Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

May, 2003

The first night after closing the Hellmouth, Buffy just sleeps. She doesn’t expect to be able to — sleep feels like such a surreal concept, such an impossibly mundane thing to happen on a day where they changed the world. But one moment she’s easing back onto the stiff motel mattress and the next she’s blinking herself awake, a bright beam of sunlight burning her tired eyes.

The whole next day is a blur. Trips to and from the hospital to check on their wounded, endless calls to allies, ex council members, potential sponsors, families, friends. Buffy knows at some point Dawn even called their father, knows she spoke to him, can’t remember a word of what was said.

And then, in no time at all, it’s dark again. It’s 8 PM and the potentials— the slayers — are all back at the motel, accounted for. It’s 11 PM and Buffy and Faith are stalking silently through the area surrounding the motel, no vamps in sight. It’s 2 AM and Buffy is lingering in the hallway, watching Faith fumble with the keys to her room.

“Dark in here,” Faith says, uncharacteristically bashful, and Buffy feels herself smile despite the heavy weight that settled in the pit of her stomach the moment the sun went down. Yesterday, she’d been dazed, mind foggy with exhaustion, but now she’s cursed with a brutal clarity. It’s been harder, since night fell, to keep her mind off the smoldering crater that had once been her home. To not think about the girls they’d lost, the yawning abyss of the undecided future ahead of her, of Spike’s hand burning in hers in the moments before she’d left him behind for good.

The click of the door jolts Buffy back into the moment. Her own hand is still closed over the knob to her room, but she hasn’t turned the key.

Faith, a few doors down the hall, has stepped half into her room. She looks over at her shoulder and waits, not saying anything.

The waiting itself is the invitation.

If she’s being honest with herself, Buffy can admit she made the decision to have sex with Faith much earlier in the night. It had been about fifteen minutes into their useless patrol, when it became clear that there would be no fighting to burn off the anxious adrenaline that had been steadily building up inside her all day. There would be no wounds to tend in the aftermath to distract her from the empty pit that had opened up in her chest overnight.

And she had looked over, seen Faith in the dingy halo of a halogen streetlamp, looking ragged but determined, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her jacket, the vague impression of a stake barely visible through the leather. Faith had sensed Buffy’s gaze, had glanced over, alert but at ease, like she was ready for whatever Buffy needed next, like she'd been waiting for Buffy this whole time. And that's when Buffy had known where they would end up.

Buffy crosses the hallway, following Faith into the room and shutting the door behind them with a soft click. She thinks, distantly, that the rattle of the lock grinding shut should make her nervous, that she should probably be feeling more trepidation about having sex with a woman. Doubt, at least, or something other than the calm certainty she’s feeling now. The rush of anticipation that’s starting in her fingertips, tingling up into her chest, making her struggle to keep her breath even.

Maybe she would be nervous if the woman in question were anyone but Faith, but there’s something about her — them — that makes this all feel natural. Inevitable. All those nights when her blood had been running high and Faith had felt it, had teased her about being pent up about the rush of want that had surged through Buffy like a hurricane, things she had felt but refused, never quite gone away, despite all the years. No, this wasn’t new or sudden at all, but something much deferred.

And what’s the point of fighting that now, after everything? Of wrestling this thing between them down again and going back to her room and sitting awake alone in the dark?

“Thanks,” Buffy says, stepping further into the room and glancing around. Faith grunts in reply, bent over the mini fridge against the wall, rifling around for something. The motel room is about as spartan as her own. Buffy’s eyes keep getting drawn back to the double bed dominating the cramped space. “Dawn was basically already zonked out when we left for patrol. It would pretty much suck to have to go back and lie awake in creepy, torturous silence until she woke up or I got tired enough to pass out.”

Faith rises and kicks the mini fridge shut with a flick of her ankle. “See, there’s your problem,” Faith nods to her as she uncaps the bottle. She tilts her head back and drains half of it in a few long swallows.

Buffy’s breath catches at the sight of the long, smooth column of her neck painted faintly pink by the wash of neon filtering in through the slatted blinds at the window. She watches Faith’s throat bob, sees a trickle of water spill past the corner of her lips, rolling down, down, down. By the time Faith stops drinking and hands the bottle over to Buffy, she’s in desperate need. Her mouth has never felt so dry.

“Should’ve booked a single, B,” Faith continues, as Buffy downs the rest of the water.

Buffy crushes the bottle and sinks down onto the bed behind her, throwin the crumpled plastic across the room. She hears it rattle into the trash can better than she can see it in the low light. She likes the way Faith’s eyebrows raise up, just a little, like she’s impressed.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Buffy says.

Faith hums, shrugging out of her jacket and slinging it over the back of a lumpy looking office chair. “A little quality alone time can be good for the soul.”

It’s exactly the kind of thing she expects Faith to say, but Buffy’s not sure how much she believes it. She almost says as much.

Heard you were getting less of that, lately.

Or

You’ve been spending some quality alone time with Robin Wood, haven’t you?

Yesterday, at the hospital, she’d watched from the corner of her eye as Faith fussed over him as the ER nurses swept him off to be attended to. The sight of Faith bent low over him, his hand clasped over hers until the last moment before he’d been wheeled away had made Buffy feel something like a voyeur.

Gossip spread like wildfire with so many girls under one roof. Days before, Buffy had overheard some of them talking about Faith and Robin, had felt the back of her neck heat up with something like annoyance or…

Well, with something.

Leave it to Faith to pick a man Buffy herself had been interested in once. Again.

But bringing up the guy Faith kind of maybe had something steamy going with — the hospitalized guy, who’s probably having gooey morphine fantasies about her right now— seems both counterproductive and tactless.

Tact, Buffy reminds herself. Productivity.

“Didn’t get enough quality alone time in prison?” she says, surprising them both. The moment the words are out of her mouth she wants to slap her palms over her face and never speak again.

Faith takes it with surprisingly good humor, snorting out, “Not as much as you’d think. Jerkin’ off’s against the rules. Just like anything else that’s fun or feels good.” Faith shakes her head. “Fuckin, cruel and unusual, you ask me.”

“Sorry,” Buffy blurts out, feeling guilty and naive. It’s the most Faith’s said to her directly about her time in prison. The more time goes on, the less Buffy feels sure about her insistence to send Faith in the first place. Seeing Faith doing so well, trying so hard makes Buffy wonder if it has been a mistake to lock her up, to keep her from doing good in the real world.

Oblivious to Buffy's moral dilemma, Faith shrugs like Buffy's careless comment was nothing, even though they both know better. “No biggie.”

“Kind of a bust tonight, huh?” Buffy says, desperate to fill the silence, to talk about something easier. “I mean, not that I’m complaining about the lack of monsters—”

“--Of course not,” Faith says, wryly, her mouth pursing into that tight, mocking little expression that Buffy finally lets herself admit that she’d missed.

“--because less monsters equals less monster attacks equals good for humanity. Which is what we’re all about. As slayers.”

“Right.”

“But I was kind of counting on having something to punch for a while,” Buffy admits with a huff. “I know we just did the impossible. We sealed a Hellmouth. I should be relaxing, enjoying the break, but I feel so restless.”

“Shoulda said something earlier,” Faith drawls. “Before we got back. I coulda found someplace classy and discreet for us to go a couple rounds together, let you blow off some steam. Y’know, like over by the dumpsters or the parking lot at the Denny’s.”

She’s doing this on purpose, Buffy thinks. She twists on the bed, to better face Faith, leveling her best unimpressed look at her despite the steadily quickening thump of her own heart.

The slightly rumpled expanse of shabby motel sheet between them feels at once miles wide and dangerously close. Faith shrugs and smiles, a charming little ‘what are you gonna do?’ expression. “On second thought, I could run over to the Circle K and get you one of those little yogurts you like so much.”

Buffy’s heart beats louder and faster. She swallows and scoots closer. “I don’t think that’s gonna cut it tonight.”

The thing is, Faith doesn’t even look surprised. She doesn’t look nervous, either. She just nods and shifts forward on the mattress, reaching out carefully to slide her hand closer to Buffy’s, braced in the space between them. “Okay.”

As their fingers twine together over the sheets, Buffy reminds herself that Faith probably isn’t in love with her. The situation is a little murky, but the evidence is ambiguous at best.

Evidence against: their entire history. The torture, the stabbing, the body stealing, the boyfriend stealing, the prison.

Evidence for: the fact that Faith is here with her right now anyway, watching Buffy with a look that’s so patient, so keen it warms Buffy’s whole body up with some feeling halfway between embarrassment and desire.

It would take a real masochist to love Buffy after everything they’ve put each other through, Buffy reasons, carefully pushing thoughts of Angel and Spike out of her mind.

Faith’s different, anyhow. She’s a survivor. Always carefully and deliberately aloof. And sex doesn’t mean the same thing to her it does to other people, she’s always been up front about that. Get some, get gone was basically her catch-phrase.

They’ve got a connection, sure, through slaying; a bond forged through the blood and dust and violence and all the trust built and broken and built back up between them, brick by agonizing brick.

Looking back at it all now, Buffy can recognize that Faith had wanted her like this even back when they were kids. She thinks about what Faith had been like then, so young and so alone, so desperate for the attention Buffy had been unable to divert from Angel, from her own life falling to pieces, from the pressure of the world around her.

It all seems so sad, in retrospect. Such a waste, to think of all the suffering they’d inflicted on each other because they had been too young and too overwhelmed to see each other’s pain.

Buffy’s chest aches sharply and she lets it guide her forward, nearly into Faith’s lap, raising her palms to cup Faith’s jaw.

Faith shudders in her grip, swaying closer. She settles her hands, warm and dry, on Buffy’s hips, just under the fabric of her shirt. She asks, quietly, “You know how long I’ve wanted this?”

Buffy mistakes the question for rhetorical and leans in to kiss her, but Faith pulls back, gently, and waits.

It hurts to think of the years gone by, so Buffy just licks her lips and says, “Yes.”

It might be kind of a cop-out, but apparently it’s still a good enough answer for Faith. She closes the distance between them.

The first kiss Faith gives her is almost unbearably soft.

Buffy can’t quite call it chaste, not with Faith’s hands slipping around her back, the tips of her fingers gliding their way down the waistband of her pants, but it’s gentle. She tilts her head carefully, like it’s the most important thing she’s ever done and she can’t afford to screw it up, and slowly parts her lips, offering Buffy the inside of her mouth.

God, and part of Buffy aches for this, exactly this — for the warmth and tenderness Faith so clearly wants to give her.

But the other part of her still feels the rumble of the ground as Sunnydale collapses, still hears the clang of steel, still feels the magical fire in her palm as she’d held onto Spike, who knew she didn’t really love him, who stayed anyway, who died for her, for her—

Buffy surges forward, pouring herself into Faith’s lap, sliding her hands up and into Faith’s hair to thread it through her fingers and pull.

And Faith snaps to meet her, palming Buffy’s ass roughly and yanking her forwards, grinding their hips together. The kiss becomes hard, hungry, a clash of teeth and tongues.

Faith breaks away first, dragging her blunt teeth over the line of Buffy’s jaw and down her neck. “This way, huh?” she pants, laving the skin of Buffy’s straining neck.

Buffy nods, “Mm-hmm,” barely able to manage even that as Faith nips the space below her ear, hard.

“Figures,” Faith mutters and slides her hands out of the back of Buffy’s jeans and toward the button in the front.

Buffy yanks her hands out of Faith’s hair, ignoring the other woman’s hiss in response, and reaches down to help her. Faith swats her hands away.

“Not a chance,” Faith growls, voice low and rough. “I been a good girl, waiting years and years for you to let me do this. You wait for me now.”

Buffy shivers at the heat behind Faith’s words, tries to ignore the edge in them that feels a little too close to accusation. She leans back, bracing the heels of her palms on the mattress behind her and lifting her hips up for Faith to work the button of her jeans open. She can’t help herself. She raises an eyebrow, pitches her voice low and repeats, “‘Good?’”

“Well, maybe not the whole time,” Faith admits with a wolfish grin, a harsh puff of laughter. She pops the button open, yanks the front of the zipper down and whips Buffy’s belt off, tossing it unceremoniously over the edge of the bed. “But, y’know, I’m reformed now…”

Faith gets her hands inside Buffy’s jeans, loops her fingers around the waistband of Buffy’s panties and tugs them both down to mid thigh. The entire time, she keeps her eyes glued to Buffy’s crotch, staring with the unashamed, ferocious intensity. She even has the audacity to lick her lips, sending a flood of boiling heat all the way up Buffy’s body, from her toes to the tips of her ears.

“I’ll show you how good I can be for you, Buffy,” Faith promises, finally meeting Buffy’s gaze, those big dark eyes fathomless and hungry. Buffy feels her stomach swoop down past her knees. Faith touches her palm to Buffy’s stomach beneath her shirt and begins sliding her fingers down, torturously slow, toward Buffy’s cunt.

“Faith,” Buffy manages, a garbled protest at Faith’s ridiculous pace. You wait for me now, ricochets around inside her skull, even as she arches up into Faith’s touch pleadingly. She’s hindered by the pants halfway down her legs, constricting her movements, leaving her at Faith’s dubious mercy.

“Shh,” Faith admonishes softly and the delicate pressure of her fingertips on Buffy’s belly turns into the sharp drag of blunted nails. Buffy’s breath hitches at the sensation and Faith smiles, filthy and smug. She drags lazy, teasing patterns through the neatly trimmed hair over Buffy’s mound. “Are you wet for me, B?”

“Gee, if only there was a way for you to find out,” Buffy grits out. “Faith.”

Faith laughs, undeterred. “C’mon. I’m askin’.”

Buffy figures she’s been patient enough. She shifts her weight forward, clutching onto Faith’s shoulder with one hand to hold herself up, and seizes Faith’s wrist with the other, shoving her hand down until the heel of her palm grinds into Buffy’s clit. “Fuck,” she breathes.

“Buffy,” Faith groans, but thankfully gives up on the teasing act. She cups Buffy’s cunt with her hand, sliding her fingers through the swollen lips of Buffy’s pussy, coating them in her wetness. “Shit, Buffy.”

Then, Faith is fucking her.

It’s less different than Buffy expected, at least from this angle. Faith’s legs are crossed underneath her, a cradle, and Buffy’s are curled loosely around Faith’s hips. It’s a little awkward, with her pants still part way on and with Faith’s arm shoved into the narrow gap between them, fingers curling up and into Buffy. Dimly, she wonders if it hurts, the strain Faith’s wrist must be under — but if it does, she doesn’t let it show.

All Buffy can read on Faith’s face is desire, dark and intense. Her brows are drawn low, mouth slightly slack, like she might be surprised.

The bed creaks and bounces beneath them as Faith increases their pace, driving her fingers up harder, faster. “More,” Buffy demands and Faith nods, panting, and slides a third finger up and into Buffy. It hurts, a little, but in a way that Buffy likes. She whines and grinds down into Faith’s hand even harder.

Faith leans in to kiss Buffy, but it’s sloppy, impossible without slowing down, and Buffy can’t slow down now. She can feel the orgasm building up within her, knows Faith wasn’t lying, it’s going to be so good she just needs to—

Faith looks vaguely hurt when Buffy squirms away from her kiss, but the wounded look on her face is wiped away when Buffy slides her own hand down between them to rub her own clit. “Buffy—”

“Don’t stop,” Buffy bites out, sharp. She knows she’s being a bitch, but she decides she can make it up to Faith afterward. “I’m close, I just need— I’m almost—"

Buffy bends her lower back to deepen the angle and Faith hooks her fingers, rubbing keenly at something soft and sensitive inside of Buffy that makes her shake and cry out, coming hard all over Faith’s hand.

She hunches forward, burying her face in the crook of Faith’s neck, stilling her hips. Faith is still pumping into her, but shallower, easier strokes to draw out the last waves of coursing, toe-curling pleasure still pulsing through her.

“Faith, Faith,” Buffy pants, finally reaching between them, to touch two fingers to Faith’s wrist.

Carefully, Faith withdraws her fingers. Buffy catches a wince Faith can’t quite hide as she pulls her arm back, rotating her wrist and flexing her fingers. Gratefully, Buffy presses a tender, closed-mouth kiss to the side of Faith’s sweaty neck.

Faith stiffens for just a moment, then pulls Buffy closer with her left arm. She leans back just slightly, to draw her right hand up toward her face.

“Huh,” Faith says, staring at her glistening fingers with a wrapt expression that makes Buffy flush against her, grateful Faith can’t quite look at her from this angle.

Faith rubs her fingertips together and then sucks them into her mouth, humming at the taste of Buffy on her hand.

It’s obscene, Faith’s full lips pursed around her own digits, knowing she’s tasting Buffy’s come, hollowing her cheeks to suck herself clean. Buffy squirms, uncomfortably wet, more turned on than she has any right to be after an orgasm like that—

She shifts, feeling her thighs catch against her jeans again.

God, they didn’t even get undressed. Here she is, flushed and panting, fucked hard enough to see stars in a ratty motel room and not even her pants all the way off to show for it. Hell, Faith is still fully dressed, if a little disheveled.

The whole scene seems so sleazy, makes Buffy feel so cheap and reckless. Ashamed, a little, but in an excited way. She can feel herself getting wetter.

Faith slips her fingers out of her mouth, finally, and Buffy surprises them both when she leans up, tangling a hand in Faith’s sweaty hair to tilt her face down. She licks her way into Faith’s mouth eagerly, moaning at the taste of herself.

The rapacious hunger radiating from Faith has been replaced with an unexpected sort of timidity. Faith is pliant, receptive, allowing Buffy to dominate their kiss without the slightest hint of challenge. Buffy tightens her fists in Faith’s hair, uses the grip to angle her face where she wants it.

Finally pulling back, Buffy takes in the dazed, expectant look on Faith's face. “Take my shirt off.”

“Okay,” Faith says, hoarsely. Buffy swears there’s a slight tremor in her hands when they grasp the hem of Buffy’s shirt and drag it up and over her head. Once Buffy’s shirtless, Faith leans in to kiss her again but Buffy stops her with a palm against the center of her chest.

“You now,” she says.

Faith obeys, leaning back and tugging her tank top gracelessly over her head. Automatically, she reaches behind herself, for the clasp of her bra, but she pauses before she goes further, looking up at Buffy like she’s waiting for permission.

Buffy nods, feeling her heartbeat climb up into her throat and Faith unfastens the bra in response, the plain black cups immediately sagging forward, the pink-brown hint of a nipple just barely peeking up over the edge. Buffy leans in and kisses Faith again, slower, a thank you, as her hands creep up to pull the bra down and away.

She’s never done this before, touched another woman’s breasts.

“I know,” Faith says, breathless and Buffy realizes she’s spoken aloud. She flushes and tenses but Faith doesn’t tease her over it, just reaches up to cover Buffy’s hands with her own. “Like this.”

Faith guides Buffy, showing her how she likes to be touched. She likes when Buffy cups her whole breast, trapping her stiff nipples in the gap between her fingers as she squeezes and massages. She likes it even more when Buffy pinches and tugs on them, breath turning to harsh animal pants at the rougher treatment. She likes it the most when Buffy leans down, experimentally, and flicks her tongue over the swollen buds.

Oh, Buffy thinks, with Faith’s nipple in her mouth, Faith’s desperate fingers clutching the back of her head. I like women.

She likes Faith, at least. Likes the way her skin tastes, and the noises she’s making, and the heady rush of power that she can turn cocky, swaggering, X-rated Faith into a quivering mess.

Faith’s hands scrabble at the straps of Buffy’s bra. “Please.” There's a bend in the middle of the word, like Faith almost lost the strength to say it halfway into speaking. “Wanna touch you.”

Buffy nods and leans back. Faith’s lost her composure, she fumbles at the clasp of the bra for a few long moments before sighing harshly and ripping it open.

“Hey,” Buffy yelps. Her entire wardrobe is at the bottom of a pit in the desert. She’s not exactly swimming in spare underwear.

“Buy you another one,” Faith mutters into Buffy’s skin, dragging wet, open mouthed kisses down her shoulder, across her chest. Faith leans back, pulling Buffy over her with her breasts dangling over Faith’s mouth. She surges up to kiss and suck them and Buffy keens and hunches down, pressing her chest further into Faith’s greedy mouth. Faith works Buffy over with tongue, lips, teeth, slurping obscenely as she pulls back to say, “God, your tits…”

Instead of completing the thought, Faith flips them suddenly. Buffy’s back hits the mattress hard enough to startle an undignified oomph out of her. “What?”

Faith slides down to her knees on the floor, tugging Buffy’s ass over to the edge of the mattress. She wrestles Buffy’s jeans and panties the rest of the way off her legs and licks a broad, flat line up the inside of Buffy’s thigh. Oh.

“What?” Buffy asks again, stupidly, breathlessly, chest heaving as she inches up on her elbows to watch Faith. She's just hovering there, spreading Buffy open with her thumbs, taking her in.

“S’not so different from the way I used to imagine, actually,” Faith says thoughtfully, almost more to herself.

“My—?” Buffy can't bring herself to finish asking. She'd known that Faith has thought about this before, but the idea that she'd brought such a level of vulgar specificity to Buffy's speculative anatomy makes Buffy feel like she's going crazy.

Then Faith laughs, which isn’t generally what a girl hopes for when her lover is having a staring contest with her nethers. Which, admittedly, hasn’t ever happened before but.

“No,” Faith shakes her head. Then she pauses, considers, “Well, I guess,” she gestures to the space around them with a flick of her head. “But I meant the room. Kind of a dead ringer for my old digs, y’know? Well, maybe a little less mildew.”

“Are we really talking about this right now?” Buffy asks, strangled.

Faith rolls her eyes. “Would it kill you to be a little sentimental?”

Before Buffy can reply to that new insanity, Faith is already moving. She adjusts her grip to spread Buffy open with two fingers and leans in, dragging her tongue over Buffy’s exposed pussy.

Buffy already feels so sensitive that Faith’s relentless attention immediately rockets from good to nearly overwhelming. She holds Buffy’s right thigh in place with her shoulder, pinning Buffy’s left with her other hand, fingers digging into the skin hard enough to bruise. Faith’s mouth is all over her, lips, chin, tongue, the tip of her nose coated in Buffy’s wetness. The sounds are obscene; the low buzz of the room’s AC unit, the noisy, wet slurping of Faith’s mouth on her cunt, the sharp, helpless cries Faith wrenches effortlessly up from Buffy’s throat. She feels wild, out of control, unable to stop her hips from rolling up into Faith’s mouth.

Faith shifts, pulling Buffy’s thighs up over her shoulders and sliding in even closer. She pushes her hands up Buffy’s stomach to fondle her breasts as she eats her out. The combined sensations of Faith’s strong hands kneading Buffy’s breasts, her fingers toying with Buffy’s stiff, aching nipples and the overwhelming onslaught from her mouth on Buffy’s pussy has Buffy careening rapidly towards another orgasm.

Faith’s tongue dips low, teasing Buffy’s entrance, and she feels herself instinctually trying to clench around it as her pleasure ratchets up higher and higher. “Fuck, Faith—”

Faith slows down and Buffy almost cries out when she pulls away. But it’s just for a moment, just long enough for her to drag Buffy’s hands up from where they’re clenching the sheets and guide them to Buffy’s breasts.

“Here. Play with your tits for me,” Faith says, and ducks back down to keep eating Buffy out. This time she slips two fingers inside Buffy and fucks her roughly with them as she laps determinedly at Buffy’s swollen clit.

It’s too much — her hands on her own tits, squeezing mindlessly, Faith’s lips wrapped around Buffy’s clit, Faith’s fingers shoving roughly inside of her.

She comes with a harsh huff of air, back bowing in rapturous pleasure. Her body feels wrung out and oversensitive, and she squirms away from Faith’s insistent tongue. It half works — Faith doesn’t pull away, but she does slow down, gentle herself. She lingers between Buffy’s thighs, lapping her softly, cleaning her up while Buffy quivers and sags bonelessly into the bed.

“Shoulda borrowed a scrunchie,” Faith says, finally sliding up the bed and brushing sticky strands of her hair out of her face. She plasters herself against Buffy’s side, smiling when Buffy clutches weakly at her.

Faith leans over and kisses Buffy, gentle but deep, and she tastes herself again.

“You like that?” Faith hums, lips brushing Buffy’s lightly when she speaks.

“You going down on me?” Buffy asks, dazedly.

“C’mon, I know you like that,” Faith laughs, low, and despite everything Buffy feels herself clench again at the sound. “The way you taste. Do you like that?”

Buffy flushes at the question, wishes she wasn’t pinned by Faith’s weight so she could roll away and hide her face. “I don’t know. I—”

“I think you do,” Faith interrupts, softly. She reaches down and drags a finger up Buffy’s pussy again, grinning ferally when Buffy shivers and squirms. She brings the finger up to Buffy’s lips, running it teasingly across.

Buffy thinks she should be grossed out. Should probably tell Faith to quit. It feels so dirty and embarrassing and it’s not her. It’s not who Buffy is, not in bed and definitely not as a regular person.

Except, when Faith leans in to kiss Buffy’s wetness off of her own lips, Buffy opens up for her. She lets Faith push her tongue inside, tastes herself in her own mouth again and moans. When Faith pulls back and offers Buffy her finger again, Buffy feels her lips close helplessly around it. Curls her tongue over the flesh, like she’d watched Faith do earlier, sucks Faith’s finger until it’s clean.

“You’re so hot,” Faith breathes and kisses her again, with unexpected tenderness.

It’s nice, being kissed. There’s a renewed confidence to Faith now, like she’s finally convinced Buffy’s not about to change her mind. They kiss slowly, languorously, the way people who’ve never tried to kill each other probably do all the time.

As spent as Buffy is, she can’t deny the effect that Faith’s bare breasts pressing into hers is having on her. She wraps her arms around Faith’s back, pulls her body down close, smiles when she feels Faith relax on top of her.

When petting Faith’s hair stops being enough, Buffy lets her hands roam down to stroke and scratch circles into Faith’s back. When that stops cutting it, she lets them drift lower, sliding under the waist of Faith’s pants and rocking her hips down against Buffy’s thigh. Faith gasps into Buffy’s mouth, a high, girlish sound Buffy wants to hear again.

Emboldened, Buffy lets her hands drift to the front of Faith’s jeans, fumbling with the belt buckle.

Faith tenses and rolls halfway off Buffy.

“What’s wrong?” Buffy asks.

Faith shakes her head. “You don’t have to.”

Buffy blinks. “I know that.”

Faith looks flustered. “I mean— Doin’ you was pretty good, y’know? It’s not like you’re used to with guys. I don’t need you to do anything for me.”

“You thought I’d just let you make me come twice and not even try to return the favor?”

Faith looks sheepish, which would be cute if this entire thing weren’t deeply annoying.

“You know, a girl less secure in herself could have her feelings pretty hurt by an assumption like that,” Buffy sniffs.

Faith winces. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Is this just cause I’ve never done it before? You think I’d be bad at it?”

“No—”

“Cause I’m a fast learner, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, B. Got all the makings of a world class pussy eater, if you set your mind to it.”

“Thank you,” Buffy accepts graciously. Then she pauses, her mouth going dry. “Is that what you want?”

“What?”

“Me to eat your— to do…?”

“God,” Faith rolls her eyes. “You can’t even say it.”

“Do you want me to eat your pussy, Faith?” Buffy enunciates carefully. She can’t even feel embarrassed, too distracted and pleased by the way Faith’s eyes go sharp with hunger at the sound of the question.

Instead of waiting for an answer, Buffy pushes Faith onto her back and rolls on top of her. She kisses Faith's mouth, her neck, drags her tongue down the line of Faith’s sternum, across the taut expanse of her belly. This time, when she gets to Faith’s belt buckle and works on easing it open, Faith doesn’t stop her.

It doesn’t take long, getting Faith down to her underwear. Buffy pauses, hands braced on Faith’s spread thighs as she stares down at her, mouth watering at the wet spot darkening the front of Faith’s panties. The back of her neck is tingling and her heart’s beating so loudly Buffy’s sure Faith must be able to hear it.

She leans down, presses a kiss to Faith’s cunt through the fabric, feels the way the wet cotton clings to her lips. Hooking her fingers into the waistband of the panties, Buffy starts to tug them down when she’s stopped by a frantic hand on her shoulder.

“Wait,” Faith blurts, heaving herself up onto her elbows.

“Did I do something wrong?” Buffy asks, backing off.

Faith shakes her head furiously. “No, I just— I want you up here. I wanna see your face.”

The earnestness makes Buffy’s chest ache, leaves her feeling at once guilty and protective. All she wants is to give Faith what she’s asking for. “Okay.”

Buffy slides back up the bed and watches with rapt attention as Faith reaches down and shimmies her way out of her underwear. “Here. Can I—?”

Faith grabs Buffy’s hand and guides it down between her legs. They both groan at the first brush of Buffy’s fingers against her swollen pussy.

Faith’s direction takes some of the pressure off, allows Buffy to concentrate on how it feels to touch another woman for the first time. It’s less like masturbating than Buffy assumed it would be, more gratifying than she expected. The heat and slickness of Faith is breathtaking. Buffy finds herself getting increasingly turned on by the sounds Faith makes — tiny little gasps, almost like hiccups when Buffy drags her thumb over Faith’s clit, longer, strangled moans when Buffy pushes back the hood and stimulates it directly. Then there’s the smell of her, thick in Buffy’s nostrils, almost palpable on her tongue — sweat and breath and sex. Buffy feels dizzy, almost drunk, barely notices when Faith’s hand falls away and leaves it all to Buffy alone.

It doesn’t take long before Faith is straining up into Buffy’s hand, keening and spitting curses, shattering against Buffy’s steady movements. Buffy gasps with Faith as she comes, feeling almost as good as she had when she’d been the one tumbling over the edge.

In the quiet after, Buffy slides off Faith’s body and collapses onto the bed beside her.

“Have you done that a lot?” Buffy asks and regrets her clumsiness when Faith tenses next to her.

“Y’know, the polite thing to do would be to call me a slut before we have sex,” Faith says, tautly. “Or, y’know, during, if I’m in the right mood.”

“That wasn’t—” Buffy’s brain short circuits on the second part of Faith’s comment. Fizzles. Reboots. “I was just curious about girls.”

The smile that spreads across Faith’s face is wicked and Buffy feels herself flush.

“You with girls,” she rushes to clarify and it still comes out all wrong. “I mean, like, how many of them. The girls.”

“Well, if you’re fishing for a number, you won’t get one,” Faith says, still a little sharp. “But, yeah. This wasn’t my first time.”

“I could tell,” Buffy mumbles.

“You sure you’re not calling me a slut?” Faith's tone is lighter this time and Buffy knows she's teasing.

“You like it the same amount though?” Buffy asks, ignoring the comment and gnawing nervously on her thumbnail. She pauses when she realizes she can still smell Faith on her fingers, drops her hand back to the bed in a way she hopes isn’t too obvious. “Guys and girls?”

Faith gives her a significant look, but doesn’t answer. Instead she says, “What’s with the twenty questions?”

Buffy has to admit that when it comes to her own very recent sexuality crisis, Faith has done more than her share of heavy lifting. Buffy can probably afford to figure out the rest later, on her own.

Or, alternatively, bury the whole matter in a hole in her subconscious so dark and deep that she'll never have to think about it again.

One or the other, for sure.

“Nevermind. Sorry. I think I’m bad at pillow talk,” Buffy shrugs, sheepishly.

Faith softens, reaches out to brush a lock of hair away from Buffy’s forehead. “Being honest, I’m surprised you haven’t run away screaming yet. Or given me some big speech about how this is a one time only deal.”

“Faith…”

“It’s fine, I know what this is,” Faith interrupts. “This ain’t my first rodeo, B.”

There is a small, ugly, petty part of Buffy that’s annoyed by how well Faith is taking it.

Honestly, she’d been dreading the potential conversation, the awkwardness and guilt of having to reject Faith. But now that it’s clear Faith won’t be asking for more than Buffy has to offer, she can’t help but feel kind of slighted.

It’s unfair. It’s gross. It’s the worst part of herself making another appearance, reminding Buffy that it’s still with her.

It’s the part of Buffy that craves to be desired, but hates being asked to give herself away. The part of her that wants devotion she doesn't have to reciprocate. The part of her that can use a person that loves her and then leave them to die.

And it’s exactly why this thing with Faith can’t be more than one night of comfort after the world has fallen apart.

Being with Spike, using him like she did, had been bad for him, but it might have been even worse for Buffy herself. The callous it had built over her heart scared her, even now.

Faith deserves better. She deserves someone who can give her more.

“You went to the hospital earlier today, right?” Buffy asks, quietly. “How’s Robin?”

“We’re not talking about him,” Faith says flatly.

Buffy cringes. “Right, of course. Sorry.”

A long, tense moment passes where Buffy is sure Faith is about to shoot up from the bed and storm out of the room. And honestly, Buffy wouldn’t blame her one bit.

Instead, Faith deflates, flinging an arm over her eyes. The movement tugs her breasts up and Buffy’s only human of course she looks. Luckily, Faith can’t see enough to be a smartass about it. Win-win. “Jesus, you weren’t kidding. You suck at pillow talk, B.”

