Sluttier Than Thou
Buffy the Vampire Slayer, R, ~1,000 words, spoilers through mid-season 7. Faith/Spike.
It's not the change of sides that's getting to Faith. She's totally down with the goodness. Practically a goddamn marshmallow is what she is, pure and innocent and serving the forces of all that is right and goody-two-shoes. And she's cool with that. She's not in a bad mood because she misses being evil, she's in a bad mood because she misses being alone. Being on the run sucked in a lot of ways, but having no bathroom at all beats the hell out of having one right there that she can't use because someone else has locked themselves inside for the past twenty minutes.
After the fourth teenage girl (counting Andrew, who counts) ducks under her outstretched Hot Pocket to claim the microwave through some mysterious system of dibs they've worked out among themselves, Faith loses her patience and stomps downstairs to do some damage to the punching bag. The basement used to be a training area for the girls, but none of them enjoy having every kick analyzed and criticized by a bored vampire, so the room has become Spike's.
Faith has dealt the sandbag seven or eight good slugs by the time she registers the sound of the vamp squawking, "Oi! D'you mind?"
She turns around, tossing her hair out of her face. Her indifferent expression splits into a wide grin at the sight of Spike indignantly stuffing his cock back into his pants. "Hey," she says. "Wanna be careful waving that around? There are impressionable kids around the house who might never recover from the sight of male genitalia." She turns back to the punching bag and continues pummeling it with vigor.
"Excuse me, I was in the middle of something here," Spike calls over the thudding of her fists.
"Go ahead," Faith tosses over her shoulder between jabs. "I'm not stopping you. Believe me, I've seen a lot more of those than you have."
"I beg your pardon?" Spike says incredulously. "I'm over five times your age, love. There's nothing you've seen more of than I have."
"Drusilla had a big ol' set of nuts, huh? Or did you screw around on her with guys?"
Faith's Slayer sense is the only thing that prevents her from being knocked cold by Spike's swing. She whips around and raises her eyebrows. "Speaking of nuts, are you? That kind of shit will fry your brain, right?"
"Don't talk about Dru like that." His voice rips from his throat in a staccato growl.
Faith shrugs. "You said you've got experience with sausage. What am I supposed to think? Anyway, you might be surprised. I may not have many years under my belt, but I've had a lot of dicks there."
Spike collects his composure and stretches back out on his cot, tucking one forearm behind his head. "Dru and me, we shared. No way you're anywhere near my record in shags. Quantity or quality."
"Yeah?" Faith folds her arms. "Ever fuck Angel?"
"For decades, and please do not tell me he's your standard of quality." Spike wrinkles his nose, which is a lot cuter on his human face than it is in demon form. "The Slayer? Other one, I mean. You two ever experiment during your little delinquency phase?"
Faith sighs. "Tried. Girl's straighter 'n dry spaghetti. Her little sidekicks, though, I nailed both of them. Xander's first time ever, Willow's first time with a chick. And I got to Kennedy before witch-girl did, too."
"Really?" Spike looks briefly interested, then remembers the pissing contest. "Marilyn Monroe. Caught her in the fifties by pretending I didn't know who she was."
"Hey. Not fair." Faith scowls. "Okay, Wilkins. He almost caused the apocalypse, that's gotta count for something." She walks over to the cot and stands over him, arms still crossed belligerently.
Spike smiles up at her, his cool restored. "Oh, are we bringing demons into this now? Shall I list the species I've had chronologically or alphabetically? Anya, for starters. Glory, I'd say she was definitely getting something out of that little torture session. Were you around for Adam, the cyber-human-demon who wanted to learn how the world worked? Showed him a thing or two about that, I did."
Faith knows he's got her on the demon count, so she goes for the distraction. "I did do Buffy, if you count taking over her body and rubbing one out. And her boyfriend, the soldier boy."
Spike laughs. "Yeah, I did him too. Hiding out by candlelight, sleeping bags, whole nine."
"Could've had you in that perky little blonde body too," Faith says. "You were gagging for it. Still are. You'd be her little declawed sex kitten the second she asked, even after everything she's done to you. You fucked a robot just because it was shaped like her. Pathetic, don't you think?"
He's silent for a moment, then, "Harmony."
"Trick."
"Giles."
"Giles and Wesley."
"Andrew."
"Andrew?" Faith demands. "Come on, he's desperate enough to do anything with a hole in it."
Spike waves this aside. "Buffy's mum, once. She really was a decent lady. No roll in the hay, that. Red wine and good sheets, and she made it last for hours."
"A Slayer's mom, huh? I'm gonna do a Slayer's kid pretty soon here. That principal guy has definitely been eyeing me."
"What, Wood? I did his mum before you were born."
"How many Slayers is that, then?" asks Faith.
He grins proudly. "Two. Didn't think to nail the Chinese one, and I dunno if postmortem bangs really count anyhow. But two's good, considering their purpose in life and all. Slayers don't just pop up all over the place, you know? But I'll get more of 'em before I'm dusted, you wait and see."
Faith raises an eyebrow and waits for Spike to remember who he's talking to. Once realization settles into his expression, she smiles and braves the stairs back into the estrogen zoo for the sake of a satisfying exit.
