Shifting Realities (watcher!verse fic)
Faith was…a complication. A complication of the highest caliber and one he wasn’t sure what to do with. She was gorgeous, he would have to be blind not to see that, and Simon was certainly not blind, and she was intriguing, entrancing. And Simon hadn’t been so tempted since the night he’d broken his vows. And that’s exactly what Faith was - a temptation.
Fighting practice was the worst. He knew he had to learn, he knew he needed the knowledge she was willing to provide, but the fact that they spent the majority of each of those “sessions” pressed against each other, with Faith trying to work his body into the right positions again and again, and both of them trying to fight to focus and he couldn’t count the number of times he’d pressed against her when they’d finally moved to sparring and she’d felt him already half-hard. Honestly, he’d never really had an issue with desire before - he was a priest for Heaven’s sake - but Faith seemed immune to that tolerance. He’d simply given up on feeling awkward about it, because he also couldn’t count the number of times they’d stayed pressed together longer than they should have, times when they were closer than they should have been (which the Slayerettes loved to tease him about), and when the nightmares had started, he had to admit there was a bit of selfishness in holding her, because he liked the way she felt in his arms.
She crowded him, in his office when he was trying to do research for all of them, she’d lean against his desk instead of sitting on the other side, arms propped behind her, making it all but impossible for him not to notice how good she looked in whatever she was wearing. But he didn’t pull away, and after the initial awkwardness (he wasn’t going to go from celibacy to ladies man over night after all) he actually found himself responding to her, flirting, his hand finding her arm when they talked, no longer falling out of chairs when she came out of her room in a bra, but instead, enjoying the view. Tentatively.
Needless to say, the tension was palpable. The Slayerettes saw it. And talked about it. Faith’s fellow Slayer Buffy saw it. And commented on it. Greta saw it. And teased him about it. And Simon really couldn’t deny their accusations, not when he knew they were true, even if he had to put up with a blush that ranged from his toes to his ears every time the younger women got him alone.
But, even with all of that, he wasn’t sure exactly when it happened. When the tension finally got to be so much that it simply shattered under its own weight. One second they were pressed together in the middle of fighting practice, arms tangled as he tried to deflect her punch, bodies contorted as they tried to wrestle free of each other, and then, suddenly, he was kissing her, his hands tangled in her hair, and she kissed back with equal fervor, and it was all the two of them could do to make it to a bed.
And after the sex, which had been as good as he remembered it, neither of them left, which probably would have been the smart thing - they probably should have broken apart and gone back to their apartments, because this was just releasing tension, just acknowledging they both wanted each other - and instead curled up together, Simon stroking her hair, and her laying against him in the same positions they’d practiced time and time again after her nightmares. And it was almost an unspoken, natural thing that they moved from the tension to being what they were now - which, Simon supposed, was in a relationship.
Granted, it wasn’t perfect, or simple. Anyone who talked about relationships simply flowing without effort was a lair as far as Si was concerned, but even if they were complete opposites, and drove each other up a damn wall half the time, well, it was working. He wasn’t really sure how…but it was. Somehow, it was.
And Simon had never felt so vulnerable, or so exhilarated in his life.
Fighting practice was the worst. He knew he had to learn, he knew he needed the knowledge she was willing to provide, but the fact that they spent the majority of each of those “sessions” pressed against each other, with Faith trying to work his body into the right positions again and again, and both of them trying to fight to focus and he couldn’t count the number of times he’d pressed against her when they’d finally moved to sparring and she’d felt him already half-hard. Honestly, he’d never really had an issue with desire before - he was a priest for Heaven’s sake - but Faith seemed immune to that tolerance. He’d simply given up on feeling awkward about it, because he also couldn’t count the number of times they’d stayed pressed together longer than they should have, times when they were closer than they should have been (which the Slayerettes loved to tease him about), and when the nightmares had started, he had to admit there was a bit of selfishness in holding her, because he liked the way she felt in his arms.
She crowded him, in his office when he was trying to do research for all of them, she’d lean against his desk instead of sitting on the other side, arms propped behind her, making it all but impossible for him not to notice how good she looked in whatever she was wearing. But he didn’t pull away, and after the initial awkwardness (he wasn’t going to go from celibacy to ladies man over night after all) he actually found himself responding to her, flirting, his hand finding her arm when they talked, no longer falling out of chairs when she came out of her room in a bra, but instead, enjoying the view. Tentatively.
Needless to say, the tension was palpable. The Slayerettes saw it. And talked about it. Faith’s fellow Slayer Buffy saw it. And commented on it. Greta saw it. And teased him about it. And Simon really couldn’t deny their accusations, not when he knew they were true, even if he had to put up with a blush that ranged from his toes to his ears every time the younger women got him alone.
But, even with all of that, he wasn’t sure exactly when it happened. When the tension finally got to be so much that it simply shattered under its own weight. One second they were pressed together in the middle of fighting practice, arms tangled as he tried to deflect her punch, bodies contorted as they tried to wrestle free of each other, and then, suddenly, he was kissing her, his hands tangled in her hair, and she kissed back with equal fervor, and it was all the two of them could do to make it to a bed.
And after the sex, which had been as good as he remembered it, neither of them left, which probably would have been the smart thing - they probably should have broken apart and gone back to their apartments, because this was just releasing tension, just acknowledging they both wanted each other - and instead curled up together, Simon stroking her hair, and her laying against him in the same positions they’d practiced time and time again after her nightmares. And it was almost an unspoken, natural thing that they moved from the tension to being what they were now - which, Simon supposed, was in a relationship.
Granted, it wasn’t perfect, or simple. Anyone who talked about relationships simply flowing without effort was a lair as far as Si was concerned, but even if they were complete opposites, and drove each other up a damn wall half the time, well, it was working. He wasn’t really sure how…but it was. Somehow, it was.
And Simon had never felt so vulnerable, or so exhilarated in his life.