“I know.”

“Like, worse than me.”

“I know,” Buffy whines. “Don’t rub it in.”

“I dunno, it sure seemed to me that you liked it when I was rubbing it in earlier,” Faith uncovers her face, but only so she can stick her tongue out suggestively at Buffy.

“Shut up,” Buffy shoves her shoulder.

“Make me,” Faith challenges.

“Not sure you could take it right now,” Buffy counters, though she has to admit, the idea isn’t without appeal.

Faith shrugs tiredly, to show she was just teasing. The silence that follows is lighter than Buffy expected.

She feels overcome with a wave of gratitude, reaching out to take Faith’s hand in the dark and squeeze.

“If you thank me I’m gonna throw your ass out that window,” Faith warns her.

“Got it,” Buffy hadn't expected her voice to sound so watery. She sniffs.

Faith pauses, obviously debating if she should pretend she hadn’t heard.

Then she sighs, squeezes Buffy’s hand with hers. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do,” Buffy admits, and it’s like a dam breaking. Everything pours out of her — the grief, the uncertainty, the pressure of all these girls looking to her. Knowing that the untold number of slayers waking up right now are her responsibility. She talks until her throat is sore from holding back tears and Faith listens patiently, not interrupting.

“Everything good, everything bad they could do, or that someone could do to them, it’s on me now," Buffy concludes, feeling wrung out. "I don’t know how to handle that. How I’m going to make it right.”

Faith frowns. “Why do you have to?”

“Because I’m the Slayer.”

Faith clears her throat.

“You know what I mean. Of course it’s going to be me. It’s always me.”

“You said it yourself, there’s more of us now. Why does it have to be you, still?”

“You know why,” Buffy says. Because people look to her. They follow her. They rely on her. They die for her. There’s a gravity about her that Buffy has long since given up on figuring out, and she knows Faith can’t argue with that because she’d been as caught in it as so many others.

“Alright,” Faith shifts, rolling onto her side to peer at Buffy. “So, it’ll be you, because that’s who you are. Jeez, you savior types. Gluttons for punishment.”

“Not helping,” Buffy lies, smiling weakly.

“Not so much with the pep talks, me,” Faith admits. “But, listen. You’re not alone in this, B. You’ve got Willow, Xander, Dawn, Giles, all those girls—”

“What about you?” Buffy interrupts.

Faith is quiet.

“I need to know,” Buffy begins but the breath gets caught in her throat. If you’re mine too. No, she has no right to ask for that. It would mean something different to Faith than it does to her. Buffy bites her lip and tries again, “I need you to do this with me, Faith. No one else understands, not really. Those girls are going to be slayers in a whole different world from us. And my friends, as much as they’ve been through, it’s never been the same for them. You’re the only person who has any idea what it feels like to be the slayer.”

“Sticking around hasn’t ever been my strong suit, B,” Faith says quietly. “Hasn’t done you much good either, the times I tried.”

“We’re different now,” Buffy insists, throat tight. Stay, stay, stay. “Will you try? At least?”

Faith sighs and rubs her eyes, hard enough to make Buffy wince. “Don’t know what good you think I’ll be anyway. Spent more time fucking things up and feeling my brain cells die off in prison than I ever did saving the world.”

“I don’t know, Faith,” Buffy says, softly. “Seemed like you had a pretty good handle on the saving the world bit yesterday.”

Faith clears her throat, roughly, but stays quiet.

“Hey,” Buffy says, tilting Faith’s chin up to look into her eyes. This much. I can give her this much. “I think you’re gonna be amazing.”

Buffy lets herself enjoy it when Faith leans in to kiss her.

Maybe in another world, a kinder one, they could have had something like this for real.

But the first hints of sunlight are beginning to show through the slats in the blinds. There won’t be any time to imagine the luxuries of other worlds, not when the morning comes and all the demands of this one come crashing back into Buffy’s life.

So she drags Faith up the bed, sliding under the covers, nestling her body against Faith’s warm and solid.

It will have to be enough.

Chapter Text

October, 2003

“I don’t think there will be any direct flights, but I can probably still make it in by tomorrow night, if I leave early.”

Faith sighs out a cloud of white vapor and scrubs a line through a chalk circle with the side of her boot. Immediately, the candles within fizzle out, spewing tiny plumes of purple smoke into the night. She shifts the blocky cell phone uncomfortably against her shoulder and says, “Buff, I’m telling you, you really don’t have to do that.”

“We did a little looking into it over here, after your last update,” Buffy insists, voice tinny and far away through the speaker. “This Iscariot guy seems like bad news. If these guys succeed in summoning him in the body of a slayer we could have serious problems.”

“Isacaron,” Faith corrects, distractedly. A flicker of white catches her eye and she leans down, uncovering an abandoned notebook half buried under some junk. The notebook is one of the cheap composite kinds that Faith remembers from her school days with a pulped cardboard cover hopelessly bent and pages gone stiff where they’d been wet and dried again.

The page it had been opened to is scored heavily with marker ink, fading and uneven, like the pen had been running out and the writer had been too stubborn to change it. DEMON TRAP SPELL INGREDIENTS 1) SALT! (CANNOT BE LOW SODIUM) 2) FAWN TALLOW CANDLE - UNBURNED 3) RITUAL KNIFE. The list continues down to the end of the sheet, interspersed by the occasional rough diagram or random doodle. She folds a page over to mark her spot and flicks the journal shut, tucking it into one of the interior pockets of her coat. “B, seriously, I don’t think we need to call in the cavalry for this one. It’s looking pretty amateur hour over here.”

“Look, Faith, I know things are different now, but you’re still living on a Hellmouth. We can’t afford to let a cult run amok just because they don’t seem that dangerous. Especially if they’re targeting slayers.”

“I know that,” Faith snaps. She hears the plastic of the phone creak in her grip and forces herself to relax. Deep breaths, count of ten, imagine a meadow — all that lame crap the prison counselors made her memorize. Buffy’s tendency to lecture had always been one of her most annoying traits, and despite all the progress they’ve made mending their relationship, Faith still hasn’t learned how to let it roll off her back. “Look, we may not be operating out of an actual castle but the Cleveland squad is legit—”

“Oh my god, stop being weird about the castle thing.”

“I’m not being weird about it.”

“You’re totally being weird about it. Okay, yeah, I know it seems like a little much but I already told you, Giles knew a guy and really for the amount of real estate—”

“I don’t care about the castle,” Faith cuts in, even though yeah, it is ridiculous. But, Jesus, she shouldn’t have brought it up, Buffy’s way too defensive about it. “But, I know you’re busy out there and I just don’t think—”

“No such thing as too busy for an apocalypse.”

“This isn’t gonna be an apocalypse,” Faith says. “These guys can’t even afford decent stationary for their shitty little spell books, I doubt they’re gonna succeed in unleashing hell on earth, even if we weren’t already breaking up their little get-togethers every week.”

“I’m coming,” Buffy says and Faith can hear it in her voice that it’s useless to argue. She’s made up her mind. “I told you, you don’t have to do everything alone, Faith. I’ll have Willow email my schedule once the flight is booked, that way you know when to pick me up.”

There’s nothing much left to say, after that. Faith agrees her way through the rest of Buffy’s declarations until the call is over, but it’s hard to stay focused. There’s that itchy feeling under her skin, a tight band of discomfort over her chest, at the thought of Buffy back in Cleveland.

She stays out longer than usual, after that. She checks back in on the abandoned storefront out in Edgewater, where they’d first disrupted the cult’s activities, but there’s no sign they’ve been back since. She drifts along the darkened streets on autopilot, allowing her slayer senses to guide her. She stakes a vamp stalking a homeless guy through a deserted park, another prowling around near an emptying strip club.

By the time the sky starts to lighten at the outset of dawn, her sense of restless unease is tampered by good old-fashioned physical exhaustion, and she catches an early bus back home.

The house, an old duplex, had been crowded back when everyone had been crammed into it. Xander had renovated it before he'd left, converting the top floors into separate apartments. They'd made the ground floor and basement into a common area and a training room, respectively. It's the first place Faith has ever lived that she's liked, where the space she'd carved out for herself actually feels like it's hers.

The only one up when she gets back is Rona, who was off-duty the night before and who's gotten into the habit of waking up at the ass-crack of dawn every day anyway just to get a sunrise workout in, like some kind of serial killer.

“Check the computer later for something from Red,” Faith says, bustling around her in the kitchen as she throws together a post-slay sandwich. “We got backup incoming.”

“Who?” Rona asks, looking skeptical over a bowl of cereal.

“Big B herself,” Faith answers, tightly.

“Why?” Rona asks, and the almost offended look on her face is slightly comforting. So it’s not just Faith that thinks this is overkill. “What’s going down?”

“She wants to check out the Isacaron thing.”

Rona snorts, “What does she think, we’re total incompetents? We don’t need her for that.”

“Well, you’re welcome to argue with her over it when she gets here,” Faith says around the last bite of her sandwich. Then, she fishes the notebook out of her jacket, slapping it onto the table. "You and Lourdes take a look at this for me, yeah? Found it while I was out poking around one of their little hidey holes. Might have something useful. For now, I’m hittin' the showers and hittin' the hay.”

“Don’t use all the hot water,” Rona calls after Faith, already reaching across the table to grab the notebook.

A splitting headache has formed at her temples, but steam and good water pressure helps take the worst of the edge off. By the time Faith collapses into her bed, the sinking pit in her gut hasn’t gone away, exactly, but it’s mellowed some.

She doesn't dream.

—

Faith wakes up restless and irritable and knows it’s going to be a miserable day. Downstairs, the other girls are already up and about, making a racket. When she heads down to check in, Rona confirms Buffy’s flight will get in around nine at night, then directs Faith downstairs to the combination laundry room/research alcove Lourdes has set up.

“Wait, they drew an actual map?” Faith asks, incredulous.

“Several, actually,” Lourdes confirms, rolling her eyes. “A couple of them match the spots we’ve already found. Comparing against the info we got from Willow’s coven friends, it looks like the locations all align with different ley line intersections. Probably they’re trying to find a place magically souped up to help with the summoning.”

“But that’s not even how demons work!”

“Yeah, the facts in this thing are all screwy,” Lourdes waves the thrashed notebook around carelessly. “Pretty sure one of these spells is lifted from Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Jesus,” Faith groans, and covers her face. The headache is back.

They spar a little, after that. Lourdes’ fighting skills haven’t quite caught up to her research skills, but she’s been steadily improving since she joined their ranks three months ago. She’s quick-minded and not squeamish, which are skills Faith’s pretty sure could take her pretty far in the organization Buffy’s building overseas.

It had been surprising when she’d volunteered to stay behind in Cleveland, instead of following the others to the castle. Faith had asked her once, why she’d done it, but all Lourdes had offered was a shrug and the excuse that all her stuff was already here. Not much of a reason, really, but Faith had come home early from patrol a few times to see her and Rona cozied up over some dusty old book together enough times to fill in the blanks for herself.

The sparring does little to settle Faith’s nerves. She asks for a list of the locations mapped out in the notebook and informs the others she’s going to go investigate.

“What about Buffy?” Rona asks.

“I probably won’t be back in time to get her,” Faith says. “One of you guys can do it.”

“I don’t think she’s gonna like that much,” Lourdes hums, sharing a look with Rona.

“What do you mean?” Faith snaps. “What does it matter?”

“She’ll be expecting you,” Rona says.

“She’ll be expecting a ride and she’ll get one.”

They look at each other again and it's all raised eyebrows and identical frowns.

"Hey, fuck off with that slayer telepathy bullshit," Faith snaps, waving a hand in the air. "What is it?"

"Faith," Rona sighs, but Lourdes cuts her off.

"Nothing," Lourdes says, shooting Rona another meaningful look. "Go ahead and investigate. We'll take care of Buffy."

Technically, they’re doing what she asked, but Faith leaves the house feeling annoyed and restless, like she’d lost the argument somehow.

—

Buffy had never much liked Cleveland, but all things considered, Faith can understand that.

It was the first place she’d landed after her home, the city that had built her, had been utterly destroyed. More than that, Cleveland had always been meant to be a transitional place for her, a stop on the road before the rest of her life would start.

Sometimes, Faith can’t help but wonder if she’d served a similar purpose in Buffy’s life too.

Yeah, Faith had known what it was gonna be between them when Buffy followed her into her motel room that night six months ago. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Buffy she was cool with.

Buffy had been, pretty understandably, barely holding it together all day. Faith could feel the tension vibrating through her, could see the desperate look in her eyes that only got more intense as the day wore on, responsibilities piling up, time to regroup running out. And she’d felt it, of course she had, when Buffy started looking at her differently on patrol.

It’s not like Faith had needed her arm twisted or anything. She’d been half in love with Buffy since she was seventeen, after all. Had wanted her with varying degrees of intensity for the whole five years — yeah, even the really bad ones. And the stress of things had been catching up to her too. She’d felt so useless watching Buffy and her friends scramble, had only been able to offer the most mundane forms of support. It had been such a relief when Buffy finally needed something only Faith could give her.

The only thing she hadn’t accounted for was what it would be like after. It hadn’t been so bad, at first. Okay, so there’d been a bit of guilt over Robin. It wasn’t like they’d really made any promises to each other or anything, but the last conversation they’d really had kinda implied they’d pick up where they left off, if they both lived. Needless to say, that hadn’t happened.

But things had been alright, otherwise. They’d been pretty damn good, actually. When the gang packed up for the next Hellmouth, Faith had kept her word and followed Buffy across the country. They fell into sync like they hadn’t been since before everything fell apart, when Faith was newly called and not so badly broken. But the nostalgia, the renewed closeness, came at a price.

The closer she and Buffy got, the more integrated Faith had become into Buffy’s life, the harder it was to ignore the fact that despite all the years that had gone by, all the pain and growth and rebuilding, part of her still wanted more. Wanted something Buffy had made abundantly clear she couldn't give Faith.

When the plans had started coming together for a slayer organization, with Buffy at its head, it had been almost a relief to hear they were going to be based out of Scotland. All Faith had to do was wait it out for the move to happen, for an excuse to stay behind. Once Buffy was gone, she’d be able to get her head back on straight. She’d go back to normal.

Easier said than done. It’s been barely two months since she'd left for Scotland and Faith’s still all glued up on Buffy, mooning over her like some lovesick kid. And in just a few hours Buffy's going to be back in Cleveland; in Faith’s house, being all pushy and smelling all nice and just generally throwing a wrench into Faith’s whole routine.

They’re going to fight, Faith can feel it. Buffy’s been pushing her to give up the Hellmouth and follow her across the Atlantic for weeks now. But the more time passes, the more cheerful updates from HQ trickle back to Faith, the less she can imagine herself as part of the command center, no matter how much Buffy pesters her.

Faith is about action, not diplomacy. Put her in front of a vamp or a demon, she'd make it dead, no problem. Put her in front of a group of clueless new slayers? Or in front of a scared, confused family that needed reassurance? Problem. Big, big problem.

But Buffy can’t seem to get her head around it, and Faith can’t ever seem to find the words to make her understand. Buffy’s got this idea of the two of them, the senior slayers, arm in arm leading this new wave of girls into the future, but that’s just not who Faith is. She isn’t a role model or an icon or a leader, like Buffy. It doesn’t matter how much Buffy wants her to be — Faith knows she’s never gonna be anything else.

Buffy’s going to realize that sooner or later.

Faith’s just not sure what it’s going to cost her when she does.

—

Any hopes Faith had been harboring that she might be able to put off seeing Buffy until after patrol are dashed just after midnight.

“Oh, yeah. Riveting, urgent stuff,” comes a voice from over Faith’s shoulder. She jumps and whirls around to find Buffy leaning against a support strut. “I can see why you were too busy to pick me up.”

Faith winces. She knows this must look bad. Rona and Lourdes had been right, of course, when they pointed out Buffy was going to expect Faith herself at the airport, Faith had just hoped that sometime between Buffy’s flight arriving and Faith getting back to the duplex, she’d have made some kind of breakthrough on the whole cult thing. Buffy would hardly be able to get pissed at Faith for skipping out if she had something to show for it.

Of course, no part of this plan accounted for Buffy dropping in on Faith mid-patrol. Which was crazy, by the way — for her to be here this quickly she would have had to have basically left as soon as she’d been picked up from the airport.

This building, a condemned warehouse near the waterfront, had been the third of six locations marked out on the map. The first three spots she’d hit tonight had been busts — the most she’d found was some more burnt candles and a few a, faded chalk sigils at the second location. Faith had been sweeping the warehouse with a flashlight and a growing sense of aimlessness before her mind had drifted off. She’d been lost in her thoughts when Buffy had crept in and caught her.

“Oh, hey, B,” Faith says weakly, waving the flashlight in greeting. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Buffy shoots her a withering look and kicks off from the strut, crossing the space between them with quick, precise strides.

Faith’s spine straightens reflexively, heart pounding harder in her chest the nearer Buffy gets. She looks exhausted, slightly rumpled, annoyed — and beautiful, too.

Buffy stops short, right in front of her. She tilts her head expectantly. “Really, Faith?”

“What?”

Buffy rolls her eyes and reaches out, pulling Faith in for a tight hug. For a helpless moment, Faith just stands stiffly in place, arms dangling helplessly at her sides. Buffy’s perfume has faded to the vague impression of something vanilla-y and warm. She smells like airplanes, all stale air and other people’s closeness. She’d skipped a post-flight shower just to track Faith down. To find her and hug her and Faith was standing around like an idiot.

“Hey,” Faith says again, voice rough. She wraps her arms around Buffy, finally, and tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. Carefully, she rubs a palm up and down the line of Buffy’s spine, over her thick coat. “How’d you find me?”

“Slayer magic,” Buffy says, pulling back. There’s still something taut about the smile she shoots Faith, but she doesn’t say anything else about the airport. “And also I got the map from Lourdes and decided to go looking. First stop was a bust, unless you’re in the market for a slightly used half-eaten raccoon carcass.”

Faith knows the one. It had been at the first place she’d gone looking, too, the spot in that public park with the reputation for frequent stabbings. “Found me pretty fast, then.”

Buffy just shrugs, “I know how you think.”

If that were all the way true, things would be going way better for them.

Or maybe worse.

Between the two of them, it doesn’t take long to finish searching the warehouse. There’s not much to find — more discarded drug paraphernalia and used condoms than anything hinting toward occult mischief.

The next place doesn’t offer much either. The small talk ebbs and flows between awkward and comfortable with such a fierce unpredictability, Faith can't fully relax. It's a struggle to pay attention to what they're there to do.

They run into a few unlucky vampires on the way to their last stop. For a few minutes all the tension and the awkwardness, all the confused, painful junk cluttering Faith’s heart disappears entirely. She and Buffy are two parts of the same whole in that alleyway, perfectly in sync, completely in their element, and it feels good.

Then the vamps are dusted and everything rushes back in; what Buffy wants, what Faith hasn’t told her. Buffy looks at her from across the alley and grins and something sparks between them and Faith can barely breathe for how sharply the want crashes into her. Goosebumps rise along her skin, her fingertips tingle. She can practically taste Buffy in her mouth again, can feel what it would be like to push Buffy up against the wall, to drop right to her knees on the dirty ground in front of her, and eat her out right there where anyone could walk by. She wants it. She feels Buffy’s eyes on her, heavy,half-lidded and thinks for one wild moment Buffy might want it just as bad.

And then Buffy takes a step closer, foot accidentally knocking into an empty glass bottle, sending it spinning off into the dark with a hollow ding and Faith snaps out of it. She jerks her eyes away, face burning, and turns on her heel.

“Faith,” Buffy calls after her.

“C’mon, B,” Faith says, hunching her shoulders and quickening her step. “Time's a-wastin’.”

When they finally get to the last location on their map and things almost immediately go to shit it’s almost a relief; at least this way she can focus on something other than replaying that moment in the alley again.

“Is that blood?” Buffy asks, spotting a trail leading to the back of the building. They’re in an old auto shop, a rusty disassembled pickup taking up most of the space in the room, tools and spare parts scattered around haphazardly.

Faith snaps her attention to where Buffy is shining the flashlight. She pauses and hears a shuffling from the other side of the wall. A glance at Buffy’s face proves she heard it too and they both nod, heading for the door in unison.

Buffy’s hand is reaching for the handle when Faith puts one foot wrong in the dark, knocking over a tray of loose bolts and hand tools with a thunderous clatter. Faith swears and Buffy lunges for the door a moment later, but it’s too late. A voice shouts something from the other side of the wall and a wave of energy forces them back as a magical barrier springs up before them.

“Shit!” Faith curses, burning her hand against the barrier as she reaches out to test it. Then, the screaming from the other room starts. “Shit! Buffy!”

Buffy’s already scrambling to her feet, apparently heedless of the trickle of blood rolling down from her hairline. “Around! Go around!”

It takes less than a minute for them to reach the emergency exit on the other side of the building, but it’s still too late.

There’s a ritual circle in the middle of the room, this time it’s somehow carved into the concrete, not sloppily sketched with chalk. A pile of three bodies lies in the center, bound and bled. Whoever did the job is nowhere to be seen.

“Did they get out?” Buffy whispers.

Faith shakes her head, holds a finger to her lips and nods to the dark corners of the room. She can hear something breathing—

There’s barely enough time to dodge, once the figure rushes her. Faith hurls herself blindly out of the way, slamming into a covered car parked off to the side hard enough to hear the windshield shatter underneath her.

“Still lurkin' about!” Faith calls to Buffy.

Whatever they’re fighting is big and fast and strong. It’s hard to get a view of it in the dark. It uses the cramped, poorly lit space against them, playing Buffy and Faith off of each other to buy itself enough time to escape.

Faith peels herself up from the ground where she’d been cast down by its massive bulk, but by the time she makes it to the attached autoyard to chase after it, the creature is gone. Scraped raw, ears ringing painfully, Faith trudges back inside the shop to see Buffy fumbling with a fusebox until light floods the place.

It’s… pretty bad. Under the harsh glare of the light it's painfully clear what's a bloodstain and what's just spilled motor oil.

Faith winces.

“Yeah, amateur hour, huh?” Buffy asks, archly.

“Alright,” Faith concedes, panting. “Minor league, maybe.”

—

There’s some vindication by the end of the night, at least.

The cult they’d initially been tracking were as inept as they’d seemed. That explained the bodies they’d found. It seems like they finally succeeded in summoning something, although with Faith, Lourdes, and Rona all accounted for it didn’t seem like they’d gotten hold of any slayers to do the job. Maybe they'd given up and shifted the goal post.

Buffy and Faith take turns in the shower while the other slayers head off to pick up the investigation where they'd left off. Faith feels wrung out, exhausted, defeated. She’d spent all that time insisting to Buffy that she wasn’t needed here, that Faith could handle anything that came up, and ended up humiliated in front of her anyway. Always fucking overestimating herself.

She spends too long in the shower, trying to wind herself down about it. When she comes out, she’s alarmed to see Buffy sitting on the corner of her bed, apparently waiting for her.

“What’s your problem?” Faith blurts out.

Buffy flinches and looks hurt, then annoyed, “What?”

“Sorry,” Faith mumbles, rubbing her temples. That damn headache again. “Startled me. Um, you need something?”

“A place to sleep?” Buffy draws out the words like Faith is slow or something.

“You—” Yeah, Buffy wouldn’t have had time to get a hotel if she came after Faith the minute she stepped off a plane. Or, if she had, she probably didn’t wanna trek across the city to get some shut-eye. Faith nods, wearily. “Okay, yeah. I got you.”

Faith’s apartment takes up half the whole second floor. It’s open plan, a closet and the attached bathroom the only spaces closed off by doors. It’s a little sparse — spartan, Faith can’t help but think — but she likes the space. She’s got a stereo set up with some records she’d been picking up at garage sales for the past few months, a fish tank with nothing in it, a couple fake house plants she brought home to make the space look more lived in, and the couch in the corner that she sleeps on sometimes when the bed feels too big and empty.

That’s where she heads, calling out to Buffy over her shoulder, “There’s some extra sheets in the bottom drawer over there.”

“Extra—?”

“Yeah,” Faith says, bending over the couch, pulling off the cushions.

“You’re gonna make me sleep on the couch?” Buffy sounds legitimately outraged.

Faith blinks, grabs the little lever under the frame and pulls the mattress out. “It’s a fold-out.”

“Faith,” Buffy crosses her arms. God, she still looks pissed.

"It’s… for me?” Faith offers, which is really pretty generous. This is her apartment, after all. That’s her bed.

Buffy sighs and opens her mouth like she’s about to say something else, but she must pick up on something in Faith’s expression, because she ends up just shaking her head, falling back onto the mattress and rolling onto her side.

“Jeez,” Faith mutters, crossing the room to get the extra sheets out herself.

She makes up the bed in silence, trying not to let her eyes catch on the sight of Buffy in her bed, trying not to think about what could happen if she let herself under the blankets alongside her and asked her, for real, what she wanted to get out of sharing a bed with Faith again.

—

The sunrise is brutal.

Faith groans, flings an arm over her eyes, but it’s no use — her body immediately tunes into the other presence in the room. Scooting up onto her elbows, Faith squints against the sun to see Buffy still apparently asleep, wrapped cozily in Faith’s warm blankets, in the dark corner of the room. Faith shivers under her thin sheets and hauls herself to her feet.

She’s got to go anywhere else. Downstairs, where she won’t be able to listen and focus in on the steady thump of Buffy’s heartbeat, the even in-out of her breathing, where she won’t be able to breathe deep and smell her own soap on Buffy’s skin.

Someplace where her mind won’t get hopelessly stuck in a loop, thinking of all the things she ought to know better than to want.

Eggs are about the only thing Faith can reliably make without fucking up. She’s halfway into chopping vegetables before she realizes she’s preparing the ingredients for one of those lousy, healthy omelettes that Buffy likes. Faith throws the knife down into the sink with a clatter, sweeps the cut bell peppers and onions right into the trash, feeling betrayed by her own subconscious mind.

Faith’s favorite shitty diner is a mile off, so she storms out to get a breakfast sandwich instead. She’s too restless to eat in the restaurant, so she unwraps it on the walk home and eats it outside, despite the cold. The sky is a pale gray blanket, as dull and oppressive as Faith’s mood.

When she gets back to the duplex, she can hear sounds from Buffy moving around in the kitchen. She bustles quickly down the stairs to the basement, before Buffy can call out to her.

She knows Buffy must have heard her get back, but after about an hour it seems like Buffy has decided not to follow. Just as Faith’s trying to figure out if she feels more annoyed or relieved by this, Buffy appears at the top of the stairs.

She watches Faith for a long moment, during which Faith pretends not to notice, before descending and grabbing a training staff off the mount on the wall. “Wanna go a few rounds?” Buffy asks.

Despite the fact that Faith’s been working out pretty hard non-stop since she came down here, she still feels amped up. The thought of going toe-to-toe with Buffy, leaving it all on the mat, throwing her unstoppable force into Buffy’s immovable object and letting them tire themselves out makes part of Faith want to weep with relief.

The rest of her thinks about the other part of sparring with Buffy. The sweaty, impact heavy, physicality of it. The way her body always seems to give itself away when Buffy’s near, the way that now, after their night together, Buffy would have all the tools she needed to finally notice.

“All gassed out,” Faith lies, pushing herself up from the mat to stand on wobbly legs. “Gonna shower.”

Buffy seethes and Faith feels that oily, guilty feeling pooling in her gut. She hesitates for a moment, thinks if she asks for me again, I'll go. I'll stop being a coward. But Buffy doesn’t call out again and Faith leaves the basement.

Rona and Lourdes are back with good news when Faith gets out of the shower. They gathered some more research, enough to figure out the type of demon they’re after. They even managed to get a piece of the thing that Buffy or Faith had carved off in the scuffle last night.

A good old fashioned slayer phone tree ensues. Buffy calls Willow who calls some local friends and within a few hours, they have a slightly faulty demon locator spell. It narrows in on two points of interest, so the slayers split up in groups of two to track the thing down.

There’s no debate whatsoever about who the teams will be.

It takes longer than Faith expected to catch up to the demon. They find it quickly enough, but once they spook it out of its first hiding spot it’s hard to corner again. The damn thing is quick and slippery, but they manage to catch up with it outside the city before the sun goes down.

The demon’s body is all wrong. Faith chalks it up to the interrupted ritual. It wears its human host like a badly fitted suit, or too much junk stuffed into a plastic bag, body bulging at all the wrong angles, too much shifting underneath the skin. Bone spurs and half-formed horns peek out from torn spots in the flesh, new limbs half-grown stunted and malformed, dangling uselessly.

Exhausted from running for so long, drained from evading them once the night before, weakened by the light of day, the creature is no match for two slayers. It puts up as much of a fight as it can, not going quietly. Faith stays in close, all over it, taking hits but keeping it busy while Buffy keeps her distance, swooping in at precise moments to take it to pieces with a pair of wicked knives. All in all, it takes nearly 20 minutes before the thing finally keels over. By the time Buffy finally swoops in with the killing blow, severing its lolling head from the mangled wreck of its body, Faith almost feels bad for it.

“We’ve got to burn it,” Buffy announces uselessly, once it’s clear they’re not lucky enough to have been up against one of the demons whose remains can’t persist in the human realm.

Faith works on the pyre while Buffy works on cutting the corpse down into smaller pieces. It’s grim, silent work, filled with none of the ecstasy, the rush of triumph they’d shared in the alley last night after killing those vamps.

When the fire is blazing, Faith glances over to see how Buffy’s doing and is shocked into silence by the look on her face. She looks exhausted, drawn. Faith thinks for a moment maybe she missed something in the fight, that Buffy got hurt, but there’s no obvious wounds on her, nothing to suggest pain but the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

“Yo, Buffy…” Faith begins, but Buffy shakes her head furiously.

“Don’t,” Buffy warns, slowly, rising from the ground and carrying a hunk of demon over to chuck into the flames.

There’s steel in her voice that warns Faith not to push. But she can’t make it a full thirty seconds in silence, too sick with guilt at the thought of seeing Buffy like this and just acting like it’s normal, like it’s fine.

“Buffy, seriously,” Faith starts.

“I said don’t,” Buffy hisses.

“Well, I am, so deal,” Faith shoots back. "What gives?"

“Oh, so now you want to talk?” The venom in Buffy’s tone makes Faith recoil on instinct. The next part of the body gets thrown into the fire so hard Faith hears the air whistle around it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Faith, because I know you’re not,” Buffy snaps.

A throat clearing behind them interrupts before Faith can figure out a reply.

Rona and Lourdes are hovering at the edge of the clearing, looking desperately uncomfortable. Jesus, Buffy and Faith hadn’t even heard them.

Faith flushes and backs away from Buffy, dropping her hands to her sides. Embarrassment burns under her skin, like they’d just been walked in on doing something a lot more intimate than arguing cryptically in a field.

“Uh,” Faith says.

“Guess you found him, huh?” Rona says. “Um, why don’t you guys head home and me and Lourdes can finish up here. We’ll call a cab or something back.”

Faith catches the keys thrown her way reflexively. Once they’re in her palm, fingers flexing around them, her brain catches up to her body. “It’s cool. You guys—”

“Thanks,” Buffy says gruffly, clamping a hand over Faith’s wrist and tugging her out to the car.

There's thunder in the air of the car as Faith drives them home. The crackling tension, the feeling of dread, Buffy’s furious silence shrinks Faith on the inside. She can barely keep her hands steady on the wheel, something in her body recalling times she was smaller, weaker, more helpless than this, headed back to a home that wasn’t safe, to receive a punishment she couldn’t avoid. Logically, she knows it doesn’t make sense to feel scared the same way — not now, not as a slayer, not with Buffy — but that doesn’t make it easier to calm herself down.

“Do you want—”

“Just drive, Faith,” Buffy says, voice tight.

When they make it to the duplex, Buffy waits for Faith to unlock the front door and then storms up the stairs to the apartment. For a brief moment, Faith lingers in the foyer, thinks about staying down there or just leaving. Taking off someplace, waiting it out.

But one of the fundamental truths about herself she’s had to accept over the last few years is that when it comes to Buffy, there’s no escaping, not really. The glass of Faith’s life is clouded all over with Buffy’s fingerprints, some for worse but mostly for better. It’s not something to run from, but something to live with, like an old scar or a bleach stain on the hem of a favorite shirt.

The door to the bathroom is open when Faith steps into the apartment, and she can hear water running. Faith is desperate to get cleaned up, has a vision of stripping down, crowding Buffy back into the shower stall, washing the blood off of her, not even to fuck, just for the excuse to touch her. She aches at the thought of it.

Instead, she grabs a cleanish towel off the top of her hamper, dumps half a water bottle over it and miserably scrubs the worst of the demon blood and muck off her hands and arms. She crosses to the wardrobe and peels herself out of her jacket and pants. Faith steps into a pair of sweats, has her bloodied shirt off and a new one poised to tug over her head when she hears the faucet turn off and the bathroom door creek open.

“Faith.”

