Life's A Beach
Buffy has always thought that the best part about summer – her favorite season - is the beach. There’s something about breathing in the salty ocean air with the sound of the waves lapping at the shore while basking on a blanket under the warm sun that has always just defined summer for her. Most of her youth was spent at the beach or trying to figure out a way to skip class and go to the beach.
Yeah, her mom was never quite so fond of that idea.
Naturally, moving to Cleveland made her think that summer would never come again. Sure they can just drive up to Lake Erie at any time; it’s really only a hop, skip, and jump away from their house. But the lake isn’t the same and she’s been brooding for at least a week since their last beach trip.
The brooding seemed to stop about an hour or two ago, though, when Faith decided to make the best of Buffy’s lake ban and took to sun-bathing on a lounge chair alongside their next door neighbor’s in-ground pool. Since then Buffy has just been staring silently, taking in the sight of her girlfriend in just a skimpy chocolate brown bikini that doesn’t leave very much to the imagination.
In fact, she’d quickly run inside the house and changed in her own itsy-bitsy teenie bikini before joining Faith on the adjacent lounger.
While Faith sleeps under a sun slightly less brilliant than Buffy’s used to, Buffy can’t help but watch the tiny beads of sweat forming on her bronzed skin. For once she’s glad that those loud, annoying waves aren’t crashing because if they were, she wouldn’t be able to hear the tiny sighs and moans Faith makes in her sleep. She’s glad that she can’t smell the overpowering salty ocean air because she’s much happier to be able to smell Faith like she can now, all suntan lotion and sweat and just the tiniest trace of sex that always tends to linger around Faith.
And as her arm spans the distance between them and fingers unclasp the back of Faith’s bikini top, Buffy’s definitely glad that they’re not at the stupid beach right now. She’s pretty sure other beach-goers wouldn’t be too happy to see Faith flaunting her goodies when she wakes up.
Faith must feel something tickle her as the elastic snaps away from her back and trickles down her sides. She wriggles a bit and then turns over onto her back, still half-asleep as she goes. She never opens her eyes. She never fully wakes; she just continues to nap while soaking up some rays . . .
. . . and Buffy continues to ogle her now nearly top-less girlfriend.
Oh yeah. Screw the ocean. Screw the beach.
Cleveland wins, hands down . . . or rather, top down.
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