Irreversible Error
Pairing: BF
Rating: Nc-17
Spoilers: S3
Authors Notes: Takes place before Graduation Day, and it's my view on why Buffy looked so broken when she'd stabbed Faith.
She was restless, the night air far too warm for her to be able to breathe properly, too dry against the delicate flesh of her throat. Her voice was low, husky when she bothered to speak. Only she rarely does. Being linked with the mayor had the added bonus of most people already knowing who you were, before you've fully stepped into the room.
She softly pulls on the shirt she only got today. All silk and red satin as it slithers against her skin, clinging to her as if it was created solely for her to wear, to own. The red sets off the little twinkling highlights of hazel in her eyes, makes her skin look more flawless and white, her hair a darker shade of raven. Running her fingertips over the hem of her new shirt, she smiles softly to herself. The creamy texture of the item soothing her skin, a cool balm on a humid and heated afternoon.
Her smile widens as she applies her eyeliner, her thoughts trickling back to earlier that day, when she walked into one of those shops that was always too posh and nice and clean and upper class for her to be in before. Only she's with the mayor now, and those girls, who often looked at her like she was the mud on their shoe, now looked at her as if she was the second coming. All smiles and fawning and far too much make-up for her liking. False. It was all false.
But if she closed her eyes, and thought real hard, it *felt* real. She could reach out and touch those pretentious girls, who looked and served her, never expecting to see her offer money or a credit card. It was all taken care of, she didn't have to worry about a thing.
Pursing her lips, she stepped away from the mirror, looking at herself objectively. Black leather pants, riding low over softly defined hips, red shirt clinging possessively to her shoulders and stomach and breasts. Hair loose and wild, looking tangled as always. She wondered, for a brief second, what she'd look like with it straight and shorter, like it used to be. But no, long and wild, match her outer self to her inner one.
She looked as if she could scorch; exactly how she wanted it. Be the fire on the outside, so no one would get burnt by the fire on the inside. She left her jacket on the bed, liking the feel of the balmy heat as it tickled her arms and neck, pressing it's heated fingers into the flesh of her lips and grazing her eyelids with it's warmth.
She chuckled as the mayor looked at her disapprovingly, telling her she should have worn something more appropriate, more lady like. She held back a snort at his assumption that she was a lady. If only he knew about the things she did, deep into the night and well past the witching hour. If he could possibly know the things she thought about, the things she fantasized about, in the harsh and cold blackness of early morning hours. He'd never call her a lady again.
Nothing to do, nowhere to go. No errands to run, no demons or people to kill. No tributes to perform, nothing to guard. She supposed she could always go and lazy about on her boat. The one the mayor had given to her after his tributes to a sea demon had been finished and paid. The peace of the ocean would lull the raging storm that was steadily building up within her.
She could feel it, her own dark rebellion pushing at her mind and blurring the lines between her realities. It was an inbuilt thing with her; no matter how nice that authority was, no matter how well you were treated, and how many pretty things you got bought, it was still the same thing. Someone who told you what to do, who controlled you how they saw fit. She knew she was a human weapon, created for the sole use of being used. She didn't know what it was, or why it was, but it was *her* weapon to use. And one day, maybe not right now, or in a week, but she would betray him. Just like she'd betrayed every authority figure that had ever crossed her path.
Shaking her head, she turned towards downtown. Tonight was not the night for the peace the open waves granted her, nor the time to be thinking such deep and meaningful thoughts, that the ocean would only call forth and bring screaming out of her. She didn't want to think tonight, just wanted to feel. It was easier that way; it was less painful that way.
In the fishtank she danced, pressing her heated flesh against more than a number of guys and girl, smiling sweetly as the bartender handed over drink after drink of expensive alcohol, to someone he knew to be under the age. But the hugely build guy in a black suit and wearing sunglasses as he watched the young brunette, who seemed to follow her everywhere she ever went, made him keep his mouth shut.
Out on the dance floor, she twisted and turned, swayed and grinded. She owned the music, drowned in its simplicity and grinned at the way she controlled the attention of most people around her. There was something free and wild about her, untamed and untameable. Something passionate and willing, waiting and wanting to burst free in a flash flood of energy. But it never did. Because once she set it free, it's so much harder for her to reel back in and cage again.
She was having fun, until some jock wannabe attempted to grab her ass, tried to force a kiss upon her ruby red lips. He should have known; you can't tangle with a predator and come away unharmed. She snapped his wrist, punching his female friend through into next week. She could feel a dark part of herself growling in satisfaction at her violence, grumbling around deep inside of herself, prowling, agitated for the kill.
She calmed it, and grinned in a feral way as a door of sweaty bodies opened up for her, as she made her way to the exit. She knew if the music was turned off, the silence would be thick, almost unmovable in its tension as they waited for her to make a move. At the unsuppressed need to see this violence through to its end, to find out who would end up on top.
But no one moved as she left the club, each of them instinctively knowing that she would always come out on top. Covered in blood that was not her own, teeth bared in an animalistic grin, she would come out on top of a pile of bloodied and broken bodies. She would be the last image of beauty they would ever see. The last image of anything they would ever see. Beautiful and glowing in her ferocity.
The humid heat of the night slapped her in the face as she left. She could feel her guard, leaning against the wall as she readjusted to the climate outside of the bar. She didn't even know why the mayor hired him. It wasn't as if she couldn't look after herself, not that he ever helped with anything anyway. Just watched.
