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Boomerang
Author: faith_delivers
Pairing: F/B/A
Rating: NC-17
Warning:: Threesome - explicit m/f/f sex. Also some angst.
Word count: About 6,000.
Author's Notes: Set several years after "Not Fade Away." I'm
assuming that Angel et. al. made it through that ordeal; in fact, I'm
writing that story myself. But that's a different fic. ;) Huge thanks go
to: glitter_j for some awesome suggestions re: a draft of the first two
sections, and to queenzulu and m_phoenix for some badly needed
encouragement. You guys convinced me that this story might not be
completely off its rocker, after all. :) Finally, this fic is heavily
indebted to Ducks's For
Love or Monster. This was the first F/B/A fic that I read, and even
though the ending KILLS me, she really convinced me that these three can
and maybe even NEED to work.
Suggested soundtrack: "Dissolved Girl" by Massive Attack for the
first part. "It's Over It's Under" by Dollshead for the
club-scene. "XXX" by Crushing Velvet, immediately post-club.
"Drive" by Melissa Ferrick for the love/sex scenes.
"Flames" by VAST, for the end of the love/sex scenes. "A
Sorta Fairytale" by Tori Amos for the aftermath. If you ever need any
of these songs, email me.
Boomerang
Fade, made to
fade
Passion's overrated anyway
Say, say my name
Need a little love to ease the pain...
She doesn't apologize,
anymore. The first time was so different - her wild, superhuman eyes
bleeding into mine across the doorway. Waiting to be invited in. Believing
she didn't deserve it. The irony so sharp it actually, physically hurt.
"Hey, Angel," she
says, left foot already inching forward.
"Faith," I reply.
My smile is genuine as I step aside to let her enter. We are always happy
to see her, Buffy and I. She should visit more frequently than she does...
but by now, the ritual is weighed down by years of practice.
I watch her saunter in, my
eyes automatically flicking up and down her body. Leather jacket, white
tank, washed out jeans. Smooth strides but tense shoulders. That's where it
shows, now - her shoulders and her jaw. Her scent washes over me in her
wake, and I inhale. Faith. Slayer. Need. Fear. Maybe not in that particular
order.
"Faith?" Buffy
calls from the living room. Her voice is bright and eager. I can pick up
the slight clatter of her wine glass as she sets it down on the coffee
table. We were reading. Now, we'll be going out.
Buffy's smile as she rounds
the corner almost burns, and Faith's ragged duffle thumps to the floor as
Buffy enfolds her in a swift hug. Faith is like a cat - squirmy after too
much affection - but Buffy knows how to touch her, now. It wasn't always
that way. I'd like to think I helped, but maybe not.
"Hey, B," Faith
says into Buffy's neck. Buffy releases her and Faith steps back, trailing
her fingers over the curve of Buffy's waist as she goes. Another way of
saying hello. And thank you, in advance.
"Want a glass of
wine?" I ask her, moving past them. "Red. 2002. Louis Latour
Pinot Noir."
She laughs and catches my
shoulder in a light punch. "That doesn't mean shit to white trashy me,
Angel. But sure, I'll have a glass."
"Just nod and
smile," Buffy advises, rolling her eyes at me. For a second, I think
about coming back with some pithy Latin "vino" proverb... but
finally I just end up letting go of the low growl that's been stuck in my
throat ever since their embrace. To move things along.
"Shakin' in my boots,
here," Faith calls after me as I stroll into the kitchen.
When I return with the wine,
she's sitting on the couch, the heels of both feet resting on our coffee
table. Hands laced behind her head, elbows out. It isn't time for
snuggling, yet.
"Stories," Buffy
demands from the seat next to her. I sit down on the opposite side, so that
Buffy's in the middle. As it should be. "Tell stories."
Faith sips her glass slowly
and regales us with tales from the Fyarl-demon-infested backwoods of
British Columbia, later moving on to the vamp fledgling who was trying to
found a "kingdom" in the unlikely town of "Spud,
Idaho." She's a good story-teller; Buffy is laughing so hard by the
end that she's actually leaning against Faith and half-crying.
"How 'bout you
guys?" Faith asks finally. "What's been going down? And how's the
fam?"
