Summery: "Buffy/Ben smut. Plain and simple."- With a Rabbit twist.
Spoilers: Those few poignant hours between I Was Made To Love You and The Body
Feedback: It doesn’t hurt (much!)
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, but here’s someone that does-
~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~` Denotes a dream sequence.
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
STRANGE COFFEE
By Rabbit
~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+
2 am and I still can’t sleep.
Food?
A glass of warm milk?
Late night movie with subtitles, or dubbing so bad that the lips on screen are moving in a whole different universe than the dialog?
All three?
Excellent choice.
Silently making my way downstairs, I pause before the tenth stair and carefully step over it. It’s always squeaked, ever since we moved into this house. I remember when Dawn was about ten or eleven; mom grounded her for something. I don’t remember what, but she packed her stuff up and was going to run away. The tenth stair got her. All the lights blazed into life and mom sent her back to her room. She got another week tacked onto her punishment. The Summers sisters have learned to give it a wide berth in matters of supreme sneakiness.
When I reach the bottom of the landing, I hear the low hum of the TV from the living room. Shuffling sleepily in my slippers, I peek into the room and see my mom draped across the couch, engrossed in some late night movie. There’s a slightly dopey half smile on her face and I swear I see a misty glint in her eye.
“Late night mope fest?” I ask and stifle my own grin as she jumps slightly at the sound of my voice.
“Buffy, you scared me.” She shakes her head slightly and smiles sheepishly. “What in heaven’s name are you doing up this late?”
I glance towards the screen as credits roll over a panoramic scene of a couple rolling around and kissing in a field of tall grass. Some schmaltzy, tearjerker soundtrack kicks in and out of the corner of my eye, I see mom fixated on the screen again.
“Watching Midwestern porn?” I ask with a grimace. “What is this crap?”
“It’s not crap,” she ruffles in mild defense. “It’s a very beautiful love story with…an admittedly high cheese factor,” she adds reluctantly when she sees my raised eyebrow.
“You’re an incurable romantic. Well, I guess the first step is admitting it.” I look down at her feet on the cushion and she curls her legs up under her and nods for me to sit down by her. I accept her offer to share the pink fuzzy blanket and take a corner, dragging it over my lap. We’ve had this blanket since before Dawn was born…or, summoned…or whatever. Anyway, we’ve had it forever. It’s kind of ratty, but it’s so soft and whenever I touch it, I’m nine years old and the heaviest thing on my mind is soccer practice in the morning. Nothing can be that bad when you’re snuggled under the shelter of this blanket.
Mom mutes the TV when a loud commercial comes on and sets the remote on her lap. Keeping it in your lap makes the most sense. That’s the Summer’s women’s favorite resting spot for it, because you’ve got control in an instant. I like it there because you can snuff an annoying ad in an instant. Dawn likes it, because if her favorite commercial come on, she can hit the button and be instantly sucked into teenage consumerism. Mom, she’s a bit of a channel surfer.
“So, you had a fun time on your date?” I probe in what I hope is casual interest. As opposed to single, naked light bulb, leather strap Gestapo tactics. Subtle, low key…nothing to back her into a corner and make her feel like she has to claim parental right to privacy.
It’s worked, because I see an aura of excitement settle over her entire body and although, she’s mellow, it’s easy to see that the memory of the date gives her a little spurt of nervous energy. I remember that feeling, when everything’s new and you don’t know whether to smile or throw up…or both.
It’s weird to see the very emotion I’ve felt reflected in my mother. To think of her in that situation, facing the awkwardness and uncertainty, but also the buzz of possibility that comes from a new crush, makes me feel old and a little jealous. She’ll have another chance at a relationship, another chance at something I don’t think I’ll ever see again. God, it took her five years to find someone who wasn’t a robot or a watcher, that long to find a normal and apparently nice guy here on the hell mouth. Is that what I’m looking at? Will it take an even ten for The Slayer? I try not to let what I’m feeling show on my face. I may be a candidate for Prozac, but at least I don’t have to drag her there with me.
