"Shit-ass place, I know," Faith says, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it on the motel room floor. She takes Buffy by the elbow and guides her to foot of the bed. "Sorry. How you feeling?"
Golden girl's all kinds of banged up - big cabbage-rose bruise down the side of her face, a cut lip, swollen knuckles - and Faith crouches in front of Buffy, looking up, wondering if this is what her Watcher used to feel about her. Before she died, that is.
"I'm okay." Buffy's voice is little, tinny, and she flexes her hands. "I should get home."
"Nah -" Faith swallows a hot lump that doesn't belong in her throat and shrugs it off. "I'll call Joyce. It's okay."
When Buffy blinks, her lashes cast shadows and she looks about eight years old, sleepy and sad. "Angel -"
"Yeah, he's okay," Faith says. Big lug took off when the fight was over; god forbid he actually stick around and help.
Sometimes - most of the time - she doesn't know how Buffy does it. Lives so close to the asshole and never gets to touch. Spends every night, practically, with him, cuddling or fighting or whatever, and all that need's got to be building up inside her. Faith herself can't go a couple days without working off the excess need, and B's done it for, what? A year, almost. Makes her ache in a not-so-fucking-pleasant way, just thinking about it.
"I got you," Faith says a little later, and Buffy smiles, small and sweet, and touches the side of Faith's hair.
"Don't mention it. Some of us got your back."
Buffy frowns, then winces when that pulls her bruise too tight. "It's not -"
"Yeah." Faith pushes herself back and up to her feet. That sympathetic ache's joined now by something sour and hot in the pit of her stomach - not regular anger, more like frustration, maybe like Joyce or, god forbid, Giles or Wesley feels when Buffy gets all marshmallow-soft over Angel. "It's not. Just it, isn't it? Big tight load of not with some spiky hair and Neanderthal brow on top."
"You don't know anything." Cold voice, the one Buffy thinks will make anyone she turns it on shut up. She never seems to notice that no one listens.
"Know a fuck of a lot," Faith says, jamming her hands into her back pockets and rocking back on her heels. She's not much taller than Buffy, but at this angle, with Buffy still sitting down, she feels nice and looming. "Know what it's like, know you're full of shit, know -"
"Shut up." Buffy drops the cold voice and just says it normally, meeting Faith's eye.
And then they're silent and still. Faith stops rocking, Buffy's not playing little girl lost, they're just staring. Like a Western. High Noon. Except they're not that far apart, and they're girls - Slayers - and that's a fucking nasty shiner Buffy's sprouting around one green-brown eye.
"That's -" Faith reaches out and Buffy doesn't flinch, but her jaw goes hard and tight and there's a lock of her hair, butter-bright, stuck to some of the scabbing-over scratches. Her throat's gritty and her hand feels too heavy. "Jesus, B."
"Nothing," Buffy says. She starts to move away.
"Stay still." Faith hears herself, pissed-off tone for no good reason that she can think of, except for the ache and the frustration and fuck it all, Buffy's too good for this kind of shit. "Hold still."
Tossing her head, narrowing her eyes, Buffy squirms a little and Faith closes her hand around the hot, sweatdamp side of Buffy's neck to hold her still. Buffy freezes, her little pink mouth opening, and Faith nods. Squeezes a little for emphasis and swings her leg over Buffy's lap until she's straddling and so close that Buffy's wheezy little puffs of breath break hotly over Faith's face.
"Stop messing around -" Buffy says and tries to jerk herself away.
"What did I tell you?" Widening eyes, and they're darker, like mahogany, like Faith's own, right around the edges, and then Buffy jerks her head hard enough that Faith grabs her arm to keep her still. "What did I just say?"
"Faith, c'mon -" Buffy's whining, a little, but at least she's still. Her pulse hammers hard under Faith's thumb, and if Faith squeezes just a little - like this - a little harder - Buffy opens her mouth each time and when she tries to exhale, it sounds like a little sigh.
