It's tense between us, but both of us are actin' like nuthin' is wrong. Oh, every once in a while I feel her eyes boring holes into the back of my skull, but for the most part we're pretty much ignoring each other.
Nobody seemed to notice until Cordelia opened her big mouth.
"Jesus, Faith. As tempting as it may be, I will not be anyone's second choice. Make up with her, already!"
What?? I wasn't doin' anything!
Well, okay...maybe a little.
We were all just sittin' around the table, kinda just hangin' out. Red was talkin' to Giles about some spell she'd read about, and the rest of us were just kinda listening. I had sat myself on the opposite end from where B was sitting, which put Cordelia over and to the right of me.
She was flipping through a magazine, typically ignoring everything that was going on. She never looked up once.
So I thought it was safe.
Man, does that girl have a rack on her! Fuck that, she's got the whole package. Pow!
So I put my hands in my jacket pockets and slouched down into my chair, my legs stretched out in front of me.
But my eyes...I let my eyes roam free to wander all over that body.
She had on this black, hot, sheer little number. Skin tight and short, huggin' her curves like a drowning man in a life raft. Her legs were bare and tan, French pedicure in black strappy heels.
I know people say she dresses like a tramp, but I like it.
I like it a lot.
I wasn't being obvious. I'm not an idiot.
I kinda had my chin down, peerin' at her through my lashes.
How'd she know that?
"Oh my god, this really is a Scooby gang; except I'm the smart and the hot one. For a Watcher, Giles, you're not very watchful, and the rest of you are just a bunch of Shaggys. Well, except you, Oz. You're more the Scrappy Doo type."
Dog-boy gives her a wry smile.
"Whatever. You really need to handle this, Buffy. Either give the girl what she wants, or cut her loose already. I can't take her getting all moony-eyed at me."
I do not get moony-eyed.
After a few moments of awkward silence, everyone scrambles out the door, muttering vague excuses of one kind or another.
Everyone except Buffy.
She's just sittin' there, lookin' down at the table.
I can see a few different emotions pass across her face.
What is she thinkin'?
After a while, she gets up and leaves too.
I'm still just sittin' there.
Why am I always the one in trouble?
Everything is just super awkward now. When the gang convened to patrol later that night, the conversation tended more toward babble than anything coherent. More so than normal, that is.
If you can picture that.
Willow would ramble on about something, then sneak a peek at either Buffy or me. She'd never finish her train of thought, she'd just stammer and move on to the next thing, blushing the whole while. Oz would just take her hand in support and give her a sweet smile.
But Xander just flat out stared at me.
Every time I looked, he was just eyeballin' me. I know what he's thinkin'. He's imagining Buffy and me together, and it was startin' to work my nerves.
Yeah, I know he had a thing for her at one time. In fact, I think he still does.
But he also thinks he's got a thing with me, and that just isn't the case.
It was just the one time.
And yeah, I kinda feel bad that I'm his first and I'll always hold a special place in his heart and all that...but...he wasn't my first.
Not even close.
"Can I help you with something?" I finally say.
"Um, no. I don't think so," he answers.
"Well, then. How 'bout you keep your fuckin' eyeballs to yourself, and your mind outta the gutter?"
Everybody just looks at me.
"Fuck this," I say and leave.
Behind me I can hear Cordy sayin':
"Oh, so now everyone's on the same page?"
I cross town and head over to another cemetery. This place is pretty dead I think, and smirk at my lame humor. Where are the vamps when you need 'em? I've got some pent up energy, and a little vamp action would have been great right about now.
But instead, I hop up onto a tombstone and light myself a cig.
This shit is gettin' out of hand.
Now that Cordelia spilled the beans, I guess the jig is up.
And speakin' of Cordelia...
What did she mean she wouldn't be anyone's second choice?
Is she sayin' I'da had a chance at her, if she'd been my first?
Ya know, I always wondered about her.
People always made the mistake of thinkin' that Cordy wasn't very bright, that she was too self-involved and oblivious to the real world.
Well, she is self-involved, but she's definitely not oblivious.
She's actually pretty sharp. Like an ice pick.
Cordelia always seemed to get things, cuttin' through the bullshit and getting right to the point. She understood the nuance of any situation, the subtleties that most people overlooked.
With that sense of savvy and her killer body, it's a wonder she hadn't dumped Xander sooner. It's a blessing, really. She eventually would have eaten him alive, and he'd have become less of a shell than he already was.
Oh, I'm just pissed at him right now. I don't really mean it.
When I first got into town, I'd notice that she'd be lookin' at me. I assumed it was because Xander hung on my every word and it was a jealousy thing.
Ya know, scope out the competition.
But I guess she was just pickin' up on my vibe. The one most people don't get, cus I've got it so well hidden beneath the vibe I want to give off.
Every once in a while she'd brush up against me, or casually touch my hands. Nuthin' big, nuthin' anyone would write a book about, but it was there. Enough to make me wonder.
Me and Cordy.
Just think of the possibilities.
First thing I'd do is get her on her back, and wrap her long legs around me. I wouldn't even take her clothes off yet, that would come later.
Those fucking legs.
