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The Incredibly (un)True Adventures of Two Slayers in Love:


by Oralfxatn

Feedback: Hit me (Love tap!)
Summary: Part 1 of series. Buffy accepts her feelings for Faith. Finally. Oh, and phone sex. Humor, Heart & Heat (hot sex).

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"... and then she says, 'Geez, Buffy. Shower, much?' "

Buffy Summers is on a rant. Okay, I know...when isn't she? But right now she's going on and on about how Cordelia Chase embarrassed her in chem class years ago.

"I mean, come on, Faith. Is it my fault that I'm a magnet for all things supernatural? Or how some things supernatural have a super supernatural stench to them? Like this...this...Feces Demon?"

I quirk an eyebrow. Feces demon?

She catches that.

"Uh, okay...maybe not a feces demon exactly...I don't know what it was. I mean, it could have been a feces demon for all I know. You know, if there even is such a thing. Feces demon, that is. Not feces, cuz I know that exists, and let me tell you, this thing was covered in it."

She pauses to take a short breath, and then continues on her diatribe.

"So then I tell her, 'I'm sorry Cordy, but are you grateful much?' I mean, really, Faith. I can't tell you how many times I've saved her designer-clad ass."

Yeah, yeah...I've heard it all before.

For some reason, Cordy still hasn't figured out that when you go patrolling at night, you don't necessarily want to be decked out in Jimmy Choo shoes and a Herve Legere mini-skirt.

"I mean, sure, I'd like to wear something a little more fashionable than grungy sweats and baby-tees, but it's just not practical, Faith. I've been slimed and vamp-dusted on too many times to risk ruining another outfit."

What Buffy is really gettin' at here, is that many a time Cordelia will purposely stay out of the fray because of what she's wearing. What if she wrinkles something, or god forbid, breaks a strap on her sandal? In other words, Buffy has saved Cordy's cute-but-sorry ass to the detriment of her own wardrobe; something Cordelia always seems to overlook.

I shrug.

"I dunno, B. I seem to manage okay."

Buffy looks at me and smirks.

"Faith, please. You practically wear the same thing every night. Leather pants, a tank, and steel-toed boots. That's not an outfit, it's your uniform."

I scowl at her.

"Nuh-uh," I say, "I've got jeans, too...and sometimes I wear a jacket!"

There. Told her.

She laughs.

"Sorry. I stand corrected. Let me add tight black jeans and a leather jacket."

"Oh...and a jean jacket," I remind her, "Don't forget my jean jacket."

What's she tryin' to say, anyway? That my wardrobe is somewhat limited and...predictable?

Yeah, that's exactly what she's sayin'. But so what? I look hot and she knows it.

She rolls her eyes at me. I love when she rolls her eyes at me. She usually does that when she thinks I've said something funny, but she doesn't want to give me credit for it. I grin at her. She smiles back.

"Anyway, as I was saying..." And she goes on with her Cordelia story.

She's talkin', we're walkin', and soon enough we're standin' on her front porch.

I'm waitin' for a break so I can make my goodbyes, but there just isn't one.

"...so I said, 'Of course you're still my best friend, Will. It's just the Slayer Connection and all...'"

Yeah. Heard that one before, too.


"...I don't know how many more times I need to reassure her, but if that's-"

"Okay! So that's it, then?" I blurt out.

She stops in mid-sentence and gives me that look. You know the look. The one she's so good at...two raised eyebrows that convey the message 'You've got to be kidding me.'

"What?" I mumble, lookin' at the toe of my boot.

"Jesus, Faith. Rude, much?"

And she's right. That was rude, even for me. But at this point I really don't care, cuz I've got my reasons. And if we don't get this show on the road, it might just not happen.

"Uh, sorry, B...it's just that it's getting late and well, you know how I get..."

"What? H & H?" Yeah, she knows me.

"Right, B. So I gotta motor."

"But why, Faith? I mean, you're here, why don't you come inside to the kitchen with me and-"

"- and you'll have sex with me on the kitchen counter? Gee, I dunno, B. Your mom doesn't even like it when I sit on the kitchen counter, so I really don't think she's gonna go for us gettin' all naked and stuff on it...but if you know something that I don't, then by all means, girlfriend, lead the way..."

She just looks at me...and then sighs. "Really, Faith. You worry me sometimes. You really do need professional help."

I give her a goofy grin.

"What I was offering..." she continues, "...was to alleviate the hungry part of your...uh...affliction."

I snort. Affliction...that's funny. But I just say:

"Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?"

She smiles.

"So how 'bout it? I can whip you up a nice baker's dozen egg-white omelet, with some jalapeno pepper jack cheese...and a chocolate protein shake chaser."

God, I dig this girl.

See, she's been baggin' on me about my poor eating habits. After a hard slays work, I usually don't wanna go through the hassle of cookin' myself something to eat. Not to mention havin' to shop for the food first. Nope, burgers, pizzas, tacos, and fried chicken are just fine, thank you. Fast food was tailor made for a girl like me. Oh, and ribs. I do love me some big beefy Texas style ribs...but, I have to admit, it's really nice when someone cares about your health and takes the time to fuss over your diet. So when she offers to cook for me, I usually take her up on it. She's not exactly a gourmet cook, she does burn things at times, but for the most part, everything she's made for me is pretty damn tasty.

