Neville had no idea how he ended up in Faith's bedroom naked.

All he knew was that one minute he was being kissed like his life depended on it, and the next he was naked in a bedroom.

A bedroom that belonged to a person of the female sex.

It was the ideal situation, some would say. Neville didn't think so. How clumsy was it possible to get?

Dropping the coffee mug at that moment was worse than melting cauldrons in Professor Snape's Potions class.

He bet that Malfoy never dropped a mug half full of warm coffee when he was snogging someone. He bet that it didn't happen to Ron or Harry either. It was just a thing that happened to Neville Longbottom.

Being naked in a woman's bedroom because he had spilled coffee on all of his clothes.

His clothes were in the washer, because Faith had insisted on it. He had also spilled on Faith's clothes, but she wasn't naked in here with him.

Why would she? She was probably regretting inviting him in for some coffee, and trying to find a way to get rid of him. Looking over at the bed he spotted a bedspread that he reluctantly wrapped around himself.

He was sure that Faith's opinion of him couldn't possibly sink lower than it was presently.

When he was wrapped tightly enough in her pink, satin bedspread to satisfy his own modesty he decided to try to find his hostess.

He wobbled along into the kitchen, and found her there cleaning up after the mishap earlier.

She had changed out of the skin-tight jeans she was wearing earlier, and was now wearing an oversized t-shirt. Just an oversized t-shirt.

Neville swallowed nervously and stepped forward.

He wasn't accustomed to situations like these, he was painfully aware of that, thank you very much. It wasn't as if it hadn't been pointed out to him several times over the years, latest by Malfoy earlier the same day.

"If you have something I could wear, I could quite easily be out of your hair," he said and she turned around.

The front of the oversized t-shirt had a picture of a bed on it. There was a person in the bed, who apparently dreamt of a bloke named Roarke.

"You're not in my hair," she said and shook her head a bit. "We've barely begun the night, Neville. Unless you have something you need to do?"

"No," he couldn't seem to look away from her bare legs. "I've got nothing much that needs to be done tonight. I just figured…"

"You figured what, Neville?" She was moving closer, and he stepped backwards.

"I thought you might be wanting to have a quiet evening in."

"I'm a vampire slayer, Neville. Do you know what that means?"

Neville frantically tried to remember anything from his years at Hogwarts or from his years as an exterior-decorator that would bring light upon what a Vampire Slayer actually was. He came up short and decided to go with the obvious.

"Er, you make the vampires disappear?"

Faith moved forwards again, and Neville moved backwards. Unfortunately Faith's pink satin bedspread was a bit too long, and he fell backwards with a thud.

Luckily he didn't hit anything on the way down, being knocked unconscious would be more embarrassing than the rest of the things that had happened. But he just fell, and got the wind knocked out of him.

"Well, yeah," Faith said, looking down on him. He felt his cheeks redden to match the bedspread, and looked anywhere but at her face. "We do that. But after we've dusted the vampires, we get either hungry or horny. Me, I prefer the horny side effects. At least when I have someone to help me scratch the itch."

She couldn't be serious? Neville had never met anyone like Faith. At least no other female that talked like her. And if they did they certainly did not do it in his presence.

Faith got down on the floor, and with a teasing smile she tugged on the bedspread he had wrapped around him.

"Pink isn't really your colour," she commented.

"I… I would hope not," he spluttered. "I don't think satin is my material either."

"But don't you just love how smooth it can feel against your skin?"

Her hands trailed around on the bedspread, moving dangerously close to certain parts of him that Neville suddenly became painfully aware of.

"How cold it can be and how hot it can get?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just going to scratch my itch, if that's okay with you?"

As she continued moving her hands, Neville had problems finding reasons why she couldn't. And since he actually wanted her to do the things she was doing, why would he want to be the good fellow that everybody thought he was, and object?

Especially since Ron, Harry and everybody else would declare that he was completely nutters if they ever got to hear about it.

Neville released the tight grip he'd had on the bedspread and blushed.