"Good girl, that's it, just stay still." Faith can't quite breathe herself, her chest's gone tight in that good way, that I just danced four hours and coldcocked sixteen guys and downed a pitcher without feeling a thing way, and Buffy's lashes are so goddamn long as she stares up at Faith, and every blink is like a wrench, tightening Faith's ribs that little bit more.
Sympathetic pain. Like the dreams. They feel the same things, it's part of the power.
Buffy's not moving. Not right now, but she's just as strong as Faith, and she could throw Faith off if she wanted to. Still, Faith risks it, loosens the hair from the blood on Buffy's face and strokes it back. Little damp, smells like graveyards and some kind of girly perfume, expensive for a drugstore but cheap when you get down to it, and Buffy shivers a little as Faith pets her hair.
"Sshh," Faith says, and nudges Buffy forward, back up the bed until she's leaning against the wall. Her hand's still - always - never not going to be - on Buffy's throat, but loose now. Like jewelry, like the crucifix, necessary and pretty. "S'okay."
"What're you doing?" Buffy whispers and shivers again.
"Pretty," Faith says, free hand sliding down Buffy's head, skimming her shoulder, thumb dropping over the rise of one little firm breast. "Christ, B., you have no -"
Stiffening, sucking in breath just as Faith realizes what's going on and tightens her hold again - the windpipe's delicate, like a reed, something bamboo and breakable - and going rigid, Buffy stares at her. Angry, she's angry, flushing high on her cheeks and across her chest above the top of her tank, and Faith laughs against the sour gaseous fucked-upness swirling around her gut and stoking the ache between her legs.
"What? Can't tell you you're pretty now?"
Buffy tries to shake her head, then thinks of better of it and settles for shoving at Faith's shoulder. Faith grabs her wrist and twists it back.
"Fucking stay still, B., would you? Jesus."
"Sure thing, Daddy." Smirking, Buffy pretends to nod, to lower her eyes, and she's always going to be better at playing good than Faith is. Part of what Faith loves about the little bitch.
"The fuck, B.?" Her breath's grotty and ragged and something tight and thick's pulsing right between her legs, redder and hotter and more insistent now that Buffy's said - said that. "Fuck did you just call me?"
Do it again. Do it again and don't fucking stop. Neither of them have dads worth much at all; fathers leave, that's what they do. Buffy's got Giles, of course, but that's fucked up right there, hot as he is, acting all prissy and sexless around the kids like he's scared they're going to notice he's not, in fact, smooth as a Ken doll down there. So it's stupid and sick and just weird to throb into fluorescence and need to grind her clit against the seam of her jeans at the sound of that word, all breathy and bitchy on Buffy's sweet pink lips.
"Daddy. Do what you say, whatever you say."
"Don't fuck with me, B. -"
Something cold and small, lodged in the back of Faith's chest, knows already that Buffy's not fucking with her. Something about how her mouth's twisting into a smile Faith's not sure she's ever seen on Buffy, something about the way her lashes are fluttering unconsciously and she's curving into the hold Faith's got on her neck. Something.
Problem with Miss Buffy Summers, of course, is that she's got the world beat at setting Faith off-balance. Making her doubt, making her question, making her fucking want shit she has no business daydreaming about.
"Not messing with you," Buffy whispers. Little croakily, and her eyes are dazed from not enough oxygen, but even so, she manages not to swear, of course. "Promise."
"Say it again."
"Not that. Say it again. Say it again and I'll treat you nice. Show you how you ought to be treated."
"Daddy?" She sounds confused and Faith knows it's mutual. Again, a little more firmly, and her blush brightens, deepens, right in time with the heat seesawing through Faith. "Daddy. Please."
"Yeah -" Faith leans in, licks at the bruise, hot as syrup, and tastes blood. Tastes something Angel's never gotten near, never will. And it tastes like Faith, tastes like sweat and need and something dark as smoke off an oil fire and the sparks thrown off by welders, and Buffy makes a small, high noise that's neither agreement nor refusal. Faith brushes her lips over Buffy's, which clamp shut, and whispers, "Be good, sweetheart. C'mon."
Another tiny squeal and a tremor that runs double-time down the length of Buffy's body.