Buffy hasn’t changed, but she’s stripped down to a t-shirt and pants. Standing there, backlit from the bathroom light, she looks beautiful, intangible; out of place in Faith’s shabby apartment. Buffy’s expression flickers from stern to embarrassed and she glances away, arms crossed. “Can you please…?”

Which is when Faith realizes she’s standing there with her arms over her head like an idiot, showing off the goods like a storefront display of her most pathetic, persistent Buffy-centric fantasies. She yanks the shirt down over her torso with a grunt. “Sorry.”

Buffy shakes her head.

In the silence that follows, Faith’s mind races desperately for something to say to fix the mess she’d made. She’s not totally clueless. It’s pretty clear that she hurt Buffy’s feelings by practically running screaming every time they’ve been in the same room for the past two days. But she doesn’t know what to say about it, how to explain where her head’s been at without giving too much away. She’s afraid to do anything to make Buffy regret the night they were together.

There are things about Faith that Buffy will always regret, Faith knows that’s true. She’s got plenty of regrets of her own, where Buffy’s concerned. But she doesn’t want that night to be one of them. She doesn’t want Buffy to think about being with Faith and wish she could take it back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t go pick you up,” Faith offers, weakly.

“What?” Buffy’s voice is quiet and clipped as she steps away from the bathroom. Low lamplight from the table near the couch lights her up instead, shadows painting her features. Faith’s chest squeezes painfully.

“At the airport,” she continues, feeling her palms start to sweat. Buffy’s brow furrows, unhappily. “I should have been there, instead of sending Rona.”

“You think I’m mad about the airport?”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Buffy hisses. “The airport, last night, and this morning, and the past two months! God, Faith, you practically begged me not to come out here and when I did you can’t even stand to be in the same room as me.”

Faith flinches, “Look, it’s not like that. It’s not like I didn’t want to see you—”

“Are you sure, Faith?” Buffy huffs. “Because that’s exactly what it feels like when you do everything you can not to see me. So, are you gonna tell me what I did wrong? Or were you just going to ice me out until I gave up?”

The thought sends a cold shiver down Faith’s spine. “You didn’t do anything, I just…”

Buffy laughs, a bitter sound. “Oh. It’s not you, it’s me, huh? You know, Faith, I’ve thought a lot of things about you in the past, but I never took you for a coward.”

“Cause I’m not,” Faith snaps reflexively, even if deep down it's exactly how she's been feeling. But, god, she can’t stand that holier-than-thou tone in Buffy’s voice, has never known how not to argue with it.

“Aren’t you? Isn’t that what you call someone who runs away from all of their problems instead of confronting them?”

“Oh, please, princess,” Faith scoffs. “You’ve done plenty of running from me, too.”

“Y’know what? You’re right, Faith. That’s why this all sucks so much. I thought we were finally in a good place. Like, we were finally getting back to what we almost had when we first met. A second chance to really be there for each other. And, god, I was so happy about it because it felt like we finally understood each other and then the minute I step away, you throw a wall up between us. So, what was it, Faith? Was I too clingy? Too overbearing for you?”

“No, no,” Faith takes a halting step forward, the wobble in Buffy’s voice makes it feel like her ribs are being crushed.

“You’re not coming to Scotland, are you?” Buffy asks, the fire in her voice cooled to waning embers. Faith’s expression must reveal the truth her clumsy mouth can’t express because Buffy growls in frustration. “Were you ever gonna tell me?”

“I should have—”

“Yeah, Faith, you really should have. So, why didn’t you?”

“Because you wouldn’t have listened,” Faith snaps, annoyance overtaking her guilt. She hates when Buffy gets like this, all righteous, talking over her, arguing her into a corner.

“What?”

“You wouldn’t have listened,” Faith repeats. “‘Cause it’s not what you want to hear.”

Buffy looks stunned, then furious, “Say what you mean, Faith.”

“I told you, I’m not cut out for the Slayer School thing,” Faith says. “I get why it’s important, but it’s not what I’m in this for. I’m not some fucking teacher or social worker, I’m not someone parents wanna give their kids up to, I’m not someone who’s gonna mold the next generation of young minds. Buffy, I’m not like you. I’m good at slaying, I like slaying. But the rest of that shit? I don’t have it in me.”

“Faith, you do have it in you. God, your experiences, the things you’ve been through — you’d have so much to offer these girls,” Buffy protests, so earnestly it makes Faith feel sick to her stomach. She’s not getting it. “You’ve grown so much. Everyone forgives you, okay? You’ve proven yourself. You don’t have to keep living like—”

“It’s not about that,” Faith snaps, bitter and hurt and so angry. For a moment she remembers what it was like to hate Buffy for not understanding her, and it scares her enough to steal her breath away. “It’s about what I want too.”

“What you want,” Buffy repeats, slowly.

“Yeah,” Faith says. All at once, the angry buzz fades out of the room. Buffy looks so small and vulnerable, barefoot in Faith’s apartment. She looks as sad and worn out as Faith feels, and Faith remembers that the only reason they’re even fighting now is because Buffy misses her and wants her around. Faith swallows past the sudden lump in her throat, wishing there was some kind of flip she could just switch in her head, to make this easier, to make her want Buffy less. “It’s different, Buff. What you want and what I want.”

“What do you want?” Buffy asks, defeat flattening her tone.

She almost says it. If only to make Buffy understand, so she wouldn't blame herself but—

But Buffy was right, when she called Faith a coward. And what good would it do anyway, for either of them? Why ask for something she can't have? Why make Buffy tell her no?

“I won’t find it in Scotland,” is the most Faith can offer. She’s close now, drawn near like a magnet, a satellite. Buffy leans toward her, just slightly, and Faith doesn't let herself overthink it, just reaches out, pulls her into an embrace. She’s not all that much taller, but Faith’s grateful for those handful of inches when Buffy tilts her head, buries her face in Faith’s neck.

Buffy shakes her head. Faith feels her heart beat faster, pulls Buffy tighter against her, and hopes she doesn’t give herself away.

It happens when Buffy starts to pull away. Faith looks down just as Buffy looks up and they’re so close together. The moment hangs, Faith’s blood rushing through her ears, and she can feel the warm soft puff of Buffy’s breath on her lips.

Faith’s not sure who kissed who. All she knows is that one moment she was suspended in an exquisite agonizing infinity, and the next Buffy’s hands are cupping her face, Buffy’s lips dragging gently over hers, Buffy’s body pressing into her own with obvious intent.

As far as schemes to get over Buffy go, this seems pretty fucking counterintuitive. The smart thing, the responsible thing to do, would be to stop it right here. The first time was one thing, they’d both been on the same page, more or less. But this? It wouldn’t mean the same thing to Buffy as it would to Faith. She’s got to end it.

But when Faith pulls back, Buffy chases her mouth, a sound almost like a whimper dribbling past her lips and Faith crumbles.

Maybe Buffy doesn’t want Faith back the way Faith wants her. But, clearly, she wants her some way. And if this is gonna be the last time, why not just give into it?

Why not let herself have this?

There’s a slight sting in her lower back, when Buffy pushes her back into the old writing desk she’d salvaged from a stoop sale last month, the wooden edge jabbing into the bruise blooming over her tail bone. She hisses reflexively and Buffy kisses her harder and it’s enough to send her head spinning, that dull satisfying pain and Buffy’s tongue in her mouth all at once.

The tug on the hem of her shirt has Faith blinking herself back into the present. She pulls back from the kiss, pants out an unsteady, “You sure?”

Buffy’s eyes snap up to meet hers, from where they’d been locked on her own hands pushing the cotton up Faith’s torso. “I don’t do this when I’m not sure.”

Her voice is just sharp enough for Faith to know that either she's being insulted or Buffy took her question the wrong way. Before she can figure out which it is, Buffy’s coaxing her arms up, pulling the shirt over her head with a practical, no-nonsense authority that makes Faith shiver.

Suddenly, it all slows way down.

“Hey…” Buffy’s voice is soft, concerned. She pulls back and traces the wound on Faith’s ribcage with the side of her thumb— it stings beautifully under her touch. “We should clean this up.”

Faith shakes her head. The cut is pretty shallow and only about three inches long, following the curve of her bottom rib, though she’s still not sure how the demon managed to nick her under her jacket. It had pretty much ruined her undershirt, but she’d poured some water over it while Buffy had been in the bathroom, and it’s barely bleeding now besides. “It’s fine.”

Buffy sighs and pulls back, studying Faith’s upper body in the low lamplight. She reaches out carefully and brushes the pad of her thumb over the bruise curling over the cup of Faith’s shoulder, seeks out another small cut at the side of Faith’s neck. Then she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the abrasion on the edge of Faith’s chin. It throbs under Buffy’s lips. “You’re stubborn.”

Faith shrugs, warm and slightly awkward. Sex is one thing, but this feels like something else, something she wants enough to know to be terrified of it. “Stubborn. A coward. Got anything nice to say to me, B?”

Buffy pulls back, and studies Faith’s face hard enough to make it seem like she's looking for something Faith didn't mean to reveal. It was supposed to be a joke.

Faith can’t handle the scrutiny at all. She surges forward, knows she catches Buffy by surprise by the way her breath hitches when their lips connect. It’s supposed to be a move; take control of the encounter, steer them back to friendlier waters, get Buffy turned on enough to let Faith do as she pleases.

And, honestly, it’s worked like 99% of the time Faith’s tried it in the past.

But this is Buffy after all, Ms. Never-Say-Die herself, and when Faith pushes forward, Buffy pushes back, harder. Faith hits the table again, gasps high and breathy from the pain, and Buffy sucks the noise right out of her throat, kissing hard enough to make Faith’s lips ache.

Buffy’s hands are tight on Faith’s hips, holding her in place as Faith tries to buck up against her. “Easy,” Buffy coaches, a whisper, and Faith shudders underneath her. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Quit it already, I’m not made of glass,” Faith huffs out, she reaches up to brush the wound on her ribs with her own fingertips. She smears a tiny line of blood over her skin, like red ink. “This is nothing.”

Buffy twists down, bending at the waist so she can press her lips over the wound. She lingers, for a moment, and Faith feels the faintest swipe of Buffy’s tongue over her skin, and suddenly she can’t breathe. After a long moment, Buffy pulls back, eyes half-lidded. “I know.”

There’s something about this moment, Faith’s blood in Buffy’s mouth, Buffy’s hands on Faith’s bare skin, that makes Faith feel like maybe her body could be more than just a vessel for violence and fleeting pleasure and death. Faith isn’t much for poetry, but she’s pretty fucking sure there’s nothing that she’s ever wanted more than this: Buffy touching her, tasting her, and not running from it.

Faith wants to kiss her. Badly. She wants to taste copper on Buffy's tongue.

But before she can try it, Buffy presses closer. She slides her hands low down Faith’s belly, tracing over the scar she’d put there with Faith’s own knife. Faith tenses. She can’t help it. She trusts Buffy with her life, with everything, but when they’d had sex the first time, they’d been careful to avoid the scar. Now, with Buffy’s fingertips pressed over the jagged, sunken groove in her flesh it takes everything in her not to squirm away.

“Does it hurt?” Buffy asks, voice quiet.

“Doesn’t feel like much of anything,” Faith says, which is mostly true. It tingles a little, she gets the vague sensation of pressure, but the scar tissue doesn’t have the same sensitivity as the rest of her skin.

Buffy frowns, drags her fingers over the line again and again. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Well, yeah.

But there’s something in Buffy’s face that stills Faith’s tongue. Something intent and serious.

“You’ve thought about it before,” Faith realizes, watching Buffy’s face carefully. It might not be her first time seeing what she’d done to Faith, but it’s her first time looking. Touching. “Wondered about it. Wanted to know what it feels like.”

It's a relief, like letting out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding all this time, to realize it.

Buffy’s brows draw together, her mouth setting in a stiff frown. She tries to pull her hand away, but before she can think about what she’s doing, Faith grabs her wrist, holds her fast over the scar. It had been just like this, that night. Just like—

“Is this, like, some kind of turn-on for you?” Buffy asks. She's got that eyebrow raised, all smarmy, like it's a joke but Faith knows better. She hears the shake in Buffy's voice.

Still, Faith’s surprised to find herself laughing, “C'mon, I'm not that kinky, B. Knife wounds don’t really get my motor running.”

And it’s true, but maybe not the whole story. Because the scar has been a lot of things to Faith over the years — a mark of betrayal, a painful reminder, a symbol of penance, an awkward question to dodge from other hookups.

But part of her has always thought of it as a brand, of sorts. Buffy might have abandoned her, for a time, and Faith might have deserved it — but the scar was something she’d left behind. Something she couldn’t take back. For better or for worse, Faith couldn’t take her shirt off, couldn’t look at her own body without thinking of Buffy.

And it feels right, in a fucked up way, to have such a prominent record of the damage, how it stood in for everything - what she'd dished out, what she'd taken in return. It feels right that the first truly intimate touch she and Buffy had shared was right there, every day, carved into her flesh; her blood on Buffy’s hands, that blade buried in Faith’s flesh, Buffy’s eyes flickering between Faith’s face and that point where they’d been connected, the way they’d gasped together, both so surprised.

So, no. Not quite a turn-on — Faith’s starting to feel dizzy, a little nauseous, her heart is beating faster and faster — but it’s something she thinks she needs as much as Buffy does. A way to take this feeling, whatever it is, and plaster it over the memory of the rooftop. Something to eclipse the grief, at least a little bit. At least for now.

Finally, Faith lets go of Buffy’s hand, feels her touch linger for a moment before it drops away. Buffy’s grip settles onto Faith’s hips instead, squeezing. She leans in and kisses Faith again, slower than before. Buffy takes her time, not speeding up or letting Faith deepen the kiss, no matter how hard she tries. Eventually, Faith has no choice but to relax, to let Buffy do this her way, accepting that it's gonna be easier to give in than to force it.

Of course, the minute Faith submits, Buffy kicks things up a gear. As if she'd wanted to this whole time, but had to make a point out of it, which is as annoying a thought as it is sexy. Buffy slides one thigh between Faith’s where she’s braced against the lip of the desk, and pushes her tongue into Faith’s mouth at the same time.

Faith gasps again, a high, girlish sound, one that gives away just how keyed up she is. But she can’t help it, can already feel herself soaking through her panties as she grinds down into Buffy’s thigh. Buffy kisses her harder, a hand in Faith’s hair now, wound tight through her curls. Buffy tugs to tilt Faith’s face back and mouths a sticky line of wet bites and kisses across her jaw and down the side of her neck.

“Buffy,” Faith whimpers, breathlessly, it should be more embarrassing than it is, rolling over this quickly for Buffy. But, she’s always been Faith’s weakness, hasn’t she?

And Buffy knows it, if the way she smiles into Faith’s skin before she bites down hard, again, sucks a bruise into the place where her neck meets her shoulder is any indication. Faith shivers, moans, squeezes the edge of the desk behind her hard enough to feel the wood start to splinter.

Buffy, of course, notices that too. “Watch out,” she says again, her voice a touch too smug for Faith’s liking. “You’re gonna break that.”

“Maybe I need something else to do with my hands,” Faith pants. She slides down from the desk, planting her feet firmly on the ground, and cups Buffy’s ass firmly, lifting her up off the ground in one smooth motion. It catches Buffy by surprise — Faith can tell because she yelps a little, clutches onto Faith’s shoulders reflexively, winds her legs around Faith’s waist.

Faith hasn’t really thought this move all the way out. She takes a step in the direction of the bed, just to have someplace to dump Buffy onto, when she’s taken off guard by one of Buffy’s legs snaking down between hers, tripping her.

They crash to the floor hard. The throw rug absorbs a bit of the shock, but it’s all hardwood up here and the impact sends a shock wave of pain through Faith’s body in every place it connects. She hopes Rona and Lourdes aren’t home yet, because that definitely rattled the floors.

She doesn’t have time to worry about it for long. Buffy swings a leg over Faith, starts to shift to pin her and Faith’s body responds on instinct. It’s rough action, twisting and grappling, the kind of stuff Faith can’t really afford to go in on with anyone else, but the slayer in her sings at the sudden, brutal physicality of it, rears up to meet Buffy’s challenge. It feels good to wrestle out all her frustration, to heave her body up into Buffy’s and know she can take it. She rolls herself up into Buffy, briefly gets the upper hand, pinning Buffy’s body to the floor with her full weight, feeling every shuddering inhale and exhale that racks Buffy’s lungs, wets her palms with the sweat on Buffy’s neck.

And then Buffy’s twisting, flipping them, and Faith feels the fibers of the carpet scrape hard along her cheek where Buffy pins her face to the floor. She wriggles, but it’s useless - Buffy might be smaller, but she’s got all the leverage here.

“Do you have to make everything such a fight?” Buffy pants.

Faith has to laugh. It’s rich, coming from her. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?” Buffy still sounds pretty frustrated for someone on top. But Faith can feel Buffy’s hips pressed flush against the curve of Faith’s ass, rolling weakly against her. She can feel the thrum of excitement in Buffy’s body, can practically smell how wet she is. This is working for her, even if she wants to deny it, for some reason.

“Because we’re slayers. That’s what we’re made for. Fighting,” Faith says, rocking back into Buffy’s hips. She hears Buffy’s gasp, feels the sound directly against her clit. “Fucking.”

Buffy groans a little and leans down, pressing wet kisses down the curve of Faith’s shoulder blade. She releases Faith’s hands, freeing herself to unclasp the bra Faith’s still somehow wearing. When Buffy’s hands retreat to undress herself, Faith takes the opportunity to shimmy out of the bra, but she doesn’t try to get up or move away. Fair’s fair.

Buffy leans over again, this time Faith can feel every inch of her torso pressing flush to Faith’s back. She can feel the stiff peaks of Buffy’s nipples as they drag over her skin. Buffy kisses her ear, bites the shell of it, licks her way down the lobe. She drags her mouth across the back of Faith’s neck, nosing her way through the cascade of sweaty locks, sucking on the skin at her nape, all the while keeping up the steady, rhythmic roll of her hips into Faith’s ass.

She’s really getting off on this, Faith thinks smugly. So maybe Buffy won their little square off, that’s fine, because this is an entirely different kind of victory for Faith.

How many times has she imagined having Buffy just like this? Catching blows on strike pads, or in those real blood and grit skirmishes in the street, in the long hours rolling around sweaty on the training mats together fantasizing about the two of them ending up together this way? Stripped of pretext, all raw attraction, two bodies all the way in sync. And this, now, Buffy’s hot breath on her neck, her hips humping Faith’s ass, it feels like vindication. Somewhere, deep down inside, Buffy had been thinking the same thoughts as Faith. She’d wanted the same damn thing.

Faith reaches behind herself, finds the hem of her loose lounge pants, and starts rolling it down her thighs. Buffy pushes her hands away. “I’ll do it.”

“Bossy,” Faith laughs, breathy.

“Way too late to convince me you don’t like that,” Buffy counters, rubbing a hand over the swell of Faith’s ass, sliding her fingers under the line of Faith’s panties before she pulls them down as well.

Faith can feel Buffy start to slow down, losing confidence. She’s probably not sure what to do here, given the equipment situation. That’s fine. Faith’s never had a problem telling anyone how to fuck her.

“C’mon, ride my ass, B,” Faith drags the words up from the lowest part of her vocal register, heavy with want, slick with urgency. “Use it.”

She hears Buffy gasp, but she doesn’t make any moves, other than gripping Faith’s hips, hard.

“Or flip me over,” Faith offers. “You can sit on my face.”

“God, Faith,” Buffy’s voice wavers and Faith closes her eyes, relishing the sound.

"However you want,” Faith promises, she wants to sound seductive, in-charge. It comes off a little desperate, even to her own ears. “You get to touch me however you want."

Buffy pulls back for a moment. Faith hasn’t turned around, gets the feeling it’ll break the moment somehow if she looks behind her, but she can hear Buffy’s ragged breathing, the sound of her shuffling out of the rest of her clothes.

Then there are Buffy’s hands on Faith’s hips, coaxing her up to her knees. Buffy’s palm sliding up the line of her spine, to tangle into Faith’s hair again as she props herself up on her elbows.

The first press of Buffy’s wet pussy against Faith’s bare ass has Faith sinking down, closing her teeth over her forearm braced on the floor and groaning helplessly as she rocks back. Buffy breathes out hard above her, like the wind's been knocked out of her lungs, and she rolls her hips again, harder.

It’s sloppy, a little frantic; the kind of uncoordinated, artless rutting Faith hasn’t really indulged in since her teens. She spares a thought for the strap in the box under her bed, considers offering it to Buffy, but as good as the mental image is, she tells herself not to be greedy. She's in too deep now to risk freaking Buffy out with sex toys.

This is good, anyway. This is more than she ever could have dreamed of. Golden girl Buffy taking Faith on the floor, whining and moaning above her, grinding her pretty pink pussy into Faith’s ass, using her to get off because she’s finally given in and admitted that she wants the same thing Faith does. She likes the sweat and the violence and the wanton, shameless heat of it all as much as Faith has always known.

Faith feels dizzy, messy. Her thighs are dripping with her own wetness, ass slick with Buffy’s too. When she feels Buffy pick up her pace, grinding herself against Faith with more urgency, Faith shifts her weight onto one arm, and slides the other down underneath them to rub her own clit. The pleasure is explosive, intense, enough to drag a choked moan out of Faith's throat.

"Are you…?" Buffy asks, breathlessly trailing off. Faith can feel the weight of Buffy's gaze on her as she touches herself.

"Somebody had to," Faith says, pointedly.

And just like she expected, Buffy can't resist the challenge.

"Everyone's a critic," she rasps and on her next backward stroke, she slips a hand down between Faith's legs and pushes into her with two fingers.

"Fuck," Faith keens, bowing her back and thrusting up against Buffy's touch. "More."

Buffy obliges and Faith takes a third finger so easily she almost asks for another. Almost asks for Buffy's whole hand — it's something she hasn't tried yet, hasn't ever really wanted to before, but the idea of taking so much of Buffy inside her makes Faith's pussy clench desperately and her thighs tremble with want.

Then Buffy thrusts harder, twists her fingers a little, perfectly timed against the motion of Faith's fingers on her own clit, and every thought in her mind is torn clean apart by the sharp spike of pleasure.

"Fuck, Buffy, I'm gonna come," Faith chokes out.

The words aren't even all the way out before Buffy slips her fingers out of Faith's pussy, slapping them across the back of Faith's thigh with a wet smack that has her crying out and pushing backwards for more at the same time.

"Wait," Buffy's voice is sharp, almost threatening. Faith feels like she could shake herself apart right there at just the sound of it. "Not yet."

Faith's thigh still smarts from the sting of Buffy's slap and for a moment she toys with not listening, just to see what Buffy would do about it. But in the end she can't deny how much more she wants to give Buffy what she's asking for.

It's not easy, holding off the orgasm building up inside her. She tries to distract herself from the urge to come by focusing on the ache in her knees against the floor, the wet smack of Buffy’s fingers drilling into her cunt, those tiny, high pitched noises Buffy keeps stuttering out.

Faith bows her head, and mouths the teeth imprints she’d left on her own arm earlier. Bites down again so the shock of pain can wash out the explosive, staticky pleasure coiling low in her gut.

Suddenly, a sharp tug in her hair forces her head up.

“Stop that,” Buffy says and Faith moans, when Buffy tugs her hair again, harder. “Good.”

Fuck, she nearly loses it, shivering all over at the praise. Buffy laughs, surprised, and it turns Faith on even more.

“You tryin’ to kill me?” Faith asks, hoping the bravado will mask the slight sting of embarrassment over being caught out like this.

“Maybe a little,” Buffy says and Faith can’t help it anymore. She cranes her neck to look over her shoulder, feels her whole body go wobbly at the sight of Buffy, muscles straining, tits bouncing like crazy, flushed and rutting into Faith hard. Buffy catches her eye and the look that passes between them smolders so hot Faith feels herself blushing. “You wanna come? Is that it?”

Faith has to look away. If she doesn’t, she won't be able to hold back, Buffy’s permission or no. “Fuck. Yeah, I do. You know I do.”

“Maybe I wanna hear you say it,” Buffy says, voice hitching as she grinds harder. Faith thinks she’s switched to rocking into the back of her own hand, because suddenly the thrusts she’s making into Faith’s cunt are deeper, rougher. “Maybe I’m tired of always having to guess with you.”

There’s real strength in Buffy’s thrusts now, Faith has to concentrate to not be toppled over. Buffy works Faith’s cunt like she owns it, like that’s all it’s there for, and Faith feels herself starting to clench rhythmically, unconsciously around Buffy’s fingers. She’s not gonna last, so there’s no point in drawing this out for the sake of feigning more dignity than she’s got.

“Let me come, please,” she breathes out the words in a cluttered rush, gritting her teeth at the effort of stopping herself from coming. “Let me come for you.”

“Fine,” Buffy breathes, and Faith whines in relief. “Come for me, then, Faith.”

That’s pretty much all it takes. Buffy drives into her again and Faith pinches her clit, rubs a few harsh circles over herself and falls apart.

She moans something halfway between Buffy’s name and some wordless animal noise, and can barely hear the sound of Buffy cursing behind her over the rush of blood through her own ears. Buffy keeps plowing into her, jerky, staccato thrusts as she chases her own orgasm, and Faith can’t seem to stop coming. Her body feels like a vessel for something bigger than both of them, something made to channel pleasure and nothing more. She rubs herself through a second shakier, slightly painful orgasm before Buffy jerks hard against her and spends herself with a moan.

Buffy drops forward, melting against Faith’s back, and Faith’s knees finally give out, toppling them both to the floor. She lays there, struggling to get her breath back, face pressed into the cradle of her arms, crossed over the rug, feeling Buffy’s body quake and quiver against hers.

Gingerly, Faith rolls over, careful to keep Buffy’s limp body from sliding from the floor. It’s awkward, a little like a game of naked twister, but she manages to get herself onto her back and gather Buffy into her arms.

The feel of Buffy’s sweaty forehead pressed into Faith’s slightly rugburned chest is surreal. Faith cups a hand on the back of Buffy’s head and leans down before she can stop herself, pressing her lips to Buffy’s hairline. Buffy clutches weakly at Faith’s sides in response.

Suddenly, Buffy sneezes. “Ugh, it’s filthy down here. When was the last time you vacuumed?”

Faith rolls her eyes, “Hey, that’s on you. I have a perfectly good bed I was trying to take you to like right over there.”

Buffy shrugs but doesn’t make any more effort to argue.

Faith thinks she could fall asleep here anyway, despite the dust, and the chill creeping up through the floor. She’s all wrung out from the intensity of her orgasm, Buffy’s warm and solid on top of her, and the feeling of her short nails dragging lazy circles over Faith’s skin is enough to nearly lull her to sleep.

But after a few more minutes, Buffy coaxes them up off the floor and leads them into the shower. It’s not as awkward as Faith expected it could be, but without the distraction of fucking Buffy, she feels cautious and seized by doubt. She spends half the shower wondering if she should try to kiss Buffy again, but before she can work up the courage Buffy’s finished and stepping out to dry herself.

This time, Faith passes up the fold out, telling herself it would be weirder to make a point of sleeping there now, after all this. She slips into bed with Buffy, tries to calm the racing of her heart, to force her muscles to relax, to be cool about the situation.

It’s dead quiet, dark but for the faint glow of streetlamps streaking in through the window on the far wall. Faith takes deep, careful breaths, and focuses on the scent of soap— her soap on Buffy’s skin, close enough to touch, just slightly beyond reach— and the distant sounds of the late night traffic. She shifts on the mattress, tries to adjust the blankets without disturbing Buffy beside her.

“You wouldn’t have to become an instructor,” Buffy breaks the quiet between them. Faith glances over, finds her staring straight up at the ceiling. “You wouldn’t have to go on recruitment or meet up with the sponsors or anything like that. I wouldn’t make you. You could just be there, okay?”

Faith stays silent.

“Just be there with me?” Buffy says, reaching out to touch her shoulder in the dark.

Faith wonders if that could be enough for her, just being close by, seeing Buffy every day again, weaving herself into the fabric of Buffy’s life.

Faith has come a long way from being that awkward, needy kid that showed up in Sunnydale, helplessly pacing the edge of Buffy’s friend group, wanting to be seen, accepted, taken in. And Buffy wasn’t lying earlier when she said that they were in a better spot than they’d ever been. Faith knows Buffy cares about her. Knows they couldn’t go back to the mess they were in before.

But still, part of her can’t help but remember the pain of those early days. Dozens upon dozens of tiny emotional papercuts adding up to something nasty and festering, infecting Faith with the kind of malice it still makes her shiver to recall.

She remembers how bad it felt to want more than she could have.

“I can’t do that, Buffy,” Faith says. “That’s the problem.”

“You can’t…?” Buffy’s voice is so quiet and Faith feels like the lowest, slimiest creature on the planet.

She clears her throat and makes herself talk, “I can’t be that close to you right now. My head’s all messed up, okay? So much has changed in the last year and I’m not thinking straight. You… you confuse things.”

“I don’t understand,” Buffy says.

“There’s stuff I need to figure out,” Faith tries again. “Things I need to learn how to deal with. It’s harder around you because everything… everything is so much more intense around you. You get that, right? It’s always been like that.”

“So it’s me,” Buffy says, tonelessly. “You need space from me.”

Faith feels her heart start to race in her chest. She’s fucking this up.

She rolls over and Buffy tilts her head on the pillow to meet Faith’s eyes.

“I just need some time,” Faith says, letting the words spill out in a wavering rush. “I need to figure out how to be good at this.”

Buffy’s face softens at the rawness in Faith’s voice, and it’s worth the tingle of shame at coming across so weak. When Faith opens her arms, Buffy haltingly slides across the mattress to press up against her.

The feeling of their skin pressed together calms the panicked thundering of Faith’s heartbeat. She looses a long sigh and chews her lip raw in the silence.

“I like this city,” Faith admits, softly. “I like the way the light comes through the windows in my apartment. I like working with Lourdes and Rona. Hell, I even went to a Cavs game last month and liked that. I’m doing pretty good here, B.”

“You’re happy?” Buffy asks, so quiet Faith nearly misses it.

“Yeah.” More or less, it’s the truth.

“Okay,” Buffy says, through a shuddering sigh. “That’s good.”

Faith squeezes her a little tighter.

After a while, Buffy’s breath evens out and she falls asleep, and Faith finally stops trying to figure out what else to say.

Chapter Text

October, 2003

Buffy spends the plane ride home in kind of a daze. She's exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally, and yet somehow too wired to fall asleep or even relax.

Oh, she keeps thinking she might. It’s a long flight, her body feels leaden, her eyes are aching. And yet every time she closes them, or leans back into her seat, sure that this time she’ll drift off, she notices the stale smell of the recycled cabin air, or she’s distracted by the crinkling of some distant jerk’s stupid bag of airplane peanuts, or she picks up on some conversation between seatmates a few rows over that she can’t tune out. And those are actually the less frustrating things that are keeping her awake.

Because the rest of the time, when her mind drifts off, it’s back to Cleveland. Back to Faith.

No in-flight movie, none of the magazines she’d purchased in a fit at the airport, not even the trashy paperback she’d stuffed in her bag can hold her attention. Every time she tries to distract herself the words on the page swim in front of her eyes, or Meg Ryan’s romantic plights turn into meaningless noise and she’s back to chewing her lip raw and thinking about—

Buffy had known they would probably fight. It had been, well, not something she was looking forward to exactly, but at least something she felt was pretty inevitable. Sometimes that’s just how it goes with Faith — things build up until they can’t anymore and then they give each other hell for it and then, if it didn’t come to blows, they get over it. Move on.

And she and Faith were pretty much past their blowing phase.

Bad, bad phrasing.

Buffy and Faith didn’t solve issues between them with violence any longer.

Better.

And things had been so good between them in Cleveland. They'd been a team — the chosen two, the most senior slayers, the ones who knew what they were doing.

They'd been in sync. Faith had patrolled with Buffy, had been a sounding board, someone she trusted to call her on her shit when she needed it and to back her up when it counted. It felt so much like the way they always should have been. What it had felt like they were starting to grow into, years ago, before that horrible night in the alley when everything had gone wrong.

Things had only gotten weird once Buffy had left for Scotland.

And Buffy kind of got it. Thought she understood, at least.

Faith's had baggage since long before she became a slayer. Stuff from when she was a kid — Buffy's never gotten the full story, but Faith has let enough slip over the years for Buffy to draw some conclusions.

So, abandonment issues. It makes sense.

It seemed like it'd be a simple enough thing to work out. Buffy would go back to Cleveland, she'd confront Faith over all the miserable avoidant bullshit she'd been pulling for the past two months, she'd help kill the latest Hellmouth monster and, free of duty and with her importance reaffirmed, Faith would finally agree to return with Buffy to Scotland and they'd go back to being them.

She hadn't expected Faith would pawn her off to the other Cleveland slayers. She hadn't expected Faith would try so desperately hard to stay away from her the entire time.

She definitely hadn't expected that they'd have sex again.

