Love Is Blind ~ Fuffy ~ Complete to Part 5
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › FemmeSlash - Female/Female › Buffy/Faith
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
4,042
Reviews:
14
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › FemmeSlash - Female/Female › Buffy/Faith
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
4,042
Reviews:
14
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 4
//Part 4//
Water hammers repetitively into the shower tray, dousing the room with a wave of heat and sticky flurries of air. I wait anxiously, positioned by Buffy somewhere in the centre of all this confusion, my hands tensed and locked protectively across my stomach.
“You ready, Faith?” Compliantly I raise my arms, straining to remember what underwear I have on, as her fingers begin to graze the length of my nightshirt before finally reaching the hem.
My breath hitches as her hands slide beneath the cotton, inadvertently nudging my bare thighs, as she edges the material upwards, towards my hips. The atmosphere is tangible at this point, her breath coming in short and controlled bursts, as the nightshirt continues to travel past my navel, eventually meeting the border of my bra.
“Oh, Faith…” One of her hands falls away, coming to rest lightly on a particularly sensitive patch of my skin. Involuntarily I wince, my arms bending sharply as pain echoes throughout my chest, forcing me to double over as it ebbs and subsides in callous waves. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Buffy demands, as her concerned hands ease me upright again. “Is anything broken?” Reluctantly I acknowledge her, my lips pursed.
“Reckon they’re just bruised.” I admit quickly, still gritting my teeth against the dull ache of my ribs. “Thought I heard one snap when he had me against the tree, but must’ve been somethin’ else, cause I feel fine now.” She clucks her tongue, not believing me for a minute. “Little sore.” I relent.
The moment disperses; Buffy quickly gathers my nightshirt again, this time pulling it over my head hastily, her hands void of their earlier hesitation and comfort. I swallow awkwardly as the clothing thuds to the floor, leaving me, shamelessly, in just my underwear, which, by the way, I recall as black and somewhat meagre.
Cautiously I step forward, my hands searching blindly for her contact. I catch her arm first, which allows me to adjust our positions, ensuring that we’re dead on, facing each other. I hear her begin to stutter, unsure of my intentions, as I finger the top button of her pyjama top thoughtfully.
I pinch it suddenly between my thumb and forefinger, forcing the smooth surface to pop through the material loop; I then move eagerly onto the next one.
“Uh, since when was you undressing me part of the deal?” Buffy hisses, her voice heeding far more protest than her body suggests. I smirk, pressing my cheek against hers as I whisper cockily in her ear,
“I’m guessing around the same time you undressing me was.”
“I-I was helping you!” She continues matter-of-factly, her voice rising as my hand slips into the gap of her top and slowly eases it over her shoulders. “You shouldn’t be doing this! You’re hurt, and, uh, I mean, we shouldn’t anyway, because-”
“It’s just practice, B.” I assure, my arms reaching round her back.
“Practice, yeah, it’s just practice.” She repeats nervously, I smile innocently as my fingers seek out the clasp on her bra. “But, well, it’s just,” She emits a tiny gasp as it releases suddenly, “what exactly are we practicing for?” Preoccupied I glide the straps down the slender arches of her arms, allowing the lacy article to fall away silently.
“Well, if I can undress you,” I murmur, my skin beginning to prickle despite the room’s all consuming warmth, “I’m pretty sure I could undress myself too.”
“Like this?” Buffy whispers, her arms drifting up my back and popping my bra open with a satisfying click. I clear my throat incredulously, her hands sweeping back round to my waist. “I think,” She begins, her abdomen just inches from mine, “I think…”
“What?” I respond breathily, my hand dropping to the pleated waist of her pyjama bottoms as her breath begins to fall hot and fast on my lips.
“I think the lesson on pyjama bottoms comes next week.” With that she carefully removes my hand from her hips, and steps back abruptly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hot, humid droplets roll like miniature waves over my barren skin, ebbing silently over my aching muscles and rousing my need for release. The small cubicle is drenched in the unmistakable scent of her shampoo, a careless mix of honey and milk, with just the slightest trace of vanilla and sweet almonds. I inhale deeply, my wounded chest aching as it arches upwards, eager to sate my appetite for the coy blonde who washes herself beside me.
The atmosphere is suffused with an expectant hum, a tune I am overly familiar with and yet completely distracted by. Our arms meet occasionally as we lather generous bars of soap over our skins, and sometimes, by accident or purpose, rest against each other as we remain inexplicably still.
Cautiously I turn to her, my heart beating as steadily as the cascading water. I reach forward, my hand falling deftly onto the curve of her hip as I push her gently backwards into the humid tiles. Her bar of soap slips suddenly, rattling loudly into the shower tray below us as she encircles my wandering hand with her own, pulling it tentatively up the length of her body. I raise my other hand instinctively, trailing the soap across her collarbone, smoothing it over her shoulders and down the insides of her arms. Damp hair drips down my chest as she leans forward, her mouth grazing my neck as her fingers begin to explore my lower back and pull me closer.
