Scenes From a Life Not Lived: Band Candy
by Trekker

Boredom drove her to his door that night. Ok, so he’d called her, told her he was doing some Slayer-related something with Buffy’s mother. Big deal. He could ditch it for one night.

Well, as it turned out, the Slayer-related stuff turned out to be more like listening to old records and smoking cigarettes and other less legal substances. And flirting.

So, after an invigorating shouting match, followed by an even more invigorating cat fight which Jenny was proud to say she decisively won, in spite of the fact that that Summers woman fought dirty, damn her, Jenny managed to exorcise the woman from Rupert’s apartment. He’d simply watched the whole affair with a wide grin and the occasional catcall.

Buffy herself showed up just as her mother was making her ignominious exit. She hadn’t stuck around too long, thankfully, choosing instead to follow her mother, after a few choice words from Rupert.

“Alone at last,” he’d said after the door slammed behind the Slayer, and then he’d grabbed Jenny, pressed her back against the wall and kissed her breathless.

“Oh sure,” she said, rolling her eyes, “You would have been just as happy with that... bitch, wouldn’t you?”

“Well,” he said, rolling his hips against her, “She did have the distinct advantage of being closer. But, seeing as you’re here and all now...”

Then he nibbled her earlobe and she decided to forgive him. Well, no, she’d already decided that. But now, it was a given.

“Mmm,” she said.

Then he bounced away from her and said, “Let’s go somewhere. Do something.”

Ugg. Since when was he such a spaz, anyway?

“Go where?” she said, then had a sudden urge to dance. “The Bronze?”

“Nah,” he said, derisively, as he pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. “That place is dead. Is there anywhere else in this bloody town?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Hell, there’s gotta be something. Let’s just go. Make our own fun, if we have to. Want one?” he added, holding out a cigarette.

“Not a chance,” she said, making a face. “So, let’s go then.”

So they went, wandering about the darkened streets of downtown Sunnydale. Actually, that was a pretty stupid idea, but she couldn’t really bring herself to care. The vamps wouldn’t mess with them, anyway. And if they did, Rupert... or Ripper, as he was suddenly insisting on being called, could kick their asses for ‘em.

“Hey,” she said. As they walked, she cuddled up to his side, he with his arm possessively around her shoulders. “Are you wearing make-up?”

“What’s it to you?” he said.

“It’s kinda sexy,” she said, squirming a bit.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You should do it more often.”

He scoffed softly.

“Don’t know why I don’t. Used to most of the time when I was younger.”

“The kids would be shocked. Would probably be pretty funny, actually. And Snyder-” Jenny grinned.

Rupert--no, Ripper--laughed.

”That bloody bastard. Christ, it’s a miracle I haven’t knocked his teeth in yet.”

“You and me both, pal.”

“Really ought to,” he said. “Wonder where he is now?”

As fun as it would be to watch Ripper beat the crap out of that weasel, finding him seemed like a waste of effort.

“Eh,” Jenny said noncommittally. “Oh, hey, there’s a bar. Looks nice and skanky.”

They headed in, down a flight of concrete steps. It was a small bar, nothing but a few round tables, a long bar, and a tiny dance floor snugged up between an ancient-looking jukebox and an even older-looking pool table. The place was packed with people. Cigarette smoke laid like a veil across the whole scene, giving the feeling of a mist-cloaked pond at dawn. Sound moved sluggishly through the thickened air, the rumble of conversation, the click of pool balls. The heavy thump of the sound system reverberated all around them, like a mother’s heartbeat, and everyone seemed to be in its thrall, transforming the crowd into one hot, moving creature.

She thought he’d hate it, and be out the door in a second. But he wasn’t. He followed her in without a note of complaint, letting the crowd-thing engulf them like an amoeba into its heaving mass.

She shouted her order to the barkeep, going straight for the hard stuff, ‘cause why the hell not, and then she turned around to face him in the tight quarters. The crowd shoved her back against the bar, and him flush against her, and all he did was wrap his arms around her and lean a little closer, not even trying to speak above the din, and already moving a bit with the beat, a subtle shifting of his body against hers that did wild things to her already off-balance equilibrium.