Buffy tells her about the
girls she's training while I open another bottle of wine. Her voice always
sounds different when Faith is here. Or maybe it's her language. They
understand each other on some level that I will never, ever be able to
touch - some instinctual Slayer wavelength that's absolutely forbidden to a
vampire. Willow actually has a name for it - "The Slayer Exclusion
Principle." Apparently this sort of thing goes on wherever two or more
are gathered.
When I return, Buffy's moved
on to news about her friends. And they're still her friends - all
except Willow, really. Xander will always think I'm cheating Buffy out of
something good and normal, whatever those words mean. Giles will always
despise me for Jenny's murder. It's no less than I deserve, but Buffy's
made me want more than that. Sometimes, I think I hate her. But never more
than I love her.
"Oh, and Will and
Kennedy are thinking about having a baby," she adds. When Faith's
eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, she grins and nods. "I know, right?
Crazy talk. But they've already approached Xander about the sperm thing,
and if he says no, Will thinks she'll try to track down Oz."
"Shi-ite," Faith
breathes, pronouncing it the British way. The way she learned from Spike.
"What does Dawnie think? And who's gonna pop the sprog?"
Buffy rolls her eyes at
Faith's vulgarity, then takes a long sip of wine. The flush in her cheeks
grows almost as I watch, and I find myself grinning at the promise of her
and Faith tipsy. "Willow, for sure. And Dawn's cool, I think. She sounded
excited, anyway, when I talked to her."
Faith whistles lowly and
drains her glass. I watch the muscles in her throat convulse as she drinks,
and suddenly I want. Can't ever have, but that only makes the wanting
sharper. Why should I want Faith's blood, when Buffy's is beyond perfect -
more potent than anything I've tasted, freely offered, always tinged with
desire. I force myself to look at her instead... only to find that she's
watching Faith as well. Maybe this is the definition of irony.
"Let's go out,"
Faith says suddenly. It's an order, not a suggestion. She sets down her
wine glass with a sharp clink as her eyes meet Buffy's. "Wear white,
B."
"All right," Buffy
replies evenly. Nonplussed. Faith always wants her to wear white. The dark
slayer and the light slayer and their vampire, who is never truly sure of
how he fits in the picture. Sometimes I wonder if my only redeeming quality
is that now - finally - I will be there in the morning when Buffy wakes
up. Unlike Faith.
Faith turns to me as Buffy
heads for the stairs, and we share a tight grin. Our girl. "Leather
pants?" Faith suggests. This time almost a command, but not quite.
"They don't make me
look evil?"
"Naw, man," Faith
replies, pulling a stick of gum out of her right pocket. "Just hot as
fuck." The Cheshire grin jumps to her lips and my eyes narrow at her.
"Besides... B loves 'em and you know it." Which is, of course, a
good enough reason for me.
"You love them
too," I retort, flashing a bit of fang. I can feel the demon blinking
and stretching, like a sleepy cat. He's chained now; bound and gagged by
extraplanar soul magick that has nothing to do with gypsies. But he's still
in me... and in some ways, these nights are as much about him as Faith.
"'Course I do,"
she answers, popping the gum. "Now quit yakkin' and go put them on so
we can get this party started."
Lava turns to
light and turns to waste
Swallow me and tell me how I taste
People stare and some pretend to speak
It takes more than one taboo to build a perfect freak
The club is dark and hot,
lit intermittently by flashes of strobe. Buffy's white dress flickers
eeriely as she twists and turns in perfect synchrony with Faith. I'm
leaning against the bar just watching them, clutching a vodka tonic for
purchase as her blonde hair mixes with Faith's dark brown. I don't dance,
but I sure as hell love it when they do.
Faith's hands cup Buffy's
hips, and I watch several of the men dancing near them almost have
aneurysms. Buffy does a 180 and Faith draws her in, wrapping finely
chiseled arms around her waist so Buffy's back is pressed tightly against
her torso. Buffy's head tilts back for a lingering, visibly French, kiss. I
take a long sip of my drink.
It's funny how often I miss
Spike - not that I'd ever say so. Years ago, this outing would have been a
fucked up double date - Spike and Faith, me and Buffy. Or maybe Buffy and
Faith, me and Spike. Hard to tell, sometimes. Not that Faith was ever anyone's
girl in writing... but in practice, those were the permutations. We even
all ended up in bed together, a few times.
