Malibu Barbie, Meet Smurfette
"You taste ... of darkness." Illyria inhaled deeply. "And smell of death."
"Wow." Buffy swung her leg over Illyria's head and slipped from the bed. "Lines like that? Not so much the way to a girl's heart."
"The way to your heart is through your chest." Illyria stood and pressed a hand to Buffy's breast. "Here. Like when you kill the half-breeds."
"Right," Buffy muttered. "Should have seen that one coming." She shrugged off Illyria's hand and reached for her pants on the floor.
Spike, of course, had been the one to suggest they spar. It seemed that he'd taken several beatings from the blue god. Or was it goddess? Buffy couldn't quite figure that one out. And now that they were sleeping together, it meant she couldn't quite figure out if what they had going on was a little girl-on-girl action--as Spike liked to call it--or actual straight sex. Well, straight probably wasn't the right word, but maybe it would become clearer if she tilted her head to the side like Illyria? Either way, they'd been sparring in and out of the bedroom for almost a month now.
He'd shown up on her doorstep bruised and battered, an equally abused Angel on one side, a fragile looking girl on the other. Apparently they'd drummed up a serious battle for themselves in L.A. and when it was over, they'd come looking for a place to recoup and figure out what came next.
It turned out that what came next was the shy skinny girl turning blue before Buffy's eyes and standing straight and strong, demanding that Buffy "bring her sustenance." It didn't take long for her to get the story of who -- and what -- Illyria was. She was definitely ... different. Arrogant and strong as fuck, but a step up from the last god Buffy'd tangled with. At least this one wasn't trying to kill her or Dawn.
"Do you wish I were more like Wesley?"
"Wesley's dead." Illyria frowned. "I do not wish you dead."
Buffy rolled her eyes. Illyria's habit of taking everything so literally could be a problem. Comments like these were the least of it; the last time Buffy'd made some stupid pun, she'd ended up slammed against a wall. Some gods just had no sense of humor.
"That's not what I meant," she said. "I mean ... do you miss him? Would you be happy if I had some of the same interests as him ... or if I were ... a man?"
"I don't understand." Illyria tilted her head. "If you were a man, you wouldn't be the Slayer--you'd just be a weak little girl."
Buffy blinked. "Right." Why didn't I think of that?
Buffy grinned as Illyria removed her shirt and tossed it to the side of the mat. "What's got you all distracted today?"
"What do you mean?" Illyria spun and kicked at Buffy's head, missing as Buffy ducked and somersaulted past her.
"I mean," she grunted as she pushed herself up and landed a punch to Illyria's lower back before she could turn away. "... you don't usually lose. At least not this quickly." Strip sparring had never been part of her training with Giles. But now? Buffy figured this was hands down one of her more ingenious ideas.
Illyria removed her panties -- her last item of clothing -- and then made a show of her speed and agility by tackling Buffy to the floor. "Maybe I wanted to get through the sparring and on to other things." She pressed down against Buffy's body and sniffed her from shoulder to ear.
Buffy shifted her legs to cradle Illyria's body. Tipping her head back, she moaned as a cool hand slipped under her shirt to cup her breast. "Not ... here," she gasped. Maybe this wasn't such a bright idea after all.
"Don't stop on my account." The voice came from the door. "I rather enjoy the show."
Buffy toed one shoe off and tried to fling it across the room at Spike but only succeeded in whacking Illyria in the back of the head.
"Get out," Illyria said, not bothering to turn. Before Buffy could agree with her, she had her tongue in her mouth and a hand at her waist band. And, oddly enough, Spike actually left the room.
"How'd you do that?" She asked when Illyria released her mouth to move down her body.
"I'm a god."
"Oh ... oh god, yes. Yes, you are," Buffy moaned as strong fingers worked their magic.
"So, did the luscious Malibu Barbie and the lovely Smurfette have a good little training session?" Spike's eyes traveled down Buffy's body as he spoke. Even if he hadn't caught them in flagrante delicto, her rumpled clothes and rich scent would have given her away.
"Smurfette? No wonder she's always kicking your ass." Buffy let the Barbie comment slide. If she ignored him, Spike would eventually give it up. It was only when she protested that he kept up the teasing.
"Yeah? Well, she's stopped now that she's kicking yours. Or should I say--" At Buffy's raised eyebrow, he chose his words carefully. "Kissing it," he smiled not so innocently.
Buffy smiled, spun on her heel, and called over her shoulder, "She kisses a whole lot more than my ass, Spike." She could just imagine the look on his face -- and the eyes on her ass -- as she strode from the room, hips and ponytail swinging.
They were curled up in Buffy's bed, sweat cooling on their bodies. What was probably only a few minutes felt like hours to Buffy. She couldn't get her mind off what Illyria had said earlier that day. "Do I really taste like darkness?"
"Mmm," Illyria moaned. "Like darkness and death. Destruction and power." She said it with such relish.
"So that's good ... you think I taste good?"
"Fred loved pancakes."
"What!?" Buffy rolled over to stare at Illyria. "Pancakes?!"
"You taste to me like pancakes to her. Sweet and gooey and she could eat more of them than Charles."
Buffy relaxed back into the bed, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. "So you could eat me for quite a while then, huh?" She grinned.
"I would only eat you if there were no other source of nourishment available. I would eat your friends first and feed them to you to keep you alive."
A month ago she would have been disgusted by that, but now Buffy found herself laughing. It was oddly romantic once you got to know her. "That's ... that's not what I meant."
Illyria's hand slipped between her legs as she leaned in for a kiss. "I will devour you any time you like," she murmured against Buffy's lips before sliding down her body and doing just that.
"I think I'm starting to rub off on you."
Illyria lifted her head to smile at Buffy as she shifted and pressed her crotch against Buffy's thigh. "No, Buffy, I'm the one rubbing off on you."