In a way that made sense too, though. Buffy had meant it, after Sunnydale, when she'd said that it should be a one-time thing. Leaving aside how overwhelmed she had been by her own responsibilities, the messy ambiguity of Faith's own feelings, the risk to both of them for something unequal and doomed to develop, sleeping with Faith had proven itself to be the exact right thing for their relationship at the time.

It had smoothed that ragged, painful seam in their connection. It had let them be vulnerable, to really see each other, to take care of each other in a way that was, well, kind of healing. It felt like resolving something. It felt like giving them something safe to build from.

Maybe it had been naive to expect that trick to work twice.

The sex had been good. Again. Great, actually, if she's being honest but what happened after was playing on a constant loop in Buffy's head.

You confuse things, Faith had said.

Confused what exactly?

Did Faith mean that Buffy was too controlling? Didn’t let her make decisions for herself? Because Buffy had already offered — promised — that Faith wouldn’t have to be involved in the Organization, if she didn’t want to be.

I need to figure out how to be good at this.

At being a slayer? At being on her own?

Faith’s been good at being a slayer pretty much since the day she’d been called, Buffy’s pretty sure. At the actual slaying parts at least. Faith’s talked about that part, how it had made Faith’s whole life make sense to her, how it was natural, satisfying, fulfilling like nothing else ever had been. And, sure, okay her moral compass had needed some recalibrating but—

But they’re past that. Faith has done her time, metaphorically speaking. She’s — well, you can’t make up for some of the things Faith had done, exactly, but she’s been committed for years to doing better, to doing good, and no one doubts her anymore.

Around and around and around.

Somewhere over the Atlantic, Buffy resolves to put the matter out of her mind.

It's a weird Faith thing. Trying to understand it will only be a perpetual headache. And it's not like there's anything she can do to change Faith's mind. She'd flown across the ocean and thrown herself at Faith's feet, practically begged, already and it hadn't made a difference.

So, she'll do what Faith asked.

She'll give her space.

Let her figure this out, whatever it was.

The yawning, empty feeling in her stomach is probably just hunger pangs.

Buffy flags down a stewardess and asks for a bag of mini pretzels and a club soda.

When she finally touches down in Edinburgh, Xander’s there waiting for her. He greets her with a warm hug and engages her the entire ride home with comfortingly familiar small talk.

The others are surprised to see her back so quickly. When she’d raced off to Cleveland so suddenly, she’d assumed she’d be gone for at least a week.

“Guess I should have listened to Faith,” Buffy admits, smiling ruefully, ignoring the twist in her stomach. “Less of an apocalypse, more of an apoca-miss.”

Willow winces, Dawn lets out a quiet ‘oomph,’ and Xander nods approvingly.

“Less of a doomsday, more of a dooms-dud?” Buffy offers an alternative.

“We’re just glad you’re home in one piece,” Dawn interjects, wrapping Buffy in a hug. “How was Faith?”

“Oh, she was fine,” Buffy says, not sure if it’s a lie or not, but too tired of thinking about it to care. “Five by five.”

—-

December, 2003

Faith mails them a Christmas card that gets there two days late.

There’s no message inside. Just a hastily sketched jaggedy thing that the group reluctantly agrees must be a tree, and her name written under the pre-printed generic holiday message.

Besides that, there had been only one missed call from a 216 area code to Buffy’s cell phone on New Year’s Eve. No voice message. Buffy hadn’t returned the call, and Faith never called back.

—-

January, 2004

There's a bi-weekly (once every two weeks, isn’t it weird how that word can also mean twice a week?) teleconference (Buffy doesn't know why they can't just say 'phone meeting' but Giles is insistent) between Cleveland and the HQ in Scotland. Normally it's an excuse for Buffy and Faith to check in under the guise of relaying important Slayer updates.

Buffy's begged off, usually pushing the responsibility to Dawn or Xander by double booking herself or just being out of town on the days the calls are scheduled.

She gets another missed call from Faith the week before her birthday.

Again, Buffy decides not to call back. If Faith wants space so badly, then Buffy's not going to be the one to deny it to her. She wouldn't want to confuse things.

At least, that's the plan anyway. The choice gets taken out of Buffy's hands a week later.

It starts with a bogus tip. A guy who knew a guy who was the friend of a reliable Council defector had some information about a prophecy Willow had been looking into. But, of course, he was in over his head with a bad element. He would only talk to one person. Buffy Summers, the real deal, the head Slayer in charge.

No, it shouldn't have worked, but Buffy hadn't given much thought to the obvious red flags. She'd spent so much time lately cooped up inside the castle that she was happy for any excuse to get back into the field. Maybe even happier that it was bound to be more complicated than it looked at the outset.

She hadn't been totally stupid. She'd gone with backup.

Unfortunately for Buffy, her would-be assassins only needed to get one good hit in to hold up their end of the bargain.

Honestly, it's all kind of fuzzy for Buffy from there. She'd been rushed back to the castle, but the poison had been magical. Serious business. The only antidote required blood from a demon that didn't even exist in this dimension.

Of course, the dramatic poisoning could only have happened on Buffy's birthday weekend. Of course it had to coincide with Faith flying in to see her.

To hear her friends tell it after, Faith had shown up hours after Buffy had left and had immediately been furious to learn she'd rushed off to an obvious trap.

And once Buffy had been dragged, delirious and dying, back to the castle and been assessed, it had been Faith who'd forcefully asserted she'd be the one to go through the portal and get the job done.

All Buffy knows is that she'd woken up to Dawn and Willow at her bedside. And when she'd woken up again a few hours after that, Faith had been ushered in from the hall to sit at the edge of the mattress, scraped up and weary looking, and wish her a happy birthday.

It's kind of a hard thing to hold a grudge through.

Faith surprised Buffy even further by staying through the week, the longest single span of time she'd spent in Scotland since they set up there, crashing in the furthest wing of the Castle from Buffy's quarters, sparring with her in free afternoons and just generally scaring the shit out of the new recruits.

They both carefully avoid talking about Cleveland or the long weeks they spent avoiding each other. Buffy’s starting to think they might go the whole trip, maybe the rest of their lives, pretending nothing happened until the night before Faith is set to go home, when they’re both lingering on the balcony in the frosty pre-dawn hours, reluctant to call it a night and go back inside.

"You know when I said I needed space I meant, like, physically, right?" Faith blurts out of nowhere, eyes locked on the faint pink glow beginning to peek out from the swell of the hills in the distance.

"That's why you came to Scotland?" Buffy can’t help but snark.

Faith at least has the decency to blush at that.

"Look, I may not be ready to drop everything and move here, but, uh, both parts of my life where we weren’t talking were pretty shitty. I’m not trying to go back to that," Faith glances over at her quickly, but doesn’t let her eyes linger. She clears her throat uncomfortably and continues, “I didn’t mean to, I dunno… make you not talk to me. I get that it was shitty when I did that, okay?”

Buffy almost wishes that they had just both let the visit pass without having to talk about it. Now that Faith has brought it up, Buffy can’t quite push away the things she’d been feeling. She knows she can’t really talk about it. It’s a confusing enough jumbled mess in her own mind; the thought of having to try to articulate herself for another person to understand is excruciating.

But there’s a part of Buffy that will always be the girl that gave herself fully to the man she loved more than anything, naive and hopeful and so in love it hurts to think about, and woke up to a nightmare. A part of Buffy that expects sex — intimacy — to be followed by coldness, rejection.

It could just be spectacularly bad luck.

Or it could be something about Buffy herself. Something in her that people see, when they’re that close, that they need to get away from. Something about her that changes them.

“Shit, I’m no good at this,” Faith sighs heavily, running a hand through her hair. It musses very prettily, which is as annoying as it is distracting. She looks over, blinks her big eyes at Buffy. “Tell me how to fix it?”

Buffy wonders if there’s a playbook or something floating around out there that Faith might be reading out of. The sex, the distance, the earnest quest for amends. It all feels depressingly textbook.

Still.

“I guess saving my life was a pretty good start,” Buffy admits.

“Yeah, well, try not to make a habit of getting fatally poisoned every time I make an ass out of myself, alright?” Faith says, visibly relaxing for the first time since they started talking. “No way I could afford the airfare.”

Buffy lets herself laugh and feels lighter for it. But there’s something she still wants to know. “You came all the way out here for my birthday?”

Faith looks a little sheepish, shifting her weight from foot to foot in a way she probably thinks is subtle. “Well, you weren’t taking my calls. Figured if I was here you might talk to me. Or else I could stand out on the lawn with a boombox or somethin’.”

Something cold and hard in Buffy’s chest finally thaws and crumbles away.

“I got you somethin’ too,'' Faith mumbles, still looking down. “Uh, a demon did eat it though. Not like it was much, but y’know— I didn’t just show up for your birthday with no present.”

“Faith,” Buffy says, throat tight, reaching out to put a hand on Faith’s wrist.

Faith goes still and quiet for one perfect moment. She drags her eyes up to Buffy’s, worrying her full bottom lip with her teeth and swallowing hard.

“I’ll make it up to you next year, B,” Faith’s voice is raspy, soft.

“Thanks for coming,” Buffy says.

Overhead the sky is getting lighter and lighter.

-

February, 2004

A few weeks after Faith goes back to Cleveland, Buffy has sex with Satsu for the first time.

These events are completely unrelated.

Okay, sure, Buffy knows how it looks from the outside. Or how it would look, if anyone was looking. Which they’re not, because Buffy is a grown woman who’s entitled to a private life not discussed or shared with all of her nosy friends.

Anyway, it’s pure coincidence. She could have had sex with Satsu while Faith was still at the castle — there was no rule or agreement or anything preventing that. But logistically, between the almost dying and the sorting things out with Faith, her schedule had been pretty packed. Not exactly conducive to girl-on-girl action with a plucky young subordinate.

Satsu had been one of the first girls to be recruited to the Scotland HQ and Buffy had liked her immediately. She took the calling seriously, but wasn’t uptight about it; she was skilled but didn’t seem to have much of a chip on her shoulder about it. And the obvious crush she had on Buffy had been flattering, even before Buffy had really started wondering if she actually might swing that way.

It had been even more flattering after Buffy had returned from her last trip to Cleveland, wounded and forced to admit that the phrase one time thing had really lost its oomph. Satsu’s flirting had always been lighthearted and respectful, and after being pretty soundly rejected it took on something of a restorative quality to boot.

Okay, so it had soothed her wounded ego — Buffy’s only human and Satsu is beautiful and smart and she always smells so good. And more than that, it’s been so long since someone has been interested in Buffy in such a casual, uncomplicated way.

So, yeah, Buffy had flirted back. It’d been fun. It made her feel better. It was a nice distraction from the stress of running the organization, from being the head of a movement, from ignoring Faith’s phone calls.

That seemed about as far as it would go.

There’s an obstacle course on the grounds that Buffy likes to visit, when she needs to blow off steam. It’s probably her favorite way to train when she’s going solo. There’s something soothing and repetitive about running the same course over and over, where she can turn her brain off and let her body do the work. It’s where she finds herself, restless, the day after Faith leaves.

It’s where Satsu finds her. Weirdly, Buffy doesn’t mind the interruption, though she’d come at least partially for the solitude. Satsu wordlessly joins in the run, falling into pace beside Buffy and it shifts into a partnered run, using each other to tackle the various obstacles as a team. They go for an hour before Buffy finally jerks her head to the patch of clover to the side they use as a rest point.

“So, that was Faith, huh?” Satsu asks, sprawled out on her back, sweaty and bright-eyed.

“Uh, yep,” Buffy nods, forcing herself to sit so she can stretch her calves.

“She seems… intense,” Satsu says, slowly. Buffy gets the distinct impression she’s fishing for something.

“She’s not so bad, once you get to know her,” Buffy offers.

“Is it true you two tried to kill each other?” Satsu blurts and, ah, this must be the thing she’d meant to ask.

“Where’d you hear that?” Buffy asks, instead of answering.

Satsu shrugs, “Just around. So, did you?”

“It was complicated,” Buffy deflects, frowning. “Why?”

“It’s just hard to imagine,” Satsu says, glancing at Buffy sideways. “You two seemed so… chummy.”

“Chummy?” Buffy snorts. “What, are you jealous?”

“Just curious,” Satsu says. “You get to hear her name around a lot, from some of you old timers. Then there’s all the crazy rumors. I just wanted to know what the deal is.”

“No deal,” Buffy says, lightly. “We had a rough patch, but we’re past it. Friends now. Just friends.”

“Ah, right,” Satsu nods exaggeratedly. “You’re celibate now. Like a monk.”

“I am not,” Buffy laughs and leans over, shoving Satu’s shoulder playfully. “I’m just focusing on me right now.”

“Right. Well, are you going to be focusing on yourself all night Saturday after next?” Satsu asks and then blanches. “Uh, wow, believe it or not I didn’t mean for that to sound so dirty. I just wanted to know if you had Valentine’s plans.”

Buffy is instantly wary. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s just that the girls were planning a movie night, for all us dateless losers. An anti-Valentine’s thing, no romance at all. I think we’re watching Predator to start.”

“And…?”

“And I wanted to know if you wanted to come.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Buffy says.

“Why not?”

“‘Cause, you know, I’m like a friend. I mean, I try to be. But I’m also kind of like your boss. Or your principal,” Buffy shakes her head, gently. “It’s sweet of you to think of me, but I don’t think the other girls would have as good a time if I was there.”

“I thought we were friends,” Satsu looks genuinely hurt and Buffy feels immediately guilty.

“We are,” Buffy rushes to clarify, surprised to find she means it. “But, that’s different. C’mon, you don’t see Rowena and Leah out here running trials with me, asking invasive questions about my personal life. You definitely wouldn’t see them getting away with it, if they tried.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Satsu grins, pinkens slightly. “I guess not.”

And that could have been the end of it, except that when Valentine's Day finally did roll around, Buffy realized she felt sorrier for herself than she’d expected to. Which was pathetic, because it was a stupid holiday propped up by greeting card companies and the Hallmark channel, but… still.

And Dawn had gone to the anti-Valentine's party, while Xander was off brooding over Anya, and Willow and Kennedy were holed up at some hotel for the weekend, and when Satsu had shown up at Buffy's door with a bowl full of popcorn and an armful of VHS tapes, Buffy had let her inside.

"What's first?" Buffy asks, settling back onto her bed while Satsu fiddled with the VCR.

Satsu tosses an empty cardboard box backwards to Buffy.

"The Mummy?" Buffy reads. "I thought you said no romance!"

"Only a little," Satsu grins and takes her finger off the fast forward button once the title credits begin. She practically prances back to the bed, throwing herself beside Buffy with a cute little hop. "Besides, this has something for everyone, action, comedy, cool outfits. Plus, you can enjoy some Brendan Fraser while I enjoy some Rachel Weisz."

"I think everyone enjoys Rachel Weisz," Buffy murmurs around a piece of popcorn. She feels Satsu staring at her and flushes a little. "I fought a mummy one time, you know. Not an Egyptian one, but…"

"Huh," Satsu shifts on the bed, scooting closer to Buffy to reach the popcorn bowl. "What was that like?"

Buffy thinks about being young — younger even than Satsu is beside her, impossibly young — and scared and alone. The only girl in all the world whose life would save countless others and it would just cost one thing. It would just cost everything. What a lonely, desperate way to live.

She's had doubts before, about what they'd done to defeat the First, about the power they'd thrust into the hands of countless girls who'd never asked.

But it sure as hell beats the alternative.

"Sad," Buffy says, finally.

"Oh," Satsu looks disappointed, but Buffy doesn't have the energy or much willpower to pretend it had been anything else.

Still, Buffy feels a little guilty. This isn't a date, but it's the perfect example of why she doesn't go on those. She has these moments more and more, when she's talking to, well, basically anyone who's not a Scooby — these young slayers, people in line at the grocery store, the people the slayer organization exists to protect — where it feels like she's lost the thing that she'd been born with that let her be a part of the normal world. Like there's a thin pane of glass slid down between her and everyone else. She can see and hear, but her own voice comes across garbled, uncanny.

Luckily, Satsu knows how to pick a movie. It’s hard to be lost in her thoughts when there’s so much gunfire and Brendan Fraser’s floppy haircut to distract her.

That’s the thing about Satsu: hanging out with her is so easy. There’s no fraught history, no steep expectations, no minefield of trauma to carefully wade through. They slay and they train and sometimes they watch movies.

And sometimes, by the time the credits are starting to roll, they sit close together, like, seriously close, and sometimes that’s Satsu’s hand on her thigh, that’s Satsu tilting her head to ask Buffy in a low voice what she wants to do next, that’s Satsu’s mouth just right there—

Even kissing her is easy. There’s a nervous, giddy kind of energy, an eagerness that feels light and joyous. Satsu’s hands flutter like she’s not sure where to put them, but she moves her lips against Buffy’s with a kind of easy self-assurance that Buffy melts into.

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this,” Buffy mumbles, even as Satsu slides into her lap.

“Okay,” Satsu says, settling her hands gently on Buffy’s shoulders. “Is that a ‘stop?’”

It should be, but Buffy can’t quite summon the willpower to make it one, not with Satsu’s fingers tracing sweet little patterns over the fabric of her shirt. “I’m really not ready for a relationship.”

“Who’s asking?” Satsu murmurs and leans down to kiss Buffy’s neck.

Buffy shivers. “And I’m your… boss-principal.”

“Now you’re reaching.”

“I’m older than you…”

“Didn’t you date a guy in his two hundreds?”

“Okay, what don’t you guys know about me?” Buffy huffs.

Satsu laughs and pulls back. “Buffy, I would really like to have sex with you.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Buffy says quietly.

“Would you like to have sex with me?” Satsu asks, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of Buffy’s neck now.

“Yes.”

“Okay. And, seeing as we’re two consenting adults with no other partners…?”

Yeah.

That’s a good point. A really good point. And Satsu is right there in Buffy’s lap and she wants it and Buffy wants it too. She’s out of arguments. And, god, doesn’t she deserve this?

It’s nice. It’s fun.

Satsu doesn’t have Angel’s gravity, or Riley’s devotion, or Spike’s ferocity, or Faith’s intensity, but she’s sweet and eager. It feels good to be desired, and when she makes Buffy come, several things click into place.

The first being: it wasn’t a one (or two) time thing with Faith. Women turn Buffy on. She likes touching them, being touched by them, as much as she ever did with any of her male partners.

The second: god, she’s been so lonely. Afterwards, Satsu rests her head on Buffy’s shoulder and just the feeling of her bare skin against Buffy’s almost makes her want to cry.

And she must be doing a pretty bad job hiding it, because Satsu curls tighter around her, voice sleepy, and asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Buffy says, grateful when her voice comes out steady.

"You sure?" Satsu presses.

"Promise."

"Well, in that case," Satsu nuzzles Buffy's shoulder, drops a kiss against her bare skin. "Would you want to do this again sometime?"

Buffy tenses. "Satsu, I… This was really nice, but I told you, I'm not really ready to date anyone right now."

"I remembered," Satsu says breezily. "Can't a young super-powered lesbian in her prime have occasional sex with her hot, powerful boss-principal without everyone having to put a label on it?"

"Please don't ever call me that again," Buffy says, though she can't quite stop herself from smiling.

"No pressure, okay? But think about it," Satsu says, agreeably.

Buffy does think about it. A lot. For weeks. Every time she gets back from patrol or an op, keyed up and burning with pent-up tension, she thinks about it. Every time Satsu gives her a run for her money in training, leaves her sweating and impressed, she thinks about it. Every time she’s awake too late, alone in her bedroom, she thinks about it.

Faith has been calling more.

Buffy has also been calling more.

Usually, it’s late. Faith tends to call when she’s stepping out for patrol, which is usually a little after Buffy’s gotten back.

“Am I keepin’ you up?” Faith always asks.

And the truth is, yes, there’s no reason Buffy lingers awake at two in the morning besides for an opportunity to hear Faith’s voice. But she always says, “Nah. So, how are things?”

When Buffy calls, it’s Faith saying, “Ain’t it past your bedtime?”

Buffy’s not sure why Faith always does this now, won’t open a conversation without giving Buffy a way out; as if she’d made some mistake by calling, as if she was always on the verge of realizing it and changing her mind.

Honestly, just a few weeks ago it would have driven Buffy crazy, but the memory of Faith at her bedside, veiled in long shadows and bruises, clutching Buffy’s hand like if she let go for even a second they both might disappear makes it kind of hard to doubt that she cares, that she wants Buffy in her life.

Buffy’s just not sure what it would take for Faith to stop compulsively giving her so many excuses to go.

There’s a demon loose in Belgium, wreaking havoc on the countryside. Buffy takes a few girls, a good balance of field experience and promising newcomers, and together they go after it.

The first day is all recon, investigating reports of the demon sightings, working with Giles and Dawn by phone to determine how to hunt it. That night, they discover it’s not a single demon at work, but a pack. The fighting is exhilarating, the kind of challenge Buffy feels guilty to find herself enjoying, and guiltier still when one of the girls gets hurt. It’s Linnea, one of the new girls, and though the injury isn’t bad, she’s clearly shaken. On the way back to the Inn where they’ve rented rooms, she leans into Buffy’s side and Buffy sleepwalks her way through a So You Almost Died For the First Time pep-talk, struggling to stay focused despite the rush of adrenaline still coursing through her.

It’s one of Faith’s nights off and she knew Buffy was out on a job, so there was no expectation to call. But Buffy needs something to wind her down, something to distract her from thinking about the long, solicitous look Satsu had sent her in the hallway as they’d dispersed to their separate rooms, so she picks up the phone and dials.

It takes Faith long enough to answer that Buffy starts to wonder if calling had been a mistake.

“Buffy?” Faith’s voice is breathless, urgent.

“Hey,” Buffy answers, lightly. “Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“Uh, no, I just wasn’t—”

There’s some rustling over the line and then, faintly, in the background, a woman’s voice Buffy doesn’t recognize. “Seriously, Faith?”

Buffy’s stomach drops.

Faith curses quietly, and then Buffy hears the squeak of bedsprings, a burst of muffled footfalls, and the soft click of a door shutting. “Sorry ‘bout that,” Faith mumbles. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

Embarrassment surges through Buffy, hot and smothering. She feels her scalp prickle, warmth rushing up the back of her neck. “Yeah, everyone’s fine. I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything—”

“It’s fine,” Faith’s voice is too strained to really sell the lie. “You had that demon thing tonight, right? How’d it go?”

“Slayers one, demons zero,” Buffy says in a rush, wishing she could just hang up. Or better yet, that she could rewind the last ten minutes and be doing anything else instead. “I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”

“You can tell me now,” Faith offers.

“I don’t think your, uh, guest would appreciate me taking up too much more of your time,” Buffy says.

“Well, I’m really more of her guest,” Faith says. “And I think that’s kind of a bust anyway.”

“Faith, are you still in her apartment?” Buffy can feel her voice getting more shrill but can’t quite stop it. “Go make this up to her or get out of there. Are you insane?”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay,” Faith sighs. “I’ll call you back?”

“No,” Buffy can’t think of anything worse or more humiliating than that. “It’s late. I wasn’t calling for anything important, anyway. Sorry again for, uh, interrupting.”

“It’s fine,” Faith says. “I—”

“Bye, Faith,” Buffy says and flips the phone shut.

She crumples to the bed, covers her face with her hands and tries to stop the agonizing loop of the conversation through her mind until she hears the phone begin to ring at her side again.

Buffy cringes, expecting Faith’s name to flash across the display, surprised to find it’s Satsu calling instead. Cautiously, she answers. “Hello?”

“Look, it’s not that I was trying to eavesdrop,” Satsu begins, and she sounds uncomfortable enough for Buffy to believe it. “It’s just that we share a wall and, well, slayer hearing.”

Oh, God.

“Anyway, that sounded mortifying,” Satsu says. “Do you want to come over and eat some donuts about it?”

“You have donuts?”

“Grabbed some oliebollen at the market while we were out today and stashed them here,” Satsu says. “Good thing, too. Slaying always makes me hungry.”

“Yeah,” Buffy says. “Me too.”

Nothing happens that night. Satsu doesn’t even try anything, and Buffy’s grateful, because it feels like anything else she could have done besides stuff her face with pastry and fall asleep to indecipherable Belgian television would have been a huge mistake.

But the next day on the plane ride back to Scotland, Buffy presses her knee against Satsu’s on the plane ride. And that night, when Satsu invites Buffy to her room to watch another movie, Buffy doesn’t ignore the question underneath. She goes.

And this time, Buffy doesn’t wait for the credits to start before she turns to Satsu and pushes her back into the sheets.

-

March, 2004

It’s actually all surprisingly normal.

Faith keeps calling and Buffy keeps answering. Neither of them brings up the phone call again, and it’s surprisingly easy to move on. Buffy likes what it means for them, that they’re no longer trapped in that endless, excruciating cycle of volatility and anguish.

They talk about slaying, they talk about Lourdes and Rona and the way one of them keeps eating all of Faith’s favorite cereal. Faith talks about sports, and Buffy pretends to follow along. Buffy talks about what new thing Xander is building, the girls that are giving her trouble at the school, how it feels like she’s not succeeding at running the place as much as tripping her way into something that looks a lot like it from the outside.

“Bullshit,” Faith snorts. “I mean, like, no offense or whatever. But there’s no one who could do what you do better than you, B. And the only reason you’re worried about sucking at it is ‘cause you give a shit about it, like for real, which is more than anyone could ever say about the Council.”

“I just feel like it’s only a matter of time until I let one of these girls down, Faith,” Buffy admits. “I’ve done it before.”

“Aw, get outta here with that. We’re not playing another round of Who Fucked Over Who More,” Faith dimisses her. “First off, you’d lose. Second, I thought you said we were past all that, anyway. Bygones, right?”

“Right.”

“Anyway, it all turned out okay, didn’t it?” Faith says, a little softer. “I mean, we’re good, right?”

“Yeah,” Buffy says, chest suddenly feeling full and crowded with too many emotions. She misses Faith, wishes they were having this conversation face to face, so she could read the look on her face. Faith always said so much more with her body, the set of her shoulders, the placement of her hands, the tilt of her mouth, than with her words.

It’s been nice, talking more, but on nights like these Buffy can’t help but feel like she needs more.

And, well, speaking of something more there’s Satsu.

Satsu in Buffy’s bed, Satsu in the shower, Satsu out in the woods in the middle of a training drill that one time….

It’s been nice so far. But Buffy can’t quite shake the feeling that she’s about to let one of them down there, too.

It’s just hard to talk herself out of giving up the relationship when Satsu makes being together like this so easy. She’s attentive, but not demanding. She’s sweet, but not smothering. She never asks for more than Buffy offers, and she’s careful to not press too much, to not make this into something Buffy hadn’t agreed to. And she’s discreet.

It’s all going well enough until the castle gets infiltrated by shapeshifting vampires going after the scythe. And somehow, in the middle of all the confusion, this leads to a scene straight out of Buffy’s increasingly prominent stress dreams, where all of her friends walk in on her in bed with her secret slayer hookup and—

Luckily, the imminent danger of it all keeps things moving. Unluckily, the scythe gets stolen.

It’s all kind of a disaster. Dracula gets involved. The gang goes to Japan. They lose a few girls.

They win, in the end, but it costs them.

That’s probably the only reason Buffy ends up getting out of having to have all of the Serious Long Talks that all of her friends are clearly dying to have with her, now that the whole Satsu thing is out in the open.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Dawn says, going for casual and landing more on trying really hard to be cool about this.

“I’m not,” Buffy says automatically. “I mean, I still like men. I just also…”

“Have hot lady sex with Satsu?” Xander fills in and is immediately, mercifully silenced by the pillow Dawn throws at his face. “Ow.”

“So, you’re bi,” Kennedy says, and why is she even here for this?

“Yeah, I guess,” Buffy shrugs, feeling her heartbeat thundering in her chest. Everyone’s staring. She’s got to say something. She clears her throat. “That’s me. Ol’ Bisexual Buffy. Buffy the vam-bi-er slayer.”

“Ooh, Slayer Layer,” Xander says, preemptively shielding his face against more pillow attacks. “Since, y’know, technically your girlfriend is—”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Buffy blurts out.

“Okay!” Willow cuts in, finally speaking up. She’d been silent so long that Buffy had almost forgotten she was there. She turns to face Kennedy, placing a hand on her knee. “Baby, didn’t you do a really good time on the obstacle course the other day?”

“Uh, yeah,” Kennedy says slowly.

“How great! Don’t you want to go run it again and show everyone how fast you are?”

“I think we’re being dismissed,” Xander stage-whispers to Dawn.

Reluctantly, they shuffle out of the room. Dawn lingers behind for a moment to press a kiss to Buffy’s temple, squeezing her shoulder as she goes, and nodding to Willow on the way out.

And now that it’s just them, Buffy feels nauseous with guilt.

Willow’s just sitting next to her, watching her carefully, not saying anything and Buffy feels like a fraud and a liar for not saying anything before. If she should have talked to anyone about this, it should have been Willow, right? Her lesbian best friend? If anyone could have understood or helped Buffy process what she’d been feeling, it should have been Willow.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy chokes out and clears her throat again. “I know I should have said something to you sooner, but—”

“Oh, Buffy,” Willow says, and pulls her into a hug. “No, there’s nothing to apologize for.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, or—”

“Hey, I know, everyone’s got a different journey,” Willow assures her and Buffy can’t resist melting into the hug, even if it sounds like a line from an afterschool special. “I mean, I want you to know that you can talk to me, about anything, but I’m not mad that you didn’t before.”

“Oh,” Buffy sniffs. “It’s just all been so…”

“It’s a lot, right?” Willow says, gently.

“It feels stupid that I didn’t know sooner,” Buffy admits. “Like, you figured this out in college and I… I mean, I don’t know if I’ve always been like this and just didn’t realize, or if something’s changed about me and…”

“Does it matter?” Willow interrupts. “Because I don’t think it does. I think you’re a good person, Buffy, and you deserve to be happy and if I’m getting the math right, this means you just doubled your chances.”

Buffy snorts. “I don’t think that’s how that works out.”

“Are you, though?”

“What?”

“Happy?” Willow asks. “With Satsu?”

“I’m not really… with Satsu,” Buffy says. It sounds seedier out loud.

“Ah,” Willow shifts, which means she’s about to say something uncomfortable. “Does she know that?”

“What? Yeah, we’ve talked about it,” Buffy says. “She knows I’m not looking for that right now. She’s fine with it.”

“Are you sure, Buffy?” Willow asks. “Because, I know everyone’s different, but I don’t know that anyone with a crush that big can do the no-strings thing with their crushee and keep it from getting, y’know, stringy.”

“What?”

“Just… talk to her, okay? About this,” Willow’s voice is firmer now, though no less warm. “She’s young — I’m not judging, I mean, pot meet kettle, but— she idolizes you. Make sure you’re on the same page, for real.”

“Of course we are,” Buffy says. “But, yeah. Okay.”

It turns out, they’re not as on the same page as Buffy thought.

“I mean, we’ve been doing this for a while,” Satsu says, fidgeting nervously on the edge of Buffy’s bed. “And your friends already know now. Aren’t you ready to take things to the next level?”

“The next level?” Buffy repeats hollowly.

“Yeah,” Satsu takes a deep breath and looks Buffy straight in the eye. “I want to take you out.”

“Oh,” Buffy says, stomach flipping. She’s not sure if it’s a good or a bad feeling. “Um. Can I think about it?”

Satsu nods and beats a hasty retreat, clearly disappointed. Buffy feels like a jerk.

She also feels like she should have known better than to think anything in her life could stay uncomplicated for long. She feels annoyed that Willow had to meddle, and more annoyed that she was right and Buffy herself hadn't seen it.

And then there’s the point that, well, what does she have to lose?

Satsu is great. Satsu is funny and patient and so pretty and she wants more and what’s wrong with Buffy that the opportunity to have a real relationship with someone so normal makes her freeze up like this?

Her head feels overfull and buzzing. Buffy retreats to her room, her phone is in her hand and she’s dialing Faith, heedless of the time difference, before she can let herself overthink it.

“Hello?” Faith croaks.

“I’m out,” Buffy says, a little hysterically.

“Of what?” Faith asks sleepily. Then immediately follows in a hurried voice, “Holy shit, were you in jail?”

“What? No,” Buffy huffs. “The closet.”

“What?”

“Xander and Willow and Renee and Andrew and Dawn somehow all walked in on me at the same time and now they know. That I’m bisexual.”

“Walked in on you, like…? Jerking off to girl-on-girl porno or whatever?”

“God, Faith, no. Like with a girl.” Buffy hadn’t really thought about this part.

“Oh.” It comes out rough. Faith clears her throat and asks, "Who?"

"Oh, uh, Satsu," Buffy answers. "I think you met her when you were here. She's in my squad."

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember." Faith's voice is hard to read. Buffy's heart thumps in her chest. "She was cute. Nice one, B."

"Thanks," Buffy says, a little awkwardly.

“So, you’re bi?” Faith asks, after a few beats of strained silence

“Yeah,” Buffy sighs. It sounds less like she’s talking about someone else the more she says it. So she says it again. “I’m bi. But that’s the part you already knew about.”

“Well, not like we spent much time hammering out terminology. Or talking much about it at all.”