I'd run my hands up her skirt and then down her hips and thighs, sliding my palms against her calves, feelin' the muscle definition in my hands. I'd trail my fingers to her French pedicure toes, so sexy in strappy heels, and I'd lift one to my mouth.
I'm not a toe-sucker by definition. But I could make an exception for Cordelia.
Yeah, I could get into worshipping those feet.
Then I'd work my way back up.
Running my hands and tongue up the insides of her legs, and squeezin' my head up through the opening of her skirt. I'd suck on her clit through her sheer panties. Oh man, I could just smell her scent within the context of that scenario. All her juices and my saliva minglin' together, trapped and potent in the confines of her skirt.
I feel a sharp twinge in my pants.
Fuck, I'm gettin' myself hot!
I wonder what she's up to now?
No sooner than I have that thought, when I hear a twig snap. I flick my cigarette and leap off the 'stone and whirl around in fighting stance, stake in hand.
It's Cordy. She freezes.
"Wow, Faith. Jumpy, much?"
I relax and put the pointy object away. I reach for another cigarette.
"Hey, it's you," I say, lightin' up.
I offer her one. She takes it.
"Well, duh," she says, accepting my light.
She puts her hand on mine as I flick the lighter.
See? Stuff like that.
"Whatcha doin' here, Cordy? Where's the gang?" I ask.
She rolls her eyes and takes a drag. She exhales a fair amount of smoke and says:
"Those losers? I lost them a while back. They're so busy fawning over Buffy, I thought I'd leave them to it."
Yeah, I can picture that. They do fawn over her, minus the crouchin' and lickin' part.
1st definition of the verb. Oxford American Dictionary.
fawn v. (of dog, etc.) to try and win affection or attention by crouching close to a person and licking him.
I'm fairly certain she meant the second definition.
"You walk here all alone then, Cordy? That's not very safe, ya know."
"I'm not alone, silly. You're here, aren't you?"
She flashes me a smile.
I shift my weight from one leg to the other.
I shake my head a little, and let my hair spill over my face.
She smiles and drops her cigarette, crushin' it with her shoe.
"You're not such a tough guy, ya know. I'm a girl too, remember? I know that move. I perfected that move."
Then she leans her head back and moves it from side to side, her beautiful long hair swaying back and forth, catchin' glimmers of moonlight in the shiny brown tresses.
Uh, yeah, she did. Have it perfected, that is.
You wanna play? Let's play.
I saunter back over to the tombstone, turn around, and lean my back against it.
I flick the filter with my thumb, dropping an ash.
"I repeat...whatcha doin' here, Cordy? You hopin' to see God? You thinkin' a little 'Faith' might make that happen?"
I take a drag off my cigarette. Let's see how she reacts to that one.
"Oh my. Aren't we the cocky one. A little sure of yourself, aren't we?"
"I know what I know," I say, " and I know what I'm good at."
"Touché," she acknowledges, "Not only a good point, but to the point as well. I like that. Very nice, Faith."
"Yeah, well, I like to cut to the chase."
She rolls her eyes at me.
Get it? Cut to the chase? Cordelia Chase?
I flick my cigarette away and cross my arms over my chest. She takes the cue and approaches me. She's close enough now that I can smell her perfume. Shalimar or Ode de Joy or some other such expensive shit.
She may be stuck-up, but she sure has class.
She leans in closer to me, placing both of her hands on either side of me, supported by the tombstone. She lowers her body until there is just a fraction of air between us, then whispers into my ear:
"Listen, Faith. I'll never be your girlfriend. But I am your friend, and I wouldn't be opposed to fucking you every now and again..." she pauses.
Her breath in my ear is makin' my nipples hard.
She wants to fuck me? Now and again?
I uncross my arms and let them fall to my sides, she feels this and presses into me.
"... and as your friend," she breathes, "I feel it's my duty to point out a few facts to you. If you want Buffy, you need to make your move. She's not gonna do it for you."
She licks the tip of my ear. I shiver.
"She's not like us, Faith. She'll just wait and wait, letting a good thing pass her by."
She shifts her body and her knee is between my thighs, nudging them open. Her movements are slight, but I can feel her touch through the material on my clit.
I'm on fire.
I part my legs.
She groans into my neck and slides her knee up hard to my crotch. She runs her fingers down my side, and takes hold of my hand. She lifts it in between us to cup her breast, and then she squeezes it.
A steamy moment passes and then she says:
"I don't normally play Dear Abby to dyke drama. But I like you, and I thought you should know. That's the last I'm going to say about it."
She nips my earlobe and brings her face to look at me with her soft hazel brown eyes. Her lips are so close that when she speaks I can feel them brush against mine; her breath is warm and sweet.
"But I will fuck you, Faith. I think that bears repeating. You look like you can afford to lose a little tension."
She gives me a soft kiss and slowly backs away; her fingers still entwined with mine. At arms length she lets go gently, allowing my arm to fall back to my side. Her lips curl up into a small smile, and she turns to walk away.
I call out after her.
"Why won't you be my girlfriend?" I ask.
She glances back at me for a moment, and then continues on her way.
"Because I won't be second best."
I get home and take a shower. Life is a little off-kilter here on the Hellmouth. Seems like the only demons runnin' around here lately are of the emotional kind.