And as B likes to say: 'chock full of nutritional goodness.'

Oh, and the jalapeno cheese she mentioned? She buys and keeps it in her house just for me. She knows I like things hot and spicy.

So if this had been a week ago, I'd be goin' into her kitchen right now and throwin' down some serious grub. But it's not... and some things have changed...like my priorities.

"Yunno, B, thanks, but I've had Mickey D's on the brain all day, and I think I'm just gonna head over there before they close. If I motor now, I'll just make it in time."

She gives me a pout. I love that pout. Her bottom lip is just so...

"Fine. Go ahead and eat that crap. And as far as you 'motor'ing all the time, well, what's up with that? It's not like you have a car or anything, and oh, speaking of cars, isn't the drive-thru window the only thing that's open at this time of night?"

"Well, sure. But come on, B...you think something like not having a car is gonna stop me from gettin' what I want?"

She looks at me expectantly, so I deliver.

I bring my hands to the top of my chest and then slowly run my fingers down myself, smoothing the material over my breasts and abs, givin' it a slight tug when I reach the bottom. I turn my head to look away, and then down at the ground. Then, I rake my fingers through my hair and shake my head slightly, causing a spill of locks to fall perfectly into place. I bite my lower lip gently and raise my head; peering at her through the strands that have fallen across my face. I have a twinkle in my eye...or is it a gleam?

She looks to me like she forgot to breathe. Oh yeah. That's what I'm talkin' about.

She collects herself and gives a cute laugh.

"Oh, Faith. That is soooo unfair. That poor drive-up window kid doesn't stand a chance."

I give a short laugh and give her a quick peck on the forehead.

"Later, B."

If I hurry, I just might make it.

Sure enough, I get to Mickey D's just in the nick of time. I look over to see who's workin' the drive-thru window, and it's someone I haven't seen before. Shit. Fuck...shit. No, okay, wait...there's no problem. I'll just have to charm and disarm this new guy.

It's just that I'm used to the same three kids that usually work the window. Normally at this time, it's Oscar, Mikey, or Justine. Yeah, I said Justine. She's a cutie. See, Slayer charisma can work on just about anyone. In fact, out of the three, I think it works on her the best. She usually slips me some of that apple pie of theirs, and a couple extra cartons of milk.

And yeah, I do drink milk.

Can't seem to get enough of the stuff...musta been cus I was deprived as a child or something. But I remember the first time Buffy had me over for dinner, and when her mom had given me the last of the soda...was there anything else she could offer me?

I just said, "Milk."

Buffy almost lost hers through her nose.

I mean, okay, so I act tough and swear a lot, but still, what does that have to do with me liking milk?

"It's just the image you give off, Faith," Buffy had said, "The two don't seem to go very well together."

Whatever...'Milk, it does a body good.' Duh.

Just take a good look at mine...or Buffy's.

Luckily, all of these thoughts only take seconds in my mind, cuz time is runnin' out and I gotta get a move on if I want to get back in time. It's my own fault, I've gotten lazy. Seein' a new guy at the window shouldn't have fazed me at all...damn, I hope I'm not goin' soft.

Okay, so I stroll up to the drive-thru window and I run my number on the guy, and yeah, Buffy was right. The kid never stood a chance. And it looks to me like I have a new admirer...I look in the bag. Damn! I think he likes me even more than Justine does! He's given me fifteen burgers instead of twelve, four apple pies -which I did not ask for- and two orders of super size fries -which I also did not ask for- but this last part bums me out, cuz I hadn't ordered fries for a reason.

It's too late at night, and I don't want the extra calories.

Yeah, I know. I never said it would make sense.

So I wolf down ten of the burgers, three pies, and five cartons of milk. I dump the fries.

I take the rest back with me...gotta hurry, I don't want to miss it.

I sprint to the pavement and...

I'm haulin' ASS.

The 'No-Tell' motel isn't far from Mickey D's...in fact, it's not too far from B's house, either. Well, okay, to be honest nothing is far from anything in Sunnydale. It's just one little Happy Hellmouth community. Home to legions of demons and vamps and other such McNasties...

McNasties? Okay, no more Mickey D's for a while.

I let myself into my shit-hole of a room, and kick the door shut behind me.

God, I hope I'm not too late. I glance at the clock by my bed and it reads 1:55 a.m. ...I've got five minutes to spare. Good. I did all of that in less than twenty-two minutes.

So...that would put Buffy where, exactly?

As I mull this over, I toss the bag of food on the dresser, and put the remaining cartons of milk in the mini-fridge by the bed...

As if.

The damn thing barely keeps anything under room temperature. I just hope that my Slayer constitution will fight anything that might be breedin' in there.

What with the stains on the ceiling, the rust rings in the tub and toilet, and just the overall ooginess of the whole room, why not have bacteria running rampant in the fridge?

It just kinda brings it all together.

I pull my boots off and throw them towards the closet. Oops. Missed. Basically, at the speed of light, I strip off my clothes to just bra and panties. Lace, black, and super sexy, thank you very much. I'm a freak for texture. I mean, if it's gonna be up against my skin, then it better have something to say for itself.

I wipe the vamp dust off my body and wash my hands. Ugh. No time for a shower, just yet. I barely finish dryin' my hands when the phone rings. I glance at the clock.

