Eyes That Were Stars
The full moon rises over Rome, and to Buffy's eyes, it's a bottomless well.
She listens to the werewolf howl, and there isn't anything in her but regret.
Seven and seventy days ago, Los Angeles drowned in blood.
What's left of it, Buffy holds in a cage.
She's standing in front of the cell before sunrise, dismissing the slayer on shift with a quick jerk of her chin.
And then they're alone, and the room is brightening, a thin shaft of sunlight striking through the high window.
The werewolf twitches, one of its legs stretching out, then the leg elongates, smooths into a woman's calf.
Buffy observes the transformation passively, the fur thinning, the bones shifting, the muzzle receding.
When the sun is finally risen, the werewolf is gone, and Nina lies there in its place.
She yawns, baring her teeth. Opens her eyes, and sees Buffy.
"Hey," Nina says, and her tone is wary. She makes no move to cover her body; she's grown used to being seen in her skin.
Buffy opens the door of the cell, pulls it firmly shut behind her.
Nina watches her, eyebrows arched. "Angel let me out during the day, at least."
Buffy looks away. "It's safer this way."
She watches as Nina stands, ambles over to the cot in the corner of the cell. She ignores the clothes they've left for her, and stretches out on the cot instead.
"Safer," Nina finally murmurs. "Right."
Buffy backs out of the cell, shuts and locks it again.
"Someone will bring you breakfast later."
Nina waves a hand carelessly. "Yeah."
But Buffy's already out the door.
The months pass, and the months pass.
And the morning before the day of every full moon, Nina appears on Buffy's doorstep, resignation and resentment in her eyes.
Just like she had the first time.
One day, Buffy is delayed by a vampire nest. By the time she walks down the steps to Nina's cell, the night guard has already left.
And Nina is lying on her cot, legs spread and open to the room. Her hand is busy between her legs, and Buffy steadies herself against the bars of the cell.
She doesn't have to say anything, doesn't have to formulate an awkward greeting, because Nina, her eyes still shut, smiles and says, "Hey, Buffy." Her other hand is cupped over a breast, her thumb idly rubbing against her nipple.
Buffy clears her throat. "Hey." Her mouth is dry. "Should I--"
Nina's gasp interrupts her. "Angel used to do this thing, y'know, with his tongue?" She twists, adds a third finger, pumping steadily. "Right before he came." Her voice is urgent, but steady nonetheless, barely catching between words.
Buffy leans against the bars. The metal is cool through the lace of her camisole.
Nina starts to say something else, but the words choke off.
Buffy watches the sharp jerk of her hips, the way the muscles in her thighs tense, arching her body upwards.
When it's over, Buffy straightens, wipes her palms against her jeans.
"See you in a month," she says, and unlatches the cell door.
She can feel Nina watch her as she walks away.
A month later, after the night before the full moon, Buffy waits a deliberate half-hour, lets the sunrise as she stands outside.
When she enters the room, Nina's watching the door, fingers fluttering lazily against her pussy.
"Took you long enough," she says, while Buffy steps into the cell.
Buffy says, "Shut up," and yanks off her jacket.
She kneels in front of the cot and pushes Nina's hand away, replaces it with her own instead.
Nina lets out a moan, bucks against Buffy's hand.
"Tell me more about Angel," Buffy asks, and presses her thumb against Nina's clit.
Nina whimpers, and that's how it begins.