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Thursday Nights

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Summary: Thursday night was their night. F/B/S

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
BtVS/AtS Non-Crossover > Romance > Threesomes - MixedKoohiiCafeFR151769051,22715 May 1115 May 11Yes
Title: Thursday Night
Author: Koohii Cafe
Rating: FR15
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that BtVS isn't mine.
Written for: natural_blue_26 at comment_fic
Summary: Thursday night was their night. F/B, F/B/S
Author's notes: Post season 7, non-comic verse



Thursday Nights



It was a Thursday night when Faith finally got tired of her sister slayer’s moping, and decided to do something about it. She’d kept quiet for awhile, watching as the others tried their things, mostly touchy feely crap like when Little D took her on a shopping spree, or when Red did the whole best buds heart to heart talk deal. None of it worked, although B tried to pretend they did, and now it was the dark slayer’s turn, and she was going to do this her way.

That’s why that fateful Thursday found her throwing the door open to Buffy’s place, fully decked out in leather club gear, and smirking at the look on the smaller woman’s face. There were protests, of course, but Faith wasn’t having any of it, and soon enough, she’d forced the other woman into an outfit almost as leather as her own, and she was dragging her out the door. They patrolled first, both to soothe Buffy’s protests, and as a way to get her riled up; it may have been years since they first rode that edge of the dark side together in SunnyD, but Faith remembered well enough that no matter how the golden girl tried to ignore it, they operated much the same on a base level. After a mediocre night of slayage, she dragged Buffy next to her favorite club, and they danced.

Damn, did they dance. Unlike that first time, though, they only danced together. The pimply faced teenage boys- and even the older, more mature men- that gathered around them weren’t the cure for the thing that ailed her sister of heart, no matter if Buffy thought that was why she’d been dragged out like this. Faith knew better than that. All their differences aside, the two of them held some of the same things inside them, forged in some of the same fires. No, it wasn’t the people in the club that she’d brought Buffy here for, it was the act. Letting go, releasing the hold on the pain in her heart, and being free. Slaying, dancing, a couple drinks to fuel the fire, got that done. And finally, when the club had wound down, and she and Buffy were almost the last people still on the floor, she knew it was enough.

They went back to Faith’s place, and the blonde didn’t protest. Nor did she protest when, once inside, she was pressed up against the wall, pinned by a strength that matched her own. From there, Thursday night faded into a Friday morning dawn of lips and tongues, nips and bites, leather and flesh that tumbled into red satin sheets.

Thursday nights became their night. Through the rest of the week, nothing changed, except perhaps the slow return of Buffy’s smile, and if the others wondered what had happened, neither Slayer told. It was no secret; they simply had no need to tell. And when their night came again, as it did every week, they donned familiar leather, went on patrol, and ended the night with dancing, first at the club, then in private, together.

It went on like that for months, perhaps could have gone on forever, but then when did the life of a slayer allow such contentment? Because one night, before they hit the club, the last vampire they met was one to rock the boat; platinum blonde hair slicked back, thin frame, high cheekbones, leather and smoke. The dark slayer watched closely as she felt Buffy’s heart stop, as the reason for their Thursday nights walked back into the golden girl’s life. If it hurt to know she wouldn’t be needed, Faith let only a wry smirk show as she turned to leave, to give them the time they needed together to fully heal Buffy’s heart.

She never expected to hear her name called, turning her to face the pair, to halt her in her step. But it happened, and then there was that familiar, righteous anger that was so unique to the other slayer, those harsh eyes as she berated Faith for trying to walk away. And there was a powerful kiss, tiny hands on her cheeks keeping her from pulling away, hazel green eyes locking with her own to demand she stay.

They didn’t hit the club that night. The three of them made their way to Buffy’s place, and from that night on, Thursday night became only one night among many such nights.

The End

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