A distant thunderclap and the hammering of rain summons her from the depths of sleep, but it's the weight over her left side that wakes her up fully. There's something cool to the touch and hard pressing her down into the mattress. She opens her eyes, turning her head to see what she's trapped under.
…Ah.
Lying half on top of her is… someone. Someone male. It's hard to see his face from the angle of his head, tucked in as he is in the sweep of her neck. Hard to gauge his age. His parted lips are pressed to her skin in a half finished kiss.
Oh boy…
She tries to take stock of herself. There aren't exactly thousands of reasons why she'd find herself underneath a guy, in a bed, with no memory of how she got there.
That's a potentially bad thing, right? That's like… not a good thing.
She runs a free hand down her side, searching for bruises or tenderness to give her some indication of how the night before unwound, and finds herself fully clothed. And on closer inspection so is he.
Ok… so… phew?
Um…
She shifts a little and his head lolls back onto the pillow behind him.
Whoa… gorgeous face, she thinks, her eyebrows raising a little as she readjusts herself onto her side, pulling her arm out gently from underneath his neck.
You'd think I'd remember a face like that.
There's a twinge of familiarity in her head, enough for apprehension to take the back seat to curiosity. An odd sort of safe feeling keeping her in the bed next to him. Wherever she is, she doesn't want to leave.
His skin is so pale with faint mauve veins spider-webbing across his eyelids and at the base of his neck. Traces of smudged eyeliner shade his closed eyes in stark contrast. Dark eyebrows belay the true color of his hair— white-blond as it is in the morning light— the shape of one interrupted by a long bisectional scar. She runs a finger across it. His skin is cool to the touch.
His skin is cool to the touch!
Crap, is he breathing?! He doesn't look like he's breathing!
She digs two fingers into the muscle of his neck, hunting for a pulse, and his eyes flutter open, blinking several times in confusion.
Oh… blue… wow, so blue-
She pulls her hand back with a lurch.
"Uh- sorry," she whispers, feeling like that's the appropriate volume considering the situation. "I… I thought you were dead." She chuckles, relieved.
"Very flattering," he murmurs back, the smirk pulling at his lips filling her stomach with lava. He rubs a hand over his forehead as he stretches. "Do I look that rough?"
"No, not- no-" she says too enthusiastically, "just… sleeping super deep, I guess."
"Uh huh," he mumbles, digging a knuckle into his eye.
They appraise each other slowly, still strangely comfortable where they are however, neither one feeling the need to bolt out of the situation. It takes a beat for them to realize they're limbs are still folded around and on top of one another, and a second to mutually decide untangling is the correct thing to do, with shy smiles and furtive looks.
"Don't take this the wrong way, sweetheart," he says, shifting over a little to prop himself up on an elbow. "I'm certainly not complaining, but who are you?" A slight raise of his eyebrow implies if he's going to wake up next to a mystery woman he's more than happy for it to be her, and she blushes hard.
"Oh, I-" she starts, her mouth about to make an introduction but finding nothing there. "I… I have no idea…"
"Must've been a hell of a night if we both can't remember who we are," the stranger smirks.
She nods sheepishly. Panic doesn't seem ready to settle, though she assumes it will eventually.
"Well, we're both fully clothed. So I mean that rules out- uh…" She trails off at the lecherous look slinking across his chiseled features, "you know, some stuff," she ends lamely, embarrassment starting to prickle over her shoulders.
"Probably true," he says. "That seems like something I would've remembered anyway." He glances around the softly lit bedroom, still aglow from the bedside lamp, yellow light mixing with the blue hues of early morning. "Reckon this is your place, or what?" he asks, settling back on his elbows. "It's a bit pastel for my taste."
"Maybe it's our place." She shrugs, deciding to play along with his roguish banter.
"Not a one night stand kind of girl?" He grins, an eyebrow raising suggestively.
"Wouldn't we be wearing less clothes?" she counters as his grin spreads wider.
"Boyfriend, then," he confirms with a nod, his fingers trailing up and over her hand under the sheets.
"Yeah, easy, Casanova," she says untangling her hand from his as he attempts to move closer. "Think we should focus on finding our missing identities before-"
"Getting to know each other better?" he finishes for her as she slides out of the bed, shamelessly letting his eyes rove over her figure. She doesn't answer but snorts at his reckless flirting.
He follows her out of the bed and they freeze, both staring at his legs.
He pinches his lips tight. "Definitely not a one night stand then," he mutters, inspecting the Snoopy pajamas.
"Whatever you say Charlie Brown." She chuckles as he glares at her. Her skin prickles as he sidles closer.
"Do I get to call you Sunshine?" he says, tugging at the hem of her yellow shorts. "Sunny for short." He leans to stare at her ass. "Very short."
He stumbles back laughing as she shoves him playfully, and her eyes land on a pair of jeans at the end of the bed.
"These look like yours," she says as she hands them to him, "any wallet or… anything?" she asks, as she pulls a sweater over her head.
He rummages through the pockets. "Nothing but a lighter," he says, pulling the waistband of his pajamas down, keen to be in something less embarrassing.
"Whoa! Warning please!" she shouts, spinning to give him privacy. He chuckles obscenely.
"If I'm sharing your bed, pet, it's nothing you've not seen before," he says, settling the jeans on his hips.
She swallows, waiting until she hears the sound of a zipper being pulled up before unscrunching her eyes. "So you smoke?" she asks over her shoulder.
"That or start fires." He smirks, buckling the belt.
Just as the downstairs fire alarm starts blaring.
A briefest of glances fires between the two of them before they're running, following the noise, into the living room below. Two women, one sprawled on top of the other, lie wedged between the sofa and the coffee table next to a burning bowl, flames licking out of it and filling the room with smoke..
"Oh god!" Sunny gasps, and dumps what looks like an abandoned glass of water over the smoldering contents as the man she's mentally dubbed Charlie stands on an armchair to silence the alarm on the ceiling.
"So… the plot thickens," he murmurs as he fans the smoke. One of the women, a redhead, stirs to life. The blonde on top of her has her face pressed into the redhead's lap. "What dyou reckon, luv? Couple of lesbian pyromaniacs?"
She rolls her eyes. "Shut up. They're not… just shut up." She moves to help the redhead up as the blonde rolls over and blinks blearily. Charlie eyes the debris strewn across the table, noting the remnants of several singed flowers littering the surface next to a candle, its flame slowly dwindling.
"Must've been burning away all night. A spark probably just caught that bowl of herbs," Charlie mumbles, blowing out the flame as Sunny settles the two women on the sofa. "Bleeding lucky not to be completely barbecued."
She nods, turning her attention to the redhead.
"Are you alright?" she says as the blonde groans loudly. Red blinks hard, and Buffy realizes she's got a sizable bump on the head, just right of her temple. "Oh… uh… I think you've hurt your head. Do you know who you are?"
"…No?" Red answers after thought, her fingers trailing up to the swelling that's turning into an egg of a lump.
"It's a freakin' epidemic." Charlie sighs. "What about you? Any clues?" He motions with the jut of his chin to the blonde as she sits up, rubbing the heel of her hand. She shakes her head wearily.
"Should we… should we go to the hospital?" Sunny asks him. "Maybe it's some sort of a gas leak?"
"Then we'd all be very dead," he replies, pulling at a knot at the base of his neck. He very nearly misses the pained look that flits across her features. "Hospital's probably the right call though."
Sunny bites her lip hard in a wince, ducking her head to avoid eye contact as Charlie seems about to ask her why she suddenly looks so pained.
"I'm gonna find the kitchen," she sighs, turning back to Red, "see if I can find some ice or something for your head."
Red nods, leaning back onto the sofa as Charlie trails after her.
"You alright?" He asks as they make their way through a dining room and into a kitchen.
She shrugs, walking to the fridge. "I don't want to go to the hospital." She says quietly, her shoulders hunched.
"Why not?"
"I dunno. I've got…" She gestures vaguely at her stomach. "Like bad feelings about it. I can't remember why. I think I hate hospitals." She digs in the ice box until she excavates a pack of frozen peas. She jumps a little as his hand squeezes her shoulder.
"It'll be alright, pet."
"No, I really-"
"Look, hey-" He turns her to face him, but her eyes won't meet his. "We'll find out who we are and who knows, maybe we'll be able to sort it all out here. Hospital is the last resort. Alright?"
Sunny nods, unconvinced and he pulls her into a hug. She relaxes into him, her head slipping easily onto his shoulder. The sound of rain pattering against the kitchen window becomes a soothing white noise around them.
This feels right…
Her arms wrap instinctively round his waist, and she feels him melt just a little at her touch, a softening to the stiffness of his shoulders
His stomach growls, spoiling the moment and echoed by another roll of thunder in the distance.
"Hungry?" She smirks, pulling back a little.
"Starving," he says, rubbing his gut as it makes another groan, "feel like I need something salty…"
"Should we split up?" Sunny asks, as they come to the collective decision that exploring the house is the best option.
"What is this, Scooby Doo?" Charlie snorts, popping a salted potato chip into his mouth out of a bag.
"Th-the bedrooms must have something?" The blonde woman stutters nervously. "Driver's licenses, ID's, diaries? That sort of thing?"
"It's as good a place as any to start," Red agrees, wincing underneath the frozen peas. "Jeez, my head."
"Here, let me," the blonde says, taking the bag of peas and resettling it over the lump tenderly. Charlie raises his eyebrow at Sunny. Told you so.
"Ahh! Mail!" Sunny shouts, spotting an envelope by the front door. She snatches it up, butterflies at their first clue fluttering uncontrollably in her stomach.
"Buffy Summers," she reads.
"Oh, that's a nice name," the blonde says, smiling. Her hand has encroached onto Red's, rubbing over the back of her fingers reassuringly.
"Does it feel like your name?" Charlie asks around another mouthful of chips.
"Uh… maybe?" Blonde says. "I-it sounds familiar?"
"Good enough." Sunny hands the alleged Buffy the envelope and she opens it.
"Oh… nothing but laundry detergent samples," sighs Buffy. "No new clues."
"Ok, so, bedrooms?" Red asks, dumping the bag of peas onto the coffee table. Her fingers feel out the lump with careful fingers.
"Bedrooms," the rest agree in unison.
They traipse upstairs, Red and Buffy in the lead, Charlie and Sunny at the rear, and enter the first door on the landing.
"Whoa, teenager, retreat!" Red hisses, shooing the others out, as she spies a snoring adolescent in the bed.
They crowd awkwardly away from the door.
"Ok so which one of you is old enough to have a teenager?" Charlie says from the back, surprise slapped across his face.
"Maybe she's yours?" whispers Sunny.
"Mine?!" he sputters.
"You're the only one that looks old enough-"
"Why would my kid be asleep in your house?"
"Maybe it's your house and you actually do like pastels."
"I can hear you," a voice calls from the door. They freeze as the sound of bed covers being pushed back, shuffling footsteps preluding the door being re-opened.
She stares at them as they stare at her, taking in her long brown hair, her kitten patterned pajamas pants…
…and her t-shirt.
"Sorry I missed Church, I was busy practicing witchcraft and becoming a lesbian." The shirt says in bold gothic lettering.
The three women turn to Charlie.
"What?!" He growls, raising an eyebrow.
"Who are you people?" The teenager raises a near identical eyebrow. Icy adolescent indignation rolls off her in waves as she crosses her arms over her chest.
"Oh yeah," Sunny smirks at Charlie. "Definitely yours."
After a confusing five minutes of skeletal introductions they troop down the hall to the next bedroom. Crystals, candles, bottles of dried flowers, and magic books crowd the available surfaces.
"How many lesbian witches live in this house?" Charlie asks, prodding some of the bowls of herbs half heartedly.
"Oh oh! Purse!" Red says, pulling a patchwork handbag off the door handle. She rummages through it, emptying it of its contents.
"Chapstick… tissues… Walkman- oh here!" She pulls a student ID badge out of one of the pockets. "This must be mine? Willow Rosenberg, studying at U.C. Sunnydale. Cool."
"I've got mine!" Buffy says, finding a second ID badge on a bedside table. "Tara Maclay. Also at U.C. Sunnydale"
"Two down, three to go," Charlie says, running a hand across one of the shelves. "You reckon any of these might help? Some sort of…. memory restoring mumbo jumbo?"
"Maybe. We could start going through them?" Tara says and Willow nods eagerly.
"Sounds like a plan," Sunny agrees. "You get started on that then, we'll go figure out who we are."
Charlie makes room for her as she moves past him out of the witches room, casually grazing her hand over his. He takes it up, letting her pull him back to their room. Something about the feeling of her fingers in his makes him hungrier still. Something in the way she moves…
"I don't see a purse or anything," Sunny grumbles as she closes the bedroom door behind them, surveying the room they woke up in. "Might be downstairs?"
"I'll check drawers, you take pockets, we can check downstairs if we don't find anything," says Charlie, and Sunny nods, relieved at a semblance of a plan.
He starts with the bedside table. Shuffling through tucked away magazines and make-up. The second drawer reveals an assortment of first aid items; bandages, antiseptic salves, gauze.
The third-
"Interesting…" he drawls with a chuckle and Sunny turns her head from rummaging through the clothes hanging up in the closet.
"What? Did you find something?"
He kicks the drawer shut with his foot. "Nothing important, luv." He grins as he moves over to her desk.
"Ah hah! Old birthday card," he says, pulling it out from a pile of debris in the first drawer.
To my wonderful girlfriend…
He flicks open the card. "'Dear Buffy-' another mystery solved." He smiles as Buffy lets out a relieved breath, joining him at his side. "'Happy birthday, blah blah blah, love always, Riley.'"
"Riley?" Buffy asks, leaning over his shoulder.
"Riley." Charlie-Riley shrugs. "Must be."
"Right. Good." Buffy says nodding. "Buffy and Riley. Should Buffy and Riley go help with the… memory spell… thing?"
Riley shifts against the desk, drawing her in closer with a hand on her hips. "I think Buffy and Riley should stay here for just a bit longer."
She smiles, and moves into his arms without needing further persuasion.
He's handsome, desperately so, and funny in a mean sarcastic way, but it's the way he keeps looking at her like he's addicted to her presence that melts what debatable resolve she has left. Since this morning her eyes haven't stopped making enamored glances his way, hungrily taking in his face and his build. The muscles of his arms, the cut of his jaw, and the cool blue of his eyes.
As he turns her to settle her on the desk her legs instinctively spread to let him closer.
He doesn't hesitate, catching her lips with his in a searing kiss that turns her lips from pink to a bruised red. His hands push her legs wider so he can settle her knees on his hips, rolling into her so the bulge of his jeans grazes her core. It feels familiar, the way his mouth moves across hers, the grip of his hands a melody she could almost put words to. A ghost of a feeling, almost a memory…
She groans encouragingly and he pushes his tongue past her lips to curl around hers. Her wrists across behind his neck, urging him even closer, and he obliges, crushing her breasts against him as he holds her desperately close.
"You taste so sweet," he moans as he breaks the kiss. He cups the side of her neck with his hand, steadying her head as his mouth trails kisses down her neck.
God her neck, her neck- he hadn't been able to stop staring at it. So slender, such gold skin begging to be kissed. A neck like that should be worshiped. Should be caressed and bitten and devoured. The feeling of his tongue over her pulse sets his spine on fire, as does the groan it pulls out of her.
"Riley…"
He pulls back as he spots something at the corner of his vision.
"You've got scars," he whispers quietly, unwilling to break the moment completely. Buffy stills and meets his eyes.
"...Where?"
He sets his middle and forefinger against them. Two little dots on the side of her neck, pale against the gold hue of her skin.
"Something bit you, ya think?" he smirks, and she responds with a grin of her own. The scars are old, why worry how she got them?
"Maybe you bit me."
The tingles in his chest lurch hard at the thought. He pushes her arms up as he raises the sweater over her head, catching a glimpse of her hourglass curves as he tugs it off her arms. His grin widens as his hand strokes over the scars, the two digits melting into a whole hand gently splayed around her neck as he draws her back in.
"Maybe I wanna bite you again."
Deeper kisses this time, deeper and deeper until they're clawing at each other. Heat sinks into him from her touch; from her legs around his hips and her hands at his back. From her core, where he's grinding against her. It feels nearly scalding. If he could just touch her there, sink his fingers into her, she'd burn him up.
Her fingers fumble greedily at the hem of his T-shirt and he breaks from her to pull it off-
"Oh-" her blinking shock makes him stall, and he follows her gaze downwards.
"Jesus," he mutters, taking in the cobwebbing scars across his abdomen.
Warm fingers brush over the patchwork of skin carefully, tracing a sunburst over his heart so delicately it makes him shudder.
"God… Riley…" her voice is full of concern. Of devotion.
Her hands slip down to a white line over his stomach and he jolts from the overstimulation. She moves to pull back, thinking she's gone too far, and he stops her with a hard grip over her wrists.
"Touch me more," he pleads, resting his hands back on her thighs as she obliges, her fingers roaming over him, tracing out each scar. He leans into her palms ghosting over his chest. His fingernails score across her skin as she brushes a thumb over a nipple and he lunges for her, sinking his lips down on hers with a kiss that's mostly bite. His hands scratch up underneath her shorts, squeezing hard the crease of her thighs before grabbing her by the ass and hauling her up into his arms.
"You think it's always like this?" she asks as her legs cross at his back, sucking in air as his mouth catches her earlobe. Her head lolls back, baring her throat to his teeth.
"Maybe, luv," he manages to say around a groan as her nipples stiffen through the thin cotton fabric of her shirt. "I'm sure we do the candles, roses, and champagne on ice just as well."
"I wish I could remember…" she whispers in between kisses, fingers grazing the buckle of his belt between them, tugging at the leather.
"Me too."
Those words set a dull ache in his stomach. A little grit of annoyance that trips him up even as she rubs herself against him with clear desire for more, but his lust for her starts to bury it even as it attempts to claw its way into the forefront of his conscious mind.
"Buffy-" he starts, feeling like they should pull back to the safety of thirty seconds ago, but not able to really make himself stop, not when every fiber of him is screaming for more of her-
A shout from down the hall pulls back.
"I found a diary!"
A/N: Thank you so much to foxfaceinthewindow and RavenLove12 for beta and brainstorming! Thank you thank you thank you!
Fy'all-I Dawn's hilarious shirt is foxface's amazing brain child, and also I want it.
"Sunny" is all Raven's, unfortunately calling Spike "Riley" is mine please don't hate me.
And to all the lovely reviewers, y'all are the best, please continue to review!.