Which is way worse, if you ask me.
I settle back on the bed and think about what Cordelia had said.
She thinks I should make a move on Buffy?
Yeah, like that'll happen. She'd clean my clock in a heartbeat.
And the way she's been actin' lately, she'd probably take a picture and keep it in her scrapbook.
"And this one," she says, forty years in the future, "is when I kicked Faith's ass for kissing me. Black and blue really are her colors, don't you think?"
I'm tired of thinkin' about it. I need to get my mind on something else. Luckily for me, Cordelia has given me lots of material to work with.
My god, that woman is smokin'!
She won't be my girlfriend, but she said she'd fuck me. And she made point of tellin' me.
I could live with that.
So I start wonderin' about where that might happen, exactly. Can't go to hers. Parents. And we sure as hell ain't comin back to mine, cus the look I want to see on her face is pure desire, not a fear for infection.
This dump is really crampin' my style.
The only thing I got goin' for me, is the six hundred thread count Egyptian cotton linens that I have on the bed.
Texture Girl, remember? I spend my money where it 'counts'.
I bet she'd look good on these sheets.
The covers all tangled around her naked body, and her naked body all tangled up with mine.
I reach over to my bedside drawer and pull out an old friend.
Meet Richard. He's my big dick.
I unhook the harness that's attached to it, and bring the toy to the bed.
"Hey, how's it goin', boy?"
I haven't used Richard since my early days in Sunnydale.
A waitress from the Espresso Pump, and a hot redhead from the Bronze.
I haven't really had much of a reason to pull it out lately. Ever since I stopped pickin' up people, that is. It's not like I can say
"Hey Buffy, how do you feel about silicone penises? What's that you say? You've never had the pleasure? Well, step this way, cus I've got someone who's dyin' to meet you."
Oh god. Buffy.
"Out, damn spot, out!"
Right now she's a stain on my happiness and I plan on bein' happy.
At least for tonight.
I reach back into the drawer and pull out some lube.
Come on, Cordy. Make it happen.
I begin to fantasize about takin' Cordy in the graveyard.
Gettin' her naked and tonguing it up, fuckin' her as she bends over a crypt. I picture myself sliding one and then two fingers into her cunt, workin' em in an out of her hole, my wrist just covered from her wetness. I drop to my knees and spread her cheeks with my left hand, runnin' my tongue up her crack, lickin' her. I form more saliva in my mouth so I can tongue her with it, and then I stick it inside of her ass as far as it will go. I start fuckin' her ass with my tongue, my fingers still movin' in and out of her pussy...faster...harder...deeper.
I move my hand away from her ass and reach around to find her clit. I rub it with my thumb. Slow at first, but steady.
Keepin' a perfect rhythm. Not erratic, not frantic, just steady.
I continue tonguing her and fuckin' her fast, in and out, in and out and in and out...I pick up the pace on her clit. I feel her legs shake a little. She's close, but I don't want her to come yet. I slow down on her clit and her legs begin to steady.
She can barely speak, she's breathless.
"Oh...uhh...Faith...mmmm...yeah, fuck me..."
I pull my mouth away and smack her ass.
I drop to my butt and slide up backwards.
I'm under her with my back resting against the crypt. I run my tongue over her clit, giving it a slight suck. She jerks.
I flatten the length of my tongue and I start lappin' her pussy, slow, steady, and then faster. She's so wet she's drippin' down my chin, onto my neck, trailing between my breasts. I pull my fingers out of her pussy and slide my hand between her thighs and slip a finger in her ass.
I slip a second finger inside and I can feel her stretch to accommodate it. She's so fucking tight against my fingers. I start to fuck her ass with sincerity, my tongue lapping her clit with long fluid movements. She's close, I can feel her thighs begin to tense and come together on my arm. Her thighs are like a vise, restricting my movements, so I continue to fuck her ass with just the motion of my wrist and fingers. She's ready, her clit swollen and throbbing under my tongue, she starts to shudder and then goes still.
Her legs clamp down around my head and she's fucking my face, my tongue is still flat and licking but lettin' her find her own rhythm now, her pussy bumpin' against my tongue and teeth.
She raises herself off the crypt and bends to grab the back of my head, pulling my face into her cunt. She comes hard. I keep lickin' her, lettin' her ride it out...
I pull Richard out of me and sigh.
I feel better. Cordy was right about the tension.
As I drift off to sleep, distant images form and surface, teasing my consciousness before blurring and fading away.
Buffy laughin'...Buffy holdin' a fork to my mouth...wrestling with me...dancin' at the Bronze.
The last image I see is of Cordelia, sleek and beautiful, her deep green eyes shining at me...those green eyes...green eyes...green...eyes...
"I love you, Faith," Cordelia whispers.
"I love you, Buffy," I mumble softly, rolling onto my side.
"Who the fuck is it??" I yell, throwin' a pillow at the door.
"It's me, Buffy," comes the answer.
I open one eye and peer at the clock. It's 6:15 a.m.
It's 6:15 a.m.??
No wonder my head is killin' me.
She pounds at the door again.
"Open up, Faith."
