By the time Buffy returned home from the night’s patrol she was in a strange, reflective mood. As she undressed, she felt the peculiar lure of the gold coin again. It seemed to call to her, just as it had last night when she found it half-buried in the sand in one of the caves along the beach.
Slipping on her robe, she crossed the room to where she had set the coin on the dresser. Her fingers brushed over the medallion in contemplation; outside the wind picked up and an eerie whisper echoed through the trees, the sound a low howl. It felt as if something somewhere, stirred.
Suddenly she knew she had to try it on. Standing before the mirror, wearing only her robe, she clasped the heavy cold chain around her neck. The heavy weight of the medallion hung down between her breasts provocatively. In her reflection, the worn skull seemed to be watching her, studying her.
Unexpectedly Buffy felt a strange excitement simmering inside her, a feeling of anticipation, of longing, of desire.
As she stared into the mirror, her image gradually changed and she was looking into a pair of dark brown eyes, their soulful depths emphasized by the heavy smudge of black surrounding them.
She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from the mirror. She didn’t want to look away from the mesmerizing gaze. Who was he?
As she considered the possibility that what she was seeing was a vision or perhaps a figment of her imagination, the eyes in the mirror slowly took form and transformed into a face and finally a figure. Around his head, he wore a faded bandana, tied at the back over his long hair. Beads were intertwined in the dreadlocked strands and thin braids on the sides of his face and even in the growth of his beard from his chin, giving him even more of the wild, untamed look than what was already reflected in his dark, black-rimmed eyes. His tanned skin was smooth, perfect.
Her gaze roved slowly over his every gorgeous feature. She inhaled deeply, drinking in the surprising salt tang of the sea along with an earthly, manly scent. Her eyes drifted lower, taking in the bronze of his face in stark contrast to the gauzy white shirt he wore. A pirate’s shirt.
A smile played on her lips at the unexpected image of a pirate in modern day Sunnydale. It was incongruous to say the least; yet then again, around the Hellmouth anything seemed possible.
Still, she was mesmerized by the vision; by the sheer, sensual beauty of the man in the mirror. Excitement shimmered inside her. She sensed somehow, somewhere that he had come for her. That he waited for her. That he wanted her.
And she knew that his magnetism was far too strong to resist.
As if she had no will of her own, Buffy reached up and slipped the robe she wore from her shoulders leaving her bare to the gaze in the mirror. Only the heavy gold medallion with the crumbling skull carved into it remained, dangling between her breasts.
As she stepped forward, the lights flickered and went out, leaving her shadowed in darkness. Outside it thundered and a brief flash of lightening illuminated the room.
No longer was she alone. He called to her.
She turned and he was there, waiting. No vision this, but a flesh and blood man. She should protest and challenge him; she should demand to know who he was and what he was doing in her bedroom. No words came from her lips. Instead, she stepped forward, moving so that they stood close but without touching. The air surrounding them fairly hummed with magic.
“I knew you would come,” Buffy murmured softly, waiting. She had known, hadn’t she? Since the very moment she had picked the gold coin up from the soft sand, she had been expecting this, expecting him.
He reached out and threaded his fingers through her hair, taking what seemed an inordinate amount of time examining the soft strands. He had anticipated the feel of the golden, silk tresses against his skin, but he was unprepared for the sheer physical reaction that assailed him when he actually touched it. He had been aroused from the moment he had seen her; more so, now that he had actually touched her.
Buffy felt a jolt of desire strike her, slithering through her veins leaving her liquid and warm. Her self-control melted away; the same self-control that she prided herself on having worked hard to develop. Later she might feel disappointed in herself, but now it simply felt right, as if it were meant to be. It felt. destined.
“I have waited a lifetime to see you,” the dark-eyed devil in front of her whispered, lifting a strand of her hair to his lips, “to touch you, and now, to taste you.”
Swallowing hard, Buffy licked her lips in anticipation of his kiss. His mouth covered hers then as if he would devour her.
She kissed him back wantonly, moving fully into his embrace. His fingers tangled further in her hair, holding her head still for his demanding kiss. She tasted sweeter than he imagined, like the sweetest wine and ripest fruit. She was an oasis in the desert.
Without further thought, Buffy slid her hands up his chest to his shoulders relishing the feel of the muscles beneath.
“I don’t know if I can wait,” he whispered against her lips.
“I can’t,” Buffy breathed, shocked by the instant, feverish lust swirling through her. Equally she wondered at the supreme foolishness of giving herself to such a man. She didn’t even know his name!