She turned, walking back towards her apartment block to settle in for a night of playstation games and pizza, a grunt of surprise erupting out of her throat as a hand grabbed her around the bicep and spun her into the alley, slamming her back hard into the brick wall.
Before she even knew who it was, before she registered the scent of vanilla and fresh soap, she grinned. Only one person could ever exert that kind of force on a slayer when she didn't want to move. Only one person knew how hard they could throw a slayer into a wall, without breaking any bones. Only one person knew she frequently came here, often danced and drank the night away.
The shorter, blonde little firecracker snarled at her, her lips forming words that made no sense to the brunette, teeth showing in a dominant display of who controlled who, in this private game of cat and mouse that they had forced each other into playing.
She ignored the words, reaching up with startling speed, at the hand that was swinging in to slap her, and caught the wrist in her palm. The resounding smack of flesh hitting flesh shocked the shorter woman into shutting up, giving the brunette a few seconds to just… be. To look on her face and smile, a soft and relatively normal smile of someone who appreciated the beauty laid bare before her, of someone who wished this beauty could be had in the daytime hours of their lives. Except to them, their lives never tangled when the sun was up. That was the time to be enemies, to hate each other, to pretend.
With only a soft grunt escaping her lips, the brunette surged forward, her fingers not loosening her grip, and capturing the opposite hand in her own, pressing breasts up against breasts, before suddenly, almost too painfully, the blonde stopped. Slammed back into the opposite wall, their bodies locked hard into a steely embrace of each other.
She lifted her eyes, locking them with soft green, attempting to read something in them. Maybe something that could possibly pull her into the daylight hours once again, to let her walk in the light that she had never really owned. Just endless shades of grey. But instead of waiting for an answer to her hidden question, she slowly moved forward, gently pressing her plump lips against the blondes, moving softly, slowly, almost lovingly as tongues stroked each other, as breath came in short gasps, as hands were released and fingers started to roam bodies.
Gently teasing naked flesh, rounding curves and rubbing over nipples. It was the blonde who broke away first, a hand rubbing slowly yet deliberately over her centre, pressing the seam of her jeans into her throbbing clit. She couldn't get enough breath into her body, couldn't muster enough strength to push into those fingers, to grind down into that hand. Just like it had always happened before. This was the brunette's dance, and one that she willingly followed.
A deep warmth spread through her lower stomach, a sea of quivering flesh left in its wake, as it tumbled and twisted through her body. Fire scorching through her veins as it pulled every coherent thought out of her mind. The muscles in her inner thighs were rhythmically clenching, her stomach shivering uncontrollably at the coil of delicious tension that had curled itself slowly in her centre. In a finally burst of breathe, a moan escaped, deep and vibrating as it clambered through the alley, banging off the walls. The coil snapped, her back arching as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her flesh.
The brunette leaned forward, running her slightly open lips over exposed and sensitive neck flesh, breathing in the sense of apple shampoo and memorising the taste of her slightly damp skin, that tasted like sandalwood and salt.
After endless moments had passed, she leaned up, running her fingertips back through silken blonde hair and kissing her gently on the temple. Smiling softly at the satin texture of the skin there, wishing she had the time and the place to kiss and taste every single inch of her. But she didn't. She never would.
Because this is all they had; a dark alley, on a too warm night. In the shadows they surrendered to each other, released long-suffering passions and fell into each other, as if they were drowning, and the other was a lake of spring water.
"See you later." The brunette whispered, her lips brushing against the skin on her temple, her thumbs tracing the backs of her ears before she stepped away and removed her warmth. As she always did.
"Faith." The brunette stopped, closing her eyes and contemplating not turning around, not listening, not having to do anything but walk away. But she was helpless, and turned, just like she knew she would.
"Yeah?"
"Ditto." The brunette smiled sadly, words from such a long time ago ringing in her head. 'Hey, I know it's corny, but if you love me, I'd rather you said ditto, like from ghost. Cause then the words won't loose meaning.' After watching ghost, they'd discussed various points, that being one of them. She'd never thought she'd ever have the blonde repeating that little word to her. One that meant nothing to everyone else but meant everything to her.
"I know, ditto back." She could feel the small knot of tears in the back of her throat, like she always did. "But Buffy.. it's just not enough."
Her voice broke, the tear she had been trying to hold on to leapt free and ran down her smooth and flawless skin, a trail of black eyeliner framing it's decent. Because now, after so much pain, and so much violence and betrayal, it wasn't enough. Maybe it could have been, way back when, maybe maybe maybe.
As slayers they walked the fine line between the darkness of the light. Being of the light, and yet killing as if from the dark. All it took was one mistake to hurl them head long into the path of darkness. Faith had slipped, and she had fallen.
And buffy was just a split second too late to save her.
Without another word, the brunette turned, plastering her self important, smug grin back onto her face, wiping away the tear and eyeliner track with the back of her hand, and exiting the alley. She didn't stop, didn't halt, didn't hesitate.
Didn't notice the blonde woman, as she leaned against the mouth of the alley, fist clenched to her heart, silent sobs making her body shudder, jerk and quiver. Tears rushing down her face like the drops from a waterfall, her eyes seeing what she wanted, only could never have.
Faith didn't watch, couldn't watch. As she knew buffy's heart was breaking all over again.
END
