Fic: for Femslash minis
Author Brutti ma buoni
Title Comfort Zones
Pairing Faith/Willow
Rating R
Words 1130
Prompt For aaronlisaat femslash_minis who wanted The Bronze, and AU and something around the lyrics “Your optimistic eyes
Seem like paradise
To someone like
Me"
Setting An AU season 3. AU includes that Oz isn’t a factor and also that the death of Finch wasn’t quite under Buffy’s eyes, as will become apparent.
This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Willow knows dancing. She knows the politeness, the shuffle of reluctant feet, the feeling that fluidity and ease are beyond her. The rejection, when people who can dance (can dance right), catch eyes, and pair off. Till Willow’s dancing alone, most often, or with a bunch of other misfits. Xander, if Cordelia is ignoring him again. Buffy, for those few weeks when she was back and Angel wasn’t, officially at least. Or most often, with a bunch of girls who also fit into the undanceables category. One step up from the wallflowers, or the girls who know their place so hard they never even set foot in the Bronze. This is Willow’s place. She’s okay with it. You can meet the perfect guy (if it’s a guy, which Willow is increasingly certain it isn’t) through other means. Coffee. College. Whatever job you luck into at the end of all that.
Willow doesn’t do this. She isn’t picked out of the crowd, she isn’t danced up on like this. Most especially, she doesn’t catch the rhythm and the moves till she’s part of a fluid whole, watched admiringly by the in-crowd. She isn’t the taller of a pairing. She doesn’t get caught with her partner’s flying hair. She isn’t grabbed from behind, ground on and - honestly - humped in this tacky, tasteless show that’s everything Willow is not, and that’s getting her hot.
Faith licks down her neck, down the sensitive side skin, and Willow shivers, shimmies back for more. “You’re looking good tonight, little witch. You know that, right?”
Her hand slips around, not teasing, but exploring blatantly enough that everyone will know she’s serious. Collarbone, sternum, a firm if glancing stroke round Willow’s right breast, leaving fire streaking behind as her palm moves onward. Down Willow’s ribs, gripping at her waist both sides for a moment and there’s the gross, yet undeniably effective humping move again. More of a grind, maybe, like Faith’s using Willow to get off, and Willow cannot and will not understand why this isn’t a humiliation, why she’s not laughing like she would if this were a guy. Laughing uncomfortably and moving away, not closer, not starting to rock her hips back against Faith’s. Not leaning into the sweaty, grinding body behind, not aiming to give Faith more space for that right hand that’s wandering again, down her belly, further even- Willow’s thighs clamp shut, but too late, trapping Faith’s willing fingers, so that when they wiggle she can feel - Faith can probably feel - that she’s wet there. Just from dancing.
“Mmmm,” says Faith into her ear. How can Willow even hear that, over the noise of the Bronze? Maybe it’s just a vibration, a longing transmission. “Mmmmyeahhh. Knew you had this in you, Willow. Been wanting it since I first saw you dance.” Her fingers curl, and roll, and Willow whimpers. Caves, and turns, breaking Faith’s loose hold.
“No way,” she says, because she can’t bear it if this isn’t what it seems. “No way have you been-“
It’s out of keeping, is what it is. Not what she intended at all. (Not what she planned.) Too vulnerable and obvious, and it makes Faith frown, and stop moving. Apparently Faith’s been scoping out the Bronze’s geography, which isn’t remotely a surprise to anyone who knows the way of Slayers. Whatever, it means she knows the quietest of the hallways, the most pliably available of places. Which is good, because they need to talk. Willow tries to remember that. That was the purpose, here. Even if it’s leading places that were never mapped out for this meeting, they need to talk.
Faith begins, frowning. Toying with her hands, fingers twisting, and Willow flashes back to two minutes ago, when those fingers were so almost nearly there. But Faith’s not there at all. Faith’s looking at her with those intense, dark-lined eyes, and willing her to listen. “Seems like you think I don’t know what I want, is that it? Willow?”
Willow never has done well with confrontation, and that’s how this feels. Except Faith’s challenge is to believe in Willow’s self, her attractions. And her voice is going on, as her eyes keep on holding Willow’s gaze, earnest, all the dancing tease gone. “You don’t even know, do you? You’re this Wicca guru, and this Slayer sidekick, you do shit most people would run from screaming, and you’re still you, behind all that. No fakery, no big doomy heroics, just Willow. That’s pretty amazing to me, Willow Rosenberg.” Faith’s crimson-painted mouth smirks and covers the sincerity with sex for a second. “Plus, you can dance, if you follow my lead. And I love to lead. Makes you pretty much my perfect woman. Okay?”
