TITLE: Oblivion


EMAIL: lex@bitchenvy.com

RATING: NC-17 for sexual content

DISCLAIMER: Characters are not mine. Characters belong to Joss Whedon and Crew. No copyright infringement intended.

SYNOPSIS: Buffy's tired of it all. She wants to forget. Devon helps.

NOTE: Don't ask me where the hell this came from. I couldn't even begin to tell you. All of a sudden, it was in my brain, and despite repeated attempts, it would NOT go away. So here you go. Be forewarned, it's pretty dark down there.

DEDICATED: To Cin, who has made a major life change. I'm proud of you, babe.


I walked into the Bronze that night girded for battle.

Girded? Whoa. Giles word. That's what hanging around 40 year old tweed covered British librarians will do for you. I have to admit to wondering what was beneath the tweed...but Giles would probably drop dead from a seizure or something if I tried to find out. But I can't be the only one that's noticed the greatness that is his ass.

My clothes screamed 'fuck me' and my walk begged every man there to do it soon. I had on a short -- short was an exceedingly kind overestimation in length -- tight, black skirt, the kind that clung as I moved. My shirt wasn't any less revealing, black lycra molding itself tightly to my uplifted breasts. All I have to say to that is thank God for WonderBras. The shoes were tall black platforms, a bitch to walk on but sexy as hell.

I was there to be fucked, and there wasn't a man in the room that didn't know it. It was just a matter of who would have the guts to take me up on my blatant offer. I wanted -- no, needed -- to forget, and I figured the fastest way to oblivion was to get shitfaced drunk and let some guy pound away between my thighs.

My friends were nowhere to be found for once, and for that, I was relieved. I didn't want to have to deal with Xander's lame come-ons and incessant fumblings. He wanted to make love, and I wanted to get laid. And I didn't want to hurt him, so I tried to keep my distance. Giles tried so hard to be careful around me, not saying anything that could possibly upset me, but I could tell he wanted me to let it the fuck go. I understood the 'new' me frightened him, but that was his problem. I was what my life made me.

Willow was just as bad. Her constant outpourings of awkward sympathy made me want to punch her in her teeth, which in turn made me feel guilty. She was Willow, for chrissakes, it would have been like kicking a puppy. Oddly enough, Oz was the one I felt the most comfortable with; one night right after HE left, Oz appeared at my door, and I allowed myself to break down and sob in his arms. He never mentioned it again, and neither did I.

Willow kept on telling me that I would be okay, that I would get over HIM -- my mind rebelled against thinking the name -- and move on with my life. Oh, I was moving on, but I would never, even if I was the immortal one, ever get over him.

The only tiny bit of fairness was that I knew he would never get over me either. Sure, he'd find someone new, and so would I, but we could never be truly happy, not without the other. I knew it. He knew it. But we were flat out of options. Story of my life. Me? Bitter? Nah.

So here I was. Buffy Summers. Come on, big boys, come and fuck me.

First contender was, ironically, Scott Hope. I just laughed at him until he slunk away. Second one was a no-neck that looked like he had played football for far too long. He tried to make himself look big and strong, and a part of me wanted to offer to arm wrestle him, but I didn't want to ruin his evening completely.

Third contender...now he was interesting. He was also Oz's friend. Devon something. The lead singer for that godawful band Oz spent time playing with. He had SLUT tattooed all over him, but it turned me on. He would do. Oh yes, he would definitely do. He was blond, and not dark like...well, he was blond and tanned and the epitome of nearly every Californian girls' dreams.

Devon it was, then.

I caught his eye as he milled through the crowd. From my seat, I could see his eyebrows lift as he noticed me and my outfit. Seconds later, he was at my side. Ah, men are SO predictable.

"Buffy...this is certainly a new look for you."

"You like?" Fuck. Did we have to go through all this idle chitchat bullshit? Just do me already.

His eyes darkened. Oh yeah, he liked.

Just then, the DJ threw on a song with a sexy, driving beat. Perfect. I resisted the urge to clap with glee, and slid off of my stool. "Dance with me, Devon?"

He didn't say a word, just took my hand and led me out onto the dance floor. I plastered myself against his body, and began to slowly gyrate with him, pushing my hips into his. Devon was definitely happy to see me.

He looked down at me. "What are you running from, Buffy?"

His perceptiveness stunned me. I guess there was a brain behind all that prettiness after all. I never would have believed it. But I guess Oz hung with him for a reason. I let out a low laugh. "Running from? My life. I want to forget for a while. Can you make me forget, Devon?"

Devon ran his tongue over his lips, moistening them, then grinned. "Anything you want, gorgeous."

I jerked my head towards the door. "I'm sure you have someplace we can go for this."

"You say it like I do this often."

"Don't you?"

"Never had *the* Buffy Summers before."

"There's a first time for everything."

He took my hand once more and led me out the door.


In his car on the way to...come to think of it, I had no idea where the hell he was taking me, but I somehow didn't care. I turned my head to look at him. I needed something to drink. Now. "Got any booze, Dev?"

He grinned. "Getting cold feet?"

I snorted. "Nah. I just want to get thrashed first. You mind?"

"Hell, no."

We pulled up in front of what had to be his apartment building, and he opened my car door with a flourish. I climbed out of his car, and walked up the stairs, until he stopped me at a door. He slid a key out, opened that door, and in we walked.