I groan and throw on a pair of faded Levi's. I sleep-walk to the door, scratchin' myself.
"Faith," she calls.
"Yeah, yeah, hold up a sec, B. Geez."
I rub my eyes and open the door.
It's still dark out.
She's standin' there, with two cups of steaming coffee and a bag of pastries.
"Nice look, Faith," she says, as she walks in past me.
I look down. Oh. No shirt.
I close the door and follow her inside. I sit on the edge of the bed, watching her.
She has walked over to the opposite side of the room, where I had hauled in and set up an old table. She puts the coffees and pastries down, and says with her back still turned to me:
"We need to talk."
We need to talk?
I look at the clock.
:16 in the morning??
She must be outta her fuckin' mind.
"At 6:16 in the morning, B?" I ask.
She turns around to hand me a coffee, and she freezes.
"What?" I say. So I don't have a shirt on, big deal.
But she's not lookin' at me, she's lookin' at something on the bed next to me.
I turn to look-
She's lookin' at the dick.
Then I follow her eyes to the lube on the nightstand...
... and the harness on the floor.
I know what she's thinkin', so I say:
"No, B, it's not-"
She cuts me off.
"Is there someone here?" She looks towards the bathroom.
"No, B. I swear."
She puts the coffee down and walks to the bathroom.
I don't know why I'm so nervous, I know no one's in there.
She goes in, and I can hear her pushing the shower curtain aside, like she expects to find someone hidin' in there.
She doesn't come back out.
"B?" I finally say.
I get up and walk into the bathroom.
B's sittin' on the toilet seat, face in her hands, crying.
I rush in to kneel in front of her. I place my hands on her knees.
"B, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"
She's crying pretty hard. I don't know what to do.
"B, come on, baby. Talk to me."
She sobs even louder, and it's just tearing me up. I reach to stroke her hair; I have a pit in my stomach.
"Baby, don't cry, okay? Just tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it."
She tries to speak.
"You...hhhhuh...can't...fix...it," she wails.
She places her forehead on her lap. Her shoulders are racked with uncontrollable sobs.
A hot tear lands on my hand, and it breaks my heart.
I pull her forward, and take her into my arms and hold her.
"Yes I can, baby," I promise her, "Of course I can."
Buffy is still crying in my arms.
She is leanin' into me with her arms around my neck.
She's calmed down some, but she's still crying.
I can feel her hot tears slidin' down my skin.
I stroke her hair and massage her back, kneading the spot I know always bothers her. She takes a ragged breath and then exhales near my ear. Her breathing begins to even out, with an occasional body jerk, but slowly it becomes normal.
She moves her head and I feel her lips graze my neck slightly.
My skin prickles.
She adjusts her head to lie on my shoulder, and now her warm breath is directly in my ear. I stop all movement. After a moment, I start again. Rubbin' her back and strokin' her hair.
She whimpers something, and I feel her lips on my neck again.
My skin jumps.
She moves her forehead to rest on my shoulder. She pulls back a little from me, and I feel the cool air come between us, makin' the matter worse.
I know what she's lookin' at.
It's been pretty obvious for a while.
My naked nipples are erect and hard as hell.
I had felt them harden the minute her lips accidentally grazed my neck. It sent chills all over me. And then with her breathin' into my ear. And then with her whimper.
Okay, so I was pretty much hard the whole time.
I had felt it and figured she might too, since she was pressed up against me.
Neither one of us says anything, but we're both aware that we're both aware. She continues to look down at them, and they continue to be hard. I keep strokin' her hair.
Finally she puts her face back into my neck and moves onto my lap.
I lean back against the wall and adjust myself, spreadin' my legs and pullin' her across them so she's wedged sideways on my lap, her butt firmly between my thighs.
After a moment of just holdin' her, she lifts her left hand and begins stroking my hair. She shifts her head so that it's still in my neck, but can also gaze up at me. She trails a finger from my hair and traces my cheekbone...down to my jaw...then up to my lower lip. She strokes it lightly.
I part my lips and a breath escapes me.
I tighten my arms around her as she slips the tip of her finger in farther, touchin' the part that begins my inner lip. She moves her fingertip across it, wetting her finger from the warmth and moisture of my mouth.
She hesitates, like she's waitin' for something, so I lick her finger with the tip of my tongue. I open my mouth and she puts it in all the way. Gently, I close my lips and suck on it, caressing it with my tongue. I look down and I see her lashes, still glistening from her tears. She moves her face back into my neck and she kisses it softly. My mouth releases her finger and she traces it down my chin, under my jaw and down my neck, makin' a wet trail to my breast.
She stops short of the nipple.
She kisses my neck again, and this time I feel her tongue. She begins to suck on my neck and her finger moves to my nipple to rub it, causin' it to tighten and harden even more. She closes her thumb and forefinger, and pinches it before palming the whole breast with her hand.
I take my hand and lift her chin to look at me. My mouth is inches away from hers. I look into her green eyes, and raise an eyebrow in question. She smiles, putting her hand on the back of my head, and pulls it towards her. Her lips are parted and I can see her tongue, and I know in a moment I'll be tastin' it.
