fic: conversation turns to sleep (buffy/faith)
Title: Conversation Turns To Sleep
Rating: R (sexual content, possibly disturbing imagery of the knife and shackles kind)
Pairing: Buffy/Faith
Timeline: Between S3 and 4x15, “This Year’s Girl”
Disclaimer: Joss is the brutally painful but deeply awesome boss, not me!
Notes: I haven't written these two in ages, yo, but I got bit by the urge for IDF - but, like I said, it's been a while so it's probably... not that impressive. Credit for Tom McRae for the title!
Teaser: Five dreams that Faith Lehane has before she wakes up.
Buffy comes to her on Christmas, stands nervously in the doorway and waves a messily wrapped gift.
“Rocking party,” she comments when Faith only stares back blankly, and then closes her eyes and huffs out a breath through her nose as if she can’t believe she just said that. “Um,” she adds when an unmistakable noise fills the silence and Faith scrambles backwards, moving fast to turn off the badly filmed porn.
“I could have been busy,” Faith finally decides to say and Buffy shoots her a sideways look, too much color in her face.
“I think you’re probably noisier than that,” the princess replies in a murky tone.
Color her surprised, she never would have thought B would discern subtlety so well.
“Noisier than even that?” she asks, grinning despite the fact she doesn’t know why she is.
“Well, I didn’t hear any squeaking and that bed’s… noisy.”
“I don’t always use the bed.”
Oh, hell, awkward moment- no, wait, it’s a two-for-one deal, an awkward moment and a long stare, a slight widening of green eyes that almost seems… curious as that look shifts for the barest fraction of a second to the wall.
“Harder than it looks,” Faith tells her flatly, and Buffy looks horrified at being found out.
“I wasn’t…”
There’s something sticky on her shirt but she ignores it because B’s blushing, something she’s seen before but not like this, with the little way her teeth are sinking hard into her bottom lip. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to get you dirty.”
“Like you?”
“I just showered,” she promises immediately and presses fingers against her middle, smears the blood away in an attempt to hide it, regretting the move when Buffy’s eyes snap downward and her head tilts and her eyes narrow. “This is nothing, I can heal.”
“Don’t worry about it, mom’s expecting me-”
“But,” she starts and then doesn’t get any farther because strong fingers with pink nails push hard against the open wound, twist and tear their way inside as Faith doubles, choked gasp spilling out of her throat. Then the fingers are gone and there’s just a hollow ache, a sting that’s not fading fast enough as she staggers and hits the wall and then slides down.
She leans there, breathless, as Buffy slams the door behind her.
Joyce treats her like a son.
Well, after the awkward ‘you can’t be banging my daughter unless she’s… oh’ phase passes.
Sometimes, she randomly switches the channel to whatever sports game happens to be on when Faith enters the room and smiles brightly as Faith blinks back at her, brows beginning to wrinkle as the seconds tick into a minute. Others times, she asks Faith what she’d like for dinner and then brightly offers meat and potatoes as something thumps in the next room over that Buffy’s currently occupying.
(She knows it’s Buffy’s head against whatever flat surface she can find.)
Then she walks in to find Joyce stretched out on the couch, blood seeping into the cushions, metal driving deep into a gut as Buffy glances up, smiles brightly and gives a little wave with her clean hand. “Hi,” she greets with a smile that causes a spike in Faith’s own gut, and twists up and deeper in.
(And it hurts.)
Her lungs hurt in a way she should mind but doesn’t.
Muscles burning, she spans a palm across a small hip, digs her fingers in as Buffy swings one way and then another, a hazy look in green eyes when Faith catches a glimpse of her face every so often. Her heart’s louder than the music, a dull pounding that’s beginning to leave the world a dim whisper, but then Buffy grins at her, nervous in its crookedness.
It’s okay, she can do this all night long.
“Can you do this all night long?” Buffy asks in a barely audible tone and Faith blinks and hesitates (stumbles and tries to grab at the other body) because she hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
But “sure” is all she says and Buffy laughs and nods and pushes up against her, breasts brushing hers as she reaches up and cradles her face, pulls it close. “Easy,” she whispers thickly (she doesn’t mean to) but Buffy ignores her, leaning forward to bite at her mouth, a quick touch before she pulls back laughing, thumbs now digging into Faith’s neck. When she makes a noise of protest, the pressure increases, a suddenly choking force that causes Faith to stumble, closer to falling than before.
“I got this,” Buffy tells her and presses close, offering a kiss that doesn’t meet Faith’s lips before pulling back again.
“Crocodile tears,” Faith snaps and twists her wrists, feeling metal cut into her skin.
“I thought it was alligators.”
“Think about my naked story often, B?”
“Never,” Buffy replies but doesn’t meet her eyes, cute pastel outfit making the gray walls look dark, strains on her cheeks looking disgustingly tragic in the half-light as she stands and keeps watch over the bound girl at her feet. “Never,” she repeats and Faith pulls against the chains, swears when the Slayer (as if she’s the only one with that fucking title) steps back.