“Much fun was had,” She agrees dreamily and doesn’t seem to notice my envy. She looks at me and is suddenly serious. “I know this Riley thing has been hard for you honey, but you shouldn’t let it sour you on men forever. There’s someone out there for you. And no one says you have to meet him tomorrow. Just hang out with your friends for a while. Go out. Have fun. Weren’t you guys going to a party tonight?
“Um, we did.” I don’t feel like explaining about Robots or vampires flying through windows.”
“Was there a lot of people there you knew?”
“Strangely enough, I saw Ben there…the intern from the hospital.”
She tilts her head in surprise. “Oh. He’s very nice. Are you going to call him?”
“Sorry, can’t. I have other plans…I’m waxing my entire body.” I try to stop the frown that accompanies the sentence, but judging by her maternal look of sympathy…I wasn’t too successful.
“Oh, honey,” she says in quiet mom sympathy.
“Okay, stop giving me the sad face. You’re making me tear up,” I tease. “And shouldn’t you be in bed young lady? Don’t you have to go to work tomorrow?”
“Yes M O T H E R !” She exhales in a perfect imitation of the same line I’ve been giving her for the last fifteen years or so. And smile as she stands up. She waggles the remote in my direction. “You coming, or do you want control of the Godstick?”
I take it from her. “I think I’ll stay up for awhile.” I stretch out to cover the spot she recently occupied and pull the blanket down over my feet as I shove them under the arm cushion. When she turns to go upstairs, for some reason I call out to her back, “I love you mom.”
She stops, walks back over and leans down to kiss me on the cheek. “I love you too sweetheart. You’re a good girl…you make me proud.”
I settle down, determined to find something on that IS NOT a love story.
`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~
I’m lying on my back, looking up at the sky and there’s a smell all around me, enveloping me in a little pocket of my own confusion. It’s a musty smell, sweet, but just a little wild. For a minute I can’t place it and then it comes to me.
Wet grass smell. Weird. It hasn’t rained in weeks and -no wet ass from laying here.
Eww, strange thought processes lead to disturbing visual places. Note to self: don’t let mind wander. Anyway, I should be heading over to the magic box, everyone’s meeting there. We need to find out about this April!Bot, and unless Warren’s living under some disturbo freak rock here, this isn’t helping me much. Although I could just announce that I’m looking for another dysfunctional, ego crushing relationship and I’m sure he’ll come running. Note to self: men suck!
Sigh. Must. Get. Up.
When I try to move though, I can’t.
Arm: when the Slayer tells you to move, do it.
Yeah, a pep talks going to cure your sudden paralysis.
How about a nice, girly scream? Aaaahhhhhh (myboyfriendcan’thandlemysuperherolifeandhasbeengettingsuckjobsfromvampire’sforgodknowshowlong) Wow, that felt surprisingly good. But still, with the not moving.
I wonder how long I could lay here before someone notices I’m gone? Riley might notice in a decade or two. One night, he’ll get drunk, start reminiscing about the glory days of the initiative, start thinking, “I wonder what ever happened to…”
Angel? A century? Two? If ever. The last time I saw him, I got the definite impression he’d moved on. Buffy Summers was just a milestone on his road to redemption, a nostalgic twinge felt on a rare, rainy day in LA when the past starts creeping into the corners of the room and you find yourself looking at old pictures you haven’t dragged out in years and crying over a cup of flavored coffee. (Just me then?)
Giles will notice. And Xander. Anya will say something annoying, but strangely endearing at the same time.
Willow will be worried and Tara will brush her arm comfortingly. (And a strong hand will pause at the small of your back, lending you strength as you hear a doctor tell you that your mother has a brain tumor. Well not any more, unless they have long distance touch-a-grams from Belize)
Dawn will notice, but she’ll be too busy poking and sneaking around in my room to do anything for a few days. And Mom? I don’t want her to worry at all. She’s just starting to get back on her feet and she’s still glowing from the “Invigorating Date of Renewed Hope”. She doesn’t need the added stress of wondering what happened to Danger Daughter.