Our lips meet and I kiss her softly, and then deeply, slipping my tongue into her mouth. Our tongues touch and she's pushing against mine, lickin' it, sucking on it, and running it over my teeth. I catch it and suck on it, loving the soft feel in my mouth.
She withdraws and looks at me.
Then she looks at my bottom lip and runs her tongue across it; catchin' it between her teeth before slowly suckin' on it. She pulls back, taking my bottom lip with her, and then releases it, lettin' it fall back with a wet plop.
She buries her face in my neck and whispers:
"I love your lips."
I smile and kiss the side of her head.
Even though I'm dyin' to be with her, I won't take it any further.
I never thought I'd get this far.
I hold her in my arms, and place a hundred tiny kisses on her face and neck.
Faith thinks she's so smart.
We get back to my front porch, and as usual, lately, she makes up some lame excuse about why she won't come inside.
"I've had Mickey D's on the brain all day," she lies.
Oh, don't get me wrong.
She probably is going there to get something to eat.
But that's not why she's really leaving.
I offered to make her one of my killer omelets she likes so much; thirteen egg whites loaded with jalapeno pepper jack cheese. The girl likes all of her food hot and spicy, so I always make sure I have plenty of hot sauce and crushed red pepper flakes in the house.
Mom thought I had bought the stuff for myself; so one morning I was eating a quiche she made me, and I almost choked.
Tears formed in my eyes as I coughed and reached for my milk.
Cough! Cough! Oh god. I gulped down the milk.
"What's the matter, Buffy?" Mom asked, all concerned.
I held one finger up as I downed the liquid, milk running down my chin.
"Ugh...oh god, mom," I gasped, "are you trying to kill me?"
I looked at my plate, and saw red flecks all over the inside of the quiche.
"Too hot? I thought you'd like it. Seeing how you have a case of hot sauce and an economy size shaker of chili flakes," she explained.
"Uh, no, mom. It's okay. Just took me by surprise, is all."
I'm not sure why I didn't tell her the truth.
She knew I'd been cooking for Faith. In fact, she even agreed with me about Faith's poor eating habits.
"Well, that's nice of you, Buffy," she had said, "That girl is always shoveling junk into her mouth. She should be grateful she has a friend that's concerned about her health. I'm sure it's something her mother never cared about."
She looked at me.
"What I mean, Buffy," she continued, "is that she must have picked up her habits from somewhere. At her age, you're still displaying habits taught to you from childhood."
My mom. The Psychology Major.
But I knew her comment actually had a double meaning.
First off, she was letting me know that she's aware of Faith's past. I'm not sure how much, because I never told her.
But Faith had had a heart-to-heart with her a few weeks ago. I remember seeing her stroke Faith's hair while Faith had her face buried in my mom's neck. I remember, because I had never seen Faith cry before. I backed myself into the kitchen before she could see I was there, but mom had looked up and seen me.
Second, she was fishing to see if I agreed with her. Mom has always been very careful to try and instill proper values in me. Being a single mother, she's had her fair share of doubts raising a teenage daughter alone. She's worried that the divorce had damaged me, and that any childhood goodness I learned had left the day my dad did.
I smiled at her.
"You're right. Not everyone is as lucky as me, to have a mom like you."
She smiled and looked grateful.
See? I'm pretty good at the psychology stuff too.
But, back to Faith.
Yeah, she thinks she's so smart.
Before she bailed, she had made an off-hand suggestion about us getting naked on the kitchen counter. She's always doing stuff like that. Wiggling her eyebrows at me or puckering her lips.
God, I love her lips.
But I let it slide like I always do.
Cuz that's what I do.
I roll my eyes and ignore things.
I'm not adverse to a good sexual innuendo; I can usually give as good as I get. But Faith is a master at the double entendre. I never know how to respond to her.
I used to just stammer and blush, making her raise an eyebrow at me and grin as I tried to form a comeback.
So instead I just roll my eyes and ignore it.
It's worked out well, so far.
And then she does that thing with her hair.
I may be able to roll my eyes when she teases me with words, but I'm not so good when she does something sexy.
I just freeze.
You know...deer, headlights.
I'm just one big pile of happy road kill, flattened on the side of the road.
Well, not that road kill is really ever happy.
I hate it when she wins.
So she leaves me -no, deserts me- on the porch, and sprints onto the street, high-tailing it like there's a house on fire and she's the only one who can put it out.
I sigh and let myself into the house.
I go to the kitchen and grab the usual.
Non-fat yogurt, low-fat cottage cheese, and pretzels. It really is a good combination.
Faith has asked me many times why I don't cook for myself. And I tell her, every time, that it's just not the same.
What's the point of cooking something, if I can't enjoy watching someone eat it?
Oh, I tried a few times cooking for Angel. And he was a good sport about it too, looking down and seeing the steak on his plate and then looking back up at me, giving me that little "mmmm" tasty sound, with a blank expression on his face.
"Yummy," he'd say.
And I gotta tell ya, it kind of grossed me out when I'd see him cut the meat into little pieces, and then suck the blood right off of them.
Ick factor? Way off the charts.
Besides, throwing a piece of meat into a pan, ten seconds on both sides, is not my idea of cooking.
