Fic: The Do That Girl (draft)
Nothing terribly important to report, except that the desire to write fic has been a little stronger the last two weeks. only_passenger and I have been throwing some ideas back and forth, which motivated me to take a peek at my WIP folder this afternoon and see what's knocking around in there. Three fics stood out to me as particularly well-written. The common thread? They all feature Faith. What's in the running? Post-NFA Faith/Angel/Spike, S3 ep-stealer Faith/Giles, and a pre-series Faith/Other.
Although not currently complete, I wanted to post the Faith/Other because the writing is pretty top notch. For those who like Faith, you might get some insight into her character, but you'll primarily get some really hot teenage sex, and who doesn't like that? I'm not sure what the point of this flashback is yet, but maybe your comments will steer me in a direction so I can wrap this up.
Title: The Do That Girl
Author: ClawofCat
Timing: BtVS S2
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Faith/OC
Warnings: Explicit sexual situations, including rimming, anal, underage sex and drinking, and references to rape and physical abuse
Words: 2000 (for now)
Summary: In the midst of her disastrous home life, Faith finds freedom in her late night rendezvous with long time friend and sexual partner, Danny. When they reach a crossroads in their physical relationship, Faith has to make a choice.
A/N: For only_passenger. Okay, so, the premise of the fic sort of got away from me. I was going for that girl who does that thing and got instead that girl who doesn’t want to do that thing, but does when she finds the right person. Go figure.
Although it’s not explicitly stated, I intended this fic to take place shortly before Faith is called, which would be compliant with BtvS S2. She’s in high school, while Danny is a few years older, probably a drop out. This is, of course, only one possible back story for Faith’s home life, but one that I felt served the needs of this story. I also drew some inspiration from the Barenaked Ladies song “In the Car,” which you can listen to HERE.
***
Beers and smokes, that’s always how this starts. On the nights when her mom’s useless, unable to make it to her feet either from drinking or a beating, Faith skips out of the house and waits on the front stoop for Danny. Like clockwork, come 10 PM, he rolls down the street in his ’92 Ford Taurus, windows down to let 2Pac and Biggy do the talking. He’s always got a six pack thrown in the back seat, lighter and smokes on the dashboard on the passenger side. The disarming grin he gives her when she crawls in and forgoes the seatbelt always works up a smile in return. He gets it and that’s all there is to it, which makes it all the sweeter when he guns the engine and takes off into the woods, tires screeching, Faith whooping cheers of freedom.
Just as the empty bottles start clattering under the front seats, they reach for each other, hands cupping necks and palms thrust into jeans. They never undress, never get much past pushed aside panties and pulled down boxers because that’s the sort of girl she is and he respects that. He doesn’t question her about the hickies on the opposite side of her neck, or how she flinches when he bum rushes her cunt and can see that it’s still a little raw.
“Is there anything you haven’t done?” he finally asks one night, his hands up her skirt, tweaking her clit, his knuckles rolling across her entrance.
There’s a lot that they don’t do. They don’t fuck, for one. She’s got other guys for that, but not Danny. Maybe it’s because they’ve known each other so long and he can remember what she was like before things got meaningless and were done just to pass the time. Maybe she’s not into him like that. But, more likely, maybe she just cares too much, walling the indifferent physicality up for others who won’t feel the sting of her distance.
“Now that’s a question,” she laughs, tugging him close by his ballsac, her hand firmly pressed to his cock. He smiles, watching her rub the underside, her hand inching up the winding road that his happy trail paves to his naval. She’s sweet when she wants to be, but he pretends that she’s just sweet for him. He’d never tell her that though - it’d only garner a punch and an eye roll - so he pushes two fingers into her instead and kisses her breasts, jutting from beneath her hiked up underwire.
“I’m serious, Lehane,” he whispers against her temple, jogging her up and down against his hand, pushing her back to sit on the hood of his car with spread legs resting on the bumper. “Is there any bit of you that’s as pure as the yellow driven snow?”
She snorts. “What do you think, Dan? Type a girl that I am, what wouldn’t I give up?” He slows his working hand, stares at her thoughtfully. It’s an obvious answer, but that’s not the game they’re playing tonight. Her heart isn’t in the cards, and he’s not reaching for it. He assesses the package carefully though, ruefully smiling at her ridiculously smug grin because she knows she’s all that and wants him to know it, too.
“I’ll give you a hint,” she offers, standing on tip-toe against his side. “It starts with ass and ends in hole.” She raises her eyebrows when he looks at her with surprise.
