Title: The Sidekicks' Holiday - Part 2
Author: CaptMurdock
Feedback: Who, me? The Encouragement Whore of Babylon, need feedback. Perish forbid.
Just bear in mind that Gunn's thoughts or the bellboy's thoughts do not represent my views on interracial or same-sex relationships.Summary – My two favorite couples, W/T and Fred & Gunn, each go on little vacations…unwittingly, to the same little hotel. Wackiness ensues. Think of that scene in
L.A. Story…well, why spoil it for you?
Spoiler Warning: Buffy: "Entropy" and Angel:"Double or Nothing".
Disclaimer: Joss owns all these characters. Based on recent spoilers, however, he doesn't treat them very well, so…
Rating: I may go for the gold on this one (NC-17)
Notes: This story has depictions of intimate relations with two people of different genders. Yes, that's right, a man and a woman. Together. Intimately. Without clothes. If this bothers you, maybe you shouldn't read this fic. On the other hand, you might consider being more tolerant of different-sex couples.
The Playa del Cajon was not the most luxurious beachside hotel in California. Part of this might have been because its name translated in Spanish as "Beach of the Coffin." Still, it did have the right touch of faded elegance, and was just enough off the beaten track for celebrities to get away for a quick weekend below Gossip-Columnist Radar; hence, it did enough business to stay open. It was the kind of place where any number of characters would come and go, most more or less on the make, having as good a time in the process as possible.
"I dunno," Willow said, shaking her head as she and Tara looked around the lobby. The furniture, while clean and in good repair, looked as if it had been there since the Ford administration. "This doesn't exactly scream 'four-star luurrve nest.'"
Tara gave her newly-reconciled girlfriend an arched and inquisitive look. "Do we really need one?"
"No, and we really can't afford one either. I'm sorry. It really doesn't matter, I mean, you're here, I'm here, and we're here, I mean, together, we 're here…"
"Goo-goo-ga-joob," Tara interjected with a grin. "Now which one of us is the Walrus?"
"How should I know? Ask Giles; that stuff's from his epoch, before there were even eight-track tapes, and dinosaurs ruled the Earth."
Tara giggled, feeling giddy and oh-so-pleased to be back with Willow. She had almost forgotten how unique the hacker and ex-witch looked at the world, and how comfortable she felt in Willow's presence. It made her almost forget why she left this woman in the first place…
Resolutely, Tara shoved that thought out of her mind. Changing the subject as quickly as she could, she said, "Let's check in and get to bed. It's getting late."
Willow gave her a look. "Late? It's barely four-thirty…ohhhhh. Right. Front desk ahoy."
With quiet efficiency, the desk clerk signed them in and got a bellhop for their suitcases, giving them keys for room 214. Hardly had the two women gotten onto the elevator with the bellhop when in the main doors walked Gunn and Fred.
The urban warrior-cum-demon fighter looked around the lobby of the Playa del Cajon. "Not too shabby, I guess. Needs to wake up and smell the millennium…" Fred lightly swatted his arm, making his jump and squeal in surprise and mock pain. "Hurtin' me! You've been hurtin' me!"
"Oh, stop, ya big baby," she drawled up at him, giving her best derisive, who-are-you-trying-to-kid look. She looked around, smiling in appreciation. "I think it's charming, kinda retro, y'know?"
"Yeah, retro, got it." Truth to tell, Gunn didn't mind, or particular care, whether or not the hotel was the Ritz. He was so ecstatic to be here with Fred, but trying hard not to show it. That would be bad for his down-with-it, unflappable image. These days, though, maintaining his street cred was less and less of a priority.
The desk clerk greeted them with professional formality. Gunn felt a twinge of amazement that the guy seemed unfazed by him being with Fred.
How 'bout that…he's down with Vanilla-Chocolate Swirl. Let's hear it for The Modern World..