I close my eyes as her lips part, their delicate softness lingering against the soft thud of my pulse as she plants a solitary kiss. I tilt my head, encouraging more, as my soap slips away and I grasp her hips tightly, drawing them into mine.
“Don’t.” She whispers, her mouth placing an apologetic kiss on my shoulder as she withdraws. “We can’t.”
“Why can’t we?” I persist, my hand rubbing her trembling thigh patiently.
“You know why.”
“Buffy,” I sigh, resting my forehead against hers, “that was six months ago.”
“Five.” She corrects immediately.
“Okay, five then, but so what? Stuff’s changed.”
“Has it?”
“Yes.” I promise, dipping my head to kiss her.
”Wait,” Buffy exclaims, pushing me away, “Faith, I can’t do this! Not until I know you’re serious this time.”
“Damn it, B.” I curse, wiping the moisture from my face. “You know how I feel about you! It was different before, but now-”
“What, now you can’t see?” I flinch. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, Faith, but last time you were all ‘Hey, B, don’t get me wrong I think you’re seriously hot and all but I don’t do relationships’, remember?”
“Shit! What did you do, Buffy, write the whole fuckin’ thing down?”
“I didn’t have to!”
“It was just a kiss, a drunken kiss, I was, I was…” I trail off, my fingers dabbling in the damp ends of her hair as I struggle to keep her here, so close to me. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Well you did and I don’t want to talk about it anymore, alright?”
“Okay, fine.” I mutter, raising my hands defensively as she pulls back the shower curtain with a rustle of fabric and slips away from me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I balance precariously on the edge of her bed, my body wrapped loosely in the scarce cotton creases of a towel. Sullenly, I cross my arms, raking my hands up and down my forearms in an attempt to stamp out the rapid flush of goosebumps.
She kneels behind me, her bare knees pressing into my lower back, as her warm, tender hands sweep my damp tresses from my shoulders and bundle them into a towel. I shiver as the cool air rushes to greet my newly exposed skin, and try to ignore the running droplets of ice cold water that escaped my hair last minute, and now roll down my back like silent tears.
Meticulously, she begins to towel dry my hair, the feel of her fingertips still distinct beneath the thick material, as they massage deeply against my scalp. I drop my head forward and close my eyes, my body relaxed and drifting gently within the confines of her soporific rhythm.
Water hammers repetitively into the shower tray, dousing the room with a wave of heat and sticky flurries of air. I wait anxiously, positioned by Buffy somewhere in the centre of all this confusion, my hands tensed and locked protectively across my stomach.
“You ready, Faith?” Compliantly I raise my arms, straining to remember what underwear I have on, as her fingers begin to graze the length of my nightshirt before finally reaching the hem.
My breath hitches as her hands slide beneath the cotton, inadvertently nudging my bare thighs, as she edges the material upwards, towards my hips. The atmosphere is tangible at this point, her breath coming in short and controlled bursts, as the nightshirt continues to travel past my navel, eventually meeting the border of my bra.
“Oh, Faith…” One of her hands falls away, coming to rest lightly on a particularly sensitive patch of my skin. Involuntarily I wince, my arms bending sharply as pain echoes throughout my chest, forcing me to double over as it ebbs and subsides in callous waves. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Buffy demands, as her concerned hands ease me upright again. “Is anything broken?” Reluctantly I acknowledge her, my lips pursed.
“Reckon they’re just bruised.” I admit quickly, still gritting my teeth against the dull ache of my ribs. “Thought I heard one snap when he had me against the tree, but must’ve been somethin’ else, cause I feel fine now.” She clucks her tongue, not believing me for a minute. “Little sore.” I relent.
The moment disperses; Buffy quickly gathers my nightshirt again, this time pulling it over my head hastily, her hands void of their earlier hesitation and comfort. I swallow awkwardly as the clothing thuds to the floor, leaving me, shamelessly, in just my underwear, which, by the way, I recall as black and somewhat meagre.
Cautiously I step forward, my hands searching blindly for her contact. I catch her arm first, which allows me to adjust our positions, ensuring that we’re dead on, facing each other. I hear her begin to stutter, unsure of my intentions, as I finger the top button of her pyjama top thoughtfully.
I pinch it suddenly between my thumb and forefinger, forcing the smooth surface to pop through the material loop; I then move eagerly onto the next one.
“Uh, since when was you undressing me part of the deal?” Buffy hisses, her voice heeding far more protest than her body suggests. I smirk, pressing my cheek against hers as I whisper cockily in her ear,
“I’m guessing around the same time you undressing me was.”
