Standing on her tiptoes, Buffy carefully places the scythe back in its storage place, wrapped in soft cloth and tucked on the top shelf of the armoire. The scythe isn’t seeing much action these days. She only had it out for show and tell with their two trainees. “Why is everything so tall here?” She mutters, settling back on her heels and closing the doors. “I thought people were shorter in the 1800s.”

“They were,” Willow says, sitting at the giant dining room table with her laptop, “but whoever built this place was rich. Rich people always like having lots of space they can’t fill.”

It’s a good point. Their current digs must have felt like a mansion at the time of their creation. Now, it’s a little worse for the wear. The Beckwith House was presumably built by someone named Beckwith over 100 years ago. By the mid-80s, it had become a bed and breakfast and it remained that until the late 90s. At one point, it evidently reached enough financial success that the owners built two additional cottages on the grounds, each with two cozy bedrooms and small, private kitchen/living areas. Unfortunately for the owners, but fortunately for Buffy and co, business wasn’t exactly booming over the last few years. By the time the owners were willing to sell, the whole property went for a song.

Buffy’s now the happy dweller in cottage #2, Dawn bunked next to her. Giles and his slowly re-growing book collection have taken up residence in cottage #1, leaving the rest of their merry band in the main house. Buffy’s not surprised to find herself living with Giles, Willow, and Xander. She hadn’t banked on Kennedy, Andrew, or Faith, but it seems to be working out so far. Willow’s happier than Buffy’s seen her in a long time. Xander’s having a harder time coping with everything they’ve lost, but surprisingly, Andrew’s ardent, overbearing approach to friendship seems to have charmed him. Faith is harder to gauge, but as far as Buffy can tell, she seems to be doing okay. She accepted Buffy’s suggestion that she stick with them without hesitation. Buffy would have figured Faith for a die hard city girl, but she seems to like their new environment.

Buffy does too, for the most part. It’s colder, that’s for sure, and it’s a bit of an adjustment for a Cali girl like her, but she likes the trees and the rocky beaches along the inlet. She likes her little cottage and she likes the big dining room in the main house where they eat together most nights. She likes the coffee shop on Second Street where no one gives her dirty looks for sitting too long people watching. She even likes the time capsule feeling of this place, furniture surely left over from Mr. and Mrs. Beckwith themselves mixed with tragic 1980s florals. She’s pretty sure Laura Ashley herself decorated the bedroom she now calls her own, but Buffy doesn’t mind it. It reminds her of her childhood home, back when the four of them were still a family and her biggest worries were Dawn stealing her Barbies and whether Mom would let them have ice cream after dinner.

“I’m pretty sure Erika’s mom thinks I’m Giles’s personal assistant,” Willow says, breaking Buffy out of her nostalgia. “She keeps emailing me and asking for updates from “Mr. Giles.”” She frowns at her screen.

Buffy snorts. “It’s because you were so polite and helpful when they dropped her off.”

“Stupid manners,” Willow says petulantly. “Next time I’ll follow Faith’s lead and disappear before they get here.”

“No, you won’t,” Buffy says, patting Willow’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen. “You’re a good egg, Will. You can’t help yourself. How about some leftovers to dull the pain?”

Willow sighs, but she nods and closes her laptop. “I could eat.”

In the kitchen, Buffy pulls out the container of stir fry leftover from dinner the night before and dishes them each a hearty bowl. The breakfast nook is sun-filled at this time of day, and they slide into the booth seats, eating their lunch under the trailing vines of house plants that Andrew has carefully hung in macramé nets above the table.

Buffy glances at the clock as they finish up. She’s meeting Erika and the other newbie, Meghan, out back to continue training. She’s going to channel her inner Giles and throw things at the girls while they’re blindfolded and have to use their senses to evade her beanbags. It should be a good time.

Willow pushes her bowl away with a deep sigh. “Well,” she says, “how’s Erika doing? I can’t leave Mrs. Williams hanging.”

Stifling a laugh, Buffy says, “See? Good egg.”

“Hmmph.”

“She’s doing good,” Buffy says. “She’s a quick learner and she works hard. I’ll start taking her on patrol maybe next week.”

“I’ll let her know,” Willow says, sliding out of the booth. “You back at it?”

“Yep,” Buffy says, following her. “All work and no play is starting to make Buffy a dull girl.”

“You could never be a dull girl!” Willow assures her as they walk their bowls to the sink.

“Last night I loaded up on wrinkle cream and then went to bed with Mary Higgins Clark,” Buffy says. “At ten o’clock.”

“On a Friday?” Willow grimaces. “Okay, maybe we do need to get you out of the house. And patrolling doesn’t count.”

“Next weekend?”

Willow nods. “Get ready to unleash your inner party animal.”

“Can’t wait.” Buffy picks up an apple from the fruit bowl and takes a hearty bite. She can hear the sounds of girly shrieking from outside. It doesn’t sound like the baby slayers are waiting for her to reconvene. “Duty calls.”

Buffy lets herself out the back door, still working on her apple. On the grass between the main house and Giles’s cottage, Buffy sees the source of the shrieking. Meghan and Erika are working together, simultaneously sparring with Faith. Buffy’s a little surprised to see her; Faith doesn’t usually volunteer to do much with the newbies.

In spite of their best efforts, Faith’s outpacing both of them and easily defending herself. It’s obvious she’s pulling her punches when she does strike back.

“B!” Faith shouts when she notices Buffy standing in the shade of the back porch. “A little help?” She ducks a wild punch from Meghan, sweeping her legs out from under her with ease.

“I think you got it!” Buffy calls back. “You’re dropping that left shoulder though!”

Surprised, Faith shoots her an indignant look. It’s the opening Erika needs and she tackles Faith to the ground.

Buffy chuckles, taking another bite of her apple. On the ground, Faith and Erika are now wrestling with zero finesse. It reminds Buffy of her and Dawn when they were a lot younger. With a last bite of her apple, Buffy heads for the stairs. “Okay you two, break it up!”

XXXXX

Walking quickly through the brisk evening air, Buffy checks her phone again. She frowns when she sees she has no new calls or messages. With three activated slayers in one place, they rotate patrols, each of them having a night off every third day. Tonight, it’s her and Faith. They did the usual routine, starting off together and gradually going their separate ways to cover more ground. Buffy’s side of town is decidedly dead, and not in the vamptastic way Sunnydale was. It’s dead as in ‘a doornail.’ She’s texted Faith three times, asking how her side is going, offering to meet up, and then finally, checking if she’s okay. There’s been no response to any of them. She’s completed the full circuit of her route now and is in Faith’s half, hoping to run into her. By now, she’s torn between annoyance and the tiniest bit of worry about Faith’s lack of response.

