by M Phoenix
Somewhere between the plaintive beeping of the washing
machine ending its cycle, and the hauling out of one load and cramming in
of the next. Somewhere in the low, conversational sorting and folding of
faded cotton; their fingers brush, mesh, hold, and suddenly they are pulling,
falling at each other like leaves in a storm. Tumbling against the hard
tiles of the floor and the soft, clean warmth of clothes fresh from the
drier. Buffy and Faith. Faith and Buffy; tangled, urgent and breathless
with the bottled scent of summer meadows, and each other. Rolling and laughing
as they scatter shirts, pants, socks to the four corners of Giles'
utility room; and the grey, English rain patters at the windows, and cannot
The washing machine beeping. Cycle over. Next…
Buffy laughs, loose and easy, sprawled on Xander's best shirt. She reaches round to peel a limp sock from where it's stuck to Faith's ass. Faith kisses her, one more time, teasing, gentle, then surveys the room. "Er, I think the laundry exploded. Guess that means we'd better start over."
"Yeah," Buffy murmurs, smiling, drawing Faith back into her arms, "I guess it does."