Black Magic White Lies, chapter 2
Title: Black Magic White Lies
Chapter 2 - "No! It's not what you think!"
Timeline: BtVS, alternate season 5
Genre: drama, mystery, action
Characters, pairing: general, Xander/Faith
Rating: R (for intense situations).
Summary: Xander thinks he has a little secret. He doesn't know that his little secret is a part of a big fat conspiracy.
Disclaimer: They all belong to Joss. He said I could play with'em, so there.
Author's notes: Much thanks to my wonderful betas lusciousxander and deird1 who encourage me, help me with character voices, fix my bad grammar and style. All mistakes are mine. This is my first plotty multi-character fic, so concrit is very welcome.
The story starts here.
"...I didn't know comas made people so horny."
Faith laughed and straddled him - insatiable, powerful, dangerous. She pulled him in, her hungry lips tracing his jaw line, her hands tangled in his hair. Her tongue invaded his mouth and she started riding him, mesmerizingly slowly, rocking back and forth. The world pulsated, dipped and soared - he found himself drowning in sensations: the heat of her skin, the bittersweet taste of her lips, the music of her hoarse, rapturous laughter. And - her eyes. God, her eyes. Suddenly death stopped meaning anything, and he was sliding down a dizzy whirlwind towards completion. Shadows danced on her face as she arched, shuddered and toppled on the bed next to him - sated, spent, regally beautiful.
He tried to collect his thoughts. He knew he had little time - she never gave him more than five minutes. He tentatively kissed her shoulder. No reaction. She was laying motionless, her eyes closed, her body relaxed - a predator in a rare moment of peace. Emboldened, he traced the curves of her breasts with his lips, felt her shiver and continued slowly caressing her, coming down to her abdomen...
"That's where she stabbed me."
It was so unexpected he didn't comprehend at first.
"What?"
"You're kissing me exactly where she stuck that knife."
"Faith, I'm so sor..."
"You know how much it hurts when you're stabbed with your own knife? It hurts like hell. You know she gutted me because she wanted to feed a slayer to her pet vampire? Oh, and she also wanted to have a knife with my blood on it to destroy the man who cared about me. To lure him into a trap. Did you know that?"
Unable to bring himself to look her in the eye, he stared at her flat, toned stomach. Smooth skin, no scars. Hard to believe that last year Buffy has buried a knife in this warm, soft flesh. Impossible to imagine this perfection disfigured with a wound and drenched in blood.
If only Slayers' souls could heal as neatly as their bodies.
"Faith, people have to let the past go before it destroys them. I believe - I know - you're not evil."
She pushed herself up on one elbow and patted him on his cheek.
"Stupid," she said with real affection. "I am evil. You know why? Because I'm not a loser like you. I'm on the winning side. Evil always wins. Evil is stronger. Simple as that. A knife in the gut's the best way to win any argument."
"Sure, evil is stronger to start with. But, you know, there is a catch. As soon as evil wins it starts destroying itself from within. So, on the long run, the good wins every time."
His damn tongue has always been his worst enemy. Abruptly Faith's strong hands stopped their exploration of his throbbing, burning body. In a quick predatory movement, she sprang on top of him and pressed him into the mattress.
"Quite a sport, aren't you? What if I killed you right now? Who would win?"
He closed his eyes. Death shouldn't look so beautiful. Death should look ugly and dreadful...
"Admit it, it turns you on, fucking a murderer."
He shook his head, his eyes still shut. "No! It's not what you think. And you're not a murderer. It was a freak accident. If only you could stop running..."
She laughed scornfully.
"Liar. Now, open your eyes and look at me. I said, open your eyes. And look. At. Me."
He opened his eyes and saw a knife in her hands.
"We'll play a game. Game of good and evil. One of us is Buffy, the other is Faith. Buffy guts Faith with this knife. It's very sharp, see?" She made a small shallow cut on his skin.
He stared at her in disbelief. "Listen, Faith, you shouldn't... You just need someone's help, and right now I'm thinking it's gonna be me..."
She slapped him, lightly, playfully.
"But you're already helping, dim-wit. Look... it's wicked easy..." She positioned the knife's hilt on his abdomen and set the cutting edge below her navel. "Just hold me, and it's done."
What? He giggled nervously. He expected anything but this.
"Listen, I don't want to play games..."
"You want to be Buffy, don't you, baby?" She smirked. "Come on, you always wanted to be Buffy..."
He made an attempt to put away the knife, but she steadied it against her stomach with a steely resolve, smiled encouragingly and started leaning over.
"Now, baby, don't be afraid... hold me tight."
He shuddered. "Faith, stop, please..."