As she emerges from a thick area of evergreens, Buffy decides to head down to the beach on her way. She sighs when she sees three cars parked at the end of the lane leading down. There’s not much of a view at night, but during the day, the small hill provides a modest lookout onto the inlet ahead. For some reason, it transforms into a popular makeout spot at night, with a few cars inevitably parked there, couples steaming up the windows. She’d like to take the beach path, but not if it means getting an eyeful of some partially clothed teenagers in compromising positions.

She changes course, walking along the paved road back toward relative civilization. The homes get smaller as she walks further from the water and into a residential area. At this time of night, the houses are mostly dark, with a few porch lights illuminating their sleeping faces. Here and there, the blue light of TV screens shines from windows. Buffy zips her coat fully and puts her hands in her pockets. It’s late summer, and the nights are starting to get chillier as the days get shorter, which is one perfectly valid reason why staying out longer to look for Faith really ticks her off.

She’s now headed in the general direction of home, and Buffy feels some of her irritation draining away as she walks. She’s had three different cell phones tragically lost in pursuit of vampire hunting. Faith probably lost her phone while she was patrolling and she’s back at the house by now. Or maybe she left her phone at home on purpose. Buffy’s been tempted to do that a few times, if only to avoid text requests from Dawn when she’s up late studying (Stop in Circle K and bring me sour patch kids? Pleeeeeeease I’ll be your best friend). There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she hasn’t been able to reach Faith.

Buffy rounds the final corner onto the two blocks that make up downtown. All the stores are closed, but the pleasant hum of music and conversation still comes from the small bar located smack dab in the middle of the main drag. In spite of the fact that its primary clientele are college kids with no other options, The Goldfinch maintains its reputation as a dive bar, with cracked vinyl bar stools, decades of smoke seeped into its walls, and Natty Light on tap. Owing to the fact that it has no competition, it also functions as the de facto venue for local bands, of which there are exactly two. Right now, Buffy can hear the better of the two playing through the open door, the crowd shouting along with them. As she passes the door, she gets a wolf whistle from a ruddy faced guy with a popped collar. Buffy walks a little faster, not bothering to turn back even as he shouts a desperate greeting after her.

She’s half way up the next block when she hears it: rustling sounds and a low moan. Buffy pauses, tilting her head to listen better. The source of the sound is still ahead, slightly to her right, and seems to be coming from the small alleyway there. Buffy starts moving again, her steps silent. She walks carefully, avoiding dried leaves on the sidewalk that could give her away with their crunch. She listens as she walks, frowning when she hears another groan, this time muffled as though the person is being kept quiet.

At the mouth of the alley, Buffy hears the sounds of a slight struggle and then a gasp. She should be right on top of this now, and she ducks into the alley, keeping her back to the shadows as she scans the length of it for any hint of disturbance. Several yards off, tucked into a recessed doorway, she sees them: two figures in shadow, but one clearly pinned against the door by the other. Pulling her stake free from the wrist holster she’s wearing, Buffy steals across the pavement, intending to surprise the attacker.

She’s almost to them when the victim makes a strangled noise that sounds… Well, not exactly afraid. Buffy hesitates, stake in hand, and takes a second look. Up closer, she can see further into the shadows surrounding them: there are two women, both with long dark hair. The one facing away from Buffy is wearing a short skirt, pushed up to make room for the hand groping her butt.

The rustling continues at a more frantic pace, and Buffy realizes with no small amount of embarrassment that the victim is no such thing. Her jeans are open, shoved half way down her hips, and the other woman’s hand is pushed inside the front of them, two delicate, overlapping tattoos on her forearm flexing with her efforts. The woman facing Buffy has her shirt bunched up, her companion’s other hand underneath it.

Buffy freezes for a solid five seconds or so, long enough for her senses to take in and catalog more information than she really needs: the labored breathing of the two of them, the scent in the air, sharp and tart, the subtle sound of skin rubbing against slick skin. A hand gripping the back of an arm, silver ring catching the meager light. Her only saving grace here is that the woman against the door has her head bowed, tucked against her partner’s shoulder. All Buffy can see is her hair. No one has seen her yet. She can still escape this situation with her dignity intact.

Buffy starts backing away slowly. Seemingly totally unaware, the duo across from her reach a crescendo in their activities. The person on the receiving end bites out a groan that Buffy now recognizes as one of pleasure and not, in fact, imminent death by vampire. One groan becomes two, interspersed with rough panting. Buffy’s almost out of sight, almost succeeded in her escape, when the woman gasps and says, “Fuck, oh fuck, yeah, don’t stop.”

Buffy only half manages to stifle her ensuing squeak of surprise, because she knows that voice. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, but it’s too late. The woman facing away didn’t catch the tiny noise Buffy made, but Faith has exemplary hearing. Her head comes up, face pink but alarmed, and her eyes lock with Buffy’s. Then Faith is shuddering and a moan tears free from her lips, and Buffy is…

Buffy is…

Buffy is standing in an alley watching Faith come on some strange woman’s fingers. She regains control of her limbs, turning on her heel and nearly running out of the alley.

When she spills onto the street proper, she picks up her pace, running the rest of the way home. The B&B is mostly dark, with only a soft light burning in the foyer. Someone must have thoughtfully left that on for—Buffy shakes her head, bypassing the house, cutting through the side garden, and spotting her own little cottage. The light is on here too; Dawn always leaves it on for her. Fumbling her key out of her pocket, Buffy slides it into the lock with the desperation of every woman ever being chased through a horror movie. She gets the door open, ducks inside, and immediately hits the light switch off, plunging the living room into darkness. Leaning her back against the front door, she sucks in air. It takes her a minute to realize she’s still alone. Faith hasn’t pursued her home from the alley, and of course she hasn’t, because that would be ridiculous. It’s just that Buffy panicked completely and lost her mind a little.

Setting her keys on the hook beside the door, Buffy takes a deliberate, calming breath, then unlaces her boots. She leaves them by the front door, making her way through the darkened room to the bathroom. Her face is as red as a tomato, and Buffy frowns at herself in the mirror before she strips her shirt off and reaches for her face wash. She manages to get through her pre-bed routine, pull on a sleep shirt, and get herself tucked into bed without completely spiraling out again. Buffy congratulates herself and begins mentally running through a meditation chant, just to keep her thoughts from wandering in new, bad directions.

From her bedside table, her phone dings with an incoming text.