He retrieved their drinks from the bar when they came, handing her hers and downing half his own in one practiced swallow. She curled her arm around him and took a smaller sip of her own drink. His back was already damp with sweat from the collective body heat, and his T-shirt was sticking to the skin, clinging to every contour of his musculature. It was nice.

Mmm, but what was down lower was a lot nicer.

Oddly enough, he didn’t even protest her openly groping his ass in public. That was nice, too.

In fact, he downed the rest of his drink, returned the glass to the bar and wrapped his own hands around *her* ass. She jumped a bit in surprise, and then grinned wickedly. She could get used to this.

She looked up and found him staring back down at her, his eyes hazy and dark, like the sky before a storm, and sharp as lasers.

Suddenly, she just wanted to dance.

She set her drink behind her on the bar and pushed against him a little, intending to encourage him towards the dance floor. But instead, he just pushed back, trapping her with the small of her back against the edge of the bar. She gasped in surprise, and looked up again.

“Hey, Rip-”

He began moving again, and now there was no mistaking the deliberate grind of his hips against her as he picked up the bone-deep beat. She gasped again, but this time it wasn’t in surprise. His face had hardened, his expression not angry, but intense. Focused.

She lost track of time, of everything, as he slowly moved against her, his eyes never leaving her eyes, his hands never leaving her hips. It was all overwhelming: the pleasure of his strong body against hers, the slight discomfort of the bar behind her, the heat, the sound, the very idea that he was doing this, all but rubbing off on her, and in *public*... It was all coalescing down into one sensation, drawing all her attention to a deep internal tightness, to the heat and wet between her own legs. Her own arousal was pulsing in time to that same beat, crying out for attention.

And then he slipped his hand under her skirt.

“Oh, holy shit, Ripper,” she whispered, unable to find the breath for more.

His index finger pushed beneath her underwear and slipped inside her, and her internal muscles immediately gripped it tightly. She shut her eyes involuntarily and groaned.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked around, briefly, guiltily, aware for one moment of the mass of humanity around them. But the occupants of the bar stools on either side of them were turned away from them, and everyone around them seemed as involved in their own affairs as Ripper and she were.

“Am I losing you?” Ripper’s voice rasped suddenly, close to her ear, and then his teeth nipped at her earlobe. And then he moved his finger inside her.

“Oh, hell, no,” she said, then laid her hand over his fly, smiling as his hips bucked a bit, pressing the firm ridge beneath the denim into her palm. She rubbed him a few times, as he held still for her, and then she unzipped his pants and pushed her hand inside, curling her fingers into a fist around him.

She stroked him slowly. He flowed closer, shielding them with his body to give them the slightest bit of privacy, and then began to finger-fuck her, matching her pace with his hand, their eyes once again locked together.

“Oh Jenny,” he murmured, “God, Jenny.”

Normally, one finger would never have been enough to push her to climax. But this was so far from normal it wasn’t even in the same dimension. She was close already, and so was he, she could hear his harsh breathing even above the noise of the crowd.

“Yeah, baby, come on,” she murmured, tightening her grip and moving her hand a bit faster. He groaned, and his eyes slid halfway shut, and he returned the favor, thrusting faster inside her, and beginning to rub his thumb lightly over her clit through her panties.

She rolled back, pressed against the bar, panting hard now, so close, just a little more, she just needed a little--

“Oh, shit,” she gasped, shoving her pelvis up hard against his hand and coming, god, coming *hard.* She saw *stars.*

She huffed a soft laugh as she came down from it, still tingling all over, then she pressed herself against him, jacking him hard and fast and with *intent*, and it only took about thirty seconds for him to reach his own climax, gripping her arm with his free hand and muffling a strangled cry against her cheek.

For a few minutes afterwards, neither of them moved. Then, gingerly, they pulled away from each other. He quickly zipped up and she turned around to grab some much-needed napkins from a basket on the bar.

When they faced each other again, she said, grinning from ear to ear, “Well. That was different.”

His reply was a soft hum, and then a surprisingly gentle kiss.

“Come dance with me, love.”

The End
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