—she’s actually beginning to paying attention to the really achy, throbby parts—she stops…and—well, ‘whoosh,’ ‘boom.’


I almost tear my own hair out. No clue how my fingers ended up all combed through—uh, yeah, but it’s a really bad idea. I release my hair ’cause ‘ouch.’

Her attention shifts stroking down one side and up another, reigning me back in. My head falls back against the pillows. My back bows…and there’s a whole lotta shaking going on.

Great. Now I’ve got a stupid fifties song stuck in my head.

I croak, “Will, please.” I’m begging you. Man, I sound awful.

She sweetly surrenders. One of her hands moves and two fingers slip inside briefly stroking me. Well, sort of. It’s nice, but—

Not quite.


She knows this.

I know she knows this.

She’s teasing me. Causing me to see spots.

Her lips find my clit and—

Oh God.

My legs lock.

Her left hand comes up, finds my right and she holds on, threading our fingers together, connecting us in another way.

I rock down into her eager mouth and hand. Her tongue swirls against me. She backs off when the touch is too much.

Then she finds it…finds the perfect amount of pressure right before—


Quake and shudder, muscles strain.

All the delicious, exquisite, agonizing tension…

It explodes inside of me.

I cry out.

When my eyes finally manage to do what I want them to—I want them to flutter open—Will’s hovering above me. She swipes at my cheeks, removing the…


I guess.


That’s never, uh…

She kisses my cheek and whispers, “You okay?” Her voice is so sweet.

I nod.

I think.

I guess I am.

That was…

The right side of her lips quirk up and she nips my chin. “Good. I need more.” She doesn’t wait this time. Her hand snakes down and begins with the fondling.

Oh, God.

My eyes slam shut against the sensation. How can she even…?

It seems sorta unfair though, I should—

Her fingertip teases my center, slipping inside and then back out.

I should do something. Something that’s…else. Something besides lay here and pant.

I want to make her feel—

No, I need to make her feel good too.

If I’m going to go through with this—and obviously, with the current—then it’s a go, I need to be an active participant.

Her lips glide over me, brushing against my cheek. I blink and focus on her.

Her words echo back, ‘making love.’ Is that what this is?

The tightness in my chest…?

Can I—?

Sex is easy.

I know I can do that.

The way she’s looking at me. I don’t even know if I—

Her weight settles on top of me, pressing me against the pillowy mattress. It’s the opposite of suffocating.

I lean up and bring our lips together, part hers open and run my tongue along the edge of her teeth. It elicits a moan from her and a groan from me.

I can do this.

I want to is more the point.

My hands let go of the sheets and cup her bottom. I pull her down harder, grind my center against her. Her knees were supporting her weight. Not now. They buckle.

Leaning back because ‘air,’ it’s a necessity, we rest our foreheads together, letting our hips move against each other, finding a rhythm that causes Willow’s breath to hitch.

Every muscle in her body is tensed, coiled, begging for release.

I want to give that to her.

“Will,” I murmur, “together—can we?”

She nods against me and manages to find my hand, detach it from her bottom and press it between her legs.


“Oh, God.” I gulp. “You feel amazing.”

I’ve never… My mind reels.

I find her clit and rub around it, mirroring her actions between my legs.

She’s so wet. Soft, supple, silky…

None of the words that rattle though my brain accurately describes how amazingly, powerfully, fantastically awesome it feels to touch her like this.

I lean forward, sealing us together, letting her tongue slip into my mouth this time. Giving her the control she seeks.

Her breaths grow shorter, more rapid.

We’re close.

Her mouth breaks away. She rests her head in the crook of my neck. Her fingers press harder. She whispers, “I love you, Buffy.”

Holy God.

The pressure and need to cum become too much to resist and I tumble.


Jerky and taut, I feel her come undone with me, flooding my hand.

We spasm and I keep it together just enough to draw her orgasm out, toying with her clit between slippery fingers and sensitive flesh.

Our bodies fall still together. She collapses, sinking into me. My hand falls, limp and useless.

I’m pretty limp and useless.

The beat of her heart jackrabbits, then ebbs to a sluggish thrum against my chest.

