(no subject)
Title: Wishes Coming True
'Verse: BTVS/Leverage
Characters: Eliot/Faith
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1908
Summary: Faith and Eliot usher in her thirtieth birthday.
Warning: m/f masturbation
Author's Note: Written for 2010's winter_of_faith. No ownership claim is intended, and no money is certainly gained.
Thirty. Faith didn’t even have to look at a clock to know that midnight was just passing. It was December 14, 2010 - officially her thirtieth birthday, making her the first Slayer in who knew how many lifetimes to successfully survive that long. Maybe the first Slayer ever, she thought, making a mental note to ask Giles once she got back to Cleveland.
Thoughts of all the people who’d bet she’d never make it this far drifted across her mind as she watched the lights of Boston play out in front of her. Even if you took her Calling out of the equation, best intentions aside the odds of her dying young in a fight on the streets of South Boston had been astronomically high. Never amount to anything. Her mother hadn’t actually said it - Faith supposed that was something at least. Of course, by the end her mother hadn’t been sober enough to recognize if Faith was there or not.
Everyone else, however, seemed to have clung to the idea in one form or another. Eventually Faith had begun to believe it too; even as a superhero she could only be considered a modest success. Certainly when compared against somebody like Buffy Summers.
Thoughts of the Senior Slayer tightened something in her chest, and Faith scowled. Buffy’s shadow was very large, and no one had been trapped under it longer than she had. Even now, when she finally had a place among the Slayers that was uniquely hers, Faith couldn’t make a move without knowing that somehow, in some way, Buffy would have done it better.
******************
Eliot was afraid to move, afraid to breathe - afraid to do anything that would force Faith to acknowledge his presence. She’s so damn peaceful. One of the first things he’d figured out about the dark-haired young woman was that she was restless by nature. Even when she was ostensibly trying to be still, the potential energy was a constant vibration against his nerves.
Coming on her in a moment of genuine, absolute quiet was so unexpected that Eliot wished he had some measure of artistic skill, some way to capture the moment. It was the sort of beauty that took your breath away, made you feel privileged to have been able to witness even a moment of it before it passed forever.
Almost as if she’d heard his thoughts, Faith blew out an explosive breath, and he saw a scowl cloud her features.
Don’t leave her in her head too long. It was a trait she and her father shared in full, although Eliot knew Faith would deny to her last breath that she ever thought too much about anything.
“Hey,” he said softly, wanting to grab her attention without startling her. She looked over her shoulder at him, and when her dark eyes met his Eliot felt things low in his body tighten pleasurably. “Those look like some dark thoughts for this time of night.”
Faith smiled self-consciously. “Not so bad,” she said. “Just a quick brush with the old inferiority complex.”
Now it was Eliot’s turn to frown. “Buffy?”
Faith snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Buffy. Of course, Buffy. Always, Buffy.”
Eliot growled softly. He’d met Faith’s fellow Slayer once, and if he was being totally honest about the whole mess his response to her had been completely biased and unfair. He couldn’t help it though - he hated the hold the little blond mall rat had on Faith’s entire self-image, and he didn’t know how to shake it.
A low whistle from Faith pulled him up just shy of his first actually murderous thoughts. His eyes snapped to hers again. “What?”
She laughed. “The look on your face. Shit, Eliot - she is not worth you getting upset.” Faith pushed herself off the wall she’d been leaning against and walked over to him. “I like my baggage,” she said, her smile turning playful. “It suits my image.”
Eliot didn’t take the bait; locking eyes with her, his expression stayed serious. “I’m not interested in your image, Faith.” Threading his fingers into sleep tousled tangles of dark hair, he dragged her up against him and kissed her as thoroughly as he could. She relaxed into him, twining her arms around his neck and kissing him back.
“Just what are you interested in, tough guy?” she asked when their lips finally parted. Eliot shivered as she licked at the swell of his lower lip. He knew she could see the truth in his eyes, even before she rubbed her body slowly against the swell of his cock.
“You know what I’m interested in,” he growled, his voice suddenly thick with heat and lust. Fisting one hand in Faith's hair, Eliot slipped his other hand under the hem of the t-shirt she’d swiped from his dresser. Locking eyes with her again, he dragged the pad of his thumb slowly across her clit.
Now it was Faith's turn to growl.
****************************
“You know what I’m interested in,” Eliot repeated, rubbing the sensitive nub of flesh with slow, hard, demanding circles, “and it ain’t your damn image.”
Faith hummed with pleasure, moving her hips in time with his strokes. A soft moan escaped her lips as he twisted his wrist against her thighs and slid two fingers inside her pussy. “That’s it,” he breathed, fucking her with long, sure strokes. “That’s what I want to see.”
