none of us were angels

This is a fan-fiction series based on the Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel characters and universe. The main characters in this story Willow and Faith, it probably takes place a little before the final battle in Season 7. This story does contain femme slash so if you don’t like that, don’t read it. Thanks to Dolores Labouchere for writing extensively on Faith.

//There, there, baby/It’s just text book stuff/It’s in the ABC of growing up/Now, now, darlin’/Oh don’t lose your head/'Cause none of us were angels/And you know I love you,// (Speeding Cars by Imogen Heap)

I'm so tired but I can't sleep, standing on the edge of something much too deep, funny how you feel so much but can not say a word, We are screaming inside but can't be heard.
- Sarah McLaughlin



None of Us Were Angels

I watch her from across the kitchen, were she’s washing the dishes up from breakfast. I still can’t get over being back in Sunnydale. After how many years at this point? I can’t remember, really, my life’s just kind of been divided up between, before prison, prison and after prison. Last time I can even remember thinking about going back was when Buffy died but they wouldn’t let me out then, not even to go to the funeral. But here I am. The Powers That Be call and there I go, playing the good guy for once. Trying to make everything right again I suppose. Except I’m not a good girl, never have been, never will be, and what gets me is neither is she. Little Willow, shy, bookish, that’s what I remember about her in high school. The last person you’d expect to become an uber-powerful witch and try to nock the whole fucking world into kingdom come, but she did. She looks older too, hell we all look older. Cordy looked like the living dead the first time I saw her after I got out, and B’s done this matriarchal thing with her hair now, but Willow just looks older. It’s not just because she dresses all in black lately or has let her hair grow out. She looks slightly frayed around the edges, like some one who’s had to grow up way too fast, without ever really knowing the rules. I know what that’s like, and maybe that’s why I move over to the sink and start drying the dishes. Willow gives me an odd look but doesn’t complain so I keep drying.

“So” I finally say, trying, trying so hard, to play it nice.

“you’re a lesbian now”

Willow nods but doesn’t say anything. I’m trying so hard to do it right this time. And Willow seems so sad, so lost constantly, so different from the girl I used to know. And I know. I know what that’s like, what all of that’s like. So I start talking. I talk about how I never used to imagine being with a woman, until I met B. perfect, beautiful, so fucking straight, Buffy. I talk about the fear, and the hate that led to me going bad and joining up with the Mayor, and fucking everything up.

“Not like you though” I added

“I don’t think I could ever have that kind of magic you have. Your powerful Will, good or evil, I have to respect you for that, you’re a kick-ass kind of girl, glad to have you on our side again, your special”

Willow stiffens, and answers me for the first time

“I’m not” she says

“I’m not anything special, not like Buffy, not even like you”

She sets a dish down with a little more force then necessary
“ I just mess up”

I put down my dish clothe and put my arms around her.

“that’s not true ” I tell her

“take it from me, I know messing up. You’re increasable Will. You are something special,”

Willow makes a little noise kind of like a sob, and I look to see tears in her eyes.

“I’m not special, I’m not, I’m not.”

She’s pushing against me now crying, that frantic pushing, hitting, I remember, a cry for help really. So I don’t let her go. Just keep holding her, rocking her back and forth, making little noises, my hand on the back of her head. Her hair feels so good, cool and smooth, and she’s so small and soft in my arms, I can feel her ragged breath, her tears all over my black t. Finally she get quieter, just calling the same name over an over again, “Tara, Tara, Tara”, the name of the girl she loved, the one who died, shot in the line of duty, as we say, the reason Willow went bad.

Finally she sniffs and says “Tara said that”

I ask “Tara said what?” more to calm her then anything.

She turns to look up at me, her eyes red, her face mottled with tears. “She used to say I was special, just like that. No one else had ever said it like that. Before Tara, and she was the special one, she was the one I let die.”

Then she’s crying again and I lean against the counter just holding her and rocking her and letting her cry, saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over again because I am, I am truly fucking sorry for her, sorry she had to loose like that. Finally she’s quiet again just laying against my chest and I can feel her breath against my neck her tears against my own cheek.

I look at her, her eyes are green, her skin looks so soft, she’s got that perfect white girl beauty like Buffy, and perfect lips like B’s, but she’s not Buffy, not anything like Buffy. B’s a superhero, she always gets it right, always does the right thing, saves the world, she’s always the good guy, always has been and always will be. Not like us, not like Willow and me, us mortals.

