FIC: French Kiss (Dawn/Kennedy, PG-13)
TITLE: French Kiss
RATING: PG-13
FANDOM: BtVS/AtS
PAIRING: Dawn/Kennedy
SPOILERS: Post-“Chosen”
SUMMARY: “Pièce de résistance means, like, the best part of something. The most special, outstanding part. Not an actual part of a resistance.”
PROMPT: Written for femslash_minis Round 38, for fluffybkitty, who wanted playing Frisbee, dusk, and a confession, with no angst or character bashing.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I believe the operative word here is "fluff."
The downside to Europe, with all these old, beautiful buildings, is all the old, fairly useless air conditioning.
“I know this revamped Watcher’s Council isn’t, like, swimming in dough, but is it too much to ask that the pièce de résistance not swelter to death?” Kennedy moans, and stretches her near-naked body out as long as possible.
In this, she resembles a long, brown animal hide stretched out over the bed. An extremely well toned animal hide in very small underwear.
Dawn tries not to notice.
“I thought you’d been studying French,” she says.
“I have. Observe my French.”
“Pièce de résistance means, like, the best part of something. The most special, outstanding part. Not an actual part of a resistance.”
Kennedy rolls over, frowning. “Really? Crap. And here I was excited to learn something relevant to me.” A light bulb goes off, and her scowl deepens. “Wait. So you think I’m the resistance, but not the résistance?”
Dawn blushes. “Um,” she says, and hides her face in her book.
***
The sun is setting bloody on the horizon. Not that it’s any cooler with the sun going down. Sweat courses down the planes of Dawn’s body as she and Kennedy trudge home through the hilly, country streets. She feels slippery, like a salmon, made something not quite human by the heat.
Although the jury is out, she supposes, on how human she actually is, regardless of temperature.
“You know what’s stupid?” she says.
Kennedy rolls her eyes. “Here we go. I’m amazed you’ve been able to contain yourself this long.”
“Ultimate Frisbee. I mean, it’s not like it makes Frisbee cool, because come on. It’s still Frisbee. It just makes an uncool game more work.”
“I thought it might be fun,” Kennedy says. “Funner than sitting around the apartment looking at books older than we are.” Her eyes travel Dawn’s leggy form. “Well, older than I am; some of us don’t require carbon dating.”
“You know what’s stupider?” Dawn continues, shrugging off Kennedy’s Key jokes. “Going out to play ultimate Frisbee as an alternative to whining about how hot we are.”
Kennedy shrugs, looking nothing but absolutely pleased with herself.
“You gotta learn to live a little, Dawnie.”
***
Cold showers only stave off the heat for a few minutes. A dearth of clothing becomes a necessity. Their hair still crinkly and cold from the shower, Dawn and Kennedy, wearing as little as possible, crowd together on the bed.
Their bare legs slide against each other, their perpetual summer sweat stealing all friction, leaving only sensation. Dawn’s knees bear gently into Kennedy’s hips. She places her graceful, long-fingered hands on Kennedy’s shoulders, leans against her. Kennedy’s hair tickles her lips; Dawn’s lips tickle Kennedy’s ear.
“I have a confession to make,” Dawn whispers.
Shivers tickle up Kennedy’s spine. “Oh yeah?”
“I’m very disappointed that we’ve been in France for three days with no French kissing whatsoever.”
Kennedy grins, and folds her arms around Dawn, folds the girl against her breast.
“You’re right,” she says, trying to tamp down her smile to sound solemn. “That is terrible.”
Kennedy brushes damp curls from Dawn’s face. She wastes a long moment in letting her eyes roam the fresh, familiar beauty of the girl, and then she presses her own lips against Dawn’s. Dawn leans against her, leans further into their embrace, and parts her mouth, an invitation. Kennedy accepts, her tongue slipping into Dawn’s sweet mouth, rutting against Dawn’s tongue. Kennedy’s tongue ring sparks over Dawn’s tongue, and when Dawn moans, Kennedy can feel the vibrations pulse into her own mouth.
When they briefly part, Kennedy’s eyes glitter, her mouth twisting into a wicked grin.
“Who’s your pièce de résistance now, baby?”
Dawn tugs impatiently at Kennedy’s tank top.
“Do that again,” she says, “and I’ll call you anything you want.”
Kennedy accepts the invitation.