Fic: It's In Our Blood - (Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam) Chapter Seventeen. (THE CONCLUSION.)
Title: It's In Our Blood
Author(s): angelbuffy
Artist: Skylar0Grace
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon, Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. If those two wrote together it'd be a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
Type: (Gen, Het, or Slash) Het
Word Count: 34,934
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam
Warnings: Sex. Violence. Language. All the awesome stuff.
Spoilers: None. Unless you haven't seen Buffy. Or Supernatural. Season six exempt.
Chapter Seventeen: (Conclusion)
The early weeks in June were weird in the Dakotas. The days were generally warm, the breeze enveloping around senses giving the silent promise of better weather. The rain was still cold, however, and the nights were a reminder that it still wasn’t summertime. It took Dean a week to get his car from the crash site to Bobby’s junkyard. The feelings associated with the events that transpired around the crash had sizzled his motivation to even look at the clump of metal that sat on top of the bed of the tow truck for a day and a half. He had to mentally resign himself to lay off the beer, and get outside. The view inside the house didn’t help his mood. The place was a mess. It was cluttered, only the paths created by frequent use were clear. There were years of dust and neglect collecting around possessions that were once held dear to a man and his wife. Now they were overshadowed and drowning by demonology books, faintly looking like antiques that had been under a constant flowing stream for twenty years. Some of the stuff wasn’t even recognizable; so broken beyond repair that all logic labeled it junk. The tiny semblance of memory that they held by just being there gave them enough justification to be worth keeping around.
This was the home of a hunter. This was the home of a drunk devoting his life to save others with a vengeance and a vendetta taking place comfortably on the backburner. It was a glimpse into what could potentially be Dean’s future if he made it that long. It was his future without the memorable possessions, and a whole lot more Jack replacing the Scotch that lined the shelves; the only bottles that didn’t have dust on them in the kitchen. He was grateful as all hell for Bobby, but at the same time, he let the thoughts of sympathy sit like a slow cooker in the back of his mind every time he stayed longer than a few days there. He couldn’t go anywhere without his car, not that he had anywhere to go.
She was his most prized possession. His baby, and she was totaled; a word that was used all too often around her. It took him half a rack of the cheapest beer to get her off the tow bed. They’d flipped three times, completely destroying the frame. He was still sore from that day; his shoulder straining against the work. It was just another constant reminder of events that he’d rather forget. In the end, succumbing to fixing his car proved to be a remedy for whatever the hell he was feeling. Pain, guilt, blood, sweat, depression. Every turn of the wrench was his own personal coping mechanism. He’d spend twelve hours in the beating sun and not recognize when it went down until he couldn’t see anymore.
It was hot outside. The dust from the junkyard had accumulated on the top of the impala, giving it a tone of faded black. As the sun went down and the light dimmed, his car was painted the color of the sky. That combined with the overall appearance made it look like just another vehicle in the salvage yard. At least it looked like a vehicle. He’d gotten luckier with the frame than he’d thought; somehow it’d managed to stay generally intact, which meant that he’d be more productive working on getting what made her purr back installed. It was the most difficult part, anyway. If he could get it to start, then he could work his way out and get the body her curves back.
“Hey.”
Half of his body was buried under the hood of his car when he heard it. It was barely a whisper, but it was clear enough. He had to allow himself a few seconds of complete immobility to digest it. He ran through the possibility of delusion, but the throbbing of his thumb from the earlier painful mistake was enough indication for him. Slowly, he set the wrench down at the top of the engine and pulled himself out so he could turn around.
The sun was setting behind her, and as unpoetic as Dean Winchester was, there were so many adjectives that he could use to describe that moment, and the woman who looked like she herself fueled the light behind her. He allowed himself a crooked smile as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His arm was covered in sweat, grease, and dust. Wiping his face didn’t do any good, as he felt the grains travel from one end of his brow to the other.
“…Buffy.”
It was stated without emotion, but that was the polar opposite. Overwhelming elation filled him to see her standing. To see life in her eyes and to see the life and strength that radiated from them.