“Yeah? I’d think that’ve been the first thing to go.” His hands meet around her waist and slide to her cheeks, kneading them, fingers skating across the crack. “Savin’ it up for someone special?” he hums, his cock pressed to her wet cleft, rocking against her thighs. He frowns when she steps away and out of his grasp.
She doesn’t tell him about finding mom slumped in the shower, watery ribbons of blood whirling down the drawn, rectum torn to hell because some trick thought that he could take what wasn’t being offered. She sat in the hospital that night, her mom sedated as they tried to assess the internal damage and repair what they could.
“Some things you gotta keep for yourself,” she says, at last, arms crossed across her drawn up knees. “You ever hear how guys talk about busting anal cherry? Like they’re ready to storm Normandy or take down the fucking Vietcong.”
He quickly taps a cigarette out of the pack crushed in his back pocket, lights up and inhales. “You think I’d go Rambo on you?” He presses forward, hands resting flat on the hood, leaning across her body, his lips just shy of hers. “Fuckwads like the tools you chill with don’t know their own ass from a hole in the ground. But you, Lehane? You’re tough. Couldn’t see anyone tearing you a new one before they found themselves dickless or in a headlock.”
Her teeth show and she lets strands of long, dark hair fall in front of her eyes, bashful at his praise. “Gimme that thing,” she prods, snatching the glowing smoke from his loose fingers. Insults she can take, but compliments can get dicey. She thinks of what to say next as she takes a drag and he roots around in his pocket.
“Was thinking of skipping school tomorrow morning if you want to go to the skate park. Deb and I are going to me - ”
But he doesn’t let her finish, words lost in the force of his kiss when his tongue surfs inside, minty Tic-Tacs sweetening his breath in the crisp autumn air.
**
“Fuck!” Danny groans, skull mashed to the glass of the driver’s side window, legs akimbo on the seat opposite him. The straps of Faith’s schoolbag twine around his ankle as he kicks out, her mouth pressed flush against his pubic bone, jaw stretched wide to deep-throat him. Her eyes swim a little when she looks up, more than a buzz fogging her vision. When she takes another pull off him, like sipping from a beer bottle, he tugs her up, the word turn on his lips like an urgent driving instructor veering her away from oncoming traffic.
She loses her balance when she’s pulled over the console, her knee jammed against the parking break, one hand on the floor of the backseat. “What the fuck?” she protests, hefted back so that her face is full of his cock again, with his mouth now lathering her inner thighs with sloppy kisses. His teeth encounter bruises the size of fingertips at the juncture of her ass, faded and green, days old. He slaps his palm against her, a slight blush of color rising to her skin, along with the damp evidence of her interest against his chest.
Her jeans capture her knees, panties a taught stretch of fabric like a safety net beneath her snatch. He tugs her sneakers off, lets her ankles climb to his shoulders in the tight confines of the car and presses his palm to her slippery entrance, rolling the clear fluid between his fingers and watching the glistening webs tremble between his harsh pants and hers.
It’s been several weeks since they’ve had their usual backseat bump and grind. Nothing like a stint in juvey to make the heart grow fonder. But despite the time warp and the usual horndog antics, Danny’s in rare form, demanding more and steering her in a direction she’d already said was off limits. Her muscles stiffen defensively, a pull in Faith’s belly causing her to round her fist, ready to fight.
“Did I say we were going to do this?” she calls, mouth to his cock, her chin squeezing the head tamped down on his belly. Her nails press a warning into his balls, tightening her hold on him.
“Do what?” he counters, three fingers suddenly filling her, twisting back and forth, calling her bluff. When his tongue flattens against her asshole, bold and insistent, she blinks rapidly, neck craning back, lips parted. A sound like sighing gurgles up in her, and he brings her hips back, the soft flesh of her cheeks brushing his face, buffed by the scratch of his stubble. She loosens her grip and holds still, feeling the whir of sensation ratchet up and down her body, not completely foreign, but different enough that it has her attention.
When her climax darts through her, it dodges left then right, ass and pussy shaken into a synchronized shiver. She can hear Danny mouthing her through it, making this into something that will only complicate things. Still, she relaxes when a thumb arches against her hole, ringing the tight muscle, probing with a soft press that has her moaning. When his finger breeches her, swallowed in a reflexive gulp, she gasps, rocks down, thrusts back, his cock forgotten despite its errant nudge at her neck as he mindlessly thrusts the air.
