Hey, Plei. I think we're the only ones here. I see you're re-launching in style.

"Sorry, just thinking out loud." Buffy kicks at the pebbles, wishing again that they were somewhere a little less rugged and outdoorsy. Northern California is pretty, but it's short on ooky-spookies, and shorter on those that might be looking for them.

Faith takes a last long drag of her cigarette, looking at Buffy with her new, calm expression, making her next words seem more abrupt. "Wanna stay in my room tonight? Robin feels up to going out with the girls, so you and me can have a night off. 'Sides, I know that futon you're on's not so comfortable. I had it last week."

Buffy considers the lumpy futon that's waiting for her in the middle partition, the only one without a solid wall. The mattress in Faith's room isn't much better, but it has the advantage of being in a real room with four walls and a door. Which, thanks to the luck of the dice roll, is something Buffy hasn't had since the second week here.

"Sure." Buffy's learned the hard way that pride is no substitute for need, and she needs this, needs to have someone thinking about her, even if it is Faith.

The schoolbus is already gone when they get back to the house. Buffy wonders if Faith had all this planned ahead of time. She must have, because it's supposed to be Buffy's night to train. She looks pointedly at the empty parking spot, then back at Faith.

"Vi wants to see if she can start training the rest of them. She's a little gung-ho and way green, but I figured what the hell, you looked like you could use a break," Faith says, kicking at the gravel. "I left my window open so we can get in without having to talk to anybody."

From the sounds of things, Buffy's not the only one in need of a break. Still, she's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Quietly, they make their way to the back of the house and climb through the window like a pair of misbehaving teens in reverse.

Andrew and Xander's voices carry through the tissue-thin walls, urgently cheerful. It sounds like they've moved on from Anya to comic books, for which Buffy is almost unbelievably grateful. Not that she's especially thrilled to hear every third word of a conversation about Sandman, but it beats having to hear the catch in Xander's voice belying the glibness of his words.

"Girls' night in, so what do you feel like doin'?" Faith grins and gestures to the small bookshelf near the door. "We got Life, D and D, GURPS, and Shadowrun." The shelves are stocked with games and books on games, all in various stages of disrepair.

"Andrew really knew to pack the general interest entertainment, didn't he?" Buffy observes. When they found them on unpacking, Andrew claimed they were all part of his morale campaign. They've been gathering dust ever since. "Truthfully? I just want to sleep."

Faith's grin gets wider. "Sounds like a plan," she says, pulling off her shirt.

Buffy looks away, which she realizes is silly; over half a year spent sharing quarters with a seemingly endless supply of teenaged girls has erased most of whatever modesty she once had. It's just that this is Faith, and that makes it somehow different. She catches herself watching the distorted reflection in the window as it undoes its bra, releasing the full breasts and reaching up to rub away the indents from the straps.

As it turns out, Faith doesn't wear a nightshirt or pjs or anything but the sheets. Buffy turns around when that realization hits her. For a second, she thinks about asking for a t-shirt, but the part of her that still prickles around Faith refuses to allow it. She looks at the floor as she takes off her clothes, painfully aware that her bra is mostly decorative, you can count every one of her ribs, and her hips are more bone than curve. Without even trying, Faith's made her feel small and self-conscious again.

"We need a better mattress," she grouses brightly as she slips under the covers.

"Need a bigger house, too," Faith yawns. "Still beats prison."

"You think?"

"Well, the food's a little worse, and there's less privacy, but the cellmates are better, so yeah."

Buffy falls asleep with her face pressed against a lumpy pillow, and wakes up with it pressed against soft skin. She should, she knows, roll away before Faith wakes up, but they've left the window open, the room is chilly, and she's too comfortable to move. Besides, Faith's arm is tightening around Buffy's waist, and there's no way to move without disturbing her.

When Faith's fingers begin to stroke the small of Buffy's back, she starts to suspect Faith's awake. She doesn't say anything, because if she does, she thinks Faith might stop. She doesn't want Faith to stop. She doesn't want to think about the why involved with that. Instead, she keeps her eyes shut tight and breathes in the scent of Faith's skin. It's cigarette smoke and sea air again, and it's a different sort of comforting. Faith's fingers stray a little lower, and little to the right, and Buffy's soft intake of breath betrays her.

"Buffy?" Faith's hands pause on the question.

Her mind still muzzy with sleep and sensation, Buffy responds without words, moving a hand up to tangle in Faith's hair as she seeks Faith's mouth with her own. Kissing another girl is different somehow, softer, or maybe it's just that she remembers when that mouth was briefly hers.

She remembers when that body was hers, too. Buffy slides a thumb across the underside of Faith's right breast, seeking the mole she knows is there. A sharp moan from Faith, and suddenly kissing's no longer softer, it's hard and bruising and right. Faith slides a hand between their bodies, down Buffy's stomach and between her legs. Buffy stiffens uncertainly at Faith's touch, whimpering as she hears Faith's fingers parting wet, hot flesh.

Faith makes soothing noises against her mouth, and Buffy relaxes, parting her thighs to allow Faith better access. It doesn't seem fair that Faith's getting to do all the touching, so Buffy moves her hand down Faith's body until they're arranged like mirror images, dark and light, yin and yang.

They're both covered in sweat, and the room doesn't feel cold at all anymore. Movements grow faster in tandem, their breath harsh and rapid. Buffy feels Faith tighten around her fingers, and feels herself tighten in return. She starts to shudder, fracturing and melting all at once, moaning and mewling against Faith's mouth until she's boneless, senseless.