And then... well. Final
Death will come to us all, someday. We've thwarted it so often that I think
sometimes we forget we're not truly invincible. Or at least, we used to
forget. Buffy, Faith and I buried his dust at the bottom of the Sunnydale
crater. So many people came... Giles and Willow and even Xander, along with
a group of the Slayers who had known him. Andrew showed up carrying one of
those onion-blossom things on a plate. Dawn couldn't stop crying for the
entire duration of the multiple eulogies. I can still hear her sniffles, if
I focus hard enough.
Faith didn't shed a tear.
But about six months afterwards, she showed up at our apartment, wild-eyed,
haunted, dirty. Track marks on her arms. She didn't say a word when Buffy
pulled her inside and almost carried her up to the bathroom. She stripped
her of the filthy clothes at the foot of our bed and told me to burn them.
And while the fire hissed downstairs, I heard their moans and screams over
the rattle of hot water against ceramic. When they emerged, pruny and
quivering, I was waiting on top of the sheets.
"Tequila," the guy
sitting in the chair nearest me calls to the bartender, interrupting my
reverie. She brings him salt and a lime and the shot, and suddenly my
brain's in overdrive. I turn around and catch the woman's eye, gesturing
for three. She puts everything on a little tray for me, and then I'm
walking towards Faith and Buffy's entwined bodies - towards and past them.
To a dark corner at the far end of the club, hemmed in by several deserted
tables. Good.
I don't ask them to follow
but they do, bodies still brushing at every movement. I take a long step
towards Faith and whisper in her ear, letting her in on my plan. Her eyes
widen, but when she pulls back, she's grinning that wide, almost-feral
smile again. "That's a beautiful thought," she tells me, turning
to hook a finger in one of Buffy's spaghetti straps and drawing her closer.
"I know," I reply,
and lean down to brush my lips over Buffy's. She tries to hang on, but I
pull away. That makes her groan a little, and I'm glad.
"What?" she
demands, voice husky. "What's going on?"
Faith, meanwhile, has been
arming herself with the salt shaker. "Tilt your head a little,"
she orders. But suddenly Buffy has that bright glint in her eyes that says
she's not budging another inch without some kind of explanation. Her feet
even move ever so slightly, shifting up and back into a defensive stance. I
love her when she's like this - wanting so much but unwilling to let go
without a fight.
"Why?" she
challenges.
Faith laughs at her.
"Take it easy, B," she admonishes. "Angel and me - we just
want to do body shots off your neck. That's all."
Buffy's eyes darken like an
eclipse. "Oh," she murmurs. A come-hither smile rises to her lips
and Faith answers, sliding forward with Slayer grace to caress the back of
Buffy's head with one hand as she leans down to thoroughly lick the juncture
between her right shoulder and neck. Light sprinkle of salt. Buffy hums,
eyes closed. Faith lets her mouth trail up to Buffy's earlobe and spends a
few seconds nibbling there, before descending back to her neck.
"Yessss," Buffy whispers, her hips suddenly in motion, seeking
Faith's own. And then the dark Slayer takes a long, deliberate swipe of
Buffysalt as I step forward with the shot and the lime.
Lick, swallow, suck. Faith
lets out a quiet moan as the flavors mix in her throat, and I grin in
appreciation. And anticipation... because as much as Faith is enjoying
this, I'm going to love it so much more.
"Your turn," Buffy
whispers to me. She steps away from Faith, pressing my black t-shirt shirt
into my chest as she leans against me. I give the tray to Faith and my
hands find Buffy's waist as she tilts her head again, baring her neck.
Baring the scar - white and raised and magnetic. I bend to it and take a
long, slow lick, a torturous taste of FaithandBuffy. The instant my tongue
touches her skin, her pulse and breath increase, arousal spilling around
the edges of her scent. I pull back, holding my hand out for the salt
shaker, and Faith's fingertips brush mine as she hands it over.
Buffy's eyes slam shut as
the salt rain hits her sensitized skin. I lower my mouth to her again and
hear Faith's involuntary gasp as my tongue cleans her of the tiny crystals.
Buffy presses into me, strong arms going around my neck... arms that
tighten against my ears involuntarily as I slip into game face and
delicately slide my fangs into her scar.
"Angel," she
gasps, one hand tangling in my hair to pull me closer.
"Fuck," breaths
Faith.
