Backup fic for Femslash Ficathon

Whoo-hoo, another fic... thingie. This was written for marenfic in cadence_k's Buffyverse Femslash Ficathon.

Title: Not a Fairytale
Author: Lee (southernbangel
Rating: R-ish? Nothing too sexual
Pairing: Buffy/Cordelia
Summary: Can she ever have a happy ending?
Disclaimer: Yeah, right. They're so mine. *snort*
Author's Notes: Thanks to my fabulous betas, bashipforever and stars91. marenfic, I'm sorry there isn't more smut. I tried, I really did, but I suck.



The scent of sex still hung in the air of the empty apartment.

There was no click clack of high heels echoing down the hall and into the bedroom, signaling the approach of her lover.

No candles burning in the bedroom, lighting the room to a soft golden glow.

There were no blood-red satin sheets, perfect for highlighting hair the color of espresso and eyes as green as the spring meadow, on the bed.

No, the only reminder of a golden girl and her once upon a time lover was the musk of sex that blended with the stale mustiness of the dark apartment.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For a time they had been happy. Not ecstatically happy, not perfectly happy, just… happy. No more, no less. Even this happiness had its dark side, though, because both waited for the other shoe to drop, for that one demon who would cut down the Slayer, for that particular vision that would destroy the Seer. With their pasts, both knew how quickly the good could turn into the bad: one moment of perfect happiness, one almost-declaration of love, one wrong decision and everything could be destroyed.

Even with all that in mind, and maybe because of it, they embraced their happiness where they could find it, when they could find it – walks along the crowded streets, hands clasped tightly together as if to reassure each woman that yes, this is real and this is true; ooh-ing and aah-ing in boutiques, modeling the perfect black dress or those to-die-for strappy sandals; collapsing breathlessly, one on top of the other, on their blood-red satin sheets that Cordelia insisted on buying because “hello, red against my hair? Can you say ‘drop dead gorgeous’?”

When they had first became lovers (“You mean, you and me? As… you know? Groiny friends? Okay, what demon infected you now?”), both were a little surprised, a little unsure, a little exhilarated. Neither had expected Buffy’s drunken proposal (that had been a really great, really expensive bottle of wine) of lust to actually develop into a relationship-with-a-capital-R. The type of relationship where you brought Girl home to Mom and Dad; that is, if one Mom wasn’t dead and the Other Parents remembered that they even had a daughter.

Both thought they were good girls who just didn’t do that; both quickly realized that they were good girl who loved doing exactly that.

Their first time had been awkward, hysterical and sexy. They had knocked over that expensive bottle of wine in their haste of removal of clothes. (“Oh hell, why not?!?”) Both would always remember that first hesitant touch, the first gentle brush of lips to a pert nipple. Neither could forget the fevered kisses, the gasps and moans that echoed throughout the bedroom.

Buffy’s drunken, ungraceful topple onto Cordelia caused a bout of laughter so severe the only way she could get Cordelia to shut up was to plunge her face between her former-enemy, current-lover’s legs and prove that whatever grace she lacked in her limbs, she more than made up for with her tongue. Even as she screamed her throat raw from the pleasure (“ohgodohgodohgodohGOD! Goodgoodsogoodohgodgood”), Cordy could feel Buffy’s smirk. Before she could make a snarky retort, Buffy’s tongue lashed at her clit and Cordy’s world went dark.

The next morning, insecurities crept up (“Cordy, are you still… Cordy?”) and carefully cultivated masks slipped back into place (“God, Buffy, freak much?”). Neither expected to wake up cuddling with the other, but nor did they expect the awkwardness that pressed in on them unrelentingly until finally, Cordelia had stumbled from the bed, grabbed her ridiculously high stilettos and fled.

Not the most auspicious start to a relationship, that was for sure, but somehow, for these two women, it was exactly the way it needed to be.

For whatever reason, Cordelia came back. Buffy teased her it was because Cordy couldn’t remember where her apartment was. Cordelia retorted that she didn’t want Buffy to go all “freakish-losery” again because another lover ran off. Neither admitted that the real reason Cordy came back, and kept coming back after their numerous arguments, was because she had finally found a place where she belonged.

So yes, they had been happy. But oh, how they had argued. Over silly, stupid stuff like whether Brad had really cheated on Jen with Angelina (“It’s Angelina! The woman is walking sex! Of course he did.” “No, he and Jen were in love. He wouldn’t.”) and what the hell Britney saw in Kevin to monumental, almost relationship-ending topics of Angel and their past relationships with him. After many of these fights Cordelia would storm off, swearing that this time, it was over. She wouldn’t come back if her life depended on it. Inevitably, hours, sometimes even minutes later, she would come back and harsh words were forgiven with soft kisses and gentle touches.

It wasn’t a fairy tale of undying love, of Prince Charming riding in on a white horse; rather it was the story of two women - one snappy, sometimes emotionally closed off woman, the other occasionally bitchy, always blunt.

For all too brief of a time, the two had existed in their own world of tangled sheets, heated glances and even more heated touches. Slowly, their pasts came calling – a call from Giles detailing the latest threat to the Slayer line, and the recurrence of the visions that had once come close to killing Cordelia. As their pasts intruded into their present, they could both see their future slipping away.

Maybe that was when the arguments turned from teasing, loving snark to harsh, hate-filled ammunition they each used to wound the other. Or when the period from the heavy slam of the door to the timid, squeaky opening and the breathy whisper of “Baby, I’m sorry” became longer. Maybe that could explain how something that had felt so right could transform into something so horribly wrong.

Either way, when the end came, it was completely expected and unexpected at the same time. They had spent the day making love with a ferocity that both scared and excited the couple. Whether they both recognized it as a final goodbye or that as Cordelia slammed the door with a force that almost had it shaking in its hinges this would be the last fight was uncertain. In fact, Cordelia would later say that she had intended to go back, but it was said so lifelessly, so… not Cordy-like, no one believed her.

What Buffy knew as she watched the door, waiting, watching for that hesitant creaking, was that in all her life, she never got a happy ending.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The scent of sex still hung in the air as Buffy locked her apartment for the final time. Not looking back, she walked down the stairs and out onto the bustling streets. As she looked up at the building one more time, distant words from an old lover echoed in her mind.

This isn’t some fairy tale.

fin.


Request:
Pairing you want to read: Buffy/Gwen, Cordy/Gwen, Buffy/Cordy or hell, Buffy/Cordy/Gwen
Up to two other characters you want included: no one
Three other requests for your fic: I want this to be post-Chosen, so alternate reality if you include Cordy (she woke up) obviously; a really expensive bottle of wine; high heeled shoes
Three things you do NOT want included (i.e. angst, schmoop, smut, character bashing): no schmoop, go easy on the dialogue
Rating preference (a range is helpful here): R to NAC-17 is preferred, but I'll leave it up to the author