THE RITUAL
by Yseult deBreton

RATING: NC-17
TIMELINE: Anytime beween "The Freshman" and "Restless"
SUMMARY: This is darkish and not angsty but there’s pleasure and pain. I know. Crappy summary. How about Buffy, a bathtub, and memories of Angel?
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Is this smut? I don’t know. It started out that way. I’m not sure that’s where it ends.
DATE OF COMPLETION: 17 June 2003
DISTRIBUTION: Yseult’s Passion (http://yseultspassion.com) and my permission. If you want it, ask me.
DISCLAIMER: Checks driver’s license. Nope. Still not Joss.
FEEDBACK: Yes please. Send it to yseultdb@yahoo.com

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There were drawbacks to living in student housing. The biggest, as far as Buffy was concerned, was the lack of bathtubs. Showers were perfect when you were in a hurry and you needed to get clean fast. But a bathtub… a bathtub offered additional pleasures. For Buffy, it had started as a means to relieve the tensions in her life. It had quickly turned into a ritual for escape.

Buffy opened the front door of her home on Revello Drive.

"Mom? Mom? I’m home," she hollered.

The house was silent. Her mother did not walk down the stairs or call from the kitchen. Buffy was alone. Thank God. She did not want to deal with her mother today. She just wanted the bathtub.

Buffy quickly climbed the stairs and went into the bathroom. She peeled off her clothes and released her hair from its ponytail. Then she got into the bathtub and lay against the cool white fiberglass. "Mmmm," she smiled. "Where have you been?"

She rolled onto her abdomen and supported her upper body on her forearms until her breasts hovered just above the tub’s surface. Slowly she lowered them until the pale pink tips brushed its coolness. Buffy dragged her nipples along the smooth finish until they were pebbled from the cold. When they were hard, she lowered her chest until her breasts smashed against the floor of the tub. She closed her eyes and imagined him beneath her.

"Hold me," Buffy whispered. "I want to feel your skin against mine."

Several minutes passed before she sat up. She pushed her hair away from her face and wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks. When she felt ready, Buffy scooted to the front of the bathtub where the faucets were located. In one corner, her mother had left a bottle of shampoo. In the other corner, an unused razor rested against a pumice stone. Buffy moved all the items to the floor and pushed the shower curtain out of her way. Then she placed her body so that her feet were propped on either side of the faucets and her sex was immediately below the waterspout. It was an awkward position, but it was the best for what she was about to do.

She rested her left hand along the top of the bathtub. Her right hand turned the cold water faucet on. The water dribbled at first but swiftly transformed into a steady rush as the water pressure increased. Buffy added some hot water until the temperature was cool but not ice cold.

Her naked skin pimpled. Buffy lay back and felt the water begin to pool as her body prevented its flow down the drain. She concentrated on the pressure of the cold water on her hungering clit and waited. Within seconds Buffy felt the first involuntary shiver. "More, Angel," she murmured. "I want more." The water continued to hammer her clit. Her legs began to shake as she forced her body to wait… just wait. "Harder, Angel. Make it harder. I want to come so hard, the world explodes."

Buffy adjusted the water pressure. The cold liquid pummeled her throbbing clit. The water swirled around her shoulders. She sat at the crest of an orgasmic wave and waited. It wasn’t enough. Sometimes this happened. Her need to be with him would overtake her body’s desire. It required an extra push. She used both hands to spread apart the outer lips of her sex. Her hooded clit was further exposed to the pulsating water. Buffy adjusted the angle of her body and suddenly she was ptiched down the embankment.

She came hard, screaming his name from the base of her throat with a feral growl that hoarsened her voice. She rode the wave to the shore before turning off the water and collapsing against the tub. "I miss you so much," she sobbed. She cried until the tub trained.

Finally Buffy stood and started the shower. She adjusted the water temperature until it was cold. Then she leaned against the wall and let the spray pepper her body like Angel’s kisses. When her skin was wrinkled and pruned, she shut off the water. Buffy grabbed a towel and dried off. She gathered her clothes and went into her old room.

Her bed was clear although there were boxes piled on the floor. Buffy rifled through her dresser drawer until she found what she was looking for. She quickly shed the towel and slipped Angel’s shirt over her body. Then she crawled into bed and pulled the covers to her chin. She was cold. Buffy closed her eyes and imagined him with her, his body spooned against hers, his erection stroking her thighs as he teased her with it. "Stay with me, Angel. Just for tonight."

When her mother came home, Buffy was asleep. Joyce Summers sat in a chair and watched as her daughter tossed and turned and cried for her absent lover.

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