He works both holes, watching the disappearance and return of his fingers, the soft sucking sounds that pepper the air of the car overlaid by the radio and Tragic Kingdom. When she keens again, heaving against him, her hand plucking at her clit, he squeezes her ribcage urgently. “Need to come,” he pleads. “I won’t steer you wrong. You can do the driving.” She turns, eyes fixed when he gasps, his hand pressed to her belly. “Let me, Faith. Please,” he whispers, softly, a tone reserved for a girl beyond simple affection.
She’s been asked for things before, all sorts of favors by guys who had nothing to loose except the snug fit of her cunt, a tit to fondle. Looking back over her shoulder, Danny’s face obscured by the lean curve of her hip, she wonders why he’s never asked anything of her before now, why he wants this specifically.
Pulling herself up and off him, she makes the one-eighty, leans back down so that her chest brushes his. “Why are you pulling this shit with me?” she whispers, one wrist behind his arched neck, bolstering it up against the glass. “I heard, you know. Never thought you’d look good with a crew cut and fatigues anyway.”
He closes his eyes, brow creased. He knows what she thinks, that this is just another thing that men do, that leaving’s in the criteria, that it has something to do with her when it’s everything but.
“I gotta get out of here,” he breathes, his hand framing her face, the other cupping her spread thigh. “Would have told you myself, but…” he shrugs, thinking of her biding time with all the other kids, waiting out the detention sentence with listless apathy. “There’s gotta be more meant for us than this. Some way to make a difference. This,” he swallows, licks his lips, “this is the best way for me.”
His fingers wind themselves tightly at her scalp, tugging her close, stifling the tremble of her lips when he sees the filmy sheen prick her eyes. He pretends he doesn’t notice, saves her the embarrassment of admitting weakness, of caring. When she rocks backward, ass pressed to his groin, he groans, a cry caught up in his throat, sending his wordless thanks into her hipbones, holding her steady.
Her lips stay with his, soft and smelling of the hops from their beer, when she lines him up and keeps him there, head pressed to skin. She’s still stretched and wet and spongy, yielding to his touch. He runs circles around the muscle, a loop de loop that has her caving and tugging on his shirt, pulling him up at the neck. The long slide down is taken an inch at a time, his fingers there to chaperone her slow decent. He feels caught up in her, a pylon flanked by an immense superstructure. She’s always been larger than life, brimming over with moxie and sass, so he savors her airy gasp when he rides up, pressing into her, his mouth lax, miming syllables of pleasure.
**
Although not currently complete, I wanted to post the Faith/Other because the writing is pretty top notch. For those who like Faith, you might get some insight into her character, but you'll primarily get some really hot teenage sex, and who doesn't like that? I'm not sure what the point of this flashback is yet, but maybe your comments will steer me in a direction so I can wrap this up.
Title: The Do That Girl
Author: ClawofCat
Timing: BtVS S2
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Faith/OC
Warnings: Explicit sexual situations, including rimming, anal, underage sex and drinking, and references to rape and physical abuse
Words: 2000 (for now)
Summary: In the midst of her disastrous home life, Faith finds freedom in her late night rendezvous with long time friend and sexual partner, Danny. When they reach a crossroads in their physical relationship, Faith has to make a choice.
A/N: For only_passenger. Okay, so, the premise of the fic sort of got away from me. I was going for that girl who does that thing and got instead that girl who doesn’t want to do that thing, but does when she finds the right person. Go figure.
Although it’s not explicitly stated, I intended this fic to take place shortly before Faith is called, which would be compliant with BtvS S2. She’s in high school, while Danny is a few years older, probably a drop out. This is, of course, only one possible back story for Faith’s home life, but one that I felt served the needs of this story. I also drew some inspiration from the Barenaked Ladies song “In the Car,” which you can listen to HERE.
***
Beers and smokes, that’s always how this starts. On the nights when her mom’s useless, unable to make it to her feet either from drinking or a beating, Faith skips out of the house and waits on the front stoop for Danny. Like clockwork, come 10 PM, he rolls down the street in his ’92 Ford Taurus, windows down to let 2Pac and Biggy do the talking. He’s always got a six pack thrown in the back seat, lighter and smokes on the dashboard on the passenger side. The disarming grin he gives her when she crawls in and forgoes the seatbelt always works up a smile in return. He gets it and that’s all there is to it, which makes it all the sweeter when he guns the engine and takes off into the woods, tires screeching, Faith whooping cheers of freedom.
