AssignationBy Maren
Stepping off of the charter boat and onto the wet, white sand, the woman shielded her eyes from the blazing tropical sun that even her expensive sunglasses couldn’t quite block out. Her gaze flitted over the expanse of the pristine, untouched beach up toward the villa that was partially nestled in the shade from the large coconut and mango trees that emerged from the dense rainforest behind it. Not detecting any movement in the villa or the land surrounding it, she turned to the boat captain who had just deposited her bag in the sand next to her.
“No other charters out here today?” she asked, giving the man a smile.
“No. You are expecting someone?” he asked in French-accented English, raking his eyes over her lithe, tanned body before letting them come to a rest on the sparkling diamond that rested on the ring-finger of her left hand.
Her smile faltered, disappointment etched on her small features. Nodding absently, she picked up the bag and offered her thanks to the charter captain, not waiting for his response before walking toward the private villa.
When she walked into the cool, shaded interior of the front hall she could tell that the local woman who prepared the villa for visitors had been here. The shutters were open, letting in the cool ocean breeze that fanned the gauzy white curtains, making them float softly across the wooden floors as the light reflected off of them in rays of broken, muted illumination. The air smelled clean, fresh, and slightly salty and the kitchen was stocked with more food than they could possibly eat in three days.
Three days, she thought, sighing. Three days, two times a year, for the past five years. It was nothing, and it was everything.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------Two hours later and she was lying in a chair beside the small, winding pool, looking out over the deserted beach to the clear aqua blue water beyond. Light reflected off of the water, dancing in bright, intricate patterns that hypnotized her with their silent beauty. Sipping at the chilled white wine in the glass beside her, she considered the time that had passed since they last met here. There had been the bad—another averted apocalypse, more slayers dead—but there had also been the days and nights spent in her husband’s strong arms. Three years of finally being with him without any barriers hadn’t made up for the decade they had been forced to live without one another and she doubted that any amount of time could ever do so.
She closed her eyes and tried to block out thoughts of him. The guilt would come, would flood her and permeate every pore and nerve ending, but she pushed it away for the moment. They only had three days and it would have to last them another 6 months. Opening her eyes, she scanned the horizon but all she saw was the expanse of ocean fading into the clear blue sky. She finished her wine and closed her eyes again, letting the warm sun and the cooling breeze lull her to sleep.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------When she awoke, it was to the sensation of something soft, cool, and wet trailing over her bare breasts with their pebbled nipples, then down the crevice between them onto her stomach. Slowly, she opened her eyes and met the brown gaze of her lover, her lips lifting in a sexy smile when she glanced down her body and saw the strawberry nestled in her navel.
The smile was returned, also sexy but with a more carnal edge, before the upturned lips moved down and nibbled at the fruit until it was gone and the flesh beneath it was exposed once again. Then she was arching into her lover’s touch as those same lips and teeth licked and nibbled away the traces of strawberry left in its downward path. She gasped as a talented tongue laved her nipples before full, soft lips suckled each into a warm cavern before abandoning each in turn to the tropical air. Then those lips trailed over her collarbone and neck, hands brushing her hair away so that there was no barrier between ear and lips.
“You taste so damn good, B,” Faith murmured before capturing the small lobe between her teeth and biting down gently as she softly blew hot air into the canal. Her attentions were rewarded with a shiver and moan.
Then their lips met, tongues entwined and probing as they each strained to re-explore well-known but sorely missed depths. Buffy’s hands delved into the long dark curls as she pulled Faith closer, drinking in the tastes and textures of the other woman. When they broke apart, they were both short of breath.
“I’ve missed you,” Buffy whispered, her green eyes pooling with unshed tears. She didn’t let them fall even though she knew that Faith would let her cry without telling her she had to stop, had to be strong, had to be a paragon of bravery and virtue for the girls she led in battle. Maybe later, when they were drunk from too much wine and their hands were hard and needy and demanding, maybe then she would fall just a little bit apart, but not now.
“I know,” Faith replied, pausing just long enough to remove her own bikini before joining Buffy on the lounge chair.
No, she wouldn’t let the tears spill yet because mostly what she was feeling was happiness and contentment. She was finally with the second of only two people who accepted all of her, loved all of her, without any reservation . . . and the only person who knew what it was like to have lived all of these years with the body of a warrior and the heart of a woman.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------Nights in the villa were defined by flickering candlelight, copious amounts of wine, soft laughter and insistent hands. Sometimes, and never on the first night, Faith would find the battered deck of cards that Xander had left after one of his visits to the island years ago and try to teach Buffy the sacred rules of Poker. Other times they would play on the beach under the full light of the moon, running, tackling, and struggling in the sand until they were covered in the fine white crystals and had to make a stop at the outdoor shower before stumbling in to the bedroom to continue what was started there. There were also quiet nights punctuated by intermittent words and kisses, companionship and melancholia wound together so that they were partners in their isolation.
But never on the first night.
The first night they danced, alternating between fevered and frenetic, slow and erotic, but always with roaming hands and eyes just for one another. The first night they reconnected in a way that was uniquely theirs, each giving the other permission to . . . want . . . take. . . have. . ., safety provided by the understanding that there were no limits between them, no possible negative repercussions, no death and years of resulting self-destruction to be had from their reunion.
And the dancing continued deep into the night, the music long ended, limbs and lips and hands writhing instead to the humming energy that buzzed through two bodies—one honey and one bronze, darkness and light so close and tangled together that they became one for several precious hours.