“Oh, come on,” Buffy rolls her eyes, surprised by how not weird it feels having this conversation with Faith. “All that ‘it’s what we’re made for’ crap.”

“Yeah, well, I never put any words in your mouth,” Faith points out. “Other stuff, sure. But never words.”

“Shut up,” Buffy tries to sound annoyed, despite Faith's bad joke clearing the tension.

“Surprised you called me for this,” Faith's voice is a little rougher now. More serious. “Thought you’d want someone… y’know, closer to you. We never were much for the teenie bop slumber party girl talk bit.”

Not that Faith hadn’t tried, Buffy remembers, guiltily. Sure, Faith’s efforts veered toward vulgar and clumsy, but there’d been a time when she had been so hungry for scraps of Buffy’s life, for anything personal and real, she’d practically begged and Buffy had failed to let her in.

“Well, it’s never too late to start, right?”

“Maybe,” Faith’s voice is a soft rush of air.

“I just… I don’t think they’d get it,” Buffy says. “Not like you.”

“Uh, I mean, no offense, but ain’t Red a card carrying member of dykes on bikes? Minus the bikes?”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s not that they wouldn’t get the bi thing.” Again. Short, percussive. Decisive. “I mean, I think they’re a little surprised, but that’s not the problem.”

“Well, what is, then?”

“I think I need to end it. With Satsu,” saying it out loud even just to Faith makes her feel that much more certain.

“Okay,” Faith says, a little unsure. But, god, Buffy’s grateful she’s trying. “Why don’t you take it from the top?”

So, she catches Faith up, a little haltingly. She tells Faith about how it started, where they’d been before they’d been caught by the Scoobies, about the fact that now she has to figure out what to say to end it. She feels a little guilty, describing some of it, keeps the details light out of consideration. But somewhere, deep under the guilt, there’s something else. Curiosity. A little frustration, with how carefully Faith is reacting, even as she’s glad for Faith's patience in listening.

“So, why end it?” Faith asks, after Buffy finishes explaining. “I’m not saying don’t, but — you didn’t even have much bad to say when you were giving me the rundown. What gives?”

“I mean, she’s young,” Buffy says.

Faith laughs. “Oh yeah, you’re ancient. How young are we talking?”

“Nineteen.”

“Yeah, and you just turned twenty three. So, four years. Y’know, given your track record, that ain’t bad.”

“That was different,” Buffy cuts in, automatically.

“Why?”

Buffy pauses, suddenly realizing she’s not sure how to explain in a way that makes sense.

“Because I wasn’t the older one,” Buffy says, wincing as she goes. “I was younger, but I could handle it. I was fine. I knew what I was getting into with…”

But she hadn’t been fine, had she? And she hadn’t known what she was getting into at all. Certainly not with Angel, all of sixteen and barely knowing anything about the world, putting way too much faith in the fact that because she faced horrors every night, she’d somehow been less of a kid.

It’s not the same, with Satsu. She’s an adult, after all. And Faith’s right that the difference in their ages is barely anything, compared to Buffy’s past relationships.

But, god, for all that Satsu and the other girls like to gossip about Buffy’s past, they have no real idea what she’s been through. What it’s done to her. How deep the damage goes.

“Because I’m the one who could mess her up this time,” Buffy says. “She likes this idea of me, but she doesn’t really know what I’ve been through or how it's messed me up. And I don’t think I want her to know.”

“So, you’re scared?” Faith challenges.

“Yeah,” Buffy admits. “Terrified.”

“Seems like she wants to know, even if you don't want her to. But, hey, you never answered, when I asked before," Faith says. “Are you happy with her?”

It feels wrong to say no. She hadn’t been unhappy, at least not because of Satsu. “It was nice having something— normal. It felt uncomplicated. It felt good.”

“I’m no expert, but that sounds kinda happy,” Faith says, after a beat. “So. What is it, then? You don’t think you’d be happy for long or you don’t think you deserve it?”

“Can it be both?”

“Yeah,” Faith sighs, heavy. “I’d have to argue with you on one of ‘em, though.”

“Faith…”

“No, listen. Shut up, alright? You need to hear it," Faith's voice is harsh, but she's speaking fast enough for Buffy to tell that she's nervous. “You should be happy, okay? And, fuck, if this chick does that for you, you should go for it. But if she doesn’t, then you need to break it off. It’s not an easy way to live, being all hung up on Buffy Summers.”

Buffy’s heart clenches tight in her chest. Faith doesn’t have to say the rest of it for Buffy to understand.

“How do you do it?” Buffy asks.

“Do what?” For the first time Faith sounds on edge, defensive instead of carefully measured.

Buffy realizes her mistake almost immediately, It's not easy being all hung up on Buffy Summers echoing through her skull.

“Let someone down gently,” she rushes to clarify, face flaming.

“Oh. I don’t,” Faith laughs. “C’mon, me?”

“I mean, I know you must have… suitors," Buffy cringes.

"No, I don't have suitors." Buffy can hear the sneer in Faith's voice. "I just fuck people, B. It never means anything. I’m not built for all that other stuff."

It's a lie. Buffy knows of at least a few times it meant something, even if she’d tried pretending otherwise at the time.

"I just have a hard time believing none of them ever want more than that," Buffy knows this conversation is teetering on the razor’s edge of cruel, but she can’t bring herself to just say nothing.

"You'd be surprised," Faith's laugh is bitter. It makes Buffy's chest hurt. "I dunno. Make her a cup of coffee on the way out, I guess?"

Buffy puts her face into her hands and groans.

"Sorry," Faith offers. "Told you I wouldn't be any good at this."

“No, you’re… You’ve been a big help.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it,” Buffy says.

“Whatever.”

“Thanks, Faith. Really.”

“I should let you go, I guess,” Faith says. “You got some hearts to break, don’t you?”

“Hopefully just one,” Buffy says. God, that sounds terrible. "I mean, ideally none, but…"

"Nah, that's good," Faith says tightly. "You should own it."

The line is pointedly silent. Buffy almost thinks Faith must have hung up, but when she listens closely she can still hear the gentle rasp of her breath on the other end.

"Hey, that... thing you've been trying to do, that you needed me gone for," Buffy ventures, voice soft. It feels dangerous, bringing them to this place. Maybe it’s too soon, on the heels of the rest of the conversation, but Buffy’s scared that if she doesn’t do this now, she might lose her nerve and never try. "How's it going?"

Faith exhales over the line, a quiet huff of air with a soft groan clinging to the edges. Buffy can picture perfectly in her mind the little wince Faith would give to accompany it. "Not great."

“Good,” Buffy says, shocked by the enormity of her relief. “Faith, listen. I’ve been figuring some stuff out too, okay?”

“Buffy...” Faith’s voice is somewhere between warning and pleading.

Buffy aches to hear it. “I’m working on it. I can’t— I’m not asking you to wait, but….”

“Like you’d have to,” Faith laughs, but it’s quiet, tired. “Look, don’t say anything you don’t mean ‘cause you’re all messed up over this.”

“That’s not—”

“I gotta get some rest, Buff,” Faith cuts her off, gentle but firm.

“Okay,” Buffy relents. “Sweet dreams.”

Faith grunts and the call ends.

Buffy falls back onto her bed.

Hearts to break.

She wishes Faith could be right a little less often.

-

April, 2004

The breakup — and it’s pointless not to call it one, even if they’d never been officially dating — is rough.

Well, grading on a curve, it’s actually better than pretty much any of Buffy’s past breakups. No one is stabbed or magically sacrificed or runs off in a helicopter, anyway.

Satsu is a class act. She’s about as gracious as anyone could hope for in this kind of situation. Really, Buffy almost feels worse that Satsu doesn’t argue or get mean or make it harder on her. It would probably be easier to feel better about it, if Satsu at least pretended to be a jerk.

But between the slayer rumor mill, and Buffy’s own guilt, and the fact that they still work together, it’s all pretty awkward, despite their mutual best efforts at being normal about it.

Her friends are, as ever, lifesavers. Buffy expects more judgment, though maybe she shouldn’t have. Dawn crashes in Buffy’s room one night, and they talk about it a little more, over bowls of ice cream. Willow keeps up the supportive best friend routine. Xander stops uncontrollably firing off awkward jokes after the first couple of days. Giles even pulls her aside to offer a stiffly recited but sincere speech about how he’s proud of her and wants her to be her ‘whole self.’

And then there’s Faith.

After a couple days of dodging Buffy’s calls things seem to have gone back to normal.

Well. Kind of normal.

Like normal but more charged.

Not that either of them have really said or done anything that out of the ordinary, but there are just these moments now — silences that buzz with unsaid words, sentences with double meanings, goodbyes that linger more than they ever have before — that feel like they could twist into something else at a moment’s notice.

And then one night they do.

It’s night for Buffy, anyway.

She’d been in Finland for most of the past week. What started as a simple recruitment mission turned complicated, when the girl in question’s family turned out to be from a long line of witch hunters that concluded the Slayer line could only have been the product of foul magic. And that was before the trolls had gotten involved.

They all make it back home in one piece, at least. Including Leka, their newest slayer. It’s hard to say how much choice she had in the matter, given her family’s harsh reaction, but Buffy tries to focus on the good parts. The girl is here, among dozens of other girls she’s suddenly got a lot in common with, and Buffy knows better than most that sometimes the real family you find yourself in aren’t the people related to you by blood.

She doesn’t linger downstairs, just grabs a quick snack to eat in Giles’ study while she debriefs him and the others on the mission. Then, she heads off for a much-needed shower, taking account of all the stray bruises and scrapes she’d collected that haven’t quite healed yet.

It’s barely 8 PM by the time she finally slips into her sheets, too exhausted by the travel and the fighting to go out on patrol.

Still, despite her weariness, she can’t exactly turn off the slayer body clock, which always kicks into gear about right now. Even as her eyes struggle to stay open, she can feel her body start to thrum with restless energy.

It’ll be a few hours, at least, until she can finally get some sleep.

She finds herself reaching for her phone.

Faith picks up on the third ring, answering with a slurred, “Buffy?”

“Damn, sorry. Did I wake you up?” Buffy hesitates, does a little mental math. “Wait, I take it back. It’s like four in the afternoon. I’m not sorry at all.”

“Ugh, it’s my day off,” Faith huffs, and Buffy hears the bedsprings creak as she makes herself more comfortable. “Got in late last night.”

“Oh, well, I take back my take back,” Buffy offers. “Now I’m sorry again. Should I let you sleep?”

“No.” Faith’s waking-up voice is stupidly sexy, full of gravel, low and rough. It makes Buffy press her thighs together from half a world away. “‘s good to hear your voice. How was Finland?”

“I really don’t know where all these Nordic countries get their reputation for hospitality,” Buffy grouses, listening to Faith yawn and groan in the background. Probably stretching. It’s a pleasant image.

“That bad, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Buffy says, and begins to tell her.

Faith listens, making appropriate little humming sounds at all the right parts, asking for clarification when Buffy gets carried away. Her commentary is minimal, still sleepy, but welcome. Buffy wants to hear more from her. She shifts the conversation, asking Faith about what had kept her up last night.

What happens next isn’t Buffy’s fault, not really.

It’s just that her body is still in Slayer mode, even though she isn’t out patrolling. And Faith’s voice is still all smoky deep, pouring out in a steady stream over the phone line, wrapping around Buffy like something tight and warm. It’s easy to get carried away by the story, letting her mind fill in the images of Faith in a knock-down, drag-out fight with a pack of vicious vampires. Faith, sweaty, muscles straining, smiling with blood in her teeth, that sparkle in her eye that says I’m just getting started.

Buffy remembers, keenly, what it’s like to be near Faith when she gets that way. The air goes all staticy, like standing too near a downed powerline. And there’s that energy that pours off of Faith in waves, that calls out to Buffy to meet it, to lose herself in the frenetic chaos of the both of them going all out.

Buffy loses track of the action, too absorbed in the sound of Faith’s voice, the building intensity of her cadence as she gets to the best part of the story.

“So, it’s just me and him and he thinks I’m toast, since I’m finally outta stakes.” Faith’s voice is a low, insistent hum that Buffy feels all through her body. “And I’m on my back, down in all the muck and grime of the alleyway, so he leans over all smug, thinking oh, I finally got me a slayer. But really he was right where I wanted him.”

“Yeah?” Buffy asks, breathlessly.

“Mmmhmm. ‘Cause I went down next to this stack of busted up old pallets and this idiot bloodsucker never even noticed. Not ‘til it was too late, anyway. I only had to twist my arm up a little to break off a piece and ram it home—”

The sound Buffy makes isn’t intentional at all. It just kind of happens, like a sneeze, or, or—

“Whoa,” Faith chokes out a startled laugh. “Was that—?”

“No,” Buffy says, voice muffled by the fingers she’d slapped over her mouth too late.

“Are you sure?” Faith asks. “‘Cause it sounded like hearing about me putting the hurt on some demons has got you pretty, uh, worked up.”

"C'mon, I’m just a little…" Buffy trails off with a groan. "You know how it gets on nights where you can't get out there and slay."

"Yeah. I know," Faith's voice has gone breathy. “Y’know, I noticed you breathing faster.”

“You did?” God, how long had Buffy been panting into the phone while Faith talked about slaying? “Why didn’t you say anything?"

“Thought I might have been imagining it,” Faith says. “Wishful thinking.”

“Oh.”

"Guess I, uh, had better let you go take care of that, huh?"

"Wait," Buffy blurts in a rush.

"What’s up?" Faith’s voice is searching. “Ain’t you in a hurry?”

"Well, just— I was thinking that we could, like," she pauses, takes a deep breath, "fool around some?"

"You're askin’ me to have phone sex?"

"I guess, I mean," Buffy gnaws her lip, considering. "That's a thing people do."

“Yeah, but you?”

“I could,” Buffy snaps, a little offended and inexplicably, still turned on.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Buffy huffs. “Um. What are you wearing?”

“Hang on, wait, I’ve gotta,” Faith trails off and there’s more shuffling on the line. It’s easy to close her eyes and imagine Faith wriggling around in the bed, getting more comfortable. “I need to know if I— if we do this, tomorrow is it just gonna be like ‘hey, pal, thanks for the hand last night’ or…?”

“Oh, um, no. I’m not asking you to have, uh, phone sex with me as friends,” Buffy cringes her way through the statement. She can understand why it needs clarifying. Part of her is grateful to Faith for thinking to stop and ask, while Buffy herself had been too carried away. “I tried that ‘no strings’ thing here pretty recently, remember? It kind of blew up in my face.”

“Yeah,” Faith’s voice is quiet. “You didn’t feel the same.”

“Yeah,” Buffy takes a deep breath. Now or never. “So. That’s not going to be a problem, here. I’m pretty sure we’re feeling the same thing.”

“Buffy…”

“I want to see where this goes, Faith,” Buffy says, quietly, urgently. “I’m tired of waiting for some right moment that’s never going to come. This only happens if we both decide— and I got off a plane and came home to my bed and I decided I wanted to hear your voice. And I want to touch myself until I come, and I want you to hear it, and I want you to tell me how to do it.”

There. Buffy’s heart is thundering in her chest, a feeling like free falling coursing through her. But that felt pretty honest. And it hasn't escaped her notice that Faith likes when Buffy says what she means explicitly, in both senses of the word.

“Fuck." The curse is a harsh groan down the line. “Okay. I—”

“And I also want to know,” Buffy interrupts, feeling giddy, emboldened by renewed confidence, “what you’re wearing. For real.”

There’s a pause long enough for Buffy to wonder if maybe she’d said the wrong thing. Maybe that was really a question that only got asked in movies and in real life it’s ridiculous and a mood-killer.

“I’m laying back in my bed,” Faith’s voice is warm honey dripping through the phone into Buffy’s ear. “You know the one. We never got to properly use it, since last time we were here you were too busy fucking me on the floor. Shit, you had me on my knees, Buff. I don’t let just anyone give it to me like that, you know? But I couldn’t even think about saying no to you.”

Buffy shivers, feeling herself getting wetter, remembering the ache of her knees on the hardwood, those noises Faith made when Buffy told her she couldn't come, how she'd felt at once wild and perfectly in control. Buffy rubs her thighs together, but the friction it creates is barely anything, more of a tease than any kind of relief.

“The sun is starting to set,” Faith continues. “It’s all yellow in here. Just barely dark, with the blinds drawn, but you could still see me well enough. I’m not wearing anything, B. Not a stitch. You know I sleep naked. That’s why you asked, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Buffy breathes. Fuck, how did Faith know? How does she somehow always know when Buffy’s turned on?

“I bet you’re wearing some cute pajamas,” Faith says, almost accusingly. “You have no idea what it did to me, seeing you like that back in the day. God, I wanted you so bad. I felt like such a perv. I wanted to tear you outta that cutesy shit and make you come and come and come.”

Buffy thinks about the times she’d been up in her bedroom with Faith, late nights after slaying when Faith had lingered before going back to her motel room. She doesn’t know if it would have changed anything then, if she’d known what Faith had wanted, but she knows the admission is more than just a dirty fantasy for Faith. It’s a confession as much as a request.

“I’ll take them off for you,” Buffy says, wedging the phone between her shoulder and her ear and working the buttons of her top loose. She hears Faith’s breath hitch and it fills her up with warmth. “That was my shirt. My pants—”

“Leave ‘em for now,” Faith instructs, coarsely. “Play with your tits for me. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Um, I’m cupping them. I’m rubbing my nipples with my thumbs right now,” Buffy narrates, hoping the shake in her voice is sexy and not pathetic. It feels good, touching herself, but the talking feels awkward.

“Yeah, baby,” Faith groans, and the desperate rumble of her voice helps Buffy relax, a little. Faith wouldn't sound like that if Buffy wasn't getting this right. And the unexpected pet name doesn't hurt. “How’s it feel?”

“Good.”

“Squeeze ‘em for me. Don’t be too gentle, I want you to feel it,” Faith says. “You fucked me real hard last time. Think I oughta return the favor, yeah?”

Buffy gropes her breasts more firmly. It’s definitely harder than she usually handles herself on her own, but that's what makes it better, what makes it feel more like Faith. She closes her eyes, imagining it’s Faith’s palms cupping her breasts, Faith’s fingers tweaking her nipples hard enough to make her gasp, panting down her neck the whole time.

“Fuck,” Faith barks a harsh laugh. “You like that, huh? Like when I grab your tits like this, Buffy?”

“Yeah,” Buffy agrees, deliriously.

“You like it when I tell you what to do?”

“Yeah,” Buffy admits, feeling herself flush. She kicks the sheets down the bed, already overheated.

“I wanna put my mouth all over your tits. I want your hands in my hair, pullin’ hard when you feel my teeth teasing your nipples,” Faith says. “Is that a warning or a request, B? You want me to ease off? Treat you nicer? Or do you want me mean? You want me to bite down?”

“Yeah, bite me,” Buffy gasps, pinching with her nails experimentally. The sting is sharp and it shoots straight to her clit. “Oh.”

“I knew you’d like it like that,” Faith says, low and rough. “Maybe you can fool the others, Buffy, but I know you’re a dirty girl, deep down. Wanna know how?”

“How?”

“‘Cause you’re just like me,” Faith says. “I bet you’re so wet right now. I bet you ruined those panties you’re wearing, bet you’re soaking through those cutesy fucking ridiculous pajama bottoms. Am I right?”

“Fuck,” Buffy moans. Faith’s right — her thighs are a mess. She slips her hand down the waistband of her pajamas, to cup herself over her underwear and the contact, light as it is, is electric. “Yeah, I’m— I’m so wet for you, Faith.”

“That’s right,” Faith growls. “I want those panties off you. They’re no good now anyhow.”

Buffy nods, though Faith can’t see it, and shimmies the garments down and off her body.

Before she can even ask what’s next, Faith’s voice is in her ear again, hot and insistent, “Touch yourself. Rub your clit for me.”

“Oh, Faith,” Buffy gasps, rubbing two fingers over her straining clit in shallow circles, afraid that if she starts off any harder she’ll come too fast and this will all be over. Right now, Buffy would give anything to keep Faith’s voice in her ear. “Feels so good.”

“You have no idea how hot you sound,” Faith says, breath hitching. “Fuck, I wish I was there with you.”

“What would you do?” Buffy stutters, hips squirming on the bed as she touches herself a little faster.

“I’d wanna watch,” Faith rasps. “I’d have you up on your knees for me, all spread so I’d get a good show. And I’d make you touch yourself for ages, anywhere but your clit, 'til you felt like going crazy from how bad you wanted to come.”

“Oh.” Buffy slides her fingers off her clit and down her pussy, teasing her entrance and imagining Faith’s eyes on her.

“And then, when you couldn’t stand it for one more moment, I’d put you on your back.” It sounds less like a fantasy and more like a promise in Faith’s urgent, serious voice. “I’d fuck you through the mattress, B. Cover you with my whole body, work as many fingers up inside you as you could take—”

Buffy moans sharp and high, pushing her fingers inside herself and pumping with a fast, hard rhythm like Faith is describing.

“I’d try kissing you to shut you up, so you don’t give us away,” Faith is breathing hard, voice shaky. She must be touching herself too. “But you’d still be too loud. I’d have to slap my free hand down over your mouth, to keep you quiet.”

Buffy presses her lips together hard and breathes out through her nose.

“Fuck. You like that, huh? Being held down like that? Taken hard?” Faith teases. “You wanna get fucked so hard you lose control. I know, I know. I’d give it to you just like you need, baby. You just need to ask me.”

“Ask you?”

“When you want to come,” Faith says. “That’s all I need back. Just ask, Buffy, I’ll give it to you.”

“Are you close?” Buffy asks, panting, straining. The phone has fallen awkwardly onto the pillow, but she can still hear Faith well enough.

“Yeah,” Faith rasps.

“I wish I was there,” Buffy confesses. Faith has done most of the talking and Buffy's grateful, but she needs her to know this isn't just about what she can do for Buffy. “I wish I was touching you. That I could taste you.”

“Buffy,” Faith groans, strained.

“I wanna eat you out so bad. I wish you hadn’t stopped me that time,” Buffy admits, the words pouring out of her in a desperate rush. “I keep thinking about how you tasted, when you put your fingers in my mouth.”

“Fuck.”

Faith’s voice, high and helpless, nearly does her in.

“Make me come, Faith,” Buffy gasps, sliding her left hand down to rub her clit, still pumping into herself with her right. “I need it so bad.”

“Come for me, Buffy. Shit, c’mon, let me hear you,” Faith’s practically begging, though it’s her permission Buffy had been asking for. “I need to hear you.”

Buffy’s never been this hot, this wet and swollen, on her own before. She comes almost immediately, once Faith asks her to, biting her lip hard enough to break the skin and still not managing to hold back the sharp whine that erupts from her chest. She clenches hard on her own fingers, feeling wetness gush down her palm in time with the fluttering of her walls.

“Buffy," Faith exhales harshly down the line and Buffy feels herself gushing again in time with her.

"Oh, oh,” Buffy whimpers, coming down. After a few moments she pulls her fingers out of her pussy, wincing slightly at the sensation.

If Faith were here, she’d grab Buffy by the wrist, wrap her lips around the wet digits and not let them go until she’d sucked the last hint of Buffy’s wetness off of her skin, Buffy knows.

But Faith isn’t here. Buffy wipes her hand off on the sheets, a bit guiltily, and sighs.

“Shit,” Faith pants. “That was so hot, Buffy.”

And, yeah, Buffy had enjoyed herself and it sounded like Faith had too, but it feels good to hear her say it.

"It was okay?" she asks, a bit pleadingly before she can stop herself.

"You have no idea how sexy you are," Faith's words sounds dragged through glass, but utterly sincere. "How good you sound coming for me."

“I liked hearing you, too,” Buffy says, softly. “It was really…”

“Really what?” Faith’s voice goes cautious, unexpectedly shy.

Buffy remembers she got like this after the first time she made Buffy come too. It’s a nervousness that seems too sweet and out of place for all the filthy things she’d been whispering to Buffy just moments ago.

"It was incredible,” Buffy says, wishing she wasn’t so clumsy at this part. It doesn’t feel enough, but she doesn’t know how to tell Faith what it had been to her — the sexiest thing she’d ever heard but more than that. It had been so special, but that sounds so lame in her head, like the exact kind of thing that would embarrass Faith. With nothing better to say, she adds in one more truth. “I really miss you.”

“Oh,” Faith lets loose a shaky breath. “I, uh… Me too.”

“Yeah?” Buffy asks, melting back into the sheets, feeling all loose and pleasantly unwound.

"Look, don't get all smug about it," Faith mumbles.

Buffy laughs. "Okay. Fine, fine."

Easy silence blooms between them. Buffy shifts to pull the covers up the bed and lay on top of them instead, too lazy to change the sheet. She barely manages to stagger to the wardrobe across the room to retrieve her extra blanket.

“Guess I should let you go for real now,” Faith’s voice is gruff over the line, once Buffy drops back down on the bed. “Let you get some sleep.”

“Not yet,” Buffy says, not caring for once if she sounds needy. “Can you just…?”

“Just what?”

“Stay on the line a while longer,” Buffy asks. “‘Til I fall asleep?”

“Okay, yeah,” Faith says and clears her throat a little. “Okay.”

“I meant it, before,” Buffy confesses, sleepily. “I’ve missed you.”

“Okay,” Faith repeats.

“I wanna see you sometime,” Buffy whispers, gnawing her lip. It’s still sore and swollen from earlier. “If that would be okay.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Faith’s voice is downy, incandescent, the softest thing on earth.

“Good,” Buffy says.

She drops her head back against the pillow, one limp hand splayed over her chest, counting the beats of her heart and knowing without needing to check, that across the ocean Faith’s is beating the same rhythm.

Chapter Text

April, 2004

The thing about living on a Hellmouth is that it really fucks with your work-life balance.

Faith hadn’t minded so much — had liked it, even — back when she hadn’t had much life going on. The Slayer Organization pays for the bills and upkeep on the duplex, plus the monthly stipend she gets for living expenses. But the thing about Faith is she lives small, always has, barring her few months on the mayor’s payroll, so most of that doesn’t even get spent.

Slay, eat, sleep, repeat. Okay, so, some training, the occasional shopping trip to replace the clothing she ruined while slaying or ‘cause one of the girls pestered her into going, maybe a night or two at the bar or the club to find someone to get bouncy with, bang off some excess energy, but that had been about the shape of her life for months. Maybe a little unambitious, but she was suited to it. It made sense.

Faith is a specific sort of tool and she’s good at what she’s good at. She’s a great slayer, a great lay, a decent housemate, and pretty good at the lone wolf thing. On her own, things are simple.

Of course, Buffy changes things.

It started—

Well, it started years ago, nearly shivering out of her skin from nerves, trying to play it cool in a dark alley. You’re Buffy, right?

But it escalated with Buffy’s hand reaching for hers in a dark motel room, with Buffy’s fingers tracing her scar back in the dark of her apartment, with Buffy’s voice in her ear on the phone, I wanna see you sometime.

Buffy is an open flame. Faith has been a moth, wrought iron, kindling; now she feels like something else. Something that melts, changes shape. She’s not sure what she’ll be next. She’s not sure how much say she has in the whole process.

This is the first slow night Faith’s had in a few weeks. Between Hellmouth activity and Buffy’s duties overseas, the calls they make to each other have taken on a kind of sporadic, opportunistic quality. Faith doesn’t waste any time tonight, dialing Buffy's number the moment she steps out on her front stoop to begin patrol.

It’s a good catch-up. Buffy fills her in on what’s been going on at the castle, a case involving a shapeshifting demon in Leeds a few nights ago, some new movie she’d seen in town. It’s pretty usual, until Buffy breaks off in the middle of complaining about Andrew’s latest initiative to label all the food in the fridge and says, “I need to talk to you about something.”

Instantly, Faith feels her body go tense. “Okay.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Buffy starts. “But I wanted—”

“Hey, wait, no fair,” Faith talks over her. “You can’t just say ‘don’t take this the wrong way’ right before saying something super shitty and then I’m not allowed to be mad about it.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m saying ‘don’t take this the wrong way’ because I want you to know I’m not trying to make you mad, because you’re kind of notoriously prickly and defensive and before you argue with that remember how you literally just interrupted me?”

Damn. “Okay, whatever. Shoot.”

“So, I think I know the answer already,” Buffy starts again. “And I’m not implying anything. But I think that if something’s important we should probably try talking about it, because our track record is only recently kind of getting better with that.”

All the walking on eggshells is starting to make Faith nervous. “Not hearing a question yet.”

“Have you,” Buffy starts and cuts herself off with a sigh. She hums, briefly and tries again. “I haven’t been with anyone else since I broke it off with Satsu and you and I started…"

“You wanna know if I’ve fucked anybody behind your back?” Faith hears how clipped her words are, but can’t seem to get a handle on her tone. “And you don’t want me to be mad about you asking?”

“No. I want to agree on something with you,” Buffy says, calmly. “Out loud, like adults. Because I told you before that I wasn’t asking you to wait for me but I've been thinking about it and I changed my mind."

"Changed your mind?"

"Yeah. I do want you to wait," Buffy says. "Kind of can't stand the thought of you not waiting."

Whatever Faith was expecting, it hadn't been this. She's never really been with anyone long enough to have the exclusivity talk. Sure, there had been a few guys in the past dumb enough to think whatever fuck she'd thrown them gave them the right to boss her around, but that hardly counted.

"What, you want me all for yourself, B?" Faith teases, to buy herself time to unravel the knot the conversation has put in her stomach.

"Well, yeah," Buffy sighs into the line. “Can you blame me?”

Faith waits for the panic she's always expected. That feeling of being closed in, trapped, set up to fail. It's been a problem her whole life, the way anything gets so much harder the moment she knows it's important.

And it's there a little bit — this faint, anxious prickling at the back of her neck — but it's smothered by something else entirely.

Buffy wants her. Buffy doesn't want anyone else to have her. Buffy wants Faith, only, and wants Faith to want her back the same way.

"Well, I'm a pretty hot commodity. Not to brag," Faith hears Buffy snort a laugh on the other end of the line and talks over it, "but, y'know, a lot of people want a piece of this."

"I know," Buffy says. "There's no way they want it more than me, though. But, hey, I can be reasonable. If anyone wants to arm wrestle over it, I'll take ‘em on."

It's a joke and a dumb one at that, but even still the idea of Buffy fighting for her does something to Faith's racing heart.

"Think you might have an unfair advantage there," Faith says.

"And? I'm not above exploiting my sacred calling for this," Buffy says breezily. She waits a beat and clears her throat, "So?"

As good as it feels to hear it from Buffy, it's not an insignificant ask. Sex has been pretty much just one thing to Faith her whole life: she's always thought of it kinda like eating or slaying or getting enough sleep: an urge to fulfill, and not much else. It's different with Buffy — when there's feelings and that connection they've always had, the natural intensity of the two of them together — but it's hard, a little scary, to think about how big of a change this would be.

But she wants Buffy more than anyone else. All the time, any day of the week.

"Sure," Faith says quietly, done trying to wind Buffy up. "I'll wait."

"Good," Buffy lets out a shaky laugh. "I was trying to be cool, but you made me nervous."

"You really thought I'd say no?"

"I really wanted you not to," Buffy says. "There's a difference."

Buffy nervous over her feels almost as good as Buffy offering to fight off the competition.

"Well, hopefully you won't have to wait long anyway," Buffy says lightly. "You remember how I asked Giles to give me first dibs on any weird cases stateside?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, there's rumors of some kind of vampire RV caravan terrorizing the southwest?"

"What?"

"It's— Look, I'll tell you about it later. I've got to book a plane ticket," Buffy says. "And I meant it when I told you I'm done trying to drag you into my work all the time, but I wanted to know if I should see you after, in Cleveland, or if you wanted to meet me in Albuquerque."

"Oh."

"Or, if this is like, too soon or something—"

"It's not," Faith says. It's nice that Buffy's being so thoughtful, so careful to give Faith the space she'd wanted with her work, but the idea of sitting around for days with her thumb up her ass while Buffy was off slaying solo in the same country is dumb as hell. Why the fuck would she want to be anywhere else? "I'll meet you there. Wouldn't want to miss the vampire RV caravan."

"I'm not convinced it's not just weird carnies on a rampage," Buffy says. "But I guess we'll see."

They spend a few more minutes wrapping up the call, working out logistics. The whole thing feels surreal, like Faith’s going to wake up and go back to her real life, where Buffy’s wrapped up in big time Slayer Academy shit and Faith is a regular Hellmouth workhorse, racking up kills at night and not thinking twice about things like the weather in New Mexico in spring or how Buffy’s skin will taste soaked in chlorine and and sun.

“Hey, book some place with a pool,” Faith says, suddenly urgent.

“A pool?”

“Hot in the desert, right? You’ll thank me later.” In fact, Faith’s already thinking of a variety of ways Buffy could thank her. She feels herself getting slick and wishes she wasn’t out patrolling, so she could share some of them with her.

“Got it,” Buffy says, and there’s definitely a bit of a quiver in her words. Maybe she and Faith are on the same page already.