Unfortunately, that leaves only Spike, who is probably watching me right now and planning some way of carting my helpless and immobile body back to his crypt for fun with Dress Up Buffy. Ugh, an active imagination is a curse. Excuse me while I boil my brain in bleach.
My life is so depressing.
Right. Need a plan.
Move body! When I try, I still can’t. I can feel a thousand other sensations: the sharp prick of grass under me, and the dusty pollen that drifts on the breeze and covers me, coats me with a sticky layer, but I can’t control my limbs. I can’t move my body, but my brain is alert, racing in overdrive.
Why is the pollen dusty if the grass is wet? And why if the grass is wet, am I perfectly dry. And why do insignificant details annoy me so much?
It’s then that I realize this must be a dream.
Ah ha. Thank God. Because suspicion of impending mental break down-right below the surface there for a sec. This is what I get for watching late night TV. Well, I suppose it’s relatively harmless, but thank God I wasn’t watching Godzilla-then it’d be a miniature town set, a fake paper mache monster…and the tiny helicopters? Not good.
The sun is blocked momentarily by a figure that appears behind my head.
“Hey Buffy.”
“Ben?” I ask in confusion. “Is that you?” I can’t see his face, because I can’t arch my head back.” Can you come around here? I can’t really see you from there.” The sun returns as I sense him step to my right.
Ben’s a nice guy, with a grown up, responsible job. There’s probably no undead vampire issues or secret military organizations in his past. I’m also reasonably sure he’s never constructed a sex robot. The first thing that comes to mind when I look at Ben is: incredible geek, but sweet.
He seems a little awkward, a little unsure of himself. I wonder how he’d react if I told him I was The Slayer? He doesn’t seem fazed to see me lying here, that’s a good sign.
“Um, I seem to be having a little problem moving,” I confess.
“I see.” He nods as he looks down at me. “I think I know what will help you.”
“Ah, some medical explanation?”
“Well I *am* a doctor.” Ben kneels down beside me, unbuttoning my shirt and placing his hand over my left breast. Not like he’s trying to feel me up, but more like he’s searching for my heartbeat. After a second, he leans in close. I can feel his warm breath fanning my face as he seals his lips over mine. I get this little flash of his exhalation filling me, like a golden mist that curls throughout my body and invades every cell, every tissue, filling me with bright light.
I’m pretty sure that mouth-to-mouth is usually reserved for people who aren’t breathing and I’ve heard it referred to as the breath of life, but this is a little much. I lose that argument with myself when I feel a twitching of my clit and the telltale feeling of wetness between my legs. It really does feel nice. And this is my dream, so what’s the harm?
He breaks away and stares at me seriously for a moment, huge brown eyes holding some mystery that I can’t begin to fathom yet.
I try to wiggle a toe-nothing. “I still can’t move.”
“Touch me.”
With his words, it’s like a dam breaking open. My hand shoots up and rests on his stomach, which I will say, is mighty flat and hard. (Ohh, stop thinking that.)
“See, all better,” he says and then swallows once, nervously.
It’s kind of touching that he’s so uneasy. It’s flattering, really because I’m as big of a dorky geek as anyone when it comes to things like this. It was a month or more before I let Riley see me naked with the lights on…(I *so* didn’t need that reminder) maybe that’s part of the reason Riley left me? Is there something wrong with my body, something ugly and hideous that’s only visible to someone I’m having sex with.
“You shouldn’t think that at all. There’s nothing wrong with you…you’re beautiful.” He bends over and kisses my belly and I feel like the bottoms gone out of my stomach. Ben kisses his way down my belly and stops at my waistband only long enough to unzip me and slide the fabric over my hips, down my legs and I feel the sun touching my skin.