Other nights they might talk, or giggle, or fight, or play. But on the first night they always danced.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------The days were spent outdoors, soaking up the relentless sun and cooling themselves in the driving, lapping water of the ocean or in the smooth, clear water of the pool. Often Buffy would recline in the sand and watch with wonder and more than a little worry as Faith climbed to the top of a high rock formation that sheltered a small cove on one side of the beach and dove from its highest peak into the deep water below.
Buffy never joined her, no matter how hard Faith teased her. She didn’t have any desire to ever take a dive like that again, and she wasn’t oblivious to the deeper message that realization held. Instead she watched and laughed in delight when the dark head emerged, dripping and beautiful, from the dark aqua water.
Other times they would lie side by side next to the pool, silent as Buffy flipped through a magazine and Faith read a comic book that someone had left behind. Faith would invariably be the first to become bored and after tossing the comic book aside, she would turn her attention to the sun-kissed idol beside her. Long, slow strokes against her exquisite, muscular back; kneading hands and nipping teeth over the perfect arch of her buttocks before she couldn’t resist anymore and straddled her curved hips to rub urgently, insistently, against Buffy’s flesh. Coming as those green eyes stared back over the honey-colored shoulder at her and moaned her name in desire at the sight of the dark head thrown back in panting, moaning pleasure. Then it was Buffy’s turn to whimper as Faith traced her mouth over the golden cheeks again, licking away the copious traces of her own desire before turning her over and continuing the ministrations.
Sometimes, if she’d had enough of whatever frozen concoction they were drinking, Faith would let Buffy paint her toenails red—always red, no matter how much Buffy pouted that pink would look so good with her skin tone. The hot sun dried the polish quickly and then Buffy would draw each newly-adorned toe into her mouth, suckling on it as her eyes met Faith’s dark ones, sparkling wickedly and silently but eloquently promising not to stop as she slowly made her way up her lover’s body.
Then there were the times they simply held each other, limbs wrapped together as they napped under the fluffy white clouds in the clear blue sky.
The days were long and languid, filled with easy companionship and intense passion, but despite their long hours they were never enough and soon, always too soon, they were over.
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On their last night together, the charter scheduled for early the next morning, she couldn’t seem to let sleep claim her. Instead she lay on her side in the big bed with its white sheets and whiter mosquito netting and looked down at the woman who was slumbering beside her, tousled hair spread out over the pillow, red lips slightly open and arched in a smile as the dream fluttered behind her closed eyelids.
Faith was always the first to fall asleep at night and the last to get up in the morning when they were here together in their own private paradise. Once, on a morning when Buffy had brought breakfast to the bed and kissed her awake, she had confessed that it was because this was the only place in the reality of her world where she felt completely safe. This private island, owned by the new Watcher’s Council and free of things that go bump in the night, was an oasis where she didn’t have to worry about who might find her and kill her, or turn her over to the police. Her eyes had shimmered with rarely seen moisture as she told Buffy that no one could make her feel safe like she could.
That had been the year before Angel had come back into her life, happiness-clause-free and intent on reestablishing a relationship that she was only too eager to pursue. When the next reunion date had come, she told herself that she had to go because it was so important to Faith, that she couldn’t let her fellow slayer down, that they didn’t have to be physical, and a million other justifications that seemed logical as she packed her bag in the house that she shared with Angel in L.A.
Then she arrived at the villa and realized it was her own need that brought her back.
Now she didn’t even try to pretend that each stolen moment with Faith wasn’t one-half of everything she wanted and a danger to everything she had finally gained.
She knew that if she approached him about inviting her into their bedroom he would probably reluctantly agree. He always gave her what she wanted, and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t ever had multiple sexual partners before. But she couldn’t ask-- wouldn’t ask because she wanted Faith all to herself and a part of her was too jealous to even consider sharing him with anyone else. She recognized the hypocrisy of that.
So instead she met Faith here two times a year for three days each time and tried to forget what she was jeopardizing.
Sighing, she moved her arm and let her head fall to the pillow as she closed her eyes and willed herself to get some sleep. When strong, slender arms reached out and pulled her close she finally drifted off, dreaming of two pairs of strong arms and two pairs of dark brown eyes.
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Angel smiled at her as she sat her bag down on the floor and shook her long hair loose of the chignon that had held it out of her way as she traveled. She returned his smile, hers broad and accompanied by sparkling eyes that beamed out her joy at seeing him. Slipping out of her sandals, she padded over to him and sank into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as he set aside the book he had been reading and embraced her in return. Their mouths met, and the kiss was deep and passionate, as their kisses always were. When she pulled away to catch her breath, he moved his mouth to her neck and continued his caresses, needing to savor the taste of her. She always tasted so damn good.
“I missed you,” she said, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice.
“I know,” he replied, his lips moving sensuously against the skin of her throat while his hand skimmed under the hem of her skirt, his fingers tracing a light but insistent line up the silken skin of her upper thigh. He had missed her too, now wanting nothing more than to taste her and touch her and smell her so that he could be assured that she was actually here and not a phantom from his dreams. His nostrils flared as he breathed in the scent of her, as his lips and hands rememorized her hills and valleys. And he tried not to think, but as always he wondered. . .
. . . wondered if she would ever tell him the truth about her mini-vacations, or if he would have to keep pretending that he didn’t notice that she came back without any tan lines, supremely relaxed, and with Faith’s scent all over her.
~Fin~