Just as the empty bottles start clattering under the front seats, they reach for each other, hands cupping necks and palms thrust into jeans. They never undress, never get much past pushed aside panties and pulled down boxers because that’s the sort of girl she is and he respects that. He doesn’t question her about the hickies on the opposite side of her neck, or how she flinches when he bum rushes her cunt and can see that it’s still a little raw.
“Is there anything you haven’t done?” he finally asks one night, his hands up her skirt, tweaking her clit, his knuckles rolling across her entrance.
There’s a lot that they don’t do. They don’t fuck, for one. She’s got other guys for that, but not Danny. Maybe it’s because they’ve known each other so long and he can remember what she was like before things got meaningless and were done just to pass the time. Maybe she’s not into him like that. But, more likely, maybe she just cares too much, walling the indifferent physicality up for others who won’t feel the sting of her distance.
“Now that’s a question,” she laughs, tugging him close by his ballsac, her hand firmly pressed to his cock. He smiles, watching her rub the underside, her hand inching up the winding road that his happy trail paves to his naval. She’s sweet when she wants to be, but he pretends that she’s just sweet for him. He’d never tell her that though - it’d only garner a punch and an eye roll - so he pushes two fingers into her instead and kisses her breasts, jutting from beneath her hiked up underwire.
“I’m serious, Lehane,” he whispers against her temple, jogging her up and down against his hand, pushing her back to sit on the hood of his car with spread legs resting on the bumper. “Is there any bit of you that’s as pure as the yellow driven snow?”
She snorts. “What do you think, Dan? Type a girl that I am, what wouldn’t I give up?” He slows his working hand, stares at her thoughtfully. It’s an obvious answer, but that’s not the game they’re playing tonight. Her heart isn’t in the cards, and he’s not reaching for it. He assesses the package carefully though, ruefully smiling at her ridiculously smug grin because she knows she’s all that and wants him to know it, too.
“I’ll give you a hint,” she offers, standing on tip-toe against his side. “It starts with ass and ends in hole.” She raises her eyebrows when he looks at her with surprise.
“Yeah? I’d think that’ve been the first thing to go.” His hands meet around her waist and slide to her cheeks, kneading them, fingers skating across the crack. “Savin’ it up for someone special?” he hums, his cock pressed to her wet cleft, rocking against her thighs. He frowns when she steps away and out of his grasp.
She doesn’t tell him about finding mom slumped in the shower, watery ribbons of blood whirling down the drawn, rectum torn to hell because some trick thought that he could take what wasn’t being offered. She sat in the hospital that night, her mom sedated as they tried to assess the internal damage and repair what they could.
“Some things you gotta keep for yourself,” she says, at last, arms crossed across her drawn up knees. “You ever hear how guys talk about busting anal cherry? Like they’re ready to storm Normandy or take down the fucking Vietcong.”
He quickly taps a cigarette out of the pack crushed in his back pocket, lights up and inhales. “You think I’d go Rambo on you?” He presses forward, hands resting flat on the hood, leaning across her body, his lips just shy of hers. “Fuckwads like the tools you chill with don’t know their own ass from a hole in the ground. But you, Lehane? You’re tough. Couldn’t see anyone tearing you a new one before they found themselves dickless or in a headlock.”
Her teeth show and she lets strands of long, dark hair fall in front of her eyes, bashful at his praise. “Gimme that thing,” she prods, snatching the glowing smoke from his loose fingers. Insults she can take, but compliments can get dicey. She thinks of what to say next as she takes a drag and he roots around in his pocket.
“Was thinking of skipping school tomorrow morning if you want to go to the skate park. Deb and I are going to me - ”
But he doesn’t let her finish, words lost in the force of his kiss when his tongue surfs inside, minty Tic-Tacs sweetening his breath in the crisp autumn air.
**
“Fuck!” Danny groans, skull mashed to the glass of the driver’s side window, legs akimbo on the seat opposite him. The straps of Faith’s schoolbag twine around his ankle as he kicks out, her mouth pressed flush against his pubic bone, jaw stretched wide to deep-throat him. Her eyes swim a little when she looks up, more than a buzz fogging her vision. When she takes another pull off him, like sipping from a beer bottle, he tugs her up, the word turn on his lips like an urgent driving instructor veering her away from oncoming traffic.