He remembered the words clear as day like Castiel had just said them. He remembered how he felt as the revelation went through him like a slow acting poison.
~~
“She’s dead, Dean.”
“No,” Dean had his hand on her cheek. It had been on the cement floor so it was cold. His thumb caressed it, smudging the blood that was still there. He saw one of his tears fall into her blonde hair.
“I’m sorry.”
“Fix this, Cas.”
“It’s not-”
“Fix it.” It was a demand; A desperate demand. This wasn’t how she was supposed to die. Not this time. Not when he could have saved her.
~~
There she was, standing in front of him.
He leaned against the car and took in the sight of her for what felt like the first time. His body was trying to gravitate toward her, but his feet stood stationary.
Bolted to the ground.
As much as he wanted to hug her, feel her breathing, and taste her skin, he didn’t move because there was no way she wanted that from him. So he stood there, waiting for her move, watching her.
It was easy enough considering what she was wearing; his flannel shirt. And nothing else. If nothing else, he needed to hear the explanation for that.
The long sleeves smothered her hands, but the length was perfect, settling a few inches above her knees. Her hair was down, and she casually pulled a wayward strand behind her ear, before crossing her arms, and holding herself which made the shirt hike up even higher on her legs. He broke their eye contact to allow another glimpse while the silence was still serene.
She cleared her throat, and indicated with a nod of her head at the car. “It looks better than when I last saw it.”
He didn’t answer her, because his car didn’t matter.
“Are you… uh. ….Doin’ alright?” If she looked exhausted, or like she’d died, he couldn’t tell. No, he was too distracted with her. That’s when she smiled and let a small laugh out.
“I told you that I bounce back.”
Her laugh wasn’t filled with sarcasm or hurt. Although it wasn’t exactly filled with joy, he considered it an improvement. Hell, any sound that came from her was technically an improvement; the last sound he’d heard from her lips was a gasp of life as air filled her lunges on that cement floor.
Before she even had a chance to recover, Dean had demanded Cas take her back to her home, find Sam and Faith so they could watch her. So he could get out of town. He left his car in a heap and headed back to Sioux Falls, Bobby’s house.
His phone was destroyed with the car crash, and he hadn’t had the drive to purchase another one so he was forced to ignore phone calls.
He’d defaulted to a chair that sat in once was considered the living room of the old house. There was a chair that had a spring sticking out of the fabric, but it wasn’t noticeable with the correct angle. He’d sat in that chair for over a week and drank half of Bobby’s stock, thinking about Buffy. The woman whom he knew he could have fallen in love with, but the world that they both lived in was forbidding it. Those thoughts were the catalyst to the thoughts of his car, and the need to get the hell out and fix the damn thing up.
Sam had called Bobby to check in, but Dean had told him to stay with Faith. Misery loved company, but Sam was his brother.
As her laughter filled his ears, he couldn’t help but commend her for being addictive. He was smiling. It felt foreign.
“It’s good to see you, Buffy, ‘cept what the hell are you doing here?” He picked up a rag and wiped his arms as an uncomfortable gesture. He’d gone over in his head what he could say to her if he saw her again. Words were absent now in a flock of irony. She must have recognized the awkward, because she cleared her throat, and fidgeted with her hair again.
“I asked Castiel to bring me here.”
“So that’s where he’s been.” Dean hadn’t seen him since that night.
“Mostly. You ever get the feeling that you’re being watched all the time? It doesn’t bode well with me.”
“So Cas brought you here in my shirt. Which looks…. Good on you if you were gonna ask.”
“I figured I should return it.”
What.
He stared at her, trying not to take innuendo, but defaulting to it anyway. She took advantage of his silence by changing the subject.
“So I guess the knife was some kind of ritual key Cas was missing. So if more come after us-”
“They won’t touch you.” It came out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
“I’m not worried, Dean. I don’t make the same mistake twice. And… I’m fine. We’ll handle it.”
