DISCLAIMER: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and its characters are the property of Joss Whedon, WB and UPN. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SPOILERS: Slight spoilers for season 3.
Just let go. Don't worry about saving the world and the consequences of your actions. For once you'll live in only this moment, selfishly and carelessly. She'd made it sound so temptingly easy. Want. Take. Have.
You could have her, your bodies fighting for control, until you lay breathless in her dingy motel sheets. Ever since that first twinge of jealously, your claims of being "single white female'd" had hidden all the emotions that threatened every assumption you'd made about yourself. You couldn't like girls. There was no way your eyes would always end up on the flash of skin that her inappropriately low shirts would revel when you trained each day.
No, it couldn't be you, the girl who got "married" with a dandelion ring in Kindergarten, and had been certain that the handsome vampire with a soul was "the one". And yet your attraction to Faith had the same intensity you'd had with Angel before you kissed. They both had that fatal mix of danger, lust, and strength that made not acting upon your attraction almost impossible.
Not that Faith was an Angel replacement, some rebound with extra parental disapproval. With Angel, you'd fallen in love with the soul-ed crusader of good, and struggled to reconcile your love for him once he'd reverted to evil and soulless. Faith's bad side was just as attractive to you as the fleeting moments when she let it slip that she cared about anyone but herself. You were never sure if you wanted to save her or join her.
Faith's moral complexity combined with her total self-confidence makes her all the more intoxicatingly irresistible. Tonight, Faith has taken over your thoughts and your body. You are helpless to the pull of her body, mere inches away from yours, bare skin carelessly caressed in the loud throbbing music of the Bronze. Her hand grips yours, pulling you into the deep end. Everyone else in the Bronze is just a blur.
Your eyes can only focus on her, your five senses separating her from the haze. Her flushed skin brushes hot against yours, her musky perfume combining with adrenaline and sweat. It's the same scent as that floods your senses when you finish a patrol, just as familiar as the feeling of a wooden stake in your hand. It certainly makes the "horny and hungry" conversation even more desirable to avoid.
Her crimson lips are still visible despite the darkness of the club, and they catch your eye as you come up for air. Her lips brush against your ear as she whispers and laughs, leaving behind blood red patterns on your ears. It's the way your heart races when she touches you that seals your fate. Her every breath, every laugh, is intensified, echoing in your mind. Want.
Your hands roam over her skin, teasing, hoping she'll fulfil the desire you don't dare admit. Faith doesn't notice, she's too busy basking in the spotlight. She needs every eye in the club to be on her, and you're not sure that just yours will be enough. The force is greater than your doubt, and you build the courage to whisper softly in her ear. She gives you took, grins smugly, and pulls you into the chill of night. Your lips touch, and her nails run down your back. A hint of black cherry lip gloss on your tongue. You kiss her back, hard. Take.
Somehow you end up in her bed, Faith straddling you with a cocky smirk. Her hands move roughly along your body, yanking off any clothing that gets in her way. It's not long before you're naked, sweaty, and gasping for breath. You lie against her, your arm strewn across her stomach. You know you might as well be trying to hold on to air. Still, her body is intertwined with yours. Have.
For this moment, at least.
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