Skinnydipping
Faith x Summers! Reader
Warnings: sexual content
Description: When a heat wave hits Sunnydale, Faith suggests a not-so-innocent way to cool off.
It’s hot. Soles of the feet scorching on the cement, thighs suctioning to leather seats, fry an egg on the sidewalk hot.
To make things worse, your air conditioner is broken. Buffy slammed a demon into it and it choked out. The repair company said they’ll be over when they can, but it’s California in the summer and they have a long list of customers that they have to go through in order.
You’ve taken to lying almost naked on the kitchen tiles. Nothing but your most comfortable sports bra and your tiniest athletic shorts. With all the windows open. And every fan in the house on. And a glass of ice water next to you.
It’s not enough.
You’re spread-eagled on the floor when Faith walks in. She calls out a general greeting that you’re too overheated to respond to. She almost steps on your outstretched arm.
“Everything good here?” she asks. She folds down criss-cross apple sauce next to you, cups her ear. “Existential crisis, maybe?”
You blink open an eye slowly. “Aren’t you—”
She’s dressed in all black. She’s not even sweating. You scramble up, press a hand to her cheek. It’s bone dry.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
She laughs, helps you off the floor. Her skin is refreshingly cool where it meets yours.
“It would take us all day to get through that list, sweetheart. But what you’re referring to?” She shrugs. “I don’t sweat.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, I’ve been known to get a little moist during some extra-curriculars, don’t get me wrong,” she says. You flush at the suggestive quirk of her eyebrow. “But I thrive in heat.”
You roll your eyes. It’s so Faith to be this incredibly glib while you’re suffering.
Her eyes sparkle. “Well, I was going to see if you or B wanted to go to the mall, but this is better. Come on.”
She takes your sweaty hand, interlocking her fingers with yours, like she doesn’t even mind how slick your palm is. You’re almost grateful for the heat— it’s not like you can get much sweatier, and this way Faith won’t know how nervous she’s making you.
The motorcycle parked out front was her birthday present to herself and you’re unsurprised when she hands you her only helmet. She never wears it anyway.
“C’mon, let’s go already.”
Your hands are fumbling with the straps. You pause to wipe then down the front of your shorts (not that there’s a lot of fabric to help here), but Faith is impatient as usual. She leans forward, so close that you can smell her fruity gum, and fastens the helmet’s straps securely under your chin. You’re careful not to stare down her shirt, but that means that you’re looking in her eyes for a split second too long. She flashes you a classic Faith smile and climbs onto the bike, scooting forward to give you plenty of room.
“You’re going to want to hold on tight,” she says, and you do.
Then she takes off down the lane, making your stomach jump and your eyelids clench shut. You’ve ridden on her motorcycle before, but you’ve never gotten used to it.
You can’t clock how much time it takes you to reach the secluded section of the beach that Faith has picked out for your weekday trip. Maybe as much as an hour or as short as 15 minutes. The bluff is as secluded as you’ve ever seen it, which is almost unbelievable, considering the killer heat. Then again, the cops picked up two bodies that were found here only last week, so maybe it’s not so surprising. You don’t know if Buffy’s found the vamp who did it yet or not, but as long as the sun’s high in the sky and Faith is at your side, you don’t care.
“Oh, you didn’t tell me to bring a suit.” The words fall out of your mouth without your stamp of approval. Faith knocks her kickstand down and helps you off the bike, grinning wickedly.
“You don’t need one.”
She’s already peeling her black tank top off, revealing the equally dark bra underneath. You turn away before she can strip that off too, trying to hide a sudden flush that has nothing to do with the heat.
“Someone might come by.”
“We don’t have to stay long.”
You’re preparing yourself to be criticized for being a prude when Faith spins you around, setting her palms (still somehow drier than the Sahara) on your shoulders.
“Look, you said you were hot. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t wanna do, but I’m going to go take a dip. You can join me or not, no pressure.”
For Faith, this is extremely gentle. And true to her word, she strips down entirely, leaving her clothes in a sandy pile, then takes off toward the water.
You have three options, as you see it. You can strip down and go after her (brave, scary, and undeniably what Faith wants to happen). You can keep your clothes on and swim like that (but you’ll drip all over her seat and even if Faith doesn’t say anything about it, it’s the coward’s way out). Or you can wait for her to finish having her fun (you’ll be standing in the sand the whole time, hopping from foot to foot and trying to find something else to occupy your attention while she’s not 50 feet away, swimming completely naked).
It’s not much of a choice at all, when you think about it.
You leave your clothes in a neat pile by the front wheel of the motorcycle, weighed down by a rock. Resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest, you’re able to slip under the water while Faith’s looking out to sea. She’s mesmerized by a boat that’s sailing past and doesn’t even notice you until you send a hard splash her way.
“Hey!”
She’s grinning as she splashes you back and soon you’re in an all-out war. Some of the salty water makes its way into your mouth while you’re laughing and then you’re sputtering.
She’s smacking you on the back, her hand on your bare skin, and her fingers are touching your spine. Your eyes are watering because you’re coughing so hard and you’re sure you look so not sexy, but when you finally straighten up she kisses you.
You’ve kissed before. Faith likes to toe the line at parties, give the boys something to look at. You’ve always been able to dismiss it as a joke or a drunken expression of friendliness.
But this—
The water has cooled you off, but the sun is still so hot on your exposed skin. Faith’s mouth is the same.
She catches your earlobe between her teeth, tugging gently, licking off the droplets that landed there.
It’s the salt and the sea and her, the beach and the sand, a public spot with no public around.
You’ve been here hundreds of times over the years, but never like this.
“Faith.”
Her name is a prayer on your lips. You’ve called it out late at night in your room when you were sure no one would hear you. It was your secret. This is better. You want to say it until it doesn’t make sense anymore.
When she makes her way back to your mouth, she tastes like California. All the sunny days and none of the monster hunting. You could be any two people without a history of supernatural trauma.
“Faith— Oh!”
“More where that came from,” she murmurs, but you’re pulling away.
“Something touched my leg.”
“We’re in the open ocean. Probably just a fish.”
She’s undeterred, moving back into your space, but you’re hauling ass out of the water and yanking her along with you.
“Not in Sunnyd—”
There’s a splash and a sucking sound as a giant fish man, complete with abs and fins, emerges from where you were just standing. It seems to smirk at you, then opens its mouth and shoots a jet of foul-smelling slime only inches from where you stand in the sand.
“That’s homophobic.”
Resigned, Faith jogs over to her motorcycle and unsheathes a knife from the side bag.
“The work of a Slayer is never done,” she sighs.
Watching her gut the fish man while naked is maybe the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