Willow stammers and stutters and can’t quite respond right. But she doesn’t look away. Really not, if anything when she pays attention she realises she’s swayed closer to Faith. There was something she was supposed to be doing now, but it doesn’t seem important in the context of everything that’s happening in her brain right now. Self-knowledge, for sure, but also fireworks. Is Faith serious? She looks like it. She feels like it, touching Willow’s face with unsteady fingers, thumbing over her lips and sucking in a breath when Willow parts for her. What is Willow even doing?
It’s definitely Willow’s turn to speak, right? She wishes fiercely that she’d had some practice at having this talk before this one came around, because this one matters a lot. She says, “You’re pretty amazing yourself,” and it sounds glib, kind of sarcastic to her own ears. “I mean that,” she tries again. “You- Being Slayer’s incredibly tough. And you didn’t have us, and Buffy’s got family and whatever, and you- You don’t have that. Or you didn’t. You got us now, but you were fighting before you had us. So you’re pretty amazing, Faith Lehane.”
Faith’s dark eyes sweep down, lashes covering. Her red lips quirk, and wobble, and speak. “Won’t have you for long, Will. I did a bad thing. A terrible thing. You don’t know.”
I do know, Willow doesn’t say. It’s why I’m here. She just hums a little, enquiringly. Till Faith says, “I killed a man, Will. Just a man, not a demon. I didn’t mean to, but I-“
“It’s okay,” says Willow. It isn’t. It really isn’t. But why she came here this evening, why she came when Faith called, why Buffy’s waiting for her to call back the second they’re done here… they don’t seem so important now. Faith seems important. “It’s okay. I got you.”
Willow has no idea what happens next. Maybe it’s one bad night of remorse and back to the sexy dancing and things Willow has dreamed of but never dared to reach for. Maybe Willow just put herself on a path against the Council and all of her friends. But she’s never been more certain of herself than when she reaches out and repeats, “I got you.”
***
Title Comfort Zones
Pairing Faith/Willow
Rating R
Words 1130
Prompt For aaronlisaat femslash_minis who wanted The Bronze, and AU and something around the lyrics “Your optimistic eyes
Seem like paradise
To someone like
Me"
Setting An AU season 3. AU includes that Oz isn’t a factor and also that the death of Finch wasn’t quite under Buffy’s eyes, as will become apparent.
This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Willow knows dancing. She knows the politeness, the shuffle of reluctant feet, the feeling that fluidity and ease are beyond her. The rejection, when people who can dance (can dance right), catch eyes, and pair off. Till Willow’s dancing alone, most often, or with a bunch of other misfits. Xander, if Cordelia is ignoring him again. Buffy, for those few weeks when she was back and Angel wasn’t, officially at least. Or most often, with a bunch of girls who also fit into the undanceables category. One step up from the wallflowers, or the girls who know their place so hard they never even set foot in the Bronze. This is Willow’s place. She’s okay with it. You can meet the perfect guy (if it’s a guy, which Willow is increasingly certain it isn’t) through other means. Coffee. College. Whatever job you luck into at the end of all that.
Willow doesn’t do this. She isn’t picked out of the crowd, she isn’t danced up on like this. Most especially, she doesn’t catch the rhythm and the moves till she’s part of a fluid whole, watched admiringly by the in-crowd. She isn’t the taller of a pairing. She doesn’t get caught with her partner’s flying hair. She isn’t grabbed from behind, ground on and - honestly - humped in this tacky, tasteless show that’s everything Willow is not, and that’s getting her hot.
Faith licks down her neck, down the sensitive side skin, and Willow shivers, shimmies back for more. “You’re looking good tonight, little witch. You know that, right?”