Faith briefly considers pushing her luck, seeing if Buffy’s rule against ‘funny business’ while one of them is working outweighs whatever thoughts put that shake in her voice, but before she can decide one way or another something catches her eye. A couple guys in some seriously outdated suits trailing a couple of unsteady looking women out of a bar. Who ever thought rolled-up blazer sleeves looked good anyway?

“Hey,” Faith starts, drawing out the word as she quickens her pace, hands sliding instinctively toward the stakes tucked inside her coat.

“Finally find some action?” Buffy guesses.

“What gave me away?”

“Your voice,” Buffy goes all soft and warm in Faith’s ear. Faith usually only hears her like this talking about Dawn or Xander or Willow. “It gets all… dippy.”

“Dippy?”

“Starts up here,” Buffy begins, in a normal register. Then she drops her tone, adds a bit of urgency. “Ends up down here. There’s more — bet you’ve got your shoulders hunched now. And you do this thing where you make your stride longer and lighter. Reminds me of the big cats in all those nature documentaries.”

“Oh.” Faith’s suddenly flustered. She has to fight to keep her focus on the vamps she’s trailing. She’s exceptionally aware of her body, now that Buffy’s pointed it out. It’s not something she ever noticed in herself.

But Buffy had.

“Hey, I should,” Faith cuts herself off. She wants to end the conversation — it’s distracting, a little overwhelming, she’s not sure what to do with the way her heart feels too big for her chest. But there’s something else she’s got to say first, before she lets Buffy go. “There hasn’t been anyone else.”

“What?”

“I know you didn’t ask, but that’s the truth. I haven’t been with anyone since…” Is it too pathetic to admit the last time she’d gone home with anyone had been that girl from the bar? The one who had kicked her out when she’d taken Buffy’s call in the middle of hooking up? It feels like too much, like the admission would make Faith look desperate, make Buffy feel pressured. “Not for a while anyway. Definitely not since you and I started doing… this.”

That’s another thing. Faith has no idea what to call the thing they’re doing. Faith’s never had a girlfriend and her middle school boyfriend doesn’t seem like much of a template to work off, either. Buffy’s never carried her books between classes, or showed her how to lift candybars from the corner store without getting caught, or gotten detention for trying to feel her up in the cafeteria.

“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” Buffy says.

“Yeah,” Faith agrees. Her heart is pounding. “Okay, bye.”

She hangs up the phone and jogs to catch up with the vampires she’d been trailing. Putting them down helps take the edge off. By the time Faith gets home, there’s an email from Willow confirming her flight details and the butterflies swirling in her stomach make her feel less like throwing up.

Faith gets into Albuquerque a day ahead of Buffy. She’d volunteered, since her flight would be shorter, and she figured doing some of the legwork early would help her feel important. She picks up the rental car, checks into the hotel near the airport where Willow had booked her a room, and calls back to Scotland that night, after Buffy had already boarded her plane to the States.

Over the phone she gets brought up to speed. Scattered reports of a small group of suspicious individuals traveling together, showing up to town at dusk in cars and campers with the windows blacked out, wreaking havoc, and leaving before sunrise. Each such incident has a few missing persons reports tacked on, complicated by the fact that some of the missing appear to show up at later disturbances.

“We keep an eye on regional supernatural forums on the web,” Willow tells her. “So far, local paranormal investigators are split on whether this is a cult or, well, a supernatural cult. They’re pretty much certain about the cult thing.”

“But you and G-man think it’s vamps,” Faith says.

“We can’t be sure, based on what little we know, which is why we’re sending you and Buffy,” Giles answers. “But there were similar reports in the late ‘80s that were definitively linked to a traveling vampire clan. If it’s happening again and they really are feeding and turning others at this rate, they’re gathering strength for something. We’ll have to put a stop to it.”

Faith patrols a little on her own that night, but doesn’t find much of interest. She sleeps poorly that night, restless, thinking of Buffy, and what will happen when they see each other again in person. Will she change her mind? What if she’s coming to let Faith down gently in person? Okay, so, that’d be kind of fucked up and insane, after calling her and asking her not to see anyone else, but it could happen, in theory. Except, well… no. It couldn’t. This is Buffy, and for all the hell they’ve put each other through, Buffy’s never headfucked her like that. Buffy’s never been cruel, not without Faith giving her a reason first.

In the morning, she goes over maps and other documents Willow had sent her on what they know. It’s not all that much to go off of, and it’s hard to focus besides, but Faith does her best. Maybe if she and Buffy wrap this thing up early, they can spend some more time fucking or doing whatever else.

Picking Buffy up from the airport almost feels like it’s happening to someone else. Faith waits at Arrivals until Buffy emerges from a crowd, bulky pink suitcase clacking along behind her. She looks pretty damn good for someone who’s been traveling for sixteen hours. Buffy meets her eyes and Faith feels her heart swoop up into her throat. Faith expects, well, a hug or something, once Buffy rushes up to meet her, but instead Buffy nods her towards the car, hustling them out of the airport with little more than an encouraging smile.

Faith trails after her, trying not to look as confused and disappointed as she feels. She tosses Buffy’s suitcase in the trunk and follows her into the car.

“Hey,” Faith says, turning the key in the ignition. “Uh, how was your flight?”

Buffy doesn’t answer, reaching across the armrest and grabbing the back of Faith’s neck, pulling her nearly across the seat to kiss her. Faith melts straight away, one hand clutching the steering wheel, the other immediately weaving itself into Buffy’s soft, blonde hair. Buffy makes a noise in her throat, something hungry and sweet, and just like that Faith feels all the months of pretending she wasn’t terrified over never doing this again pouring out of her. Faith surges forward, tongue sweeping into Buffy’s mouth hungrily, relentlessly until Buffy finally pulls back, a palm braced against Faith’s collarbone.

“Whoa,” Buffy says, breathlessly.

Faith feels herself flush, embarrassed. Fuck, she’d nearly lost it. “Uh, sorry.”

“No, I,” Buffy lets out a shaky laugh, and runs a hand through her hair. The grin she shoots at Faith is tired, but brilliant. “I liked it. But I feel like we should probably save the hot and heavy for someplace a little more private?”

Faith winces, glancing over Buffy’s shoulder at a slack jawed frat bro looking guy who’d definitely just gotten a free show. “Good point.”

“The flight was fine,” Buffy says, settling back into her seat and attempting to discreetly wipe Faith’s lipstick off of her mouth. “Thanks for picking me up this time.”

“Never gonna let me live that down,” Faith gripes and pulls into the flow of traffic.

As much as Faith wants to drive Buffy back to the hotel and pick up where they left off, this is still a work trip. The closest thing they get to a detour is a quick visit to a drive thru for something to eat on the way to their first location.

They’re able to hit three different towns before dark and talk to a few witnesses who had contacted Willow through the forums. Each of them had a pretty similar story: a rough crowd would roll in just after dark, usually invading a bar or a dance hall, starting fights, picking people up, causing trouble. Somehow, in the mayhem, locals always ended up missing. The descriptions were all pretty similar too: pale, some with strange accents or turns of speech, clothes that didn’t quite fit in.

“Outsiders,” one of their witnesses summed it up. Then he paused, looking them up and down. “No offense.”

Faith knows they stick out like sore thumbs among these tiny desert towns, but she can’t bring herself to give up her usual look for the denim and flannel style that all these yokels seem to favor, not even when Buffy unenthusiastically suggests trying to blend in.

Standing out doesn’t earn them much trust, but it does buy them attention. And Faith knows how to work a certain type of crowd. In a dingy old honky-tonk outside of Gallup, Faith manages to score a few free drinks off a pair of beat-up looking cowboys. Older than she usually goes for, but good looking enough if you go in for the Gunsmoke deal. It’s nothing to her, a way to get some info out of a couple of guys who look less likely to bullshit than the eager, shiny-booted younger crowd, but she can feel Buffy’s gaze burning a hole in the back of her neck the entire time she chats them up.

But she hits paydirt. One of them admits he’d been at a bar “out Santa Fe way” a week ago when he ran into a gang like she was describing. What’s more, he swore he got into a brawl with them, and lifted up his shirt to show off a mean looking scar on his side, still raw looking and stitched shut. “Hell, I’m gettin’ old. Never woulda clipped me back when I was a young buck.”

“Wicked scar,” she says, kindly. “What was the bar called?”

He tells her and mentions that he’s heard from others in the area that the group is still in the area. “Moving eastward, sounds like. Probably headed for Texas.”

She nods, trying to calculate the distance. There’s probably no way they’d catch up with the vamps by sunrise, if they really were that far across the state. But moving in daytime probably slows them down, they might be able to make up ground when the sun comes up.

“Why’re you so interested in all this anyway? You some kind of bondsman? Uh, bondswoman?” the old man corrects himself, awkwardly.

“Something like that,” Faith says. “Thanks for the drink.”

The old man leans over, palms her knee and signals to the bartender, two fingers in the air. “How about another?”

He’s joking if he thinks he’s got a chance with her.

Before she can shoot him down, there’s the scent of peach shampoo and a firm grip on her upper arm.

Buffy practically drags her out of the bar and Faith doesn’t even bother to fight back a grin over it.

“Something bothering you, B?” Faith teases.

Buffy scoffs and yanks Faith across the darkened parking lot, shoves her up against their rental car. “That guy was like a hundred years old.”

Faith snorts, “You’re one—”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, I’ve dated guys way older than that. At least they were hot.”

“Would it make you feel better if I went back in there and found a hotter guy to flirt with?”

Buffy levels Faith with a stare so furious it would have Faith a little worried, if she couldn’t also tell by Buffy’s blown-out pupils and quickened breath that more was going on here.

"You jealous, Buff?"

"No," Buffy snaps, and goes pink. "I mean, a little. Not because I think you actually wanted him or anything but — I spent sixteen hours in a gross metal tube flying across the planet to be here and what do I get for the trouble? To watch you flash your cleavage at some Yosemite Sam knockoff while I eat stale bar pretzels? Come on. It's not fair."

"Okay, you're right. That's not very fair," Faith says. She pushes her shoulders back, so the jacket she's wearing slips down a little and thrusts her chest out towards Buffy, glad she'd opted for a push-up bra tonight. It really does make her tits look fantastic. "Better?"

"Um, uh," Buffy says, thoughtfully. She grabs Faith by the waist. "Stop gloating."

"I think I earned it. I was getting us a lead, y'know," Faith points out. "Which is probably more than you managed glaring at me across the bar all night."

"Your lead," Buffy says, pushing Faith back into the car, "any chance it has us putting this thing to bed tonight?"

Faith shakes her head. "Nah, too much driving to do. Tomorrow if we're lucky."

"Okay," Buffy says, nodding. "To hell with it, then."

She leans in. It's dark out here and not exactly friendly country for this sort of thing, but Buffy's lips on Faith neck out in public sends a shiver up Faith's spine anyway.

"Get in the car," Buffy instructs, low and serious. "Take me someplace where I can touch you."

Faith starts driving but the last motel she remembers is at least another half hour away. That's just not going to cut it.

She pulls off into an empty rest stop, parks in a far dark corner and tells Buffy to get in the backseat.

"Ever been fucked in a car before?" Faith asks conversationally, climbing over the center console and looming over Buffy.

She's propped up on the duffle bag slightly, eyes huge, chest heaving. She shakes her head no.

Faith likes it more than she probably should, the idea of getting to be the first one to have Buffy this way. She slithers over Buffy's body, kissing her with all the heat and hunger that the thrill of the situation inspires. But just when things are starting to get really hot and heavy, when her hands slip down to toy with the zipper of Buffy's jeans, she breaks away.

"Sorry, I just… I feel gross," Buffy says, turning her face to the side, not meeting Faith's eyes. "I mean between the plane and the driving and all these dives we've been stopping in… We spent all this time talking about what we were going to do when we were together again and I just— I wanted it to be nicer, for you."

Faith pauses, pulling back. "If you want, I'll get us back on the road and find a place we can clean up and crash for the night. But that's if you want. Because I…"

Faith trails off, momentarily overwhelmed by it all. The quiet dark night around them, the cramped back seat, Buffy spread out under her, staring up at Faith, worried for some reason she might not be enough.

Heart in her throat, Faith reaches out a shaky hand to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind Buffy's ear. "I pretty much want you all the time," Faith says. "Hell, you could show up at my doorstep covered in demon guts and I'd still get down on my knees and beg for a chance to touch you."

Faith wonders if it's too much: too pathetic, too honest, too desperate, but Buffy laughs a little, relaxing. Her legs spread a bit wider and Faith takes it as an invitation, sinking down closer so their hips are nearly flush.

"You? Beg?" Buffy sounds dubious, reaching up to card a hand through Faith's hair.

"You want me to?" Faith offers a little shakily. She ducks her head down, burying it in Buffy's neck to hide her face and mouth wet kisses across Buffy's throat.

Faith's never really been the type to let herself get bossed around during sex, not since she could help it. She doesn't like taking orders generally and besides, she doesn't trust the men she fucks not to try to take things too far and the type of women she goes in for like it when she gets aggressive, demanding. She's never really felt a need to switch things up.

But she remembers what it was like in Cleveland when Buffy took charge. She thinks about how good it felt when Buffy grabbed her hair, when Buffy told her she wasn't allowed to come, even when Buffy slapped her ass about it. How dizzying it felt to be wanted that badly by her, to feel like her whole body was meant for Buffy to use. Faith shivers.

Yeah. She could beg for Buffy.

"You want me to beg you?" Faith offers again, rolling her hips down into Buffy's, feeling the gasp that tears through Buffy's throat against her lips. She teases the skin with a nip and pulls back to look at Buffy's face.

She's flushed, panting. When she meets Faith's eyes she looks almost dazed but manages a nod.

All at once Faith realizes she'd been desperate for this, for Buffy to say yes. She wants to beg. She wants to lay out her desire at its most crass, its least elegant and, yeah, its most pathetic. She wants Buffy to see her low and still say yes. To not turn her away.

"Fuck, Buffy, baby, you gotta let me fuck you," Faith rasps, grinding down against Buffy again. She nips the curve of Buffy's jaw hard enough to make her gasp, then laves the same place with her tongue. She slips her hands under Buffy's shirt to grab her tits, and moves her lips to the shell of Buffy's ear, whispers hot and low right against it. "I want it so bad, Buffy. You got no idea. No clue how much I want you. Feel like I'm gonna go insane if you don't let me make you come. Please, Buffy. I need it. Please, you've gotta—"

"Faith," Buffy whimpers, bucking up into her. "Yes, Faith. Yes."

Faith groans, mouthing her way down Buffy’s neck. She grabs the hem of Buffy’s shirt with her right hand, rucks it up toward her neck. With her left, she tugs the cups of Buffy’s bra down low, exposing her stiff pink nipples to the air.

“You got my mouth watering for you, Buffy,” Faith says, feeling Buffy wind her hands into Faith’s hair and push her down towards her tits. “Got me like a dog for you. Somethin’ wild. Hungry.”

She grabs one of Buffy’s tits and lowers her mouth over the nipple. She sucks hard, circling it with her tongue, loving the way the flesh stiffens and pebbles against her. Buffy’s warm in her mouth, a little salty from sweat, and when Faith uses her teeth, she moans and tugs her hair so hard it makes Faith’s scalp smart. Faith groans around her, pulling back with a wet pop. “You like that?”

She latches onto Buffy’s other nipple, giving it the same treatment while she waits for Buffy to answer.

“It’s too rough,” Buffy pants, voice high and strained.

Faith pulls back again to look at her. Buffy’s chest and face are all flushed a pretty shade of pink, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth hanging open, looking for all the world like she could come from just this.

“Too rough,” Faith quotes doubtfully, tweaking Buffy’s nipple and watching the flash of pleasure that ripples across her face. It’s a thing of beauty, how her body reacts, even when Buffy’s trying to argue herself into feeling bad for it. “I didn’t ask that. I asked if you liked it.”

A tortured look flickers across Buffy’s face and she opens her eyes to stare down at Faith.

Whatever she sees staring back at her in the dark backseat, it makes her shiver all over under Faith. But she doesn’t answer.

“Okay,” Faith says, quiet. “Alright, Buff. Your way, huh?”

She lowers her mouth, changes up the tempo. Soft, barely there flickers of her tongue, hot puffs of air that do more to tease than to stimulate. She traces the pads of her fingers so lightly over the tips of Buffy’s nipples that Buffy cries out in frustration, tries shoving up into Faith's hands.

“Nuh uh, no way,” Faith says, pulling away. “Soft, right? Not too rough?”

“Faith,” Buffy whines.

“C’mon, I’m doing what you asked for,” Faith taunts her, dropping her head again to mouth weakly at the side of Buffy’s breast. “But it’s not what you want, is it?”

Buffy makes a noise in the back of her throat but Faith shakes her head.

“Tell me,” she says.

“No,” Buffy admits, tangling her hands in Faith’s hair again. “It’s… it’s not.”

“Tell me, ” Faith repeats, sucking a little harder, scraping the skin with her teeth just barely. “Tell me how you want it.”

“Harder.”

“Rough?” Faith asks, nipping sharply.

“Yes,” Buffy hisses, tugging Faith’s hair so hard it makes her body go hot all over.

“I knew that,” Faith says and bites her, this time hard enough to leave indents of her teeth on Buffy’s skin. “Do you forget what you tell me on the phone when I call you so late? Do you forget I know what you sound like when you come apart thinking of me fucking you just like this?”

Buffy shakes her head, pathetically.

“Didn’t think so. So why are you trying to talk me out of making you feel good when you got me right here trying to give you everything you need? When you got me willing to do anything?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy babbles, pressing Faith’s face back into her tits. “I don’t know why I’m— I just—”

“I’ll fuck you the way you want, anytime, anywhere, Buffy,” Faith says, pulling back and pressing her forehead into Buffy’s, feeling the sharp puff of Buffy’s breath against her lips. She keeps her hands on Buffy’s tits, palming them. “I’ll give it to you soft and sweet when you want it like that. I’ll make it good. However you want but—”

She pinches Buffy’s nipples, twists a little until she gasps. Faith slips a leg between Buffy’s thighs and Buffy chokes on a moan, immediately grinding down against her.

“But when you want it hard, baby, you gotta let me take care of you. Let me fuck you like you need it.”

“Yeah,” Buffy rocks down into Faith’s thigh again, desperate. “Please, Faith, please.”

“Girls like you like to feel it,” Faith says, dipping her head back down and sucking a bruise against the side of Buffy’s breast.

“Girls like me?” Buffy gasps, thrusting her chest up into Faith’s mouth when she mouths over her nipple again.

“Bad girls,” Faith growls, pitching her voice low and bingo, Buffy inhales, a sharp shocked little sound, and bucks up against her. Faith grins, wicked, and rocks her knee into Buffy’s center roughly, laughing when she gasps again, head falling back. Faith leans down and licks her way into Buffy’s mouth, possessive. “I mean, a good girl wouldn’t let herself get felt up in the back of a car in the middle of nowhere, would she? Wouldn't let me cover her cute little tits in hickeys. Definitely wouldn’t be trying to fuck herself against my leg like this. That’s not what good girls do at all."

Buffy shakes her head, eyes screwed shut again, rolling her hips up steadily into Faith's thigh and, fuck, it's the hottest thing Faith's ever seen.

Faith presses a reverent, open mouthed kiss to the side of Buffy's neck. She leaves a trail of them up toward Buffy's ear, before she catches it in her teeth, worrying it between them until Buffy whimpers.

"Being a good girl's overrated, isn't it?" Faith rasps into Buffy's ear. "I love it when you're bad for me."

Buffy's breath hitches and Faith freezes a moment, running the words back in her head. No, she didn't say—

But it was close. Desperate, Faith leans up to lay a kiss on her mouth, suddenly tentative, off-balance. It’s Buffy who deepens it, drawing Faith’s bottom lip into her mouth and biting firmly, tugging hard enough to make it throb in pain, forcing a high moan out of Faith’s throat.

She needs more, needs to keep up the momentum before she spins out, loses control of what’s happening here and says something stupid that neither of them are ready for. Faith hunches up, trying to find a position that lets her kiss Buffy while she runs her hands roughly down Buffy’s body, fumbling with the button on her jeans. Slayer dexterity helps, letting Faith balance on the narrow car seat while she gets her hand down the front of Buffy’s pants, slipping under her panties and through the slick, carefully groomed stripe of hair over her snatch.

“Fuck,” Faith mumbles into Buffy’s mouth, when she feels how wet Buffy is. “You’re fucking dripping.”

Buffy hums in agreement, rolling her hips up into Faith’s fingers.

“All this for me, baby?” Faith asks, running her fingers up and down Buffy’s lips, reveling in the hot, wet feel of her.

“Yeah,” Buffy sighs, wrapping her arms around Faith’s neck.

Faith goes warm all over. She feels wild, desperate, but also weirdly… gooey. She wants to fuck Buffy hard, wants to make her scream. She wants to feel Buffy shake apart in her arms, to breathe in every sigh and moan she can wring out past Buffy’s swollen lips. She wants Buffy to feel her.

“Tell me to fuck you,” Faith begs again, voice low, fingers toying at Buffy’s entrance, dipping just inside but not staying put. “Please.”

“Fuck me, Faith,” Buffy breathes, pushing down into Faith’s fingers.

Buffy’s so wet and open for her that Faith doesn’t really take her time working Buffy up. The pace she sets is fast, rougher than she’d start off with anyone else. But Buffy’s a slayer, she can handle it like this. She wants it like this.

“Oh god, Faith,” Buffy keens, tightening her arms enough to force Faith’s head down into the crook of Buffy’s neck. She closes her eyes, focuses on steadying out her rhythm between Buffy’s legs, keeping her strokes fast and even. She reaches her thumb up to swipe roughly at Buffy’s clit, grins into Buffy’s skin when she cries out in response. “Faith.”

Faith thinks she could stay like this forever if it meant Buffy would keep saying her name like that.

“That good?” Faith teases.

“So good,” Buffy gasps, rocking up into Faith’s thrusts. “God, you’re so good at— you’re good.”

That warm feeling bursts across the back of Faith’s neck again, steals the breath out of her lungs. She kisses Buffy’s neck, licking the sweat off her skin. “Say it again.”

There’s nothing at first. Faith thinks Buffy must just not have heard, has already decided not to ask again, when Buffy’s voice pours over her, like warm, clean water, “You’re so good, Faith. You know just how to touch me. You’re going to make me come so hard. Oh god. You’re so good at fucking me, Faith—”

Faith feels her brain turn to static, shifts up onto her knees a little more for better leverage and works Buffy harder, paying more attention to her clit, curling her fingers and feeling for Buffy’s g-spot again, remembering how hard it made her come the first time they were together a year ago.

A year to get here.

Every miserable, lonely night in between was worth it for this.

For Buffy bucking up into her, nails scraping at Faith’s shoulders and neck, choking out a high, broken moan while she comes on Faith’s fingers. Faith braces her shoulder on the car seat for balance and slips her free hand down the front of her own pants. She’s so worked up, it only takes a few clumsy swipes of her own fingers to get herself off, a small, percussive little orgasm that’s enough to take the edge off, for now.

Buffy watches, sagging bonelessly into the backset, eyes half lidded. “No fair,” she rasps.

“You can get me back later,” Faith offers, leaning down to kiss her, pride swelling in her chest at how sloppily Buffy kisses her back. Completely fucked out. Faith pulls back and stares down at her. “You’re so hot right now.”

Buffy huffs a weak laugh, running a hand through her messy hair. “Uh huh.”

“No, I mean it,” Faith insists, kissing the swell of Buffy’s jaw. “You look like you just got fucked within an inch of your life.”

“Stop bragging,” Buffy says, shoving weakly at Faith’s shoulder and sliding herself up the seat to fumble with the zip of her jeans. “It’s not attractive.”

“I don’t think you believe that,” Faith counters.

Buffy rolls her eyes and that’s pretty much the end of it. She dozes in her seat on the long drive back to Albuquerque. It’s late when they get in, too cold for the pool, which Faith can’t help but feel vaguely regretful about. Wasn’t the desert supposed to be hot all the time?

Buffy pulls her into the shower and Faith doesn’t have to wonder this time if it’s okay to keep kissing her, though it doesn’t get much further than that. Faith follows her into bed, surprised when Buffy rolls on top of her and initiates round two.

Buffy’s weight settled over Faith’s body feels good. She’s warm and clean, hair still a little damp, and Faith can’t believe she gets to touch her as much as she wants. Buffy slips her thigh down between Faith’s legs and Faith rolls her hips upward, grinding her cunt into Buffy in slow, lazy circles.

“Oh my god,” Buffy whispers, dropping her forehead down into Faith’s shoulder. She kisses Faith’s skin, and slides her hand down from where it had been idly toying with Faith’s nipples toward her cunt instead. “You’re so ready for me.”

“I’m always ready for you,” Faith says, breath hitching when Buffy’s fingers slip over her clit. She shudders and bucks her hips up. “Kiss me.”

Buffy does, licking a path up the side of Faith’s neck before she finds her mouth. Buffy kisses Faith like she wants to devour her, like she wants to slide into the deepest part inside her and leave a mark. She plunders Faith’s mouth with her tongue, bites Faith’s bottom lip until it’s swollen and throbbing, and doesn’t pull away until they’re both breathless and aching from it.

And then she kisses Faith again, softer, sweeter, and slides down the bed.

“Oh fuck,” Faith says, sitting up automatically when she realizes where Buffy’s going.

Buffy barely reacts, reaching up to shove Faith’s shoulder until she’s dropping back to the mattress.

“You said I’d get to make it up to you,” Buffy reminds her, dragging hot, wet kisses down Faith’s stomach. She stops at the scar again, hovering for a moment. Strands of her hair hang down and tickle Faith’s abs, making her body clench up in anticipation and the struggle not to laugh reflexively at the sensation. Then Buffy lowers her mouth again, settling it over the scar. She kisses it, laves her tongue across, so gently that it steals the breath out of Faith’s lungs. After a long moment, she moves on, continuing downwards.

“You’re going to have to tell me if I’m doing this wrong,” Buffy says, almost apologetically, when she shoulders her way between Faith’s quivering thighs.

And then she dips her head, pressing a sweet, soft kiss to Faith’s pubic mound. She’s careful, taking her time working Faith up. It takes all of Faith’s self restraint not to reach down and take charge of things, to just let Buffy do what she wants instead.

And what she wants is to suck a hickey into Faith’s hip. She wants to bite the sensitive skin on Faith’s thighs until she hisses and bucks, and then she wants to soothe the bruises with her tongue. She wants to glide her tongue up the length of Faith’s pussy, over and over, to fill her mouth with the taste of Faith.

“Shit, Buffy,” Faith pants, hand sliding down reflexively to ghost over Buffy’s hair. She catches herself before she grabs on, lets her hand hover uselessly in the air for a moment before Buffy pauses and pulls back.

She catches Fath’s gaze and reaches up to grab Faith’s hand, guiding it into her own hair. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Faith says, carefully, threading her fingers gently into Buffy's soft, shampoo commercial hair and scratching her scalp affectionately. 

“You won’t,” Buffy says confidently, dropping another sweet kiss to Faith’s hip.

This time, she doesn’t tease as much, wrapping her lips around Faith’s clit and sucking rhythmically. Faith’s hips buck up off the bed and she curses, fist automatically tightening in Buffy’s hair hard enough to make her moan into Faith’s cunt. It feels amazing, but it helps remind Faith to loosen up. 

“Fuck,” Faith pants, high, strained. “Buffy, Jesus…”

Buffy makes another sound against her and shifts her body, urging Faith’s thighs up to rest over her shoulders. She slides her mouth down, tongue tracing Faith’s entrance, slipping inside and out, lazily as Faith curses again and rolls her hips up.

“Fuck me,” Faith moans. “Use your fingers, B. Fuck me hard, make me feel it, c’mon, please.”

Buffy listens, replacing her tongue with three fingers right away. It burns, the way Faith likes it, but she’s so wet it’s not that hard to take. Buffy fucks her hard, Faith can feel her shoulder flexing from the place where her leg rests over it.

She settles her mouth back over Faith’s clit and laps eagerly, relentlessly, never letting up with her fingers, until the room is filled with the wet clicking sound of Faith’s pussy getting fucked, the obscene noises of Buffy’s mouth on her, and Faith’s own helpless whimpers.

“Oh, fuck, Buffy,” Faith cries out, tugging Buffy’s hair again, hard. “I’m gonna come.”

Buffy moans into her and Faith feels the sound vibrate through her whole body.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come all over your face,” Faith babbles, feeling the orgasm she’d been trying to hold off crashing into her. It hits her like a tidal wave, sweeping all the way through her, leaving her totally clean, totally devastated in its wake. “Oh my god.”

Buffy lingers between Faith’s thighs, attentive to the last. So much for worrying if she’d like it or not.

“So, were you right?” Buffy asks, after, head propped on Faith’s bare chest, warm breath tickling Faith’s skin.

“‘Bout what?” Faith asks, deliriously. She feels like she could float out of her body.

“Do I really have the makings of a world-class pussy eater?” Buffy asks and Faith chokes on a laugh.

The rest of the trip isn’t quite so easy. They luck out the next night, running into a few of the guys they’ve been trailing at a gas station and following them back to the bar the rest of the group had holed up in.

It’s ugly fighting. Faith and Buffy are experienced, the best in the game, but even they can only do so much against numbers. Maybe it’d be easier if the vamps they were up against weren’t so eerily well-coordinated, fighting smart and in sync, instead of panicked and selfish like most of the others they run into. By dawn, more than half have slipped away and Faith’s muscles feel pulped. But, hell, they lived. And she and Buffy had been a hell of a team, a well-oiled slaying machine, hardly needing words to communicate at all.

“We’ll get ‘em next time,” Faith says, dropping to a heap next to the ruins of what had once been an antique jukebox, holding a cold can of beer over the knot swelling on her forehead.

“We’d better,” Buffy mutters, accepting another beer from the stricken looking bartender, who can’t stop looking between them and the wreck of his bar. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Better than bein’ dead,” Faith reminds him, wincing when Buffy elbows her hard in response.

It’s cat and mouse for a few days, harder to track them now that they’ve splintered off, though they’re easier to fight in smaller groups. Of course along the way they learn that the group they're after isn't just some random clan but — big shock — a vampiric cult. The core of the pack has been following their leader, an ugly slab of meat that talks like an old timey preacher, for years and the recent recruiting blitz has been — you guessed it — a push to bring about the apocalypse by restoring power to an ancient blah, blah, blah. Faith pretty much stops following along after she gets the basic gist. You’ve seen one vampiric cult, you’ve seen ‘em all, pretty much.

What she doesn't get tired of is watching Buffy win.

It's a thing of beauty, Buffy in her element, kicking demon ass all the way back to hell. She's such a pro — graceful, violent, beautiful, and, god, she's funny too and so quick. In the final showdown, under a blanket of stars in the open desert, Faith keeps the grunts off Buffy's back while she faces down the top vamp. It's rough work, that kind of crowd control, and almost more than she can handle. Faith catches a chain to the face that has her skull ringing, eyes clouded by blood, mouth gritty with sand she'd inhaled when she hit the floor.

And she rolls over, catching the vamp that dives onto her more out of instinct than anything else. She holds him off, squinting over his shoulder through the blood stinging her eyes just in time to see Buffy rear back, blade in hand, and lop the head off their man.

When she was real little, Faith remembers going to Mass with her Nana. She'd always been intimidated by the cathedrals, their decadence and grandeur, by the sternness of the clergy in those elaborate get-ups, by the feeling of scrutiny and judgment, the looming threat of damnation. The peace and comfort Nana had found in the church had always eluded Faith but the one thing she had craved had been the stories, the art, even those that had scared her. Especially those. The bloody tragedies of the martyrs, the relentless fury of God's wrath, the terrifying power of the angels. Above all, it had been images of Holy Michael, the Archangel, flaming sword in hand triumphing over hell, that had captivated her the most. Saint Michael, leader of God's army, the angel of death, beautiful and terrifying at once, had filled her with awe and dread and a terrible, suffocating kind of longing.

So it makes a certain kind of sense that her brain flips back to him when she watches Buffy, when she realizes that she's got to be in love, the kind you fall into and can never quite get out of.

It's the feeling of being small in the face of something infinite. Of wanting something so badly, down in your bones, down in your soul, but not being sure you'll ever be worthy of it. It's triumph, beautiful, glittering, moonshot and perfect, despite the blood and the grime and the borrowed leather jacket, now a tattered, ruined mess.

It's feeling something holy move through you.

It's a concussion, for sure.

Buffy cleans up most of the stragglers, though Faith at least gets to dust the vamp that had jumped her.

"Easy," Buffy murmurs when Faith stumbles back to the car. She catches Faith's weight against her shoulder, barely wobbling. Steady as the earth. "They got you pretty good, huh?"

Faith reaches up to touch her head wound, nearly ralphs when her fingers meet a hanging flap of skin. She pushes it back into place.

"You should see the other guy," Faith rasps, woozy, surprised and impressed when opening her mouth doesn't result in a stream of vomit.

Buffy laughs lightly but shakes her head. "I'm sorry I wasn't watching your back."

