FIC: Edward/Faith (Anita Blake/Buffy Vampire Slayer Crossover), Rated R.
Title: Tarry a moment, my charming girl.
Author: Sionnain
Fandom: Anita Blake/Buffy the Vampire Slayer cross-over
Pairing: Edward/Faith
Rating: Hard R for sex and violence.
Summary: She's intriguing, though he thinks she's far too mouthy.
Word Count: ~2100
AN: A gift fic for Kaz814. Thanks to Srichard for input on Faith, and Cat of Issuegirls for a truly fabulous beta! I hope you like this, Kaz. I relented and no one dies at the end. I hope you know how hard that was for me. *G* Title's from the Hunter and the Milkmaid by JG Saxe. Yeah, she's no milkmaid, but hey. I thought it fit.
Tarry a moment, my charming girl.
Ah! Sir Hunter, what excellent taste! I'm not--in such--particular--haste.
--JG Saxe, The Hunter and the Milkmaid
For a moment as he watches her fight, he thinks she's Anita.
She's a brunette, and tough without a doubt, but besides being a bit taller there's something about her that's not quite right. Anita fights like an avenging angel, burning bright with the righteousness she has somehow managed to keep inside of her, despite the darkness which surrounds her.
Despite fucking all those monsters. And she thinks I have no morals.
Edward has his hand on his gun-as usual-but he makes no move to put holy-water filled bullets into the vamp. The girl seems to be doing well enough on her own, and it's pretty to watch, the violence of it.
It's not his fight, but as far as entertainment goes, it's not bad. He likes the way her body arches, the way she hisses in the moonlight and smiles, bright-red lips curved in pleasure, when she stakes them and the vampires turn to dust.
“You know, mister, if you're gonna stand there and watch, gonna cost you.” She sounds out of breath, and yet there's a vague amusement there, an inneundo that makes him almost smile.
“You appear to be doing just fine on your own,” he says, unconcerned, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
The girl is wearing vinyl pants that look like black paint and some top that clings too tightly and shows off too much flesh, - a veritable buffet for vampires. Maybe that's what she wanted; hell, she seemed to be having a good enough time as it is.
The last vampire took a look at him, standing in the slash of light thrown into the alley, and mutters “Death,” before taking off at a run.
“Oh, no you don't. You're not getting away that easy,” the girl shouts, pulling out a stake and hurtling it with expert precision to bury in the vamp's back.
“Nice,” Edward says blandly, walking up to her. “You've done this before.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” She cocks her head and grins at him. He finds her amusing because she's bouncing on the soles of her feet, like she has too much energy in that little body to contain. “Usually people scream and stuff when they see vampires the first time. You aren't one, though.” Her hands go for another spike, even though she sounds rather certain in her pronouncement that he's not of the undead.
He's tempted to tell her that he is a vampire, just to fight with her. She looks enough like Anita that maybe he could pretend, just for a moment, that his greatest fantasy has come to life. Still, he's not all that interested in playing prey for demented young women.
Not when he's working, anyway.
“No,” he says evenly. “I'm not a vampire, but I've seen vampires before.” Edward's not a man of many words, so those are all she gets.
“Killed any?” She gives him a challenging sort of look.
“Oh, many,” he tells her, voice pitched low. If she knew anything at all about predators, all she'd need was one look at his face to know when to run. Apparently, she's either incredibly dense or has a death-wish, because she doesn't so much as move.
“Yeah? With a stake?” She blinks up at him, and he notices she's breathing too fast. She's not fooling him-he knows she's deadly.
“I like flamethrowers,” he answers, and she laughs.
“Hadn't thought of that. Might try it out next time.” She's looking at him with the same sort of predatory look the vampires had turned on her tender little neck earlier.
That's exactly the moment when he knows, without a doubt, who she is.
Easier to find her than I had been told. It usually is.
She steps back, further into the shadows, beckoning him to follow with fuck-me eyes and a promising sort of smile. Oh, if only she knew. When Edward followed things into the darkness, most of the time, he was the only thing that came back out.
“You got a name, blondie?” Her voice is flirtatious, syrupy. He doesn't like it at all.
