Smitten

Wow, another one! Can you believe this? I'm beginning to think I can't. Ah well. Onwards.

Title: Smitten (again, WIP, but then, would you appreciate me as much if I didn't let you feel the update!love?)

Rating: NC-17, and pretty damn soon.

Timeline: Bad Girls

Summary: Will Faith's killing in the alley destroy the feelings that might be growing between her and Buffy?

Author's Note: I haven't seen Bad Girls in a while, but I think the fic flows better if I let canon be only a mild guide. So if I get the details wrong it's my fault. Just so you know.

Author's Second Note: I always swore I wouldn't write a songfic. Obviously I need to practice my swearing. However, because I always hate lyrics within stories, I've helpfully placed them at the beginning, where you can ignore them if you wish.

Author's Third Note: But really. Go buy Bree Sharp's album, "A Cheap And Evil Girl". Because it's awesome.


*

Smitten

You put your face in front of mine,
All but hiding desperation.
Hunger leaks out of your eyes,
Whetting me with dark temptation.
Smitten, by Bree Sharp

*

It wasn't like Buffy hadn't skipped class before. It wasn't even the first time she'd skipped a test.

Climbing out the window while the teacher's back was turned was new, though.

But Faith's grin was a challenge and a dare, her raised eyebrow accused Buffy of being chicken, and the little heart she'd drawn in the mist of her breath--well, it didn't mean anything, just that there were vamps to slay, but something about it prickled at her and made her jump up, filled with a strange, dark energy. She barely even noticed Willow's protests and Xander's gape, just did what she had to do--climbed out and followed Faith. Faith was leaning back against the warm brick wall, her smile wide and lazy and showing off her dimples. She tipped her head back and leered at Buffy, smoothly, blatantly, again with the daring--now, daring Buffy to call her on checking her out. Buffy didn't say anything this time because she'd never had the nerve to say anything before. The first time she'd noticed Faith's eyes doing the leisurely once-over, she hadn't believed it; now, it was just par for the course, just Faith, and Buffy shivered under the appreciative weight of her stare and ignored it.

As much as she could.

"Come on, girlfriend, we got vamps to slay," Faith said, and led the way. She was walking way faster than she needed to. They both were. Buffy was psyched up on the feel of Faith's eagerness, the amazing high of anticipating the slay. Adrenaline pumped through her and she fought not to break out into an exultant run, knowing that Faith would match her, would challenge her and push her until they were breathless and aching and yet still filled to the brim with that strange desire. It was partly the Slayer-instincts in her that ached for the kill, and partly it was the way Faith--

Well, it was a Slayer thing. Even Willow wouldn't understand the death-need of it, the way every vamp exploding into a choking cloud around her stake made her almost complete. Almost. It was a thing she sort of understood about Angel--he felt the same way about blood. Every time he drank from his little hospital blood-packets, he was doing what the demon inside him demanded--almost.

The demon wanted more. The demon wanted death and pain and the hot spurting feel of a torn carotid artery, pumping out bittersweet blood in time with the last of a victim's screams. Angel was burying a part of himself, denying that he still wanted that. But she knew he did--she could sense it, every time his kisses moved over her neck and he would jerk away like she burned him. And he would end it, there, tell her it was late, she should be sleeping, and she knew that when she was out of sight he would be running--running away from her. From her blood.

And until Faith arrived, Buffy had been running as well.

She'd hated the death-lust inside her. She pushed it aside and pretended slaying was only a job, a chore. She'd hidden the quick thrill of killing underneath a barrage of puns and quips. Like it didn't mean anything. Like she wasn't living for it, with it, in it…

Almost. Because she'd never given in completely. Not yet.

Sometimes, in the beginning, when she was out slaying with Merrick and then Giles, she would make her kill and then turn to them only to see them staring at her strangely, like they were wondering about her…wondering what she was truly feeling. They were probably looking for signs of it, whatever it was--the desire that filled her in hot, shuddering waves after a long night's patrol. The desire she fought against when she was alone, in bed, in the shower…

Not that there was anything wrong with it, just--she wasn't like that. She wasn't.

Oh, but Faith was.

She sauntered along the street like a goddess lowering herself enough to appear on the earth. She was wearing leather like a second skin, even in the California heat. She was probably wet with sweat inside those pants, although the filmy barely-there shirt might be compensating. Every couple of blocks she'd drop back two steps behind Buffy for a moment, and Buffy could practically feel her eyes, like hands, roaming over her ass and then down between--

Faith had taught her that the slay-lust wasn't bad, wasn't evil, in the same way that Angel's need for blood was. But Buffy knew she was the better slayer because she kept it under control. Faith was wild and careless, chasing down her high however she could, no matter what danger she put herself in. Kendra had been the exact opposite--too controlled, like a Watcher's experiment in trying to rein in a Slayer's natural tendencies. And those two extremes tore at Buffy, like one big tug-of-war, the wanting on one hand and the caution on the other.

