'Poof,' I say audibly and then look over at Faith. The female vamp has her by the throat, back against the wall. 'Oh dear,' I sigh, without a hint of sincerity. 'Faith, you wanna hand?'

Bad thing about being angry - a part of me dies, I haven't figured out which part it is yet, maybe something like innocence or compassion. But every mean red day like this one, a part of me dies. And today, stuck at some border café in the desert, is no different. I want her dead, and I figure letting the vampire do it would be such a neat way of...

Fuck it. I ram the stake into 'vampy' girl's back and poof number two. Faith's sweating, and grinning and even looking somewhat thankful.

I don't care. I never care when I get in a mood like this, when it's all about getting equal and staying that way. I came out here to win the game, make the home run, finally get her out of my head.

You know, I don't think I expected to find her so beautiful.

So it's unexpected when I reach up to her neck and run my hand through her hair. She wants me, I can see it in her eyes, and most likely she always has.

I pull her down and press her lips to mine, hard. She presses them back and it's odd, lipstick on lipstick that 'cared-for' feel as I press my tongue into her mouth, slower this time, almost delicate.

I break the kiss. Because I'm in control, because this is where I can dominate, this is where I can show the bitch that she can't fuck with me. She wants me too much; she's into my Buffy charms way too far to even think about what she's letting me do.

'You wanna?' she asks. She's breathless, and beautiful. Her hair is curling around her face, and the hazy sunlight is shining across those high cheekbones.

Yeah, I wanna, this may even be fun.

'Let's fuck,' I say neutrally.

Ten.

The motel is exactly as I expected it. Very Faith in that regard. The owner is wearing a shirt three sizes too small; it doesn't fit over his bulbous stomach.

The air smells of artificial fragrance, freshener to disguise the smell of sex and infidelity, kink and lies that tends to sit on the air in these kinds of places. Of course, I have no real idea what a 'this kind of place' is, old motels aren't exactly one of 'Buffy's favourite hang-outs'.

I pay the man quickly and stare up at his salivating form harshly. 'We'd ask you to join us,' I say, adding to the illusion. The 'I have some idea what I'm doing' illusion. 'But I'm pretty sure we'd give you a coronary. So much energy, so little time.' The last bit comes off badly, not very me at all - too coarse and forward.

He leers at me, then Faith, whom he seems to like more. 'She the girl?' he asks.

Faith put her hands on her hips, preparing some kind of comeback. Any reply she has will be old, she's become predictable to me. Easy to overcome. Defeatable.

'So, if Faith's the girl then who am I?'

'The guy,' he says, probably thinking he's such an old pro at this.

I lean in very close, hop up onto the desk and then reach for our key. He hasn't bothered to move it from the board yet. I wrap the key around my little finger and then move into him.

He looks at me, wondering if he should move his hands and just grab me, taste the goods on trial offer. Logic says, this guy's had too many assault and battery charges levelled against him to be that stupid.

I stroke his cheek and smile, languidly, lazily at him. It's a look that works well, it says patience and innocence just waiting to be taken and dirtied.

As I expected, his mouth drops open and he stares up at me, sitting neatly on his grimy desk.

'You really think I'm the guy?' I say huskily before drop down from the desk. I loop my arm around Faith as we leave the small office.

I catch Faith's look. She's impressed. Maybe she thinks I've changed. That makes her the naïve one then, but can you imagine her ever admitting that? She's too high on the death and nicotine, the sex and smoke to even think straight.

I like the look in her eyes as I jam the key into the lock. She's hungry.

And I have her. I'll win this round.

Every time I'm this way, a part of me dies.

She's playing with my breasts. I'm on my back and the fan in the centre of the room is whirring. Once, twice round and then all I can concentrate on are her hands on my breasts, seasoned, an old pro.

I love the feel of her on me. Trite as that sounds, I like the fact that she's pouring all her energy onto me. I didn't think Faith did anything for anybody. But she wants me too much, needs me.

I like the fact that she's mine. I like winning, always have.

She leans down and circles my breast with her tongue, it makes me shiver, that kind of electric feeling when something is really hitting all the right buttons, running up and down my body.

I feel myself getting wet, feel my lips part at her touch, feel that little gasp that says 'Fuck Me' better than anything else. It's been a while, but I've forgotten what it's like. Riley doesn't make me feel this way, and I was resigned that he never would.

She brushes her tongue across my nipple again. I remember, a year ago now, I used to fantasise about this. She suckles a breast, runs her thumb over the other one, eliciting that slow kind of pleasure that I really want. Kinda like being adored, if you wanted to add some window dressing.

She moans into my breast as I lay inert. I was getting wetter, slowly, the pounding in my head slowly dying. There's no frenzy about this.

I slip out of my jeans and then my panties. 'Eat me,' I say coolly, a sadistic slant to my voice. And Eat Me? I heard it in the movies.

