Smitten

So only one more chapter to go after this one.


Chapter Eight

*

You put your face in front of mine
And breathed a wordless conversation
Good intentions, true regret
Cannot eclipse love's desperation
Smitten, by Bree Sharp

*
The night outside the warehouse was cold. After frying Balthazar, the electricity was out for the entire block. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the days of unsettled weather coming to a head in the approaching storm. Buffy held Faith and was held by her; they waited in the darkness for a full minute after the last of Wesley's fussy questions and Giles' sharp retorts faded in the distance. Lightning cracked sharp and immediate, leaving behind green afterimages and a sharp ozone smell.

It was time to get under cover. It was the deepest part of the night, and they both smelled of blood and fear. There were no guarantees that some random vamp wouldn't stumble over them and have his one lucky day. They were closer to the motel than to Buffy's house, and they turned tlk tlk that way without so much as a word spoken between them. Buffy felt she would never speak again. She had lost her words somewhere back in the warehouse, in the madness of slaying. The world screamed at her, more real, more immediate than it had ever been, her Slayer sensitivity keyed to a fever pitch. Even in the blackness, she could sense their route. Above them, the clouds shone silver, oppressive with unshed rain.

They were covered in vamp dust, the grit of it mingled in the slickness of their blood. Buffy was sure the smell of it was going to drive her crazy, like some unsettling aphrodisiac. Faith's body next to hers felt as hot as an oven, dangerous, delicious. Buffy wanted to lower her head to touch her lips to Faith's skin; taste the salt of her sweat, take in that heat as if she could warm herself with kisses.

Faith's arm tightened around her waist and Buffy was sure she felt the same--that they had edged towards this ending for too long. No interruptions. No holding back. Buffy had given herself over to the Slayer side of herself and she was still alive, still breathing, still wanting. Angel was gone and that hurt. It would always hurt. But it was time she let herself move forward. She had given up his ring and now she would give up, if not his memory, then at least the hold that his love had on her. Her mind was whirling in circles, but foremost among her thoughts she knew she couldn't cheat Faith. Not after last night. She had to show her that this was real, between them, no matter what tomorrow brought. This was more than any Slayer thing. This was desire.

The seduction came in months of looks, appraisal, jokes, innuendo; it came from learning each other's bodies on the training floor, the way they moved and fought and breathed, the taste of their mingled sweat after a bout of wrestling. The foreplay was two days of battles, of dancing, of wandering fingers and rough kisses stolen in dark alleys. It had taken Buffy by surprise, but she was ready for it now. Ready for Faith.

The motel was dark and Faith fumbled with her key for what seemed like forever. Lightning slammed behind them but neither turned around. The world was forgotten. Buffy held Faith from behind and waited patiently for Faith to unlock the door. It didn't matter. They would be together soon, so soon.

If Buffy had ever imagined this--which she hadn't, because, no, she wasn't like that--she would have imagined it hard and fast, like so many of Faith's stories, like the hasty touch of fingers in a bathroom stall in the Bronze, like the hardness of a crypt wall against her back. She would have imagined something as meaningless and empty as Faith's motel room, slamming into walls, the dresser, the doorknob digging into her lower back, as if only bruises could make this real, as if pain was the only thing sharp enough to mask the crashing ferocity of their passion.

They both stripped when the door was closed behind them. Buffy watched Faith's silhouette and felt her body throb with desire. Oh, yes, please. Now. But she still had no words. Faith led the way to the bathroom, leaving the door open and the lights off. With the storm rumbling closer, there was no way to tell if the power would have worked, anyway. It didn't matter. Their breathing quickened as they stared at each other. Slayers didn't need lights.

They washed first, sharing the shower, not because it was sexual but because Buffy was sure they couldn't stand on their own. They clung to each other, arms around waists. The touch of skin on skin was electric even now, far away from the fighting, the slaying. Buffy closed her eyes to see Faith better; to see her unmarked by dark bruises and sword cuts. Faith's breasts pressed into hers with each breath, and Buffy could feel her nipples hardening as the water eased the friction between them. The touch of her was so good, so needed. Buffy let her lips rest on the junction of Faith's neck and shoulder, remembering last night in the alley, the slow slick taste of skin that she'd taken without permission. Now, Balthazar's fingerprints raised angry welts across Faith's neck, and Buffy kissed them softly, willing them away. Her lip stung where she'd bitten it, but that at least reassured her that this was no dream.

The water ran hot for only a few minutes, but it was enough to staunch the blood and shed the scent of fighting; enough to let Buffy believe that they had arrived at this point in some other way; enough that the steam could veil their nakedness as they dried off and Faith slowly drew her into the dimness of the bedroom.