It's 2:00am.


I hurl myself onto the bed and pick up the phone before it starts its second ring.

I take a deep breath. Okay, here we go.

"Thanks for callin’ the CDC, but we're kinda up to our fuckin’ asses with diseases. So if you're reportin' an outbreak of some kind, sorry, you'll have to try your call again later."


"Oh gross, Faith. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

I grin. Yeah. My mother.

"Well, B, it wasn't exactly my mother I was thinkin' about kissin'."

"Ha-ha, very funny." Yeah? Well, I thought so.

"So what's up, B? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Um, nothing...just wondering if you took care of your hungries."

I think:

Oh, you betcha, little girl...and now we're movin' on to the hornies.

But I say:

"Yup, and you?"

I already know the answer to this one. The answer is, "I suppose."

This is what happens.

B went into her kitchen after I left. She got herself a non-fat yogurt, a container of low-fat cottage cheese, and some pretzels. She went up to her bedroom, where she proceeded to inhale her yogurt and remove all of her clothing. She puts on her robe, grabs the pretzels and cottage cheese, and heads for the bathroom where she rinses herself with a quick shower, and then soaks in a warm bath while eatin' the remainder of her meal. But she doesn't soak for long, cuz she's unfinished...

See, B's not done talkin' yet. And I planned it this way.

What can I say? I'm a fuckin' genius.

Buffy sighs into the phone, "I suppose," she replies.

Do I know my girl or what?

"You 'suppose', B? Why's that? Whatcha have to eat?"

Another sigh.

"Oh, you know...yogurt, cottage cheese...pretzels for the texture."

See? I told ya.

"Oh yeah? And why's that?"

"Well, after eating a tangy sweet yogurt and then eating cottage cheese, which, of course, is kind of the same texture as the yogurt, you kinda want something salty and crunchy to-"

"Uh, no, B," I interrupt, "That's not what I meant. Hello, talkin' to the 'Texture Girl', here. I know that already."

"Oh. Well, what did you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Why do you offer to make me a thirteen egg-white omelet and a protein shake, when all you do for yourself is grab some cold containers from the fridge and a bag of chips? What's the matter, don't you like your own cooking?"

She sighs again.

"No, you know that's not it." Actually, she's right. I do.

But I like to hear it anyway.

"It's just not the same...cooking for myself, I mean. If you were here, I would have made enough for the both of us, but since you're not, well..." She trails off.

"Well, what?" I ask.

"...like I said, it's just not the same. I've never really wanted to cook for anyone before, and okay, sure, there probably wasn't a good reason to anyway, what with Angel not being so big on solid foods and all, but-"

Ugh. Angel.

I mean, don't get me wrong. God love him and all that, but please...does that mean Buffy has to?

"I dunno, Faith. I just love cooking for you...and I love watching you eat what I cooked for you."

"Yeah?" I smile into the phone.

"Yeah," she says. I know she's smilin' back.

"Why is that, you think?" Yeah, okay...I know I'm pushin' it.

But I just can't help myself.

See, I've seen the look on Buffy's face when she watches me eat.

I know she's watchin' my mouth.

She looks kind of cute and...well, sexy, all at the same time. I'm pretty much convinced she's got a thing for my lips. Big time.

So, you know, I play it up a little.

Like when I drink a glass of milk, I always make sure I leave a little drop on my lips...

You know, so I can lick it off.

Of course, her focus shifts to my tongue then, but it's brief. Just a teaser, if you will.

Or like when she holds a fork full of hot food in front of me to eat.

She used to blow on it herself, tryin' to cool down the steaming heat before placin' it in my mouth. But I must have blown on it myself at one point, pursing my full lips, exhaling warm air onto the fork in front of me. Yeah, in fact, I know that's how it happened, cus I remember the thrill it sent through my body when I noticed the look on her face. Wow. Fuck, that's sexy...anyway, now she just lets me do it.

Hell, she tells me to do it.

"It's hot, Faith. I think you should blow on it some more."


Needless to say, there's always lots of hot food and cold milk on the menu.

I do kind of miss seein' her blow on the fork, though.

"Well..." she answers, "...you just exude this...this...oh, let's just say you put a lot of gusto into it. Pretty much like with everything you do, I guess. But when I see it's happening because of something I made you, that you're displaying so much pleasure because of something I did, well..."

Aww. She's so damn cute. I can just hear the embarrassment creepin' into her voice.

"Well...it just makes me happy, that's all." Good for her! She actually finished the sentence!

I let her off the hook.

"Ya know, B, I love it when you cook for me. It makes me happy, too."

"Really?" she says, "I never would have guessed that, seeing how you've been so keen on running away as soon as we get to my house."


I totally walked into that one.



"Um, yeah, B?"

"I said, I never would have guessed that, seeing how you've-"

"B, I heard you."

"And?" she says. I can just picture her eyebrow going up.

Oh, man. THINK, Faith.

"Faith?" she says again.

"Um, yeah, hold on a sec, B." I need more time to think...I look around the room in desperation.

What?? What??...and there, from the corner of my eye, I see it.

My Salvation.

I pick up the paperback I have on the nightstand, and I heave it across the room. It connects with the wall and makes a loud noise.

"Oh my god, what was that??" Good, she heard it.


"Eew, really? I thought you got rid of those?"

