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Chapter 3: Three

Author's Notes:

“Morning, guys.” Buffy walked down the steps into the barn, speaking into her coffee cup.

“Morning, Buf.” Xander greeted.

“Yeah, hey, sis.” Her giantized sister said.

She wasn’t looking at them as she entered. She was a little distracted.

“You know, Dawnie? I think your big sister’s turning Japanese.” He commented, conversationally.

The brunette cocked her head curiously. “You think she’s turning Japanese?”

He nodded. “I really think so.”

Buffy just turned back around and went back from whence she came. Halfway up, she resisted the urge to position her finger into making a rather obscene gesture. Instead, she bent down, rubbed her hand along the extremely dust-gathered, stone step, and stood again. With palm up, she gave a healthy blow.

In a matter of seconds, Dawn’s nose was twitching something fierce. “Ah, ahh...”

“Oh, *hell* no.” Xander’s eye bugged. “Quick! Get Rick Moranis! A Kleenex factory needs to be blowed up good!”

The blonde continued on her way.

***

Later that afternoon, Buffy walked the grounds of their Scottish castle, just “happening” upon Satsu’s weapons training. There were three pairs of girls sparring with each other. Satsu walked among them, critiquing and suggesting technique. When she saw the blonde, she navigated the fighting to her.

“They look good.” Buffy was running on autopilot--she was clueless as to what they looked like. “Don’t wanna interrupt, I just, um, hi. I was gonna go eat at that touristy place that thinks they make real cheese steaks. Do you wanna, you know, have m...?” Blush. “*With* me. Have *with* me. Have food. Or are they...?”

“No. No! I don’t mean ‘no,’ I mean...” Satsu took a break, and got her tongue to work right. “Almost done. Ma’am.”

“Okay, I’ll go get the bike. That’s fine, right? For--?”

“Yeah, it’s lunch, so...yeah. Bike’s good. Fine.” Then Satsu looked down at her outfit in a sudden panic. “Should I change, or, is-is this okay? ‘Cause I can.”

“It’s, you’re...you-looking. Which, yay. So, nope. Unless you wanna change.”

“I think we’re--“

“Overthinking?” Buffy smirked, shaking her head. “Go ahead. Finish. I’ll wait.”

Satsu noticed that nobody was sparring anymore. In fact, they were giggling. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

“Three laps. Two miles each.” Beat. “Well? Anytime.”

When she began to reach behind her for the hilt of her favorite sword, they chose to start running just then.

***

“Do I learn? Is it different *any* other time? Even slightly?” Buffy groused, her back pressed up against the underside of a thick, oak table that was turned on its end. “I tell myself, ’Avoid the tourist traps. You know the locals can’t not get into a pissing contest with the Ameri-demons. One slur and it’s fireballs all over.’” Pause. “I’m craving anything close to home-like lately. But then they sneak the haggis in.” She turned metaphorically green. “I don’t trust Scotland anymore.”

“So, do we have a plan?” Satsu said after a moment.

“People are clear, so we keep them contained inside.” The blonde risked peeking. “They’re pretty involved with scorching each other, but one of us is probably gonna hafta draw literal fire before we’re paying damages.” She paused for the screeching, and wore an apologetic expression. “Welcome to the wide, wild world of ‘Buffy dating.’”

“Funny how it,” Crashing noise, “seems a lot like that world where,” Satsu winced upon hearing bone snap, “I wasn’t. Except...” Then she made the spontaneous decision to kiss her girlfriend. “...there’s that. When I’m awake.”

“The differences’re subtle yet many.” Buffy had her top lip run along her bottom. “And in the history of awesome ‘thats,’ yours wins.” Now it was time to leave. “Kitchen on three. Do your thing, then be behind me.”

***

“From now on? *Always* be behind me is most definitely rule four. I order zero moving.” Satsu’s hands expertly massaging her neck was an activity that would quickly leapfrog the consuming of chocolate.

There was a protectiveness to Satsu’s touch that she could find herself getting used to. Was already getting used to. Part of her was singing that same, old, pessimistic song, but then hands kneaded it far away. All tender-like. She had the standard objections: Satsu was too young, Satsu was lacking a penis, she was Satsu’s boss, it could divide their ranks, doomed...Satsu *couldn’t* love her. But she was trying this thing where she just shut up.

Because she could physically feel the love. Every time fingers applied pressure, every time her hair fell in the way and had to be brushed aside, every time she became acutely aware of her tank top’s shoulder strap moving millimeters as Satsu laid kisses around it. The girl clearly grasped the emotional ins and outs much better than Buffy herself did. In this instance, she was the student. She could learn by example.

Did she love her back? Being that she still had learning to do, she wasn’t prepared to say. But knowing she made Satsu happy (however she was managing it), caused happy feelings inside, and she wanted them to continue. Also, Satsu wasn’t the only protective one. No more sleeping with other girls, no way. Er, platonically sleeping, of course.

Damn it, she was in a relationship. And her floodgates were wide open. As much as she trusted her body would find its way around new territory, as much as she wanted...time wasn’t right. If there was sex tonight, then it’d take their gestating relationship’s legs out with a baseball bat. At least, in her mind it would.

It would be because they’d slain today and because she was in bed with a girl who had nice hands and smelled nice and who would be making love. Buffy did that once upon a time. Didn’t have sex for sex’s sake--otherwise, that itch would’ve been more than scratched by now. The best sex expressed something, enhancing the already meaningful.

Huh. So “Romantic Buffy” yet lived.

Sex was the ultimate share-all. You were trusting someone enough to be naked, vulnerable and show how imperfect you really were. For her, sex and love had to go hand in hand. Her “Spike-capades” got it twisted in her head; she hadn’t ever recovered. If/when she and Satsu went there, it would be because she had.

“This is going too...something.” Buffy contentedly said, her head drooping forward.

Satsu’s mouth was by her ear. “We can sleep.”

Sleep. Yes. That’s what she wanted. “Ya-huh.”

Just like that, Satsu wasn’t massaging. She was crawling up the bed and turning down the covers, leaving Buffy whimpering like a deprived puppy. Contact was good. By the time they were both comfy, Buffy had contact back, spooning her bedfellow, nose buried in dark, soft, long locks of great hair. Safe, warm, not alone. Yeah, um, hooked.

“Kyoko’s gonna be jealous.”

How adorable was it that Satsu, her cool, bad ass girlfriend (whose “thing” at the restaurant left pieces behind), still had her stuffed, magenta hippo from childhood? Rumor was, she had a whole collection of various-sized hippopotami, including the one hair-worn. Buffy suddenly needed Mr. Gordo.

“Once he’s moved in, he’ll deal better.”

“*She’s* moving in?” Satsu emphasized the proper pronoun, surprised.

“Well...s’a big bed.” Buffy said with an apologetic smile for her faux-pas. “That we’re sharing.” Tomorrow she’d ask herself where that offer came from.

“We...? Oh. Are.”

“Fast” was all relative. Damn it, she was in a relationship.

Thank god.