Her hand slips around, not teasing, but exploring blatantly enough that everyone will know she’s serious. Collarbone, sternum, a firm if glancing stroke round Willow’s right breast, leaving fire streaking behind as her palm moves onward. Down Willow’s ribs, gripping at her waist both sides for a moment and there’s the gross, yet undeniably effective humping move again. More of a grind, maybe, like Faith’s using Willow to get off, and Willow cannot and will not understand why this isn’t a humiliation, why she’s not laughing like she would if this were a guy. Laughing uncomfortably and moving away, not closer, not starting to rock her hips back against Faith’s. Not leaning into the sweaty, grinding body behind, not aiming to give Faith more space for that right hand that’s wandering again, down her belly, further even- Willow’s thighs clamp shut, but too late, trapping Faith’s willing fingers, so that when they wiggle she can feel - Faith can probably feel - that she’s wet there. Just from dancing.
“Mmmm,” says Faith into her ear. How can Willow even hear that, over the noise of the Bronze? Maybe it’s just a vibration, a longing transmission. “Mmmmyeahhh. Knew you had this in you, Willow. Been wanting it since I first saw you dance.” Her fingers curl, and roll, and Willow whimpers. Caves, and turns, breaking Faith’s loose hold.
“No way,” she says, because she can’t bear it if this isn’t what it seems. “No way have you been-“
It’s out of keeping, is what it is. Not what she intended at all. (Not what she planned.) Too vulnerable and obvious, and it makes Faith frown, and stop moving. Apparently Faith’s been scoping out the Bronze’s geography, which isn’t remotely a surprise to anyone who knows the way of Slayers. Whatever, it means she knows the quietest of the hallways, the most pliably available of places. Which is good, because they need to talk. Willow tries to remember that. That was the purpose, here. Even if it’s leading places that were never mapped out for this meeting, they need to talk.
Faith begins, frowning. Toying with her hands, fingers twisting, and Willow flashes back to two minutes ago, when those fingers were so almost nearly there. But Faith’s not there at all. Faith’s looking at her with those intense, dark-lined eyes, and willing her to listen. “Seems like you think I don’t know what I want, is that it? Willow?”
Willow never has done well with confrontation, and that’s how this feels. Except Faith’s challenge is to believe in Willow’s self, her attractions. And her voice is going on, as her eyes keep on holding Willow’s gaze, earnest, all the dancing tease gone. “You don’t even know, do you? You’re this Wicca guru, and this Slayer sidekick, you do shit most people would run from screaming, and you’re still you, behind all that. No fakery, no big doomy heroics, just Willow. That’s pretty amazing to me, Willow Rosenberg.” Faith’s crimson-painted mouth smirks and covers the sincerity with sex for a second. “Plus, you can dance, if you follow my lead. And I love to lead. Makes you pretty much my perfect woman. Okay?”
Willow stammers and stutters and can’t quite respond right. But she doesn’t look away. Really not, if anything when she pays attention she realises she’s swayed closer to Faith. There was something she was supposed to be doing now, but it doesn’t seem important in the context of everything that’s happening in her brain right now. Self-knowledge, for sure, but also fireworks. Is Faith serious? She looks like it. She feels like it, touching Willow’s face with unsteady fingers, thumbing over her lips and sucking in a breath when Willow parts for her. What is Willow even doing?
It’s definitely Willow’s turn to speak, right? She wishes fiercely that she’d had some practice at having this talk before this one came around, because this one matters a lot. She says, “You’re pretty amazing yourself,” and it sounds glib, kind of sarcastic to her own ears. “I mean that,” she tries again. “You- Being Slayer’s incredibly tough. And you didn’t have us, and Buffy’s got family and whatever, and you- You don’t have that. Or you didn’t. You got us now, but you were fighting before you had us. So you’re pretty amazing, Faith Lehane.”
Faith’s dark eyes sweep down, lashes covering. Her red lips quirk, and wobble, and speak. “Won’t have you for long, Will. I did a bad thing. A terrible thing. You don’t know.”
I do know, Willow doesn’t say. It’s why I’m here. She just hums a little, enquiringly. Till Faith says, “I killed a man, Will. Just a man, not a demon. I didn’t mean to, but I-“
“It’s okay,” says Willow. It isn’t. It really isn’t. But why she came here this evening, why she came when Faith called, why Buffy’s waiting for her to call back the second they’re done here… they don’t seem so important now. Faith seems important. “It’s okay. I got you.”
Willow has no idea what happens next. Maybe it’s one bad night of remorse and back to the sexy dancing and things Willow has dreamed of but never dared to reach for. Maybe Willow just put herself on a path against the Council and all of her friends. But she’s never been more certain of herself than when she reaches out and repeats, “I got you.”
***