Buffy’s eyes snap open. She tells herself she’ll leave it until morning. There’s only one person likely to be texting her at this time of night, and whatever she has to say, Buffy doesn’t think she really wants to hear it right now. She closes her eyes again.

Breathe in relaxation.

Buffy opens one eye, glaring at the cheerful red case of her phone, usually a welcome sight.

Breathe out tension, she thinks sternly before she gives up.

With a sigh, she reaches for the phone, flipping it open. The screen illuminates, displaying one new text message. Buffy clicks into the messaging interface, wincing as she sees Faith’s name. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting to see, but it’s definitely not this. The message stares up at her in thick block letters:

Left my phone at home

“Left my phone at home?” Buffy repeats incredulously. That’s all she’s going to say after what just happened? Buffy closes the phone with an angry snap, putting it back on her nightstand. Rolling over, she pulls the covers up and starts again. Breathe in relaxation.

XXXXX

Buffy stands on the front porch of the main house, pulling her hat down over her ears as she waits for Kennedy to join her. It’s their night to patrol together, and usually Buffy doesn’t exactly relish those times, but tonight she’s almost relieved to be going out with Kennedy. Buffy successfully hid in the cottage for most of the morning and early afternoon. Taking Dawn shopping gave her an excuse to grab dinner in town rather than back at the house. Then she begged off movie night with Dawn and Xander, pretending she needed to do some chores at the cottage. Now, if Kennedy will hurry up, she’ll be off to patrol, and it’ll have been a successful day of avoiding all interactions with Faith.

That isn’t to say she hasn’t been on Buffy’s mind. It’s actually been a little hard to focus on anything else. The longer she thinks about what happened last night, the more embarrassed Buffy gets: embarrassed and ticked off. They live in a place that’s decidedly sleepy, but that’s no excuse for slacking off on patrol. Any manner of evil could have been afoot while Faith was getting her rocks off with… whoever that girl was. Plus, if anyone has the right to blow off patrol, it’s Buffy! She’s working her butt off with these baby slayers, trying to teach them basic combat techniques, how to use their senses in battle, fighting with quarterstaffs—totally boring stuff—and Faith makes very occasional appearances to help Buffy with sparring demos. She spends the rest of her time doing God knows what. When Buffy isn’t working with the newbies, she’s arguing with the insurance company on the phone, making sure Dawn is getting the parental attention she deserves, being pressed into sous chef duty by Andrew (who has appointed himself the house chef), or with Xander and Willow pretending they’re not all dealing with post-apocalyptic trauma. Her days are filled to the max. Faith, on the other hand, is only looking better rested and more relaxed since they settled into their new digs. It’s not fair.

Behind her, she hears the front door open and close again, heavy boots making their way across the porch toward her.

“I’ll take east, you take west?” Buffy offers, still fiddling with her hat. The eastern route from here takes her away from downtown, toward the college, and then the beach before turning around. West is neighborhoods, parks, and the commercial district. Buffy did that route on her last time out with Kennedy.

“Works for me.”

Stiffening, Buffy rolls her eyes upward. Come on, universe, really?!

Faith steps to her side, looking out across the darkened property.

“It’s Kennedy’s night,” Buffy says unhappily. 

Her tone is harsher than she intends, and Faith gives her a sideways glance before answering. “She asked me to switch. Her and Red wanna go to a movie.”

“So that means I’m stuck with Kennedy two nights in a row next week? You guys could have asked me.” Buffy knows she sounds like a brat. It’s just… she did such a good job of avoiding Faith all day and now they’re stuck together?

“Sorry, boss,” Faith says caustically. “Guess we forgot we work for you.”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“Whatever,” Faith cuts her off impatiently. “Can we just go? I’ll take west again; that’s fine.”

I’m sure it is, Buffy thinks. West will take her right past the Goldfinch. Maybe she’ll have time for an encore. “You remember your phone this time?”

Faith reaches in her pocket, pulling out a small silver phone. She flashes it in Buffy’s direction, then makes a show of putting it away. 

If she’s going for annoying, it’s working. Buffy has to grit her teeth to keep from starting an argument. “I was worried about you when I couldn’t get ahold of you,” she says, mentally congratulating herself for sounding so reasonable. 

Faith looks doubtful about that. “No need,” she says. “I was in good hands.”

Buffy’s eyes cut to her face at that, to find Faith staring at her steadily, a smirk on her full lips. It takes absolutely no imagination to conjure up the image of Faith, rosy cheeked and panting, her face contorting in pleasure, and Buffy immediately looks away. This is exactly why she didn’t want to see Faith today! She needs like a week’s vacation to bleach that image from her mind. “Do you even know whose hands they were?” She bites back, before she can stop herself. 

Faith doesn’t look particularly surprised by the barb, but neither does she keep up her teasing. Her voice goes flat. “Matter of fact, I do,” she says. “Let’s go; I’m getting cold.”

It’s on the tip of Buffy’s tongue to make a comment about how Faith didn’t seem to mind it last night, but she swallows that down and nods. Faith leads the way down the porch stairs, Buffy close behind. 

They walk together for the first little while, leaving the B&B property and cutting south to St. Theresa’s church and the associated cemetery. Unlike Sunnydale, there aren’t funerals every day here. Those that do occur aren’t usually for people who died from bizarre barbecue fork accidents. They still hit the cemeteries just in case. They also hit the funeral parlor and the train station. With the college here, most vampire bite deaths are actually students, and their bodies are frequently transported home for burial after some time in the funeral home’s cooler. Twice they’ve missed the body there and found just risen vamps climbing out of coffins already loaded into the train.

It’s different from Sunnydale—that’s for sure—but some things never change. The weird tension between Buffy and Faith seems to be one of them. They get through their joint route in mostly uncomfortable silence, and Buffy’s pretty thrilled when it’s time for them to split up.

“Be careful,” Faith says, as they’re walking up the wide, paved road from the train station back toward town proper. She’s taken to saying that whenever they split up. Buffy’s not sure if she started it with Kennedy and it bled over, or if Buffy’s semi-recent impalement has made Faith think she needs the extra words of caution.

“You too,” Buffy says.

They reach the intersection where they’ll split, Buffy to the right, Faith to the left, and Faith hesitates a second. “It’s pretty dead,” she says. “We could do your side together, go home early.”

The idea of staying with Faith for another few hours, feeling supremely awkward, does not appeal to her. Buffy says, “Your friend from the other night busy?”

“Didn’t ask,” Faith says evenly. 

“The old ‘get some, get gone’ routine?”

That makes Faith’s mouth harden. “You wanna split up, do your own thing, you can just say so. You don’t need to be a dick about it.” She turns on her heel and starts walking away.