She's right, I did. It was really just a left over Roach Motel I spotted in the corner by the door. But it serves the same purpose, so I lie.

"Yep, me too. It was just one, though. It's a gonner."

God, I hope there's no one in the room next door. If there is, I'm pretty sure they shit their pants. That book hittin' the wall made a pretty big noise.


"So, to answer your question, yes, I do love it when you cook for me. But ever since we woke up your mom last week, I just don't think it's a good idea for you to play Iron Chef for me at 1:30 in the morning. You're not the quietest of cooks."

I wait as she ponders this over.

"Yeah, she was pretty cranky, wasn't she?"


"Cranky?" I ask wryly, "Oh, you mean in the way a mama Grizzly bear gets cranky when you poke it with a sharp stick and threaten its young? Sure, if that's what you mean."

"She wasn't that bad, Faith."

"Oh yes, she was."

"No, Faith, she wasn't."

"Yes, Buff, she was."

In all fairness, Buffy is right again. Her mom was actually pretty cool. But I need a reason, so I'm goin' for it.

"Seriously, Faith, I think she was just really embarrassed by it all."

She doesn't even know the half of it, trust me.

We both stop to reflect on it, and now we're both just crackin' up.

For some reason, Buffy was exceptionally giddy after patrolling that night.

She was actin' all goofy and stuff –bangin' into things and laughin' loud- and of course, makin' me something to eat.

Basically I was just sittin' there, my ass on the counter as usual, pretty much watchin' B act like a spaz and enjoyin' the show. She had given me some grapes to tide me over until she was finished cookin', and well...you know...they were grapes.

At first we really were just tryin' to see from how far we could throw them into each other's mouths...but that was too easy, ya know, with Slayer accuracy and all. So I was just sittin' on the counter, poppin' a few grapes in the air and catching 'em in my mouth -you know, pretty much just mindin' my own business- when Buffy bends over to reach for something under the sink...

Oh, come on! What would you have done?


Just one...smacks her on her left butt-cheek.

She freezes.

Oh, yeah. I know what that means. I've watched her in action.

Usually, just before she starts to kick some serious vamp butt, she has this split second where she freezes. Just stock-still perfect. I don't know if anyone else notices it, but if they do, they've never mentioned it. I think it's a Slayer thing. I do it too. Kinda like a calm-before-the-storm type deal.

So she's frozen, right?

I knew I had better take advantage of the few nano-seconds I had left, so I start zingin' the grapes in earnest.

I mean, I'm flingin' and zingin'...with zeal.

Left...right...both hands at the same time...you could just hear the grapes ricocheting off her ass, and I tell you, it sounded just like rain falling on a tin roof. I kid you not. You really could bounce quarters off of B's ass. Anyway, I knew my window was just about up, so I pivot my ass on the counter and flip my legs over to land on the other side. Too late.

Thwap. Back of the head.

Damn, that girl is quick.

She's grabbin' grapes off the floor -just from anywhere she can find them- and I'm doin' the same. I mean, this was a full-scale battle now and neither one of us is a quitter. We were in it 'til the bitter end...or at least until my food was ready.

That's when it happened.

I guess B's mom had been callin' down to us for quite a while already. Askin' us to "Please keep it quiet!" I mean, from even before the Great Grape Conflict, like when Buffy was first actin' like a spazoid and stuff.

We simply hadn't heard her.

Don't even try to imagine what happened next. Cuz you just can't do it justice.

No, really.

Buffy had killed the lights in the kitchen so that she could take advantage of the situation. She's got some kick-ass night vision. I'm pretty much duckin' behind anything I could find, cuz I know that I'm toast.

The flame from the burner was glowin' a high and bright blue, the tongues flickerin' in red...it really added to the drama of it all. The fun drama. Not the drama that was walkin' through the kitchen/dining room doorway.

See, Buffy was nailin' me pretty hard. So hard, in fact, she had me goin' into retreat mode just until I could come up with a better plan of attack. She had strategically positioned herself next to the fridge -which supplied her with more ammo- and kept poppin' her head up from behind the counter and chuckin' the fuckin' things at me with full force.

I had to retreat.

So I'm in this half crouch, backin' myself out through the kitchen entryway, when she beans me in the eye. I let out a yelp, slippin' on the grape remains on the floor and start to fall backwards, out of the kitchen, my feet comin' out from under me, onto my ass, with my hands goin' up in air...

Mrs. S, on the other hand, was just on her way into the kitchen.

Reader's Digest version? Somehow her legs and my arms get all tangled up and we wind up in a big heap on the floor. Not that bad, right?


Let me break it down for you. Picture it in slo-mo, if you have to.

I'm in a half crouch position, backin' out of the kitchen. Buffy beans me in the eye. I slip on some grape entrails on the floor. My feet come up from under me. I'm fallin' backwards with all the grace of a bull dyke in a china shop. My hands are goin' up, over my head, wantin' to go all way back...

When here come two legs, poised perfectly on both sides of my head, at precisely the angle where my hands were goin'.

It was a reflex.

When my hands made contact with B's mom's shins, my fingers just naturally curled around them. My body was goin' into Slayer mode, and usually when I get into a tumble like that, I just roll with it and push back off of whatever is there to get back onto my feet.

Of course it was an accident.

