Buffy Beaten

Buffy walked through the graveyard and despite all the monsters she had slain there, she still appeared to be no more than a bright and sunny young woman, perhaps having made a wrong turn—tempting prey for many of the demons that ended up facing a predator instead. 

She didn’t wear much make-up or designer clothes—though the sheer, light clothing she did wear was flattering enough, even if she paired a skirt with boots. At the moment, she was far more concerned with her friends accompanying her on patrol than with how she looked.

“It’s that thing, you know?” Xander was saying, when he wasn’t eating from a small bag of potato chips. “You get knocked down, you land on your back, then you kinda roll on your shoulders and—kick your way onto your feet. Like a… Jackie Chan does it!”

“I know what you’re talking about,” Buffy said, distracted. She was cramping again. Something was around here somewhere.

“Of course you know what I’m talking about, you did it the other night. I’m just wondering if you know what it’s called.”

“What what’s called?”

Xander groaningly butted his head against the bag of chips. “That’s what I’m asking you!”

Cordelia sniffed. “I’m sure Buffy knows a lot about, oh, combat boots, big knives, flannel stuff like that, but if you really want to talk athletics, I am head cheerleader.”

“Buffy’s the Slayer,” Willow pointed out in a small voice. Then, even smaller, she said “And I think it’s called kipping up…”

No one seemed to hear her. 

“I mean, we all know what I’m talking about, right?” Xander asked. “Jet Li, Jackie Chan, they’re on their back, then they jump up with just their bodies and they’re back on their feet. Buffy, can you do it? I want to be sure we’re all on the same page here.”

“This is a new jacket,” Buffy said. “I don’t want to get grass stains on it.”

“But you’ve done it? I’ve seen you do it!”

“Yes, but I don’t know what it’s called.”

“How can you not know what it’s called?” Cordelia demanded. “Didn’t you get any Slayer lessons?”

“Of course I did, Cordy, but a lot of it’s instinct.” Buffy stared the cheerleader down. “Natural athletic prowess.”

“Are there a bunch of kicks you can do without knowing their names?” Xander asked.

“Kicks don’t have names,” Buffy retorted. “I just do them.”

“That is so weird,” Xander opined.

“You can lick your elbow,” Willow pointed out.

“Yeah, but there isn’t a name for that. Is there?” Xander wondered. “I think it’s just… licking your elbow.”

“I cannot believe I’m hanging out with you guys,” Cordelia said.

“Anytime you want to leave is fine,” Buffy said. “We’ll try to get along without you.”

“I thought the safest place to be in Sunnydale was behind the Slayer and her two back-up idiots, but after listening to the three of you talk, I’m strongly reconsidering death.”

“I haven’t said much,” Willow mumbled defensively.

“Willow, shhh!” Buffy said vehemently, actually drawing a squeak out of the young redhead, before she took off at a full sprint—powerful strides and pumping arms reminiscent of a jaguar dashing for its prey.

What appeared to be a man broke from hiding, running out from behind a mausoleum with Buffy close behind him. Xander, Willow, and even Cordelia sprinted to keep up, but there was no matching Buffy and the man’s pace.

Abruptly the man turned and straight-armed Buffy, a blow that could’ve stopped a buffalo cold if the Slayer hadn’t turned it aside with a chopping forearm and shouldered into the man, knocking him to the ground. He landed on his back and immediately flipped back up onto his feet. But now Buffy had seized her stake, and as he came up, he was met by its wooden point sinking deep into his chest.

“Ever considered a position in the exciting world of being a dustbunny?”

Here, normally a vampire opponent would’ve turned to dust—decaying and disintegrating so quickly that it was like his body was a sand sculpture being hit by an industrial fan. Instead, the man turned to pink smoke, bursting outward from his disappearing body as if he’d somehow been a man-shaped balloon that had burst and released its contents in a cloud of sweet-smelling perfume.

Buffy coughed and waved her hands in front of her face, trying to clear the air of the overpowering scent. It might’ve been pleasant, but it was overwhelming. From the sound of her friends hacking and sputtering, she knew they were in the same boat. 