It was like she knew what he was thinking. He idly picked up the wrench that he’d set down and began to turn around back to the car. Before he could get a degree in edge wise, she closed the distance between them with an immediate stride, brought her hand up to cup around his ear, and with the same movement pulled him in for a soft slow kiss. He let her call the shots, feeling her tongue pry open his lips requesting entrance. He had no qualms; as her tongue meshed with his, he let his arm snake around her body in an embrace, clenching the loose shirt against her warm body. He felt her other arm hook up around his back as she let out a melodious sigh in his mouth. It made him clench her closer to him even more. He didn’t know what this was, but he never thought in a million years that he’d taste those lips again, or hear that sigh. He dropped the wrench almost immediately, letting it knock against his boot.
This time he broke the kiss, and moved his hands to her waist. She looked up at him so sheepishly that he couldn’t help but reassure her with a smile in return.
“What are you doin’, Buffy.”
“I missed you.”
“What?” He was dubious.
“The whole time. You left and I tried to hate you. I tried to be pissed, but all that came out of that was me being pissed at myself. It hurt, and it sucked. Then I see you again, and you shoved me away again.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but her hand went to his lips, freezing him.
“But I get it.”
“I’m-” She cut him off.
“Don’t. I know you’re going to try to apologize, but I don’t want to hear it because it doesn’t even need to be said. I know why you left. I want to yell at you for trying to protect me and be macho. I probably will eventually, but I don’t want to fight you. I’m not up to my preferred level of snark, and I had this mapped in my head before I came out here, but that kind of went out the window when I kissed you, so..” she was rambling. He couldn’t express into words how good it felt to hear her rambling. Instead, he just let her smile and go on. He didn’t bother moving his hands, and he didn’t even interrupt her as he hand fell away from his lips. He wouldn’t have been able to even if he tried.
“So that kiss was my selfish apology, because I really felt like kissing you, and I’m really bad with saying sorry. … And in a way, that was a thank you, too. Even though I hate the sheltered thing, and I hate the situation, even I can admit that I need to be protected once in a while. But you do, too. So I wanted to …tell you that. And that this isn’t your fault, no matter how many times you probably told yourself that it is. It’s just who we are. We get attacked, sometimes we die,” He flinched, but if she noticed, she gave no indication. “but that’s the risk. They’re not just after me, they’re after you, too. And if it’d have been you instead of me, I would have acted the same exact way you did. Because this world can’t survive without you, either. It’s why we were both brought back in the first place. It’s not just… coincidence that we’re still walking this earth. That.. and I really like you in this earth. With me in this earth. And can we stop with the pretenses?”
He was bewildered. “What?”
She kissed him again, biting at his lower lip, and then massaging it with her tongue, before breaking away. She pulled herself off of him, as he held himself back from desperately holding her closer. She moved away from his reach, her body leaving his first, leaving a void and a sensation of cold. Her arms lingered on his which were still attached to her waist, and gave him gentle squeeze of declaration as she let him go, and practically pried his hands away. It was her smile that gave him the assurance that letting her go was a good call. Buffy backed herself for support against the old ford truck that sat parallel to his car.
Her hands started at the first button of the shirt. He could feel her smile on him, her eyes for sure were giving off the radiance of victory, but for the life of him, he couldn’t pull away from that first button to confirm it. As the first button was undone, he could see the necklace she’d wore the first night they’d fought together. Behind it was skin begging to be kissed, and a finger that brought his attention back to the shirt. As the second button was undone, he could feel his heart through his throat as he tried to remember to breathe. Button after button revealed her slim figure; that figure that haunted his dreams since the only night he saw it in her raw beauty. He’d never thought he would see it again. She still had her smile, and she was still Buffy. Buffy Summers, the vampire slayer. His Buffy.