“I do.” Death. He smiles at her, but she's all hyped up on the adrenaline after her kill, and she misses the danger in his expression entirely.
“Care to share it?” She speaks to him like he's an errant child, and he'd laugh, but that wouldn't do at all.
“Edward. My name is Edward,” he answers, for he doubts she knows of him at all. She seems too self-absorbed to know what else besides vampires and other assorted beasties live in the night.
“My name's-”
“Faith,” he supplies with a smile, following her. “I know who you are.”
“Heard of me, have you??” She tosses her hair, and his eyes are drawn to the smooth column of her neck, bare, gleaming white in the muted light of the alley.
“Something like that,” he agrees. In the dark, she can't see the emptiness in his eyes, doesn't know how much danger she's in. The blood lust has her in such a tight grip, he doubts it would matter anyway, even if she does know.
For she most certainly is in danger: Faith. The quarry he's been paid to hunt, to run to ground, to kill.
“I'm glad to hear it. You want to know what else I'm good at, besides killing vampires?” She licks her lips and leans back against the wall.
“Is it running?” He goes for his gun, and wonders where he should shoot her. She has such a pretty face, it would be a pity to mar it with bullets. The neck, maybe. After all, she's taken such care to show it off-shame to waste such an effort, isn't it?
“Wait...” Suddenly, her eyes narrow on the gun, glinting evilly, the barrel capped by a silencer. “You're...you with the Council?”
She moves fast, kicking the gun out of his hands to clatter on the ground. No matter-a sacrifice to test her instincts, see how she fights. With elaborate, unnecessary showiness, it appears. “I have more,” he tells her, stalking her like a leopard, posture easy and relaxed.
“Me too,” she hisses, circling, hands going for one of her fancy knives as she makes some elaborate twisting motion with her body.
“If you want to dance, little girl, I'll oblige, but only until you bore me.” He has another gun at the ready, and he wonders how long she'll go before he has to use it.
“Take a while, usually?” She seems to be taunting him, and he raises the gun to point it at her.
“No.” He fires, but she dodges his shot, leaping over gracefully in a way that defies gravity.
“Ah. Supernatural powers?”
“They didn't tell you, when they told you to kill me?” She throws a knife at him, which he dodges easily, almost disappointedly. Is she not even going to try?
“I don't ask questions that don't pertain to the kill.” He fires again-steady hand, sharp gaze, he shoots like the well-trained assassin he is. The silencer muffles the sound of the bullet, but it slams into boxes, shattering wood and sending up a bit of a mess.
She dodges his shot again, and he notices that in her excitement over their little interlude, she's unaware he's backing her into a corner.
Amateur.
“You should have, blondie. This time.” She throws another knife and this one hits him in the shoulder, but only just, and he knocks it away, barely noticing the pain as it falls useless to the ground. “So do you work for the Council?”
“I work for me,” he says, then has her where he wants her, trapped with her back pressed to a brick wall. Nowhere to run, not anymore. He puts the gun away, and flexes his hands in his gloves.
He's a bit entranced with her neck, in all actuality. It'll be easier-and less messy-to simply break it. He shoves her back, hands sliding up to her neck. “Aren't you going to fight? Didn't expect you to give in so easily.”
“I'm not.” Her voice sounds like a purr, scratchy and rough like velvet, and then she kisses him. Her mouth is hot, and she has sharp teeth, biting his lower lip and sucking hard.
Despite Anita thinking him sexless, Edward is not immune to the charms of deadly, leather-clad vixens with flashy moves and take-me eyes. He just doesn't seek them out, because like Faith, they usually come with knives.
He'd rather just pay a girl and have done with it; there’s less chance of him bleeding afterwards, and Edward is not at all fond of messes.
She smells good, though, something that stirs in his brain and makes him think of Anita. With that comes his fantasy, of hunting her down, and he pushes his quarry against the wall and kisses her back, roughly. In his mind are flashes of his prey, drawing down on her...it's a bit too much, at the moment, for even him to resist.
“This is much better than killing me, don't you think?” she mutters against his mouth, and she tastes like something sharp.
Maybe it's strychnine.
Edward doesn't answer her, merely stares down into her face as his hands pull at her leather pants, pushing them off her narrow hips along with the small scrap of lace that passes for her panties.
