Off a prompt-collection meme on LJ, and so pretty short; Night requested Buffy/John and gave me the line "you were born to be betrayed". Title is from Bruce Springsteen's "Racing In The Street".Disclaimer:
I hold no rights to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer
, and no money is being made off of this transformative work.
There were faint scars on either side of her throat, one like an animal bite and the other two tiny punctures, like she got on the wrong end of a really pissed-off stapler.
"Dracula," she said, when he was touching the stapler one, then, "no, really," when he laughed, and only the fact that she wasn't actually laughing, just trying to hide that smile she got when she didn't want to admit she could kick his ass because she thought it would hurt his feelings, made him give it a second thought.
"Seriously?" he asked, because -- because it was fucking Dracula she was talking about.
"Seriously," she confirmed, and had that smile about her again, the one that did nothing to hide her embarrassment at her place in their world.
"Jesus, I gotta get better stories," he muttered, which was enough to set her off giggling. She'd been looking for something to laugh at, something to distract her: he could read the unease in her, and frankly John was more than happy to come up with a distraction. He couldn't speak for her, of course (although the heaviness in her eyes was something of a suggestion) but he sure didn't do much in the way of laughing. If his wrists were bruised from her pinning them at his sides as well as their faces sore from the laughing the next day -- hell, so much the better.
The other one, the animal bite, she didn't talk about much. She dug up plenty on him, but what was left of the Council protected her dearly, and he turned up nothing on his own.
"My first," she said, when he was looking closely enough to see that there was older, even fainter tissue underneath.
"First bite?" he asked.
"The old one. The one on top was my first -- "
She stopped suddenly, trying to find the right word, and he understood. The silence stretched for a few moments longer than they should've let it, because her voice had that brittle quality to it that it sometimes got when she said "Old one's also from the first time I died, so another first."
There was something closing between them, and he rolled up his sleeve and showed her faint scars on his right arm. Impossible to see if you weren't looking for them. Only when he explained they were from Mary, screaming and cursing and clutching to raise blood when Dean was born, did the something wound tight inside her seem to loosen a little. Buffy kissed him after that, soft and fierce, her mouth hot against his. If they were alone, the both of them, in the world, at least their places in it were a shared weight for the moment. She wrapped her legs around his waist that time, and held herself up, and when she wasn't kissing him, John pressed his mouth against every bit of smooth skin he could find, reminding them both that they were more, much more, than their scars.