Now, Faith...well, there's a girl I could cook for, for the rest of my natural life.
Did you catch the natural part? God knows living on the Hellmouth gives me pause for concern. You never know if I might bite the dust, again, and come back as some sort of brain-craving zombie, or some kind of demon whose idea of a gourmet meal is Filet of Kitten in Mushroom sauce.
I can't picture Faith really wanting to eat any of that.
And boy, that girl really enjoys her food. I mean, really.
She'll just look down at her plate, all wide-eyed, and then grin up at me. She'll take a fork and jab at it and stuff it in her mouth, chewing happily.
And many a time with her mouth open.
"Gross, Faith. Can you close your mouth, ya think?"
She'll smile, showing me her food.
"What, B? Don'tcha like see food?"
I'll just sigh and shake my head at her.
"That's your problem, B. No appreciation for the classics." As she munches away, happily.
Yeah, all of that is great. Seeing her savor the fruits of my labor.
Um, okay. Maybe there's not so much of the laboring involved, but you know what I mean.
She displays so much enthusiasm and appreciation, that I just can't help but feel my heart melt a little.
But another reason, and this is a biggie, is I love to watch her mouth move.
I told you about her lips, right?
They're just so perfect and full. And her bottom lip has a little cleft in it.
When she drinks her milk, a tiny drop always seems to find itself there. And I wait for her to lick it off with a slow flick of her tongue.
Don't get me started on her tongue.
I haven't even allowed myself to go there yet. I'm afraid it might put me in a state of catatonia that I'll never come out from.
But back to her lips.
Ah. Those perfect, pouty, delectable lips.
I know this sounds kind of sneaky, but I always make sure to feed her when the food is still piping hot. I'm talking steam rising, so hot that it could peel the paint right off a rocket ship.
I'll hold the fork up to her mouth and watch her blow on it. Her pursed lips just blowing warm air onto the hot food…sometimes the combined heat hits my fingers, and sends shivers down my spine.
Problem is, this is one of those sexy things she does that I'm talking about.
Hello, road kill.
She looks at me, sometimes, with that raised brow of hers, like she knows what I'm up to.
Did I mention I hate it when she wins?
Oh, and speaking of sneaky...
Faith is the sneakiest person I know. You never know what she's up to, and let me tell you, that girl can lie.
She's not always good at it, but that doesn't stop her from doing it.
And she has no shame about it.
None, what so ever.
The first time I found out she lied about something, I couldn't believe it. Why did she lie? What was she going to gain by it?
It really baffled me.
But through the course of time, I realized it was all about control. About what she could get away with. I think it's an offshoot from her childhood. If she told the truth, it could get her in trouble.
It was proven that it was better to lie.
But I also think, and I think this is the main reason, is that when she lies she's in control of the situation. By lying, she can manipulate the outcome of something; tailor it to fit her needs.
I don't think she had much control in her formative years. In fact, I know she didn't. She was left to the whims and ministrations of an alcoholic mother and abusive male figures.
When you're a child, you have no control of your environment. You're left to the mercy of your caregivers.
And I know that there wasn't much giving, and a lot less caring in her younger years.
But I digress.
I rinse off with a quick shower and then start a bath. I love to soak and eat at the same time. It not only eases my muscles and hunger, but it makes me feel decadent as well.
I am Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile. Feed me grapes.
But I don't soak for long, cus I know Faith is waiting for me to call. Oh, I know she doesn't know that I know...but I know.
She thinks she's so smart.
I press the numbers on the phone, and pause before dialing the last digit.
The clock changes.
I press the last number and wait for it to ring.
After finishing my bath, I had brushed my teeth and hurriedly applied body lotion and face cream. I slipped on my baggy cow pajamas and climbed into bed, waiting for the designated call time.
She picks up before the second ring.
"Thanks for calling the CDC, but we're..." I hear her say.
I let her finish her little spiel and roll my eyes.
Faith, the foul-mouthed comedienne.
I realize that she can't see me roll my eyes, so I say:
"Oh gross, Faith. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"Well, B, it wasn't my mother I was thinkin' 'bout kissin'."
That's my Faith.
"Ha-ha, very funny," I say. But I'm smiling, cus I really do think it's cute.
So I ask her if she had taken care of her hungries, and then she asks me the same.
Our conversations always start out like this. I know her objective is to get me to keep talking.
See, I figured out a couple of nights ago what she was up to.
We had finished patrolling, and it had been an exceptionally busy night. I say exceptionally, because lately there's been a lull in demonic activity. It's kind of weird, considering this is the hub for unnatural occurrences, but it happens sometimes.
A gang of out-of-towners had arrived, hoping to create havoc and sample some of the good residents of Sunnydale. There were a dozen of them. It was just Faith and me that evening. The gang was at the Bronze watching Oz play with the Dingoes, and we didn't feel the need to break up their party seeing as how slow it's been in the graveyards and all.
When we approached the cemetery, my Slayer senses started to tingle. I looked over at Faith, and I could tell she felt it too.
"You feel that, Faith?" I asked.
"Yeah, B," she grinned, "and it feels good."