The shirt was completely undone, and he basked in the beauty of her. He couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed himself off the car to wrap his arms around her body feeling her skin tense while his calloused hands moved slowly up her back to remove the shirt completely. Her breath was on his collarbone, gooseflesh rising from his lower back up the rest of his body. He hooked her arms and brought his mouth down where her shoulder and neck met. He tasted salt and vanilla. He could swear he felt her heart pumping at the same rhythm as his. He held her there for a while, breathing her in, hugging her nearly naked body, refusing to remove his lips from her skin. He craved her too much. Her own hands managed to feel their way past the fabric of his shirt and jeans to rest on his side, her thumbs moving in a circular motion like an engine turning over, waiting for the gas pedal to be pressed.
He finally moved from her neck to her chest, kissing his way down the septum. He lifted her by her thighs, wrapping her legs around his body as he pressed her deeper into the truck, feeling it move under them. She had grabbed ahold of his shirt, and pulled it up over his head.
He made sure he had ahold of her slim figure when he pulled her away from the truck, and walked her to the backseat of his car. As her back sprawled on the leather of his broken car, he moved back, his hands starting at her ankles, as he let his hands feel every inch of her. His lips started at her thigh, traveling the length of her body, leaving trails of wet kisses and nibbles. With her legs spread, he settled himself comfortably between them so he could find her mouth once more. They fit together perfectly.
Her hands found the side of his face, and she kissed him slowly, less of a battle, more of a dance.
He didn’t know how this was going to work. The woman under him was his personal death warrant and vice versa. The more whatevers that found out about what they could do, the harder it was going to be.
He didn’t care, because for once, he could feel that the woman underneath him was just as selfish as he was. They grasped at each other like they were each other’s lifeline, and as he heard his name release from her lips in throes of passion, he longed to hear it again.
And he did. Over and over.
He couldn’t wait to wake up to her in the morning.
.-. Fin .-.
Fic Masterpost.
Backward to:
Chapter Sixteen.
Chapter Fifteen.
Chapter Fourteen.
Chapter Thirteen.
Chapter Twelve.
Chapter Eleven.
Chapter Ten.
Chapter Nine.
Chapter Eight.
Chapter Seven.
Chapter Six.
Chapter Five.
Chapter Four.
Chapter Three.
Chapter Two.
Chapter One.
Author(s): angelbuffy
Artist: Skylar0Grace
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon, Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. If those two wrote together it'd be a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
Type: (Gen, Het, or Slash) Het
Word Count: 34,934
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam
Warnings: Sex. Violence. Language. All the awesome stuff.
Spoilers: None. Unless you haven't seen Buffy. Or Supernatural. Season six exempt.
Chapter Seventeen: (Conclusion)
The early weeks in June were weird in the Dakotas. The days were generally warm, the breeze enveloping around senses giving the silent promise of better weather. The rain was still cold, however, and the nights were a reminder that it still wasn’t summertime. It took Dean a week to get his car from the crash site to Bobby’s junkyard. The feelings associated with the events that transpired around the crash had sizzled his motivation to even look at the clump of metal that sat on top of the bed of the tow truck for a day and a half. He had to mentally resign himself to lay off the beer, and get outside. The view inside the house didn’t help his mood. The place was a mess. It was cluttered, only the paths created by frequent use were clear. There were years of dust and neglect collecting around possessions that were once held dear to a man and his wife. Now they were overshadowed and drowning by demonology books, faintly looking like antiques that had been under a constant flowing stream for twenty years. Some of the stuff wasn’t even recognizable; so broken beyond repair that all logic labeled it junk. The tiny semblance of memory that they held by just being there gave them enough justification to be worth keeping around.
This was the home of a hunter. This was the home of a drunk devoting his life to save others with a vengeance and a vendetta taking place comfortably on the backburner. It was a glimpse into what could potentially be Dean’s future if he made it that long. It was his future without the memorable possessions, and a whole lot more Jack replacing the Scotch that lined the shelves; the only bottles that didn’t have dust on them in the kitchen. He was grateful as all hell for Bobby, but at the same time, he let the thoughts of sympathy sit like a slow cooker in the back of his mind every time he stayed longer than a few days there. He couldn’t go anywhere without his car, not that he had anywhere to go.
