A/N Bit of a one shot I wrote. I never thought I'd write them, but they can be good fun.
Thanks to April who would have had this proofed ages ago but I emailed it to the wrong adress. Bad bear!
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She looks down venomously at her clenched fists. She can do this. Start with the right; that'll be easier. One finger at a time and don't think about it. Thumb first, then the index finger. See? Easy. Nothing to it. Faith and Spike—oh, God. And she's back to square one, glaring accusingly at the tiny rebel muscles in her hand, from the top then: thumb, index finger, middle finger. Why was his shirt off? His gorgeous pale chest bare to Faith's harlot eyes. She grits her teeth against the image of Faith’s hand with its long crimson nails laid against that cold smooth skin, its prison parlour matched perfectly to his melanin-deprived flesh.
Ring finger—nearly there now—keep going; you’re the slayer, damn it. "Don't you mean a slayer?" a sly, gloating voice asks in her mind. Oh yes, because Faith's a slayer, too, and he's always had a thing for slayers. She hadn't let him finish that sentence on their first morning after: "Only thing better than killing a slayer would be fu—" but she'd known what he was going to say, and he hadn't gotten any of that action from her in months and Faith was a slayer too.
She cocks her head in detached surprise; had her little finger moved without her knowing? Must have done, because now she's staring at the open palm of her own delicate, sun-kissed hand. She always had enjoyed the contrast.
She's not surprised at Faith; she's a self-proclaimed slut after all, and she doesn't think the other slayer knew about her and Spike. Although, going on past form, that probably would have been more incentive than deterrent. But no, Faith didn't know and it's not her fault, not really. Fair's fair. After all, the girl has been in prison and the vampire is very, very pretty.
No, it's Spike that surprises her. She hadn't thought he'd… He'd what? Move on like she told him to when she flaunted her "date" with the principle in front of his face like the callous bitch she knows she's capable of being. He was supposed to love her. Why would he go with Faith if he loved her? The insecurity that's always been a part of her heart knows the answer, and tells her plainly: "Because he doesn't love you anymore."
And, damn it, now she can feel tears welling in her unblinking eyes. He doesn't love her, and that should be good, because she never loved him. It was like she'd tried to tell Dawn. She had feelings for him, but she didn’t love him, she never had, never could. But now he has his soul and she's allowed to care, and she does. She doesn't want him to be unhappy and loving her had never made him anything but unhappy. So it's all of the good. She doesn’t love him. He doesn't love her. It's good. Better.
So it isn't really her concern what he does with Faith. The two of them were like sexual time bombs, after all. They both probably just got horny and looked for the nearest willing hottie for a bit of bump and grind. Nothing more than that.
Unless - and this isn't a direction she wants her mind to go because with it goes a jealousy that tastes like bile and heartbreak in her throat - unless it is more. There's something wildly compelling about Faith that you don't have to be male to recognise, and Spike likes high-maintenance women. And Faith could be looking for more. She's bound to have grown up a lot in prison; she could be looking for something more permanent. Something real. Like love. And now she's being ridiculous.
But. What if there was something more—or a chance of it, at least, for them. And my God, why does that thought make it so damn difficult to breathe? If there was, then didn't they deserve it? They could be good for each other, help each other get back on track, like a formerly evil help group.
Her hands are suddenly free and the resolve in her heart is liberating. She can do this. It's the right thing to do, and she's Buffy after all, and Buffy always does the right thing. Obligation falls like a heavy blanket over her shoulders, suffocating but familiar for all that and somehow comforting.
It's easy to find Faith. She's watching an infomercial in the living room, enjoying the rare moment of peace in the house while the potentials are out with Xander and Andrew. Morale-boosting mall trip.
"Faith."
"Hey, B." The dark slayer stretches languidly as she turns, and she gets an unwelcome view of exposed belly and cleavage. The envy she feels is petty and cattily female; it's so easy to see what a man like Spike would see in a girl like Faith.
