by Nifra Adril
Dedication: Written for my angry darling Fox with lots of help from the one, the only, the Lyra.
The truth is that Buffy doesn’t know how to do this without hurting anyone anymore, and Faith never did, and with one another, they don’t have to hold back.
It’s late night in Miami, and they met up for a Cuban coffee down by South Beach after Buffy put the last new Slayer on a plane. Faith’s been in Miami for a couple of weeks, more or less just hanging out and dusting some truly sleazy vamps and when Buffy knocked on her door, she’d felt the first scrapes of sex and violence over her skin since she left the Northeast.
So she’s not surprised. But then again, not much about her and Buffy is surprising anymore. Not the high kick to Faith’s ribs, followed by the one-two punch (that’s a move that Buffy’s loved since she was fifteen) or the way she falls for Faith’s feint to the left, and certainly not the way Buffy manages to look both smug and disgusted when Faith’s got her flat against the grass.
Faith rolls her hips down and Buffy arches up, and Faith raises her brows, says, “So we finally going to do this, or do you want to make me bleed a little first?”
Buffy bares her teeth, sucks in a breath. “You’re bleeding already,” she says, in that breathy little girl voice of hers, the one Faith couldn’t get out of her fucking head for years, but it just doesn’t sound quite as sexy anymore.
Faith flips her hair back out of her face, touches her tongue to her lower lip, and it comes back tasting like copper.
“Damn,” she says, grinding down again. “Thought that was lip gloss.”
“Same color you usually wear,” Buffy gasps when Faith presses down harder, so their whole bodies are flush up against one another, so Faith’s covering Buffy like she’s a blanket and Buffy’s cold.
“Looks good on me, B,” she murmurs into Buffy’s ear. “Tastes good, too.”
Buffy whimpers a little, and Faith nuzzles along the line of Buffy’s jaw, until they’re mouth to mouth, eye to eye, with Buffy’s legs spread out between them and Faith’s knee working its way up against Buffy’s crotch.
“Wanna taste it?” Faith asks Buffy, and their lips brush. “Bet you do. You’re hot for all that blood drinking stuff, aren’t you?”
“And you’re hot for what, bondage?” Buffy asks, struggling a little at Faith’s grip on her hands. Not too much, not enough to get free, not enough to turn this back into a fight, but just enough to pretend she doesn’t want this.
Faith’s sick of that. She’s sick of the way Buffy will tease her, and fight her, and leave her. Leave her wanting, leave her angry, leave her alone – like Buffy doesn’t get this, like Buffy doesn’t know just as well as Faith does that they’ve just been circling around each other waiting for the time to be right for years. Of course Buffy knows – any good fighter knows when they’re on guard, and why, and Faith’s ready to call Buffy on being shitty at a lot of things (friendship, leadership, driving) but fighting isn’t one of them.
And talking is pretty fucking boring, especially when she can feel how much Buffy does want this, how Buffy’s half pushing into her knee in these little arches, these little rolls of her hips against Faith like she doesn’t know she’s doing it, or doesn’t care. Plus, Faith’s never been really good with talking, so she just bites the fucking bullet.
Leans in, licks Buffy’s lips, licks inside. Bites her tongue, which is a whole lot less willing to pretend when it’s kissing Faith than when it’s talking to her, and then Buffy isn’t half arching, she’s doing it all the way. She’s moaning into Faith’s mouth, she’s scrabbling at Faith’s hands, and leaving marks that’ll be there for a while.
She’s doing this. Faith is doing this. They’re doing this.
Once, Faith wanted to do this slow and nice and inside. On Buffy’s bed, maybe in soft fluffy pajamas while they watched some stupid fucking chick flick. Maybe the one about baseball with Geena Davis. Faith always liked that one. Buffy’s bed would have been soft, and it would have been really important for them to keep quiet, and the whole place would have smelled like strawberries and sunflowers from that moisturizer Buffy used to use.
Now, though, the ground is really hard against Faith’s knees, and she can smell the dirt that Buffy’s heels are kicking up as she digs her feet in, and the blood from where Buffy scratched her. It’s rough, and it’s fast, and they’re getting ready to fuck in the grass by the beach in a shitty part of Miami.
She realizes it’s the only realistic way for this to happen, here in the dark on the ground in this strange place. Where no one can see it, and Buffy can stand up and brush it off like nothing happened, except she’ll feel it for a while. Faith’s pretty sure of that, just from her grip on Buffy’s wrists, and the hickies she’s sucking onto the mark Angel’s bite left on Buffy’s white neck.
She lets go of one of Buffy’s wrists, and runs her hand down Buffy’s arm, over her breasts. Squeezes, and thumbs Buffy’s nipple through the thin fabric.
“I let go of you, you going to try and get away?” Faith asks Buffy, right against her ear, and Buffy doesn’t say anything, of course, just grinds down on Faith’s knee and makes this pained sounding gasp.
Faith takes that as a ‘no’, and flicks open the buttons on Buffy’s shirt one handed, and gets her hand under the thin lace of the bra. And then it’s her hand, Buffy’s skin, and the little scream Buffy gives out into the night, and how *hot* all of this is, and how hot all of it’s making Faith, and she bites down on Buffy’s shoulder. Bites her way down Buffy’s chest, and looks up at Buffy right when she’s eye level with Buffy’s nipple, which is standing straight up and begging for her lips.
“You want me to suck it?” she asks Buffy, and Buffy nods, mumbles something that sounds a lot like “oh God” and closes her eyes. Like maybe she’s trying to shut Faith out, and Faith’s not having any of that, so she licks Buffy’s breast, blows on it. Buffy shivers hard, groans low and *rides* Faith’s knee, her skirt up around her thighs already.