“Oh, come on,” Buffy calls to her back, “you used to give me so much shit about Angel. You can dish it out but you can’t take it?” 

“That was a long time ago,” Faith says, still walking away.

Buffy frowns, watching Faith disappear down the street. She doesn’t have a rejoinder for that. She doesn’t know why she’s poking the bear about this at all, actually. It’s just annoying. Faith and her whole thing. No responsibilities, no need to please anyone but herself. The way that she still has absolutely no idea what Faith’s thinking or why she does the things she does.

Buffy ponders this as she sets off in the other direction. She’s still thinking about it, and maybe feeling a little bad, by the time she finishes her patrol. She’s dusted two vamps and walked one drunk co-ed back to her dorm, but all in all it was a quiet night. Resolving to leave the snark aside, she pulls out her phone and sends a quick text to Faith.

You hungry?

Buffy congratulates herself on swallowing her pride and extending an olive branch to Faith. There’s one diner that stays open late by campus, and they sometimes meet up there for a snack before they head home. This seems like a good, low stakes activity for them to do together. Full mouths leave fewer opportunities for pissing each other off. Her phone dings with an incoming text, and Buffy opens it again.

Got plans. Next time

Just like that, Buffy’s mood sours again. She starts the long trudge home solo.

XXXXX

Faith’s knee meets Buffy’s stomach, doubling her over. She moves lightning quick, bringing her closed fist down between Buffy’s shoulder blades.

Buffy stumbles forward, knees hitting the grass. She hears Erika and Meghan yelling encouragement toward both of them, but she keeps her focus. Her foot snakes around Faith’s ankle and yanks.

Tripped off balance, Faith tries to right herself. That gives Buffy the space to get on her feet, fists back up in position.

Faith grins at her. “Losing your edge a little there, B?” They’ve been at this for probably 10 minutes, and her face is flushed, sweat soaking into her hairline.

Buffy bounces on her feet. “Lucky shot,” she says. “Won’t happen again.”

“We’ll see,” Faith says, and they drift closer together, circling, both of them looking for an opening from the other.

Faith strikes first, as Buffy’s expecting. She blocks her punch easily, catching Faith’s unguarded torso with a left jab.

A soft oof leaves Faith, but it doesn’t give her any pause. They’re both pulling their punches. This is for demonstration. Just a friendly sparring session.

Faith evades her next punch by falling backward and uses her momentum to wrap her leg around Buffy’s thigh, pulling her down with her. Usually they’d separate here, both rolling to their feet and resetting, but Buffy hooks her arm over Faith’s ankle and twists her body, trapping Faith’s leg between hers and arching her back slightly.

Faith tries to wiggle free, then grunts as her ankle twinges. She looks at her leg, then at Buffy’s smiling face, before narrowing her eyes.

“You’re a slayer,” Buffy teases. “You can’t break an ankle lock?”

“Not without breaking you,” Faith says through gritted teeth.

Buffy releases her, rolling easily to her feet. She reaches down, intending to give Faith a hand up. Instead, Faith takes her hand and yanks her forward, bringing her feet into Buffy’s stomach and propelling her over Faith’s head so she lands on her back in the grass again.

Faith flips over her, straddling Buffy’s hips. She holds one of Buffy’s wrists to the ground. “You’re a slayer,” she says. “You couldn’t see that was a trap?”

Buffy’s quick with her opposing hand, grabbing Faith’s ponytail and pulling to the side. Unfortunately, Faith’s anticipating that and she goes with the motion. She doesn’t release Buffy’s wrist, so all this does is pull her down closer on top of Buffy. Her chest presses to Buffy’s, her ragged breath against Buffy’s face.

With Faith sitting on her, powerful thighs gripping either side of Buffy’s hips, Buffy can feel warmth radiating from between her spread legs. Faith’s flushed, panting, her brown eyes twinkling in glee, and the scene from two nights ago pops back into Buffy’s mind.

No, no, no, she tells herself, but her body doesn’t seem to get the memo. Her chest arches toward Faith’s, in what she hopes looks like an attempt to free herself. She pulls harder at Faith’s hair, and Faith’s breath stutters against her cheek in a way that feels decidedly out of place in a simple sparring match.

Buffy’s face goes hot, and she tries to yank her wrist free of Faith’s grasp. That only makes Faith tighten her hold. The pressure of her body on top of Buffy’s pelvis increases as she bears down to keep Buffy pinned.

Buffy’s clit responds with an inquisitive twitch, and she panics. Her hips buck, but that doesn’t dislodge Faith. So she releases Faith’s hair, shoves her arm between her torso and Faith’s head, then sweeps up with her elbow, hitting Faith’s face.

She hears the clack of Faith’s jaw being shoved closed, then Faith releases her wrist. She rolls off, cursing and bringing her fingers to her mouth.

Buffy goes in the opposite direction, already back on her feet before she realizes Faith’s still sitting on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Faith asks, lowering her hand to show her lip is shiny with blood.

Instantly, Buffy feels bad. “I didn’t mean to do that,” she says weakly.

Faith licks her lip, then looks at the two baby slayers, who are still watching them intently. “Take five, kids.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, and they get to their feet, disappearing back inside the house.

Faith slowly gets up, probing at her lip with her fingertips.

“I really didn’t mean to,” Buffy says again, drifting a little closer to her. “Are you okay? Let me see.”

“You didn’t mean to?” Faith asks incredulously, not moving her hand so Buffy can see her mouth. “I know you have better control than that.”

“I know,” Buffy agrees. “I panicked a little. I’m sorry.”

“You panicked,” Faith repeats. “Why?”

Uhh… “I felt, umm, claustrophobic all of the sudden,” Buffy offers. “I don’t know.” It sounds ridiculous, even to her own ears. But she can’t very well say that Faith’s orgasm face keeps popping into her head. And that she’s maybe just a little horny because it’s been a while so her body is confusing things.

Faith watches her for another minute before she drops her hand to her side. “This is about the other night,” she says, her face beginning to darken.

“No,” Buffy denies right away.

“Yeah, it is,” Faith says. “What, you think I’m trying to make a move on you? We’re sparring. The kids were right there.” She shakes her head, disgusted. “I knew you were a tight ass, Buffy, but seriously?”

Buffy bristles, opening her mouth to respond, but Faith keeps going.

“Never figured you were a bigot.”

What?? Buffy’s mouth falls open.

“One of those ‘gay people are fine I just don’t know why they have to be so in my face about it’ types,” Faith say, putting on a high pitched voice that presumably is supposed to resemble Buffy’s.

