The next day …

Spike smirked as he sat back in the rocker on the porch and propped his feet up on the railing. Buffy and Joan were in the sunny driveway in front of him in their bikinis washing his car. He’d never seen a lovelier sight. Two of the most beautiful women in the world, clad in bikinis, bending, stretching, reaching, flexing, moving with all the grace and agility of Slayers … and getting the DeSoto sparkling at the same time – it was a dream come true. Hot cars and hot women, was there anything better?

He rarely felt left out by not being able to go into the sun, but right this minute he did. He’d love to go out there and … well … errrr … do some things that would be illegal to do in broad daylight in the front garden.

“Now I know Spike loves this car more than he does us,” Buffy whined as she leaned over the hood and swirled the sudsy sponge across the black paint of the DeSoto.

“It seems the only plausible explanation,” Joan agreed as she vigorously scrubbed the hub-cabs and white-walls with a scrub-brush.

“Hey, guys, what’s going on?” India asked, walking up the driveway to where Joan and Buffy were working.

Joan brightened visibly as the dark-haired woman approached them. The artist was wearing a pair of cut-off, paint-spattered, blue jean shorts, cut really short, showing off her shapely legs. Above the shorts she had on a snug, white, ‘Austin City Limits’ tank top that highlighted her olive complexion. A pink string bikini top was visible beneath the light fabric of the top. Her long hair was pulled into a high pony tail on the back of her head, and swung freely as she walked up the drive. On her feet she had on sparkling gold, strappy sandals, which showed off her bubble-gum pink toenails.

Buffy stood back from the newly scrubbed hood and picked up the hose to rinse it off. “We owed Spike a reward … this was his choice,” Buffy told India as she began rinsing the soap off. “Wash and wax the outside, and full detailing on the inside.”

“We believe Spike loves his car more than he does us,” Joan interjected, standing up from where she’d been working.

“Oi!” Spike called from where he was watching them from the porch. “Don’t let the soap dry on them hub-caps, Summers.”

Buffy stiffened and tried to just breathe as his voice grated on her spine. “God grant me patience, ‘cos if He grants me more strength, He better send bail money along with it, 'cos I'm gonna kill that man.”

“Spike has gotten on Buffy’s last nerve. ‘Mr. Bossy-Pants’ is in danger of having Buffy’s foot shoved up his ass cross-ways,” Joan explained to India. “I am not entirely certain his rectum would accommodate her foot in that manner.”

India laughed and waved at Spike, who was just taking a long draft of his beer as he enjoyed the show.  The babies, she assumed, must be down for their afternoon nap. She looked back at Buffy and Joan, who had both gone back to washing and rinsing and scrubbing the car. 

“Can I help?” the artist asked, moving over to Joan and retrieving a large, yellow sponge from a bucket of soapy water.

Joan smiled brightly. “Yes. That would be extremely pleasant. Would you like to work with me on the tedious, yet rewarding, task of cleaning the tires and wheels, or with Buffy on…”

“You,” India interrupted, kicking her shoes off, flinging them away from the ‘splash zone’, and kneeling down near Joan and the next dirty tire to be tackled.

Joan beamed.

“Don’t forget t’ get the gravel and bits o’ rubbish outta the treads,” Spike called to them.

Joan frowned. “I am becoming more curious about the capacity of Spike’s rectum. Do you believe it could accommodate both Buffy’s foot as well as my own?”

India laughed and shook her head as she leaned in close to Joan and began scrubbing the tire. “I think ‘Mr. Bossy-Pants’ is on the fast track to finding out,” the dark-haired woman joked.

Joan started and her unneeded breath hitched in her chest as the end of India’s long ponytail grazed her bare shoulder. The contact sent Joan’s sensory perceptors blasting off like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

India turned to face Joan – the two women only inches apart as they knelt on the ground by the car.  For a moment, they were both frozen in place, then they both began to lean in tentatively, each one’s eyes locked on the other’s mouth. Tongues darted out, wetting their lips, as sensory perceptors sibilated, sentient drives whirled, and lips tingled in anticipation. Slowly … so slowly … they moved, as if drawn by an unseen, external force, neither entirely sure of themselves or what would happen if they continued to yield to the pull. 

In the next moment, water was raining down on them as Buffy, who was on the other side of the DeSoto, began to rinse off the roof of the car. Both women shrieked as the cold water hit them and jumped up from their kneeling position behind the fender.

“Oh, God! I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were…” Buffy began, but before she could even finish the thought, Joan had picked up a bucket of sudsy water and heaved the contents at Buffy, drowning her in the cold, soapy water, and India had hurtled the wet sponge in her hand at the Slayer.

Buffy shrieked and retaliated with more spray from the hose, and before long, the whole scene devolved into little more than a water fight.

Spike smirked as he sat back and feasted on the three beautiful, scantily clad, drenched women laughing and running around the car. Each combatant was giving as good as they got. Time and again, the hose was wrenched free and turned back on the original wielder of it, only to be pulled free and turned on the next victim. Not that anyone was holding onto it all that strongly, of course, amidst the laughter and joviality.  Their giggles and gleeful shrieks filled the air; the poor car, still partially covered with quickly-drying soapsuds, being utterly ignored.

Spike couldn’t even bring himself to bark at them about the suds drying on ‘his precious’ as he watched the mêlée. Despite the abandoned ‘mission’, he was suddenly quite pleased with his choice of reward for not killing Captain Cardboard. Quite pleased indeed.