With one hand, he pins her wrists to the wall as he unbuttons his trousers.
No time for foreplay. He still has to kill her afterwards, and it's already late.
“I'm the one letting you do that, you know,” she tells him, looking up at his hands. “Could push you away if I wanted.” She's panting a little, twisting, but obviously not meaning it.
He doesn't say anything, but bites her neck instead, and hard. Maybe if it doesn't look so pretty, he'll just be able to shoot her and leave it at that.
“Thought you weren't a vampire,” she gasps, and he resists the urge to drop her arms and clap his hand over her jaw to shut her up.
When he pushes inside of her, it's rough and fast and furious against the brick wall of the alley. She makes noises-too many, in his opinion-and bucks like some sort of psychotic wildcat against him.
At the end, after she comes, she stares into his eyes as he does-silently, of course-and for the first time he sees worry cross her face.
“Something's wrong with your eyes,” she gasps, just as his hands slide up to her neck, pressing easily even as his flesh softens inside of her. “What'd...that vampire called you something.” She's wriggling in his grasp, which is nice, really. Pleasant. More so than all that commotion she made earlier.
Probably because this time, her struggles are real.
“Death,” Edward says softly, smiling, his eyes empty and pitiless. He squeezes harder, sighing a bit. The fantasy had been nice, but Anita would be far harder to catch than this one. Still, he's had his fun, which he'd not counted on. This is the nice thing about his job; bonuses come in such unexpected ways.
“Well. I'm not impressed,” she hisses, then twists out from his grasp, leaving him slightly incapacitated as he has to do up his pants. He won't catch her, not now, and for tonight it seems as if he's failed.
Stupid, he scolds himself, watching as she runs, leaping like a gazelle over debris until she disappears into the night.
Ah, well. He'd get her in the end. He always did. It was always a bit more exciting when they knew he was after them, anyway. It made the kill so much better. More satisfying, somehow.
Edward emerges from the shadows of the alley, alone, hands in his pockets. He walks down the street, humming to himself. Anita's right about him, in that way. He really does hear music no one else can, and oh, how it sings.
~Finis
Author: Sionnain
Fandom: Anita Blake/Buffy the Vampire Slayer cross-over
Pairing: Edward/Faith
Rating: Hard R for sex and violence.
Summary: She's intriguing, though he thinks she's far too mouthy.
Word Count: ~2100
AN: A gift fic for Kaz814. Thanks to Srichard for input on Faith, and Cat of Issuegirls for a truly fabulous beta! I hope you like this, Kaz. I relented and no one dies at the end. I hope you know how hard that was for me. *G* Title's from the Hunter and the Milkmaid by JG Saxe. Yeah, she's no milkmaid, but hey. I thought it fit.
Tarry a moment, my charming girl.
Ah! Sir Hunter, what excellent taste! I'm not--in such--particular--haste.
--JG Saxe, The Hunter and the Milkmaid
For a moment as he watches her fight, he thinks she's Anita.
She's a brunette, and tough without a doubt, but besides being a bit taller there's something about her that's not quite right. Anita fights like an avenging angel, burning bright with the righteousness she has somehow managed to keep inside of her, despite the darkness which surrounds her.
Despite fucking all those monsters. And she thinks I have no morals.
Edward has his hand on his gun-as usual-but he makes no move to put holy-water filled bullets into the vamp. The girl seems to be doing well enough on her own, and it's pretty to watch, the violence of it.
It's not his fight, but as far as entertainment goes, it's not bad. He likes the way her body arches, the way she hisses in the moonlight and smiles, bright-red lips curved in pleasure, when she stakes them and the vampires turn to dust.
“You know, mister, if you're gonna stand there and watch, gonna cost you.” She sounds out of breath, and yet there's a vague amusement there, an inneundo that makes him almost smile.
“You appear to be doing just fine on your own,” he says, unconcerned, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
The girl is wearing vinyl pants that look like black paint and some top that clings too tightly and shows off too much flesh, - a veritable buffet for vampires. Maybe that's what she wanted; hell, she seemed to be having a good enough time as it is.