Faith doesn't move. Just breathes in Buffy's shallow little gasps and tastes blood gumming on her lips and says again, "C'mon. Say it again. Be good."
Buffy's eyes close and Faith squeezes her throat, so when Buffy speaks, her back's arching and she whimpers, "Daddy -"
"Just like that, so good." Rocking her hips, and fuck her if the seam's getting soaked and really isn't doing the trick, and Buffy's mouth is still open, and Faith licks her way inside. Buffy's eyes fly open and Faith pulls back. "Ever been kissed, pretty?"
Squeeze. Tendons bow under Faith's fingers.
"No, never ever, have you? Daddy's going to kiss you -" Words and need slithering up her throat, spilling over her tongue, and Faith'd like to think she always in charge, always the one who makes the decisions, but Buffy. Christ, Buffy. Changes everything: Came first, has it all, and Faith wants to give her more. Everything she deserves. "Kiss you right, make you feel it down to your little toe -"
Whining, sighing, Buffy tries to purse her lips, but Faith crushes their mouths together, catches Buffy's lips against her teeth, and kisses her with everything she's got. Everything, and more, pouring heat and aching-smarting-bright want into that pretty mouth, more than she's got, kissing until Buffy starts shaking and Faith's rocking her hips between Buffy's legs and Buffy's hands are opening and closing on the slipsliding sheet. Kissing until she can't breathe, until Buffy's neck is bruising and slippery under her hand, until she sees black and gold stars swimming over Buffy's face, and Faith breaks away. Slowly, too slowly, petting sweaty hair and kissing Buffy's pointy little chin and her throat, kissing the bruise from the fight and the one from her own hand, tasting the blood right under the skin.
"Yeah, honey. Got you, got you baby -" And Faith slides her hands around Buffy's waist and pulls her out flat, blankets her with her own body, and keeps on kissing the hollow of Buffy's throat.
Buffy's hips twitch and she gnaws her bottom lip. "I can't - you - please -. Can't."
Faith wriggles her hand over Buffy's tank, over the swell of her breast until her thumb finds the nipple, hard from the night air, hard all over again for more, and her own nipples sting from not being touched. "Can. Need to, honey. Daddy wants you to feel good. You want to feel good, don't you?"
Buffy squeezes her eyes shut and nods.
"Open your eyes. Tell me what you want."
"Say it, Buffy."
Hair whips over her face as Buffy shakes her head. "No. Can't. Faith."
No. Wrong, not Faith. Faith can't do this. Faith pinches Buffy's nipple, tugs it upward until Buffy squeals. "Say it."
She kisses Buffy again, sucks all that sweet shame, anxiety like soda pop and melting ice cream, chocolate-strawberry-more chocolate, off her tongue until Buffy quiets and starts kissing back, making little kitten noises in the back of her throat.
"Say it, sweetheart."
Running her hand down Buffy's heaving stomach, Faith pushes it hard between Buffy's legs, blessing the girl's need to wear skirts, always skirts for the first Slayer. Hot cotton, damp, and Buffy's hips are lifting, legs parting. "What do you want? Hmmm, Buffy?"
Buffy's thighs clamp shut and she goes rigid when Faith's fingers spread and grip her cunt. "Daddy."
"Yeah, sweetheart. Daddy's here. Not going anywhere." Never, Faith knows that now, not now that she can make Buffy squirm and blush, so happy her skin's practically singing and her undies are going slick and when Faith works one finger inside to superhot skin, wet as dawn grass and so fucking soft her breath catches, Buffy's whole body shakes open, arms and legs flinging out. "Feels good?"
So long for her, so long untouched and somehow Faith suspects that one night with Angel, even if it was good enough to drive him over the edge, wasn't good enough to keep anyone, let alone a Slayer, happy for very long. "You like it, don't you?"
"Yes," Faith says, the power going hot and gritty in her chest, speeding her hand, as she tugs Buffy's panties down and pushes her skirt up and gathers Buffy into her arms. "Daddy's here."
"Daddy -" Buffy twists and clutches, throwing one leg over Faith's knee, burying her face in Faith's neck, pushing against Faith's hand. "Please."