Although we share many of the same attributes when it comes to slaying, our approach to the activity is a whole other story. I tend to engage in verbal quips, teasing my prey with taunting witticisms. Don't get me wrong, I do play a little, getting out any pent-up aggressions that have built up during the day. But after a few moments, I move in for the kill. I'm aware of my surroundings and I don't want to risk being caught unaware.
Well, Faith throws her entire being into beating the unholy shit out of them. She does make the occasional remark, but she's mostly focused on the sheer physicality of it.
She's just brutal.
She can go on for ten minutes, just kicking and punching a single vamp. Pummeling and jabbing, smashing their skulls with her fists.
She likes hearing them scream.
The first time I saw her do this, it scared me. It still does. Pure uncontrolled rage at its finest.
But it's dangerous. It gives her tunnel vision, to the point that she forgets her surroundings, and the trouble it could put herself or her companions in.
I won't let the gang patrol alone with her.
We're working on this, but I don't think she realizes how much it troubles me.
After she annihilated five of the vamps -leaving me with the remaining seven- we sat down to take a rest. Both of our chests were still heaving, trying to catch our breath from the carnage. She pulled out a cigarette and lit up.
I just looked at her.
"What, B? I'm pretty worked up still. I need something to calm me down," she explained.
I didn't say anything, because I knew the alternative.
She'd go out later and pick someone up.
And as selfish as this sounds, risking her lungs to the tar and toxins, I'd rather her smoke a pack of cigarettes than go find someone to have sex with.
I can't bear the thought.
Eventually we got up and walked back to my house. She'd calmed down a little -seven cigarettes will do that for you- but I could feel the blood still pumping through her. I was worked up, too, but nowhere near to what she was feeling.
It frightened me.
When we got to my porch, I tried to get her to come inside, to keep her with me. I didn't want to let her out of my sight, for fear she'd leave me to go find release in the arms of some stranger.
Not that an acquaintance would have been any better.
But you know, finding release with anyone other than me.
I had been grappling my feelings for her for weeks, now. Ever since we had gotten close a few months ago, I had found myself growing more and more drawn to her.
She has the bad-girl-laced-with-vulnerability charisma thing down to a T.
I've always found myself more attracted to complex people.
And yeah, the whole 'gay' thing had entered my mind. But just for a second. I've kissed girls before, usually at slumber parties and always in fun. I had always enjoyed the softness of a girl, kind of in the same way you'd enjoy the hardness of a man.
And I don't mean of the erection kind.
So that part didn't bother me. The whole girl-on-girl aspect of it. No, what bothered me was the intensity of it. It was almost excruciating. The first and last time I felt this way was with Angel, and that didn't turn out so well.
Forget about the whole him-turning-evil thing.
I'm taking about a sixteen-year old girl, feeling and experiencing things she's never felt before.
It was beautiful and breathtaking...and agonizingly painful.
It was about growing up.
When he left me, it was as if my entire world had been shattered.
What was I supposed to do with all of these emotions I had?
Pretend they didn't exist?
But I managed, somehow. As well as could be expected, I suppose. Like Faith said, "Big love, Big loss."
It just doesn't work any other way.
So these feelings for Faith were exciting, and yet unwelcome all at the same time.
Was I ready for this?
I knew Faith was attracted to me, it was fairly obvious. I'm not talking just about her sexual comments, she did that with everyone...although when she did them with me, it was just...different.
It was the way she always tried to get close to me; getting in between Willow and me, for example, if we're sitting in a booth at the Bronze, and how she was always finding a way to touch me.
I have to say I liked it. That's when I noticed my feelings for her were changing. I'd wait to see how she'd maneuver herself into position, getting as near to me as she possibly could. Plus, she never cared if anyone noticed. She was just so brazen about it.
I'd caught the look on Willow's face a few times when she did it. Shock and outrage, like she just couldn't believe the audacity of the girl. She'd look at me as if to say, "Can you believe this bitch?" and I'd just shrug and give an apologetic smile.
Faith was claiming her territory, and I was it.
No, I didn't like it. I loved it.
Anyway, nothing I could say would get her inside.
She just kept moving her weight around, shifting from foot to foot, practically forcing herself to contain her energy.
So I let her go.
It hurt to see her act so caged up like that. If I couldn't –no, wouldn't- help her with her needs, then who was I to stand in her way?
I tried to be a bigger person...
...but it was killing me.
She left in a hurry, God knows where, but I'm sure that I didn't want to know.
After my bath, I called her.
I just couldn't stand it. It was ripping me up, and even though I knew I was risking possibly even more pain, I just had to find out.
When she answered, I was relieved. Unless she found someone on the way home, there was no way she had the opportunity to pick up food and cruise in the allotted time span.
But, of course, that didn't mean she couldn't go out again after she ate.
So I talked to her while she was eating, and just kept coming up with stuff to keep her on the phone. A couple of times she tried to interrupt me, something about needing more cigarettes, but I wouldn't let up.
No. She was not leaving that motel.
Finally she just sighed and gave up. I smiled...
...and then her breathing changed.
It was a small change. The average ear would never have caught it, but Hello! Slayer, here.
It surprised me at first.
Oh my god. Is she touching herself? I thought.
And then a warm flush spread throughout my body, and I became wet.