She curls against me. I muster enough strength to pull a blanket over us and wrap my arms around her, lacing my fingers together against the small of her back.

Completely content with our positions, I mumble, “Love you too, Will.” Anything else we need to say can wait.

That’s what’s most important.

A soft peck against my neck is the only confirmation she gives. She heard me.

That’s good.


It’s definitely one of those mornings where…

Everything’s warm, soft and perfect. The sun’s shiny and being helpful, streaming through the windows, falling just about perfectly, just enough to warm, but not so much to be uncomfortable and annoying.

And snuggly.

I haven’t even opened my eyes yet, but it’s amazing.

Wrapped up in…

Uh, what?

My eyes snap open.

And hello!


There are boobs.

I’m pressed against someone with boobs.

They’re in front of me and naked.

Like really, really, extra, super-duper, no clothing covering, boobs.

Okay, I’m not going to panic. I’m not going to freak out and—


I’m just not.


Maybe I can sneak away before—

Before what…?

They wake up and want seconds?

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

I tilt my head up and stave off hyperventilation for all of two seconds.

It’s Willow!

Willow’s naked.

Those are Willow boobs.

Boobs of Willow!

We’re all naked. Pressed front to front and—I shift enough to realize I’m just a tad bit sore.

Tender. And in the good way. In the ‘I got my world rocked’ way that should never accompany a night with Willow.

My best friend.

My best lesbian friend.

Breathe, Buffy. Just breathe and try not to wig.

But if there was ever a time to wig…

It would totally be now.

And it—that—the wigging—or any wiggage—it’d be totally justifiable.

I clamp my eyes shut. My teeth grind together.


Okay, so, plan?

Could use one of those.

First thing: sneak away without waking her up.

Gently, I slip from her arms and stuff a pillow in my place. It works as Will gathers that in her arms instead of me and snuggles. I slide off the bed and take a moment to look.

It’s cute. I’ll admit that. Totally adorable Willow. All snuggly.

Okay, next up: clothes. Focus. Clothes would be swell right about now.


I look around and can’t find—

Rounding my bed, I see them. Piled accusingly. The kind of pile that suggests haphazardness resulting from—

I’m a bad, bad person. I’m a stereotype. I had sexy, naughty fun with my best lesbian friend. I’m a cliché. I experimented. I had experimental naughtiness with—

I bend down to move my jeans and panties! My panties were kind of inside my jeans, half hanging out like both things were treated as one thing when they were peeled off me.

This is bad.

Panties are good. I put my panties on. I can do this. I’ve done this thousands and thousands of times.

Well, not exactly this. I used my best friend to satisfy some secret, repressed curiosity and I—


My bra’s underneath my jeans, between my jeans and my shirt.

Yup this is bad. This is bad, bad. The biggest bad is the great big gaping hole in my memory. I can’t even remember it. So not only am I bad and a cliché, I’m stupid. I’m a stupid, stupid girl.

A stupid girl who’s putting on her bra.

Plan. I had a plan. I need to follow the plan.

Second thing: make a clean getaway and deny everything.

I was out all night. Umm…

I was out all night patrolling. I was slaying Quaker vampires. That’s why I was out.

So, okay, check: clothes. I find my shirt and start to slip it over my head when my door starts to rattle and—

Whoever it is has the crappiest timing ever.


Shit! That’s Kennedy! Shit! Shit! Shit. And of course she’s shouting.

I scramble for my pants and look at the bed.

Will’s waking up and Kennedy—

I’m going to kill her!

Kennedy, not Willow. Though, I dunno—there could be ample killing for everyone if she doesn’t stop—

“Buffy! Open up!” she hollers from the other side of the door. “I can’t find Willow.”

More rattling and banging and badness.

Of course. So much for Quaker vampires.

The door frame makes a loud crack and a bunch of little pops.

I stop, one leg in my jeans and one leg out, horrified.

I know the sound of splintering wood.

Kennedy tumbles into my room, door knob still in her hand. The door’s still kind of on its hinges.

My door?

What door?

Uh-boy. She looks happy.