She moaned again, louder now - rocking her hips into his strokes. “God, Eliot…”
“Shh,” he countered, brushing his thumb across her clit again. “This isn’t about me, Birthday Girl. It’s all about you.”
I like the sound of that, Faith thought, finally giving in to the sensations he was drawing out of her. Sex was only part of the reason she kept returning to Eliot, sniffing around whatever this thing between them was - but it was a strong part. The man seemed to have an instinctive understanding of how to play her body when they were together…getting whatever reaction he wanted out of her every single time.
She clenched and unclenched her fists reflexively as she felt the lazy spirals of an orgasm building through her abdomen. “Eliot…” There was a whining edge to her voice now - tiny tremors were shivering across her shoulders and down her arms. So close…
Her eyes were closed and her head was tipped back when he slipped a third finger in beside the first two. Faith gasped loudly enough that Eliot pulled her hard against her chest, dragging her head down against his shoulder. His thrusts were harder now, knuckles lightly thumping against tender, swollen flesh.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered as Faith felt her muscles tighten around his fingers. The orgasm broke over her in a heavy wave, slicking the insides of her thighs, and leaving her shaking and whimpering in his arms. He steadied her without complaint, gently kissing her hair and seeing her through the aftershocks that shivered through her.
**********************
“I have a present for you,” he said, once she could stand on her own again.
Faith eyed him warily. “You mean besides this?”
Eliot nodded, kissing her lightly on the lips. Before he could pull away, Faith tugged him closer with a whimper of need and kissed him again. Their play had awakened a hunger that was only just starting to be satisfied. Her kiss was messier than his had been - openmouthed and hungry…lips and teeth and tongue and soul-blinding need.
“In a minute,” he whispered, pulling away from her with no small effort. “I’ll be right back.”
Faith watched him disappear back into the apartment, smiling in spite of herself. He returned only a moment later, carrying a polished wooden case. “Happy Birthday, darlin’.” He passed the box across to her.
Faith accepted it, not breaking eye contact. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” she said, her voice a shade reproachful.
“Nate was very clear about having you all to himself later,” he countered. Faith opened the hinged lid of the box, and her gaze ticked down to the object that lay nestled inside it. “And I didn’t think he’d approve of that,” he finished as her expression was suffused with wonder and amazement.
It was a knife - a large hunting knife with a gut hook worked into the back side of the blade. Silver wire wrapped the hilt. Whistling low, Faith picked it up and looked it over. It’s a custom job, she realized, unable to stop herself from speculating how much money Eliot must have spent on the piece.
She passed the blade under her nose, inhaling the mingled scents of oil and steel, and froze. It didn’t smell right. Faith glanced up at Eliot, confused by what her senses were telling her. “What’s different?”
Eliot’s smile was lazy and satisfied. “Highest silver content possible without disrupting the integrity of the steel.”
Faith whistled, looking at the blade again. He’d put a serious amount of thought, as well as a lot of money into the gift. “Eliot…”
Before she could say anything else, he held up a hand - cutting her off. “I also had it blessed by nine different spiritual traditions. Stick that in any supernatural nasty, and they’re gonna feel it.”
Faith was overwhelmed with a wave of feeling that threatened to buckle her knees and drop her to the floor. Swallowing hard, she carefully closed the wooden case and hugged it to her chest. She bowed her head over it, suddenly unable to make herself look at Eliot.
It’s too much. It wasn’t even the money he’d spent that scared her the most, although she knew he’d spent a lot. It was the time and care that had gone into it. He’d given her something to improve her chances of coming home in one piece. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The gift had nothing to do with making her a better Slayer, and everything to do with making her safer for the life she was finally starting to build beyond the boundaries of her Calling.
After a moment, she felt Eliot’s fingers brush the underside of her jaw, felt him tip her head up until their eyes met. “You matter,” he said. There was absolute sincerity in every line of his face when he said it. Faith’s vision blurred briefly, and then the tears were falling freely down her cheeks. “Not just to Nate - you matter to me. I need you to know that.”
It would have been easier if he’d just said he loved her. That she could have waved away - losing a considerable amount of respect for him in the process. This, though… Making an impatient sound, she dashed at the tears with the back of one hand. “Sorry,” she muttered.
His hand dropped down from her cheek to curve around the back of her neck. “Come here,” he whispered, taking the case away from her with his free hand and setting it aside. Faith let herself be drawn into the circle of his arms - let him hold her. I don’t hug, she thought, somewhat rebelliously, and then laughed at the absurdity of it, because clearly she did.
She felt Eliot smile as his arms snugged around her - could see his exact expression in her mind. “I didn’t break you, did I?”
“No,” she whispered, slipping her arms around his waist so that she really was hugging him back, “but if you're not careful, you might just fix me.”
