In Bocca al Lupo (Buffy/Veruca, PG-13)
Feb. 13th, 2010 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
carlyinromeTITLE: In Bocca al Lupo
RATING: PG-13
FANDOM: BtVS
PAIRING: Buffy/Veruca
SPOILERS: Post-“Chosen,” and completely oblivious to S8.
SUMMARY: Buffy has already done the let yourself get wild movie of the week thing.
PROMPT: For the
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femslash_minis Round 25, in response to escritoireazul, who requested Buffy/Veruca with wolf senses, snarky conversation and flirting, and the ocean. NOTES: As always, endless thanks to my beta reader,
myhappyface. She makes me look good.Veruca woke to the scent of the sea, to the dead cool of earth against her hairless flesh. Without opening her eyes, Veruca poked out a pink finger of tongue, tasted the bed that cradled her. Salt, the loamy base of earth, the muting chalkiness of calcium.
Veruca opened her eyes, used her palms to push her lean, bare body up off the rocks. The warm salt air was as languid and measured as the movements of her chest, and she could feel the rocking of the tides in the pads of her feet on the rocks, but she could not hear the waves.
As she stood, a shock of pain radiated down her spine. Veruca felt blindly back; there was a raised, painful knot at the nape of her neck.
“The fuck,” she said.
Veruca looked around. It was dark, even with her perfect vision. Her eyes prowled the landscape. Rock, rock, three hundred and sixty degrees of ocean-smooth rock. Cave. Ocean cave.
Veruca was lifting a foot to take a step forward, out, away, but then a new smell cut through the scent of sea. The sharp, raw smell of a predator, a smell like coming thunder; the flowery, glossy smell of expensive perfume. Veruca frowned, froze. An odd combination, and unexpected things are often dangerous.
A yellow light bobbed into view, followed by a small blonde woman holding a battery-operated lantern and a canvas bag. Veruca squinted.
“Hey,” she said. “I know you.”
“Buffy Summers,” the woman said, setting her bag and her lantern on the rocky floor. The yellow light splashed over everything. It was something like being inside a jack-o’-lantern. “Vampire slayer.”
After a moment of furious recollecting, recognition sparked in Veruca’s mind. “You’re Oz’s friend.”
Buffy’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “Willow’s friend.”
“Yeah,” Veruca said, running her eyes over the girl. “Yeah, I remember you.” She squinted. “Hey, aren’t you going to be all, ‘Hey, Veruca, long time, no see! Small world, what are the odds?’”
“You changed back into the unfurred version of you as soon as the sun came up,” Buffy said. “I’ve pretty much gotten over my shock.”
Veruca frowned. “I see. So. What are the odds?”
“Well, only so much earth, only so many werewolves.”
“Only so many werewolf hunters?” Veruca asked, taking a step forward. “Which, now that you’ve brought it up, what the fuck?”
“Not hunting,” Buffy said. “You can tell that by the your not being dead right now. Just removing you from an innocent populace full of potential snacks.”
“Oh, you tight ass!” Veruca said. Then she remembered the knot on her neck. Her fingers felt for it, absently. “What did you do to me?”
“Tranquilizer dart,” Buffy said. “Nonlethal. For you, for me, for the local townspeople.”
“How thoughtful of you. Is that why you came back? To run your Mother Teresa spiel by me? Thanks, but not interested.”
“I came to bring you some clothes,” Buffy said, picking up the canvas bag. “Unless you’d like to walk home naked?”
Veruca arched a brow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Buffy made a face, so she continued, “Come on, tight ass. Haven’t you ever let go? Just thrown back your head, and . . . howled?”
“Sorry, I’ve already done the let yourself get wild movie of the week thing. Get dressed, and I’ll help you out of here.”
Buffy threw the bag at Veruca. The girl just smiled as it fell to her feet.
“I don’t understand the attraction, really,” Veruca said. “I mean, you’re like me. You just woke up one day with this big ass mystical gift. Why not ride it? Why not suck the marrow from it?”
Veruca’s body was lean and dark, bronzed by the yellow light of Buffy’s flashlight. The bones of her ribs, her hips, appeared as gentle, lovely curves softening the straight lines of her long limbs, long torso. She never once tried to cover nudity, the shaved angle of her pudenda; her small, dark-nippled breasts. Buffy thought of that statue in Rome, Romulus and Remus suckling at the wolf. Veruca reminded her of that; Buffy could imagine small, wild wolf pups cuddling against the notches of the girl’s ribs, whelping at her dusky nipples. And Veruca, with the same bulletproof smile, the curl of her lips that was nearly a baring of fangs. That spark in her eyes, the hunter’s spark, the I can taste you from here spark.
“Pretty sure marrow sucking violates my diet,” Buffy said. “Come on. I’ll show you out.”
Veruca could find her own way out, following her nose and her gut, but she recognized that Buffy was higher on the food chain, so she followed the Slayer from the depths of the sea cave to sunlight and the plaintive wails of gulls. The girls stumbled out onto the grey rock beach. The sky and the gently rolling ocean were the same color, the color of a mirror reflecting nothing but itself.