All kinds of not. Not happy. Not even close.

“Willow!” she screeches as her girlfriend—her very, very naked, in my bed—girlfriend, sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes.

Will replies, “Kenn?” Her voice thick from sleep. She does have the sense to cover up with the pillow I left her.

Kennedy’s narrowed, evil, pissed off, gaze sweeps to me in my half-naked state to her back to her completely naked girlfriend and—



“I can’t believe you!” she yells. “I knew it! All that ‘we’re just friends’ bullshit! I can’t fucking believe this!” The door knob gets abandoned, thrown to the floor as she picks up steam.

I put my pants on. I mean really? Let’s talk ‘sane things.’ The sane thing for me to do hasn’t changed. Getting dressed now before the riot breaks out.

And I even manage to pull that off just in time for round one.

She turns on me and swings.

“Whoa!” I say, ducking the sloppy punch.

She comes after me again…and she’s not dilly-dallying around. She even goes through the whole raging death threats thing I’ve heard a million times. “I’m gonna kill you!” Never over a naked girlfriend in my bed. That part’s new, but honestly, she sounds like Harmony. All she needs to do is tack a ‘slayer’ on there and—yeah, totally Harmony.

I block or otherwise avoid a few sloppy punches and kicks. This is getting tedious. I sigh.

It’d be nice if we could drop the drama long enough to figure out ‘how’ and ‘why’ this happened. There’s got to be a perfectly reasonable or totally irrational reason. I’d settle for either right now.

Willow shouts, “Stop!” finally doing something besides waking up.

The air thickens around us and I clue up. The reason Kenn isn’t still feebly trying to kick my ass is we’ve both been Willowed.

Kenn doesn’t take it well. “Let me go you, you stupid, lying bitch!” Yeah, she’s in total seethe-mode—with the pointless struggling and pointless—well, pointless everything. We’re not going anywhere until—

God, her timing stinks. I was leaving. I was going to be somewhere not here.

I was leaving Willow alone and naked in my bed. I was running away. As plans go, that one needed work.


‘Stupid’? Really? Since when? Willow’s like the anti of stupid. And ‘lying’? Not usually. She gets angsty over the teeny white ones. But the real shocker is ‘bitch’? That just tips the scales.

That was uncalled for. I shout, “Call her a ‘bitch’ again and I’ll show you what that word actually means.”

“Hey!” Willow yells. She wraps my sheet around her and stands. “What? How? When?”

I look at Willow. Like really look at her for the first time. Her confusion is painful. She’s as screwed up as I am.

“Buffy?” Will asks this time quietly.

I swallow.

I shrug.

I don’t know.

Our eyes follow the same path to the visibly empty bottle of wine. It can’t be. I’ve been drunk and—

Did we really get that drunk? I really didn’t think—

Were we that drunk?

Maybe. I don’t remember.

“You know what?” Kennedy hisses. “Just let me go. You want the cheating slut, you can have her.” Her posture relaxes as the air normals up. She storms out.

Good riddance to bad—

I could kill her. She’s—

She’s the deadest, dumbest, most braindead—

My shoulders sag. The truth hurts. She’s right.

I should feel bad, even if I can’t remember. I’m—

I got drunk and had sex with my best friend last night. My brain’s numb. And my life…?

I’ve sunk to a new low. My life’s now the stuff of bad sitcoms. How am I supposed to react to this?

I manage a feeble, “Will?”

She doesn’t answer.

I could start by brushing my teeth, but—

I lick them with my tongue. They’re just not that bad.

So I start ‘reacting’ by curling up in a ball on my bed. A solid sulk seems like a reasonable response. Thighs to chest, head in hands, ‘ball’ and much sulking.

The bed sinks as Willow plops down next to me.

Through splayed fingers, I mutter, “And a normal ‘morning after’ would be way too much to ask because—?” Is there normal? I don’t remember much normal.

Because normal just wouldn’t be us.

[ | Table of Contents | ]

[ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 ]


whedonist: (Default)

May 2013

567 891011
121314 15161718

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Apr. 21st, 2019 10:31 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios