Funnier in Latin
Title: Apocalypses and other disasters
Spoilers: BtVS S7 and AtS S5
Summary: Willow. Fred. The end of the world.
Disclaimer: Joss owns all
Author's Note: Character Death and Femslash
“I used to think that geeks could save the world,” Fred laughs as she rolls the joint between her fingers. She laughs because it isn’t her first joint of the day, she laughs because it’s so fucking funny; the brilliant head of Wolfram and Hart’s science division crouching behind what’s left of the counter in the gutted Hyperion lobby, getting stoned because there’s nothing else she can do.
“Xander would have said that we needed a superhero. A superhero right out of a comic book to come along and save the day,” Willow’s tone is hollow, Buffy, Angel, even Faith, they were the superheroes and they hadn’t been able to do anything except die. All the superheroes Willow had created had been as useless in stopping this as the salvage from Fred’s lab, now lying abandoned in the basement. Willow thinks she gave up all hope the day Fred stopped believing that science would provide a way back.
“We could become Superheroes, like, like…” Fred stopped laughing and screwed up her nose, trying to think through the haze of marijuana, “but most superheroes in comic books are men, that’s not really fair, is it?”
“There was Catwoman, and Supergirl, and…” Willow can’t think of any more. Xander (Oh God, Xander) had been the comic book geek in high school; Willow had always been more of a science nerd. Fred, Willow guesses, would have been a stoner. Willow finds this funny, she’d been scared of stoners in high school, thinking then losers and virtual criminals, and now she’s huddled up with one awaiting the apocalypse
“There’s only two of us, we could get costumes if there’re any costume shops still standing. Do you want to be Supergirl, you’d suit the little red skirt,” Fred collapsed in giggles, stretching her skinny white legs in front of her, denim miniskirt riding up and scuffed white sneakers squeaking against the floor. Her arm is round Willow’s shoulder as she tips forward and kisses the witch. Stoned Fred is not subtle with the come-ons.
Willow kisses back, gently pushing Fred down onto the dusty floor. This is how they cope with being the only ones left. Fred has her drugs and Willow has Fred.
Once upon a time sex had involved soft beds and scented candles, now they’re lying on a filthy floor that has God knows how many layers of dust, mud and demon blood trodden into it. And maybe Willow isn’t the only one who can see the irony here because she can feel Fred’s lips twitch under her mouth.
Fred laughs as Willow’s hands trails over her stomach and ribs flicking open the buttons of her white blouse, her skinny body is shaking with chuckles as Willow kisses and licks across her throat and collar bone. And Fred can’t stop laughing because she’s ticklish as well as stoned.
She’s still laughing when Willow’s kisses the line where her pale flesh meets her white cotton bra, Willow has to stop herself from biting down and breaking perfect skin just to get Fred to Stop Laughing, because it’s not supposed to be funny, sex during the end of days, even though it kinda is. She doesn’t bite, it would freak Fred out, especially with the scars Angelus had caused still white on her neck and thigh. So she doesn’t bite, but settles for nipping the scientists pale abdomen as she slithers lower.
Fred is still holding the joint in one hand and she raises it to her lips even as she raises her hips to allow Willow to push her skirt up around her waist and pull her underwear out of the way. She gasps through the giggles when Willow’s tongue touches her damp flesh, the redheads nails digging painfully into her hips, keeping her grounded in reality, even though reality isn’t anyplace Fred wants to stay these days.
Willow licks, and Fred gasps and giggles and smokes and rolls her hips under the witches talented mouth. And when she comes with a sharp cry and a jerk of her hips she drops the joint and both women watch the tiny cigarette as it rolls away and disappears under a musty desk.
Willow twists away from Fred, and sits up back against the counter licking her pink lips. Fred crawls across Willow’s lap, blouse open, dark spot on her bra where Willow had sucked her flesh through the fabric. Her skirt had slid down but her panties were still twisted around her knees, she looked up at Willow through glassy eyes, which were still far from sobriety.
“If we survive all this we should definitely look into those superhero costumes.”
Willow laughs, because even though this shouldn’t be funny it kinda is.