The more she slayed with Faith, though, the more the desire was winni Rig Right now--right at this exact moment--she knew that if a vampire appeared, she would stake it with a smile on her face and a quivering pleasure curling between her legs.

"Here," Faith said. She was holding a stake, its grip shiny with long familiarity in her hands. She was pointing at a manhole cover, and all at once Buffy felt like she'd been doused in ice water. Clarity and prudence returned.

"How many?" she asked.

"Six, I think," Faith said. "Come on, don't tell me you're scared?"

"Six to two? In the sewers? And you're not even sure--it could be more."

Faith shrugged, thevilevil-may-care gesture, and flashed another dimple-showing grin. She looked Buffy up and down again, slowly, lingering in all the right places. "I may not die happy," she said. "But it will have been close." She kicked the manhole cover off. It hit the pavement with a grand, ringing clang that would probably warn every vamp in a mile-wide radius. "Your call, girlfriend," Faith said, and dropped down into the sewer.

Lust and fear. Being good or being free. Sounds of combat drifted up, Faith's voice yelling curses, and before Buffy could make a rational decision, she was falling into the dark.

A vamp was on her immediately, huge and incredibly strong. Buffy felt the tightness in her gut that screamed danger at her, that told her she was surrounded, that was her Slayer-self tensing at the feel of vampires. She lashed out with a kick to his kneecap that sent him stumbling back with a growl. She launched herself at him, her punches exploding in his face, his ribs. She felt the crunch when she broke his nose, blood streaming down his face. His tongue darted out ap aap at it, and he grinned at her, showing fangs. Buffy grabbed him when he rushed her and sent him over her hip, flying into the concrete wall. Before he could rise, she slammed her stake into his back. She felt it in slow motion, as it went through his clothes, piercing his skin, slipping through the bands of muscle, cracking a rib--and, finally, sinking into his heart. With a sound like a sigh, he dissolved into a dusty skeleton and then into nothingness.

And it was good.

She was grabbed from behind next, thick arms cutting off her breath and squeezing her ribs. She drove an elbow backwards, then leaned forwards to throw the next vamp over her head and down on her back. He leapt to his feet and swiped a punch at her that caught her high on her right cheek. Her eye watered, but not enough to blind her, and she swung a roundhouse kick into his temple, knocking him for a loop. He grabbed at her feet and pulled her to the ground beside him, and she cracked her elbow on the slimy shit-smelling floor. She scrambled closer to him, switching her stake to her other hand, wrestling him until she had his hand up behind his back. She twisted, hard, pressing at the same time, and felt more than heard the dull snap of his collarbone. He howled, all the fight gone out of him, and she drove her stake home. She was left sitting in his dust and a pool of filthy who-knew-what, in her favourite pants, no less. Her Slayer-rage was trying to emerge, clawing at the cage she'd imposed on it, but she forced herself to stop and see what was happening.

Faith was fighting the last vampire, and taking a beating. The tight confines of the sewer were no place for her wide, sweeping style, and she'd already taken the short end of the stick from the three she'd fought first. Buffy waited until she saw an opening and shot to her feet, her stake already pointed in the right direction, and she impaled the vamp when Faith's kick sent him flying backwards.

The skeleton exploded into dust between them. Faith stared at her through the fading cloud of grit, her face twisted into an almost-snarl, her chest heaving with her rasping breath, her hands twitching around the stake she still held. Buffy was shaking, the slay-lust shrieking through her body, the ferocious energy singing like fire along her nerves. She held herself still with an effort, but she couldn't stop herself from staring at Faith, the dull flush climbing her cheeks, her pupils dilated to their full extent here in the sewer's dimness. Buffy could feel the connection between them flaring brighter than it ever had, sending cascades of ecstatic sparks down her back. She was wet with desire, and she could smell it in the air, feel it in the way that Faith's eyes were moving over her. There was something horribly, wonderfully wild in Faith's gaze.

Something that said, I want you.

And something in her wanted to answer.

Instead, she asked, "You hungry? We could maybe grab some burgers."

Faith's glance flicked away. "Yeah. That's cool." Her voice was low and husky. When she looked back, there was only the usual lazy appreciation in her eyes. Just Faith. Just good friends. Nothing strange going on with them, not that there was anything wrong with that, it was just that she--well, she wasn't like that. It wasn't even an issue. Which is why she didn't even really need to be thinking about it.

Buffy felt a surge of--something--go through her, as she bottled up all her Slayer instincts once more. Probably it was relief. She was relieved. She loved Angel; even though they could never--well, but that wasn't the point. She loved him. Not that that had anything to do with…this. There was no connection at all between the way Faith looked in her tight leather pants and cleavage-baring top and Buffy's relationship with Angel. So, of course it was relief.

Because it sure as hell wasn't disappointment.



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To be continued. Like this, but even more so.