My hands slapped up against and then grabbed Mrs. S's legs, and now she's propelled forward, toppling over me and fallin' down onto my crotch.

See? Was I right? Oh, it gets better.

There was a loud oomph when she landed rather heavily on top of me, her front teeth hittin' my unit... and...well...

I don't even want to tell you what was happenin around my face area.

Oh, okay. I'll throw you a visual.


B's mom was playin' leapfrog on my head.

"Faith? You give up?" Buffy said.

No answer.

Seein' as I was literally not in a position to answer her, I just laid there.

I mean, really. Whatever I would have said, would have come out muffled anyway.

"No dice, Faith. I'm not falling for one of your sneak attacks. Just say 'Buffy is King' and we'll call it a draw."

She flipped on the light switch and was witness to the freak show in all of its glory.

"Oh my god, mom! Are you okay?"

And then it was me who was stock-still perfect.

Poor Mrs. S...

To her credit, she gets off of me with as much dignity as one could muster after the position she found herself in. I mean, her face between my legs and my face between hers? Oh, Xander would have died to be me at that moment.

Oh, and here's a little secret.

Joyce doesn't wear panties under her nightgown.

No way I'm tellin' Buffy about that!

Anyway, so Joyce stands up, straightens out her nightgown, moves her neck from side to side, looks at the mess in the kitchen and says:

"You have fifteen minutes to cook, eat, and clean up this mess. Fifteen minutes, Elisabeth Anne Summers, and do it quietly...starting now."

She walked out and didn't even look at me.

Me. Who was stock-still perfect on the floor, where she left me.

Hey, I was a victim there, too.

Okay, so really I wasn't.

Hey, Joyce. Welcome to my face. Why don't you have a seat and sit for a while?

Man, I crack myself up sometimes.

Buffy and I finally stop laughin' and she says to me:

"Is that really why, Faith? Because you don't want to wake up my mom?"

"Sure, B. What else would it be?"

"Hmm...I dunno. Nothing, I guess. Just wondering."

Good. That's taken care of. Let's move this thing along.

"So, B. How's Red and Dog-boy doin'?"

"God, that's so funny you should ask that. Well, it's not really funny-funny, cuz the situation certainly isn't very funny, but Will and Oz are..."

And she's off.

I cradle the receiver to my shoulder and reach over to click off the bedside lamp. I settle back down onto my pillows and make myself comfortable.

Real comfortable.

In a blink of an eye, my right hand slides down my stomach, and finds its way into my underwear. I slip my middle finger inside myself. Yeah.

I'm still wet from slaying.

I move my finger up and down my slit, spreading the moisture that has collected there. I finger my clit and then thrust my finger back inside myself. I do this a few times, plunging it in as far as it'd go and then back out again to the tip of my finger. I sigh softly as I slide it back up to my clit.

Slow, Faith. Go slow.

Remember to pace yourself. If you pace yourself, you can probably hold out until Buffy's done talkin' this time. She can finish, and then you can finish. Yeah, you can do it.

" '...I could lick your ass right now, if you want-' "



Oops. Shit.

"Wha...what was that again, B?"

"I told that jerk that I could kick his ass right then if he wanted, or he could just shut up and watch the movie. He decided to watch the movie. Smart kid."


"What did you think I said?"

"Nuthin'. Go on."

"Okay, so then I turn to Willow..."

I'm so easy. I admit it.

It's never taken me very long to come. My objective was always to get in, get some, and get gone. There is no conversation. There is no cuddling. And what the fuck is 'spooning' anyway?

No. I come and then you go.

See ya!

But this was just embarrassing.

I'm playing with myself for like, what...a whole minute?

And then Buffy says something that sounds an awful lot like she's going to lick my ass-

-and I pop off like some pathetic pimple faced pubescent on prom night?

That's just sad, really…

I think I'll try again.

Oh yeah. This is much better. Some of the edge is gone, so I'm way more relaxed.

Yeaah, this is much better.

So I'm fingerin' myself while Buffy is goin' on about some argument she's havin' with Giles.

That's right. Keep talkin'.

See, it's not so much what she says that's important to me, just that she's the one sayin' it. Sure, I know she can babble on about things, and yeah, sometimes it makes me want to stick a pencil in my eye, but for the most part her voice pretty much turns me on. It's her tone and inflection. She could read off an eye chart and get me hot.

I must be breathin' kind of heavy, cuz suddenly B says to me:

"Faith, what are you doing?"

"Huh?" I stop. "What do you mean, B?"

"You're breathing kind of hard."

"I am?" Shit.

"Yeah, you are."

"Um...sit-ups. I'm doin' sit-ups."

"You're doing sit-ups while we're on the phone." She says it like a statement and not a question. Like she's not sure if she believes me or something.

"Uh, yeah, B," I resume with my fingers, "I always do."

"You're telling me you've been doing sit-ups every night I've called?" Sounds like a question now.

"Yep, pretty much."


Man, that was too easy.

Why can't everything be that easy?

"But isn't it hard to hold the phone when you're moving around like that?"

Not if you know what you're doin', I think.

"Not if you know what you're doin'," I say.

Heh-heh, like I said, I crack myself up.

I feel brazen. My finger is still workin' my clit, but I need something inside me now. I slide two fingers into my pussy and start to fuck myself really hard. I can't control my breathing. Actually, I'm not even trying. What's the point? I got that part covered. I take my other hand and start rubbin' my clit.