She was his most prized possession. His baby, and she was totaled; a word that was used all too often around her. It took him half a rack of the cheapest beer to get her off the tow bed. They’d flipped three times, completely destroying the frame. He was still sore from that day; his shoulder straining against the work. It was just another constant reminder of events that he’d rather forget. In the end, succumbing to fixing his car proved to be a remedy for whatever the hell he was feeling. Pain, guilt, blood, sweat, depression. Every turn of the wrench was his own personal coping mechanism. He’d spend twelve hours in the beating sun and not recognize when it went down until he couldn’t see anymore.
It was hot outside. The dust from the junkyard had accumulated on the top of the impala, giving it a tone of faded black. As the sun went down and the light dimmed, his car was painted the color of the sky. That combined with the overall appearance made it look like just another vehicle in the salvage yard. At least it looked like a vehicle. He’d gotten luckier with the frame than he’d thought; somehow it’d managed to stay generally intact, which meant that he’d be more productive working on getting what made her purr back installed. It was the most difficult part, anyway. If he could get it to start, then he could work his way out and get the body her curves back.
“Hey.”
Half of his body was buried under the hood of his car when he heard it. It was barely a whisper, but it was clear enough. He had to allow himself a few seconds of complete immobility to digest it. He ran through the possibility of delusion, but the throbbing of his thumb from the earlier painful mistake was enough indication for him. Slowly, he set the wrench down at the top of the engine and pulled himself out so he could turn around.
The sun was setting behind her, and as unpoetic as Dean Winchester was, there were so many adjectives that he could use to describe that moment, and the woman who looked like she herself fueled the light behind her. He allowed himself a crooked smile as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His arm was covered in sweat, grease, and dust. Wiping his face didn’t do any good, as he felt the grains travel from one end of his brow to the other.
“…Buffy.”
It was stated without emotion, but that was the polar opposite. Overwhelming elation filled him to see her standing. To see life in her eyes and to see the life and strength that radiated from them.
He remembered the words clear as day like Castiel had just said them. He remembered how he felt as the revelation went through him like a slow acting poison.
~~
“She’s dead, Dean.”
“No,” Dean had his hand on her cheek. It had been on the cement floor so it was cold. His thumb caressed it, smudging the blood that was still there. He saw one of his tears fall into her blonde hair.
“I’m sorry.”
“Fix this, Cas.”
“It’s not-”
“Fix it.” It was a demand; A desperate demand. This wasn’t how she was supposed to die. Not this time. Not when he could have saved her.
~~
There she was, standing in front of him.
He leaned against the car and took in the sight of her for what felt like the first time. His body was trying to gravitate toward her, but his feet stood stationary.
Bolted to the ground.
As much as he wanted to hug her, feel her breathing, and taste her skin, he didn’t move because there was no way she wanted that from him. So he stood there, waiting for her move, watching her.
It was easy enough considering what she was wearing; his flannel shirt. And nothing else. If nothing else, he needed to hear the explanation for that.
The long sleeves smothered her hands, but the length was perfect, settling a few inches above her knees. Her hair was down, and she casually pulled a wayward strand behind her ear, before crossing her arms, and holding herself which made the shirt hike up even higher on her legs. He broke their eye contact to allow another glimpse while the silence was still serene.
She cleared her throat, and indicated with a nod of her head at the car. “It looks better than when I last saw it.”
He didn’t answer her, because his car didn’t matter.
“Are you… uh. ….Doin’ alright?” If she looked exhausted, or like she’d died, he couldn’t tell. No, he was too distracted with her. That’s when she smiled and let a small laugh out.
“I told you that I bounce back.”
Her laugh wasn’t filled with sarcasm or hurt. Although it wasn’t exactly filled with joy, he considered it an improvement. Hell, any sound that came from her was technically an improvement; the last sound he’d heard from her lips was a gasp of life as air filled her lunges on that cement floor.
