The Bodyguards
The Bodyguards
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; too bad, so sad.
Pairings/Characters: Wesley/Faith
Spoilers: Through S4/early S5, and a sequel to Demon Hunters, Inc.
Word Count: ~2200
Summary: Faith is beginning to think she might make this a permanent thing.
A/N: Written for the
hc_bingo prompt “bodyguards”.
Faith likes Los Angeles, and she likes partnering up with Wesley, even though playing bodyguard to some rich heiress at a stupid cocktail party bores her to tears.
She tries not to fidget, glancing over at Wesley, who’s staring straight ahead impassively, showing no sign of boredom or discomfort. Faith has a little harder time keeping a straight face. She’s wearing a little black dress that will still allow her to move, and Wes is wearing a tux, and they’ve both spent the evening listening to inane conversations about the latest celebrity gossip and star signs.
When Faith is certain their client isn’t looking, she catches Wes’ gaze and rolls her eyes.
There’s the barest flicker of a smile around his mouth, and when their client-a Miss Morgan-moves on from one knot of people to find the next, he brushes his fingers against hers. It’s a promise that has Faith all hot and tingly.
This is what she can’t explain to Buffy or Giles when they call to ask when she’s coming back. Faith likes having Wes as a partner; the connection that hums between them is bright and hot and satisfying.
Plus, the sex is fantastic. Who knew that Wes would be a total demon in the sack?
Faith follows the heiress, feeling Wes’ nearness in an ever-present awareness. That sort of sixth sense is important when they’re fighting for their lives, and need to do battle as a single unit.
They shadow the heiress out to a balcony, and Wes’ hand brushes against the small of Faith’s back as she precedes him outside.
Faith smirks, and allows her hand to brush against the front of Wesley’s trousers. She can feel his response, although she uses her body to shield his reaction.
“You’re lucky I’m wearing a jacket,” Wesley murmurs for her ears alone, and his words are another promise. “Keep a sharp eye out. The attempt on her life is supposed to happen tonight.”
“I know, I know,” she says under her breath and breaks away.
The heiress is flirting with someone Faith thinks she might recognize from some F-grade movies she’s half-watched over the years. She keeps her eye on the perimeter, watching for any threats, although she steals an occasional sidelong glace at Wes in his tux.
She honestly had no idea Wes could clean up so well.
She’s scanning the area when Wes calls out sharply, “Faith!”
Faith moves instinctively, covering the heiress’ body with her own, even while she thinks about what a waste it would be to trade her life for this chick’s, whose only worth is to her father.
Granted, her father has a shit-ton of money and a lot of pull in the world of wizards, but that doesn’t mean much to Faith other than a fat paycheck.
Assuming they survive this, of course.
Faith can hear several gunshots in quick succession, and the girl screams right in Faith’s ear, causing her to wince. She reaches for the knife strapped to her thigh. She’s got a stake, too, but she’s pretty sure that this is the sort of attack that calls for something with a razor edge.
“Stay down,” she warns the girl, who is still letting out the occasional breathless scream, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Faith doesn’t have the patience for her tears or her fear. She’d been dealing with nightmares a lot worse than a firefight at a much earlier age.
She looks for Wes, who is exchanging punches with someone who looks to be entirely human. Wes moves quickly, graceful as a cat, and he hits the guy with an uppercut that echoes with a crack of breaking bone.
“Ow, fuck,” Wes swears.
Faith sees a movement out of the corner of her eye, and she sees the gun come to bear on Wesley. The knife flies from her hand, and her aim is absolutely true, the knife sinking hilt-deep into the guy’s chest.
“Down!” Wes calls, bringing his gun up to bear, and Faith hits the deck, hearing two shots ring out almost simultaneously.
Wes drops his gun, his left hand going to his right bicep, and Faith calls out, “You okay?”
“Just a crease,” he assures her. “I think I saw one more go into the house.”
“Take care of her,” Faith orders, and begins her search for the remaining attacker, pausing only to yank her knife out of the dead guy’s chest.
She’s grateful to leave the heiress in Wes’ capable hands. He can deal with her screams and tears, and will probably do so with more sensitivity than Faith can manage.
They’re good partners, his strengths balancing out Faith’s weaknesses, and vice versa.
Faith kicks her heels off and sets out barefoot, following the remaining attacker through the house by listening to the gasps and bitten-off cries. The idiot apparently hasn’t bothered to put away his gun, and Faith flips her knife so that her forearm mostly hides the blade.
She chases him down in a study, where he’s trying to open a window. Faith doesn’t bother giving him fair warning. She rushes across the floor on silent feet and brings her elbow down hard across the back of his neck. He goes down like a sack of bricks, and Faith allows herself a smirk of self-satisfaction before she checks him over.
There’s no identification, other than the small tattoo on his wrist that marks him as part of a group of wizards trying to take over the elder Morgan’s empire. Tonight is merely the latest attempt, but it’s the only one she and Wesley had been contracted to prevent. Faith hadn’t quite caught why Morgan’s usual security wouldn’t do for tonight’s soiree, but she doesn’t care.
This job will pay the bills for a while, letting them get back to more interesting work, and that’s all that matters to Faith.
She grabs one of the curtain-ties and binds the guy’s hands behind his back, leaving him trussed up before she locates Wes.
Wes is talking to a thickset man in a tux when she finds still on the balcony, with a another man in a tux tending to his arm. “Ah, there she is,” Wes says when he spots her. “That’s my partner.”
“I left another guy tied up inside,” Faith says with a patently insincere smile. “In the study. I hope that’s okay.”
The guy speaks into an earpiece. “Thanks, ma’am.”