“That is not it,” Buffy cuts in aggressively, “but also, having sex in public where anyone could see you is a little beyond ‘being in people’s faces.’”

“Next time I’ll just bring the chick home and introduce her to the entire family before I can get her to my room,” Faith says sarcastically.

The image of that smarts in a way she doesn’t really understand. Buffy rolls her eyes. “I see why you wouldn’t want to, given your whole hump ‘em, dump ‘em philosophy.”

“I get it,” Faith says angrily. “You think I’m a whore. You’re better than me; nothing new there.” Her voice is raised, and Buffy looks anxiously at the house, hoping the new slayers aren’t witnessing this.

“No,” Buffy says, softening her voice somewhat. This is all going super wrong. “Look, I don’t care who you hook up with. Or where you do it. I care if you blow off patrol, and me, to get laid. I’m doing everything around here, and you—”

“That is such bullshit,” Faith says. “I do anything you ask me to do with training. You wanted a patrol schedule; we follow a patrol schedule. You—”

“Why should I have to ask you to help with the girls? You’re a senior slayer too. So why don’t you act like it?”

Faith’s expression is shifting between furious and disbelieving in equal measures. “Maybe because you make it so everybody’s afraid to step out of line? It’s your way or the highway, B. Always has been.”

This feels eerily similar to a conversation they had back in Sunnydale, and Buffy didn’t think it was fair that time either. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is, and I gotta tell you, it’s getting really fucking old.” With a final sneer, Faith strides away. She angrily yanks her ponytail loose as she goes. Buffy watches her retreating back for a moment, feeling miserable and angry and like she could scream. Instead, she turns around and storms off in the opposite direction, back to her cottage.

XXXXX

The Goldfinch is sparsely occupied, with Monday nights being one of the slower nights of the week. There’s no one checking IDs at the door either, which is why Faith is able to hustle Kennedy inside and into a dark booth without anyone noticing. She disappears to the bar, coming back with a drink in each hand and sliding one across the scarred wood table and into Kennedy’s waiting hands. 

“Salud!” Kennedy says, raising her glass and taking a sip. It leaves a foamy mustache on her. “Ahh, that’s good.”

“You gotta get out more,” Faith says, amused. She takes a drink of her own glass. It’s a local brew—okay but not great.

Eyeing Faith over the lip of her beer, Kennedy takes another sip, then lowers it. “What’s up your ass today?”

Faith gives her a dirty look, but Kennedy just shrugs, appearing unbothered. After a minute, Faith admits, “Buffy.”

Snorting, Kennedy asks, “What else is new?”

That’s fair—the two of them often irritate each other. This latest problem is a bit different though.

Across from her, Kennedy gives Faith an expectant look and rolls her finger in a ‘get on with it’ motion.

“She tried to catch up with me after patrol on Saturday,” Faith says, deciding there’s no reason not to tell her about it. “She saw a little more than I’d have liked.”

“Huh?”

“I was with somebody,” Faith clarifies. Not a random somebody, no matter what Buffy seems to think, but also not quite a girlfriend. Jamie’s a senior at the U, smart as hell, a good dancer, and willing to be adventurous about where they hook up. Between her roommates and Faith’s situation at the B&B, they’ve had to get creative.

“Oh,” Kennedy says, getting it now. “‘With them’ with them, like… in the throes of passion?”

Faith smirks. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but yeah, B saw some shit.” She’s still not sure how much exactly. Without a doubt Buffy was there at the end. If she’d ever envisioned this scenario before, she’d have thought that opening her eyes to see Buffy standing across from her, staring at her in complete shock while Faith has four of someone else’s fingers buried inside her would have been a bit of a buzzkill. Unfortunately, although Faith’s tried hard to get past the whole massive fucking crush on Buffy thing, her pussy hasn’t worked nearly as hard. Admittedly, this might have something to do with her time in prison. It seems like letting herself pretend it was Buffy’s hand between her legs all those nights was maybe not her wisest decision. She’s like one of those dogs with the bell now. One look at Buffy and she was off like a fucking rocket.

“That is new,” Kennedy says with decidedly more interest. “What’d she do?”

“Froze, I think,” Faith says. “Then she ran off.”

“And now?”

“We were sparring earlier, and I had her pinned. She almost knocked my teeth out trying to get away from me.” Faith rolls her eyes as she briefly covers the rest of their conversation. Even thinking about it pisses her off again. It isn’t even that Buffy hurt her—the lip was healed within an hour; Faith’s had worse—but the rest of it is really bothering her. The two of them have always been very different people, but after everything that went down with The First, Faith thought they were finally seeing more eye to eye. Having Queen B sitting in judgment of her sex life and accusing her of phoning it in on slayer stuff wasn’t what Faith was expecting anymore. Probably her own fault. She should know by now to just assume the worst out of everyone.

“Hmm,” Kennedy murmurs, idly tracing patterns in the condensation of her glass. “You know what her problem is.”

Shrugging, Faith says, “She’s a prissy bitch.” And a tight ass. And she thinks she’s in charge of everything.

“Well yeah,” Kennedy agrees, “but she’s jealous.”

“Of what?” Faith asks, beginning to feel grumpy and bored of the whole conversation.

Kennedy laughs, then stops abruptly when Faith only looks confused. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“What are you talking about?” Faith asks, taking a healthy swig from her glass. Alcohol doesn’t have much effect on her—the slayer metabolism is much too high for that—but she still feels like she’s relaxing a little bit. Probably the placebo effect.

Kennedy gives her a look that Faith imagines is usually reserved for small children. “Buffy. She wants you.”

Faith’s mouth falls open. “What?”

“She wants,” Kennedy over enunciates her words, “to fuck your brains out.”

“Are you drunk?” Faith glances skeptically at Kennedy’s glass. “You definitely haven’t had enough to be this out of your mind.”

“She’s upset she saw you with someone else,” Kennedy says patiently, “because she wants in your pants. Trust me.”

“I think you need to brush up on your Buffy and Faith history,” Faith says, although she’s giving some consideration to Kennedy’s words. “We’ve got more of a mortal enemies to reluctant allies thing going on. Not so much with the warm and fuzzies.”

“That why you were the last one out of the school when we fought the First?” Kennedy asks lightly.

Faith frowns.

“The rest of us were already on the bus by the time you came out,” Kennedy says. “It kinda seemed like you were waiting for her.”