"Wow, Faith. You're really going to town. How many you do so far?"

God. This. Feels. So. Good.


"Um...uh...I dunno...one...uh...goin' on two."

"Two hundred?" she asks.


Oh, she means sit-ups.

"Okay," I grunt.

" 'Okay'? " she asks.

"Okay," I grunt again.

I am so turned on that I slip a third finger into my pussy and I pick up the pace on my clit. I can hear the little wet sucking noises getting louder. It's just so fuckin' nasty sounding, it drives me ape-shit.

I can feel it starting.

"That's a funny response, Faith. And Faith, you're grunting again. 'Faith, The Grunter'. 'A Grunter Named Faith'," she jokes.

If she says my name one more time, I'm gonna come.



The phone pops away from my shoulder and lands with a thud on the carpet.






I look at the receiver lying on the floor...

... and I hear B's voice, all tiny and far away.


Things just aren't workin' out. Something has changed, and I can't put my finger on it.


My one-sided phone sex with Buffy has suddenly, abruptly, come to a screechin' halt.

And I can't figure out why.

After the night I confessed to doing 'sit-ups', we had continued as normal for a few nights more. Normal meaning that after we'd slay, I'd walk her to her porch, beg off to get something to eat, then I'd wait for her to call.

For a few phenomenal nights there, I was havin' some seriously seismic, mother lovin', mind altering orgasms. I'm talkin' some serious shit, here.

See, Buffy had decided she wanted to do 'sit-ups' with me.

Except...she really was. Doin' sit-ups.

So now, not only is Buffy talkin' to me, but she's gettin' all breathless and shit, too.

Fuckin' wicked sexy.

And then, of course, there was the competition. Buffy loves to win, and so do I, but seein' as I made the whole thing up there was nuthin' for me to lose.

So I let her win.

B: "How...uh, many...hhff...you done...huuuuh, so far?" she'd pant.

Me: "Um...one...uhhh...going on...two."


"Unnnngh...two...uhhh, uhhh...almost three."

Yunno. Depending on how many times I came already.

Is it MY fault she thought I meant sit-ups?

It was fun...in a really wrong kind of way.

I'd say two or three, and she'd assume I meant hundred, so she'd start pickin' up the pace to try and beat me.

Which in turn would make her breathe harder...which in turn would make my pussy pop...which in turn would up my count to the next digit.

So when she asks me again:

B: "Hhhh...hhhh...hhh...whatcha...on...now?"

Me: "Hhhhnnng...um...four..."


You see where I'm goin' with this?

Anyway, right around my fifth pop of the night, I figured I better cut her some slack.

I let her win with six hundred sit-ups.

Good times.

But that was then and this is now.

She hasn't called in four nights.

We still train, we still patrol, and we still do all the things we always do.

Except come 2 a.m., I'm waitin' by the phone with my thumb up my ass.

No. Not literally.

I just can't figure it out. She's not actin' any different. I still leave her on the porch with plenty more to say. I know she wants to talk to me, but I can't figure out why she's not callin'.

It begins to bum me out, so I put on a jacket and head for the door. I'm too wound up to stay inside. I need to walk around...I need to get out...I need to get off.

I reach for the knob, and the phone rings. I look at the clock.

2:39 a.m.

"Hello?" I answer, thinkin' it's a wrong number, but hopin' it's not.


"Oh hey, B."

"You sleepin'?"

"No, actually. You caught me walkin' out the door."

"You're what?" I hear surprise in her voice.

"I said ya caught me walkin' out the door. I'm goin' out."

"It's 2:30 in the morning, Faith."

"I know what time it is, B."

"Are you going to get something to eat?" she asks.



"No, B. I already ate."

"Oh," she says.


See, B knows there are usually only two reasons why I'd go out this late at night.

I either need to feed my hungries or my hornies.

I haven't gone out and picked up on anyone in months. Not since B and me started gettin' close. It just didn't feel right. It was frustrating, don't get me wrong. Gettin' all worked up like I do after a good slay, plus bein' in such close proximity to Buffy...but it just didn't seem right leavin' her side to go trolling for some trick.

The phone sex really was helpful.

But that's over, so I better snap out of it.

I'm startin' to feel sad.

"Ya need something, B?" I ask.


More silence.

It feels like she wants to say something, but she doesn't.

"Um...okay, then. If you don't need me, I guess I'll be goin' now."




"Where are you going, Faith?" Her voice sounds kind of funny.

"Just out, B."

"Do I not wanna know?"

"No, B. Probably not."

I feel an ache deep in my chest...

...when did this start to hurt so much?


There was a definite chill in the air.

Well, it is winter.

I bet you thought I meant Buffy, huh?

After I hung up with her, I left the motel to clear my head. I got a pack of cigs and a pint of Jack from an all-night mom and pop and headed towards the docks.

Yeah, normally not the smartest place for a girl to be at 3 a.m.

But then, I'm not a normal girl.

The tangy salt air bit into my skin like a tiny razor sharp teeth.


Even though Boston was the Petrie dish of my stained existence, it was still home.

I inhaled the sharp night air and was overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia.

A tidal wave of memories threatened to engulf me.

Childhood. The Streets. Hope. Betrayal. Survival.