 **~**

That night …

After spending a hot, wet, exhausting, but fun afternoon in the sun, Buffy called dibs on the upstairs shower and Joan on the downstairs, leaving Spike last in the line to get cleaned up that night.

He opened the door to the master bedroom, still drying the water from his hair. Droplets rained down from his still-wet curls, running over his shoulders, and down his chest and back as he rubbed at his thick locks with the towel. The moment he stepped into the master bedroom, however, his hands froze.

A sudden feeling of déjà vu washed over Spike as he took in the scene that greeted him: Buffy and Joan had … started without him. He absently dropped the towel, his hair still dripping, as he stared at the scene laid out before him: strong, feminine arms wrapped around supple curves; lean, graceful legs twined around their mirror image; smooth, soft, sweat-soaked skin slid against the same.

Buffy and Joan hadn’t done this since … well, since the eve of their wedding – well, not to his knowledge anyway.

Spike was only slightly less surprised this time than the first time he’d walked in on such a tableau between his two Slayers, but that slight bit made all the difference in the world. Spike pulled the door closed behind him gently, trying to not make a sound to interrupt the women. With his cock suddenly rock hard, he leaned his back against the door and simply drank in the grace and splendor of it … ok, yeah, and it was pretty hot too.

 **~**

A little while earlier …

Buffy and Joan both collapsed on the big, king bed in the master bedroom after their showers. Buffy’s skin was pink from the sun she’d gotten during the afternoon spent washing the DeSoto and having the water fight.

Joan turned onto her side, supporting her head with one hand, and poked a finger down on Buffy’s arm, then lifted it up, making the skin turn white a moment, but then fade back to reddish-pink. Joan repeated the procedure several more times in different spots, as if performing a scientific study of the phenomenon.

Buffy turned onto her side, mirroring her twin, with her arm bent and her head resting in her hand. “So,” she began. “You and India …. how’s that going?”

Joan furrowed her brow slightly. “We are friends.”

“Yeah, I get that … but she … tingles your … sibalators, right?”

Joan’s frown deepened.  “There are no sibalators contained in my strong, yet shapely, form. However, in her company, my pleasure sensors sibilate at an inordinately rapid pace.”

“That’s what I said,” Buffy pouted.

“No. In fact, what you said is…” Joan began to argue.

Buffy raised a hand to stop her. “Here’s the point. Do you want to … be with her?”

“I am often with India. We spend many days painting, shopping, exploring…”

Buffy waved a hand again. “Do you want to BE with her … romantically?”

“I am with you and Spike,” Joan pointed out, holding up her right hand and the ring there that matched Buffy’s and Spike’s.

“I know, sweetie … but … well, if you wanted to be … ‘Aunt Joan’ and just be with us … as our friend – as my sister, that would be okay. I mean … if you wanted to try with India,” Buffy offered gently.

Joan blinked sudden moisture from her eyes. “You … do not wish me to be your companion any longer?”

“No! No, no … it’s not that,” Buffy assured her, shaking her head adamantly. “I just … well, you’ve done so much for us, I thought you might like a chance to … you know … have a life that you choose.  It doesn’t mean we don’t love you, it’s just … well, you’ve grown and … sometimes things change when people – or bots – grow. Maybe it’s time to, you know, test your wings – metaphorical wings – at bit … on your own, if you wanted to, with someone else … like India.”

Joan bit her lip and furrowed her brow as she considered this a few moments. “I would still be part of our family?”

“Yes, always,” Buffy assured her.

“You would still love me?”

“Honey, yes, always … and Spike too … we’d both still love you – and we’d miss you, but we thought … you deserved this chance. India really likes you and … she’s a lovely, if rather strang… errr … eccentric, person and so are you.”

“And if … my metaphorical wings were metaphorically insufficient to support my metaphorical body weight, may I return to the metaphorical nest?” Joan wondered worriedly.

Buffy laughed and nodded. “Un-metaphorically.”

Joan suddenly turned shy, her voice low and slightly unsure. “You are my very best friend. I love you, Buffy. I would not want to do anything to jeopardize…”

Buffy pressed a finger over her friend’s lips, silencing her. “I love you too, Joan,” Buffy replied just as softly. “Nothing’s in jeopardy.”  Buffy slid her hand down to Joan’s shoulder as she slowly leaned in and touched her lips to her friend’s in a gentle kiss.

When the kiss broke, Joan’s brows furrowed in worry. “I love you and I love Spike and I love Jade and I love Will. Do you believe it is possible for me to love India, as well? What are the size constraints on sentient emotions such as love?” Joan wondered. “I do not wish to lead her to believe I could love her, but then be incapable of fulfilling that promise.”

Buffy smiled and shook her head. “There are no size constraints on love, honey,” Buffy assured her.

Joan smiled, clearly relieved.   “Then, yes, I believe I would enjoy exploring romantic opportunities with India. She’s very beautiful, don’t you think? And intelligent and talented and amusing?”

Buffy nodded. “Very.”

“My pleasure sensors are sibilating quite rapidly with the contemplation of such an exploration,” Joan divulged, her words coming out breathily in the quiet room.

“Mine too,” Buffy replied in a hushed whisper. “But I have a different exploration in mind. Could we have one more … adventure together before you … commit to someone else?”

Joan swallowed and nodded. “I would find much satisfaction in that.”

**~**

.... Continued in Part 2. If you have an issue with threesomes or girl on girl slash/femslash, STOP NOW!