They Watch Slayers, Don't They?

dutchbuffy2305

Summary:Summary
Rating: NC-17
Story Notes: Buffy and Wesley, after the finale (unspoiled). Written for Minim_Calibre, at the flashfic-athon at LJ.
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, Joss does.
Site: home.planet.nl/~dutchbuffy2305

They were in the living room. It was a mess. She slouched there, unwashed, hair an oily tangle, anger radiating from every line of her tiny body. She poured a glass of Giles' whisky with trembling hands and tried to toss it away in one gulp. Of course that didn't work, would have taken years of practice.

He didn't say this. After the coughing had subsided, she turned her furious, teary eyes to him and said, "So, Mr. Ex-Watcher Knows All about Apocalypses, did you and Giles know about what would happen? Did you?"

For a moment he stood there, undecided, then he sank down next to her on the couch. He grabbed the bottle and took a swig. He wanted to offer consoling words, but didn't know what to say. Anyway, she wasn't yet in a stage where words would do any good. She was in the stage of being pissed at anyone who had dared leave her.

Unexpectedly she started to cry, an ugly, raw sound. Oh God. He really preferred her rage to this. He wasn't the prat she'd known anymore, but going into your own darkness didn't exactly up your skills in dealing with crying women. He felt too big and clumsy.

"It's not fair," she hiccupped. "It's just not fair. I never told him. I did everything wrong. I thought the mission should come first. Would you please kill me, Wesley? Please? I just can't start over again, I'm too tired. Couldn't you just kill me right now?"

Hesitantly he put his huge hand on her tiny golden head and started to stroke it lightly. "I'm sorry for your loss, Buffy."

"Are you? I fucking hate you and your platitudes!" She grabbed him by his shirt and tried to shake him, but nothing happened. No Slayer strength anymore. Still, he involuntarily leaned backwards, such was the force of her personality and her expectation of being able to do violence. And his fear of her, which was, so embarrassing, unchanged after all these years.

She slumped down against him, disconcerting him completely. She hid her face in his neck and sobbed louder. He could only think of the tears and snot against his shirt, and how unnaturally hot her body felt, and how fragile. She couldn't sit still, even while she sobbed. She twisted and turned, working herself to another angle on his lap, fingers clenching and unclenching in his shirt, making his collar cut into his neck. It was very uncomfortable.

Would she just stop wriggling in his lap? He was only human, for God's sake, didn't she know he...At that moment she reached up and clamped a hot mouth over his, invading it with her tongue and he almost gagged. Was she insane? This was the last thing on his mind! He wrenched her off him, thinking of women he`d rather be doing this with, dead women. He saw the enraged darkness in her eyes and closed his own, giving in. He'd think of them. She would no doubt think of her vampire, and anyway, he didn't care.

She ranted on. "No more demons. Great. No more vampires. Giles would have been so happy. No more risk of Slayers trusting their vampire too much, huh? Not to mention having sex with them. Loving them. No, we can't have that, can we?"

She latched on to him again and then as violently tore herself off. She threw him another of these venomous looks. "No more people who were really glowy green keys." Her voice wavered at that. "No more half-demon Slayers. Isn't that fun. Now, when I really need to kick some ass, I can't anymore. And there isn't even any ass left to kick, huh? Just us humans. And the best of those gone, too."

"Yes," he said. He didn't mention he had his own mourning to do. His best friends, the woman he loved, all dead. They kissed again, a clumsy but inexplicably tantalizing exploring of each other's mouths. The very fact that this was a woman he didn't even like made it somehow a fitting penance.

They undressed. The scorching heat of her golden skin against his killed the thoughts of darker, more voluptuous Slayers and they ground together frenziedly. It was almost like a fight, their noses bumped, their teeth scraped, her hipbones dug into him unpleasantly, but their harsh panting breaths provided all the music they needed. She arched and gasped when he touched her clit too directly and slapped his hand away. She took his cock in her little callused hands and guided him inside her, smearing her juices around to make his entrance easier, and he could only think, hot, oh yes, more, oh god, she's so, and try to establish a rhythm. His breathing was all over the place, it was more like sobbing, really, and he had to lean his forehead on hers to take some of his weight, his arms were like jelly.

She scrunched up against him desperately, changing the angle, trying one leg in the air, the other, her legs around his waist. Their faces became too slippery with sweat, and he slid off her forehead and landed with a whoosh of breath on her body. She cried out sharply and tried to push him off. He tried to lock his shaky arms upright again and start over, but he could see on her impatient face that he was doing everything wrong. By rights, he should have softened at that realization, but he remained desperately hard and throbbing, grinding away at her doggedly. She was saying something.

"What? What?" He felt so stupid.

"Turn over. Turn us over, are you deaf?" The contempt in her voice hadn't changed in four years, but his schooling at Lilah's hands had made that a turn-on. He obeyed, and she took the reins firmly and galloped them expertly to a breathless finish in no time. He saw her angry frown relax and her eyes turn glazed with expectation, saw her breath hitch and then she hunched over, again as if in pain, and clenched her inner muscles around him pleasantly. He even dimly thought that he could be thankful that she was no slayer anymore; he thought that actual Slayer muscles might have dismembered him. The sight of her orgasm, more than the faint clenching of her cunt around him, made him come.

"So I'm stuck with you." Flatly.

"If you want me to leave...," he stammered. She was still on top of him, his softening cock and come sliding like a slug out of her.

"No leaving for you, Mister. You're the only goddamn person in the whole world who knows what I'm talking about, and until I'm talked out, you stay put."

"Of course," he answered softly.