She moved slowly, relentlessly, intoxicated with the closeness of death, and he realized, horrified, that she was planning to take her deadly embrace all the way. And he can't do anything. If he moved, he'd gut her.
Inspiration struck. "I'm Faith!"
She froze.
"What?"
"What if I'm Faith and you're Buffy?"
She hesitated.
"It's not against the rules," he reminded. "You said "one of us".
"Spoilsport." Mildly disappointed, she removed the knife and grinned. "Okay, rules are rules."
Several drops of blood trickled down her abdomen - she had cut herself a little, after all. She wiped the blood with her finger and shoved it into his mouth. "You like the sweet taste of Buffy's blood?"
He gulped convulsively. "Could we talk? Give me five minutes, Faith, and I will..."
She slapped him again, more violently. "I'm not Faith, moron. You're Faith. I'm Buffy. Buffy the Belly Ripper."
"Buffy," he repeated obediently. "Could we talk?"
"Too late, Faithie. You're a bad girl and I don't need you anymore. I've already taken everything that belonged to you and now I'm gonna rip into your cute belly and enjoy watching you bleed. You'll get what you want, Faithie. Despicable, wretched Faithie who loves death and misery."
She kissed the tip of the knife and placed it against his stomach. He stiffened, resisting the urge to thrash in her hands. She's so much stronger, she'd kill him instantly. Him, and then - herself.
With an effort he tore his gaze from the knife and looked her in the eye. "I'm not despicable, wretched Faithie," he said slowly. "I'm Faith the Vampire Slayer. I did a lot of good. I saved a lot of lives."
He'd rehearsed these words so many times. In third person, for Buffy. In second person, for her. He never thought he would have to say them in first person.
"One day I made a terrible mistake and after that day everything went downhill. I didn't want to kill that guy. I was sure he was a vampire and he was trying to kill Buffy. I wanted to protect her, because she is my sister slayer. I was horrified when I realized that the guy was human. I didn't want to die in the Council's dungeons so I became a fugitive. But, given a chance..."
She slapped him so hard that his ear started ringing.
"Screw you! You can't trick me, Xander! You - not me, you! - love death and misery! You came with me to this crappy motel, of your own free will, even though I'd tried to kill you once before."
"Because I love you!"
She dropped her knife and recoiled from him like he was suddenly red hot.
"What?"
He bit his lip and looked away. For a few interminable moments Faith stared at him incredulously. Then she laughed.
"You don't love me, Xanny-boy. You love your oh-so-sweet and noble Buffy. And - your boring, useless life. You're pathetic. You always have been. That first time, a year ago, when when you'd been driving around Sunnydale in your stupid shiny car, you were so ridiculous and awkward... And - and I was a complete fool when I... I mean I only needed you to help me with a dislocated shoulder..."
She sprang from the bed and flung him his clothes. "Get dressed and get out!"
"Faith..."
"Shut up!"
"... just tell me what I should do."
She shot him an angry glance. "Get away from here before I change my mind and kill you."
Desperate, he watched her putting on her trademark armor of black leather and red lipstick. "No, I mean - what I can do to help you."
"Now, look at Mother Teresa." He couldn't see her face - she'd turned away. "You can't help me. Nobody can help me."
"What are you going to do?"
"None of your bees-wax."
"Faith, listen..."
"No, you listen. What are you prepared to do? Fight your goodie-two-shoes Buffy for me? Betray your precious friends? Kill people? Die for me? Die with me?"
She was so gorgeous when she was vehement. Xander slowly pulled on his jeans, playing for time. "I could talk to Giles. I - we - could come up with, um, a mission or some kind of redemption for you. Something apocalypse-preventing..." God, he sounded so lame.
Faith chuckled softly, sadly.
"Grow up, Xander, okay?"
He knew he was losing her forever, but in his heart of hearts he hoped - fervently, desperately - she'd change her mind and stay. They'd go to Giles and make some kind of pact with the Watchers' Council and Faith would do something utterly heroic and she would be redeemed, become one of them, wouldn't be his dirty little secret anymore...
In the doorway she lingered a bit.
"Cheer up, baby. It was a good lay and a wicked cool game."
Suddenly, he felt so small and helpless.
"It isn't a game," he whispered.
But she was already gone.
... He wakes up in his new apartment, his pillow wet with sweat, his sheets wet with spunk, his body aching. The warm shower doesn't help - he still feels like shit. He quickly switches the water from hot to cold and back several times. It's a very sadistic and very effective way to wake himself up. To chase away his nightmares, his memories, his past. Because he has to take care of the present.
His reflection in the mirror looks at him with silent reproach.
He makes himself a cup of a very strong coffee, and then he calls Willow.