Before she even had a chance to recover, Dean had demanded Cas take her back to her home, find Sam and Faith so they could watch her. So he could get out of town. He left his car in a heap and headed back to Sioux Falls, Bobby’s house.
His phone was destroyed with the car crash, and he hadn’t had the drive to purchase another one so he was forced to ignore phone calls.
He’d defaulted to a chair that sat in once was considered the living room of the old house. There was a chair that had a spring sticking out of the fabric, but it wasn’t noticeable with the correct angle. He’d sat in that chair for over a week and drank half of Bobby’s stock, thinking about Buffy. The woman whom he knew he could have fallen in love with, but the world that they both lived in was forbidding it. Those thoughts were the catalyst to the thoughts of his car, and the need to get the hell out and fix the damn thing up.
Sam had called Bobby to check in, but Dean had told him to stay with Faith. Misery loved company, but Sam was his brother.
As her laughter filled his ears, he couldn’t help but commend her for being addictive. He was smiling. It felt foreign.
“It’s good to see you, Buffy, ‘cept what the hell are you doing here?” He picked up a rag and wiped his arms as an uncomfortable gesture. He’d gone over in his head what he could say to her if he saw her again. Words were absent now in a flock of irony. She must have recognized the awkward, because she cleared her throat, and fidgeted with her hair again.
“I asked Castiel to bring me here.”
“So that’s where he’s been.” Dean hadn’t seen him since that night.
“Mostly. You ever get the feeling that you’re being watched all the time? It doesn’t bode well with me.”
“So Cas brought you here in my shirt. Which looks…. Good on you if you were gonna ask.”
“I figured I should return it.”
What.
He stared at her, trying not to take innuendo, but defaulting to it anyway. She took advantage of his silence by changing the subject.
“So I guess the knife was some kind of ritual key Cas was missing. So if more come after us-”
“They won’t touch you.” It came out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
“I’m not worried, Dean. I don’t make the same mistake twice. And… I’m fine. We’ll handle it.”
It was like she knew what he was thinking. He idly picked up the wrench that he’d set down and began to turn around back to the car. Before he could get a degree in edge wise, she closed the distance between them with an immediate stride, brought her hand up to cup around his ear, and with the same movement pulled him in for a soft slow kiss. He let her call the shots, feeling her tongue pry open his lips requesting entrance. He had no qualms; as her tongue meshed with his, he let his arm snake around her body in an embrace, clenching the loose shirt against her warm body. He felt her other arm hook up around his back as she let out a melodious sigh in his mouth. It made him clench her closer to him even more. He didn’t know what this was, but he never thought in a million years that he’d taste those lips again, or hear that sigh. He dropped the wrench almost immediately, letting it knock against his boot.
This time he broke the kiss, and moved his hands to her waist. She looked up at him so sheepishly that he couldn’t help but reassure her with a smile in return.
“What are you doin’, Buffy.”
“I missed you.”
“What?” He was dubious.
“The whole time. You left and I tried to hate you. I tried to be pissed, but all that came out of that was me being pissed at myself. It hurt, and it sucked. Then I see you again, and you shoved me away again.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but her hand went to his lips, freezing him.
“But I get it.”
“I’m-” She cut him off.
“Don’t. I know you’re going to try to apologize, but I don’t want to hear it because it doesn’t even need to be said. I know why you left. I want to yell at you for trying to protect me and be macho. I probably will eventually, but I don’t want to fight you. I’m not up to my preferred level of snark, and I had this mapped in my head before I came out here, but that kind of went out the window when I kissed you, so..” she was rambling. He couldn’t express into words how good it felt to hear her rambling. Instead, he just let her smile and go on. He didn’t bother moving his hands, and he didn’t even interrupt her as he hand fell away from his lips. He wouldn’t have been able to even if he tried.