I take a long pull from
Buffy's artery, then draw away (always so hard) to down the tequila,
followed by the lime. My eyes are almost rolling back in my head at the
unfuckingbelievable taste, and for one terrifying moment, I'm afraid that
my soul will disappear, because I really, really don't deserve this. But
then Buffy's knees buckle, and I'm moving forward to pin her against the
dark matte wall, all introspection forgotten. A single thin trail of blood
cascades down her neck and I catch it with my lips before it can mar the
white perfection of her dress.
"Angel," she
whispers again. Her body is trembling on the edge of ecstasy - this close,
I can hear the flutter of her muscles, the powerful surge of her
Slayerheart. I rotate my hips and let my mouth slide up to her ear.
"Drink your shot, so we
can go home."
She pushes me off, then,
eyes wild and dark. Snatches the salt from the tray in one hand and Faith's
left arm in the other. "Hold still," she demands, and now it's
Faith's turn to tremble at the authority in Buffy's voice. Buffy sucks on
her blue-veined wrist for a good half-minute before applying the salt, so
long that the dark Slayer's wavering on her feet. I move to stand behind
her, running my hands up and down the curves of her torso, teasing the
undersides of her breasts. Trying not to fixate on the thundering of her
forbidden pulse.
"God, B," she
calls softly as Buffy returns to her wrist. "Fuck!"
"Soon," Buffy
answers, grinning her own version of that predatory smile. And then she
downs the shot and takes the lime between her perfect, flashing teeth. The
movement of her throat causes a bead of blood to rise to one edge of the
scar, and I lean around Faith to flick it off her with my tongue. The
perfect rush.
"Home," Faith
groans, moving with me so her breasts are filling my palms. "Now. Now
now now."
"Yes," I agree. My
voice sounds hoarse, even to me.
Buffy doesn't say another word
- just grabs our hands and pulls us behind her.
I'll hold you
up and drive you
All night
I'll hold you up and drive you
'Til you feel the daylight...
The darkness of the club
gives way to a neon L.A. night cascading past as our driver negotiates the
city after-hours. We're nearly home when Faith suddenly sucks in a long
breath and Buffy's head whips to the left. "Stop the car, Todd,"
she commands. He's one of the Slayers' boyfriends. I can't remember which
one, but there's no question that he knows what's going on. The car sweves
crisply into the shoulder, hazards flashing red in all three mirrors as he
pops the glove compartment. Stakes spill out onto the driver's side seat. I
can't help cringing, even after all these years.
"See them?" Buffy
asks Faith quietly, unbuckling her seat belt.
"Four of 'em.
Yeah." Faith never buckled hers. And then I see them, too - four
figures sauntering in pairs along the sidewalk next to a long warehouse.
From here, they look normal. Human. I feel sorry for them, but only for a
moment.
Faith quietly opens her door
and jumps out of the car, Buffy exiting behind her. I don't ask if they
want me to come along, because I know they don't. This is a nod to
nostalgia - to the good old days. Or the bad old days. Depending on your
point of view.
Faith swaggers. Buffy
glides. They don't hurry, walking quickly enough to overtake the vampires
but not fast enough to alarm them. I watch the four undead turn to glance
hungrily at the Slayers as they pretend to pass them on the right... only
to see one of the demons share a grin with his companion and, in the next
movement, lunge at Buffy. I can't help but smile. So gonna lose.
The maelstrom is like one of
those tiny whirlwinds that kick up the dirt alleyways in the summer - short
and furious. Only Buffy and Faith are left when the dust clears, and the
former has the latter pressed tightly against the rough wooden slats of the
warehouse, devouring her mouth as her hands slide up and down the warm silk
of Faith's black dress. I can see the material start to bunch around her
thighs... and hear Todd's increasing pulse.
"Drive up," I
order, barely suppressing a growl. Buffy doesn't pull away at the sound of
car tires crunching on gravel, though, or at the click of my door opening.
Her left hand is rhymthically squeezing Faith's right breast, in time with
the circular press of her thigh between Faith's legs.
"Buffy," I call
softly. The growl snarles in my throat, and her name comes out more like a
groan. "Get in the car." For several seconds, I'm not sure she
that she will. Maybe this will be the night they no longer need me - the
night when Faith finally decides to stay. But then Buffy pulls back gasping
from the younger Slayer, only to hold out her hand and lead Faith back to
me.