“I-I was helping you!” She continues matter-of-factly, her voice rising as my hand slips into the gap of her top and slowly eases it over her shoulders. “You shouldn’t be doing this! You’re hurt, and, uh, I mean, we shouldn’t anyway, because-”
“It’s just practice, B.” I assure, my arms reaching round her back.
“Practice, yeah, it’s just practice.” She repeats nervously, I smile innocently as my fingers seek out the clasp on her bra. “But, well, it’s just,” She emits a tiny gasp as it releases suddenly, “what exactly are we practicing for?” Preoccupied I glide the straps down the slender arches of her arms, allowing the lacy article to fall away silently.
“Well, if I can undress you,” I murmur, my skin beginning to prickle despite the room’s all consuming warmth, “I’m pretty sure I could undress myself too.”
“Like this?” Buffy whispers, her arms drifting up my back and popping my bra open with a satisfying click. I clear my throat incredulously, her hands sweeping back round to my waist. “I think,” She begins, her abdomen just inches from mine, “I think…”
“What?” I respond breathily, my hand dropping to the pleated waist of her pyjama bottoms as her breath begins to fall hot and fast on my lips.
“I think the lesson on pyjama bottoms comes next week.” With that she carefully removes my hand from her hips, and steps back abruptly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hot, humid droplets roll like miniature waves over my barren skin, ebbing silently over my aching muscles and rousing my need for release. The small cubicle is drenched in the unmistakable scent of her shampoo, a careless mix of honey and milk, with just the slightest trace of vanilla and sweet almonds. I inhale deeply, my wounded chest aching as it arches upwards, eager to sate my appetite for the coy blonde who washes herself beside me.
The atmosphere is suffused with an expectant hum, a tune I am overly familiar with and yet completely distracted by. Our arms meet occasionally as we lather generous bars of soap over our skins, and sometimes, by accident or purpose, rest against each other as we remain inexplicably still.
Cautiously I turn to her, my heart beating as steadily as the cascading water. I reach forward, my hand falling deftly onto the curve of her hip as I push her gently backwards into the humid tiles. Her bar of soap slips suddenly, rattling loudly into the shower tray below us as she encircles my wandering hand with her own, pulling it tentatively up the length of her body. I raise my other hand instinctively, trailing the soap across her collarbone, smoothing it over her shoulders and down the insides of her arms. Damp hair drips down my chest as she leans forward, her mouth grazing my neck as her fingers begin to explore my lower back and pull me closer.
I close my eyes as her lips part, their delicate softness lingering against the soft thud of my pulse as she plants a solitary kiss. I tilt my head, encouraging more, as my soap slips away and I grasp her hips tightly, drawing them into mine.
“Don’t.” She whispers, her mouth placing an apologetic kiss on my shoulder as she withdraws. “We can’t.”
“Why can’t we?” I persist, my hand rubbing her trembling thigh patiently.
“You know why.”
“Buffy,” I sigh, resting my forehead against hers, “that was six months ago.”
“Five.” She corrects immediately.
“Okay, five then, but so what? Stuff’s changed.”
“Has it?”
“Yes.” I promise, dipping my head to kiss her.
”Wait,” Buffy exclaims, pushing me away, “Faith, I can’t do this! Not until I know you’re serious this time.”
“Damn it, B.” I curse, wiping the moisture from my face. “You know how I feel about you! It was different before, but now-”
“What, now you can’t see?” I flinch. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, Faith, but last time you were all ‘Hey, B, don’t get me wrong I think you’re seriously hot and all but I don’t do relationships’, remember?”
“Shit! What did you do, Buffy, write the whole fuckin’ thing down?”
“I didn’t have to!”
“It was just a kiss, a drunken kiss, I was, I was…” I trail off, my fingers dabbling in the damp ends of her hair as I struggle to keep her here, so close to me. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Well you did and I don’t want to talk about it anymore, alright?”
“Okay, fine.” I mutter, raising my hands defensively as she pulls back the shower curtain with a rustle of fabric and slips away from me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I balance precariously on the edge of her bed, my body wrapped loosely in the scarce cotton creases of a towel. Sullenly, I cross my arms, raking my hands up and down my forearms in an attempt to stamp out the rapid flush of goosebumps.
She kneels behind me, her bare knees pressing into my lower back, as her warm, tender hands sweep my damp tresses from my shoulders and bundle them into a towel. I shiver as the cool air rushes to greet my newly exposed skin, and try to ignore the running droplets of ice cold water that escaped my hair last minute, and now roll down my back like silent tears.
Meticulously, she begins to towel dry my hair, the feel of her fingertips still distinct beneath the thick material, as they massage deeply against my scalp. I drop my head forward and close my eyes, my body relaxed and drifting gently within the confines of her soporific rhythm.