All the feelings I thought I'd left behind in Boston, were now here with me again in Sunnydale.

How had I let that happen?

When I had first arrived in sunny California, I felt like I was on top of the world. New people, fresh start, new life. After Kakistos got dusted, there was really nuthin' left hangin' over my head.

I swaggered around town, full of bravado, bragging of my former exploits.

I saw people light up when I spoke, and I liked it.

No, I craved it.

I had everyone fooled for a while. Even me.

Except for Buffy and Angel.

Somehow they sensed through all of my puffed-up posturing, that there, just beneath the surface, was pain.

I don't do pain very well.

Rage, however...

Now there's an emotion I can really sink my teeth into.

But rage urges you to do reckless things.

Hateful things.

Hurtful things.

Things I swore I'd never do again...

Rage will...


Jesus Christ, Faith! Maudlin, much?

Cry me a fuckin' river.

Annoyed with myself, I flicked my cigarette into the water and shoved my hands into my jacket and headed back to the motel.

I definitely didn't feel like gettin' some anymore.

When I met Buffy for training the next day, I really didn't know what to expect. We had left things kind of funky on the phone.

She was already doin' her exercises when I got there. Giles greeted me at the door and then left, mumblin' something about a kettle of tea. She was on the far side of the room, totally immersed in kickin' the shit out of some workout bag. I could see perspiration forming between her breasts and shoulder blades. She'd been at it for a while, cuz she rarely breaks a sweat.

She musta sensed me or something, cuz she stopped what she was doin' and turned towards me.

My fuckin' heart almost stopped.

A stream of sunlight caught her movements as she turned to face me, illuminating her features with a soft glow. Beads of moisture glistened on her upper lip and brow, beggin' me to lick it off.

I'm not sure what my expression looked like, but I don't think it was very smooth, cus Buffy seemed to blush a little and then she gave me a soft smile. She wiped her arm across her face.

"Hey," I said, approaching her.

"Hey back," she said.

She grabbed a bottle of water and moved out of the way so I could get past her. I put my gear down and snuck a peek as she was takin' a sip of water.

She was watching me.

Holy shit! Now my heart was racing!

I took a deep breath and straightened up, flexing my arms and my shoulders. I cracked my knuckles and said:

"Ready to party?"

"Sure," she deadpanned, "But you really should warm up first, I don't want to hurt you."

My lips curved into a slow grin.

"Please, B. Hurt me."

I walked up to the mat and pulled my hair back. I cracked my neck and then lowered myself to the floor. I adjusted my sports top and tugged at my shorts.

I began.

Legs spread in a V position, I leaned over and took hold of my left foot. Gently, I applied pressure, placing my upper body onto the leg. I could feel the muscles lengthen and stretch. I came back up and leaned into the other leg. Next, I bent my right leg and brought it back behind me. I leaned forward, stretchin' my arms down my extended leg, tuckin' my head between my elbows. I rocked gently, feelin' it in my hamstrings, back, and quads. It felt good. I began to move into a leg lunge position, when I felt my scalp start to tingle and the hairs bristle on my neck.


I could feel her eyes crawlin' all over. She was searchin' for something, probing, tryin' to get inside of me.

Something was happening between us. I was suddenly more aware of her than I have ever been before, and I knew it was the same for her too.

I could sense it.

I raised myself off of the floor and turned to look at her. The exchange that passed was electric. She put down her water and approached me, stopping a few feet away. A tingle ran through me, hardening my nipples and leavin' goose bumps all over my flesh. I glanced at her breasts. They were gettin' hard, too.

We stood there lookin' at each other, not sayin' a word; she was lookin' at my face with wonder, with awe, when suddenly she lunged at me.

On reflex, I ducked, gettin' under her torso and straightened back up, flipping her into the air behind me. I spun around and she was already comin' back at me. I grabbed her shoulders and dropped to my back, pullin' her down with me, and with both legs I flung her backwards. She landed on her feet, turned, and assumed her fighting stance; arms raised, elbows down. In a split second, she spun and kicked her legs up to swipe at my head, but I ducked. She tried again, but I ducked once more. Chest heaving, she resumed her stance. I did the same.

But she looks so fuckin' cute when she's mad, that I just had to blow her a kiss.

In a flash, she was in the air, legs flyin', and this time it connected. My head snapped back from the force of her kick and I'm flat on my back.

I think she was tryin' to kill me.

Before I could get up, she was on top of me, straddling my waist and holdin' my shoulders down with her hands.

She was breathin' really hard, just lookin' down at me. Messed up pony-tail, breasts heaving, lips parted and panting.

Fuck! She was wicked hot!

Then it happened.

A tantalizing tingle started to move up my body...from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I felt it cross and connect, surging upward at the location where Buffy was straddling me. Her ass was hot against my bare midriff, and I felt her flex as it coursed through her.

Her eyes widened and she gasped.

What was that??

I wanted to say something, but she bolted right off me and ran for the door.

She flew past Giles who was comin' in, startling the poor guy and spillin' his tea.

He stopped in mid-sentence, "Well, now. Shall we begin with-"

And she was gone.


I patrolled alone that night.

Giles had relayed a message that Buffy wasn't feelin' well. Nuthin' serious, just a little under the weather. It was a slow night anyway. Just a couple of newbie vamps.