"Hurry," she tells
Todd as he pulls away. Her voice is husky, colored by vampire grit and
rough passion. Faith's back is ramrod straight against the seat and her
eyes are closed, breaths coming short and fast. Her hands clutch the seams
of the leather interior, tendons flexing and unflexing. Buffy's not
touching her at all any more; instead, she grabs one of my forearms and
squeezes Slayerhard, clutching my knee with her other hand. Unable to stop
herself otherwise.
"Almost there," I
soothe, refusing to betray the pain of her grip. My body has its own
reaction though, and for one agonizing moment, I nearly pull her on to my
lap.
When Todd finally swings the
car into the parking garage, the Slayers spill out first, hands clashing
again, bodies finding each other against a concrete pillar. "Up,"
Buffy breathes reluctantly, her eyes darting to the "elevator"
symbol nearby.
"Downnn," Faith
argues, drawing out the last letter as Buffy abruptly presses the heel of
her palm into the swatch of silk covering the apex of Faith's thighs.
"Yeah," she whispers, hips bucking. Buffy twists her palm and
Faith responds with a hitching groan. "Like that."
"Stairs," I choke
out somehow, grabbing each by a shoulder and spinning her around.
"Now."
They take the stairs three
at a time, sprinting with Slayer grace and stamina that I simply can't
match in this state. Hoarse laughter floats above me and I catch a quick
glimpse of one delicate hand curling around a banister ahead, pulling in
for added momentum. They're neck and neck in the race, spiraling up like
characters in an Escher painting. Black and white. Heaven and Hell.
And then their pounding
footsteps stop, only to be replaced by the metallic shriek and wooden
splintering of a doorknob ripped out of its socket. The fifth in three
years, but at least the bed has held up. The door slams behind them and I
can hear Faith's muffled expletive as Buffy pushes her against the
adjoining wall. My steps quicken and I reach the top while the door is
still vibrating from Buffy's overzealous slam.
I push it in, just in time
to watch Faith make a play for being on top. She shoves Buffy's shoulders
and sidesteps, then pivots as she tries to reverse their positions against
the wall. But Buffy will have none of it. She swipes Faith's legs out from
under her with a sweeping kick and follows her to the floor. Buffy's hands
pin Faith's above her head, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders to
tickle the dark Slayer's neck.
"It's my turn,"
she whispers. Her voice is soft but ragged. It breaks my heart and turns me
on, all at once. "My turn, dammit. You leave for months without any
word and just waltz back in here, thinking you're in charge?" Her hips
swivel into Faith's stomach, and the younger woman can't suppress a broken moan.
Her face is flushed and pale, eager and pained all at once. "No
way," Buffy finishes, grinding down again. I stay pressed against the
door - watching. Waiting.
"Buffy," Faith
manages to gasp, arching her own hips up in a desperate attempt to ease the
pressure. "I'm sor-"
Buffy smashes her lips into
Faith's before she can get the words out. I'm surprised Faith even started
to speak; they haven't tried to have that conversation in years. Maybe it
means that something is changing, though it's hard for me to believe that
we'll ever be the happy family Buffy wants. I've lived too long for
optimism. And that's really the problem, isn't it? We've all lived too
long. One of us is going to die, someday. Like Spike did. And then there
will be two.
Buffy is kissing the side of
Faith's neck, now, letting her tongue swirl out occasionally to dip into
the deep valleys of her collarbone. She raises her head long enough to
order Faith to keep her hands where they are, and then returns to the
younger Slayer's salty skin. I watch Faith's hands open and close
convulsively high above her head as Buffy moves down her torso, pressing
wet kisses to each silk-covered nipple as her own hands reach for the hem
of Faith's dress. Her hips arch again as Buffy slides the fabric up, slowly
baring Faith's naked body to our eyes... toned thighs and curly dark hair
and the smooth plateau of her stomach, its softness only rivaled by the
full breasts that Buffy frees from the fabric, one at a time.
And then Buffy bends her
head to take Faith's left nipple into her mouth, and I watch her cheeks
hollow as she sucks in. She's probably using her tongue, too; Faith is
gasping for breath as Buffy wraps one arm around her shoulder and lifts up
so she can remove the dress completely. Faith's head begins to toss
restlessly as soon as Buffy lowers her back to the carpet. I watch her toes
curl and uncurl, watch Buffy's left hand take over for her mouth as she
pays the same torturous attention to the other breast. Faith's hips
undulate instinctively, rising higher and higher off the floor in time with
Buffy's flickering tongue. And then Buffy's mouth moves down in a
zig-zagging path across Faith's stomach... back and forth, back and forth,
until her lips find the jagged line of scar tissue.