“So, two more wolf nights,” Buffy said. “You can meet me back here tonight, before the sun goes down, and—”
“And you’ll tether me?” Veruca asked. “No thanks.” She looked up into the grey sky, to the circling ocean birds. Then, laughing, she started to run down the beach, her footing over the jagged rocks as sure as a mountain goat’s.
“Catch me if you can!”
Veruca opened her eyes, used her palms to push her lean, bare body up off the rocks. The warm salt air was as languid and measured as the movements of her chest, and she could feel the rocking of the tides in the pads of her feet on the rocks, but she could not hear the waves.
As she stood, a shock of pain radiated down her spine. Veruca felt blindly back; there was a raised, painful knot at the nape of her neck.
“The fuck,” she said.
Veruca looked around. It was dark, even with her perfect vision. Her eyes prowled the landscape. Rock, rock, three hundred and sixty degrees of ocean-smooth rock. Cave. Ocean cave.
Veruca was lifting a foot to take a step forward, out, away, but then a new smell cut through the scent of sea. The sharp, raw smell of a predator, a smell like coming thunder; the flowery, glossy smell of expensive perfume. Veruca frowned, froze. An odd combination, and unexpected things are often dangerous.
A yellow light bobbed into view, followed by a small blonde woman holding a battery-operated lantern and a canvas bag. Veruca squinted.
“Hey,” she said. “I know you.”
“Buffy Summers,” the woman said, setting her bag and her lantern on the rocky floor. The yellow light splashed over everything. It was something like being inside a jack-o’-lantern. “Vampire slayer.”
After a moment of furious recollecting, recognition sparked in Veruca’s mind. “You’re Oz’s friend.”
Buffy’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “Willow’s friend.”
“Yeah,” Veruca said, running her eyes over the girl. “Yeah, I remember you.” She squinted. “Hey, aren’t you going to be all, ‘Hey, Veruca, long time, no see! Small world, what are the odds?’”
“You changed back into the unfurred version of you as soon as the sun came up,” Buffy said. “I’ve pretty much gotten over my shock.”
Veruca frowned. “I see. So. What are the odds?”
“Well, only so much earth, only so many werewolves.”
“Only so many werewolf hunters?” Veruca asked, taking a step forward. “Which, now that you’ve brought it up, what the fuck?”
“Not hunting,” Buffy said. “You can tell that by the your not being dead right now. Just removing you from an innocent populace full of potential snacks.”
“Oh, you tight ass!” Veruca said. Then she remembered the knot on her neck. Her fingers felt for it, absently. “What did you do to me?”
“Tranquilizer dart,” Buffy said. “Nonlethal. For you, for me, for the local townspeople.”
“How thoughtful of you. Is that why you came back? To run your Mother Teresa spiel by me? Thanks, but not interested.”
“I came to bring you some clothes,” Buffy said, picking up the canvas bag. “Unless you’d like to walk home naked?”
Veruca arched a brow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Buffy made a face, so she continued, “Come on, tight ass. Haven’t you ever let go? Just thrown back your head, and . . . howled?”
“Sorry, I’ve already done the let yourself get wild movie of the week thing. Get dressed, and I’ll help you out of here.”
Buffy threw the bag at Veruca. The girl just smiled as it fell to her feet.
“I don’t understand the attraction, really,” Veruca said. “I mean, you’re like me. You just woke up one day with this big ass mystical gift. Why not ride it? Why not suck the marrow from it?”
Veruca’s body was lean and dark, bronzed by the yellow light of Buffy’s flashlight. The bones of her ribs, her hips, appeared as gentle, lovely curves softening the straight lines of her long limbs, long torso. She never once tried to cover nudity, the shaved angle of her pudenda; her small, dark-nippled breasts. Buffy thought of that statue in Rome, Romulus and Remus suckling at the wolf. Veruca reminded her of that; Buffy could imagine small, wild wolf pups cuddling against the notches of the girl’s ribs, whelping at her dusky nipples. And Veruca, with the same bulletproof smile, the curl of her lips that was nearly a baring of fangs. That spark in her eyes, the hunter’s spark, the I can taste you from here spark.
“Pretty sure marrow sucking violates my diet,” Buffy said. “Come on. I’ll show you out.”
Veruca could find her own way out, following her nose and her gut, but she recognized that Buffy was higher on the food chain, so she followed the Slayer from the depths of the sea cave to sunlight and the plaintive wails of gulls. The girls stumbled out onto the grey rock beach. The sky and the gently rolling ocean were the same color, the color of a mirror reflecting nothing but itself.
“So, two more wolf nights,” Buffy said. “You can meet me back here tonight, before the sun goes down, and—”
“And you’ll tether me?” Veruca asked. “No thanks.” She looked up into the grey sky, to the circling ocean birds. Then, laughing, she started to run down the beach, her footing over the jagged rocks as sure as a mountain goat’s.
“Catch me if you can!”
***
The sky was darkening, the pregnant moon rising. The call of the hunt thrummed through Buffy’s veins, her pulse pounding in her ears. She tried to ignore it, focusing on organizing her weapons bag instead.
In the distance, she thought she heard a howl.
In the distance, she thought she heard a howl.
