Fic: Mutually Assured (Faith/Buffy, PG13)
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Mutually Assured
Pairing Faith/Buffy
Rating PG13
Words 620
Prompt for aaronlisa at femslash_minis, who wanted a solo mission for them post-Sunnydale, and dawn (time, not person!), with no Slayerettes (sorry, they snuck in, but offscreen only). The main prompt was the quote: "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."
"Your back!"
"Back atcha."
Three vamps, not two, and they hadn't scoped out the location sufficiently to avoid surprises like this. But Buffy got one, Faith got one, and the third got caught between two efficiently-flying stakes.
Job done. Just like always. Just enough difficulty to be exciting.
“Yanno, B,” said Faith, later, “We’ve been doin’ this a long, long time.” She had a beer, Buffy had a Diet Coke. Some things don’t change. But they were both in bottles, matching. Because there’s no point drinking after Slaying if you can’t kick back and drink till dawn. Especially sitting with a bottle dangling from your (mostly) manicured fingers, getting every guy in the place to go quiet and think happy thoughts about strong, expert fingers and what they might do for him if you deign to look his way. Which you don’t. (The manicures were only ever mostly perfect, because Slaying takes a toll, and some things in life are more important than nail polish).
Buffy closed her eyes. The glass of the bottle was cool against her fingers. The bar was just loud enough to be comfortable, but not so much that low-voiced conversations couldn’t be had. Good. Low-voiced and Faith went together well. When she got loud, heads would turn. “Yeah… Yes, we really have. You know that was the seventeenth graduating class last month? They’re babies. Even if they are mostly eighteen, and we were… whatever. Also, I found a grey hair. Not... you know. Not on my head.”
Faith laughed comfortably. “Yeah? Well, lemme tell you a secret B. You blondes, you’re the lucky ones. Betcha had a few before that you didn’t even notice. Me, I’ve been plucking ‘em out since I was thirty-two.” She took a long pull at the beer bottle, swallowed hard, and said, “Fuckin' ageing process.”
“Did you have a point when this started, or is this just one of those nights where we contemplate our mortality? Congratulations! You’re the oldest Slayers ever! Bad news? You’re the oldest Slayers ever...”
“I had a point.” Faith peeled the label off her beer, incrementally. Avoiding Buffy’s eyes. “Just... we’ve been doin’ this a long time. Isn’t it time you admitted you love it?”
It? Isn’t it time you admitted you love me? Unspoken.
Buffy sought distraction, and found her sunglasses suddenly fascinating. “Faith, it’s not like we’ve ever said...” Which was so true. After Sunnydale, they’d stuck together through one part mutual support to three parts mutual distrust. Knowing that a split between them could split the Slayer movement. And that would be bad. Hence, keeping company became their baseline. If you're under each other's eye every minute, how far apart can you get?
Slaying together always felt good. The rest... the rest had come upon them incrementally. Teasing kisses to shock the others, playing on their chemistry and finding they liked it. Quick fumbles to get off when post-slayage getting-off felt essential. The day they moved headquarters yet again and both wanted the master bedroom, and couldn’t be bothered to argue or pretend any longer. But they’d never become official. Just matter of fact, together.
Fidelity had never been part of the agreement. And yet... how long had it been? Faith with that green-eyed girl in Guadalajara... no, make that Buffy and the sorceress in Minsk, because that had been more than just the mission, whatever she'd claimed. And Minsk was... more than eight years ago now.
Faith maybe had a point. Those kind of enemies, who needed friends?
They’d never been good at talking. So Buffy reached over and snared Faith’s beer, finished the dregs with a long swallow, then kissed her girl.
Today, they’d see the dawn someplace better. More private, and together.
***
Title Mutually Assured
Pairing Faith/Buffy
Rating PG13
Words 620
Prompt for aaronlisa at femslash_minis, who wanted a solo mission for them post-Sunnydale, and dawn (time, not person!), with no Slayerettes (sorry, they snuck in, but offscreen only). The main prompt was the quote: "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."
"Your back!"
"Back atcha."
Three vamps, not two, and they hadn't scoped out the location sufficiently to avoid surprises like this. But Buffy got one, Faith got one, and the third got caught between two efficiently-flying stakes.
Job done. Just like always. Just enough difficulty to be exciting.
“Yanno, B,” said Faith, later, “We’ve been doin’ this a long, long time.” She had a beer, Buffy had a Diet Coke. Some things don’t change. But they were both in bottles, matching. Because there’s no point drinking after Slaying if you can’t kick back and drink till dawn. Especially sitting with a bottle dangling from your (mostly) manicured fingers, getting every guy in the place to go quiet and think happy thoughts about strong, expert fingers and what they might do for him if you deign to look his way. Which you don’t. (The manicures were only ever mostly perfect, because Slaying takes a toll, and some things in life are more important than nail polish).
Buffy closed her eyes. The glass of the bottle was cool against her fingers. The bar was just loud enough to be comfortable, but not so much that low-voiced conversations couldn’t be had. Good. Low-voiced and Faith went together well. When she got loud, heads would turn. “Yeah… Yes, we really have. You know that was the seventeenth graduating class last month? They’re babies. Even if they are mostly eighteen, and we were… whatever. Also, I found a grey hair. Not... you know. Not on my head.”
Faith laughed comfortably. “Yeah? Well, lemme tell you a secret B. You blondes, you’re the lucky ones. Betcha had a few before that you didn’t even notice. Me, I’ve been plucking ‘em out since I was thirty-two.” She took a long pull at the beer bottle, swallowed hard, and said, “Fuckin' ageing process.”
“Did you have a point when this started, or is this just one of those nights where we contemplate our mortality? Congratulations! You’re the oldest Slayers ever! Bad news? You’re the oldest Slayers ever...”
“I had a point.” Faith peeled the label off her beer, incrementally. Avoiding Buffy’s eyes. “Just... we’ve been doin’ this a long time. Isn’t it time you admitted you love it?”
It? Isn’t it time you admitted you love me? Unspoken.
Buffy sought distraction, and found her sunglasses suddenly fascinating. “Faith, it’s not like we’ve ever said...” Which was so true. After Sunnydale, they’d stuck together through one part mutual support to three parts mutual distrust. Knowing that a split between them could split the Slayer movement. And that would be bad. Hence, keeping company became their baseline. If you're under each other's eye every minute, how far apart can you get?
Slaying together always felt good. The rest... the rest had come upon them incrementally. Teasing kisses to shock the others, playing on their chemistry and finding they liked it. Quick fumbles to get off when post-slayage getting-off felt essential. The day they moved headquarters yet again and both wanted the master bedroom, and couldn’t be bothered to argue or pretend any longer. But they’d never become official. Just matter of fact, together.
Fidelity had never been part of the agreement. And yet... how long had it been? Faith with that green-eyed girl in Guadalajara... no, make that Buffy and the sorceress in Minsk, because that had been more than just the mission, whatever she'd claimed. And Minsk was... more than eight years ago now.
Faith maybe had a point. Those kind of enemies, who needed friends?
They’d never been good at talking. So Buffy reached over and snared Faith’s beer, finished the dregs with a long swallow, then kissed her girl.
Today, they’d see the dawn someplace better. More private, and together.
***