Buffy's mark on Faith, like
my mark on Buffy. The scars bind us more potently than any love or magic
ever could. They are the signs of our transgression and passion - of the
acts we should have found ways of avoiding. Of the darkness and need in us
all. Of the death that is our collective gift.
"Buffy!" Faith
calls again, feeling her lover's lips trace the memory of the knife. Buffy
nips at the white skin, licking and sucking, one hand holding Faith's hips
firmly to the floor while the other finally trails down the center of her
body until her palm covers the trimmed patch of hair and one long index
finger slips into the swollen red folds below.
Faith's cry is strangled.
Her eyes fly open, dark and unseeing, as Buffy begins to circle that lone
finger around the tiny, swollen knot of nerves. Faith's legs spread wider,
allowing Buffy's fingers (and my eyes) greater access. Her sex is beautiful
- a microcosm of her body. Curly black and red. Lush and intricate.
My gaze rises briefly up to
Buffy's left arm, to her triceps standing out in sharp relief as she
struggles to hold Faith still. But finally that teasing finger moves down -
down and in - and Faith makes a noise that's somehow both a gasp and
a sigh. I watch Buffy's thumb find the spot she just vacated, even as her
tongue stabs delicately at Faith's scar... and that's all it takes. Faith's
body freezes for one surreal moment, muscles gathering and bunching in her
stomach and neck, before the orgasm takes her. Head thrown back, mouth open
in a silent scream, hips thrashing despite Buffy's strong grip. And still
that long, glistening finger plunges in and out, in and out, drawing out
her pleasure.
"That's it," Buffy
says softly. Tenderly. "C'mon, Faith. Come for me. Just let it all
go."
Faith's body shudders in a long
series of aftershocks until she finally collapses against the floor.
Breaths shallow. Eyes closed. Buffy rises to her feet and turns towards me.
I reach out for her right hand and bring it to my mouth, letting my tongue
slip out to taste Faith on her finger. Her eyes flutter closed.
"Bedroom," she whispers when I suck the tip inside.
"Mmm," I reply,
just before releasing her. She sways on her feet for a moment, then opens
those hungryhorny eyes and lets them lock with mine. No words - only the
rawest of emotions. Love. Desire. Need. Pain.
She finally turns away and
kneels again at Faith's side to lift the younger Slayer's limp body with
effortless grace. Faith's head lolls against her left bicep as she follows
the hallway's twisting corridors, until we're both standing in front of the
four-poster king paid for by Wolfram and Hart. Buffy deposits Faith gently
on top of the covers, then turns back to me.
"Off," she says,
reaching for the hem of my black ribbed t-shirt. I raise my arms, content
to let her drive. For the time being, anyway. "Mmmm," she breaths
again, once my chest is bare. Her fingers lightly trace the curves of my
pecs, and I can't stop the shiver. "Feel so different," she
murmurs. "Love you both, so much." Her eyes slide up to meet mine
again, and behind the arousal I can see confusion. "How is that
possible?"
I reach down to guide her
right hand to the zipper of my pants. "Just is," I tell her. My
voice is deep and raspy. I don't want to talk, and she knows, because she
starts working at the little metal clasp with those deadly, delicate
fingers.
"I love these
pants," she says as she pushes them over my hips. The cool slide of
black leather makes me groan.
"Told you so,"
Faith's voice joins in, weak but rich with laughter. I lift my feet for
Buffy, one at a time. Naked. She stands again, but turns towards Faith. The
dark Slayer's eyes plead with mine to take off that tiny white dress.
"Raise your arms,"
I order, my hands sliding up her thighs as I gradually bunch the material
up towards her hips. She shimmies a little, and I almost lose it right
there. It would be so easy to push her forward against the bed - to slide
into her from behind and fuck her into the edge of the mattress. Faith's
eyes are all that stops me.
As the dress slides over her
head, Buffy crawls onto the bed. Faith opens her arms, but that isn't what
Buffy's after. Not yet. She rests her hands on the younger girls' knees,
pushing them apart with a surprising tenderness, and settles herself between
them. I watch her palms inch their way up Faith's inner thighs.