“So that kiss was my selfish apology, because I really felt like kissing you, and I’m really bad with saying sorry. … And in a way, that was a thank you, too. Even though I hate the sheltered thing, and I hate the situation, even I can admit that I need to be protected once in a while. But you do, too. So I wanted to …tell you that. And that this isn’t your fault, no matter how many times you probably told yourself that it is. It’s just who we are. We get attacked, sometimes we die,” He flinched, but if she noticed, she gave no indication. “but that’s the risk. They’re not just after me, they’re after you, too. And if it’d have been you instead of me, I would have acted the same exact way you did. Because this world can’t survive without you, either. It’s why we were both brought back in the first place. It’s not just… coincidence that we’re still walking this earth. That.. and I really like you in this earth. With me in this earth. And can we stop with the pretenses?”
He was bewildered. “What?”
She kissed him again, biting at his lower lip, and then massaging it with her tongue, before breaking away. She pulled herself off of him, as he held himself back from desperately holding her closer. She moved away from his reach, her body leaving his first, leaving a void and a sensation of cold. Her arms lingered on his which were still attached to her waist, and gave him gentle squeeze of declaration as she let him go, and practically pried his hands away. It was her smile that gave him the assurance that letting her go was a good call. Buffy backed herself for support against the old ford truck that sat parallel to his car.
Her hands started at the first button of the shirt. He could feel her smile on him, her eyes for sure were giving off the radiance of victory, but for the life of him, he couldn’t pull away from that first button to confirm it. As the first button was undone, he could see the necklace she’d wore the first night they’d fought together. Behind it was skin begging to be kissed, and a finger that brought his attention back to the shirt. As the second button was undone, he could feel his heart through his throat as he tried to remember to breathe. Button after button revealed her slim figure; that figure that haunted his dreams since the only night he saw it in her raw beauty. He’d never thought he would see it again. She still had her smile, and she was still Buffy. Buffy Summers, the vampire slayer. His Buffy.
The shirt was completely undone, and he basked in the beauty of her. He couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed himself off the car to wrap his arms around her body feeling her skin tense while his calloused hands moved slowly up her back to remove the shirt completely. Her breath was on his collarbone, gooseflesh rising from his lower back up the rest of his body. He hooked her arms and brought his mouth down where her shoulder and neck met. He tasted salt and vanilla. He could swear he felt her heart pumping at the same rhythm as his. He held her there for a while, breathing her in, hugging her nearly naked body, refusing to remove his lips from her skin. He craved her too much. Her own hands managed to feel their way past the fabric of his shirt and jeans to rest on his side, her thumbs moving in a circular motion like an engine turning over, waiting for the gas pedal to be pressed.
He finally moved from her neck to her chest, kissing his way down the septum. He lifted her by her thighs, wrapping her legs around his body as he pressed her deeper into the truck, feeling it move under them. She had grabbed ahold of his shirt, and pulled it up over his head.
He made sure he had ahold of her slim figure when he pulled her away from the truck, and walked her to the backseat of his car. As her back sprawled on the leather of his broken car, he moved back, his hands starting at her ankles, as he let his hands feel every inch of her. His lips started at her thigh, traveling the length of her body, leaving trails of wet kisses and nibbles. With her legs spread, he settled himself comfortably between them so he could find her mouth once more. They fit together perfectly.
Her hands found the side of his face, and she kissed him slowly, less of a battle, more of a dance.
He didn’t know how this was going to work. The woman under him was his personal death warrant and vice versa. The more whatevers that found out about what they could do, the harder it was going to be.
He didn’t care, because for once, he could feel that the woman underneath him was just as selfish as he was. They grasped at each other like they were each other’s lifeline, and as he heard his name release from her lips in throes of passion, he longed to hear it again.
And he did. Over and over.
He couldn’t wait to wake up to her in the morning.
.-. Fin .-.
Fic Masterpost.
Backward to:
Chapter Sixteen.
Chapter Fifteen.
Chapter Fourteen.
Chapter Thirteen.
Chapter Twelve.
Chapter Eleven.
Chapter Ten.
Chapter Nine.
Chapter Eight.
Chapter Seven.
Chapter Six.
Chapter Five.
Chapter Four.
Chapter Three.
Chapter Two.
Chapter One.