Ramblings of an Old Kweer

   TITLE: Desert Jazz; Provider of Woes Extreme

   AUTHOR: kerk hiraeth

   FANDOM: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (set in the 22'verse)

   CHARACTERS: OC; again, see the immediately preceding stories in this series for particulars on what my muse has revealed of them thus far.

   LENGTH: 602,

   A/N: This one does specifically refer to the Slayer's age when they began their relationship, so it's worth repeating that warning. The title comes from a sense of letting this story flow from three separate sources until they finally made sense; one of them being the original title of where this began; including inspiration from the music playing when I finished it.

     She'd been fourteen; woman for years.

   He was just shy of his fiftieth birthday; newly a dead man, only uncertain of time when he'd tried to arrest her, a drunk teenager; forgetful that he was no longer a policeman. Later that night, she'd rescued him from an unseen joyrider; fast even in those pre-Powered days.

   Given a place by her fire he'd found himself unwilling to resist her when she sought comforts his moral code; anyone's moral code would have until a few days before, would have disgusted him.

   When she asked him to kneel and suck her cock; fingers entering her vagina as he did so, he found himself shocked at the lack of his previously self-assumed homophobia.

   He swallowed and she licked the residue from his lips before she fucked him to a tearful rest.

   It seemed all so long ago; long before they experienced the realities of the hidden supernatural world on a backstreet in Bolton.

   Not long after that she had felt something burn through her; screaming as she somehow managed to stop him from diving from the roof of a high rise in Leeds.

   Calm; cold fear at the loss of him too soon driving her on, she persuaded him to follow her down to the Gloucestershire woods where she had been brought up, only to find her adoptive parents long gone into the ground.

   They found a letter though; written in childish written, and expressed, Spanish, that told her of her origins in the deserts of the American South-West, brought to England by activists trying to help her birth parents escape.

   Nothing on who they'd been, or why they'd not escaped.

   Only that they'd been killed; last of their people.

   She was Native American. Apache; Ute, they had no way of knowing, but she finally had a sense of, somewhere out there, being somewhere she could belong.

   Word reached him that strangers were looking for her; people the demons who gave them shelter feared for some reason. They ran; he becoming sicker day by day, she determined to find a home of some kind; secretly already decided on finding a place to give him to the gods.

   The Great Spirit was calling her home she decided.

   He was too frail to argue; never had told her where home was for him anyway.

   As they travelled; from demon hideaway to demon safe house, he studied and learned; all he had strength left to do until a mage gave him the makings of concoctions to keep him alive. She stole until they had enough to bribe passage to Newfoundland.

   Now she was here; having got him home; her home, but just too late.

   She slowly settled down on her haunches; ran trembling fingers over his cold features, finally kneeling and letting her grief flow.

   She built a half-understood bier; drank the warmed remains of his last made coffee; ate the stew he never got to cook for her, and burned his body in a ritual more akin to his ancestors.

   Dawn rose as the flames began to die.

   She spilt her seed into the dying fire; dressed, putting on his favourite jacket, and turned resolutely towards her future, and away from the sunrise.

   Buffy backtracked her to where the remains still smouldered; giving him the burial the Slayer she had come for could not.

   She found a crucifix and mangled a few words; half-remembered from a movie, before she set off back to where she had left their new Slayer making camp.

   The girl woke with a start as Buffy dumped her backpack.

   “So... you got a name?”

    Goddess watch over us in these dark times, 

    

    Kerk hiraeth

   TITLE: No Platonic Love

   AUTHOR: kerk hiraeth

   FANDOM: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (set in the 22'verse)

   CHARACTERS: OC; as I have said, two drabbles ago, their names have not, as yet, revealed themselves; previous warnings apply.

   LENGTH: 100,

   A/N: This story; especially the first line was the first image I had of these two characters, more than three years ago. That story; never resolved satisfactorally, is pretty much represented in this, and those stories, immediately following.

     I'm home.

   Fighting to control his pained breaths in this oppressive, if rapidly declining heat, he could nonetheless hear her thought; see the emotion, as she stared into the desert.

   She sensed his hurt though; turned and held a hand out to him, her eyes silently asking questions of him, which he answered; ignoring his burning caplillaries.

   “I'll set camp,” brooking no argument. He felt her tense; desiring to ease his misery, but each had their pride; stubborn acknowledgment of the others; strange, masculine pride.

   “Coffee?”

   “Will be ready,” she nodded; accepting.

   Turning, she sighed loudly; running into the sunset.

    Goddess watch over us in these dark times,

     

    Kerk Hiraeth