If Buffy had ever imagined this, she would have thought of Angel--the only experience she had to judge by. She would have imagined that Faith secretly shared Angel's gentleness; that Faith would give her a small reassuring smile and whispers of I love you. Buffy's night with Angel was the only time she had felt that inexplicable sensation grow until it filled her mind with pleasure and seemed to go on forever but ended too soon.

Oh, but Faith was nothing like Angel.

She wrapped her arms around Buffy from behind. They were both warm from the shower, but somehow Faith was always warmer. She moved Buffy forward, pressing her face down on the mattress. Buffy could smell old sweat and older sex on the sheets, and she didn't care. All that mattered was Faith's hand bearing down on her shoulder, the weight of her nearness, hovering behind her. Faith climbed on to the bed and straddled her. Buffy shuddered as she felt the dampness between Faith's legs as she nudged her pussy against Buffy's lower back.

Buffy turned her head to the side, not fighting, only wanting to watch Faith's face above her. Faith's fingers trailed down her back, then returned more slowly, tracing the outline of knotted muscles. She pushed her thumbs into Buffy's back, finding the tightness along her spine and under her shoulder blades and easing it away. Faith's fingers were long and slender, pressing slow and deep into her muscles, working hand and excitement into her back. Buffy hummed into the blankets and waited, waited, knowing, trusting. She listened to Faith's breathing, the flutter of her heartbeat. Buffy let her eyes drift closed, lost in the sweetness of Faith's touch.

Faith leaned forward and moved her hair to one side, exposing the skin. Buffy moaned when Faith kissed her there, her mouth open and moving over her neck. She stretched, giving Faith easier access, silently begging for more. Faith sucked on her pulse until it raced beneath her lips, and Buffy's breath hitched with each movement. Faith's hands were still on her shoulders, massaging, and her kisses wandered over Buffy's throat. Buffy gasped and pressed upwards, feeling Faith's nipples peaked against her back, the wetness between her legs increasing as she swayed against Buffy's ass.

"Oh, Faith..." The words came as naturally as breathing. Her voice wasn't lost, after all.

Faith's tongue found her earlobe, swirling into the sensitive flesh behind her ear. "Buffy..." she whispered, almost too softly for Buffy to hear, even so close, even with Slayer hearing. As if Faith didn't want to be caught saying her full name. Her hands were moving lower now, down Buffy's sides, feeling the curve of her breasts. Lower, and her arms slid beneath Buffy, both reaching for the junction of her thighs. Her fingers reached and then pressed upwards.

"Ah!" Buffy writhed on the bed, pinned between Faith's hands below and her thrusting hips above. Their bare legs moved together on the smooth sheets. fy gfy gasped as Faith slid a single finger between her pussy lips, too gently, slowly outlining her opening. Faith drove her pelvis down again, harder, and suddenly Buffy was floating on sensation, but it was too soon. "Wait...not yet..." She twisted around until she was facing Faith, her finger slipping out. Buffy lifted her arms and pulled Faith close for a kiss, pouring all her emotions into it. Faith's weight on top of her was incredibly erotic, and her mouts was warm and wet.

The kiss started as if they had all the time in the world, licking and sucking on lips and tongues; but it grew hotter, harder, Buffy now burying her hands in Faith's thick hair and whimpering into her mouth. Faith returned her fervor, and Buffy wanted to cry with the longing that rushed through her. She cupped Faith's face, being careful of the sword-slash on her cheek. She tasted her tongue, deepening the kiss, drawing Faith's breath into sighs. Buffy's body sang with arousal, the memory of Faith's fingers entering her urging her on.

Buffy reached for Faith's breasts, stroking them, then rolling over so that Faith was beneath her. She didn't pause, but started kissing her way down Faith's neck, still rubbing her breasts, reaching for her nipples and pinching and rolling them between two fingers.

"Yeah..." Faith breathed, again, softly, as if speaking was forbidden.

Buffy followed her fingers with her tongue, licking over Faith's taut nipples, then sucking them into her mouth. Faith hissed, running her hands over Buffy's hair, stopping short of holding her head in place. Buffy pulled harder, creating a vacuum with her mouth, until Faith was whimpering with every breath. She moved from one peak to the other, fingers and mouth dancing over Faith's flesh, amazed at the pleasure surging through her as she worked to make Faith squirm.

Buffy reached between them, her fingers exploring, and Faith's breath exploded near her ear. "Here?" Buffy asked. Faith only nodded, her eyes wide and dark. Buffy slid her fingers slowly into Faith's wet heat, feeling her swollen folds and slick fluid. Faith nodded again, closing her hand over Buffy's, guiding her.

"Inside," she muttered, watching Buffy intently. "Please, Buffy."

"Yes." Buffy extended one finger, then two, slowly, slowly. Faith swallowed hard, her hips moving in time with Buffy's rhythm, then speeding up.

Faith rolled suddenly, until she was on top, kneeling over Buffy and moving up and down on her hand. "More..."