Faith knows exactly what she means. She vividly remembers the stairs falling apart around her while she screamed for Buffy, and Buffy just stood there having a fucking moment with Spike. Stupid, she thinks. “Well, yeah,” Faith says quickly. “No woman left behind or whatever. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Kennedy says, holding her hands up in surrender. “It’s your call. I’m just saying that if you’re interested in her, and you are, in like the most obvious and transparent way possible, she’s interested too.”

“She doesn’t even swing that way,” Faith protests, remembering belatedly to glower at Kennedy over the whole “transparent” thing.

Kennedy shrugs. “She wants to swing your way. That’s all I know.”

“Whatever,” Faith says, trying to shut down the conversation now. There’s no way in hell Kennedy’s right about this.

“She wants to climb you like a tree.”

“Okay, I get it.”

“Do some two person push ups?”

“Kenn,” Faith says warningly.

“I’m just saying she wants to lick the glaze off your donut,” Kennedy says quickly, then sits back, taking a gulp of her beer and looking innocent.

Faith shakes her head. “Keep it up,” she says, getting to her feet to buy another round. “I’ll tell Willow who really broke that bottle of newt entrails she was so pissed about. We’ll see how long it takes to get your donut defrosted.”

Kennedy thumps her glass back to the table in indignation. “I’m trying to help you, and you threaten me?”

“Appreciate the advice,” Faith says, reaching across the table and picking up her glass, “but yeah, absolutely I am. Don’t test me.” She pats Kennedy’s head with her free hand and then takes her own glass, downing the last sip. She heads for the bar, putting Kennedy’s words out of her mind.

XXXXX

In the time that they’ve known each other, Kennedy has learned a few things about Buffy Summers. Behind the joyless, rigid slayer she first met, there is actually a pretty cool person. She’s funny, and she’s kind in a way that Kennedy couldn’t see before. Now that they aren’t optimistically going up against the ultimate evil and her uber vamps, Buffy’s actually a pretty good teacher for the newbies. She knows how to use seemingly every weapon ever, which is pretty dope, and she looks pretty hot doing it. Not that Kennedy would admit that last part to anyone, but it’s true. Buffy makes decapitating a Haxil Beast with a tree branch and brute strength look like it should be a new category in the Miss America competition. And Kennedy gets a front row seat to that show a few nights a week, so she really has no reason to complain about patrolling with Buffy. She’s learning a lot, and they’re something bordering on friends at this point, which is why Kennedy dares to open her mouth after she watches Buffy sulk her way through staking their second vamp of the evening with absolutely no puns to be heard. 

“Did I ever tell you about my friend Lauren?” Kennedy asks as Buffy’s fastening her stake back on her thigh holster.

Buffy looks up at the non sequitur, frowning a little. “I don’t think so.”

Kennedy tilts her head, indicating they should resume walking. As Buffy falls into step beside her, Kennedy says, “Sophomore year, we were best friends. I mean, like, best best friends, attached at the hip, did everything together.”

Buffy nods.

“This girl was amazing, right? Pretty, smart, hilarious, always there for a friend no matter what the problem was,” Kennedy steals a glance at Buffy, who is listening intently as she scans the cemetery around them. “So, like any budding young lesbian, I realized one day that I was, like, head over heels in love with her.”

Buffy raises an eyebrow at this.

“But I was afraid to tell her,” Kennedy says. “Even though I knew she liked girls, too. I didn’t think she’d ever like me. She was so cool, and I was still wearing a retainer.”

Buffy snorts, and then smiles apologetically. “I’m sure you were cool, retainer and all.”

“I definitely was not,” Kennedy says, “but that’s not the point. The point is, I didn’t tell Lauren how I felt, and junior year, she met Ashley.”

“Uh oh.”

“Mega uh oh,” Kennedy confirms. “Ashley was a total babe. A fucking cheerleader even, which I didn’t get because Lauren had, like, substance, right? And now she’s dating this cheerleader.”

“Hey,” Buffy says defensively, “cheerleaders can be multifaceted. I was a cheerleader.”

Waving her off, Kennedy continues, “Anyway, now she’s dating Ashley, and I am insane with jealousy about it.” Her face feels a little warm even thinking about this, but she reminds herself it’s all for a good cause. “We’re getting into arguments all the time. I start dating this girl Crystal, who I don’t even really like that much, just to see if it makes her jealous, and by the end of junior year, we’re not even talking. In fact she probably still hates my guts. I tanked our whole friendship because I was afraid to just tell her, ‘hey, I’m into you.’”

Buffy’s frowning slightly now, as if she’s finally starting to see where this is going.

“So, since then, I don’t waste time playing hard to get or hoping some girl will notice me. If I want someone, I go after her. It’s better than having regrets, you know?”

Buffy nods slowly. “But sometimes it’s better to just keep it to yourself, isn’t it? If it could ruin friendships. I mean, I get why you did.”

“Yeah, but if the friendship is strong, it’ll survive it,” Kennedy says, “and even if it doesn’t, wouldn’t you rather find out than just be miserable? Like with Lauren, I ruined the friendship anyway because I couldn’t deal.”

Buffy stops walking, turning to her with a look of dismay on her face.

Kennedy is mentally patting herself on the back already. I am so good at this relationship advice thing, she thinks. And Willow told me to stay out of it. Wait until I tell her about this.

“Kennedy,” Buffy says gently, “I get it, and I’m flattered, really, but I could never do that to Will—”

“What?” Kennedy cuts in, confused.

Buffy gestures at the space between them. “I think you’re just feeling this connection because we’re both slayers and things can get kind of heated on patrol. Your body responds to—”

“Oh my God!” Kennedy says, horrified now. “I’m not talking about me! I’m talking about you!"

Her brow wrinkling in confusion, Buffy protests, “But I don’t have feelings for you! Why would you think—”

“I’m talking about you and Faith!”

Buffy blinks, looking utterly mystified. “Now I’m totally lost.”

“You saw Faith with that Jamie chick and now you’re acting like a psycho! Because you want to be the one banging Faith!” Kennedy throws up her hands. “Obviously I wasn’t talking about me.”

At the word ‘banging,’ Buffy’s entire face has gone red. “It wasn’t obvious,” Buffy protests, looking agitated. “You were all, ‘Seize the day and tell your friend you’re into her! Let the chips fall where they may!’ And we’re alone; it’s late… I thought Willow was the Crystal here.”

“No,” Kennedy says, taking a step back and putting more space between them. How the hell has this spiraled so far away from her intention? “No one is Crystal. You’re me; Faith’s Lauren; and Jamie is Ashley except they’re not really dating. You could still have your Lauren if you grow a pair and tell her how you feel.”

Buffy looks like she might actually faint at this point. “She’s not my Lauren,” she says. “I don’t have a Lauren!”