It was a dump.

I was unsurprised.

He tossed his keys on a table near the door, and went straight for the fridge, pulling out a six pack. He threw a can at me, and I cracked it open, sucking down a long swallow. He watched with something akin to awe as I emptied the can, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I chucked the empty can back at him.

Hello, who the hell was I? I was the Slayer. The dutiful. The tired. The lonely. The slated-to-die-before-the-age-of-thirty. I was tired of being a good girl. What did being a good girl get me?

Shit. That's what it got me.

So, I would be bad. Just this once, I would be like Faith and ignore my duties. I relished the thought. I would forget everything I was ever taught about self-respect and self-worth, and allow this to happen.

No backing out now.

Even if I wanted to.


An hour later, after the beer was finished and we had exhausted just about every inane conversational topic we could think of, Devon made his move. He slid next to me where I was perched on the edge of his bed and leaned over, wrapping his arms around me. I looked up at him, and felt nothing but a mild stirring of lust.

Can we get this over with, please?

As though he heard my mental whine, his lips descended to cover mine. I discovered two things then. First thing was, men kiss differently than boys, and the second thing, the taste of the beer did not improve coming from his mouth.

He kissed me for several moments, and I let my mouth slip open, allowing his tongue inside to duel with mine. I amended my first impression. He wasn't a bad kisser. He was probably pretty good, particularly in comparison to what Sunnydale had to offer. I wonder why Cordelia broke up with him.

Cordelia? Random thought much?

But when you've had the best, anything else is somehow never satisfying enough.

My head was spinning. "Now, Dev, c'mere." I hitched my skirt up a little, far enough for him to see that I wasn't wearing any panties.

"Shit, Buff." His hands were drawn to my cunt, petting my upper thighs, sliding into the soft folds. I wasn't really wet, but I wasn't dry either and he wedged a finger into me. He obviously wasn't thrilled with what he found, so he attempted to arouse me more.

I didn't want that.

No pleasure.

"Fuck me now, Devon."

"Don't you want me to --"

In answer, I attacked the waistband of his pants, yanking down the cargo pants he had on, freeing his erect cock. It looked weird to me for a second, when I realized that Devon was circumcised. Never saw one of those before. Then he fumbled in his nightstand for something. Oh. Condom. Well, at least one of us was prepared. He tore the foil packed, and I watched him idly. I had never seen anyone do this before, and I was fascinated. He slid the latex over his cock, and turned back to me, a question in his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

I threw myself back on the bed in answer, spreading my legs wide.

He climbed on top of me and thrust in roughly. My heart started to chant 'NotAngelNotAngelNotAngel' while my body surged up to meet him. I was momentarily disgusted by his body heat and his sweat, before I realized that living men had those things.

Dead men didn't.

And how sick was it that I preferred the dead between my thighs? Maybe I'd have to find Spike after this and give him what he had been begging for since the first day he set eyes on me.

Devon started to thrust, his hands braced on either side of my head, his eyes closed. Good. I didn't want to look him in the eyes while he did this. I just wanted him to fuck the pain away. I settled more closely beneath him, wrapping my legs around him, aiding his thrusts.

The pleasure surprised me.

It was a thin, weak stream of pleasure, caused by bare skin pressed to bare skin. I hadn't expected any pleasure from this...betrayal. And it was a betrayal, of myself, and of Angel. But at that moment, I didn't care. I just wanted the awful, gnawing ache to go away.

True to his word, Devon set about making me forget. But I wasn't sure the pleasure was any better than the pain.


The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Oz.

My forehead wrinkled. "Oz, why are you here?"

"I live here."

"Oh. Right."

"The question is, why are YOU here? In bed with Devon?"

I was on my side, with Devon spooned up behind me, one hand slung low on my stomach. With a lurch, I realized that after I had allowed Devon to fuck me, I had slept the night with him. I never even gotten a chance to sleep the night with... Ohgodohgodohgod. My heart started slamming in my chest, and I felt sick.

From the look on his face, Oz knew what was going on in my mind, and he pulled Devon's arm off of me and drew me up from the bed. I was uncaring about my nakedness.

"Why is that you've seen me naked more times than most people?"

"Just lucky, I guess."

I smiled through my nausea. Oz led me down the hall to the bathroom. He pushed me inside. "Take a shower. I'll find you a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. The towel on the back of the door is clean."

Nodding, I closed the door, then slumped against it. Slowly, I turned to face the mirror on the back of the door. I examined myself for physical proof of what I had done.

There was none.

Devon wasn't strong enough to leave bruises. I'd never again be with a man that was. My eyes closed, and I pressed my right fist to my lips to prevent myself from screaming. Suddenly, my knees gave out beneath me, and I crumpled to the ground like a broken doll. The sickness washed through me, and I pressed my forehead against the coolness of the mirror.

I gulped air in through my mouth.

It was done. The first brick laid in the wall of my new armor. I did it. I set out to do something, and I did it. Imagine that. For once, the forces of evil didn't get in the way. Finally, I had managed to do something my way.

I leaned back and looked at my reflection. I stared at the washed out blonde with bags under her eyes for a long time. Then I smiled.

Fuck you, Evil. This is my life.

And I'm taking it back.