"Buffy," Faith
groans, lifting her head from the pillow. "No - you haven't -"
"Don't worry," she
replies, her mouth so, so close to Faith's glistening folds. Faith's entire
body convluses in anticipation and her head falls back to the bed. "I
will."
I realize what she wants
from me just as her fingers part Faith's outer lips to reveal the swollen
bundle of nerves that is once again begging for her attention. Vampiric
reflexes have me up on the bed in under a second, and as her tongue finally
presses - so lightly! - against Faith, my left arm encircles her lower
back.
"Are you sure?" I
ask as my fingers stroke her stomach, wordlessly encouraging her to shift
her own knees apart. Her tongue briefly leaves off circling Faith's clit,
and the younger girl's fists clutch at the sheets in frustration and
anticipation.
"Oh yeah," Buffy
breathes hoarsely. She returns to Faith - this time with long, slow,
vertical licks - as I finally push myself inside her. Inch by torturous
inch, teasing us both. Delaying gratification. Buffy's tongue never stops
moving, and the added vibration of her low moan makes Faith whimper. And
then I'm inside - all the way inside Buffy as she slips her tongue shallowly
into Faith. Connected.
"Fuck," Faith
breathes, raising her hips to allow Buffy better access. Her eyes open and
widen a bit as she sees me looming behind Buffy and over her... but soon
enough, one of those quintessential Faith grins rises to her lips. "God,"
she groans. "Hot."
Buffy's hips push back into
mine as her lips curl around Faith's pleasure point... and then we're
simply one organism - moving in tandem, moaning in counterpoint, coaxing
each other towards ecstasy. I start off gently with Buffy, but that's not
really what she wants. Faith watches me pick up speed with slanted eyes,
grunting softly in sympathy as I move more forcefully in and out of her
lover. "Wish I could be with her... like that," she manages.
"Inside... " But then Buffy begins to stab Faith's clit with her
stiffened tongue - over and over and over - and it's the point of no
return.
Beyond language, beyond
humanity, beyond apocalpyse... there is this. Love three-times forbidden. A
fragile circle that will never stay closed. Life and death and hunger.
Passion.
But when I am
with you
There's no reason to pretend
That when I am with you
I feel flames again
Just put me inside you
I would never, ever leave...
Eventually, they get hungry.
"Make us eggs,"
Faith says, running one hand along the curves of Buffy's right side - into
the dip between her ribs and her stomach. Buffy hums in contentment against
her neck. "Jesus, B, you're still way too skinny." She looks up
and glares at me, as if it's my fault.
"Not his fault,"
Buffy murmurs, snuggling closer.
"Bullshit," Faith
protests, even as she runs gentle fingers through Buffy's hair in a light
massage. "Eggs, Angel. And bacon. And chocolate milkshakes."
Buffy's body shakes with
laughter at Faith's order. "You're such a little kid," she
replies, raising her head so she can pepper Faith's lips with light kisses.
I continue to watch them in silence.
"Damn skippy,"
Faith announces, suddenly rolling her over and pinning her to the mattress.
Buffy's smile is incandescent. "Go, Angel," she tells me.
"And make the bacon crispy."
"You just want more
time to r-ravish me," Buffy replies in a hitching voice as I finally
obey.
"Damn skippy,"
Faith breathes into the valley between her breasts.
...
Maybe it should bother me
that they want to make love - because that's what this time will be -
without me there. But it doesn't. Not really. The soft, breathy sounds they
create together follow me into the kitchen, where I pull out two frying
pans and a bowl. And the blender, because Faith is deadly serious about
those milkshakes. Buffy and I are alone together almost every night. Why
shouldn't Faith have a turn?
Despite that logic, the
first egg pretty much misses the bowl and splatters onto the counter.
...
"Mmmmm, yeah,"
Faith moans over her plate. "You're a rockin' cook, Big A."
"Thanks," Buffy
contributes, leaning across the table to kiss me. She has scrambled egg
breath, but that doesn't stop me from kissing her back. "Are you hungry?"
she asks coyly when I finally pull away. Flips her hair back from her neck.
"Because... y'know..."