After a few moments, the cloud had dispersed and Buffy caught her breath. “What was that?” she asked.

“Vampire birth defect?” Xander ventured, tossing his chips aside. He was no longer hungry.

“Maybe it wasn’t a vampire,” Willow suggested. “Maybe it was vampire-adjacent. I should do some research. Xander,” she turned to him hopefully. “You could help me.” Then she amended her statement. “You could be moral support.”

“No way I walked all the way out here with you losers just so you can ditch me to make Dungeons & Dragons characters,” Cordelia said. “Xander, walk me back to my car? If that freakshow did anything to my hair, I need to get back before anyone sees me.”

“I agree,” Buffy said. “You should be seen as little as possible.”

“Maybe if I were a midget like you,” Cordelia retorted.

“C’mon, Cordy,” Xander said firmly before they could come to blows or anything. 

Willow sidled up to Buffy as Xander and Cordelia walked away. “Looks like it’s just us. You wanna help me research? I bet there’ll be all kinds of pictures in the really old books…”

“Thanks, Will, but I should get back. There just isn’t much action out here tonight. Hasn’t been all week, actually. Maybe the Hellmouth is down for repairs.”

“I could do some research into that!” Willow suggested with renewed enthusiasm.

“You do that. With Giles. If there is some downtime, I should work on my tan.” Buffy linked her arm with Willow’s to pull her along to safety. “Working nights is hell on my complexion.”

“At least you don’t have freckles,” Willow said quietly.

***

As Xander walked Cordelia back to her father’s car, he was somewhat amazed that she actually trusted him to protect her. He hadn’t been any help at all taking out that weird pink cloud vampire. He could never have chased a demon down, beat it up, and then give it a snarky putdown as it dusted. Maybe the last one, if his mind weren’t totally blown from defeating it. That would only happen if he got a lucky shot in.

His relationship with Cordy felt like a lucky shot too, though with the way Cordelia ordered him around, he wasn’t sure how lucky it was. There was a reason his fantasies, as varied as a teenage boy’s were, had focused on Buffy, despite the petite body that was solidly overshadowed by Cordelia’s statuesque hourglass figure. 

If only he were more masculine, more built, more ripped. Six-pack abs, pythons on either arm, the kind of thing that wouldn’t just impress Buffy, but show Cordelia who wore the pants in their relationship. Maybe he should start working out. It couldn’t be that hard. He had already landed Cordelia, so he had to have something going for him. With a little exercise, maybe a protein shake, he could be buff enough to impress everyone. Heck, maybe even Willow would go for him. That would be… weird. But interestingly weird.

He got the door for Cordelia, she rolling her eyes at his attempt at chivalry, but when he climbed in the driver’s side, he found that Cordelia had unbuttoned her blouse. Every button. The top hung open, revealing every contour of her ripe, pendulous breasts, and the mere sight of her naked chest reminded Xander why he put up with all of Cordelia’s bullshit. Already he could see what came next—stroking her smooth skin, running his fingers over her perfect face, down her slender throat to those soft tits, then down into the wet folds of her cunt… he wanted that, he wanted all of it.

Cordelia moved so gracefully, like smoke, only with will and determination—even as she put her hands on his chest and blocked him from getting any closer to her.

“You think my breasts are big enough?”

Xander was completely taken aback. It wasn’t like Cordelia to ask questions like that. For all her many flaws, a lack of self-confidence wasn’t one of them. The complete opposite, in fact. “Your boobs are great,” he said truthfully.

Cordelia eyed him, clearly finding the statement less than mollifying. Her nipples flamed a deep crimson against the dark backdrops of her aureoles, while her breasts were perfectly tanned, perfectly round, a full set of supple C-cups so firm and perky they never sagged, only rippled with her movements. 

“I’ve never wanted to get implants like the other stupid sluts at our school, even though daddy said I could, but I don’t know… I think I’d look good with double Ds. There’s just something about really big tits…” She smiled at Xander. “If you want to fuck me now, imagine what you’d do then. I bet you wouldn’t even look at the blonde and the redhead. We’d make you a brunette man for life.”

