|S J Smith
Joined: 10 Sep 2003
Location: Scariest Place in Florida
|Posted: Mon Jan 10, 2005 6:52 pm Post subject: Kicks (NC-17) (Riley-centric)
S J Smith
Disclaimer: I am not now, nor have I ever been, Joss Whedon.
Rating: R to NC-17
Written for DoyleSB4 for the Secret Santa. (Sorry it's so late.)
* * *
"So, what do you do for fun around these parts?"
* * *
"You don't understand," Buffy said, shaking her head. "It's my duty. I don't get some sort of thrill out of it."
Riley thought her moue of distaste was completely out of place, considering he'd seen her expression during the fight with the Gentlemen. He didn't call her on it, though. One thing Riley Finn had learned was to hold his tongue when he wouldn't win an argument. But he knew the way Buffy felt when she was hunting demons; he just knew better than to compare it to the way he felt, being in the forest, hunting deer.
* * *
Sitting twenty feet above the ground in a deer blind was something Riley had done since he was old enough to hold a rifle. His family might've been farmers but they were hunters, all of them; even his sister, Katie, could be found out in the woods with a gun at least once during hunting season. Their grandfather, one-eighth Cherokee, had taught all his grandchildren how to be woods-wise; how to track game and how to get in a killing shot; how to dress game and save as much as possible of the animal to be used not just for eating or for its hide but how to waste as little of the kill as possible. Grandpa had made sure his children and grandchildren had known how to survive in the woods; how to gather wild mushrooms and glean berries and pick young pokeweed; what pine shoots and resin could be nibbled on; how to build snares for rabbits and catch fish with bare hands; how to avoid bears and lynx and cougars.
Grandpa's expression, when he was on the trail of something big, was exactly the same one that Buffy wore, when she was in the middle of a fight.
Riley knew she'd never believe him so he never brought it up.
* * *
"I'll admit it, I can barely drive," Buffy said, handing over the keys to her mother's Jeep.
* * *
Riley couldn't remember when cars didn't make up a big part of his life. His older brother, Kevin, had set him on his lap in the big combine and showed him how everything worked to harvest the corn. Riley was driving a tractor at the age of ten; the little Ford they used to plow up the family garden. At twelve, he was up on the John Deere, helping in the fields. His dad had taught him how to drive the old truck, so he could deliver hay to the Angus cattle out in the pastures. That happened about the time his legs were long enough to reach the floorboard.
While he was in high school, he found a '72 Mustang, rusting in Old Man Mollenhour's barn. Mr. Mollenhour sold it to Riley at a good price and he spent weekends and nights fixing it up. By the time he got ready to go to college, that car was known across ten counties for its speed. He hated selling it but he needed the money for college.
At least Kevin promised to take care of the 'Stang until Riley came home.
* * *
"Somehow, the idea of the military being interested in demons seems wrong," Buffy said. "I mean, aren't there other things you should be doing? Not that I mind having you around," she batted her eyes, attempting a save, "just that I don't get it."
* * *
There'd been Finns in the military for the past five generations. Riley could trace the history of his family by reading war journals. His father had been a part of Desert Shield, his great-uncle had met his wife in Viet Nam, his grandfather had been in Korea, his great-grandfather had served in World War II and his great-great grandfather in World War I.
He'd heard about Joyce eating some cursed candy that made her relive her youth and she sounded like a hippie. Giles would've been a punk. From what little Riley knew about Buffy's father, Hank, he would've protested any type of military action on the basis of it was the military.
Yeah, he got that Buffy didn't get it but she didn't have the background he did. Riley knew about service to the country and the people of the United States and he understood that while Buffy was incredible at her job of slaying the enemy, sometimes the enemy needed to be studied.
It was next to impossible to get information out of a dusted vampire, after all.
* * *
"I don't get drugs," Buffy said.
Riley had to agree with her on that one. He didn't understand anyone willingly polluting their body with something unknown. Speed, heroin, grass; he'd been offered that stuff more times than he could count and always turned it down. That didn't mean he was totally out of it, though; he liked a beer once in a while.
But he knew Buffy had a reaction to fighting; to being in the middle of a battle and winning. And he knew what she looked like after winning a fight, how her eyes gleamed and her body seemed to almost quiver from adrenaline overload.
He'd seen that look before.
* * *
"I don't understand why you're here," she said, her fingers skimming along the skin of Riley's forearm. Her eyes tilted up towards him, misty green with hints of blue caught in their depths. "But I'm glad you are." Her face became demonic, teeth elongating; brow furrowing; eyes glinting cold and yellow as frozen lemons. Her cool tongue traced the same path her fingers had taken before she bit deep in the crook of his arm.
Riley winced only slightly, the fingers of his free hand curling into her blond hair. He could feel the hypnotic pull of her suckling, gasped softly as her own hand slid down, rubbing along the zipper of his jeans. His body betrayed him by thrusting against the pressure of her palm.
Her laugh rippled across his arm and her gaze slipped up towards him. Tugging at the zip, she slid her hand inside. He hissed as she wrapped her fingers around him, squeezing in time to his pulse. He watched as she lifted her head away from his arm, sweeping her tongue around her mouth slowly before she leaned over to take him between her lips.
Her fangs slid down over him like an ivory cage and Riley felt his pulse quicken in reaction to the threat she posed. Her cool mouth descended slowly, her tongue writhing over him. His head dropped back, thudding against the wall as the vampire sucked him off.
Panting, drained, Riley watched as her face slipped back into her human mask, complete with coquettish smile. "There now," she whispered, "all done." Rising, she spun on her heels and walked out of the dingy room, looking for her next meal, leaving Riley to fumble himself back together.
There was a cracked mirror on the wall, someone's idea of a joke, he was sure. He avoided looking into it because he knew what he'd see.
Riley could never tell Buffy. He knew she'd never understand. But he knew that he'd be back for another hit soon. Just like any other junkie.
"I know it gives the enemy a handhold, but somehow I feel better going to a big battle with pretty hair. " --Buffy, in Kristi's "Fallen Angels"
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