by Dasha K
Summary: All the letters Faith never sent Buffy. Maybe there's a girls in prison theme, too.
All of them end up crumpled and in the garbarge.
Once in a while, I light one on fire. Watch it burn into little brown pieces, curled up and crumbling to ash.
Sometimes I think about you.
I'm lying. I think about you all the time, B.
I think about one night. One night when things were good, when it was fighting, fucking, and sometimes dancing at the Bronze. That all-too-short time when it wasn't complicated. When we knew who we were and what we were doing.
When it was actually fun.
Remember that? Fun?
Yeah, me neither.
I remember one night when we were sweaty from good music and endless dancing, from fighting demons who didn't deserve our energy and high spirits, from the last reminder of summer in the air before winter came down hard on us both.
I remember the moldy stink of my motel room and slamming the door behind us. Small room, ratty bed, ugly carpet, beautiful girl.
I remember joking and pushing you towards the sagging bed. We hadn't even bothered to turn the lights on. "Let's pretend," I whispered in your ear. "Let's pretend we're in prison and we're cellmates."
You turned to me and even though it was dark I knew your face was probably skeptical. "Prison? What did we do?"
I snorted. "I don't know. Killed a man or something..."
Prophetic, wasn't I?
But we were innocent then. As innocent as two Slayers could be.
I touched your neck and felt beads of sweat running down the to your back.
"I'm your cellmate," I continued. "You've been set up. You're not supposed to be in this stinking jail cell. Not supposed to be here with a hardened criminal like me."
You sighed. "Can't we just do it already? I have to get home."
I grabbed your arms. "Shut up, bitch. You talk too much for a new fish." I pushed you down onto the bed, hearing the mattress make a satisfying thud as she hit it face down.
Your voice was muffled from the comforted. "This is stupid, Faith."
You always whined too much for my taste.
I moved fast, rolling you over to undo your jeans and push them down with your panties. "You need to learn something about respect, new girl," I said.
Lying there, you just looked at me. I could just barely make out the expression of annoyance and lust on your perfect little Barbie doll face.
You didn't know it, but I'd been wearing the harness all night. I loved the way the leather straps chafed against my thighs and ass under my jeans as I fought and danced, as I shoved you into a dark corner of the Bronze and swallowed you whole with a kiss. It was easy to undo my pants, reach in the bedside table drawer, grab the dildo and fit it into the opening at the front of the harness.
And it was easy to roll you onto your stomach again because you weren't exactly fighting me, easy to pull you to the edge of the bed, your tight ass in the air and legs hanging down off the side. You weren't kicking and screaming and biting like the first time. You were smooth as butter, wanting me, wanting what I could give you.
I could smell you over the ugly motel room odor. You smelled raw.
My cock slid in hard and fast, to the hilt, all the way inside you. You bucked against me, making small sounds against the bed. I grabbed you by the shoulders so hard that if you hadn't been a Slayer you would have bruised.
I think I would have liked to have seen you bruised. Bruises were always so pretty against your peaches and cream skin.
I stood at the side of the bed, black boots firmly planted to the floor, giving you everything I had.
"You're mine," I said. "While you're in this cell, you belong to me."
Your moans got louder and louder as I fucked you. Even if the lights had been on I wouldn't have been able to see anything. My hair was wild, in my eyes, flying around everywhere. I felt crazier than any demon in the world.
For a second I wondered if I was hurting you and then I decided I didn't much care.
When you called out my name as you came I felt triumphant. We may have been playing a little prison game but you did belong to me. At least on this night, at that moment.
You rolled over and sat up after I withdrew from you, still mostly dressed and sounding pissed-off. "Faith, were you trying to kill me?"
I smiled. "Maybe. But don't say you didn't like it."
"I didn't say that." You laughed just a little.
I pulled my boots and pants off, flung them to the other side of the room to join the rest of the dirty laundry. I pushed you down again and said, "We're not done yet."
"I need to go."
"You've got time, B."
At that moment I wanted, I was all want, sweat dripping off my forehead, clit twitching away, skin electric. I wanted your mouth on my pussy and fingers deep inside. I wanted my reward. I wanted so much.
But you sat up and said, "It's late. I'll be in a world of trouble if I don't get home."
I could have fought you. I probably could have taken you down and gotten what I had coming to me. But I just sat down and looking into the nothing dark of the room, listened to you pull up your pants and walk out the door.
I thought about the next time and how you'd pay.
I thought about the next time and how I'd make you scream.
And I thought about how you were probably going off to see Angel.
I touched myself in the dark and it was almost as good as the real thing.
I still do that a lot, here in my cell. My cellmate is fat and forty and I don't want to make our prison game a reality with her, so I make do.
And I think about you.
And write you letters.
And then I crumple them up and throw them away.
Sometimes they burn.