Faith wants to say something funny or smart about their strategy or teamwork or how she's grown since they were kids, how guts and glory don't mean much if they're not part of backing Buffy's play when it counts.

Instead she lets her head loll against Buffy's shoulder, breathes her in: sweat and dust and metallic blood and peach shampoo. She says, "You were perfect."

The cut on her forehead needs stitches, for sure. Faith doesn't think that they'll make it to a hospital before slayer healing kicks in and starts the job for her.

But she wouldn't mind the scar.

-

May - June, 2004

It’s tough, once the Big Bad is gone and the excuse to be together drops out from under them.

They have one whole day together after wrapping things up with the vamp caravan before Buffy’s called back to the castle for some kind of emergency. Some relic or old book or something gets stolen and it’s really important she goes back to handle it. Faith books her flight back to Cleveland to leave a few hours after Buffy’s so she can wait with her in the airport.

It’s all weirdly solemn. Faith can feel her mood crashing as they sit there, side by side, mostly not talking. She can feel something important slipping away, something she’s not sure she’ll ever get back, even when Buffy threads their fingers together, pulling Faith’s hand into her lap, stroking her thumb over Faith’s knuckles.

Faith thinks about changing her flight. She imagines going back to Scotland with Buffy, trying to fit herself in somewhere in Buffy’s cluttered life, where she wouldn’t stick out too badly. It’s hard to imagine, even as part of her own fantasy, what that would look like. What’s more, as much as she wants to stay close to Buffy she still can’t imagine leaving her whole life behind and feeling good about it.

Finally, a flight attendant calls for passengers to line up for boarding and Buffy rises to her feet. But instead of joining the line, she pulls Faith over to the nearest bathroom, crowds her into a stall, and kisses her soundly, desperately, under the bad fluorescent lighting.

“Don’t get scared,” Buffy says, knowingly. Automatically, a protest starts to build in Faith’s throat, something inane and combative, but Buffy presses her harder into the stall door and kisses her again, until her body starts to relax. When Buffy pulls away a second time, her hands are tangled in Faith’s hair, and her eyes are wide and sincere. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

The first week back in Cleveland afterwards is long, miserable, lonely. Faith finds herself snappish and irritable, knows that she’s worrying and annoying Rona and Lourdes, but can’t seem to find any hidden reserve of zen to draw from. She misses Buffy terribly. They hardly even get a chance to talk on the phone.

It gets a little easier, once Buffy gets back to Scotland after the crisis is over. Easier still when she’s caught up on all the work that had piled up when she’d been stateside. They get back into the habit of calling regularly again, and Buffy’s sweet on the phone, but Faith can’t quite shake the fear that things are going to fall apart on her.

But they don’t.

Instead, a few weeks later, Buffy’s back in the States. Faith flies down to Florida to meet her, and they spend a miserable weekend tearing up the Everglades, tracking down some kind of swamp monster. Of course, the swamp monster turns out to have been a hideous fusion of animal and human remains, stuck together and reanimated by a crazed warlock, and the whole thing goes to shit pretty quickly.

By the time it’s all over, Faith’s pretty sure she’s had enough Florida for a lifetime, but Buffy convinces her to drive them up to Miami. The hotel room Buffy books them is nicer than anyplace Faith’s ever stayed, the kind of thing she’s only seen in movies. There’s a private balcony with a hot tub — screw the pool Faith had wanted before. It’s way better just the two of them, no bathing suits, with the fancy jets and the city spread out beneath them, her hand working Buffy over under the water, hearing her breath catch and stutter while Faith fucks her.

And Faith fucks her a lot. That torch she’s been carrying all these years has finally hit tinder and now that she’s finally allowed to touch Buffy, she doesn’t seem to know how to stop.

The plan had been to go out, do some sightseeing, grab a nice dinner, but they only make it out of the hotel room on the first night. They go dancing, but after an hour they catch a cab back to the room and that’s pretty much where they stay for the rest of the trip, living off room service and each other.

They manage three nights to themselves, before Buffy has to go back again. It’s a little easier letting her go this time, especially when Buffy leans in close, kissing the side of Faith’s mouth, promising “I’ll see you soon” before she gets on her plane.

It goes on like this for a while.

A couple days together, a few weeks off, as many phone calls as they can manage in between.

Faith thinks she should feel better, seeing how committed Buffy is to the whole thing, how almost like a routine it’s become, but the flicker of anxiety in her chest grows and grows.

It’s a lot of flying. It’s a lot of bleary-eyed, jetlagged Buffy collapsing into Faith’s arms at baggage claim, dozing off in the passenger seat of their rental, pushing herself hard to close their next case as quickly as possible so they have more time together before she’s called back, because she’s always called back too soon.

Someone else, somewhere else always needs Buffy more.

Buffy’s going to get sick of the lifestyle, eventually. The novelty will wear off. It will stop being worth it.

And maybe Faith could deal with that, if that was all of it. She’s been around enough to know that anything this good’s got a built-in expiration date. It would be rough. Probably ugly. But she and Buffy are like magnets, always pulled back together by something, and eventually she’d learn to deal and they could work together again. In like, five or ten years, if they both lived that long.

But then there’s the other part.

The part where Faith’s in love with Buffy.

Faith’s in love with Buffy like a broke-leg dog, trying not to show the limp. Faith’s in love with Buffy like a skydiver, scared to pull the cord, sure that this is the time there’s gonna be a hole in the ‘chute. Faith’s in love with Buffy like a rabbit in a snare, helpless, upside down with a headrush, waiting to get cut loose or cut open.

And there are moments where it feels like it all could work.

When Buffy falls asleep on the phone, breathing into Faith’s ear from an ocean apart, it feels like it could work. When Buffy says her name, quiet and soft, and kisses her like she’s something to be careful with, it feels like it could work. When Buffy’s heart thumps ferociously under Faith’s ear, when her fingers drag through Faith’s curls, when she looks down at Faith’s eyes and smiles for real while they’re lying together after a good fuck, it feels like it could work.

But Faith is a destroyer. A wrecking ball. She’s never held something beautiful in her hands that she didn’t eventually break into pieces.

This thing with Buffy is no exception.

Chapter Text

-

July, 2004

This is the second time in as many weeks that their plans have fallen through.

It’s better, at least, than the first time. Less humiliating, less expensive.

Two weeks ago, Faith had grabbed a red-eye to Seattle, planning to meet Buffy to investigate some credible leads on some kind of skin-eating demon running amok around a logging camp near Tiger Mountain. Faith had arrived on time and waited for hours at the airport for Buffy’s flight. It arrived and emptied without any sign of her. Faith tried calling but couldn’t get through to anyone, so she stuck around for the next three arrivals from the UK. Buffy never showed.

There had been a message waiting at the hotel, when it finally occurred to Faith, exhausted and near panicked, to go check in.

Communications were down at the Castle and Buffy was caught up in something and couldn’t make it. Faith could head back to Cleveland and a new team would be sent out to deal with the demon, or she could pursue their leads on her own and rely on a local coven for backup.

Faith had stayed, of course. The idea of immediately getting back on a plane to Ohio was too embarrassing.

It was a miserable case, as gruesome as anything she’d ever seen, with crap weather and nothing warm to go home to at the end of the night. When it was all over and Faith was back home, Buffy had finally called to apologize. She’d sounded exhausted and sincere and Faith had tried not to be mad, but she hadn’t been able to shake the bitterness that fogged up her chest.

It was stupid to be mad at Buffy anyway, right?

Even with Faith, even with all the other girls, Buffy was still The Slayer and she always would be. Making plans didn’t change that, being with Faith a few nights of the month didn’t change that. Nothing would change that. And Faith had already known all of that when they’d started doing this anyway, so the fact that it bothered her so much was her problem.

Besides, what could she do? Blow up at Buffy? Start a fight? She didn’t want to go back to that, to lose all the progress they’d made over the years.

Fuck, she had to get it together.

And Faith tried.

She was careful in what she said to Buffy, even ending calls early when she felt herself getting worked up. She slayed more, harder, to work off the restless, frustrating itch of anger that crawled under her skin when she felt her loneliest. She even tried meditating, once, after Lourdes suggested it, but the first thirty minutes alone in her own head had made her feel crazier than before, so she gave that up.

But she had tried.

She was trying.

So when Buffy called and set up another case for them, Faith had agreed. Part of her wanted to say no out of pure meanness, the impulse to break something fragile just to prove she had the strength for it, but she bit it back. She didn’t want to give it away to Buffy, how hurt she’d been feeling, how pathetic, how out of control. So she’d said, sure, she’d love to go to some backwoods Appalachian town to track some monster with Buffy.

And she’d warmed up to it over the next two days. She’d missed Buffy, even if everything else she was feeling was a confusing, terrifying mess. Things would be simpler when Buffy was around — if Faith just got to touch her, to remind herself what was on the line, she could get her head on right again. She’d work this thing out.

Except, on the night before her flight, Faith had answered her phone and Buffy had greeted her with “I’m sorry” and not hello and before she’d even launched into her explanations, Faith had felt herself starting to lose it.

“It’s okay,” Buffy assures her, after Faith had fallen silent on the line too long. “We’re sending a few girls down from the New York cell to look into the Mountain Monster thing.”

“Wait, so I don’t even get to go do that, now?” Faith interrupts. Ditched, again. Benched, again. Left behind, again. An afterthought, again, again, again.

“I didn’t think you’d want to go alone or get paired up with some girl you don't know. I know it sucked last time, with the skin guy, when I couldn’t make it,” Buffy says.

It’s true. It had sucked. Faith had been miserable the whole time. She’d spent each night alone feeling sorry for herself and resenting Buffy a little bit more for stranding her like that. But she’d thought she’d done a better job of hiding it. Knowing Buffy had seen right through her assurances that it had been fine stings Faith’s pride.

And on top of that, Lourdes and Rona are going to know. Faith’s not sure what exactly they think she’s got going on with Buffy, but she knows they suspect something and Faith’s already told them she’s flying off to meet Buffy again this week. They probably figure her for a booty call or something, and at this point, Faith thinks that would actually probably be less pathetic than what she is now.

“What, you couldn’t bother to check with me first?” Faith snaps. “Since when are you making all my decisions for me?”

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Buffy sounds thrown, but annoyed. “What is this you’re doing right now?”

Not ‘you’re right, Faith,’ not ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it,’ but ‘what is this you’re doing right now?’ like Faith is some kind of irrational, out of control child throwing a tantrum, not an equal, not a partner, not the woman she’s been fucking for months, acting like it means something.

“What am I doing right now? Besides getting blown off again?” Outrage makes Faith’s voice tight and loud and before she can think about it to stop herself, she strikes out with her right hand and puts her fist through the drywall by the bathroom door. The sound, the feeling of the plaster crumbling around her, the sudden pain are all startling, but instead of quelling the storm building in her chest, it just makes Faith hungry to break something else. “I’m getting fucking pissed, Buffy.”

“What was that?” Buffy sounds alarmed. Fuck, she wasn't supposed to hear that. “Faith, are you okay?”

Oh, now she cares. It’s the most obvious guilt trip Faith’s ever heard and she’s not falling for it.

“I’m fine, don’t change the subject,” Faith snaps. She pulls her fist out of the wall; it’ll heal up soon, but for now her knuckles are swollen and bruised. There’s powdery white drywall dust all down her hand and wrist, and blood, a little, running down in trickles. She tilts her hand, feels it ache, likes the way it hurts - honestly, simply. A language Faith knows how to speak. “Wasn’t it you who made such a big deal about talking before anyway? Well, let’s talk about this.”

“Okay, you’re pissed." Even without seeing her, Faith knows the face Buffy's making: mouth pinched, eyes narrowed, completely fed up. “Let me just call up the vampire clan that’s trying to bring about the end of the age of man and see if they could scooch their plans a few weeks out cause their timing is really not jiving with your schedule—”

“Don’t do that,” Faith snaps. She clenches her fist hard, relishes the fresh flash of pain. “Don’t act like it’s nothing. That’s so shitty—”

“Well, dammit, Faith, it’s not like this is easy for me either,” Buffy says. “I want to see you. Of course I’d rather be flying out there to be with you instead of dealing with this right now, but you knew what you were signing up for with me when this started out. You knew I had responsibilities. But instead of acknowledging that you just blow up at me! How is that fair?”

God, it’s not the same.

It’s not that Faith thinks she’s lying. It must suck being on the hook for every single apocalyptic threat that the organization gets wise to. And she knows she’s not nothing to Buffy, that Buffy probably would rather be hanging out in a hotel room with her than putting down another clan of doomsday-worshiping vampires.

But Faith is the kind of thing Buffy can put on hold. She can go and do what she needs to do and be who she needs to be and she can do all that without needing Faith for it at all. Maybe she wants her, and that’s nice, that’s more than Faith ever thought she’d get, but it doesn’t change the fact that Faith’s whole life is changing shape, curling and twisting around over Buffy and, to Buffy, Faith is still an afterthought.

Faith is in love and Buffy’s…

Buffy’s right.

Buffy’s got responsibilities. Buffy’s got other things to worry about and she doesn’t deserve this, not after everything else she’s already got to put up with. She doesn’t need Faith, unstable, unraveling, having meltdowns at her on the phone because her feelings are hurt, distracting her and tearing her down when she should be out there saving the world.

She doesn’t need Faith holding her back.

And, frankly, Faith doesn’t need this either — tying herself into knots, torturing herself with these pieces of Buffy she can steal every few weeks, knowing there’s no way to keep things going between them. It’s sick. It’s dangerous.

“It’s not fair,” Faith says, finally. “None of this is fair, Buff.”

“Faith?” Buffy doesn’t sound mad anymore, either, just kind of scared. “Look, I know this sucks, but—”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Faith says, feeling numb, cold inside. She tries to think of what else she could say, to explain what she’s just realized, but the words stay stuck in her throat. It’s hard to breathe. “Look, I know you’re busy. You should probably get going.”

“As soon as this is over,” Buffy says down the line, urgent. “As soon as this is over, I’ll come to you and we can talk about this — the future, what that looks like for us. I know there’s stuff we need to figure out—”

“We don’t have to wait for that, it’s not gonna be a long conversation,” Faith laughs, bitterly. “Buffy, c’mon. This is it, y’know?”

“What?” Buffy's voice is cracked glass.

Faith’s chest aches, but she pushes through the feeling. Buffy will get over it.

“This just isn’t gonna work. You get that, right?” Faith asks. “I mean, me and you? Hey, we tried, but it’s just… Our lives just don’t match up, Buffy. They’re never gonna. So let’s just quit while we’re ahead, yeah?”

“Quit while we’re ahead?” Buffy repeats, and now she sounds angry, not sad. Faith prefers it.

“I mean, we had some fun, didn’t we?” Faith says. “Let’s leave it at that.”

In the silence that unfolds, Faith thinks Buffy might have hung up. She's wrong.

“I see what you’re doing,” Buffy says, low and deadly serious. “It’s fucking pathetic, Faith. I thought you were better than that.”

Before Faith can even think of anything else to say, Buffy really does end the call.

Faith sinks down onto the edge of her bed, brings her injured hand up to her mouth, and bites down on her bleeding knuckles until the pain in her hand eclipses the dull, empty feeling in her chest.

She drifts through the next few days, waiting for the sense of relief to kick in.

Faith had been smart for once in her goddamn life, hadn’t she? She’d broken things off early, had probably spared both her and Buffy a lot of heartache and awkwardness down the line.

Okay, sure, she’s not exactly expecting any thank-you cards from Buffy over it, not anytime soon, but eventually she’ll probably realize the same thing Faith has: that it’s better to stop wasting their time now, when the ending was always going to be the same.

It’s over a week before Buffy tries calling. Faith reached out on her own, despite herself, to check in with Kennedy about how things were going over there, so she knows the worst of the crisis is over, and when Buffy’s call comes in, Faith knows it’s not an emergency. So it’s fine, actually, that Faith lets it ring out to voicemail.

It’s too soon. It’s all hard enough without Buffy to tell her what a piece of shit she’s being. She knows, okay? She knows.

Every day she wakes up with a voice in her head screaming at her for being such a fuckup about all of this. That she shouldn’t have taken it further with Buffy in the first place, that she got greedy after the first pity fuck Buffy had thrown her way, that she’d let herself take advantage of something vulnerable in Buffy.

Because she knew, didn’t she? From the start, she knew Buffy wasn’t the kind of girl who could have a good, meaningless fuck with someone and move on. And she’d known Buffy was still all messed up over Spike, over the toll that years of being the Slayer had taken on her. Faith had known but she’d been too weak and selfish to say no and she’d let herself fall in love with Buffy, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hold onto her and now they were both paying for it.

It’s miserable.

Her life turns to slaying and training. She throws herself into both with a desperate ferocity, hitting the streets hard every night, staying out until dawn. At first she ropes Rona and Lourdes into training with her, on the long mornings after she gets back from patrolling, when she’s still too wired to sleep.

“We gotta shape up,” Faith says, knocking Lourdes flat on her ass for a second time in as many minutes.

The other girl hits the mat hard, but instead of getting back to her feet she groans and sprawls out and lies there. “Jesus, Faith.”

“Aw, c’mon, that was barely a love tap,” Faith rolls her eyes, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet. “We gotta work on your stamina. You know you’d be toast right now, in the field. Vamps don’t give rest breaks.”

“Just gimme a minute,” Lourdes wheezes.

“You’ve had one,” Faith says, bouncing in place. “C’mon. Up and at ‘em.”

“Faith, chill,” Rona says, pacing the edge of the mat.

“You tagging in, Rona?” Faith rounds on her with a high kick she barely dodges.

“Whoa,” Rona yelps, dodging another helpfully telegraphed blow with a little more grace. “Faith, what the hell?”

“C’mon, show me what you got,” Faith goads, flanking Rona and driving her toward the center of the mat. Lourdes sees them coming and barely has time to roll out of the way, shakily hauling herself to her knees in the corner.

“Quit it,” Rona grunts, blocking a right cross Faith aims at her jaw. “I mean it.”

“Make me,” Faith challenges and this time she strikes out for real, catching the outside of Rona’s thigh with a swift kick. Rona stumbles and Faith gets in close, tosses another hook into her side, and backs away quickly when Rona strikes out at her on instinct.

Then it’s a fight.

Rona’s pissed, which makes her a little sloppy, but she’s also not holding back anymore. Where Faith relies on flow and instinct, Rona is more cautious and deliberate, more of a defensive fighter than Faith could ever manage to be. It works out perfectly, actually. Faith’s never minded a bruise or a busted lip — it’s a small price to pay for the feeling of exhilaration and release that comes from a good fight. She can turn her brain off, let it all go quiet, settle into her body.

They’ve stopped talking. The basement is silent but for their panting breaths, the occasional gasp of pain when someone lands a good blow, the muffled thud of flesh striking flesh.

Faith’s starting to lag, but in her defense she’s been going all night. Still, the sluggishness costs her. She takes a kick to the ribs so hard it knocks the wind out of her, and Rona doesn’t waste the opportunity. She steps in close, smashing an uppercut to Faith’s chin that sends her head flying back, black spots swimming in her vision.

Faith strikes out reflexively, succeeding in driving Rona back, even though it doesn’t connect.

“Hot damn,” Faith laughs, tasting copper, feeling it stain her teeth, tongue stinging painfully where she'd bitten into it. “There she is.”

“You’re bleeding,” Lourdes says.

“Yeah,” Faith reaches up to swipe her busted lip with the side of her thumb. She grins as it throbs, tilts her head to the side to spit out some of the blood pooling under her tongue.

“Can we stop now?” Rona asks.

“Stop? No way, it's just getting good,” Faith taunts and lunges forward.

Rona looks shaky, unsure. Part of being a good leader, if that's what Faith even counts as, is inspiring, right? And Faith’s always been able to take a punch better than anyone else she knows, so she gives up on defense, lets herself catch a few more blows for the sake of boosting Rona's confidence. She’s not really going for a win anyway, just enjoying the scrap.

Unfortunately, Rona seems to catch on after the second time she nails Faith in the jaw with a jab she could have easily ducked. “Faith, what the fuck?”

Faith shakes her head against the ringing in her ears. “C’mon.”

“No,” Rona says, dodging the sloppy cross Faith aims at her head. “We’re done.”

“We’re not done ‘til I say we’re done,” Faith says, striking out again.

Rona catches her arm this time, twisting until Faith has to let her elbow give against the pain, to keep the joint from getting mangled. Then Rona steps in quick, sweeping Faith’s legs out from under her, taking her to the mat.

“We’re done,” she growls, close to Faith’s ear. “Listen, I don’t know what your damage is. This little meltdown you’ve been having has been sad, okay, but we were trying to let you work it out on your own, since you clam up any time one of us tries to talk to you about anything lately.”

“Hey,” Faith snaps.

“Shut up,” Rona says. “I’ve heard the stories, okay? About the kind of slayer you used to be. It always seemed like bullshit, because as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been decent. I’ve never seen you try to hurt someone, just to prove you could. Not until tonight.”

That cuts right through the haze of anger that had been clouding over Faith’s mind since Rona had started dressing her down. She stops struggling, sags into the mat.

“We’re your friends,” Rona says, finally letting go of Faith, rolling onto her knees and pushing herself to standing. “When are you going to start treating us like it again?”

“I was just messing around,” Faith says, roughly, cradling her strained elbow.

“No you weren’t,” Rona sneers, stalking toward the basement stairs, with Lourdes falling into step behind her, pressing a supportive palm into the small of her back. “Get your shit together, Faith.”

She takes the training solo after that, and tries to keep it out of the house, finding an all-night gym where she can discreetly push herself, taking longer and longer jogs through the neighborhood and the park.

The slaying helps, at first, with blowing off steam, but it’s starting to run out on her. Word is out now that the Cleveland Hellmouth is being patrolled by one extremely pissed off veteran slayer with a vendetta against anything going bump in the night and most of her usual quarry has gone to ground. For once, the city is mostly safe, because all the monsters that slink around preying on its citizens are too scared to put a toe out of line and get their asses staked for it.

And it’s driving Faith crazy.

It had been another bust for slaying and with nothing left to fight, Faith contemplates turning to her other, time-honored ‘forget about Buffy’ strategy: going to sleazy bars to pick up girls. Faith’s never been too picky with women, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a type. Petite, blonde, easy, the kind of girl who, in the right sort of light, could be someone else entirely. Pathetic, she knows, but it had gotten her through enough lonely nights to never really seem worth questioning.

Of course, that was before. She’s been hitting her fair share of bars since she’d broken things off with Buffy — maybe too many, if the passive-aggressive comments Rona and Lourdes had been making at her were anything to go by. But she was being responsible about it, for the most part, sticking to the slow nights after patrol, when it didn’t matter if she made that long walk home drunk or not.

Still, she’d been shying away from her favorite old haunts, the places she’d used to pull back before she and Buffy had ever started their thing. There’d been this hole in the wall by the waterfront where she’d almost been a regular, not a gay bar exactly, but the dykes of Cleveland couldn’t seem to get enough of the joint. Couldn’t seem to get enough of Faith, either.

She ended up pacing the sidewalk across the street from it the other night, fully intending to go in, but unable to get over the sick feeling in her stomach, the churn of guilt and unease that filled her up looking at it.

Which was stupid, right? It was just a bar. She was Faith Lehane — drinking and getting hit on were two things she’d always done well. Stupid as shit to flip out about it now.

But that night, she’d come home after, still so pent up she felt like she could explode, and so she'd tried to take the edge off herself. But even her pathetic attempt to rub one out in the shower led back to thinking of Buffy and feeling too sad to get herself off. It had been the first time in her life she hadn’t been able to make herself come when she was horny and it was depressing as hell. It filled her with a vicious, smothering self loathing, the notion that she'd gotten so weak, so twisted up inside she'd broken something vital in herself. Too much of a loser to go out and fuck, too useless to even make herself come.

Well, tonight she’s getting over it. Back on the horse.

She patrols fruitlessly until it’s late, almost closing time, and heads back to the bar. This time, she makes it past the doors, shares a cool nod with the bartender, and settles into a corner stool where she orders her first drink of the night.

“Your fans missed you,” the bartender says, setting a tumbler of whiskey down in front of her. “Had to talk a few of them down from trying to find out where you lived, to see if you were still alive.”

“I look alive enough, don’t I?” Faith asks, and takes a hearty sip of her drink, relishing the burn. “Sam Adams.”

The bartender raises her eyebrows dubiously, but dutifully retrieves a bottle for her. “You trying to keep it that way?”

“Keep what?”

“Yourself,” she says, watching Faith finish her whiskey and chase it with a long pull of beer. “Alive, that is.”

“Trust me,” Faith rasps, throat raw, setting the half-drained bottle back on the bar top with a thud. “You’d notice if I wasn’t.”

She turns on her stool, leaning back against the bar with her elbows and nursing the beer as she surveys the room. Almost immediately, she catches the eye of a woman at the edge of the dance floor. She waves, like maybe Faith should know her, and leans back to whisper something to one of her friends. Then she turns and starts across the bar towards Faith.

Fuck, Faith thinks, and turns around, heart pounding, to hunch over the bar again. Nervously, she takes another gulp of beer, just for something to do with her hands. They’d barely made eye contact. Faith had turned away. Maybe the lady would take a hint.

“Hey, long time, no see. Can I get you another?” comes a voice over Faith’s shoulder because, of course, that’s her luck, isn’t it?

Faith grits her teeth for a moment, before schooling her face into something neutral, turning on her stool to look the other woman over. She’s a little older than Faith is, maybe late twenties, dishwater blonde hair falling down her back, green eyes rimmed with kohl, a beauty mark on her temple. A seven, at least, and not fucking around. Vaguely familiar, even if Faith can't put a name to her. One look and Faith knows she could go home with this woman anyway, with barely any effort on her part. She’d only have to say yes to that drink.

Maybe it would help. It’s how the old Faith would have gotten over all this. Old Faith had been decisive, would have relished the freedom of being on her own. Old Faith had always been able to handle her shit.

She might have been hung up on Buffy in some way or another for the better part of the last five years, but at least before all of this Faith had never let it rule her life. She’d never let it hold her back before.

And now here she is with a choice in front of her. She can decide to stop letting it rule her life now, right now.

She just has to say yes to a drink. And maybe yes to one more after that. Yes to a dance, to going somewhere more private, to losing herself with someone else, to letting go of Buffy for good.

“I gotta go,” Faith says instead, pushing herself away from the bar and taking a jerky step toward the door before catching herself. She leans over to slap a few bills down on the bartop. “Sorry.”

She can feel eyes on her the entire long walk to the door, can practically hear the whispers of the woman and the bartender as they watch her high-tail it out of there with her tail between her legs, like some kind of virgin. Faith’s face burns but she can’t seem to control her frantic gait, the feel of shame and guilt that swells up inside her, replaying that brief exchange. It’s like she’s malfunctioning, some busted piece of machinery that can’t even do the thing it was built to do. That would have been the easiest pull of her life and she’d practically run screaming. Fucking humiliating.

There’s no way she can go home after that. Faith lingers in dark alleyways and deserted parks, slinks through foggy cemeteries and hospital parking lots, waiting for something, anything to kill to take the edge off. The most she manages is interrupting one lousy mugging — just regular human. She breaks a guy’s wrist, sends another guy home with his wallet still in his pocket, and finally calls it a night, trudging despondently back home.

And just when she thinks it can’t get any worse, Buffy turns up.

Faith should have known something was up when she dragged herself back into the duplex on the cusp of dawn, the way the hushed voices of Rona and Lourdes in the kitchen cut out at the sound of Faith kicking the front door shut. Things are less tense between them now — Faith’s been trying to be less of an asshole. She does dishes more, goes out of her way to buy the stupid, expensive coffee beans that Rona likes, takes the trash out before it gets too full. It’s helped a little, but things are still weird. A couple nights ago, they’d sat her down like some intervention, had tried talking to her about what’s been going on, but Faith just— she can’t, right now. It’s too fucking raw. So, since then, mostly she’s been avoiding them, keeping contact to just slayer meetings and the occasional fight that requires a few extra hands.

She’s used to the judgy, annoying whispering they’ve taken up behind her back lately, so she doesn’t dwell on the way they scatter when she stomps into the room, making hasty excuses to leave the house. Going anywhere but where she is.

Whatever. Fuck ‘em, right?

Faith downs a glass of water from the sink and stands in front of the open fridge staring at its contents for a few long moments before shutting it without taking anything. Wrung-out and exhausted, now faced with a fridge in need of restocking and absolutely no will to cook, she decides she’ll just sleep it off, feed herself for real when she wakes up again in the afternoon.

In her room she throws her gear down in the corner, shucks her jacket off and reaches down for her boots before she gets that prickle in the back of her neck that tells her she’s not alone.

She knows who it will be the moment before she even looks up, feels it somewhere in her body before her eyes catch sight of Buffy perched on the edge of her bed, legs crossed, watching her expectantly.

"Jesus!" Faith blurts. Her brain and body get confused and somehow between trying to yank her boot the rest of the way off and trying to stand up straight, she ends up falling flat on her ass.

"You know, my dad used to say that people with guilty consciences startle more easily," Buffy says breezily, not even bothering to get up from the bed. “I used to think he was full of it, for that, but…”

“Buffy,” Faith says, heart pounding, nailed to the floor by the way it feels just to have her in the room. She’d thought about this moment obsessively since their last phone call, what she’d do when she saw Buffy again, what she’d say, what she’d feel.

She’s been so angry lately — at herself, at Buffy, at Rona and Lourdes, at the weather, at everything — but when she reaches for that feeling it turns to smoke in her hands, drifting away. Even that heavy, suffocating despair that clings to her like tar feels faded and dull.

Mostly, it just feels good to look at Buffy again. A wave of guilt accompanies the realization — who the hell is she to feel good looking at Buffy, after what she said to her last time they talked? — but it doesn’t change the fact that despite everything, having Buffy’s eyes on her quiets something restless in Faith’s chest.

“Uh, what are you doin’ here?” Faith finally manages. It’s too late to play it cool, but she tries to look intentional and at ease as she sits on the floor, untying the laces of her boots with deliberate slowness to buy herself some time. It’s also a pretty good excuse to look at something else besides Buffy.

“I told you I’d be coming after we took care of the Clan of Mazzarod thing,” Buffy reminds her. Faith can’t get a bead on her tone and it’s making her nervous. “I know this might sound crazy to you, Faith, but there’s this hot new trend I’m really into called saying what you mean.”

Faith flinches. Okay, that tone she’s familiar enough with. And if Buffy’s come here to yell at her then, fine, it’s not like Faith doesn’t deserve it. She’ll take whatever Buffy wants to dish out, it’s only fair, but part of her wants to just put her head down on the floor and wait it out without having to participate.

“Yeah,” Faith finally croaks, stupidly, shakily. She clenches her hands into fists when her fingers won’t stop shaking to unlace her other boot. “Sounds crazy.”

“Faith,” Buffy says, voice still firm, but markedly less harsh. “Will you at least look at me?”

Faith nods, letting out a deep breath and forcing herself to relax. She takes her time, finally taking off her last boot, shifting to sit cross-legged on the floor before glancing over at Buffy across the apartment. “Hey, Buffy.”

“Hey,” Buffy sighs and for the first time, Faith can see how exhausted she looks. “So, I’m here now. Do you want to try breaking up with me again?”

“Again?” Faith repeats, dumbly.

“The first time didn’t count. I mean over the phone. Really?” Buffy glares and Faith winces. “So, if you want it to stick, here’s your chance: but you’ve got to say it all again to my face this time.”

“I…” It sounds like a joke, or some kind of cosmic torture, but Faith can tell from the wrinkle in Buffy’s brow, the sour twist at the corner of her mouth, that she’s expecting a real answer. “C'mon, B, don’t be like this…”

“Why?” Buffy asks, all wide-eyed and faux confused. “Is it, like, messed up to spring an emotional trap on you out of nowhere?”

“Okay, I get it, I didn’t handle that well,” Faith says.

“No, you didn’t handle it at all. I told you that didn’t count,” Buffy says, rising to her feet slowly and stalking across the apartment. She stops a few feet away from Faith, leaning her hip against the arm of the couch, looking down at her. “But, hey, if you really want to dump me, then dump me now. I’m right here.”

It’s a strange cocktail of emotions: there’s that dumb, automatic part of Faith that’s still just happy to see Buffy; there’s the part of her that feels dizzy, choked with hope over the sudden, unexpected chance to do this all over again; and there’s the part that’s simmering with annoyance, resenting the fact that Buffy always has to push, to lecture Faith about everything she does wrong.

Of course Buffy would know better, of course she’d fly all the way across the country to rub Faith’s nose in this, and of course she’d be this fucking condescending about it.

“Okay, fuck, whatever,” Faith huffs, sick to her stomach but not able to shut her stupid mouth up. “We’re done, Buffy. It’s over.”

“Great. So convincing,” Buffy snorts and Faith feels the back of her neck heat up in anger. “One more time, say it like you mean it. Try looking me in the eye, this time.”

“Why are you making this so hard?” Faith snaps, cornered and embarrassed.