"Room 216, sir, ma'm," the clerk said, handing them keycards and motioning over the bellboy, who was returning from the elevator. The bellboy picked up their duffel bags and placed them on his cart. Fred shrugged slightly at the informality of their luggage, but the bellboy smiled back, dismissing any awkwardness.
"Wow, déjà vu," the bellboy muttered as he walked past 214, where he had just tucked in the two luscious peaches (one blonde, one redhead), on his way to Gunn and Fred's room.
"Scuse me?" Gunn asked.
"Oh, nothing, sir. I was just here a minute ago. Here we are, 216." He helped Fred and Gunn in with their bags, then accepted Gunn's generous tip. "Thank you, sir. You two have a nice time." Having accepted their thanks, he stepped out and let the door close. Shoving the tip in his pocket, he maneuvered his cart around and headed back towards the elevator.
He couldn't resist thinking about the two young obviously-in-love ladies in the room next to the racially-mixed couple.
Ladies and gents, in theatre two-fourteen, The Incredibly True Story of Two Girls in Love; and in two-sixteen, Jungle Fever. He shook his head as he stepped onto the elevator.
Now there's a double feature. Santa, can I have a camera for Christmas…?***********
Willow stood on the small balcony of their room, looking at the incredibly ocean view dominated by the setting sun. She reflected how nice this particular sunset was, as it was unsullied by the fear of approaching nighttime badness. They were far from Sunnydale and the Hellmouth, and quite a distance from Los Angeles or any other large urban population where vampires tended to congregate. She could stand back and enjoy the multitude of colors as the day met its end and gave birth to night.
She heard footsteps behind her, a measured tread that she knew as well as her own. A pair of arms slid around her waist to encircle her, one of the nimble hands moving up to cup her. Not under the chin, either. Willow giggled and wriggled but did not struggle. "We are outside, you know. This qualifies as Public Naughtiness."
"Then maybe we should get inside, y'know, for, um, Private Naughtiness," Tara replied, pulling the redhead in through the doorway. Willow made a show of grabbing the doorframe in mock desperation, but with little effort Tara was able to pull her free and maneuver her to the double bed, managing to plant a quick kiss or two on the way.
Willow pulled up the duvet and wriggled her legs under the blanket and top sheet, unfastening her jeans and hiking her butt up to get them off. Throwing them on the floor, she reached down to take her socks off. "Oo-oh," she cooed.
"What?" Tara asked, unbuttoning her cargo pants and sliding them down her legs.
"Hotel sheets. They're so different than normal sheets, I mean, the sheets we have at home."
"Are-are they silk?"
Willow shook her head. "Don’t think so. I think it's just, well, hotels are where you come to, y'know, where you don't want people to find out about it and stuff, so there's that air of, uh, I dunno…"
"Illicitness?" Tara ventured, as she pulled her sweater over her head, leaving her dressed in bra, panties and little pink socks. "You think people only come her to cheat on other people…" she leaned over near Willow, one hand on the nightstand, "…'Frau Krausmeyer?'"
Willow's eyes went wide for a second, then she caught onto the game. "Um, shhhh! My husband Fritz will hear!"
"Your husband Fritz is nowhere near here!" Tara retorted, straightening up with hands on hips, trying to affect a stern expression on her face. "We are miles from where anyone will find us! Tonight you are in the hands of…" She broke off, trying to think of a good name for her 'character.'
"Madame Plushbottom!" Willow said, trying to get into the spirit.
However, Tara didn't react as Willow expected. She blinked in confusion, then looked rather self-conscious. "Y-you think I have a big butt?"
Willow felt guilty about spoiling the mood. "Oh, I'm sorry, baby. C'mon, really, no, I don't think it's too big; I like your butt just fine. Now get it into bed." A beat, then she added, unable to resist, "Before it hits the floor."
"Ohhhrrr!" Tara growled in mock-outrage, jumping onto the bed, grabbing a pillow and proceeding to smother her girlfriend, whose giggles were slightly muffled under the down-filled pillow.