Buffy did as she asked, pushing a third finger past the second knuckle deep inside Faith, working her thumb over her hard clit. Faith nodded again, helplessly, her head hanging, her hair a tangled shadow falling over her shoulders.

Buffy watched Faith's face, waiting for the open, hungry look she'd worn when Buffy had cupped her through her jeans. She wanted, needed to see that look again--all of Faith's barriers disappearing, leaving her more beautiful than ever. Buffy wanted to see Faith's eyes darken and finally close when she couldn't control herself any longer, as Buffy's fingers dissolved all her rational thought. She wanted to feel Faith's walls tremble around her hand as she twisted her wrist with every thrust, and her mouth open as she cried out Buffy's name.

If Buffy had imagined this, she would have known their joining would be entirely different from the coldness of Angel's erection as he slid inside her. She would have imagined a fire that burned like the touch of Faith's body against hers on the dance floor, as hot as her anger when they fought side by side, as bright as her laughter. She would have imagined pleasure again in equal measure, because she and Faith could only clash every time they came together.

She would not have imagined tears. Faith's eyes brimmed with them even as she squeezed her eyes shut and she cried out, and they rolled down her cheeks as she rode Buffy's hand. Faith gasped, her muscles rippling with effort, drops of sweat trickling down between her breasts. She was soaking wet, and Buffy thrust her fingers faster, using all the strength in her arm, anything to keep Faith shaking and calling out her name. Faith gave one last shuddering thrust and froze, her inner muscles working hard around Buffy's hand. "Ah--Buff--Buffy..." She leaned forward, panting.

Buffy reached up to brush away Faith's tears, but Faith shook her head and pushed away her hand. "Your turn," she said, with all the cockiness and bad-girl attitude she could muster. It rang false. Buffy wanted to ask what was wrong, but then Faith was kissing every inch of her, her mouth searing Buffy's body. Buffy's hips lifted off the bed instinctively, her flesh quivering under Faith's assault.

Faith licked her way over Buffy's stomach, dipping into her bellybutton. Buffy moaned, clutching the sheets in her hands. Faith breathed over the wet trails, raising gooseflesh, and crawled lower.

"Faith...oh, God..."

"Shh, B, it's okay..." Faith placed a kiss just above her pussy, and then moved down. She spread Buffy's folds with her fingers and took one long lick. Buffy shuddered, heat flashing through her entire body. Faith sucked on her lips, both sides in turn, drinking down the liquid that coated Buffy's thighs. Her hands were busy, too, flicking over Buffy's clit until her head was thrashing back and forth, small moans catching in her throat. She was so close. Every action that had led to this moment flashed in front of her--the Slaying, the Bronze, Angel, and Faith, always Faith, at her side, kissing her, teeth and lips and tongue, sucking hard on her clit now, oh, yes, Faith, Faith--

If Buffy had imagined this--

Oh, if she had known--

She could never have imagined this--

At last, she thought, oh, love, at last, and then the rapture overtook her and she disappeared into pure sensation, pure pleasure.

"Faith!" she screamed, or thought she screamed, because she was nowhere near her voice. She was lost, falling, forever, exploding into nothingness and then returning. "Oh god, oh god, Faith, yes--yes--"

It lasted for an eternity and slid away like a forgotten dream. "Faith..." Buffy sighed, and wanted to say so much more, but she could only say Faith's name, over and over, like a prayer.

Faith's hands slowed, her tongue lapping up the last of Buffy's come, and rested her forehead on Buffy's stomach for a moment. She lifted Faith until they lay side by side once more.

If Buffy had imagined this, she would have pictured them as inexhaustible, rising to greater and greater heights with each orgasm, stroking joy from each other's bodies until the night dimmed with the coming dawn. She would have thought of stamina greater than lust, of want and desire stronger than fatigue.

But they were both injured, exhausted from three days of almost, almost. Faith's cuts had faded to angry red lines across her ribs, her bruises to blue-green blotches on her skin. Buffy felt her strains return to her, the overextended muscles and pulled tendons. The sheets were warm with their loving, the rain pattering a soothing rhythm on the roof. Their enemies were dead, their desire sated, and their bodies nestled together so easily. So right.

Faith was still kissing her, her hand drawing idle caresses on her skin. Buffy pulled the blankets over them and returned the kisses, slow and warm. Faith sucked on her tongue, her hand resting on Buffy's stomach, rubbing small circles. Buffy sighed, tasting herself on Faith's lips. She stroked her fingers down Faith's back, feeling her shiver when she reached the ticklish spots near her waist. They took their time, the kisses lingering, the long looks drawing out.

If Buffy had imagined this, she would have imagined an act as tender as a knife blade, as uncaring as a memory.

Instead there was only this. Small touches. Soft lips. Fading into sleep.

Not an ending, but a beginning.




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To be continued.