"Faith." Her voice is serious and mature, just like she planned, and she's sure no one would be able to tell that jealousy is making her hate Faith with an intensity that makes her hands twitch to do violence. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Woah, B." Faith stands and takes a step back, suspicious and uncomfortable. "What's up? This doesn't sound good."
"No, there's no problem. I'm not angry. You haven't done…" She shakes her head and makes a 'scratch that' gesture with her hands. "It's about Spike."
Faith raises an eyebrow and gives her a speculative look that kinda irks her; she's trying to be magnanimous here.
"Oh yeah, our basement hottie?" There's teasing in the other girl’s voice and it's enough to ignite a spark of annoyance in Buffy's gut. "Say, B, are you using him tonight? 'Cos I was thinking to steal him for a bit of rough and tumble."
Possessive jealousy whips up in her belly, fanning the flames into anger. And suddenly her good intention is vanishing quicker than the food in this house. Faith doesn't want something real from Spike; she's not offering him anything. It's the same as always—she just wants to play with Buffy's toys.
Her hands find their way to her hips and she bristles. "I don't think so, Faith. I don't know what game you think you're playing, but I'm warning you. Don't play it on my turf."
"Hey, back off, B." The tough jail bird in Faith isn't about to back down. Sure, she's got some making up to do, but she's no one’s doormat and no way is she going to put up with little Miss Abstinence throwing her weight around. "I don't know what's eating ya, but you can save the orders for the potentials. You know I don't take 'em."
"This isn't an order, Faith. It's a threat." She's on a roll now and she's not letting Faith get her hands on anything else that belongs to Buffy Summers. "Stay away from Spike."
The dark eyes flash for an instant to the doorway behind Buffy before they meet the other slayer's green-eyed glare with challenge and amusement. "Listen, B. I don't go messing in your love life, such as it is; why d'ya think you get to poke around in mine?"
"Faith, I don't care if you sleep with every guy in Sunnydale." Her eyes narrow threateningly. "Just stay away from Spike."
"Awww, that's not fair. You got some kinda monopoly on banging the undead? 'Cos I reckon me and Blondie got… What do you scoobs call it? Oh yeah, 'sparkage.'"
"You reckon wrong." Faith's amusement is making her angry, and God, how had she ever thought she should give them her blessing? "Touch him and I will put the hurt on you."
"Tough talk, B." She throws her hair over her shoulder and her breasts jiggle in the tight confines of her vest. "But I didn't see a 'This Vamp Belongs to' tag anywhere on him." She draw out the end of the sentence in a sexy drawl that suggest she has looked everywhere, and Buffy's about ready to start making good on her threats.
"Then visit your optician." Faith's such a ho, she's gonna spell this out for her one more time, and then she's going to have to start throwing punches. "Spike's mine, Faith; you need to remember that."
And what is so funny? Faith is laughing like she's just been told the joke of the year, one hand on her side, eyes flashing with pleasure and mirth. "Knew it all along, B. Did you?"
And then she's brushing past with a husky laugh and heading for the door. The door where Spike is standing. Panic makes her head swim and she has to put a hand out to catch her swaying body against the back of the armchair.
Oh, God. Faith played her. And he heard. He heard her say that thing to Faith about him being hers. And he probably heard that thing about no one else touching him and—oh no, now he knows. Knows what she feels, what she can't help but feel even when she'd trying really hard to not to. Even when she's on stupid phoney dates with her boss or telling her sister or Giles that they don’t have to worry, there is no Spike and Buffy.
"Buffy?" His voice is uncertain, cracked with hoarse emotion. It's just her name, but he's asking her everything and hope is sparking in his eyes and she has to do something right now, because hope like that could destroy him and she couldn't let that happen. She has to crush it now. Quick and painless.