Thank God I shaved my legs today.
Did I say that out loud or is he reading my mind? He kneels at my feet and I rise up on my elbows to see what he’s doing. I mean, I know what he’s *Doing* but part of me feels the need to protest or supervise or something. It must be that bossy Slayer nature, can’t even give up control in a dream. So, I’m an emasculating control freak as well as a hideously deformed loser?
Ben runs his hands along the back of my legs, cupping my calves in his palms as he kisses my shin. He looks up in gentle warning and says, “I told you not to think that. You Are A Goddess…I should know.” His hands are at the backs of my knees, pulling me, rotating my hips as he spreads my legs apart and kisses me once on the triangle of hair between my legs.
I begin to get that nervous twitter, thinking about someone I don’t know *down there*, feeling vulnerable and spread before him, God and everyone, but also anticipating what I know from experience is really fucking amazing.
Pleasure and dream logic win as his hands rest where my legs and pelvic bones meet, shoving my legs further apart and he opens my cunt lips with his tongue. He makes a sweep with his tongue on either side of my clitoris and I feel my jerking quiver as his saliva and my own juices mix together…and I’m wet, open. I want to slam into him and drive him in deeper when he starts flicking the nub of my clit. I can feel myself clenching, then relaxing as I explode and a feeling like warm molasses spreads over me.
I want more.
I grab him by the hair in a vice grip, it’s the only part of him I can reach. “Ben.”
//There is too much... It’s just doomed! And I can’t do doomed *again* right now. Sorry.”//
He moves up my body, hovering over me, kissing me.
//I’m, by God, not going to walk away because I think it *might* not work.//
I can taste Ben, warm and salty. I can taste myself lingering on his tongue. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him this way. He’s not…I’m only using him as a substitute for…
//I don’t know what’s happened in your past...//
What’s happened is that I’ve driven away every man who has ever been in my life. They’ve all felt trivialized by my destiny as the slayer, pushed to the back of my life until they had to seek some sort of identity away from me, had to find something to claim them like I never could.
//On some basic level it *was* about me. My blood, my body. When they bit me ... it was beyond passion. They wanted to devour me, all of me.//
I pull Ben into me, feeling him settle between my thighs as he pushes into me. If I wrap my legs around him, maybe I can hold this one tight enough, keep this one around a little longer? Maybe I won’t have to be alone and endure the looks of pity or jealously witness the small caresses of understanding between Xander and Anya or Willow and Tara. When mom brings her new boyfriend home, I can present Ben, my boyfriend and at least appear normal. Give the illusion that I’m not somehow broken, unworthy, unlovable.
//Yeah. I think you mean convenient. I think you took it for granted that he was gonna show up when you wanted him to, and take off when you didn't.//
When I feel him begin to thrust into me, I look up at him, studying his face. Is this someone I can depend on…someone I can love…trust?
I feel him grind into me, harder than he has been, rocking my body with the force of his momentum. The raspy straw pokes and slides underneath me, scratching me through the fabric of my shirt. But it really feels good to just abandon myself like this…to ignore the consequences and lose myself in my own subconscious, rambling fantasy.
A bird flies overhead and it’s shadow drops down over Ben’s face. It’s shrill call is magnified, instantly isolated from all of the other normal sounds of birds, crickets, the wind moving the grass around us. As he lifts his chin, his eyes roll back into his head. He must be ready to…
Transform into someone else?
The first pangs of alarm sound in the back of my brain and I push against him as his face melts in front of me and his hair grows and changes color. Brown turns to gold curls and with a shudder, he turns into…Glory, but I can still feel his dick in me, pulsing and shooting his semen. Glory just gazes at me in wonderment as she continues to fuck me.
~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`
“Oh my God!” I sit up with a start and look around the living room. The remote falls to the floor with a clunk. “Oh my God,” I repeat in stunned horror. “What the hell was that all about?”
[END]