'Verse: BTVS/Leverage
Characters: Eliot/Faith
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1908
Summary: Faith and Eliot usher in her thirtieth birthday.
Warning: m/f masturbation
Author's Note: Written for 2010's winter_of_faith. No ownership claim is intended, and no money is certainly gained.
Thirty. Faith didn’t even have to look at a clock to know that midnight was just passing. It was December 14, 2010 - officially her thirtieth birthday, making her the first Slayer in who knew how many lifetimes to successfully survive that long. Maybe the first Slayer ever, she thought, making a mental note to ask Giles once she got back to Cleveland.
Thoughts of all the people who’d bet she’d never make it this far drifted across her mind as she watched the lights of Boston play out in front of her. Even if you took her Calling out of the equation, best intentions aside the odds of her dying young in a fight on the streets of South Boston had been astronomically high. Never amount to anything. Her mother hadn’t actually said it - Faith supposed that was something at least. Of course, by the end her mother hadn’t been sober enough to recognize if Faith was there or not.
Everyone else, however, seemed to have clung to the idea in one form or another. Eventually Faith had begun to believe it too; even as a superhero she could only be considered a modest success. Certainly when compared against somebody like Buffy Summers.
Thoughts of the Senior Slayer tightened something in her chest, and Faith scowled. Buffy’s shadow was very large, and no one had been trapped under it longer than she had. Even now, when she finally had a place among the Slayers that was uniquely hers, Faith couldn’t make a move without knowing that somehow, in some way, Buffy would have done it better.
******************
Eliot was afraid to move, afraid to breathe - afraid to do anything that would force Faith to acknowledge his presence. She’s so damn peaceful. One of the first things he’d figured out about the dark-haired young woman was that she was restless by nature. Even when she was ostensibly trying to be still, the potential energy was a constant vibration against his nerves.
Coming on her in a moment of genuine, absolute quiet was so unexpected that Eliot wished he had some measure of artistic skill, some way to capture the moment. It was the sort of beauty that took your breath away, made you feel privileged to have been able to witness even a moment of it before it passed forever.
Almost as if she’d heard his thoughts, Faith blew out an explosive breath, and he saw a scowl cloud her features.
Don’t leave her in her head too long. It was a trait she and her father shared in full, although Eliot knew Faith would deny to her last breath that she ever thought too much about anything.
“Hey,” he said softly, wanting to grab her attention without startling her. She looked over her shoulder at him, and when her dark eyes met his Eliot felt things low in his body tighten pleasurably. “Those look like some dark thoughts for this time of night.”
Faith smiled self-consciously. “Not so bad,” she said. “Just a quick brush with the old inferiority complex.”
Now it was Eliot’s turn to frown. “Buffy?”
Faith snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Buffy. Of course, Buffy. Always, Buffy.”
Eliot growled softly. He’d met Faith’s fellow Slayer once, and if he was being totally honest about the whole mess his response to her had been completely biased and unfair. He couldn’t help it though - he hated the hold the little blond mall rat had on Faith’s entire self-image, and he didn’t know how to shake it.
A low whistle from Faith pulled him up just shy of his first actually murderous thoughts. His eyes snapped to hers again. “What?”
She laughed. “The look on your face. Shit, Eliot - she is not worth you getting upset.” Faith pushed herself off the wall she’d been leaning against and walked over to him. “I like my baggage,” she said, her smile turning playful. “It suits my image.”
Eliot didn’t take the bait; locking eyes with her, his expression stayed serious. “I’m not interested in your image, Faith.” Threading his fingers into sleep tousled tangles of dark hair, he dragged her up against him and kissed her as thoroughly as he could. She relaxed into him, twining her arms around his neck and kissing him back.
“Just what are you interested in, tough guy?” she asked when their lips finally parted. Eliot shivered as she licked at the swell of his lower lip. He knew she could see the truth in his eyes, even before she rubbed her body slowly against the swell of his cock.
“You know what I’m interested in,” he growled, his voice suddenly thick with heat and lust. Fisting one hand in Faith's hair, Eliot slipped his other hand under the hem of the t-shirt she’d swiped from his dresser. Locking eyes with her again, he dragged the pad of his thumb slowly across her clit.
Now it was Faith's turn to growl.
****************************
“You know what I’m interested in,” Eliot repeated, rubbing the sensitive nub of flesh with slow, hard, demanding circles, “and it ain’t your damn image.”
Faith hummed with pleasure, moving her hips in time with his strokes. A soft moan escaped her lips as he twisted his wrist against her thighs and slid two fingers inside her pussy. “That’s it,” he breathed, fucking her with long, sure strokes. “That’s what I want to see.”
