Been There, Done That
Title :: Been There, Done That
Rating :: FR15
Disclaimer :: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright Eric Kripke, Kripke Enterprises & The CW Network. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. Vampire Diaries and all related characters are copyright of L.J. Smith, Kevin Williams and the CW. No infringement intended.
Prompt :: TheDana
/Buffy, Dean, Damon/BtVS, SPN, Vampire Diaries/ “Vamp!Dean and Damon, this can't be good for our Slayer.. but then she always had a thing for the undead.”Been There, Done That
Curved hips cut through the air, rolling from side to side and then forward as they followed the bass and her arms lifted, fingers running through blonde hair and holding it back from her face as she dipped in time with the beat. Buffy tilted her head back, neck arching as she freed her hair, allowing it to fall around her shoulders and down her back as she lost herself in the music and the pulsing bodies surrounding her. It was a well known fact by the locals that Saturday night on Church Street never failed to bring the fun or the crowds.
Buffy had finally allowed herself to become one of those locals after nearly three years trapped in this new-ish dimension, where all things supernatural, aside from herself, seemed to be nonexistent. She understood, really she did, why that powerful mage—aka the asshat—had wanted to come here since nothing magical meant he could take it over easily enough.
The asshat had made it through and she had tumbled right in after him and buried a very existent blade in his back, but once his heart stopped the opening sealed, trapping her on the wrong side of home. She really should have known, blood and portals, it was all messy business where the Summers women were concerned. So she’d been lost, with her hope of Willow being able to track her down, through various dimensions, slowly diminishing the longer she was surrounded by completely normal people, but she didn’t regret her decision—well, maybe a little.
Which is why she found herself on a crowded dance floor in her most comfortable heels, black pointed-toe pumps, that showed off her calves and made dipping her ass towards the floor bearable. Cramps happened, even with supernatural healing and whatnot, and with her job at the diner forcing her to be on her feet between eight to twelve hours a day, even in sneakers, she was prone to aches and the occasional pains. Her job sucked, but there wasn’t much else for someone with no bankable skills, or a social security number, and given that she just wasn’t into the whole snatch and grab Buffy was stuck, but on this dance floor, in the here and now, she was free.
A fast beat slipped through the speakers and over the dance floor, it rolled her shoulders and dipped her chin to her chest, thoughts and body lost in the music until wide hands slipped around her hips. A frown marred her brow, the locals knew better than to interrupt her which meant a tourist was slipping his fingers through the belt loops of her jean-skirt. The chorus hit and Buffy hips rotated, slipping forward and back, and she dropped, dislodging his hands easily. A subtle ache on her left hip, just above the line of skirt was all that remained of his touch as she slipped to the side so that she was out of the circle of his arms when she rose and shot the interloper an annoyed look.
Blue eyes widened and he shot her a condescending smirk that narrowed her eyes and Buffy contemplated showing the idiot a thing or three on how to treat a lady, but she liked Fifteen and wasn’t about to get herself escorted out and possible banned. The moment passed and he slipped back into the crowd and she shook her head before making her way to the back hall where the bathrooms lived and beyond that was an emergency exit that didn’t quite work, but allowed people to sneak out for a smoke, or a moment away from the sticky heat inside the club, without having to fork over a five dollar reentrance fee.
Fifteen was fun, but it was hell on her wallet and without a Council funded debit card she was down to pinching those pennies until they bent. The bathroom door swung open and she stumbled back a step as a pack of giggling girls fell out and into the wall across from it—which of course only made them laugh harder. Buffy managed a polite smile and a sidestep that kept her from bumping into anyone, but before she could dart around a hand caught the crock of her elbow and stopped her.
A thumb traced the beading on the sleeve her top and Buffy arched a brow at the well maintained manicure before she lifted her chin to gaze at a brunette that was just a little unsteady on her feet. She offered Buffy a toothy grin before she stated, “I love your outfit.”
Her brow dropped and Buffy returned her smile with one of her own. “Thanks.”
The brunette’s hand left her sleeve to absently play with one of the snaps holding the corset on and Buffy reached out, lightly grasping her wrist and stated, “No, it’s vintage,” before she stepped back and dropped the girl’s arm.
A pout worked its way over her glossed mouth, but her friends swarmed her, leading their drunken friend, mostly likely, back towards the bar for more drinks. With a shake of her head Buffy adjusted the strap that held the sleeve of the top up and another draping of the same beaded cloth over her right shoulder. The buckle at her throat had shifted during her time on the dance floor and as she tugged it back into place as she reached the emergency exit and pushed down on the lever, opening the door with a pop and a burst of cold air. Buffy slipped through the narrow opening, grateful for her comfortable shoes in the gravel strewn alley as she ducked and grabbed the brick leaning against the back of the building.
Wedging it between door and doorframe allowed her the freedom to move away from the dumpsters and towards the streetlight two blocks over. The warehouse districts of most metropolitan, or once metropolitan, cities all looked the same, but some, like the one she was currently making a home in, had converted those warehouses into something profitable and potentially dangerous. Darkened streets lead to more muggings and the homeless had made the warehouses that couldn’t be conveniently converted into homes and they didn’t take too kindly to trespassers.