"Spike?" But it sounds like an invitation, even to her own ears, and now he's coming closer and she's trembling with expectation. And by the time he's close enough to touch, the hope in his eyes is blazing and so is the desire, the love he's been hiding for so long. He is hers. She was right about that much, at least, whether she wants him or not.
"Spike." It seems to be all she can say, but it must have been enough because suddenly his lips are on hers and his kisses are still maddeningly passionate. His arms are around her and every inch of her body is crying out in relief and demanding to know why she has denied herself this for so many months.
Her mind might still be questioning the wisdom of this, but her body seems to believe her heart has given it the go ahead, because all she can do is touch him and kiss him and revel in the nearness of him. Even if her mind is still whirring with a hundred and one reasons that this is a mistake, her heart is pounding and her belly is heavy with lust and she simply has to have him.
They stumble past Faith on their way to the basement, kissing and groping like horny teenagers, not even acknowledging the brunette as she lounges in the kitchen doorway and grins triumphantly at them. Later, when they emerge ruffled and sated, casting shy suggestive looks at each other and stealing touches and kisses right under the Scoobies' noses, the dark slayer will be insufferably pleased with herself and will remind them smugly that they have her to thank. But right now, neither of them cares whose mischief got them here. All that matters is the feel of the other's lips, the strength of their embrace.
He feels so real and she's missed his body so much she could be forgiven for rushing this, for forcing him down onto the rickety cot she knows won't survive their reconciliation and taking what she's missed so badly. But even she is not so obtuse that she does not understand that he needs more than that, that he needs to feel his love reciprocated in her touch, at least, if not in her words. It's still far too soon for that.
She stills the frantic movements of her hands in favour of cupping his face and holding him firmly as she kisses him, deep and languid, until his moans are low satisfied rumbles of need in his chest and his usually clever hands are reduced to clinging motionlessly to her shoulders.
His reservations are actually kinda sweet, and when he pulls away it looks like it requires a Herculean effort of will. "Buffy." He tries to still her wandering hands, catching them up in his and forcing her attention to his eyes. "Luv, are you sure?" It's such a pointless cliché and so unlike him. Obviously she's sure, and even if she wasn’t—because she seems to remember not being entirely certain just moments ago in the living room—she could no more stop now than she could sprout wings and fly.
"Yes." She's aware that her voice comes out irritated and impatient, and the brief flash of uncertainty in his eyes tells her again that he needs more than the desperation of lust. Oh, he'd succumb to it, she doesn't doubt that, but it's not what he needs and for the first time ever, she's thinking about what he needs.
"Spike." She catches his face again in her hands. "I'm sure. I guess seeing you with Faith—"
"Pet, I didn't—"
"I know, but it still gave me a wake up call. I'm sure Spike. Really, I am. You're mine and I want you."
Suspicion rises again in his eyes and she can't blame him, really. She does have previous when it comes to breaking his heart. "I want you." It's as far as she can go right now, but if she drops her voice and softens her eyes, she can make it sound like "I love you," and it'll be close enough for him.
His lips are back on hers and he's whispering his love through his kisses, and, for the first time, she welcomes the words into her mouth along with his searching tongue and swallows them down, greedy, like she's been starving for them. And when he's finally inside her again, all she can do is chant his name and cling to him, and in her own ears it sounds like, "I love you," and she hopes he can hear it too.
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A/N "she has previous when it comes to breaking his heart"
April when she proofed this inserted the word experience after previous. So Im thinking that Americans don't use the word in this way. IN Britain we say previous like a criminal who's done a similar crime before has 'previous' or 'previous form'.
I love the little differences in use of the same language and obviously I come across it more now reading and writting fanfic.
On a different topic. I just discovered Dead Like Me (how can this show have been axed?) And I think I'm in love Ah Mason Mason Mason. I'm still unsure whether I want to be his mother and cuddle him or do very very bad things to him (does that make me a deviant?). Sigh. Ordered the first Season on DVD even though I had to buy it Region 1 from America and it might not play on my player. I couldnt wait till june for the uk release