“Come on closer and we can have a little fun,” and she doesn’t know what she means, what she wants to use the chains for, just wants a body under hers and strangled sounds and to hear some fucking begging. “Come on, I double-dog dare you…”
“I don’t…”
“Aw, is it wrong?” she mocks, and finds her gaze shifting, finding Giles in the background, face tight and jaw stiff. When he doesn’t glance at her, she looks back at Buffy, finds green eyes watching angrily. “Come on, come on, just give me a few minutes… come on, princess,” and she doesn’t know if this counts as begging, isn’t sure anymore, just feels a hollow that’s getting too big and an ache that she wants to alleviate.
“You’re sick,” Buffy tells her flatly and turns away and leaves alone with Giles.
Not that he even looks at her.
Not that he will unless he wants something.
“I don’t want anything from you,” the Mayor says and tosses her an apple, grins when she hefts it a few times, testing its weight. “You need a healthier diet so I brought that just for you, prettiest one in the store.” He quirks a smile, starts to reach out teasingly. “Unless you don’t want it…”
“No,” she barks immediately and starts eating, grinning around the skin when he chuckles and flashes his most dazzling little smile.
“You worry about her too much,” he sighs, perching on the edge of his desk, gazing at her with a fond expression she’s seen before but can’t completely place, something she knows but doesn’t. “You get yourself twisted up in knots and she’s just not worth it, Faith, she’s really not.”
“I know.”
“I hope you do,” he replies and reaches out to brush her hair from her face, pausing before pulling back long enough to lay a palm on her scalp, to offer a warm touch across her crown. “You’re a very special girl.”
“You really think so?”
“Oh, yes,” he smiles and she beams, can’t hold it in, spinning the apple core between her palms. “You and me, Faith, we’re going to go places, going to keep each other going…” When he notices her face, he clucks his tongue, reaches down to hook a finger around her chin, bring her eyes up. “You can quote me on this, Faith- this isn’t the end for us.”
“You promise?”
“Always-” he starts but then grunts, jerking forward, a flash of brunette hair appearing over his shoulder as something tears into his back, slices deep and then twists harder in to get at his heart.
“Always,” she promises herself as she pushes the body forward, lets it tumble to the ground, smiling like a cat. “You can count on me,” she adds as she moves close and grabs her face, tightens fingers in her hair, arm swinging back. “I mean, you and me, Faith, we’re like this, you know-” she hears and then nothing else.
Rating: R (sexual content, possibly disturbing imagery of the knife and shackles kind)
Pairing: Buffy/Faith
Timeline: Between S3 and 4x15, “This Year’s Girl”
Disclaimer: Joss is the brutally painful but deeply awesome boss, not me!
Notes: I haven't written these two in ages, yo, but I got bit by the urge for IDF - but, like I said, it's been a while so it's probably... not that impressive. Credit for Tom McRae for the title!
Teaser: Five dreams that Faith Lehane has before she wakes up.
Buffy comes to her on Christmas, stands nervously in the doorway and waves a messily wrapped gift.
“Rocking party,” she comments when Faith only stares back blankly, and then closes her eyes and huffs out a breath through her nose as if she can’t believe she just said that. “Um,” she adds when an unmistakable noise fills the silence and Faith scrambles backwards, moving fast to turn off the badly filmed porn.
“I could have been busy,” Faith finally decides to say and Buffy shoots her a sideways look, too much color in her face.
“I think you’re probably noisier than that,” the princess replies in a murky tone.
Color her surprised, she never would have thought B would discern subtlety so well.
“Noisier than even that?” she asks, grinning despite the fact she doesn’t know why she is.
“Well, I didn’t hear any squeaking and that bed’s… noisy.”
“I don’t always use the bed.”
Oh, hell, awkward moment- no, wait, it’s a two-for-one deal, an awkward moment and a long stare, a slight widening of green eyes that almost seems… curious as that look shifts for the barest fraction of a second to the wall.
“Harder than it looks,” Faith tells her flatly, and Buffy looks horrified at being found out.
“I wasn’t…”
There’s something sticky on her shirt but she ignores it because B’s blushing, something she’s seen before but not like this, with the little way her teeth are sinking hard into her bottom lip. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to get you dirty.”
“Like you?”
“I just showered,” she promises immediately and presses fingers against her middle, smears the blood away in an attempt to hide it, regretting the move when Buffy’s eyes snap downward and her head tilts and her eyes narrow. “This is nothing, I can heal.”
“Don’t worry about it, mom’s expecting me-”
“But,” she starts and then doesn’t get any farther because strong fingers with pink nails push hard against the open wound, twist and tear their way inside as Faith doubles, choked gasp spilling out of her throat. Then the fingers are gone and there’s just a hollow ache, a sting that’s not fading fast enough as she staggers and hits the wall and then slides down.