I kiss her. I know, it’s the wrong thing to do, so very much the wrong thing. But I need to, I need this, I need to feel someone else, someone who’s not Buffy. And then she’s responding. Pressing against me, her hands on my shoulders, deepening the kiss. I open my mouth slightly letting her tongue dip and play with mine. One of my hands is in her hair, my other arm around her waist crushing her against me. And this is wrong, so wrong because the woman she loves is dead, and the one I want is so very straight, and would probably kill me as soon as look at me. But she feels so good against me, her small hands slipping through my hair, done my shoulders, across my chest making my nipples stiffen and my hands shake. We make it into the living room onto the couch, before I let my hands rove over her, her shoulders, her arms, her chest, waist, hips. I’m bending over her, where she lies on the couch, watching her face for any sign that she wants me to stop, but all she does is closer her eyes and makes a soft whimpering sound when my hands brush across her breasts. My hands hover over her breast and God knows I want to, because she’s here and beautiful, and so fucking sweet and everything I need.

But I stop and say “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Her eyes fly open, and she says “please, please Faith, it’s been so long and I need this, please don’t stop.”

And I don’t because she asked and because she said my name, and it’s been so long since I had someone asking me like that, staring up at me like that with those, beautiful, haunting, magical eyes of hers. I pull up her shirt and am surprised to find she’s wearing a delicate pale-blue bra underneath all that black, it makes me feel good some how, like reminding me that under all the experience and pain it’s still the Willow I used to know back in high school. I cup her breast in my hands, so much smaller then my own, gently, playing with the nipple through the silk. Willow’s eyes are closed again and she's moaning, wiggling her hips back and forth across the couch. Damn, it must have been a long time since she’s been laid, not that I’m one to brag these days. I’m almost as worked up as she is, as I lift her slightly to undo the bra, then snake one of my hands down her cute little belly towards the waist band of the black skirt she’s wearing. She’s really going crazy now, her own hands pulling at my waist to get me closer, as I bend over her, half on, half off the couch, and take one of her nipples in my mouth. Her hands snake into my shirt making me gasp, as her fingers find my own breast; damn but she knows what she’s doing. My own hand dips past the waistband of her skirt to caress her thigh, at the same time I nip slightly at her nipple and she gasps her body arching off the couch. I slide my hand back up out of the skirt up her side and she whimpers in disappointment, and almost cries out as I break contact, briefly to yank off my own shirt. Luckily I never wear bras, and I move to straddle her on the couch, bending down to kiss her on the mouth.

Her lips are hot, and taste of lilacs and spices and need, and want, I rub her breast with my hands, and she moans into my mouth, her hands going to into my jeans, her fingers slipping down into my pants to rub me through my underwear. I gasp and break our kiss to throw my head back as she begins rubbing my clit through the cloth. “tease” I growl before trailing a line of small love-bites down her neck. Now she gasps and whimpers, as I begin to play, fast and rough with her beasts, pinching and tweaking her nipples. I bite her neck hard, and she takes her hands way from my pussy, long enough to braise herself against my thighs as her body arches, and I groan in frustration at lack of contact, before her hand is back in my pants pushing aside my underwear going to work in earnest now on my clit. My whole body starts to vibrate as she sits up enough to get her other tiny hand into my pants and starts finger fucking me while never letting up on my clit. I break away from her to throw my head back and moan, then I feel her mouth on my neck and collarbone her teeth bighting into my skin, my breast against her and I come all over her hands and my jeans.

I give myself maybe a few seconds to stop seeing stars before I’m on her again, bighting and pinching her beasts, my hands yanking down her skirt. I consider going down on her but decide, I need to be where she can see my face, don’t know why it just feels better. She’s wearing light blue panties to march her bra, I notice before I’ve yanked those down too. Then I’m touching her and she’s so wet and ready for me, so slick and hot, and I’m working her clit with my thumb while I reach insider her crooking my fingers slightly to get to the core of her and she’s gasping and writhing and clutching at me, as I put first one then two, fingers insider her and begin to pumping in and out, at first slowly then faster and faster, my mouth all over her, her neck and her breasts and her stomach, and then she’s arching back, screaming and coming all at the same time.

I collapse on top her. It takes me a few minutes to realizing that I’m sweating and panting like I’ve just I had the Slayer’s training session from Hell. For a moment I just lie there, and then I’m running my hands through her gorgeous red hair, saying her name over and over again. She just lays there with her eyes closed breathing hard, before she opens her eyes and kisses me. We move slightly so I can sort of lie next to her on the couch, with her curled up against me looking sweaty and tired and ridiculous with her skirt and panties all down past her knees. I stroke her hair, and hum softly to myself, Metallica, not the worlds most soothing music but hey, who cares, it’s what I know. I absently sit up and pull up my pants, searching around my pocket until I find my cigarettes and lighter. I’m just about to light one when Willow stops me.

“you shouldn’t smoke in here. Buffy wont like it.” She says, so practical and Willow-like I start to laugh.

“Don’t worry darling.” I tell her.

“I can handle B.”

and I can I realize. ‘cause maybe just maybe I can finally stop running after what I can never have and settle for something, un-perfect. Something mortal, and maybe that’ll be better anyway. Worth a shot. And Willow just looks at me then laughs and lays her head on my lap.