No Vampires

Title: No Vampires

Author: michelle/shelly

Rating: R for bad language.

Pairing: faith/buffy< faith fantasy >

Improv: 29: Poolside -- cocktail -- disco -- beach -- pink

Disclaimer: these characters aren't mine. just having non profit fun with them.

Summary: Faith thinks before going to sleep.



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Start right before lights out. You have to time it right, you know? You get your timing off and you lose it. Bad timing fucks the fantasy. Too many sounds linger. The really bad sounds: the whining, the moaning, and worse? The crying; the god awful wailing and whimpering. So, you've got to get in the mood as soon as you can, block it all out. Find your starting place, if you know what I mean. Yeah. Get your grove on, so to speak. Maybe it's dark alleys or smoky clubs, musty basements, or how about a nice freshly dug grave? Umm...the smell of the earth all dug up and ready to receive its newest offering. Those used to totally do it for me. Not any longer, though. Now I'm all into beaches and shit. White sands and pink sunsets, as we lie about on poolside chaise lounges getting rubdowns from mostly naked and totally buffed and totally hot looking guys while we watch the sun sparkle against the rolling waves. Dig? And they are so grooving on us. Their want is so heavy and needy we can smell it, but we pay no mind. We're just relaxing and digging it, you know? We're just into each other. We've got the sun shining down on us, all hot and bright, almost burning our skin but not quite, we're just feeling *good*. And we're happy to be there.



And no fucking vampires.



After the rub down we shower. Rinse it all off, you know? Rinse away the sand, the dirt, the blood, the shame, and the murders, get all clean and pure again. It's nice. Real nice and so easy to be clean again. We dress up. Slinky and cool, silky and fresh fabrics that feel like cool hands against our skin. Nice and breezy. Yeah. The breeze runs right through our dresses, but it's a warm one so it's okay, we like it. A coat of lipstick, a sweep of blusher put one while we smile at each other as were tre the mirror and we're ready to go. Maybe it's a beachfront luau complete with roasting pig or an out of the way disco. Doesn't matter. We dance and drink our cocktails with paper umbrellas and lethal amounts of run and just enjoy ourselves. And we dance. When I kiss her she doesn't pull away. Her lips linger and even smile against mine. I laugh and return the smile before I let my tongue move in, tasting her finally. She tastes like the sun; bright and warm and I have to move closer and while I kiss her I tell myself to remember this; this is what Buffy tastes like. And when I fall asleep, it's just Buffy. No fucking bars, no fucking guards and no fucking vampires.



End