The Back Porch
A fantasy - how would Buffy feel if…?
She sat on the steps and stared out into the darkness.
She’d just gone by the crypt because - to see if he was hiding any contraband. Vampire, evil. Couldn’t be trusted. Had to keep checking up on him. Riley proved that, didn’t he?
So she’d gone by to look for contraband. It was her job, damn it.
There was a light, she knew he was in. So she’d gone in the way she usually did. Why would she knock? She never had before. He was just a thing anyway, it’s not like she’d walked into someone’s home. A crypt wasn’t a home. It was just a squat. So he’d fixed it up with a few carpets. Not that they’d lasted long.
She’d needed to blow them up. He was the one with the demon eggs, what did he expect?
So she’d kicked in the door. A few candles burning. But he wasn’t upstairs. Probably hiding contraband downstairs. Better check. She could hear noises down there. God knows what he was doing. It was her job to keep her eye on the local demon criminal element. He should consider himself lucky she’d never staked him.
The sounds were familiar but she didn’t clue in. That kind of panting. He didn’t need to breathe but he always did when -
- when -
She still hadn’t clued in when she stuck her head down the hatch to look around. Didn’t see him at first. The pants were faster, and there was a -
- there was someone else in.
the bed. with him.
Where she’d never been. That would have been admitting
admitting she was sleeping with a, a thing. An evil thing.
The bed would have meant a, a relationship. And there wasn’t one. Never. She couldn’t have a relationship with a, with him.
The pants got faster and she heard a gasp, he always did that, that gasping thing, when -
- when -
She stared out onto the lawn and took a swig of her beer. Didn’t usually drink beer. It was left from the party a few weeks ago. He’d brought it. It was the last.
And there was a moan, a woman’s moan, and, and it was a good thing they were distracted. Would have expected his hearing to pick up on her, the slam of the door, all the clattering around. And he. He always said he could sense her.
Guess it’s faded. That sense.
She blinked. Eyes were dry. They ached. Staring out at the lawn without seeing it. Those hands around his shoulders, that whimper, the
the, he started to growl, she knew that sound too, it meant he was about to -
she backed up fast and soundlessly and was outside the crypt before she knew where she was. Swung the door to as quietly as she could.
Didn’t want to see what she saw. When she closed her eyes it was worse. The hands, those smooth hips pistoning, the sounds, all on instant replay
and a candle on the bedspread beside them. For use in foreplay.
She couldn’t make the image go away.
Willow had stopped in earlier on her way to, somewhere. Did Buffy want to go too? No, thanks, I’ll just stay in, a little tired. People. Music. She’d kissed him there, by the staircase, telling herself it was just this once. Telling herself it was because of Giles. Telling herself it meant nothing. Go there tonight? Don’t think so.
Dawn put her head out the door once and again later, did Buffy need anything? No, thanks for asking, yeah, you can go to Janice’s place. No, I’m fine, honest, just want to sit out here a bit. You go have fun. Home by 11 okay?
She could call Xander.
Right.
Couldn’t admit she was seeing a, a thing. That thing. Couldn’t tell anyone. Couldn’t even admit to having a civil conversation with him. He was beneath her. Couldn’t even admit to knowing him. Because, because what would they think?
What would they say?
So she couldn’t tell anyone now.
She could talk to him. They always used to talk. About everything.
Not about this, though. Never wanted to talk about how she felt. Didn’t even want to think about it. It meant nothing.
She could hardly change the rules again.
Too late now anyway. Looked like he was playing on a new board.
She licked her lips and took another swig.
Funny he hadn’t heard her in the crypt. He’d been distracted. Still.
Not like she had any right to complain.
Time was, sitting out on the back porch was like a vampire beacon. He always showed up. Hey Slayer. Irritated the hell out of her. She couldn’t even have the privacy of her own damn back porch.
Time was he could tell when she was upset, always seemed to show up, give her someone to insult, she’d feel better, he didn’t seem to mind.
Time was he knew when she was in his damn crypt.
She stared out into the night and slowly finished the last of the beer.
She’d been out here nearly two hours.
It was no use. He wasn’t going to come.