Her arms crossed, the cold finally making itself known against her flushed skin, and her annoyance with the prick melted away as her head dropped back and she caught sight of the moon. A snort curved her mouth in a self-deprecating smile that she shared with the only companion in her life that was capable of keeping the same hours as hers with no difficulty whatsoever. A clatter and a bang drew her gaze back toward the exit—entrance—to the club as a guy stumbled forward, knocking the brick free.
Buffy ran, slipping in her comfortable shoes, but made it to the door just as it slammed, locking them effectively outside with five dollar cover charge and a three block walk to get back around to the front of the building to get back in. Her palm hit that metal door once, twice, before she spun and frowned at the shuddering guy across from her. Green eyes narrowed as she realized he was clutching his middle and leaning heavily on the dumpster for support.
She took a step forward, towards his quaking form. “Hey, are you alright?”
He spun, eyes incredibly wide in the dim light of the alley as he searched her out and moved around the dumpster away from her. His voice was muffled and just a little slurred as he stuttered, “I-I didn’t think anyone,” he paused, took a deep breath and trailed off as he straightened. Buffy felt more than saw his gaze settle on her and his shoulders rolled back as he retraced his steps. He spoke as he made his way back towards her, voice still strained, “You’re bleeding.”
Lines appeared between her brows and Buffy glanced down, checking first her arms and then her exposed chest and abdomen, green eyes narrowing on the scrape on her left side and a muttered curse followed her discovery, “That asshole.” Buffy looked up, caught the guy staring hard at her hip and rolled her eyes, “Look, Twi-hard, I’m not interesting in playing—”
He was suddenly in front of her, bringing his attractive features into focus and Buffy frowned at the hands catching her arms and walking her backwards towards the building. The heel of her pump came down on his instep and her elbow jerked that pretty face to the side and another, quicker, punch knocked her in the sternum and pressed her back tight to the wall as her breath expelled outward. She coughed, struggling to suck in the next breath and idiot caught her shoulder and shoved her upwards, compressing her chest and causing her to wheeze.
“Let go—” His right hand came up, caught the strap across her chest and tore it, the buckle snapped, baring her throat. Her right fist came up, catching him in the jaw with enough force to snap his head back and Buffy frowned, because he should have been on the ground unconscious, but instead he was turning back to her with the white of his eyes filled with blood and the veins around them thickening and protruding from his flesh.
Green eyes widened and she shoved her forearm outward, catching him across the throat and stopping him from thrusting his head forward and burying those sharpened teeth in her. He caught her shoulders and slammed her back, into the wall hard enough that she felt it give slightly, and her arm jerked, dropping.
He knocked it aside and his teeth were in her throat. She gasped, pain slicing through her as he bit down harder and his arms worked their way around her back, dragging her forward. He sucked greedily at the wound in her throat and a wince worked its way across her features and her knee worked its way between his thighs. The blow startled him, the pain forcing him back several steps and Buffy turned as the door opened, revealing the prick from earlier as he utterly ignored her and addressed the vampire, the fucking vampire, behind her.
“Dean, I told you not to play with your food.”
Her attacker, apparently named Dean, pulled himself up straighter and shot the other guy a mutinous look before his eyes, they were now a clear and angry green, narrowed and he snapped, “You set this up,” he took a step forward and the other guy lunged, knocking Buffy back against that damn wall and held her there by a tight grip on her neck that had her wondering how quickly he could break it. “You, sonofabitch
, let ’er go!”
“Weren’t you just trying to kill her?” He turned to her, voice conversational and blue eyes boring into her own as he addressed her, “He was trying to kill you, right? I didn’t interrupt anything,” those eyes flicked down her body, “more interesting, did I?”
“Damon,” Dean’s voice was dragged low in what Buffy assumed was frustration and a warning, but she kept her gaze trained on the other one because he just screamed trouble—and he also had her in a near chokehold.
His eyes rolled before he turned back to Buffy and his pupils spiraled outward, nearly covering all of the blue as he stated, voice commanding, “You had a little too much to drink and some asshole accosted you on your way home. You kneed him in the balls,” he leaned forward, mouth curving into a smirk, “Bravo, by the way,” and pulled back, gaze locking with hers once more and finished, “and then you ran that skinny ass of yours home. You’ll forget everything about this night except for what I just told you.”
“Uh-huh and after that can I join the circus?” Buffy reached up, caught his wrist and twisted it hard enough to crack something and she smiled at his wide-eyed look and drove her fist into his face. “I’m pretty decent at the trapeze.” She spun, kicked out at Dean as he stepped forward and caught him in the chest. “I’m better at juggling.”
“How’bout shutting up?” Blue Eyes was suddenly in her personal space and he blocked her next three swings before he managed to knock her back and Buffy found herself with her back to the wall—again. “Are you any good at that?”
“It’s not my best skill,” she admitted and offered him a saccharin sweet smile that he returned with a blurred palm that caught her face and snapped her head back and into the brick behind it.
Her vision swam, body sagging as she slid down the wall and her attacker from earlier was suddenly there, catching her before she hit the dirty alley and held her effortlessly against his chest. She heard Damon’s muffled, “No, you are not picking up another stray. Remember what happened with the last one?”
The simple retort made Buffy smile even as she slipped further away from reality and her last conscious thought was that the mage had been a complete and utter dumbass—her too if she was being honest, but she wasn’t so that equaled mage dumbass and her unconscious. The end.