She moaned again, louder now - rocking her hips into his strokes. “God, Eliot…”
“Shh,” he countered, brushing his thumb across her clit again. “This isn’t about me, Birthday Girl. It’s all about you.”
I like the sound of that, Faith thought, finally giving in to the sensations he was drawing out of her. Sex was only part of the reason she kept returning to Eliot, sniffing around whatever this thing between them was - but it was a strong part. The man seemed to have an instinctive understanding of how to play her body when they were together…getting whatever reaction he wanted out of her every single time.
She clenched and unclenched her fists reflexively as she felt the lazy spirals of an orgasm building through her abdomen. “Eliot…” There was a whining edge to her voice now - tiny tremors were shivering across her shoulders and down her arms. So close…
Her eyes were closed and her head was tipped back when he slipped a third finger in beside the first two. Faith gasped loudly enough that Eliot pulled her hard against her chest, dragging her head down against his shoulder. His thrusts were harder now, knuckles lightly thumping against tender, swollen flesh.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered as Faith felt her muscles tighten around his fingers. The orgasm broke over her in a heavy wave, slicking the insides of her thighs, and leaving her shaking and whimpering in his arms. He steadied her without complaint, gently kissing her hair and seeing her through the aftershocks that shivered through her.
**********************
“I have a present for you,” he said, once she could stand on her own again.
Faith eyed him warily. “You mean besides this?”
Eliot nodded, kissing her lightly on the lips. Before he could pull away, Faith tugged him closer with a whimper of need and kissed him again. Their play had awakened a hunger that was only just starting to be satisfied. Her kiss was messier than his had been - openmouthed and hungry…lips and teeth and tongue and soul-blinding need.
“In a minute,” he whispered, pulling away from her with no small effort. “I’ll be right back.”
Faith watched him disappear back into the apartment, smiling in spite of herself. He returned only a moment later, carrying a polished wooden case. “Happy Birthday, darlin’.” He passed the box across to her.
Faith accepted it, not breaking eye contact. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” she said, her voice a shade reproachful.
“Nate was very clear about having you all to himself later,” he countered. Faith opened the hinged lid of the box, and her gaze ticked down to the object that lay nestled inside it. “And I didn’t think he’d approve of that,” he finished as her expression was suffused with wonder and amazement.
It was a knife - a large hunting knife with a gut hook worked into the back side of the blade. Silver wire wrapped the hilt. Whistling low, Faith picked it up and looked it over. It’s a custom job, she realized, unable to stop herself from speculating how much money Eliot must have spent on the piece.
She passed the blade under her nose, inhaling the mingled scents of oil and steel, and froze. It didn’t smell right. Faith glanced up at Eliot, confused by what her senses were telling her. “What’s different?”
Eliot’s smile was lazy and satisfied. “Highest silver content possible without disrupting the integrity of the steel.”
Faith whistled, looking at the blade again. He’d put a serious amount of thought, as well as a lot of money into the gift. “Eliot…”
Before she could say anything else, he held up a hand - cutting her off. “I also had it blessed by nine different spiritual traditions. Stick that in any supernatural nasty, and they’re gonna feel it.”
Faith was overwhelmed with a wave of feeling that threatened to buckle her knees and drop her to the floor. Swallowing hard, she carefully closed the wooden case and hugged it to her chest. She bowed her head over it, suddenly unable to make herself look at Eliot.
It’s too much. It wasn’t even the money he’d spent that scared her the most, although she knew he’d spent a lot. It was the time and care that had gone into it. He’d given her something to improve her chances of coming home in one piece. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The gift had nothing to do with making her a better Slayer, and everything to do with making her safer for the life she was finally starting to build beyond the boundaries of her Calling.
After a moment, she felt Eliot’s fingers brush the underside of her jaw, felt him tip her head up until their eyes met. “You matter,” he said. There was absolute sincerity in every line of his face when he said it. Faith’s vision blurred briefly, and then the tears were falling freely down her cheeks. “Not just to Nate - you matter to me. I need you to know that.”
It would have been easier if he’d just said he loved her. That she could have waved away - losing a considerable amount of respect for him in the process. This, though… Making an impatient sound, she dashed at the tears with the back of one hand. “Sorry,” she muttered.
His hand dropped down from her cheek to curve around the back of her neck. “Come here,” he whispered, taking the case away from her with his free hand and setting it aside. Faith let herself be drawn into the circle of his arms - let him hold her. I don’t hug, she thought, somewhat rebelliously, and then laughed at the absurdity of it, because clearly she did.
She felt Eliot smile as his arms snugged around her - could see his exact expression in her mind. “I didn’t break you, did I?”
“No,” she whispered, slipping her arms around his waist so that she really was hugging him back, “but if you're not careful, you might just fix me.”