Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Setting: About two years post Chosen for BtVS, and post war for HP.

Warning: Adult content ahead, not extremely explicit, but not recommended for any kiddos. Rated R, folks, you have been warned.

"Lights Off"

Once a month.

Once a damned month.

That was the only time she could see him, feel him, smell him, taste him. It had taken a hell of a lot of talkin' just to get away from her junior slayers, the rather large group of teenage girls she was supposed to help train, that one short evening. But it would never be enough. She could visit him every night, and it would never be enough to quench her thirst.

So, here it was, her one day in February, her one day to be with him. Did anyone know? Did they know what she did on the nineteenth of every month? Doubtful. Though, she did admit that B, of all of them, had an idea. The lead slayer had been bad before, she'd experienced a secret rendezvous or two. It was nothing new. And Faith had, after all, told her that she needed some time to release steam.

"Or make it," the slayer muttered, walking in through the manor's front door. Just like I own the place. She smiled at that thought. In a way, she owned more than this oversized shack: she owned the man with the deed.

Lucius Malfoy. That was his name, the big guy. Apparently he was pretty well known in his society, infamous as it were. Faith didn't give a shit for that. While she knew about his magical abilities, she didn't give a rat's ass about the world of wizards or whatnot, and she sure as hell wasn't telling the new Council or the Scooby gang about him or his people. It wasn't her secret, and, so long as he kept hers, she'd keep his.

She guessed that that was what he liked about her, the simple fact that she didn't want to know. She just wanted to find that little comfort he could offer her. But, no matter how hard she tried, she became more and more aware of who he was.

Fact one: he had been in prison. Faith had seen that the first time she'd met him, patrolling in a small town in Scotland that was dealing with werewolf problems. It had been in his cold, calculating eyes. It was scary. It was a reflection of her own gaze, so intense, so sinful. And he had been guilty of his crimes, just like she had.

Fact two: he was alone. When she questioned him, his answers always went back to two years ago and ended there. Faith didn't know what the hell had happened then, or what he had done to cause it, but it was bad. And it had cost him his wife.

Did he love her? Who cared? Faith was there for one thing and one thing only, so what if she was treading in old waters. So what. . . .

The slayer stopped in front of the mantle over a wide cold fireplace. There was a painting on the wall above. She had passed it every time she'd entered this place, and never once asked Lucius about it. It was a portrait of a beautiful woman, Faith's opposite. She was light for her dark, fragile for her strong, yet the pale woman seemed the independent one with her haughty nose and icy presence.

And the picture moved, turning its back, refusing to speak to the girl. It always did that. It had freaked Faith out the first time, but she was getting used to the quirks of sleeping with damned magic folk.

Faith frowned slightly. "'Evening, Narcissa," she muttered.

Yes. That was her name. The portrait twitched but did not look back. Faith had been right when she'd guessed the dead witch's identity. A few months ago Lucius had whispered that name in his sleep. Faith hadn't brought it up in the morning, but she'd left quicker than usual.

She'd always known that she was playing the part of a ghost.

Faith dropped those thoughts, quickly passing back out of the room and up the staircase, letting slayer speed make her journey shorter. Her body was already anticipating the evening's events as she reached the second floor, doe eyes staring down the corridor where one door remained cracked open. Face flushed, she approached, wearing a small grin because of the pin prickling numbness in her thighs. How she loved that feeling.

The door groaned when she pushed it further open, standing in the entrance. The room inside was dark, just like it always was, but the hall light behind her lit up her curving features. Her keen eyes caught a shifting in the shadows inside.

There's my guy. . . . She put her hands on her hips, staring at Lucius's silhouette sitting in a chair next to the window, moonlight bouncing off of his long blond hair.

"You're late," he said. As cold as his voice was, he wasn't being unkind, and Faith knew as much.

"Got held up. One of my girls got blood on my favorite jacket. . . .You can guess how that went."

"Step inside," Lucius ordered. He didn't like small talk.

With any other man, it would have been Faith on that side, giving orders, brushing off whatever her lover was saying. But not with Lucius Malfoy. Things were different with him.

Only one other person had ever been able to take on a dominant role in her life. Robin had always been able to control her, take her down a notch while sending her to ecstatic highs. He had been good at that. But wasn't around for that anymore.