**************
"Ya gonna take all day and night in there?" Gunn called out to Fred, who was in the bathroom, doing what he had no idea. This was after she had spent a serious amount of time unpacking their bags and stowing their stuff into the myriad drawers. Gunn, who would have been perfectly happy living out of his duffel bag for the next few days, shook his head in bemusement as the physicist scurried around the room, deftly putting various items of clothing in drawers according to some secret method of organization.
Must be some kinda nesting thing, Gunn mused, chalking it up to her five-year exile to the extradimensional world of Pylea.
"I'll be out in a minute," came the reply, for the fourth time in ten minutes. Gunn shook his head again and peered out through the glass doors, towards the balcony. He could just about see someone standing out on the balcony next door, a small woman with red hair. He was idling toying with the idea of opening the glass door and being neighborly by greeting her, when she appeared to step back into her room with someone else. Gunn couldn't make out anything about the other person at all. He shrugged and gave it no more mind as he decided to dress up a little for dinner, wondering where the hell Fred had put his good shirts.
Idly, he pulled up the duvet on the bed. "How 'bout that. Brand new sheets on the bed."
"Now, how d'yall know that?" Fred asked from the bathroom.
"They didn't wash 'em after getting 'em out the package."
"Oh, I love those square wrinkles!" she squealed.
"Hey, whaddaya say we look through this little directory they got right next to the Gideon Bible, and find a good..." Gunn turned towards the bathroom door, and what he saw there made him lose his train of thought. "…reaaarrr-rum-rubble."
Fred walked slowly out of the bathroom, wearing a sheer red teddy that only left anything to Gunn's imagination if he didn't have 20/20 vision…which he did. Her natural shyness, evidenced by the blush she was trying to suppress, only made her wearing such a revealing outfit that much more provocative.
Gunn felt his lips purse automatically into a whistling position, and suddenly his clothes seemed to have shrunk as if having gone through the wash on hot about ten times. "Daaayyaamn," he said, stretching it out to three syllables.
Fred grinned. "D'ya like it? Cordelia got it for me."
Gunn blinked. "What? Oh, the outfit? Sucks." He let the crestfallen expression on Fred's face stay there for a second before he let out the punchline. "For a parka. I mean, not good with the keeping out the chill now, is it?" Fred looked down at her chest and saw how Gunn could tell she was cold; she crossed her arms over her breasts, which were lifted by the teddy's built-in pads, and glared at him. Gunn chuckled, decided to let the game end. "On you, though, it's phat."
She uncrossed her arms and put them around his neck. "'Phat.' That means good, don't it?" She stood on her toes and kissed him. Gunn put his arms around here, one hand cupping her butt and partially lifting her up closer. As one, mouths opened and tongues intertwined. After almost a minute, she pulled back gently. "Mmmm. Even with no pancakes, that's still pretty good."
He chuckled, then shifted his hands up to her shoulders, lightly stroked her neck and collarbones, then started to move the straps of the teddy down her arms. "Ah, no," she said, stopping his fingers. "Ya know how long it took me to be able to put this on?" She pushed against his chest, making him fall on the bed.
Laughing , she leaped on top of him, attacking the buttons of his shirt. Bemused, he lay back and let her have her way with him, lifting up slightly to let her get the shirt off. Fred trailed her fingers down his chest, his hard pectorals, his rock-hard stomach. "Move up," she instructed.
He inched up the bed, leaving Fred free to untie his boots and remove his socks. Slowly, drawing the moment out, she unsnapped his pants, pulling them off his legs and throwing them over the television set. His keys and loose change made an enormous racket falling out of the pockets, making them both chuckle.
Fred turned back to him, looking at his lower torso, seeing the obvious sign of his arousel beneath his boxer shorts. She grinned, tugging at the material. "Boxers. Ah
knew it."