Next: Chapter 3 - In Which Xander And Willow Are Paranoid
Chapter 2 - "No! It's not what you think!"
Timeline: BtVS, alternate season 5
Genre: drama, mystery, action
Characters, pairing: general, Xander/Faith
Rating: R (for intense situations).
Summary: Xander thinks he has a little secret. He doesn't know that his little secret is a part of a big fat conspiracy.
Disclaimer: They all belong to Joss. He said I could play with'em, so there.
Author's notes: Much thanks to my wonderful betas lusciousxander and deird1 who encourage me, help me with character voices, fix my bad grammar and style. All mistakes are mine. This is my first plotty multi-character fic, so concrit is very welcome.
The story starts here.
"...I didn't know comas made people so horny."
Faith laughed and straddled him - insatiable, powerful, dangerous. She pulled him in, her hungry lips tracing his jaw line, her hands tangled in his hair. Her tongue invaded his mouth and she started riding him, mesmerizingly slowly, rocking back and forth. The world pulsated, dipped and soared - he found himself drowning in sensations: the heat of her skin, the bittersweet taste of her lips, the music of her hoarse, rapturous laughter. And - her eyes. God, her eyes. Suddenly death stopped meaning anything, and he was sliding down a dizzy whirlwind towards completion. Shadows danced on her face as she arched, shuddered and toppled on the bed next to him - sated, spent, regally beautiful.
He tried to collect his thoughts. He knew he had little time - she never gave him more than five minutes. He tentatively kissed her shoulder. No reaction. She was laying motionless, her eyes closed, her body relaxed - a predator in a rare moment of peace. Emboldened, he traced the curves of her breasts with his lips, felt her shiver and continued slowly caressing her, coming down to her abdomen...
"That's where she stabbed me."
It was so unexpected he didn't comprehend at first.
"What?"
"You're kissing me exactly where she stuck that knife."
"Faith, I'm so sor..."
"You know how much it hurts when you're stabbed with your own knife? It hurts like hell. You know she gutted me because she wanted to feed a slayer to her pet vampire? Oh, and she also wanted to have a knife with my blood on it to destroy the man who cared about me. To lure him into a trap. Did you know that?"
Unable to bring himself to look her in the eye, he stared at her flat, toned stomach. Smooth skin, no scars. Hard to believe that last year Buffy has buried a knife in this warm, soft flesh. Impossible to imagine this perfection disfigured with a wound and drenched in blood.
If only Slayers' souls could heal as neatly as their bodies.
"Faith, people have to let the past go before it destroys them. I believe - I know - you're not evil."
She pushed herself up on one elbow and patted him on his cheek.
"Stupid," she said with real affection. "I am evil. You know why? Because I'm not a loser like you. I'm on the winning side. Evil always wins. Evil is stronger. Simple as that. A knife in the gut's the best way to win any argument."
"Sure, evil is stronger to start with. But, you know, there is a catch. As soon as evil wins it starts destroying itself from within. So, on the long run, the good wins every time."
His damn tongue has always been his worst enemy. Abruptly Faith's strong hands stopped their exploration of his throbbing, burning body. In a quick predatory movement, she sprang on top of him and pressed him into the mattress.
"Quite a sport, aren't you? What if I killed you right now? Who would win?"
He closed his eyes. Death shouldn't look so beautiful. Death should look ugly and dreadful...
"Admit it, it turns you on, fucking a murderer."
He shook his head, his eyes still shut. "No! It's not what you think. And you're not a murderer. It was a freak accident. If only you could stop running..."
She laughed scornfully.
"Liar. Now, open your eyes and look at me. I said, open your eyes. And look. At. Me."
He opened his eyes and saw a knife in her hands.
"We'll play a game. Game of good and evil. One of us is Buffy, the other is Faith. Buffy guts Faith with this knife. It's very sharp, see?" She made a small shallow cut on his skin.
He stared at her in disbelief. "Listen, Faith, you shouldn't... You just need someone's help, and right now I'm thinking it's gonna be me..."
She slapped him, lightly, playfully.
"But you're already helping, dim-wit. Look... it's wicked easy..." She positioned the knife's hilt on his abdomen and set the cutting edge below her navel. "Just hold me, and it's done."
What? He giggled nervously. He expected anything but this.
"Listen, I don't want to play games..."
"You want to be Buffy, don't you, baby?" She smirked. "Come on, you always wanted to be Buffy..."
He made an attempt to put away the knife, but she steadied it against her stomach with a steely resolve, smiled encouragingly and started leaning over.
"Now, baby, don't be afraid... hold me tight."
He shuddered. "Faith, stop, please..."