The last vampire took a look at him, standing in the slash of light thrown into the alley, and mutters “Death,” before taking off at a run.
“Oh, no you don't. You're not getting away that easy,” the girl shouts, pulling out a stake and hurtling it with expert precision to bury in the vamp's back.
“Nice,” Edward says blandly, walking up to her. “You've done this before.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” She cocks her head and grins at him. He finds her amusing because she's bouncing on the soles of her feet, like she has too much energy in that little body to contain. “Usually people scream and stuff when they see vampires the first time. You aren't one, though.” Her hands go for another spike, even though she sounds rather certain in her pronouncement that he's not of the undead.
He's tempted to tell her that he is a vampire, just to fight with her. She looks enough like Anita that maybe he could pretend, just for a moment, that his greatest fantasy has come to life. Still, he's not all that interested in playing prey for demented young women.
Not when he's working, anyway.
“No,” he says evenly. “I'm not a vampire, but I've seen vampires before.” Edward's not a man of many words, so those are all she gets.
“Killed any?” She gives him a challenging sort of look.
“Oh, many,” he tells her, voice pitched low. If she knew anything at all about predators, all she'd need was one look at his face to know when to run. Apparently, she's either incredibly dense or has a death-wish, because she doesn't so much as move.
“Yeah? With a stake?” She blinks up at him, and he notices she's breathing too fast. She's not fooling him-he knows she's deadly.
“I like flamethrowers,” he answers, and she laughs.
“Hadn't thought of that. Might try it out next time.” She's looking at him with the same sort of predatory look the vampires had turned on her tender little neck earlier.
That's exactly the moment when he knows, without a doubt, who she is.
Easier to find her than I had been told. It usually is.
She steps back, further into the shadows, beckoning him to follow with fuck-me eyes and a promising sort of smile. Oh, if only she knew. When Edward followed things into the darkness, most of the time, he was the only thing that came back out.
“You got a name, blondie?” Her voice is flirtatious, syrupy. He doesn't like it at all.
“I do.” Death. He smiles at her, but she's all hyped up on the adrenaline after her kill, and she misses the danger in his expression entirely.
“Care to share it?” She speaks to him like he's an errant child, and he'd laugh, but that wouldn't do at all.
“Edward. My name is Edward,” he answers, for he doubts she knows of him at all. She seems too self-absorbed to know what else besides vampires and other assorted beasties live in the night.
“My name's-”
“Faith,” he supplies with a smile, following her. “I know who you are.”
“Heard of me, have you??” She tosses her hair, and his eyes are drawn to the smooth column of her neck, bare, gleaming white in the muted light of the alley.
“Something like that,” he agrees. In the dark, she can't see the emptiness in his eyes, doesn't know how much danger she's in. The blood lust has her in such a tight grip, he doubts it would matter anyway, even if she does know.
For she most certainly is in danger: Faith. The quarry he's been paid to hunt, to run to ground, to kill.
“I'm glad to hear it. You want to know what else I'm good at, besides killing vampires?” She licks her lips and leans back against the wall.
“Is it running?” He goes for his gun, and wonders where he should shoot her. She has such a pretty face, it would be a pity to mar it with bullets. The neck, maybe. After all, she's taken such care to show it off-shame to waste such an effort, isn't it?
“Wait...” Suddenly, her eyes narrow on the gun, glinting evilly, the barrel capped by a silencer. “You're...you with the Council?”
She moves fast, kicking the gun out of his hands to clatter on the ground. No matter-a sacrifice to test her instincts, see how she fights. With elaborate, unnecessary showiness, it appears. “I have more,” he tells her, stalking her like a leopard, posture easy and relaxed.
“Me too,” she hisses, circling, hands going for one of her fancy knives as she makes some elaborate twisting motion with her body.
“If you want to dance, little girl, I'll oblige, but only until you bore me.” He has another gun at the ready, and he wonders how long she'll go before he has to use it.
“Take a while, usually?” She seems to be taunting him, and he raises the gun to point it at her.
“No.” He fires, but she dodges his shot, leaping over gracefully in a way that defies gravity.
“Ah. Supernatural powers?”