‘Ma’am?’ Faith mouths silently at Wes, who smirks.
Faith glances around and sees an older woman in a too-small cocktail gown with her arm around Miss Morgan’s shoulders, and then Mr. Morgan forces his way through the crowd.
“Celestina!” he calls, and that’s the first time Faith has heard Miss Morgan’s first name. She’s seriously unimpressed. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, Daddy,” the heiress replies through her tears. “I’m fine.”
Faith is grateful that the heiress isn’t holding her fright against them, especially since none of the bad guys had come near her.
“Thank you, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce,” Mr. Morgan says, his tone full of self-importance. “I can’t thank you enough.”
She tunes him out, keeping an eye out for additional trouble. In her experience, trouble always turns up when she’s least expecting it.
Besides, Wes is a lot better at dealing with clients, unless it’s Angel. Anything to do with Angel or Wolfram & Hart, and Faith manages it.
She tunes back into the conversation about the time Wes tucks Morgan’s check into his breast pocket.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Mr. Morgan says.
“I’ll let you know when we’re free,” Wes says courteously. The British accent helps, Faith thinks. Plenty of people take Wes more seriously, or mistake politeness for sarcasm because of that accent.
Of course, Faith has dealt with enough people from the Watchers’ Council not to be taken in, but it’s to their advantage that most people don’t think the British are capable of being total assholes.
Faith holds her hand out for the keys, grateful that they brought the SUV tonight and not Wes’ bike-although that has its own pleasures.
Wes hands them over without a complaint, and that tells Faith more about his current state than Wes will ever say in words. She drives them back to Wes’ place, where she’s been living for the last few months, ever since she’d come to retrieve Dana.
Faith had put Dana on a flight to London with an honor guard of Slayers, and had stayed with Wesley without a single qualm.
She has no intention of going back to London, or back to the Slayers, at least not for a while.
They arrive at Wes’ place, and Faith shadows him in. Wes has never asked how long Faith plans to stay, and she hasn’t said anything about it. Maybe she should, but she figures it’s easier to apologize for overstaying her welcome than in asking permission to remain. It’s a lot harder for Wes to say no this way.
“Let’s see it,” Faith says. She doesn’t suggest a trip to the hospital, because she and Wes both know their limits. If Wes had needed a doctor, he would have asked her to drive him to the ER.
Wes pulls the check out of his jacket pocket and sets it on the table before he drops the jacket on the floor. He sits down on the couch, relaxing against the cushions, and Faith unbuttons his shirt slowly, making it as much about comfort as seduction.
He leans back, letting Faith have her way, but he’s wearing a smug look that Faith intends to wipe off his face.
“Please tell me that we aren’t going to offer our services to Miss Morgan again,” Faith says as she settles next to him, checking the makeshift bandage on his arm.
“We won’t need to take a contract like that again any time soon,” Wes says. “Mr. Morgan gave us another 5K as a bonus.”
Faith whistles. “That’s a nice bonus.”
“Isn’t it?” Wes asks. He hesitates, and then asks, “So, when are you leaving?”
Faith blinks, the question blindsiding her. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No!” Wes protests immediately. “I just thought you were bored.”
“I was bored,” Faith admits. “But that was just one job. I figure we’re in the black for a little while. We can take some more interesting jobs that don’t pay as well.”
“But-Giles and Buffy have been calling you,” Wes protests.
“And I’ve been telling them to fuck off,” Faith counters, feeling her temper rise. “What the hell, Wes?”
He won’t meet her eyes. “I don’t want to keep you here.”
“I stay where I want to stay,” Faith counters. “I do what I want to do. Hold still.”
Wes does as ordered, letting Faith unwind the gauze wrapped around his arm. His dress shirt is ruined, but the wound is minor. Faith’s certainly had worse, and she knows that Wes has as well.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Faith says. “Do you want a shower now or later?”
Wes wears a smug smile. “If I’m going to get dirty now, I should probably shower later.”
Faith straddles his lap. “Yeah, you should.”
She takes her time bandaging Wes’ arm, making every touch a caress. She can feel Wes’ erection, hard and insistent.
“Listen to me,” she says intensely once she’s taped the gauze in place. “What we’ve got is enough. I don’t care about the Council or the other Slayers. We’re doing good work.”
“You were bored to tears on our last job,” Wes objects.
“Well, yeah,” Faith says impatiently. “But so what? I was a lot more bored during those long ass Council meetings, and we won’t have to take another job like that for a while.”
Wes smiles. “No, we won’t.”
“So?” Faith asks. “What’s your point?”
“I suppose I don’t have one,” Wes admits.
Faith presses her mouth to his, grinding her hips against his, feeling him get even harder. “I’m here,” Faith says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She says, “Lift up,” and she divests Wes of his trousers. She slips them down his slim hips and works her way down on his cock. “I’m driving,” she informs him.
Wes just smirks, but Faith knows how to make him lose that smugness. She rocks her hips, and reaches behind her to finger Wes’ balls.
He gasps and loses the smirk, staring up at her as though Faith could reveal the secrets of the universe.
She rides him hard, sweat trickling down between her breasts and down Wes’ neck. She swivels her hips, moving up and down at a fast pace, putting all those Slayer muscles to good use. Wes throws his head back against the cushions of his couch, groaning out loud.
She smiles, continuing to move, feeling smug and satisfied, until Wes’ hips stutter, and he comes with a long moan. Faith fingers her clit until her own orgasm rips through her.
Faith grins at him. “So, did I make my point?”
Wes looks a little dazed and very well fucked. “Point made. We’re partners.”
Faith nods. “Partners.”
She likes the sound of that.