When she's able to form words, Buffy pulls back, looking at Faith, hoping to see some sort of clue about what to do next. "I should go," she says, not wanting to.

Faith gives a sated yawn. "Why?"

"Well, for starters, you're sort of seeing someone. I don't think this is something he's going to be happy about, exactly." She can hear the note of uncertainty creeping into her voice, and hates it.

With a sigh, Faith sits up. "Only thing he's going to be pissed about is not having an invite to watch." Her face looks as uncertain as Buffy feels. "You I'm not so sure about. You okay?"

Buffy smiles and reaches up to cup Faith's cheek. "Yeah," she says. "I'm okay." She pauses for a second, bites her lip. "If you are."

Faith's relief fills the room, warming it. "Yeah, I'm cool."

They settle in, cautiously curling next to each other. It's nice, like so much this night, right. Buffy buries her face in the crook of Faith's neck. She smiles again, unable to help herself. "Willow's going to claim we owe her a toaster," she says, pulling the covers around them before they fall asleep.

Yeah, well, I christened the thread with something like 40 pages worth of B/W when we first came up.

It's a thing.

I'm wondering if I should put up "Touch."

Nice, Plei. Both of 'em.

Nice nice.

Boy, I love LJs for posting fic. More V!Giles. This no-internet at work is certainly helping my writing production

[link]

Very nice Plei, and Connie since I didn't get to read it before.

Nice, Plei. I like.

Good stuff, connie. MORE!

And... because it's late, and I have to do something to keep myself awake, a couple things. First, Flash Fic #2.

Heads or Tails
Buffy/Xander, NC-17 (or strong R).

"Heads or tails?" Xander held up a battered quarter that looked like it had been at ground zero when Sunnydale imploded.

Dawn, Buffy noticed, didn't bother to open her eyes or lift her head from the sticky vinyl of the bus seat. "Which one means what again?"

"Heads, you sleep in the motel room; tails, you sleep on the bus."

"I should have let Child Services take me," Dawn groused.

Buffy kicked the bottom of Dawn's foot, staring at her sister with an exaggerated frown. "Just for that, I'm taking the room."

"Hey!" Dawn sat bolt-upright, her eyes growing as big as saucers. "You can't do that."

A triumphant smile and a palm opened to expose the room key caused Dawn's eyes to narrow, going from saucers to slits in half a heartbeat. "Already did. Besides, I'm the one with the almost-mortal wound to recover from. See you in the morning."

Dawn's muttered grumbles faded to blissful silence as Xander and Buffy exited the bus, each carrying bags of dirty clothing. Maybe if she'd explained to Dawn that staying in the room also meant washing everyone's blood and dirt stained garments, by hand, with whatever soap the motel room provided, they wouldn't have had to go through the coin-toss farce. She let herself in, taking in the ragged carpet and nicotine ivory of the walls, not allowing herself the luxury of remembering when something like this wouldn't have seemed palatial.

"Ah. Room sweet room." Xander's voice was overly hearty, the cheerful notes thick with the strain of maintaining them. She tried to remember when the chipper tones were real and whole. Maybe before she came back, or before her mom died, or before Riley left.

"Are we flipping for the bed, too?" Xander wasn't the only one who could force cheer, though granted, hers was a little closer, okay, a lot closer, to being real. "Cause, if we are, I'm going to have to go with heads."

A ghost of a grin crossed his face along side the shade of a leer. "Heads, you get the bed, tails, we both do?"

"We can share, or take turns. Your call. And there's free HBO, so we can stay up way past our bedtime watching movies our parents don't want us to see." It was almost easy to say the words, to slip back in time to when she and Xander and Willow would stay up until it was time to get up, watching movies and being kids. Back when the grin would have had two eyes to meet. Her own smile wavered a little. "Xander--"

"Buffy, don't," he looked at her, the cheerful mask frozen on his face. "I'm not up to being serious right now."

She bit her lip and started hauling the bags into the bathroom. The water pouring from the faucet was hard and yellowed with things she didn't want to think about, turning the bathtub into a murky swamp of fabric and slimy half-formed soap bubbles that grew murkier and muddier as she scrubbed at the various shirts, pants and socks. She glanced at her own shirt, still covered in blood and ash, hesitated, then stripped down to her underwear.

A choked sound from the doorway startled her. Xander stood there, one last load of laundry in hand, trying to look anywhere but at her. "I'll just leave these... here," he said, hastily backing away.

"Xander." He paused, keeping his head twisted patch-side out. "You should hand me your shirt and pants, too. They're kind of filthy, and there's no sense in us stinking up the bus."

"You know, in all my years of dreaming about taking off my clothes with you, this is so not how I pictured it." But he followed her orders, blushing the whole time.

"Xander, I've seen you in swim trunks." Swim-trunk Xander had been kind of cute in the moments before she realized who was filling those Speedos. This Xander was a little more bulky, a little more ragged around the edges, but still kind of cute. She tossed a bar of soap at him. "Stop blushing and start scrubbing."

Two people didn't make the job go twice as fast. In fact, two people scrubbing clothes somehow devolved into two people splashing each other and fighting over the tiny bottle of shampoo when the midget soap bars finally gave up. Xander lunged for it, missed it completely, and toppled into her.