Predators [R, BtVS/True Blood, Buffy/Sookie/Bill]
Title: Predators
Rating: R
Fandoms: True Blood/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Buffy/Sookie/Bill
Disclaimer: So totally not mine.
Notes: For Porn Battle VII, with the prompt word "thunderstorm".
Words: 658
Summary:
Buffy tastes and smells like death, like his death, as much as she and Sookie do of life and sunlight. He can taste it on her, too deeply for any number of baths to wash away.
(And she and Sookie have had several of them, now. Bill gives them their privacy, of course, but they seem to have no regard for it themselves, and the shrieking and splashing and giggling has woken him several times in the middle of the day, and no matter how hard he tries not to listen he finds that his mind always seems to drift from whatever song he is determined to recall instead to indecent, torturous imaginings.)
He can't hold it against her, in the end. Peace is the rule in his home, which she respects, and neither of them speaks of the unending cycle between his kind and hers. Death is meant to be such a simple ordeal, but the two of them make it complicated when they argue about it, a fact which seems more fundamentally wrong than either of them can ever be, and anyway, Sookie hates it when they fight.
She's holding back as she and Sookie wrestle over something or other on the porch. Sookie must know it, but Bill can sense it, can feel it in the air around her muscles, as easily as he can smell the death and sunlight on her skin, and the ozone that promises a storm in the building breeze.
They both start at the first thundercrack, though, and Sookie seizes her chance, throws Buffy off of her and races to grab his hand, dragging him onto the porch. "The sun's down anyway, isn't it?" she asks.
Her mouth is against his then, warm with the blood beneath the thin skin of it, but she pulls away, kisses Buffy, too, and then she's gone, racing into the ever-darkening evening, illuminated only once, briefly but brilliantly, by a flash of lightning.
They stare after her for a second, and then Buffy looks at him. There's a smile on her face, a hunger in her eyes. He would suppose that it's echoed in his own as he returns the glance, and that she must be as aware of his arousal as he of hers.
More than warriors, they are predators: she cuts her tongue on his fangs when she kisses him, but he would not have been able to say for certain that it wasn't on purpose. Then both of them are running, the storm crackling and rushing about them as the wind draws it nearer.
Catching Sookie doesn't take long, of course, not with the two of them at work. Whether they're competing or working together, though, he would guess that neither of them could say.
None of them can wait. The rain comes in sheets, but even with the thunder, he can hear their hearts. Moments before he bites Sookie, before Sookie comes (again, she must be pleased to note, a group effort consisting of Buffy's admittedly skillful hands and his own more traditional role) Buffy kisses him; the cut in her mouth is already healed, but he tastes blood nonetheless. When he bites Sookie, her cry is swallowed not only by the storm but, he knows, by Buffy. That it's shared touches something inside of him -- he could not say precisely what -- and he follows Sookie soon after.
They fall still, in some agreed-upon pause, Sookie braced up between the two of them. At last, laughing a little, short of breath, it's she who speaks. "Bill, I can't think Buffy's gonna have much good to say of our hospitality when I notice she didn't get to come."
"I dunno," Buffy says, and catches his eye, smirking. "There's something to be said for a good chase, you know?"
He's moved to kiss her then, and whispers, his mouth open against hers, "I understand you perfectly."
Rating: R
Fandoms: True Blood/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Buffy/Sookie/Bill
Disclaimer: So totally not mine.
Notes: For Porn Battle VII, with the prompt word "thunderstorm".
Words: 658
Summary:
Buffy tastes and smells like death, like his death, as much as she and Sookie do of life and sunlight. He can taste it on her, too deeply for any number of baths to wash away.
(And she and Sookie have had several of them, now. Bill gives them their privacy, of course, but they seem to have no regard for it themselves, and the shrieking and splashing and giggling has woken him several times in the middle of the day, and no matter how hard he tries not to listen he finds that his mind always seems to drift from whatever song he is determined to recall instead to indecent, torturous imaginings.)
He can't hold it against her, in the end. Peace is the rule in his home, which she respects, and neither of them speaks of the unending cycle between his kind and hers. Death is meant to be such a simple ordeal, but the two of them make it complicated when they argue about it, a fact which seems more fundamentally wrong than either of them can ever be, and anyway, Sookie hates it when they fight.
She's holding back as she and Sookie wrestle over something or other on the porch. Sookie must know it, but Bill can sense it, can feel it in the air around her muscles, as easily as he can smell the death and sunlight on her skin, and the ozone that promises a storm in the building breeze.
They both start at the first thundercrack, though, and Sookie seizes her chance, throws Buffy off of her and races to grab his hand, dragging him onto the porch. "The sun's down anyway, isn't it?" she asks.
Her mouth is against his then, warm with the blood beneath the thin skin of it, but she pulls away, kisses Buffy, too, and then she's gone, racing into the ever-darkening evening, illuminated only once, briefly but brilliantly, by a flash of lightning.
They stare after her for a second, and then Buffy looks at him. There's a smile on her face, a hunger in her eyes. He would suppose that it's echoed in his own as he returns the glance, and that she must be as aware of his arousal as he of hers.
More than warriors, they are predators: she cuts her tongue on his fangs when she kisses him, but he would not have been able to say for certain that it wasn't on purpose. Then both of them are running, the storm crackling and rushing about them as the wind draws it nearer.
Catching Sookie doesn't take long, of course, not with the two of them at work. Whether they're competing or working together, though, he would guess that neither of them could say.
None of them can wait. The rain comes in sheets, but even with the thunder, he can hear their hearts. Moments before he bites Sookie, before Sookie comes (again, she must be pleased to note, a group effort consisting of Buffy's admittedly skillful hands and his own more traditional role) Buffy kisses him; the cut in her mouth is already healed, but he tastes blood nonetheless. When he bites Sookie, her cry is swallowed not only by the storm but, he knows, by Buffy. That it's shared touches something inside of him -- he could not say precisely what -- and he follows Sookie soon after.
They fall still, in some agreed-upon pause, Sookie braced up between the two of them. At last, laughing a little, short of breath, it's she who speaks. "Bill, I can't think Buffy's gonna have much good to say of our hospitality when I notice she didn't get to come."
"I dunno," Buffy says, and catches his eye, smirking. "There's something to be said for a good chase, you know?"
He's moved to kiss her then, and whispers, his mouth open against hers, "I understand you perfectly."