“They didn't tell you, when they told you to kill me?” She throws a knife at him, which he dodges easily, almost disappointedly. Is she not even going to try?
“I don't ask questions that don't pertain to the kill.” He fires again-steady hand, sharp gaze, he shoots like the well-trained assassin he is. The silencer muffles the sound of the bullet, but it slams into boxes, shattering wood and sending up a bit of a mess.
She dodges his shot again, and he notices that in her excitement over their little interlude, she's unaware he's backing her into a corner.
Amateur.
“You should have, blondie. This time.” She throws another knife and this one hits him in the shoulder, but only just, and he knocks it away, barely noticing the pain as it falls useless to the ground. “So do you work for the Council?”
“I work for me,” he says, then has her where he wants her, trapped with her back pressed to a brick wall. Nowhere to run, not anymore. He puts the gun away, and flexes his hands in his gloves.
He's a bit entranced with her neck, in all actuality. It'll be easier-and less messy-to simply break it. He shoves her back, hands sliding up to her neck. “Aren't you going to fight? Didn't expect you to give in so easily.”
“I'm not.” Her voice sounds like a purr, scratchy and rough like velvet, and then she kisses him. Her mouth is hot, and she has sharp teeth, biting his lower lip and sucking hard.
Despite Anita thinking him sexless, Edward is not immune to the charms of deadly, leather-clad vixens with flashy moves and take-me eyes. He just doesn't seek them out, because like Faith, they usually come with knives.
He'd rather just pay a girl and have done with it; there’s less chance of him bleeding afterwards, and Edward is not at all fond of messes.
She smells good, though, something that stirs in his brain and makes him think of Anita. With that comes his fantasy, of hunting her down, and he pushes his quarry against the wall and kisses her back, roughly. In his mind are flashes of his prey, drawing down on her...it's a bit too much, at the moment, for even him to resist.
“This is much better than killing me, don't you think?” she mutters against his mouth, and she tastes like something sharp.
Maybe it's strychnine.
Edward doesn't answer her, merely stares down into her face as his hands pull at her leather pants, pushing them off her narrow hips along with the small scrap of lace that passes for her panties.
With one hand, he pins her wrists to the wall as he unbuttons his trousers.
No time for foreplay. He still has to kill her afterwards, and it's already late.
“I'm the one letting you do that, you know,” she tells him, looking up at his hands. “Could push you away if I wanted.” She's panting a little, twisting, but obviously not meaning it.
He doesn't say anything, but bites her neck instead, and hard. Maybe if it doesn't look so pretty, he'll just be able to shoot her and leave it at that.
“Thought you weren't a vampire,” she gasps, and he resists the urge to drop her arms and clap his hand over her jaw to shut her up.
When he pushes inside of her, it's rough and fast and furious against the brick wall of the alley. She makes noises-too many, in his opinion-and bucks like some sort of psychotic wildcat against him.
At the end, after she comes, she stares into his eyes as he does-silently, of course-and for the first time he sees worry cross her face.
“Something's wrong with your eyes,” she gasps, just as his hands slide up to her neck, pressing easily even as his flesh softens inside of her. “What'd...that vampire called you something.” She's wriggling in his grasp, which is nice, really. Pleasant. More so than all that commotion she made earlier.
Probably because this time, her struggles are real.
“Death,” Edward says softly, smiling, his eyes empty and pitiless. He squeezes harder, sighing a bit. The fantasy had been nice, but Anita would be far harder to catch than this one. Still, he's had his fun, which he'd not counted on. This is the nice thing about his job; bonuses come in such unexpected ways.
“Well. I'm not impressed,” she hisses, then twists out from his grasp, leaving him slightly incapacitated as he has to do up his pants. He won't catch her, not now, and for tonight it seems as if he's failed.
Stupid, he scolds himself, watching as she runs, leaping like a gazelle over debris until she disappears into the night.
Ah, well. He'd get her in the end. He always did. It was always a bit more exciting when they knew he was after them, anyway. It made the kill so much better. More satisfying, somehow.
Edward emerges from the shadows of the alley, alone, hands in his pockets. He walks down the street, humming to himself. Anita's right about him, in that way. He really does hear music no one else can, and oh, how it sings.
~Finis