Faith was touching herself while she was talking to me.
Well, okay, I admit it. I did most of the talking.
She was mostly grunting.
Yes, the girl still grunts. It's such a disgusting sound, really. And yet, as Oz would say, strangely affecting.
It was turning me on.
So I slipped my hand into my bottoms and started touching myself, too.
I'm not a prude. I do masturbate. I do have the same urges a normal girl my age would have, and add the fact that I'm a Slayer...well, I'm not quite like Faith, but I have my moments, too.
I slipped a finger inside myself and then quickly withdrew. Okay, maybe I'm a little bit of a prude. Rubbing myself was one thing, but fucking myself was another. I find that I embarrass myself.
But Faith, I'm sure, has no such qualms.
I'm sure she was just fucking herself up a storm...
I like that visual.
I bet she was thinking about me.
Thinking about what she'd do to me, if she ever got the chance.
She's probably got two fingers inside herself right now. Pushing them in and out of her vagina and rubbing her button. She's probably picturing me underneath her, pulling my legs around her neck as she goes down on me, playing with my breasts at the same time. She might even picture licking lower, and then slipping a finger in "there"…
God, I suck at dirty talk.
Good thing she doesn't require it.
I'm sure Faith would just die laughing if she had heard my thoughts.
" 'Vagina', B? 'Button'?" she'd mock, " 'Going down on you'? In 'there?' "
Then, of course, she would say all those words to me as if I were a foreign exchange student.
"That would be PUSSY, B."
"That would be CLIT."
"In America, B, we call that EATING OUT and RIMMING," she'd tease, " And 'there', would mean ASS-FUCKING."
God, I could just hear it.
But, like I said, I get embarrassed.
It wasn't long before I heard her breathing get faster, more labored. I heard a groan escape from her lips before she caught herself and began coughing.
...but god, that was quick.
"What's the matter, Faith? Why are you coughing?"
"Um...uh..." she gulped for air, "Cigarette...ugh...smoke...wrong pipe," she choked out.
Well, that sucks, I thought. I'm not done.
"So what else ya know, B?" she asked.
Well, okay, then.
And I began to hear her breathing again.
After a while I finally finished. I think Faith finished two more times.
She's a quick one, all right. I'd have to remember that.
After I explain to her for the hundredth time why I don't like to cook for myself, she gives me an opening.
"Ya know, B. I love it when you cook for me. It makes me happy, too."
"Really?" I say, "I never would have guessed that, seeing how you've been so keen on running away as soon as we get to my house."
Yeah, she thinks she's so smart. Let's see her get out of that one.
I can just picture her kicking herself.
"Faith?" I question.
And believe it or not, after only a few moments of stalling, she actually pulls it off.
She brought up an instance that happened last week, where my mother had walked in on us during a grape throwing fight.
Well, walked in isn't really the right description.
More like dropped in.
It was priceless.
She kind of tripped on Faith somehow, and wound up falling down on her in a 69 position.
If it hadn't been my mother, it would have been hysterically funny...or maybe because it was my mother, it was hysterically funny.
But the odd thing is, is that even after a whole week, my mom still seems embarrassed by it all. I don't know why. I mean, sure, I get that it's not how you'd expect to greet your daughter's friend in the middle of the night, but it was just an accident.
I just don't get it.
So when Faith used that for an excuse, I really couldn't argue with her.
But man, that sure was funny. We both started cracking up from the memory of it.
Then just for the fun of it, I ask her one more time if that's the real reason, and then I let it go.
She starts asking me questions, and I knew this was my cue to start talking. Like I said, she doesn't know that I know...but I know.
So I answer her questions, and soon I hear her breathing pattern change. It's slight, but since I'm listening for it, I can hear it.
I pay attention, because as stupid as it may sound, I'm trying to gage where's she's at so I can time myself to come with her.
But I think it's sexy, so I do it.
And then, not even one minute later, she comes.
Oh, come on, Faith! I think. That's just lame, even for you. But soon she starts up again and I'm happy. Maybe we'll come together this next time.
But something's different.
Her breathing is more pronounced. You wouldn't need to be a Slayer to hear it this time. So I say:
"Faith, what are you doing?"
Now try getting out of this, I think.
And she does it again! I'm just no match for her.
Sit-ups. That girl is ingenious.
But it actually works out better for me, because now she's not even pretending not to breathe hard. It was much easier to gage her timing.
Well, that and the fact that the phone dropped on the floor.
Pretty much a dead give-away.
We continued on with this pattern for a few more nights. It was incredible. She'd run off, and I'd call her at 2 a.m. under the guise that I wanted to do sit-ups with her. The little sneak took advantage of my competitive nature and tried to con me into believing every time she'd orgasm, it was another hundred sit-ups she'd done.
She likes to play games, so I let her. Besides, she still doesn't know that I know.
But when she let me do six hundred "sit-ups" and "win" it finally dawned on me.
How much longer will this be enough for her?
Oh, she's happy now. Because she thinks she's getting away with something, but eventually she'll grow tired of it, and want the real thing.
A real body.
Mine, or someone else's.
It nags at me. I have some real thinking to do.
Am I ready for this?