It had been a year after Sunnydale sunk. She and Robin had been trying to convince a slayer in New York that she should come back to one of their bases for training. It was a simple assignment, but, when they came back to their hotel room without her, the couple had gotten into a fight. It was something dumb. Faith was pretty sure that she'd started it. But Robin had ended it, walking out, muttering something about patrolling the area.

When he wasn't back in the morning, Faith realized that she had made a mistake in letting him go. Blood drained, hidden in a dumpster three blocks away, she found him. Nothing had been the same since.

Everyone told her to move on. And, damn it, she had. Lucius was the piece she'd been missing. Other relationships made her always take the lead. She was the strongest, and it usually showed. Lucius didn't let her do that. Somehow, he had managed to make her succumb.

It was odd for her, being the submissive. A strange part of her was relieved by the role, letting that man take control. And it was only in the bedroom. Shouldn't she let the slayer inside take a rest every once in a while? Wasn't it nice to go on auto pilot, be in the zone? It was so good. . . .Just to pretend that the man thrusting into her was another. . . .

"Come closer—and take off that dreadful blouse," Lucius hissed.

Faith gave him an eager smile, rolling her eyes. In one, slow motion, she lifted her arms, contorting her shoulders so that the cotton t-shirt slid up over her face. She wiggled, her breasts bouncing in their red, lace covered cups as she tossed it aside, automatically reaching down to unfasten her belt.

"Desist," the wizard snapped. He paused a moment before adding, "Come to me."

She slinked forward, sex sounding with her every footfall. "My, aren't we pushy tonight."

Faith could see his glistening gray eyes, cast down on her bare, tanned abdomen.

He was quite the looker himself; she wouldn't have it any other way. Lucius was older than her by a couple decades, but his face was almost line free, hard as stone. Probably because he never smiles. Isn't that how wrinkles form? The more depressed, the better you age, I guess. He wasn't the pervy grandpa type, either. Her age didn't matter to him, she could tell.

After years of growing up too fast, old guys with wandering eyes had become all too obvious for her to spot—she could pick them out of a Church just as easy as a bar. But, for all of Lucius's lust for her, he never seemed to notice how very young she truly was, and Faith didn't plan to bring it up. . . . Age wasn't really important.

Lucius reached out, grabbing at her belt, quickly pulling it out of its loops and tossing the leather aside. His long, slender fingers ran along the rim of her jeans, caressing the soft skin above. He tugged at the button until it was free, then, slowly, pulled down the zipper.

One side of his mouth curved up as he placed two open palms on her hips. They slid down, taking the denim as they moved, revealing a crimson, satin-lace triangle, flanked by two thin strips of cloth that held up the barely-there fabric.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Faith smirked.

She stepped out of her pants, her short cut, stiletto-heeled boots still on her feet as she kicked the clothes aside. She moved back, letting Lucius stand. Faith watched him untie his lounging robe, casually slipping it off, as if bearing his lean, naked body was as natural as having breakfast in the morning.

The slayer couldn't help but study him, putting a hand against his torso, almost hairless and covered in preserved muscle just aching to be ravaged by her nails. And no matter how many times she looked him over, she couldn't help but catch her breath when she lowered her eyes to that heavy member between his legs. He was a masterpiece.

I'll have that soldier saluting in no time. Her grin widened, but she raised a brow at Lucius's sneer, so condescending.

"I do believe it's your move."

"You're not wrong," she answered, her voice husky. She leaned in, planning a kiss on his collarbone. "No lights again tonight?" she asked.

"No lights."

She nodded. "That always makes things interesting. . . ."

His arms wrapped around her, fondling with the clasp at her spine until the elastic bounced back, eager to give in to him. Her breasts fell out against his chest, nipples already hard and scrapping against his porcelain skin. Lucius was tearing at her thong, pushing her back toward the bed until her legs touched the mattress. Faith fell back, her feet still on the ground, Lucius standing between her knees, staring down at the nubile form before him, practically salivating over her bare and ready body.

The slayer closed her eyes, legs spreading wider, waiting for his touch.

But could he see her? Probably not. They enjoyed having the lights off, feeling their way around the sheets, exploring every bump and cleaving crevice. And it was easy, too, to pretend that they were just two ghosts who had never met: a lengthy woman with hair as fair as snow and a man, strong and dark. Both beings were far gone, but never forgotten in the sweat and heat made between the black, lightless space.

It was so much better this way. . . .

End notes: Yeah, I know, rather quick way of throwing two characters from different verses together. Anyhow, review and you get a cookie :)