All in all, she's pretty sure she won the argument.
It's not the change of sides that's getting to Faith. She's totally down with the goodness. Practically a goddamn marshmallow is what she is, pure and innocent and serving the forces of all that is right and goody-two-shoes. And she's cool with that. She's not in a bad mood because she misses being evil, she's in a bad mood because she misses being alone. Being on the run sucked in a lot of ways, but having no bathroom at all beats the hell out of having one right there that she can't use because someone else has locked themselves inside for the past twenty minutes.
After the fourth teenage girl (counting Andrew, who counts) ducks under her outstretched Hot Pocket to claim the microwave through some mysterious system of dibs they've worked out among themselves, Faith loses her patience and stomps downstairs to do some damage to the punching bag. The basement used to be a training area for the girls, but none of them enjoy having every kick analyzed and criticized by a bored vampire, so the room has become Spike's.
Faith has dealt the sandbag seven or eight good slugs by the time she registers the sound of the vamp squawking, "Oi! D'you mind?"
She turns around, tossing her hair out of her face. Her indifferent expression splits into a wide grin at the sight of Spike indignantly stuffing his cock back into his pants. "Hey," she says. "Wanna be careful waving that around? There are impressionable kids around the house who might never recover from the sight of male genitalia." She turns back to the punching bag and continues pummeling it with vigor.
"Excuse me, I was in the middle of something here," Spike calls over the thudding of her fists.
"Go ahead," Faith tosses over her shoulder between jabs. "I'm not stopping you. Believe me, I've seen a lot more of those than you have."
"I beg your pardon?" Spike says incredulously. "I'm over five times your age, love. There's nothing you've seen more of than I have."
"Drusilla had a big ol' set of nuts, huh? Or did you screw around on her with guys?"
Faith's Slayer sense is the only thing that prevents her from being knocked cold by Spike's swing. She whips around and raises her eyebrows. "Speaking of nuts, are you? That kind of shit will fry your brain, right?"
"Don't talk about Dru like that." His voice rips from his throat in a staccato growl.
Faith shrugs. "You said you've got experience with sausage. What am I supposed to think? Anyway, you might be surprised. I may not have many years under my belt, but I've had a lot of dicks there."
Spike collects his composure and stretches back out on his cot, tucking one forearm behind his head. "Dru and me, we shared. No way you're anywhere near my record in shags. Quantity or quality."
"Yeah?" Faith folds her arms. "Ever fuck Angel?"
"For decades, and please do not tell me he's your standard of quality." Spike wrinkles his nose, which is a lot cuter on his human face than it is in demon form. "The Slayer? Other one, I mean. You two ever experiment during your little delinquency phase?"
Faith sighs. "Tried. Girl's straighter 'n dry spaghetti. Her little sidekicks, though, I nailed both of them. Xander's first time ever, Willow's first time with a chick. And I got to Kennedy before witch-girl did, too."
"Really?" Spike looks briefly interested, then remembers the pissing contest. "Marilyn Monroe. Caught her in the fifties by pretending I didn't know who she was."
"Hey. Not fair." Faith scowls. "Okay, Wilkins. He almost caused the apocalypse, that's gotta count for something." She walks over to the cot and stands over him, arms still crossed belligerently.
Spike smiles up at her, his cool restored. "Oh, are we bringing demons into this now? Shall I list the species I've had chronologically or alphabetically? Anya, for starters. Glory, I'd say she was definitely getting something out of that little torture session. Were you around for Adam, the cyber-human-demon who wanted to learn how the world worked? Showed him a thing or two about that, I did."
Faith knows he's got her on the demon count, so she goes for the distraction. "I did do Buffy, if you count taking over her body and rubbing one out. And her boyfriend, the soldier boy."
Spike laughs. "Yeah, I did him too. Hiding out by candlelight, sleeping bags, whole nine."
"Could've had you in that perky little blonde body too," Faith says. "You were gagging for it. Still are. You'd be her little declawed sex kitten the second she asked, even after everything she's done to you. You fucked a robot just because it was shaped like her. Pathetic, don't you think?"
He's silent for a moment, then, "Harmony."
"Trick."
"Giles."
"Giles and Wesley."
"Andrew."
"Andrew?" Faith demands. "Come on, he's desperate enough to do anything with a hole in it."
Spike waves this aside. "Buffy's mum, once. She really was a decent lady. No roll in the hay, that. Red wine and good sheets, and she made it last for hours."
"A Slayer's mom, huh? I'm gonna do a Slayer's kid pretty soon here. That principal guy has definitely been eyeing me."
"What, Wood? I did his mum before you were born."
"How many Slayers is that, then?" asks Faith.
He grins proudly. "Two. Didn't think to nail the Chinese one, and I dunno if postmortem bangs really count anyhow. But two's good, considering their purpose in life and all. Slayers don't just pop up all over the place, you know? But I'll get more of 'em before I'm dusted, you wait and see."
Faith raises an eyebrow and waits for Spike to remember who he's talking to. Once realization settles into his expression, she smiles and braves the stairs back into the estrogen zoo for the sake of a satisfying exit.
All in all, she's pretty sure she won the argument.