“I asked you if you want this,” Faith says again, and Buffy’s eyes shoot open. “I know you do, but how much, huh? You want it enough to touch me, B?”
“I,” Buffy said, breathless and angry, grinding down hard against Faith’s leg again, “*am* touching you.”
“No, you’re not,” Faith said, grabbing Buffy’s hand, pulling it to her own chest, right to her breasts, which are feeling heavy and electrified and like they’ve never been touched before.
Buffy glares at her, twists her already hard nipple through the fabric and Faith growls out, “Fff-uck, B.”
“So do it already,” Buffy growls back and Faith grins slow and easy, and flicks her tongue firm and quick all over Buffy’s breasts, and nips a little at the curves of them. Sucks hard on each of Buffy’s nipples, and lets her grin widen when Buffy actually throws her head back and keens loud enough to scare an animal in the bushes.
All the while Buffy’s hands – her little strong hands – work their way under Faith’s shirt, and they’re moving all over her. Scratching at her abs, squeezing, kneading her breasts, pinching her nipples, stroking her back, pulling her closer.
“Much better when it’s a two player game, isn’t it?” Faith gasps when Buffy’s fingers slip below the waistband of her jeans.
“Shut up,” Buffy says, harshly, frantic under Faith’s lips as she leaves little bruising bites all over Buffy’s torso. “Just shut up and – and – ”
Faith pulls back, laughs up at Buffy’s face. “Shut up and fuck you?”
Buffy’s face is in shadow, just a little light on her lips, and enough on her eyes to make her look – look unnatural. Like a dead thing, which she is, twice over, and which Faith by all rights should be. Like she’s one of the things Faith’s supposed to kill, and she says, “Yeah, fuck me.”
“Was that so hard to say?” Faith asks, and it’s meant to be mocking, teasing, but it ends up bitter.
Buffy barks out a laugh. “Oh, please, Faith, do you really want to make a thing of it now?”
Gritting her teeth, Faith puts all her weight back on Buffy, gets down in her face, asks, “Want me to get up and walk away, B?”
Buffy’s hands tighten on Faith’s sides, reflexively, and Faith smirks. “Didn’t think so. So don’t try to sell me any crap about being the only one who’s recognized the hot and heavy here.”
And Buffy’s face gets fierce – Faith can see it now that she’s up close – and she just *attacks*. Bites Faith’s lower lip, and scrabbles at Faith’s jeans with one hand as she presses the other one down toward Faith’s panties.
Where she’s wet, through the thin cotton fabric, and Faith doesn’t need too much urging, not when Buffy’s yanking Faith’s jeans and underwear down around her hips. Buffy doesn’t go for any kind of preamble, just works her way in between Faith’s thighs, and starts flicking Faith’s clit with her thumb, hard and fast.
Faith’s moaning, and there’s sweat all down her back, and she’s not in the mood to tease this out any longer. She rubs Buffy’s clit, until Buffy is thrashing as much as she is, and then they’re both fucking and being fucked. Buffy’s got two fingers inside Faith, and Faith’s the same with her, and it’s fast and it’s rough, and it’s so *good* because Buffy keeps rubbing her clit and pressing her fingers in and out and in and out and Faith’s hand is moving and Buffy’s wailing so Faith has to figure she’s doing the same thing.
She’s not really clear about it; it’s all confusing, it’s all too much.
Buffy comes first, clenching down on Faith’s fingers and throwing her head back, bucking up violently and her eyes are *open* and that’s important somehow, and then Faith comes – Faith comes forever around Buffy, on top of Buffy, with Buffy.
When it’s over, finally, Faith pushes herself up on one arm, watches Buffy try to catch her breath and rolls off her. For half a second she thinks about kissing Buffy, and then she laughs. She laughs long, and loud, until she’s clutching her stomach and half bent over.
“What? What?” Buffy asks, agitated, pushing her skirt back down and buttoning her shirt.
“Kind of hard to explain,” Faith manages finally, still snorting a little, with her arm thrown over her eyes. She hears the sound of Buffy standing up – the creak of her boots, the shifting of the ground under foot – and looks up.
“So,” Buffy says, crossing her arms in front of herself, pursing her lips and looking down at her feet. Her hair’s a mess, and there are red marks from Faith’s lips peeking out from under the collar of her blouse, which has streaks of dirt on it.
She looks more like she’s been in a fight than anything else, and Faith guesses that’s just about right.
“Yeah,” Faith replies, “so.”
Buffy gestures nervously in the general direction of her hotel, says, “I’ve got a – in the morning, my flight – ”
Faith smiles and nods, all polite and understanding. “Yeah, don’t want to keep the Scoobies waiting at the airport.”
“Yeah,” Buffy says, sounding relieved and vague, and she waves a little. Then turns around, walks away. Faith watches her go, and she knows, deep down, that in a couple of weeks, she’ll open her door, and there Buffy will be. She knows they’ll end up outside, fucking somewhere weird and wrong, and after they won’t talk, like now. She knows that they’ll fuck like they’re fighting, then, too. It only makes sense, because they’ve always fought like they were fucking.
Faith does up her jeans, and stands. She stretches her arms over her head, and heads off in the opposite direction, and she wonders if the scratches on her hands will be gone by the next time she sees Buffy. She’s pretty sure they won’t be.
She wonders what marks she’ll have next time. She wonders what signs Buffy will leave behind.