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Five Summers That Never Were

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Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.
--Russel Baker
Summer of '97

Cordelia arrives within hours of when Buffy’s father is supposed to come. “I can’t let you go to L.A. looking like that,” she says, and marches up to Buffy’s room.

Buffy’s about to say that she lived in L.A. for fifteen years, thank you, and will wear whatever she pleases, when Cordelia opens a small box and produces a silver necklace which must have cost a significant portion of her allowance. Without a word she puts it around Buffy’s neck and clasps it.

It’s a tight choker, and Buffy isn’t quite comfortable with the way it, well, chokes her, but Cordelia is already shaking her head. “That does not go with that outfit at all,” she says. “Take off your clothes.”

Buffy looks at Cordelia incredulously, but the girl seems to be serious, so she takes off her shirt and, when Cordelia just looks at her expectantly, unbuttons her pants and pulls them off as well.

“Still not right,” Cordelia says and reaches around Buffy to unclasp her bra. Cordelia slips her hands into the Slayer’s panties, slowly pulls them down even as she sinks to her knees.

“There,” says Cordelia, mouth hovering right where Buffy’s panties had been. “Perfect.”

* * *

Summer of '99

It’s not uncommon for spells to require the casters to be nude—or skyclad, as Willow sometimes calls it when she is feeling particularly ostentatious. Buffy knows this because she has helped Willow with many of her spells over the summer, as she tries to hone her skills, and almost all of them have required them to both be naked. So she doesn’t question the newly-blossoming witch when Willow tells her take off her clothes, and simply strips down quickly and efficiently, leaving her shirt, skirt, bra, socks, and panties in a neatly folded pile in the corner of Willow’s bedroom, next to her pair of oh-so-stylish shoes.

Buffy’s fairly certain the spell doesn’t call for the way in which Willow slips her hands around Buffy’s bare ass, or how she keeps glancing down hungrily at Buffy’s breasts and the sex between her legs. Buffy gives herself up to Willow anyway, giving the witch whatever she requires to cast her spell. A quiet moan escapes her lips at the sensation of Willow’s mouth against her shoulder, that tongue against her skin, and her hand finds its way to Willow’s breast.

There is more than one kind of magic, after all.

* * *

Summer of '00

The sun is finally setting after a long summer day, and they are making love by candlelight. She can’t quite see Tara’s face, but that is okay. Tara is a woman with a thousand faces; she is every woman; she is not a woman at all but something deeper; most importantly of all, she is this woman, and Buffy does not need to see her face to smell the scent, to feel the wet skin, to taste the salty solution that comes up from her flesh, to hear the shortness of her breath as they make love in the hot summer night. As a Slayer she is trained to use each of her mystically-enhanced senses, and each one is abuzz with lusty passion as her body moves against Tara. She focuses on each sensation, cherishes it, for Tara's taught her that each one is an eternal now and she knows that if she does not capture it she will lose it forever. She is a Slayer, a creature of the body, and this is her true Cruciamentum, when she transcends being a thing to kill to become a person to love.

They say no words, think no thoughts. They do.

* * *

Summer of '02

Fred scrunches her nose as she watches the tape. “You don’t have the weight to go with your strength,” she tells Buffy, “so you shouldn’t have the momentum. Which is a violation of the laws of thermodynamics, but I suppose we can just call that magic.”

Buffy squints. “I don’t see how you can tell anything from this. It never focuses on anything but my butt or my breasts.”

Fred shrugs. “What did you expect, in that little skimpy workout outfit of yours? You’re lucky I could keep the camera steady at all.”

It is Buffy’s turn to shrug. “So are you done with this project of yours?” With Wesley alienated and both Angel and Cordelia missing, Fred needs something or other to keep her occupied when she isn’t on the search. So she's begun an article on the physics of Vampire Slaying which she proposes to submit to one of the supernatural journals.

“Just one more,” Fred answers. “I want to test your responses to certain stimuli. But you need total flexibility, so I’m going to have to ask you to remove your clothing.”

Buffy grins as she begins to pull off her shirt. This is all for science, right?

* * *

Summer of '03

The black leather seats of the sporty convertible are scorching hot in the summer sun, and they burn Buffy’s skin as she lays on her back, naked, on the back seat. Blisters, she knows, have probably already begun to form, but she doesn’t care; her Slayer healing will erase the evidence now being seared into her back and ass within hours. What matters is that it is Faith who is holding her down against the scalding leather, her hands on Buffy’s hips, her fingernails digging into Buffy’s skin, her warm mouth between Buffy’s legs. The sun beats down on Buffy’s face and breasts, and the Slayer lets loose a slow sigh as she is surrounded on all sides by heat and warmth.

Buffy climaxes through the pain with a shudder and in a moment Faith is back in the driver’s seat, shifting the idling vehicle back into gear, and as they get onto the highway the sun is still shining, still beating down on her face, and the hot leather seats are still searing too-impermanent burns into her ass, even as a cool wind blows through Buffy’s hair as the car hits 90 mph.

She smiles. She’s always liked summer.