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Although the Bronze was a ridiculously big place for such a small town, it was always crowded on Friday nights, and that was the way Faith loved it the most – if she could ever find it in herself to love such a crappy bar. Everything in Sunnydale seemed exactly like every other place she had been before; eerily familiar and yet irritatingly alien.
But there was something to be said about bodies pressing into each other under the rhythmic pulses of the speakers, about the way the beat heated up the dance floor and seemed to stop time. About the way Buffy curled into her, warm and bright, how she smelled like sweat, and cinnamon, and lazy summer days. It all rushed to Faith’s head like the blood pumping fast in her veins and then fell in her stomach like lead, the movement constant and straining, almost weakening her knees even though she felt like she could take over the world.
Her skin tingled with electricity as Buffy melted into her, all smiles as she threw her arms around Faith’s neck and pulled her closer. Trusting, Faith thought as they danced together, Buffy’s fingers toying with her hair and she found her own hands running down curves as they moved apart and came back crashing into each other like waves. For a moment, Faith wanted nothing more than to stay like this, draining that built-up energy inside, the storm that always raged inside turning to a light rain.
She missed what Buffy said; only noticed the shift in her body, muscles tensing in apprehension. Faith followed her gaze, and it was only when her eyes landed on the vampire that she remembered why they were at the Bronze to begin with. Buffy’s voice returned to Faith’s ear again, warm breath trickling down her neck and Faith smirked, heart beating fast.
“You first, B,” she agreed under her smug grin, closing her fists.
Outside, the alley was dark, empty and somewhat cold, but the music followed them like a ghost. They heard footsteps behind them, instincts kicking in as soon as the vampire made his move. When a second and then a third one appeared, adrenaline seeped into her like sweet ecstasy, and the pain on her knuckles and on her already bruised ribs mixed with it perfectly. The familiar sound of disintegrating vamps barely reached Faith’s ears as she continued to focus on the rhythm coming from the bar, holding onto the feeling for as long as she could.
There was nothing alien, then, when she pushed Buffy against the brick wall and pressed her lips against her. Nothing strange about the way Buffy breathed, scarcely, welcoming Faith’s tongue like it belonged inside her. There was something tugging at her chest, forcing Faith closer and every inch of her seemed to scream that Buffy was hers.
It was only to quiet the fear inside that Faith insisted on Buffy’s lips that night, teasing and playful although her heart ached with every one of Buffy’s moans.
[...]
There was a scar across her stomach now and she flinched every time Buffy’s fingers brushed against it. Faith remembered the feeling all too well; blood desperately flowing out of her, making her weak and angry, and the fall had been so easy then, easier than any goodbyes she had spilled before.
The betrayal hadn’t been surprising. To someone like Buffy, what was Faith, but a monster? A shadow lurking in alleys when Buffy burned bright like the sun; distant and unforgiving.
Faith had always known that part of Buffy; that ruthless voice inside that demanded to be freed. She had felt it in Buffy’s punches and heard it in the way she moaned below her, always keeping the power and holding onto it. Faith had loved that darkness, had revelled in it. Had always known it would end like this.
She had just never thought the knife would find her first.
That night, as the blade ripped her apart, Faith had seen something in Buffy’s eyes, a look she couldn’t forget and that she saw again now, with Buffy’s fingers curling inside her. Immeasurable pain.
There were stories Faith had heard, fairy tales for rich people who didn’t have to worry about where they’d sleep the next night; stories about soul mates that Faith had never really cared to listen to. But when Buffy had stabbed her that night, the words had rushed to her mind like vultures.
She didn’t want it to be true, she kept repeating to herself, but when she had punched Buffy tonight, and felt the sting on her own cheek, Faith had known right away that she had lost once again. She had laughed until it had turned into tears, her jabs and kicks weakening until she had found Buffy’s hands on her waist, anchoring her.
When she came that night, Faith didn’t find forgiveness in Buffy’s eyes, but there was a quiet understanding that tightened her chest, and it felt like falling when she ran out the door.
[...]
It had been years since she last visited Sunnydale and Faith wondered how things could feel so different when everything was the same. In the only quiet room of the chaotic household, Buffy didn’t glow as she used to, but Faith’s skin burned nonetheless. This time, the kiss wasn’t frantic or angry or desperate; it felt warm and slow, like a lazy summer day.
They didn’t talk much; they never did. But Buffy’s hand pressed over Faith’s scar and their eyes met, and Faith wondered if this bond between them would ever stop hurting. If Buffy felt the same ache, but she knew that answer already.
Although the house was filled with strangers it seemed to Faith like they were alone, Buffy and her, standing at the edge of the world. The two of them, tasked to make sure the Earth didn’t tip over, and somehow Faith had never been convinced it shouldn’t. Never trusted that it was worth saving. But when she looked at Buffy she knew she would give her life for it, anyway.
Buffy would ask her to run into the hellmouth with her, and Faith would follow.
It was as simple as that.
This time felt like the last and they moved slowly, forgetting the constant chatter across the hall and the apocalypse that gathered on the horizon like a storm. They sank into each other and Faith revelled on Buffy’s pleasure rolling inside her and it seemed like time stood still when Buffy whispered “stop thinking”.
For a moment it seemed like they were back on that dance floor, years before. Kids, really, with a bright future before them, fooling themselves into thinking they could stay like this forever, melting into each other, warm and young and alive.
There was no illusion in Buffy’s bedroom that night. Faith knew it was a matter of hours before Buffy would remember her duty, before she would burn high like the sun again. Ruthless and unforgiving.
If it had to end like this, Faith thought, with one of them dead, this time she really didn’t mind if it had to be her.