That fan's still whirring. Sun light is coming through the window blinds and making beautiful patterns on her back. And I realise, as she reaches a hand into my folds and rubs her finger around my opening, slow at first before making her way through, up to my clit, that no one's going to be here to see me win.

I turn my head to the window. I moan, long and slow, as her fingers attack me again, and a finger runs around my entrance and then goes in a little, teasing me. Muscles tense and blood rushes. The finger slides out and she pinches my clit. I feel like I'm in some bad porn, that is, when she allows me the time to think.

She's so beautiful.

I'm going to win.

She's licking me, swirling her tongue around and pushing it in. Part of me isn't thinking, my hands are on my breasts and there's sweat running down my skin. And I'm going to come, I know that much as I begin to buck and my reasonably small frame pushes me closer to her.

She puts a calming hand on my hip, pulling me away. I need her, damn, this is all going wrong.

I don't care. These are the long hazy days when a part of me dies. These are the dead days. The inanimate days. I want her to fuck me hard.

Her tongue runs around me again, into me and around me and skilfully into the sensitive flesh. I wonder if she knew she could make me feel this way, trite and stupid and like nothing before ever mattered. She touches me a way I want to be touched, but then, I guess, she knows. We're comrades in arms after all, just minus the big old sunset to ride into.

Her tongue is back and I feel myself lose control. I wonder if I'll call her name as I come. But this was right; somehow, somewhere a chapter is closing.

She bites my clit and a mix of pleasure and pain burst through me. My world stops.

'Faith,' I whimper.

I never whimper.

I'm playing with her nipples now, straddling her, pressing myself against her stomach.

I think I get what this is now. I needed her to fuck me; I needed to have her under my control. I needed her to trust me.

I've never felt this way before; I feel the kind of hyper-kinetic Faith always seems to manage. Part of me isn't worrying, and far from being dead, part of me is alive, very alive. She knows, she has it down-the right mix of pleasure and pain, the exact time to let me feel her, the time to pull herself away. She knows I need the comfort with the roughness, she knows how much I can take. She doesn't want to treasure me, she seems to want me to feel, all of it, all of those sensitive muscles some guys don't even know exist.

I have her now. Maybe I did win this round, maybe I will come out on top this time, maybe there are too many maybes.

I lean down to lick a nipple and stare into her waiting eyes. They're beautiful, she's beautiful. Something told me I shouldn't be so intoxicated by her. I shook it off. Jumping from her, giving a last look back I pressed my lips to hers and smiled.

I went to my backpack. You don't come looking for supremacy without equipment. Every time, every damn time she's beaten me, whether it was remorse, or envy or pure hate she always came out the victor. Angel. Riley. None of it mattered.

But I was strong now, and I would walk away the winner from this.

She grinned at me as I wrapped her wrist to the bedhead with the rope. I moved quickly around to the other arm.

'B, liking the adventurous kink much?'

I stood naked in our smutty motel room. I would make her moan, I would make her cry my name and need me more than anything. All this time, all these encounters and she always came after me. She needed me. And I didn't need her.

I liked those odds.

'Adventurous? Shit,' I grin, 'I was aiming for dangerous.'

I didn't think she'd let me. Shows how much she needs me - shows how much that's always been her weakness.

It's a hot day. But the blade is cool against her skin and she moans, purrs even as she moves her body into it, feels its sharp edge against her.

I run it under her breasts, up under her chin, around the sweat-slicked flesh that is salt-taste to my tongue. I cut into her a little under a pert breast and then lick away the blood, and press my tongue over the small wound. She moans, she bucks, her skin shakes and shivers.

She's mine.

'Buffy,' she pants. 'Oh God Buffy.'

Never a sweeter sound. I was winning. She was submitting. And I was getting off on her power, I felt myself get wetter and moved a hand between my legs, just a little rub, a little taste. I almost didn't feel like me, when did pretty Buffy Summers get off on a bit of sado masochism and....

It was time to stop thinking. These were the dead days. And I was winning.

I ran the knife over her stomach and cut her again; her blood is fresh and very red. I bend down and lick it, slow, flicking my tongue against her skin.

She's moaning and the sun is setting over the hills. It's getting dark. Maybe, I wonder with a smile, when I get in these kind of moods I'm not myself at all. But I've always been like this, just one coping device after another, just one more thing to win.

I lick her stomach and press my breasts into her. 'You like that Faith?'

She doesn't respond, but pulls a little at her restraints. I have her. She wants me and she can't get me.

I run the blade along her upper thigh and she moans. I bend my lips to her and kiss the folds of skin beneath the glistening auburn pubic hair. She moans as I trail my tongue over her mound and then go lower and flick my tongue between her lips. She presses into me and I raise the knife and press it flat against her pelvic bone.

I always wondered what this would be like, God knows I'm an amateur, but I seem to get the right response. The fan is whirring overhead and with each spin I lick my tongue around in a circular motion. She tries to hold on, I can feel the tension, but she can't.