She leans there, breathless, as Buffy slams the door behind her.
Joyce treats her like a son.
Well, after the awkward ‘you can’t be banging my daughter unless she’s… oh’ phase passes.
Sometimes, she randomly switches the channel to whatever sports game happens to be on when Faith enters the room and smiles brightly as Faith blinks back at her, brows beginning to wrinkle as the seconds tick into a minute. Others times, she asks Faith what she’d like for dinner and then brightly offers meat and potatoes as something thumps in the next room over that Buffy’s currently occupying.
(She knows it’s Buffy’s head against whatever flat surface she can find.)
Then she walks in to find Joyce stretched out on the couch, blood seeping into the cushions, metal driving deep into a gut as Buffy glances up, smiles brightly and gives a little wave with her clean hand. “Hi,” she greets with a smile that causes a spike in Faith’s own gut, and twists up and deeper in.
(And it hurts.)
Her lungs hurt in a way she should mind but doesn’t.
Muscles burning, she spans a palm across a small hip, digs her fingers in as Buffy swings one way and then another, a hazy look in green eyes when Faith catches a glimpse of her face every so often. Her heart’s louder than the music, a dull pounding that’s beginning to leave the world a dim whisper, but then Buffy grins at her, nervous in its crookedness.
It’s okay, she can do this all night long.
“Can you do this all night long?” Buffy asks in a barely audible tone and Faith blinks and hesitates (stumbles and tries to grab at the other body) because she hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
But “sure” is all she says and Buffy laughs and nods and pushes up against her, breasts brushing hers as she reaches up and cradles her face, pulls it close. “Easy,” she whispers thickly (she doesn’t mean to) but Buffy ignores her, leaning forward to bite at her mouth, a quick touch before she pulls back laughing, thumbs now digging into Faith’s neck. When she makes a noise of protest, the pressure increases, a suddenly choking force that causes Faith to stumble, closer to falling than before.
“I got this,” Buffy tells her and presses close, offering a kiss that doesn’t meet Faith’s lips before pulling back again.
“Crocodile tears,” Faith snaps and twists her wrists, feeling metal cut into her skin.
“I thought it was alligators.”
“Think about my naked story often, B?”
“Never,” Buffy replies but doesn’t meet her eyes, cute pastel outfit making the gray walls look dark, strains on her cheeks looking disgustingly tragic in the half-light as she stands and keeps watch over the bound girl at her feet. “Never,” she repeats and Faith pulls against the chains, swears when the Slayer (as if she’s the only one with that fucking title) steps back.
“Come on closer and we can have a little fun,” and she doesn’t know what she means, what she wants to use the chains for, just wants a body under hers and strangled sounds and to hear some fucking begging. “Come on, I double-dog dare you…”
“I don’t…”
“Aw, is it wrong?” she mocks, and finds her gaze shifting, finding Giles in the background, face tight and jaw stiff. When he doesn’t glance at her, she looks back at Buffy, finds green eyes watching angrily. “Come on, come on, just give me a few minutes… come on, princess,” and she doesn’t know if this counts as begging, isn’t sure anymore, just feels a hollow that’s getting too big and an ache that she wants to alleviate.
“You’re sick,” Buffy tells her flatly and turns away and leaves alone with Giles.
Not that he even looks at her.
Not that he will unless he wants something.
“I don’t want anything from you,” the Mayor says and tosses her an apple, grins when she hefts it a few times, testing its weight. “You need a healthier diet so I brought that just for you, prettiest one in the store.” He quirks a smile, starts to reach out teasingly. “Unless you don’t want it…”
“No,” she barks immediately and starts eating, grinning around the skin when he chuckles and flashes his most dazzling little smile.
“You worry about her too much,” he sighs, perching on the edge of his desk, gazing at her with a fond expression she’s seen before but can’t completely place, something she knows but doesn’t. “You get yourself twisted up in knots and she’s just not worth it, Faith, she’s really not.”
“I know.”
“I hope you do,” he replies and reaches out to brush her hair from her face, pausing before pulling back long enough to lay a palm on her scalp, to offer a warm touch across her crown. “You’re a very special girl.”
“You really think so?”
“Oh, yes,” he smiles and she beams, can’t hold it in, spinning the apple core between her palms. “You and me, Faith, we’re going to go places, going to keep each other going…” When he notices her face, he clucks his tongue, reaches down to hook a finger around her chin, bring her eyes up. “You can quote me on this, Faith- this isn’t the end for us.”
“You promise?”
“Always-” he starts but then grunts, jerking forward, a flash of brunette hair appearing over his shoulder as something tears into his back, slices deep and then twists harder in to get at his heart.
“Always,” she promises herself as she pushes the body forward, lets it tumble to the ground, smiling like a cat. “You can count on me,” she adds as she moves close and grabs her face, tightens fingers in her hair, arm swinging back. “I mean, you and me, Faith, we’re like this, you know-” she hears and then nothing else.