Musta been something good on TV.

So I grabbed a pizza and headed back home.

I run my mind through everything that's happened since last night, and I keep comin' back to the same thing.

Does Buffy feel something for me?

And I don't mean in the:

"You're my best friend, Faith. Well, no, maybe not my best friend, cus hello! Willow, but more like a soul mate...er...um, no, that would be Angel, but..." kind of way.

I mean in the:

"I wanna get naked, and do things to your body that hasn't been thought of before."


"I wanna rip your clothes off and lick every inch of your hot skin, leaving you wet and satisfied."


"Fuck me, Faith, fuck me hard!" kind of way.


Anyway, I barely get my key in the lock, when I hear the phone ringin' through the door. I kick it open and look at the clock.

It's early.  Just past midnight.

I toss the pie onto the bed and lift the receiver.

"Yeah?" I answer.


"Oh, that's charming, Faith."

"Yeah, that's me, B. Prince Charming."

"Prin-cess," she corrects.

"Whatever," I mumble.


I quirk an eyebrow into the phone. What'd she call for?

I guess she heard it, cuz:

"You just get in?" she asks.

"Something like that," I say.

"What do you mean?" She sounds suspicious, "How long have you been home?"

"Like you said, B. I just got in."

"Oh," She sounds relieved.

Hmm. I start to get the feelin' this isn't the first time she's called.

"How long you been callin'?" I smile.

"Oh, I don't know. I...what do you mean??"


"Nuthin, B. So what can I do ya for?"

"I was wondering if you want to get something to eat."

"I picked up a pizza."



"You're welcome to half, if you want."

"Oh, I don't know..." she hesitates.

"You sure? It's still in the box, all hot and steamy."

She pauses and then, "What's on it?"

"Everything you like, minus the anchovies."

B likes anchovies. Go figure.

"I dunno...hey, you do your sit-ups yet?" She sounds hopeful.

"Uh, no, B. I just got in, remember?"

"Oh, right."

"Why'd you ask?"

"No reason."

I smile.

"Did you wanna do sit-ups with me, B?"

This was fun!

"Well, sure...I mean, don't you want to eat first?"

"Nah, it can wait. It's too hot, the cheese will just chew up my mouth anyway."

"Okay. Um...hold on a sec, I need to close my door."


I hear her get up and shut her bedroom door.

"Okay, I'm back."



"You first," she says.

Me first?

"What's your goal?" I ask her.

"What's my goal?" Her voice goes up a notch.

"Yeah, B. How many sit-ups do you plan on doin' tonight?"

Heh-heh. I'm so bad.

"Oh," Beat. "How many do you wanna do?"

"I don't usually set myself a goal, B. That's your deal. I just go 'til I feel I'm finished."

"Oh, really," she says sarcastically.

"B, would I lie to you?" I duck, just in case of lightening.

"Uh-huh," she says, not convinced, "Start, Faith."

"What about you?" I ask.

"I'll catch up, you first."

Well, okay then.

I unzip my pants and slide my hand to my pussy. I run my finger up and down, warmin' up a bit. I flick my clit and bite my lip.

"Uh...so, B...how ya feelin? You rest up tonight?"



"Not much."

She's not makin' this easy. She's not really talkin', barely even answering my questions.

"Uh...oh...well, hhfff, how's the Scoobs...hhfff?"


Come on, B. Talk to me!

"Um...uh...missed you tonight..." I say.

"How many you done now?" Shit.

Now I'm the one who's busted.

I haven't come yet, so I can't say one...but she thinks I've been doin' something, so I can't say none...

And even if I had come, there's no way she'd assume I've done one hundred sit-ups already.

"How many, Faith?"

"I dunno, B. I'm not keepin' count."

Ha! I'm changin' the rules in mid-game. Hey, I made 'em, so I can change 'em.

"How can I catch up if you don't know how many you've done?"

"Why don't you just start and not worry about it."

"Why don't you just start and not worry about it."

Oh my god, is she mimicking me?

"Damn, B. What crawled up your ass and die?"


"Where'd you go last night, Faith?"

Oh boy.

Here we go.



"Here and there."

"Why won't you tell me?" she accuses.

"Why do you wanna know?" I throw back.

"Why are you such an asshole, Faith?"

"Uh, what did you say?"

"I said you're an asshole, Faith."

"Oh, I'm the asshole? Why'd you kick my ass today and then run for the hills?"

She ignores this and continues the third degree.

"Were you alone last night, Faith?"

"Were you really sick tonight, Buffy?"

Yeah, ignore me! I don't think so. Two can play this game. Fuck this. Bring it on.

"Were you??" she demands.

"Were you??" I zing back.

If she expects me to answer her questions, then she'd better be fuckin' prepared to answer some of mine!

"Did you get some last night, Faith? Was it good?" she purrs.


"What's the matter, Buffy? I know you felt it. Did it scare you? Did it make you wanna run away and hide?" I taunt back.

Buffy continues:

"When you were fucking her, Faith, were you thinking of me?"


"When you were picturing it, Buffy, did you wish it were you?"

"Fuck you, Faith."

"Yeah, okay, come right over."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, B, and so would you."

She pauses.

"Never gonna happen," she says, and hangs up the phone.

Ya know, I used to think that way too. But not anymore. Not after tonight.

What a fucking weird day.




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