Xander had seen Cordelia’s breasts before, but not much more of her. It amazed him how her already huge breasts could hover so high on her chest with only a light jiggle to show for their heft. It seemed nothing short of miraculous.

“Maybe you should say goodbye to my old tits,” Cordelia both suggested and teased, leaving Xander no choice but to reach for her. Cordelia reached back, coming closer to him, closer—their lips met, but her hands missed his. They landed on his body, reaching between his thighs, cupping his groin through his jeans. She squeezed gently, then more firmly, getting gasps of pleasure from Xander that were soon mixed with pain. It felt perfect. Cordelia knew exactly what he wanted her to do. And she knew exactly what he wanted to do to her.

The jeep began rocking from side to side.

***

As she walked with Buffy back to the Summers residence, Willow’s thoughts were trapped between Cordelia’s body and Buffy’s. She kept thinking of how Cordelia looked walking away—perfect tits, perfect ass, perfect make-up, perfect fashion—it was no wonder that even if he hated her, Xander loved her—followed her. And he loved Buffy too, even if she wasn’t all Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition like Cordelia. Buffy was still sweet and perky and bouncy, fun to be around, and she still had B-cups that looked really nice. 

Willow wasn’t any of those things. She was flat and scrawny and short and stumpy and pale too. Xander’s eyes glazed over when he looked at her. If she had Cordelia’s tan or Buffy’s hair, then maybe… if she were just a bit bigger, or taller, or not so shy. She wished she could go through puberty again, make her hips a little rounder, breasts a little bigger, legs a little longer…

“You’re quiet tonight,” Buffy observed as they walked along.

“Just thinking,” Willow muttered back. The last thing she needed was Buffy’s sympathy—that would just make her feel worse. “Life isn’t fair.”

“Well, you’re in high school—no one can accuse you of being imperceptive.”

“But it sucks too!” Willow persisted. “It’s not fair that there are demons and vampires and ghosts and all those things, but it sucks that we put all this effort into staying alive and we don’t… really have nice lives.”

Buffy thought about that a moment. “Cordelia does.”

“I guess at least one of us is enjoying herself,” Willow nodded with a tight, fatalistic smile.

“Life’s not fair,” Buffy echoed, then chuckled grimly herself. Their gallows humor was well-developed at this point.

They were on Buffy’s street now, approaching her house, and Willow was surprised to see the light on upstairs. Joyce was usually in bed by this time of night, making it easy for Buffy to go about her duties. Of course, if Joyce asked questions, Willow would be happy to back Buffy up and say that they’d been studying, even though the lies gave her acid reflux. Willow was already feeling sick to her stomach when she looked into the window and saw a man standing there, naked. The windowsill hid his groin, but from the vee of muscle beneath his stomach, Willow could tell he wasn’t wearing pants anymore than he was wearing a shirt.

He was a tall man, with a broad chest and wide shoulders. His close-cropped hair fit his sharp features to a tee, most especially the prickly stubble that darkened his jaw, and he had an athlete’s body, full of youthful virility despite the saltpeter in his chest hair, five o’clock shadow, and buzzcut. Willow could understand why Joyce would want him there… in her room… at night… naked…

“Buff, who is that?” Willow asked, pointing up to the window.

“Who’s who?” Buffy replied.

Willow’s gaze returned to the window with her. When it did, she found no one there.

“Th-there was a man t-there,” Willow stammered, nervous for no reason she could say.

“Oh,” Buffy muttered. “Well… probably one of my mom’s friends.”

“He was—“

“I don’t really wanna think about it,” Buffy interrupted before Willow could go any further. “I mean, it’s not like she’s a hypocrite. I don’t have a curfew—why should she?”

“O-okay,” Willow said finally. She guessed that even if something was wrong, Buffy could handle it. “B-bye.”

“Bye,” Buffy said, and started up the walk to her front door.