She moved slowly, relentlessly, intoxicated with the closeness of death, and he realized, horrified, that she was planning to take her deadly embrace all the way. And he can't do anything. If he moved, he'd gut her.
Inspiration struck. "I'm Faith!"
She froze.
"What?"
"What if I'm Faith and you're Buffy?"
She hesitated.
"It's not against the rules," he reminded. "You said "one of us".
"Spoilsport." Mildly disappointed, she removed the knife and grinned. "Okay, rules are rules."
Several drops of blood trickled down her abdomen - she had cut herself a little, after all. She wiped the blood with her finger and shoved it into his mouth. "You like the sweet taste of Buffy's blood?"
He gulped convulsively. "Could we talk? Give me five minutes, Faith, and I will..."
She slapped him again, more violently. "I'm not Faith, moron. You're Faith. I'm Buffy. Buffy the Belly Ripper."
"Buffy," he repeated obediently. "Could we talk?"
"Too late, Faithie. You're a bad girl and I don't need you anymore. I've already taken everything that belonged to you and now I'm gonna rip into your cute belly and enjoy watching you bleed. You'll get what you want, Faithie. Despicable, wretched Faithie who loves death and misery."
She kissed the tip of the knife and placed it against his stomach. He stiffened, resisting the urge to thrash in her hands. She's so much stronger, she'd kill him instantly. Him, and then - herself.
With an effort he tore his gaze from the knife and looked her in the eye. "I'm not despicable, wretched Faithie," he said slowly. "I'm Faith the Vampire Slayer. I did a lot of good. I saved a lot of lives."
He'd rehearsed these words so many times. In third person, for Buffy. In second person, for her. He never thought he would have to say them in first person.
"One day I made a terrible mistake and after that day everything went downhill. I didn't want to kill that guy. I was sure he was a vampire and he was trying to kill Buffy. I wanted to protect her, because she is my sister slayer. I was horrified when I realized that the guy was human. I didn't want to die in the Council's dungeons so I became a fugitive. But, given a chance..."
She slapped him so hard that his ear started ringing.
"Screw you! You can't trick me, Xander! You - not me, you! - love death and misery! You came with me to this crappy motel, of your own free will, even though I'd tried to kill you once before."
"Because I love you!"
She dropped her knife and recoiled from him like he was suddenly red hot.
"What?"
He bit his lip and looked away. For a few interminable moments Faith stared at him incredulously. Then she laughed.
"You don't love me, Xanny-boy. You love your oh-so-sweet and noble Buffy. And - your boring, useless life. You're pathetic. You always have been. That first time, a year ago, when when you'd been driving around Sunnydale in your stupid shiny car, you were so ridiculous and awkward... And - and I was a complete fool when I... I mean I only needed you to help me with a dislocated shoulder..."
She sprang from the bed and flung him his clothes. "Get dressed and get out!"
"Faith..."
"Shut up!"
"... just tell me what I should do."
She shot him an angry glance. "Get away from here before I change my mind and kill you."
Desperate, he watched her putting on her trademark armor of black leather and red lipstick. "No, I mean - what I can do to help you."
"Now, look at Mother Teresa." He couldn't see her face - she'd turned away. "You can't help me. Nobody can help me."
"What are you going to do?"
"None of your bees-wax."
"Faith, listen..."
"No, you listen. What are you prepared to do? Fight your goodie-two-shoes Buffy for me? Betray your precious friends? Kill people? Die for me? Die with me?"
She was so gorgeous when she was vehement. Xander slowly pulled on his jeans, playing for time. "I could talk to Giles. I - we - could come up with, um, a mission or some kind of redemption for you. Something apocalypse-preventing..." God, he sounded so lame.
Faith chuckled softly, sadly.
"Grow up, Xander, okay?"
He knew he was losing her forever, but in his heart of hearts he hoped - fervently, desperately - she'd change her mind and stay. They'd go to Giles and make some kind of pact with the Watchers' Council and Faith would do something utterly heroic and she would be redeemed, become one of them, wouldn't be his dirty little secret anymore...
In the doorway she lingered a bit.
"Cheer up, baby. It was a good lay and a wicked cool game."
Suddenly, he felt so small and helpless.
"It isn't a game," he whispered.
But she was already gone.
... He wakes up in his new apartment, his pillow wet with sweat, his sheets wet with spunk, his body aching. The warm shower doesn't help - he still feels like shit. He quickly switches the water from hot to cold and back several times. It's a very sadistic and very effective way to wake himself up. To chase away his nightmares, his memories, his past. Because he has to take care of the present.
His reflection in the mirror looks at him with silent reproach.
He makes himself a cup of a very strong coffee, and then he calls Willow.
Next: Chapter 3 - In Which Xander And Willow Are Paranoid