Queen For Good
A/N: Post "Enemies". katemonkey organized Secret Slasha 2004. I was assigned to someone who ended up dropping out, but she requested dark NC-17 Buffy/Faith. Or something like that. Title and summary taken from Curve's "Chinese Burn."
Summary: She doesn't give a fuck what you might say.
Listen to the Music
The night's warm enough that Faith leaves her jacket at her apartment when she goes out, or that's the excuse she gives the Mayor when she stops by the office and he chides her for "immodest clothing."
The weather's nice, true, but she's more interested in showing off the cut and cling of the halter top she snagged that afternoon while walking through one of those oh-too-chic boutique stores that she's able to walk through because she's vaguely connected to the Mayor. It's also the reason she never gets called on the stuff she lifts.
She can afford to buy the clothes, at least she thinks she could, if she checked into that payroll she's supposed to be on, but she likes the way the shopgirls look at her when she strolls out of the stores with eighty dollars worth of merchandise stuffed into her back pocket.
The Mayor gives her the night off, muttering about yet another ceremony, so Faith hits the Fish Tank, grinds against a few girls and more than a few boys, but they're too predictable, too boring. After the second time some guy with a few too many beers in him attempts to shove her into a corner, Faith breaks his wrist. Then she breaks his friend's nose for good measure, and grins when the path to the door clears in front of her.
It's a good night, overall, so she isn't prepared when Buffy shoves her into a nearby alley and slams her against a brick wall.
"Hey, B." She can feel the bruises begin to form beneath her skin, and Buffy backhands her twice before she speaks.
"Faith." Buffy runs her hands over Faith's hips and thighs, checking for weapons. It's obvious nothing could hide under the halter top. Finding nothing, she backs up a step.
"Nice of you to check up," Faith responds. "Were you in the neighborhood?"
"You and Angel," Buffy says, ignoring the question. "What happened?"
Faith rolls her eyes. "You tell me, B. Or," she takes in the way Buffy's fists clench, the way Buffy avoids her eyes, "are you worried your little plan worked too well?" She smirks. "What did Angel say?"
Faith pushes off the wall. "You didn't ask him, or you wouldn't be here asking me." She takes a step forward. "Afraid of the answer? Afraid to hear the deep, dirty secrets of Angel's day out?"
Buffy's arm swings up, but Faith expects it and catches her wrist, swings her around and slams her against the wall, presses their bodies together.
"Wish it had been you, B?" She slides one hand around Buffy's waist. "Wish you had been me?" Twitches their hips together, and laughs when Buffy arches against her. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Buffy bares her teeth, but Faith yanks Buffy's skirt up, works one of her legs between, and whatever threat Buffy was about to spit out becomes a hiss of pleasure.
"Too long," Faith whispers, doing a slow grind and slipping a hand under Buffy's camisole, palming her breast.
Buffy's muscles loosen, and Faith releases Buffy's wrist and grabs her ass, canting their hips closer together.
"Too long with just your right hand." She pulls her skirt up higher, feels the damp of Buffy even through her panties. "Scott didn't even try to get a taste of you, did he?"
Buffy moans, twists as Faith's fingers ease under the elastic of her panties, against her and then inside her. She brings her hands up to Faith's shoulders, and Faith tenses, expecting an attack. Instead, Buffy slips her hands behind Faith's neck and brings her head down, their mouths together, and Faith almost forgets what she's doing when Buffy's tongue slides against hers.
She pulls away after a long minute, breathing harshly, and then deliberately circles Buffy's clit once, twice. Buffy throws her head back, and Faith stops.
Steps back. Surveys her work.
Buffy is posed prettily against the brick, her skirt hitched up around her hips, and one of her breasts exposed. Her legs are spread shoulder-width apart, and her hands are braced against the wall. She's looking straight at Faith, and she looks very, very pissed.
But Faith just smirks, because there's also desperation in Buffy's eyes. She was close, still is, but Faith isn't ready to give Buffy what she wants.
Not until she gets what she wants, and she says so.
For a second, Faith thinks that Buffy might walk away. She ducks her head, takes Buffy's nipple into her mouth, swirls her tongue around it. Buffy shivers, and Faith knows she's won.
She switches their positions, putting her back against the wall, and pointedly undoes the button and zipper of her jeans. Places Buffy's hands on her waist and gives them a little push.
Buffy slowly sinks to the ground, her clothes still disheveled, and she yanks Faith's jeans down roughly. "I hate you," she says before she slicks her tongue over Faith's thighs, but Faith only laughs, and digs her fingers into Buffy's hair.
She wouldn't have it any other way.