“Can we just stop with the analogy?” Kennedy asks, finally giving up the ghost and just sitting down on the grass. “I’m getting a headache.”

“Me too,” Buffy says, sitting across from her.

Kennedy rubs the space between her eyebrows for a second. “Look,” she says at length, “forget the whole story. What I should have said is: you like Faith. Faith likes you too. At some point, for my sanity if not for your own, you two need to talk about it. Get together, bump uglies, or put it to bed. Whatever you want. But you can’t keep ignoring it because you’re both pissy, and I can’t take it any more.”

Buffy thinks about that for a second, looking put out. Finally, she asks, “Faith’s pissy? Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kennedy deadpans. “Maybe because you said she was a lazy slut.”

Buffy’s mouth falls open. “I never said that.”

Kennedy merely stares pointedly.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” Buffy amends meekly. “I just think she could do more with the girls!”

“And what’s that got to do with who she fucks?”

“Nothing!”

“So then why do you care?”

“I don’t!” Buffy says. It sounds completely hollow.

“Fine!” Kennedy says, abandoning this intervention. These two are exhausting.

Somehow, Kennedy manages to get through the rest of their joint route and all of her solo one without screaming out of frustration. When she closes the bedroom door behind her with a sigh, Willow’s in bed, reading a thick novel. She smiles a greeting. “Good patrol?”

“Patrol was fine,” Kennedy says tiredly, pulling her shirt up and over her head.

Willow frowns, then her face clears. “You tried to talk to Buffy?” She guesses. “I’m familiar with that ‘argued with a brick wall’ look.”

“You were right,” Kennedy says. “She’s somehow completely unaware of how deeply interested in getting in Faith’s pants she is.” She shucks her jeans off, then peels off her socks.

Willow sets her book aside, patting the space beside her. “We’re not all as in touch with our feelings as you are, honey.”

“It’s not even about the feelings,” Kennedy complains, crawling into bed next to her. “Every time the two of them spar, there’s more pheromones in the air than a goddamn feral cat colony. How do they not know?”

“Denial,” Willow says, wrapping her arm around Kennedy and scratching her back lightly. “Buffy is exceedingly good at it. Faith’s had time to hone her skills too.”

“I planted the seeds though,” Kennedy says hopefully. “Maybe that was the push they needed?”

“Dare to dream,” Willow says.

Kennedy huffs in exasperation.

XXXXX

At first, Faith thinks there’s no way in hell that Kennedy could actually be right and Buffy could be into her. They’ve known each other for years, and Buffy wasn’t even interested back when they first met and things between them were on less weird terms. Why would that change now when they’ve gone through all of this crap together? Still, Faith thinks there’s no harm in testing the theory.

The first test occurs when she spots Buffy leading the newbies through yoga poses on the back lawn. Faith changes into stretchy clothes and goes out to join them, rolling out a mat beside Erika. Faith’s already pretty stretchy, so none of this is a challenge for her. She’s able to follow Buffy’s instructions easily, leaving plenty of opportunities to steal glances at Buffy as she does. Sure enough, upward facing dog brings Buffy’s eyes to her chest. Fish pose makes Buffy’s face turn pink, and she can no longer make eye contact by the time Faith’s lowering her hips out of bridge pose. The tables turn a little bit during the wind down. They’re doing a seated forward bend when Buffy gets up, moving around behind Faith.

Faith stiffens as Buffy leans close to her back, her left hand sliding down Faith’s arm. “Your shoulder is tight,” Buffy says quietly, her voice quite close to Faith’s ear. She pushes her right forearm down on the top of Faith’s shoulder, applying pressure. “Relax,” Buffy murmurs, leaning closer.

Relaxing isn’t really on the menu with Buffy this close to her, but Faith tries. It helps that Buffy switches to pressing her fingers into Faith’s muscle, massaging at the tightness. She’s pretty good at this, and the shoulder loses some of the tension Faith usually carries there. After a moment, Buffy says, “Good,” and gets up, moving back to her own mat.

Faith manages to finish the rest of their cool down without any further interventions, having gathered some valuable intel. Maybe Kennedy’s right after all.

Still, Faith’s not totally convinced until the next time they spar. It’s Friday night, and Faith’s been through two patrols with absolutely no activity. No demons, no vamps, not even a drunk coed in need of escort. Faith’s senses have picked up absolutely nothing either night, and she’s spoiling to beat something up. She’s on the Western patrol route, so she could just head downtown and work some of her energy out dancing, maybe message Jamie and see if she’s around. Instead, she pulls out her phone and types a quick text.

Dead on my side. How’s yours?

Buffy responds a moment later:

Same. Just gonna sweep the beach then I’m done. Headed home?

Faith writes:

Meet you at the beach

There’s not much town to speak of, so it doesn’t take her too long to catch up with Buffy. Instead of taking streets all the way, Faith moves into the forest separating this part of town from the inlet. Something about the towering fir trees never fails to calm her down. Her feet are quiet on the needled forest floor. In the dark, there’s the occasional flutter of wings or the scuttle of small animals moving, but otherwise it’s silent. The tree cover is relatively thick, and, sans slayer sight, it wouldn’t be easy to find her way through here. On the few occasions when she’s seen night hikers out and about, they usually have headlamps. Fortunately, enough light filters through from the bright moon overhead for Faith’s enhanced eyesight to guide her.

When she steps from the trees out onto the rocky shore of the inlet, she spots Buffy immediately. She’s facing away, the moonlight glinting over her hair. Her hands are tucked into her coat pockets, shoulders braced against the slight chill in the air. The coat is belted around her waist, emphasizing the slight flare of her hips, and Faith pauses a moment, just looking at her. The talk with Kennedy seems to have brought Faith’s own feelings back to the forefront after she’d been successfully repressing them for some time. Faith’s doing her best to viciously smother them again, to mixed results. Right now, looking at Buffy’s back, she’s failing completely, her heart beating out the too-fast rhythm it spent most of her first stint in Sunnydale doing.

She forces her feet to move toward Buffy instead of standing here watching her like some stalker, calling out a soft, “Hey.”

Buffy turns, catching sight of her and smiling. She starts walking up the beach toward her. “Hey,” she says, when she reaches Faith.

“Anything exciting happen before I got here?” Faith asks, cocking her head toward the woods again.

Buffy shakes her head and starts moving toward the trees with her. “Nope, everything seems to be safe as houses.”

“Makes you miss the Hellmouth,” Faith says dryly.