She bucks forward. My knife nearly slices into her stomach and something makes me stop, drop the knife, let it fall away. I lick her again before dropping the blade and putting my fingers to her.

I lose control. I climb up her body and land a crushing kiss on her mouth. Still bound, she moans into me. I kiss her eyes, her hair, her chin. Part of me needs her. My sex throbs and I feel myself run alive. I put a hand either side of her face and look down at her. 'Want me?'

I'm dripping sweat and I feel the heat from my cheeks.

The sun sets behind the hills. I wait for an answer.

'I want you,' she says crisply.

I kiss that bruised mouth again. Part of me is crying for her. But she wants me.

'Tell me you need me.' I say, running my mouth over sweat-bound skin. 'Tell me.'

'I need you,' she gasps as my hands find her breasts again and squeeze. She's still bleeding.

I've won. The room is dark.

We kiss like old lovers, I realise. She caresses my mouth and I run my hands through her hair.

These are the dead days.

I untied her hours ago, and now our bodies are entwined as I lick the wounds on her wrists. I remember the sound when I made her come. I lick my fingers, liking the feel of her on me.

I feel awake for the first time in years.

'Are we even?' she asks, leaning over me and trailing her fingers along my back.

'No,' her fingers go lower, her nails dancing across the small of my back, over the fine muscle and bone and my delicately tanned skin. 'We'll never be even.'

She's playing with my hair. Strands of gold against the pillow. 'Do you hate me?' she asks.

I'm drugged on the sex of her. She's like some narcotic mommy never'd let you have for fear of losing you completely.

'Yes.'

In the hot air, the fan still whirring, the night dark and foreboding there isn't room for secrets.

'Good,' she says, 'because I never want to see you again.'

I nod and then I kiss her cheek, brush my hand over her collarbone. 'Neither do I,' I whisper. 'Neither do I.'

I pull on my huge boots that I bought on discount. Sympathy makes me run a hand through her hair, maybe even pity.

Sun light shines through the slatted windows. I wonder if the motel owner listened at the door last night. I wonder if Nancy, the waitress, is serving hot morning coffee.

I wonder how many hours Giles has been waiting in his car. It pulled up at four, I remember the light shining through and marking out Faith's body as she pushed her fingers into me.

God, I sound so trite. Like I'm writing some kind of school-book. And Buffy and Faith had sex...

But I was right, right to come here. A chapter has closed. She's not going to win all the time, she can't take anything from me, she can't make me believe that one day I'll be like her.

I've walked on her wild side. I've felt that pain. I've felt her pain. Something has finished, in a smutty motel near the border. I feel very grown up, very mature. My self pity has evaporated somewhat. I feel ready to face outside.

I get to Giles in his car without even thinking. I left a note for Faith on the mirror ledge, not exactly the classiest of exits but it'd have to do. Like I say, I'm an amateur.

Giles was leaning against the bonnet of his car, staring out at the seven AM hills. 'You want to get some breakfast?'

I love that he trusts me. I love that he's not mad. 'Not here,' I say, opening the door to his car and sitting down.

'Oh, okay,' he says, eagerly. He opens the door to his side and jumps in. Reaches into the side pocket for his glasses before starting the car. 'You're all done here?

'Yeah,' I say, as we drive away and the sun rises above us. 'Finished.'

Instead of a sunset, I'm riding into a sunrise. This isn't a dead day.

Hours later, who knows, maybe even days, the other wakes from her deep sleep. She arches her back as the noon sun streams through the shutters.

Her bed is empty, and she expected it to be. She smiles to herself as she walks into the bathroom. She checks her reflection, feels the prickly heat against her skin and notes the smell of sex around her. She wears a smile, a real smile, and fears her cheeks may break. But that's the kind of girl she is, always worrying about the little things.

Faith was never one for the bigger picture.

She sees the note on the mirror ledge, folded neatly. It reminds her of the woman who had been in her bed. She decides to ignore it. She was never one for last words, never had been. And she felt a little stupid, a little like the third grader who should have put a little more thought in before playing with the big kids. She wouldn't let her win tonight, wouldn't let her have the last word - because in the daylight she had more control, not as much need.

She brushes her teeth, washes her face, yawns once or twice to feel the mouldy atmosphere on the back of her throat. Picking up the piece of paper she discards it, and it falls slowly to the floor.

She discards it on the floor and heads out of the smutty motel room and into the fresh day.

She decides she wants waffles. Waffles never did anyone any harm. And so she kicks up dust on her way to the diner.

The note fell in a little pool of water on the bathroom floor. The pink notelet paper marked 'San Michel Motel' was covered in scrawled blue ink writing that bled into the water. Once it had read, simply, 'We're even.'

The ink ran out onto the tiles as she sat in the diner and ate her waffles.