She loses her balance when she’s pulled over the console, her knee jammed against the parking break, one hand on the floor of the backseat. “What the fuck?” she protests, hefted back so that her face is full of his cock again, with his mouth now lathering her inner thighs with sloppy kisses. His teeth encounter bruises the size of fingertips at the juncture of her ass, faded and green, days old. He slaps his palm against her, a slight blush of color rising to her skin, along with the damp evidence of her interest against his chest.
Her jeans capture her knees, panties a taught stretch of fabric like a safety net beneath her snatch. He tugs her sneakers off, lets her ankles climb to his shoulders in the tight confines of the car and presses his palm to her slippery entrance, rolling the clear fluid between his fingers and watching the glistening webs tremble between his harsh pants and hers.
It’s been several weeks since they’ve had their usual backseat bump and grind. Nothing like a stint in juvey to make the heart grow fonder. But despite the time warp and the usual horndog antics, Danny’s in rare form, demanding more and steering her in a direction she’d already said was off limits. Her muscles stiffen defensively, a pull in Faith’s belly causing her to round her fist, ready to fight.
“Did I say we were going to do this?” she calls, mouth to his cock, her chin squeezing the head tamped down on his belly. Her nails press a warning into his balls, tightening her hold on him.
“Do what?” he counters, three fingers suddenly filling her, twisting back and forth, calling her bluff. When his tongue flattens against her asshole, bold and insistent, she blinks rapidly, neck craning back, lips parted. A sound like sighing gurgles up in her, and he brings her hips back, the soft flesh of her cheeks brushing his face, buffed by the scratch of his stubble. She loosens her grip and holds still, feeling the whir of sensation ratchet up and down her body, not completely foreign, but different enough that it has her attention.
When her climax darts through her, it dodges left then right, ass and pussy shaken into a synchronized shiver. She can hear Danny mouthing her through it, making this into something that will only complicate things. Still, she relaxes when a thumb arches against her hole, ringing the tight muscle, probing with a soft press that has her moaning. When his finger breeches her, swallowed in a reflexive gulp, she gasps, rocks down, thrusts back, his cock forgotten despite its errant nudge at her neck as he mindlessly thrusts the air.
He works both holes, watching the disappearance and return of his fingers, the soft sucking sounds that pepper the air of the car overlaid by the radio and Tragic Kingdom. When she keens again, heaving against him, her hand plucking at her clit, he squeezes her ribcage urgently. “Need to come,” he pleads. “I won’t steer you wrong. You can do the driving.” She turns, eyes fixed when he gasps, his hand pressed to her belly. “Let me, Faith. Please,” he whispers, softly, a tone reserved for a girl beyond simple affection.
She’s been asked for things before, all sorts of favors by guys who had nothing to loose except the snug fit of her cunt, a tit to fondle. Looking back over her shoulder, Danny’s face obscured by the lean curve of her hip, she wonders why he’s never asked anything of her before now, why he wants this specifically.
Pulling herself up and off him, she makes the one-eighty, leans back down so that her chest brushes his. “Why are you pulling this shit with me?” she whispers, one wrist behind his arched neck, bolstering it up against the glass. “I heard, you know. Never thought you’d look good with a crew cut and fatigues anyway.”
He closes his eyes, brow creased. He knows what she thinks, that this is just another thing that men do, that leaving’s in the criteria, that it has something to do with her when it’s everything but.
“I gotta get out of here,” he breathes, his hand framing her face, the other cupping her spread thigh. “Would have told you myself, but…” he shrugs, thinking of her biding time with all the other kids, waiting out the detention sentence with listless apathy. “There’s gotta be more meant for us than this. Some way to make a difference. This,” he swallows, licks his lips, “this is the best way for me.”
His fingers wind themselves tightly at her scalp, tugging her close, stifling the tremble of her lips when he sees the filmy sheen prick her eyes. He pretends he doesn’t notice, saves her the embarrassment of admitting weakness, of caring. When she rocks backward, ass pressed to his groin, he groans, a cry caught up in his throat, sending his wordless thanks into her hipbones, holding her steady.
Her lips stay with his, soft and smelling of the hops from their beer, when she lines him up and keeps him there, head pressed to skin. She’s still stretched and wet and spongy, yielding to his touch. He runs circles around the muscle, a loop de loop that has her caving and tugging on his shirt, pulling him up at the neck. The long slide down is taken an inch at a time, his fingers there to chaperone her slow decent. He feels caught up in her, a pylon flanked by an immense superstructure. She’s always been larger than life, brimming over with moxie and sass, so he savors her airy gasp when he rides up, pressing into her, his mouth lax, miming syllables of pleasure.
**