Buffy snorts. “A little bit, yeah,” she admits. “Not that I’m not glad no one’s getting murdered, but maybe a few attempted murders would be nice? We could thwart ‘em.”

“Just a little psychological terror for the locals to keep us from being bored,” Faith agrees. “It’s not too much to ask.” She holds back a branch for Buffy as they step into the woods.

“Exactly,” Buffy agrees.

“Well,” Faith says lightly, “since we’re all dressed up with no place to go anyway, we could spar.”

“Out here?” Buffy asks, looking around them in surprise.

Faith shrugs. “You want Xander to mistake us for raccoons and turn the sprinklers on again?”

Buffy shudders. “Pass.”

“So then,” Faith says, stepping away from her and putting her hands up loosely, “let’s go.”

Buffy reaches down, unclipping her thigh holster and dropping it on the ground. “Okay, but the kids aren’t here. I’m not gonna hold back.” She shakes a stake free of her sleeve and drops it beside the holster.

Faith divests herself of two stakes and the knife strapped to her ankle. “Fine by me,” she says. She leaves Buffy enough time to finish dropping her weapons and get her footing right, then she leaps into action, starting with a light jab to Buffy’s ribs.

True to her word, Buffy doesn’t hold back (much). This isn’t a fight for survival, so they’re both pulling their punches a bit, but neither is it a teaching experience for the newbies. They fall into a fast rhythm easily, anticipating each other’s moves, both of them blocking the other’s punches instinctively. Faith switches up her tactics after they’ve been at it for a few minutes. She’s breathing hard, grinning, and her cheek is smarting from a lucky hit. Across from her, Buffy’s in similar shape, with a smudge of dirt on her forehead and her heart pounding hard enough that Faith can hear it.

Instead of blocking the next punch Buffy aims toward her face, Faith dodges, grabbing Buffy’s wrist and ducking under her arm so she’s got Buffy’s wrist against her back. She has Buffy against the trunk of a giant fir tree before she can so much as protest.

“Nice,” Buffy pants, her face against the bark. Faith’s crowded in close behind her, and when Buffy tests the limits by pushing away from the tree, it only serves to push her ass into Faith’s groin.

“I try,” Faith says, her mouth close to Buffy’s ear. “You give?”

Buffy again pushes back toward her, and again Faith squeezes her into the trunk. “You wish,” Buffy says through gritted teeth.

“Nah,” Faith says cheerfully, “I like when you wiggle like that.”

Buffy takes the time to give her a disapproving sigh before she swings her untrapped fist into Faith’s thigh hard enough to make her yelp. It’s enough to make Faith’s foothold unsteady, and Buffy shoves them both backward so they fall over.

Faith’s ass breaks their fall, and Buffy tries to roll away immediately. Faith grabs her ankle as she’s getting up, yanking it out from under her so Buffy trips forward.

She lands on her hands and one knee. “Not getting away that easily,” Faith says, her thigh still throbbing uncomfortably.

Buffy drops to her stomach in the dirt, turning her body and reaching down. She grasps Faith’s wrist, grinning before she says, “Neither are you,” and pulls Faith’s hand from her leg.

Pinning Faith’s wrist to the ground, Buffy flips so she’s on top of her in one swift movement. Her knees are on either side of Faith’s torso. She’s hovering, not quite sitting, above Faith’s chest, and if they were really fighting, Faith would be expecting a knee to her face.

But this isn’t a real fight, and the fact that Buffy isn’t sitting all the way down makes her a little less steady in her balance. Faith takes full advantage of that, grabbing the belt of Buffy’s coat with her free hand, and swinging her hips in the same direction that she pulls.

Buffy’s pulled sideways, and Faith goes with her, landing heavily on top of Buffy, their legs intermingled. Faith quickly slides upward so she’s fully crushing Buffy against the ground.

Struggling, Buffy shoves at her shoulder, and Faith presses herself down harder, resisting the pressure. She can hear Buffy suck in a breath, and it takes her a second to realize exactly why. She’s straddling one of Buffy’s legs and her own thigh is jammed tight between Buffy’s—tighter now with Faith’s attempt to fend off Buffy’s escape.

Faith glances at Buffy’s face, her eyes obviously wide even in the dark. “You gonna panic?” She asks, half serious. She moves her leg, lessening the friction between them.

Buffy shakes her head.

There’s a loaded moment where Faith assesses the situation. Buffy’s panting under her, her hand still gripping Faith’s shoulder, although she’s making no attempt to push her off now. Faith can feel the thudding of her pulse between her legs, the welcome warmth of Buffy’s thigh pressing deliciously against her. She can smell the mint of Buffy’s lip balm, her mouth very close to Faith’s, and the earthy, clean scent of the fallen needles and leaves beneath them. Buffy’s eyes skip down to Faith’s lips before she looks back up.

All Faith has to do is lean down; all she has to do is make the choice, and then they’ll be kissing. Buffy wants her to, it’s all over her face.

Kennedy was right, Faith has time to think, then Buffy makes the choice for both of them.

The hand on Faith’s shoulder slips into her hair and she pulls Faith down. Their lips meet, too hard and a little clumsy until they get the angle right. Faith’s on one elbow, and her other hand finds its way to Buffy’s neck, thumb directing her chin up.

Buffy’s leg bends, her knee coming to rest against Faith’s side. Faith’s heart threatens to thud out of her chest as Buffy’s lips part under hers. Buffy’s as minty sweet as Faith always imagined she’d be back when they were kids. Back then the mention of sex was enough to make Buffy turn red, and Faith wouldn’t have been able to imagine them like this, covered in dirt, a piece of bark in Buffy’s hair as she licks her way into Faith’s mouth like she belongs there.

Buffy’s other hand is finding its way under her shirt, cold fingers against the heated skin of her back. Faith’s hips roll against Buffy’s leg without her permission, and Buffy makes a little noise against her mouth, squeezing Faith’s side.

Faith does it again, intentionally this time. Her own leg drifts back to its original position, snug against the seam of Buffy’s pants, but before she can do anything else, she hears the sound of voices. They aren’t far off and seem to be coming closer.

Buffy stiffens underneath her, and Faith can tell she heard them too. She rolls off Buffy as she spots the wavering beam of a flashlight from the direction of the beach.

Faith gets to her feet, extending her hand down to Buffy. She pulls her to her feet easily, and then they separate, gathering their discarded weapons.

As Buffy’s doing up the last buckle of her thigh holster, Faith touches her back lightly. “You good?”

Buffy nods, leaning into her touch slightly before starting in the opposite direction of the voices. By the time the group from the beach makes their way past this particular spot, the two slayers are long gone, through the woods and back to the road.