"What do you want? Tell me what you want -"
She has to tug Buffy's head back by her hair, and finally Buffy's eyes open, and she's dazed and panting and Faith circles her clit with two fingers until Buffy's mouth opens and Faith kisses her again and starts rubbing the groove between her inner lips, slick and so hot, fingertip teasing at that near-virgin hole as her teeth nibble at the tip of Buffy's tongue.
"Please, want to, wanna -"
"Tell me. Tell Daddy, let me make you feel -" Her fingers thoroughly soaked, Faith nudges one into Buffy's hole, slowly, and the muscles contract crushingly-hard even as they suck her inside. "Daddy wants to fuck you, baby."
Hair's plastered over Buffy's face in sweat and renewed blood and her eyes are wild as she nods and lifts her hips farther. "Daddy. Daddy, fuck me, please -"
Buffy's gone, flying and sweating and twitching in Faith's arms, and it's beautiful, so much red and gold and flash of little white teeth, and when Faith kisses her, Buffy kisses right back, sucks Faith's tongue into her mouth, and Faith always knew Buffy had it in her, this same need and hunger that's more than killing, more than sex, that's power and lust and she's making Buffy feel it. Letting her feel it, and she slides two more fingers inside when Buffy's hole irises open, and it's so tight and slick, being swallowed like this, scissoring and turning her fingers until Buffy freezes, then drawing the meat of her thumb down the head of Buffy's clit and biting her neck, kissing her hair, letting her feel it all, and Buffy loves it, opens and begs and gives more, takes Faith deeper and pushes back and kisses hard.
"Gonna come for me? Come for Daddy?" Faith asks, breaking, panting, her own cunt shuddering and hurting in tight, sharp little spasms. "Sweetheart -"
Buffy gasps when Faith rubs the back of her wall with two fingertips, where the skin's taut but spongy, and her hips lift and jerk from side to side as Faith twangs the side of her thumb against Buffy's clit and the whole fucking room smells like sex right now, smells like Buffy and power and hunger and now Buffy's keening, her knee coming up, nearly knocking Faith aside, and it's two longer than life syllables shrieking from her mouth: "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddy-"
"That's right, so good, so right, come for me, want you to come," Faith mutters, bucking and rocking, wishing that this was enough to make her come, thinking for half a second it might be, as she keeps fucking her fingers inside Buffy even as her hole tightens to something smaller than a thread and tries to push her out, and Buffy lifts again, spasming and gasping, before going stiff and shoving Faith away.
Strong little fucker - Faith, surprised, ends up on her back and Buffy's struggling off the bed, pulling down her skirt and shaking, and she looks goddamn glorious, bruised and blushing and her hair's never going to calm down. Panting, Faith pushes herself up on one elbow.
"Shut. Up." Bitten, bitter words, not cold. Poisonous. "Just -"
"B. -" Faith makes herself shut up. She raises her hand, slick with Buffy's own juices, smelling like a goddamn flower garden and low tide, licks the palm and extends her arm.
"Buffy Anne Summers," Faith hears herself say. Because there's humiliation, and then there's mutual need and no way in fucking nine levels of hell is she taking all the blame and humiliation for this.
Faith sits up, kneeling, and nearly sways to the side, she's so needy and hurting. "You heard me."
It's a shivery, half-hearted little laugh Buffy gives as she wraps her arms around her waist and looks away. "Fuck off, Faith."
"Don't take that tone with me." Faith's mouth is open, her heart pounding and everything fucking hurts, but she had a girl in her arms, the best in the world, and that's not every going to change. "And don't use that kind of language."
Slowly, more slowly than fall goes to winter, than a Watcher bleeds out under a vampire's bite, slower than anything, Buffy turns her head. She looks at Faith, eyes wide and glittering, mouth swollen with kisses. She starts to smirk, then stops. "What're you gonna do about it? Daddy?"
That's her girl. That's her, right there, and Faith's a moron and full of love and she feels like a saint welcoming the arrows as she opens her arms and waits, holds her breath, waits for her girl to come back.
If Buffy just says the word, Daddy's here.