Faith's eyebrows raise a
little and she smirks, looking from one of us to the other. For one
terrifying second, I almost vamp out right there and take Buffy, just to
make the point. But thankfully the moment passes, and I find myself shaking
my head. "I'm okay," I tell her. "Thanks, though." My
hand moves to rest on top of the one she's not using to shovel eggs into
her mouth. She smiles at me. Satisfied.
"Betcha I can whup your
ass in Halo IV," Faith challenges Buffy suddenly. Change of subject.
This, too, is tradition.
"Like hell!" Buffy
retorts, letting some of that Slayer cockiness rise to the fore.
"Yep, that's how you
play," Faith jabs back. "Like hell."
Buffy grits her teeth and
puts on her best annoyed glare. "Go. Turn. The. X-box. On."
Faith laughs and saunters
into our (un)living room, careful to take her as-yet-unfinished milkshake
with her. Buffy watches her naked body go with appreciative eyes, then
turns and leans her head against my shoulder.
"You okay?" she
asks. Quietly.
"I'm good," I
reply. And it's true, mostly.
"I love you," she
says.
"I know that," I
tell her. "And I love you, too."
She gives that happy little
Buffy sigh that will always be a miracle, and rests against me for another
few seconds before finally getting to her feet. She, too, is naked. I let
my eyes trace the curves of her breasts as she turns towards the ominous
sounds of the television. "All right, Faith," she calls,
"time to meet your destiny!"
"Been there, done
that!" The dark Slayer exclaims in reply. "Now get your ass in
here and let's get down and dirty!"
I stick their dishes in the
sink and join them on the couch, just as their game begins. Split screen -
Faith on the left and Buffy on the right. "Slayer!" the game
exclaims, announcing the mode of play. Buffy war-whoops and Faith shouts,
"Oh yeah, baby!" And then they're off - looking for each other on
radar. Search and destroy.
And I was
riding by, riding along side
For a while, 'til you lost me
And I was riding by, riding along side
'Til you lost me in the rearview...
"Buffy beats down Faith
with the plasma sword." I read aloud off the screen, my deep voice
cutting under Faith's blood-curdling scream.
"You BITCH!" she
yells, abandoning her controller and tackling Buffy sideways. A
disembodied, gender-netural voice announces from the television that
"Buffy" has won, with twenty-one kills. Meanwhile, Faith has
Buffy pinned to the carpet and her tongue is tracking a bumpy path along
her ribs, licking each hollow clean of the sweat that has pooled there in
the heat of the game. My body shivers in memory of the hot cavern of
Faith's exquisite mouth, wrapped around me just hours ago... second only to
the feeling of her internal mucles clutching at me desperately as I fucked
her into the pillows. As though I were the one in danger of leaving.
Buffy orders Faith to turn
in a strangled voice, and I can't help but grin. Sixty-nine. They've left
me far behind, now... but that doesn't mean I don't like to watch. The
sounds they make together are beautiful - whispering groans punctuated by
the rhythm of wetandsticky. I love them both and each - together and apart.
And as I stroke myself in time to the rocking movements of their lazy
passion, I find myself hoping that this time will be different.
...
We finally crawl into bed
just before sunrise. I can smell the beginnings of it - red-gold and
terrifying - and give silent thanks yet again for the necrotempered windows
of this apartment.
Buffy slides between the
sheets, and us. We curl around her. Faith drapes one arm across her torso,
under her breasts. I stroke the sweat-damp hair back from Buffy's forehead
with light, soothing movements. She lets out a humming sigh and snuggles
deeper into the covers, then turns her head to capture my fingers in a
sleepy kiss. I smile and lay back, eyes tracing the brightening shadows on
the ceiling as I listen to the soft sounds of their mingled breathing.
"Stay," Buffy whispers
suddenly, just as I feel the sun break free from the horizon. I flinch,
involuntarily. Faith buries her face against the column of Buffy's neck,
and I watch the muscles in her arm contract and release.
"Someday," she
finally replies. Her voice is low and slightly hoarse. "Just... it
can't be today. Not yet."
Buffy squirms a little
closer to Faith, letting her chin rest on the crown of the younger Slayer's
head "Someday," Faith repeats. Her voice is thick. I watch a
single tear drip from Buffy's left eye, over the bridge of her nose, and
into Faith's mass of dark, curly hair. And then I close my eyes.
When I open them again, she
will be gone.
Finis
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