“Slower next time then.” He gave her a cheeky grin as he swept her up in his arms and turned toward the bed.
Kicking off his shoes and unfastening his breeches, he settled between her thighs in a flash. Guiding himself to the damp cleft between her legs, he murmured an apology for his haste.
He didn’t have to apologize, he realized a scant second later as his fingers swept over her hot, wet labia, her arousal as intense as his. She was slippery wet, her thighs opening wide as her hips lifted to meet him. When he slid inside her, they both sighed as if they had been waiting a lifetime for this astonishing sensation, as if this moment had been inevitably written in time for both of them.
Clinging to his shoulders, she panted softly as he forced himself deeper, her flesh yielding to his erection, the delicious friction of flesh on flesh merging in rapturous sensation. The achingly sweet penetration continued as he established a steady rhythm.
His lips drifted along her collarbone, stopping to brush lightly over the small scar on her neck. He felt her small shudders and he knew it wouldn’t be long until she reached that first pinnacle of pleasure. She keened softly when he slipped his hands around her hips, increasing his slow rhythm of penetration and withdrawal.
Buffy moaned, her arms tightening on his shoulders. She felt that first small pulsing prelude to orgasm sweep through her – quicksilver, instantaneous – the light touch on her neck an orgasmic trigger.
Seconds later, she let out a faint, breathy cry as she quivered beneath him, bringing a smile to his lips. Instead of allowing her respite, he continued the same driving rhythm.
His urgent hunger pushed her desire to greater heights, his willful hands and sensuous lips playing havoc with her senses. A sense of being possessed overwhelmed her, spiking her passion with a delirious fever. Only once before had she given herself with such complete abandon.
His lips brushing hers brought her attention fully back to the man in her arms. Small whimpers of pleasure escaped her, her breath coming in small pants that matched the downward stroke of his slim hips. She clutched at him on each withdrawal, her fingers gripping the soft, white fabric of his shirt tightly. Pressing her lips to his neck, she kissed the hot, sun-bronzed skin.
Closing his eyes, he luxuriated in the steady building pleasure. His hands roved over the curve of her hip, up her waist to the sensitive under curve of her breasts. He stopped just short of the peaked, hard nipples. After what seemed a breathless eternity, his fingers closed over one pink crest and pulled lightly.
Buffy whimpered, a low quivering sound that seemed to vibrate through his body.
She was everything that he had thought she would be, he thought as his lips once more found her in an aggressive, intrusive kiss.
Over the course of the next few hours, they consummated their lust, alternating between insatiable fury and sweet tenderness, until at last, they lay in the tangled disarray of the bed, sated and content.
Morning. The sun shone brightly through the blinds, leaving her bedroom awash in golden light. Buffy’s eyes fluttered open and she sat up with a start. She was alone. The blankets were tucked around her neatly, her robe draped over the chair instead of in a heap on the floor where she had left it. She was even wearing her pale blue pajama shorts.
With a growing sense of anxiety, her hand went to her chest. There was no gold coin medallion hanging on a chain between her breasts. Nor was the coin hanging from the mirror on her dresser where she had hung it the night she found it. Perplexed, she swung her feet over the side of the bed. Closing her eyes, she ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers trailed over her arm, down her waist to brush lightly against the flat surface of her belly. She felt as if. yet, there was no sign of the activities still vivid in her memory from last night. Had it all been a dream then? A remarkable, wildly erotic dream, but a dream never the less? She had had such dreams before.
Buffy glanced up as Dawn opened the door and stuck her head in. “Good, you’re up. I need a ride to the mall, stat.”
Pushing aside her vaguely disorienting feelings, Buffy stood up. “Give me half an hour to shower, okay?”
“Okay, but hurry.” Dawn closed the door, the sound of her footsteps carrying as she bounded down the stairs.
Pushing aside her thoughts, Buffy rose and headed to the shower. It was several days before she found the two small beads on the floor while making the bed. With a perplexed expression, she picked them up.
Instantly she recalled with vivid detail the man from her dream nights before. His image was clear in her mind, his expression smug, his smile knowing. He had worn beads exactly like these in his hair, hair that she had tugged on during moments of passionate abandon.
After a moment, Buffy smiled a satisfied, secret smile and dropped the beads in her jewelry box. Maybe it had been real after all.
Additional Author’s Note: And yes, that was my attempt to write a fluffy Buffy/Jack Sparrow ficlet.