“Why are you?” Buffy shouts back. Faith can’t help the feeling of triumph that surges through her at having finally made Buffy lose her cool, petty as it is. “Why do you always do this? What happened to ‘you deserve to be happy?’”

“What happened is I decided to stop kidding myself over this. I’m not gonna make you happy,” Faith hates having to say it, when it feels so obvious. When she’s already proving it now, to both of them. “Not for long. C’mon, Buffy, get real.”

“Get real?”

“I mean, look at us! We live on different continents, sure, but they might as well be different planets. You’re the savior of the whole fucking world! General Buffy, leader of the entire top secret slayer organization. Me? Literally just a fuckup ex-con. I mean, I killed people. Think of something a slayer shouldn’t do, I can basically guarantee I’ve already done it. Jesus, I can’t even keep any fish alive in that goddamn thing,” Faith flings an arm out toward her empty aquarium, then flicks her head back to gesture at the apartment, dimly lit and sparsely furnished. “Look around you. Christ, this is me doing good, this is the best it’s ever been, and there’s no way in hell it’s ever gonna be enough for you.”

“Do you realize that if anyone else was saying these things to me about you right now I’d have already kicked their ass?” Buffy asks.

“Well, what’s stopping you?” Faith hadn’t expected a fight — not like that, anyway — but she doesn’t think she’d mind one. If all it took to let Buffy get this out of her system was to submit to a good old fashioned slayer ass-beating, Faith could handle that. It’s not like she didn’t have it coming.

“That’s never actually solved anything for us,” Buffy says, crossing her arms and shifting around. “Is that why you think I’m here? To tear you down? Fight you?”

“It’s not like I don’t deserve it,” Faith says.

“That's not who we are to each other anymore,” Buffy says. “You don’t deserve that.”

“Why not?” Faith challenges. “I hurt you. I said some really shitty things.”

“You did. So tell me why,” Buffy finally draws closer, leaning back into the armrest of Faith’s sofa, a few feet away. “Why do you want to break up?”

Faith feels exhausted from the entire evening: the aimless roaming, the aborted visit to the bar, the circular argument with Buffy. She’s tired and broken and her ass is starting to go numb from sitting on the floor like this. She can tell Buffy won't let her off easy. Time to put it all out on the table — it’s not like she’s got any pride left to protect, might as well just get this all over with, once and for all.

“Because you're gonna leave anyway, eventually. You’re going to get sick of flying around the world just to see me. You’re gonna want something that makes more sense for you. I'm just speeding up the process,” Faith starts out strong, holding onto that last spark of anger as tight as she can. But it doesn’t make a difference in the end; she loses her grip, her voice splits the last word right down the middle and Buffy hears it. “I mean, seriously, what's the point in dragging it out? Why keep pretending that there’s a way to make this work? That it’s worth it for you?”

“Who’s pretending?” Buffy snaps. “I want you, Faith—”

“You want somebody,” Faith counters, a block of ice in her chest. She's been trying not to think about this the entire time, but it's impossible to avoid right now: the fact that Buffy has a type and Faith fits it pretty well. Damaged goods, fucked-up losers who ignite that protective streak in her. People who are bad for her. “Look, I know it's hard, doing what we do. And it's gotta be lonely at the top. We’ve got history, y'know? There’s always been that thing between us… we get each other, in a way that’s different from anybody else. That means something. But it doesn’t change the fact that there’s no place in your life for me.”

There. Cards down.

“Stop. Can we flip the tape? This side’s getting boring,” Buffy crosses her arms.

“Oh fuck off," Faith snaps, stung, humiliated. "I'm pouring my heart out over here and you're acting like it's some joke."

“You’re just making excuses, Faith. I get that this is hard for you, but quit acting like you’re doing me some favor, when we both know you’re freaking out because you’re terrified right now.”

“Calling me a coward again, huh?” Faith asks, since she can’t actually deny it.

“If the shoe fits,” Buffy quips. “I mean you ran again, didn't you? It's kind of your signature move."

"First rule of slaying: play to your strengths, right?" Faith cringes a little at the bitterness in her own voice. "I'm good at leaving, Buffy. I'm no good at staying."

"You've stayed here.”

"Staying here has been easy," Faith admits.

"So, I'm worth it when it's easy, but not when it's hard?" Buffy challenges.

Faith’s stomach drops. God, she can’t ever say anything right. "That's not what I meant."

"That's how it feels! I can never tell where I stand with you, Faith. I always have to try to figure out what’s going on with you based on some cryptic clue or something you let slip on accident, and whenever I get it wrong you blow up," Buffy says, running a frustrated hand through her hair. "When we're together everything feels… right. It feels like you really care about me. About us. But then I go back home and you get all distant and then you tell me you want to call it off? Look, I didn’t come here to beg you to be with me, okay? If you really want to break up with me then do it. But at least own the fact that you’re not doing this for me. I’m here telling you I want to try, and you’re telling me it’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.”

“Buffy,” Faith says, helplessly. “That’s not—”

“I’ll make it really simple,” Buffy cuts in, voice calm and serious. “Do you want to be together or not?”

Say no, say no, say no, Faith tells herself. That would really end it, wouldn’t it? And she could start moving on. Get back to normal. Say no.

Buffy’s waiting for an answer.

Say no.

“It’s not that simple, B,” Faith says instead, rubbing her temples. Her head aches. She doesn't know how to make Buffy understand. What Faith wants doesn't matter - she's never gotten it before and she doesn't expect that to change now.

“It could be,” Buffy insists. “What are you so scared of?”

“I’m scared of what it’s gonna feel like when it’s over,” Faith takes a deep, shuddering breath, full of snot, held back tears. This sucks. “I wanted you for years, but I never thought I actually had a shot. I didn’t think about what it would be like, if you wanted me back and now that you do all I can think about is how bad it’s gonna mess me up when you stop.”

“Why are you so sure that I’m going to stop?” Buffy asks, pleading for the first time. “I know it took me a while to get here and I’m sorry if it hurt you to wait me out, but I’ve been trying to—”

“No, you were… that’s not it,” Faith says. Waiting for Buffy hadn’t been hard. In fact, if she could go back to it, Faith probably would — that holding pattern they’d been in hadn’t been so bad, had it? When Faith had wanted Buffy, but knew she couldn’t have her. When Buffy had been with Satsu and there was nothing to risk, nothing to hope for. She hadn’t been happy, exactly, but she’d known how to deal. She knew how to be okay with it. “I don’t know how to do any of this. How to be with someone and be good at it.”

“You could have fooled me,” Buffy says. At least she just sounds tired this time, not as angry as before. She pads across the floor on socked feet, hesitating for a moment before sinking down on the floor beside her. Faith fights the urge to shift away from her, terrified by just how much her sudden proximity makes Faith feel like crumbling. “You were doing pretty good at it before you psyched yourself out about it.”

“You can’t fool all the people all the time or whatever,” Faith mumbles.

“I don’t know how to ride a motorcycle,” Buffy says, abruptly, reaching out to take Faith’s hand.

She’s too startled to pull away. “What?”

“I’ve never driven a motorcycle before. Don’t know the first thing about it,” Buffy says. “But I bet I could learn. I bet you could help me.”

Oh. Faith shakes her head, “That’s not the same.”

“It’s not that different,” Buffy squeezes her hand. “Falling in love, riding a motorcycle. You could get hurt doing both, right?”

Faith’s chest goes tight. “Falling…?”

“I mean, it’s ‘falling’ in love, not landing, for a reason, right? ‘Cause it’s a little scary, ‘cause it’s a risk,” Buffy continues, voice soft. She’s not looking at Faith now, has her gaze trained on their clasped hands. “But it doesn’t have to hurt. It’s not like you’re doing it alone.”

“Buffy,” Faith can feel her palms sweating. She tries pulling away, but Buffy holds on tighter, looks at her straight on.

“You love to tell me how good you are at seeing through me, Faith. How even when I’m trying to hide something, or be something else, you can tell what I really want. How I really feel. Well, that goes both ways.”

Faith feels frozen in the intensity of Buffy’s gaze, can’t duck out of the way when Buffy reaches up with her other hand and brushes a stray curl out of Faith’s face.

She’s so beautiful it hurts to look at her, backlit by the table lamp across the room, like a halo, the pads of her fingers still just barely grazing the scar Faith had earned for her in New Mexico. It takes everything in Faith not to turn her face away again or to lean back from the contact.

“I know you love me,” Buffy says simply and Faith feels it like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus. She shudders, snaps her eyes shut, and the pressure in her chest feels heavy enough to snap her ribs into a million pieces. “Remember what else you said to me? The way you know what I don’t want to say yet? Because you’re just like me. Because I—”

“Don’t,” Faith finally breaks, reaching up and grabbing Buffy’s hand desperately. She squeezes, tight, and begs her, “Don’t say it, please.”

“Why?” Buffy asks, soft, earnest. She loosens Faith’s grip on her hand and rotates her wrist carefully threading their fingers together in a gentler clasp. “Why don’t you want to hear it?”

“‘Cause it’s not… You wouldn’t mean it,” Faith says, and God, it sounds so stupid when she says it out loud. Futilely, she tries to clarify, to translate the feeling in her chest into something Buffy could parse. “I mean, it’s not your fault, but you couldn’t. It’s not…”

“Why couldn’t I mean it?”

“People don’t feel like that about me.” It sounds like she’s whining, but she’s not. It’s a simple statement of fact. A true thing that’s always been true. “I’m not good for that. Christ, my own mother couldn’t love me. Why should you?”

Faith has tried, after a few clumsy, awkward slip-ups in her youth, to not talk about her mother or anyone else in her family to Buffy or her friends. Or at all, really. Even now, letting that fact slip feels shameful and dramatic. She doesn’t expect Buffy to be able to understand — Buffy had been loved since the day she was born, by Joyce and her dickhead dad and everyone else who’d ever met her and spent any real time with her. She couldn’t possibly realize that Faith was a black hole for that stuff. Any love Buffy poured into her would be wasted.

“Faith,” Buffy sighs and slides closer and now, secrets stripped out, there’s nothing to hold Faith up. She crumples into Buffy’s arms, shivering against her like something weak and wounded, too exhausted to hold out any longer. “You need to listen to me.”

“Buffy,” Faith pleads, and, God, she sounds scared. She sounds small. Shame burns the back of her neck and she wishes she wasn’t so fucked up, that she could just be normal, be the kind of person who didn’t melt down over something that should be good.

“Shh, I won’t. I won’t say it if you’re not ready to hear it, I won’t,” Buffy promises. A tide of relief and even more shame sweeps through Faith and she clenches her hands into fists to resist the urge to bury her face in them instead. “It’s… I get why you’re scared, okay? I get why you ran. But it hurt, when you did that. You know that, right? That you hurt me?”

“I’m sorry,” Faith mumbles.

"When you said it was just fun," Buffy continues, "you sounded just like…"

"Like Angel," Faith fills in, stomach sinking with guilt.

"Angelus," Buffy corrects, quietly. "But he isn’t the only person to ever treat me like that. And, yeah, okay, it’s been a long time since he… did what he did to me. And I knew you said it to hurt me so I'd leave you alone, but it still made me go back to that place."

"I'm sorry," Faith repeats, chest aching. "Buffy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I didn't think about…"

“I forgive you,” Buffy says. “But it can’t keep happening. You can’t keep pushing me away. You can’t keep running from me every time it gets hard. You have to give me a chance to fight for you. You need to trust me, Faith.”

“It's hard. You have no idea,” Faith says finally, pulling back to meet Buffy’s eyes. “You have no idea how bad you could fuck me up, Buffy.”

Buffy swallows, reaches out and slides her fingers up the hem of Faith’s shirt, just enough to trace her scar.

“That’s nothing,” Faith rasps, shaking her head. There’s no way to explain how Faith would take a knife to the gut from Buffy any day of the week over being left alone. She doesn't know how to take the desperate, shameful hunger she can never quite shake, and put it into words.

“You’ve hurt me too,” Buffy says, quiet.

“I know,” Faith blinks hard against the pressure of tears stinging her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I don’t wanna keep doing that.”

“So stop,” Buffy says, squeezing Faith closer to her, leaning her forehead into Faith’s temple, so that when she speaks Faith can feel every puff of air past her lips. “You can stop, Faith.”

“I don’t know how,” Faith croaks, throat full of splinters. The next moment is the one where Buffy will throw her hands up, will decide she’s had enough, will walk away. Faith knows it. She knows it and she keeps talking anyway. “I don’t know how to stop making things worse.”

“We can figure out a different way,” Buffy says, and doesn’t leave. Instead, she kisses Faith’s forehead, cradles Faith’s face in her hands. She’s warm and she’s close and every word she speaks pours over Faith like rainwater on a cold morning, bracing and inescapable. “We can learn to do this a way that doesn’t hurt, but we need to help each other."

Faith shudders and leans into Buffy, sniffing hard against the tears clogging the back of her throat. She wants help. She wants to stop.

“I trust you," Buffy says, slow, pulling back to look Faith in the eye. "Do you trust me back?”

“Yeah." That part is easy. What Faith doesn't trust is everything else. "You know I do.”

“So be with me,” Buffy says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

And for the first time, Faith lets herself believe that it could be. Because Buffy’s not just saying it: she’s offering proof. It’s the look on her face like she needs Faith to say yes, it’s her warm palms gentle against Faith’s jaw, it’s the way she'd flown across an ocean just to ask Faith for this, after Faith had given her every reason not to.

It’s the way she’s stayed.

Faith shakes her head, leaning hard into Buffy and laughs weakly. “Fuck, B. You really wanna do this, huh?”

“I do,” Buffy says.

“With me?”

“Yeah.”

“Even after all that?”

“Believe it or not,” Buffy smiles then pauses. “I mean, just believe it, actually. This whole thing kind of hinges on that.”

“You’re crazy,” Faith says.

“So I’ve been told,” Buffy murmurs, eyes half-lidded, hand drifting up to cup the curve of Faith’s jaw. Her palms are warm and the feel of them on her skin crushes all the air out of Faith’s lungs.

There’s no point in arguing anymore, not when Buffy’s lips are so close to hers. Faith gives up, leans in the rest of the way and kisses her apology into Buffy’s mouth.

The kiss is long and slow, with Buffy's hands cupping Faith's face, her tongue sweet and insistent against Faith's lips until they part for her.

A moment later, Buffy pulls back, brows knitting slightly, the pad of her thumb teasing Faith's lower lip. "You taste like alcohol."

"Oh. Yeah, I stopped by the bar after patrol," Faith admits, guiltily. Should she tell Buffy about that woman? But nothing happened, she'd barely looked. She hadn't even accepted the drink. But was it lying not to mention it at all? Fuck. "I paid for my own drink. Someone tried to buy me one, but I left, okay? Nothing happened."

"I'm not worried about that," Buffy says, absently, like it’s nothing, like of course she trusts Faith that way and then leans in to press a reassuring peck to the side of Faith's mouth. "It's just— well, Rona and Lourdes said you've been drinking more lately."

"You talked to them about me?"

"Well, you weren't exactly taking my calls," Buffy huffs and then winces. "I was just worried. But, I'm sorry if that crossed a line. Trust me, I don't want to be that girlfriend but—"

"Hey, wait," Faith interrupts, nipping at Buffy's thumb to shut her up. "Uh, girlfriend?"

“Yeah,” Buffy shoots Faith a look like she’s being a total dope and Faith thinks maybe she’d be embarrassed if it didn’t feel like a thousand lights inside her just got flipped on all at once. “Did you miss the part where we’ve been dating for like four months?”

“Oh,” Faith says.

“Plus, you just failed the speech check required to break up with me,” Buffy chirps, wrapping her arms around Faith’s neck and sliding into her lap. She drops a quick kiss on Faith’s grinning mouth. “Too bad, so sad.”

“Speech check?” Faith snorts, meeting Buffy with her own playful kiss to take any sting out of it. “Don’t tell me you finally let Andrew rope you into one of his nerdy-ass Dungeons & Dragons games.”

“No comment,” Buffy says and leans in close, pressing her tits against Faith’s, kissing her on the chin, up her jaw, the swell of her cheek before finally landing on Faith’s mouth.

“Hey, wait,” Faith pulls back. “No way. I gotta hear all about the great Buffy Summers getting her nerd on—”

“Hey, Faith,” Buffy interrupts, smiling sweetly and leaning back to meet her eye. “Would you really rather be making fun of me than making out with me right now?”

Faith shakes her head.

“Thought so,” Buffy smirks and pulls Faith into another kiss.

It’s like slipping into a warm bath, or wrapping up in a favorite blanket, kissing Buffy again like this. It feels more like home than any place Faith has ever lived.

The thought pops into her head while Buffy shifts closer, pressing flush against Faith, her nails scraping lightly at the nape of Faith’s neck.

It sends her heart racing, makes her break away, gasping.

Buffy hums softly, kissing Faith’s brow and running her hands through Faith’s hair. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Faith trails off, distracted by the feeling of Buffy touching her.

“You sure?” Buffy asks, pulling back finally, to look Faith in the eye.

Faith nods, leans in to kiss her again. There’s a little more heat to it this time, though the pace stays relaxed, unhurried.

Again, it’s Faith who breaks away. “Uh, actually…”

“Hmm?” Buffy nuzzles the side of Faith’s neck, drags her lips slowly up the column of Faith’s throat.

“My ass is kinda falling asleep over here,” Faith admits, shifting uncomfortably on the floor. “Could we take this somewhere else?”

Buffy snorts a laugh but scrambles to her feet, offering Faith her hand and pulling her up after. Buffy twines their fingers together, has just taken a step toward Faith’s bedroom when a loud growl from Faith’s stomach forces them both to pause.

Buffy laughs again and Faith is mortified to feel a blush coming on. “Ignore that,” she mumbles, closing the distance between them and shutting Buffy up with a kiss.

It only works for a moment before Buffy pulls away, changing directions and pulling Faith towards the door out of her apartment instead. “No, c’mon, you need to eat something.”

“I’m not disagreeing,” Faith tries one more time, slipping in close behind Buffy, wrapping her arms around Buffy’s waist and tugging her back into Faith’s body. She pitches her voice low, speaks into the place where Buffy’s neck meets her shoulder. “I could eat.”

And, just to put a point on it, she rolls her hips forward into Buffy’s ass, licks her skin.

Buffy shivers in her arms for a moment before pulling away with a sigh. “Later. If you behave. Right now, you’re going to let me make you something fast.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Faith insists, driven by the sudden hot, tight coil of guilt in her chest that the thought of Buffy cooking for her has set there. It's different with Rona or Lourdes, when they cook in a group or switch off on the weekends. For Buffy to do this is something else, something that makes her want to get small, to apologize. "You don't have to do stuff like that for me."

“I know,” Buffy says, pausing in the doorway and turning around to give Faith a sweet, short peck on the lips. “I want to. Let me?”

And how could she say no?

It’s surreal, sitting at her kitchen table, watching Buffy bustle around between the fridge and the stove, whipping up a plate of French toast like it’s something they do every day. She looks beautiful hunched over the counter, frowning down in concentration at the egg batter she’s whisking, bathed in golden morning light that pours in through the kitchen window.

Faith might be clueless about this kind of casual domestic etiquette, but she knows enough to swallow back the apology to Buffy that lingers at the back of her throat. She can’t quite shake the feeling that she’s doing something wrong, sitting around being waited on, but Buffy already shooed her back to the table when she’d tried to help earlier.

“Not trying to sound ungrateful,” Faith starts, tapping her fingers restlessly against the tabletop as she watches Buffy carefully begin frying the slices of toast, “but you didn’t have to go through all the trouble. I would have put out for a granola bar and a cup of coffee.”

Buffy snorts a laugh and Faith feels the tight ball of anxiety in her gut dissolve a little.

“I’m trying to impress you with my womanly appeal and domestic prowess,” Buffy says, tossing Faith a smile over her shoulder. “Is it working?”

“Pretty well,” Faith murmurs. It takes everything in her to stay seated, to not walk across the kitchen and push Buffy back up into the countertop and make her come right there, in that patch of sunlight. “Wouldn’t hurt if you showed a little more skin.”

She fires off her best shit-eating grin to help sell the joke and Buffy rolls her eyes and throws a dish towel at her face.

For all the elaborate fantasies Faith has had about Buffy over the years, this is one she’d never even bothered to conjure up: Buffy, in her home, making Faith something warm to eat. Buffy bringing her a plate of french toast drowned in syrup, sitting across from Faith, the very picture of the life Faith wanted too badly to even let herself dream up.

“Nothing smart to say?” Buffy challenges, cutting into her food.

Faith tries. Legitimately, she wants to think of something clever or funny to say, some way to feel calm and comfortable, not breathless and nearly overwhelmed with love. She can’t think of anything.

“Do you have to sit so far away?” she asks, instead. “Not that I’m not enjoying the view, but…”

It’s that easy. That’s really all it takes. Before can even let herself feel embarrassed for being so obvious, so needy, Buffy’s across the table, in her lap. It’s awkward and sweet and not a very smart way to eat breakfast, but it smothers the last embers of the guilt in Faith’s belly.

After, Faith insists on doing the dishes, to give herself a chance to process the hurricane of emotion battering her ribcage. Buffy heads upstairs, and Faith takes her time at the sink, lingering until the last of the dishes are clean and she feels settled enough inside to follow.

Back in the apartment, Buffy waits for her. She’s spread out on Faith’s bed, stripped down to her underwear, a little paler now than she’d been back in their sun-drenched California days. She doesn’t notice Faith at first, laying on her side, propped on her elbow while she flips through a magazine.

It feels so damn good just to look at her.

It’s still scary, how good it feels, how much Faith wants this but this time she breathes through it, replaying Buffy’s words about trust, about finding another way through, and lets them carry her forward.

She shucks off her own pants and socks before she makes it to the bed, slides up against Buffy’s back in just her t-shirt and panties, dropping a wet kiss to Buffy’s shoulder blade from behind, unclasping her bra and sliding the straps down. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Buffy returns, wriggling back into her, shifting her arms to let her bra fall away completely. “Is this okay?”

“What? Yeah.”

“You sure?” Buffy’s voice is warm, patient, but her eyes are sparkling with mischief. “‘Cause if you want I can go make up the sofa—”

“Oh my god,” Faith groans, burying her face in the nape of Buffy’s neck.

“Sorry, the fold-out—”

“Will you shut up? Damn,” Faith grouses, biting the curve of Buffy’s shoulder lightly in retaliation.

“I can think of a few ways you might get me to do that,” Buffy says lowly, shoving her magazine off the bed and twisting in Faith’s arms until they’re face to face.

Despite everything, Faith feels herself starting to get anxious a few minutes into making out. She can’t get out of her own head, can’t stop thinking about how she’d hurt Buffy on purpose because she’d been scared, how even with all of Buffy’s reassurances that this was something they could learn how to do together, Faith’s not convinced she won’t find a way to fuck it all up again.

She knows Buffy can feel the tension, because she slows them way down.

“You okay?” she asks, softly, tracing Faith’s lips with the pad of her finger.

“Yeah,” Faith rasps, a little shakily.

“You sure?” A kiss. Soft. “We can stop.”

Faith pauses to think about it, to consider if this was some sort of vague rejection and if she should be upset about it.

But Buffy’s face is patient, open, and intent. No hint of boredom or disinterest.

Faith relaxes, fractionally, and shakes her head.

“I’ve missed you,” Buffy whispers, mouthing her way along the curve of Faith’s jaw.

“Me too,” Faith rasps, pressing her palms flat against the warm skin of Buffy’s lower back, to ground herself.

“I want you,” Buffy breathes into Faith’s neck. She pauses, reaching down and grabbing one of Faith’s hands, tugging it up to press it palm-flat against her chest. “Feel that?”

Her heart is pounding into Faith’s hand. She nods, wordlessly.

“Can I have you, Faith?” Buffy asks, lips dragging across Faith’s skin when she speaks.

“I’m yours,” Faith croaks. Her voice feels weak, but the confession crashes through the room like a clap of thunder just the same. She hears Buffy’s breath catch in her throat.

Then Buffy’s sitting up, coaxing Faith’s arms up over her head so she can tug the t-shirt off of her. She’s guiding Faith onto her back on the bed, leaning down to cover Faith’s tits in kisses and bites, drawing Faith’s aching nipples into her mouth, ferocious and tender all at once.

Faith wants to be patient, she does, but it’s hard. Buffy pours her kisses onto Faith’s skin like molasses, sweet, sticky, slow. Faith pants and writhes underneath her, curling her hands into fists in Buffy’s hair, tugging and cursing to no effect.

“Enough,” Buffy admonishes gently, delivering a careful nip to the side of Faith’s breast in warning. She detangles Faith’s hands from her hair, guiding them back to the pillow over Faith’s head, crossing them at the wrist. “These stay here. Or I stop. Okay?”

She waits until Faith, near delirious with want, manages a nod.

It’s hot, Buffy taking control like this again. As much as it’s hard to lay back, stay still, be patient, Faith can’t deny that there’s something like relief in doing it because Buffy asked, because Buffy wants it, because it’s going to please her. So she clenches her teeth and tries to stay put while Buffy toys with her, humming into her skin.

“Buffy,” Faith finally breaks, voice cracking down the middle. “Buffy, please…”

“What?” Buffy murmurs around Faith’s nipple, glancing up at her through her eyelashes. Faith’s so wet that the panties plastered against her cunt are almost unbearably uncomfortable. She shifts minutely against the sensation. Buffy notices, slipping a hand down to press Faith’s thigh into the bed. “What, Faith?”

“I…”

“You want more?” Buffy's eyes are blazing. She knows.

“Yeah," Faith says anyway.

“Ask me then,” Buffy says.

“You’re killing me,” Faith groans. “I’m so fuckin' horny for you I can’t stand it.”

“Not hearing a question,” Buffy teases, and pushes herself up so that her body hovers over Faith’s, not touching her.

“Fuck,” Faith groans, clenching her fists above her head. “Touch me, B, c’mon. Play with my pussy or—”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish. Buffy slips her hand down to cup Faith’s cunt over her panties, gasping a little at the feel of her. She rubs Faith hard through the material, the sensation overwhelmingly powerful and frustratingly muted at once.

“You only had to ask. This whole time, you just had to ask me,” Buffy says, kissing her way back up Faith’s chest to suck Faith’s earlobe into her mouth. “I want to take care of you.”

Faith shivers, bucking up against Buffy’s hand before she can stop herself. “Can I touch you now?”

“Yes,” Buffy says and Faith immediately sinks her hands into Buffy’s hair, tugging her up into a desperate kiss. She hooks her knee over Buffy’s hip, twisting her body so she can grind up into her hand better. “Is that good?”

“Yeah,” the word turns to a high, desperate cry on its way out of Faith’s mouth, when Buffy slides her fingers down Faith’s pussy, pressing up teasingly against her entrance through the fabric.

“You want these off?”

Faith nods, desperate, wordless and Buffy finally tugs the underwear off and away. Then, she pauses, contemplative.

Faith groans in frustration, pressing her head back against the pillows, hard. “Okay, you made your point, I— I’ll ask. I’ll learn how to ask you for more, but can you just please fuck me already?”

Buffy blinks back into the conversation. “Sorry. Wait a minute, I was thinking…”

Buffy’s sudden hesitation has Faith intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Um, do you remember that time we talked about…” Buffy trails off, looking suddenly shy, tucking a stray lock of hair back behind her ear before she continues. “Where’s your strap-on?”

“Oh,” Faith says, heart nearly pounding out of her chest. “Uh, hang on, I’ll get it.”

She nearly falls flat onto her face, scrambling to get out of bed, and she knows Buffy saw it because she hears her laugh. Still, Faith is undeterred, getting to her knees beside the bed and reaching under the frame for her box of toys.

She grabs the harness first, yanking it out of the box briskly, before waving Buffy over. “Come pick one.”

Cautiously, she feels Buffy approach, standing behind her to peer over her shoulder. “Oh. Uh, wow. Variety.”

It’s really not that many dildos, Faith thinks, but for someone as uptight as Buffy, maybe it all seems a little overwhelming. Faith reaches into the box, shoving aside the stuff they won’t need — a vibrator, the fuzzy handcuffs she’s never actually used, some nipple clamps she doesn't remember buying — and gesturing to the toys that fit the harness.

“Any of these,” Faith says, trying to keep the giddiness out of her voice.

“Um, I think you should pick,” Buffy says, reaching down to pluck the harness carefully off the ground. She holds it out in front of her, inspecting it like she would a new piece of slaying equipment she'd never encountered before: half wary, half excited. “And can you maybe help me with this?”

“Oh,” Faith says again, feeling nearly dizzy with want when it all clicks into place. “You’re going to wear it.”

“Yeah,” Buffy says, finally tearing her gaze away from the harness to meet Faith’s eyes. “If that’s okay?”

“I mean, I might die, but I'm cool with that. Worth it,” Faith grins, shifting on her knees to face Buffy. She reaches up and takes the harness out of Buffy’s hands, fitting one of the dildos through the o-ring and holding it out for her. “Here, like this.”

There’s something indescribably intimate about this part. Guiding Buffy into the harness, running her hands up the length of Buffy’s legs as she tightens the straps, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss to the side of her knee. Feeling Buffy’s hands reach down to gently thread into Faith’s hair, gratitude pouring out in the careful scrape of her nails across Faith’s scalp.

Faith mouths her way up Buffy’s thigh, to calm the nerves she can feel radiating off of her. She takes her time, checking in with Buffy as she goes, making sure she’s got it fitted well and comfortably before leaning back on her heels to stare at Buffy.

God, it’s a lot to take in.

Buffy’s looking down anxiously at herself, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do I look stupid?”

“You look hot,” Faith breathes, settling on her knees in front of Buffy, running her hands up Buffy’s thighs again. “You look like you’re about to fucking rail me.”

“Oh.”

“I wanna suck you off,” Faith announces, dragging her nose up the inside of Buffy’s thigh. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Buffy's voice is throaty and her eyes are wide.

As nervous as Buffy clearly is, Faith feels full to the brim with breathless anticipation and a shameless, urgent sort of need. She can feel Buffy watching, decides to make it as much of a show as she can, grabbing the base of the dildo and pushing the harness back against Buffy’s pussy until she feels her gasp and jerk against it. Then Faith dips her head, tongue out, dragging it slowly up the length of the dildo, keeping her eyes locked on Buffy’s as she goes.

“God,” Buffy whispers, a little dazed.

Faith grins and takes the toy into her mouth. She gets to work, building up a rhythm, pumping the base of the toy with her fist, making sure she keeps grinding it against Buffy’s cunt, while working as much of the rest of it into her mouth as she can. She can feel the tension in Buffy’s body transforming, going from stiff and uncomfortable, to keyed up and eager.

“You like this?” Faith asks, pulling off. “Me on my knees for you?”

“Yeah,” Buffy replies, breathlessly. Tentatively, she winds her hand into Faith’s hair, watching Faith’s face intently.

“You wanna fuck my mouth, Buffy?” Faith asks, nodding subtly and feeling Buffy tighten her grip in response. It sends a shiver down Faith’s spine. “I know you do. I can tell. Do it, then. Make me your bitch.”

Buffy hesitates, then applies the barest hint of pressure to the back of Faith’s head, and well, Faith can work with that. She takes the toy into her mouth again, wrapping her hands around the back of Buffy’s thighs and relaxing her throat to take it deeper than before. She gags, but barely, and Buffy immediately tries to tug her backwards.

Faith resists, pulling back only enough for a mouthful of air and then taking it into her mouth again. She moans around the toy, slurping obscenely as she pulls off of it again with a pop. Buffy looks torn, like she isn’t sure if she’s allowed to enjoy this or not.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Faith says, dragging her tongue up the length of the dildo again, moaning hungrily. She watches Buffy’s eyes flutter shut, feels the hand in her hair tighten again. “C'mon, I want you to use me, Buffy. Make me choke on it. Make me gag for you. I’m already down here on my knees, all you have to do is put me to work.”

“Fuck,” Buffy whispers and nods. “Really? I don’t want to be too much. You don’t have to—"

"Trust me, if I wanted you to make this easy on me I would’ve picked something smaller. Use me. I can take it," Faith insists, licking her way up the strap-on again, eyes locked on Buffy’s. "I want it."

"Oh. Okay, yeah," Buffy tightens her fist in Faith's hair again, winding it around her hand until it just starts to hurt. "Suck me, then.”

Faith grins and works her way down the length of the toy again. Buffy guides her this time, more confidently. Faith had picked this toy thinking more about how it would feel when Buffy worked it into her cunt than the challenge it would pose to her mouth. It's not easy; the longer she works it the more her jaw aches, but it’s a good kind of ache. It’s an ache that earns her the gradually increased roll of Buffy’s hips as she starts to thrust lazily into Faith’s mouth. It earns her muttered curses and whimpers from Buffy’s lips when Faith decides to push herself, relaxing her throat, and sinking down onto the toy even further, almost to the hilt.

“Oh my god,” Buffy whispers, breathless, her hands shaking as they push through Faith's curls. Faith goes hot all over. It feels good to surprise her, to impress her. It feels good to give her something else that no one ever has, to be the only one she’s let touch her like this. “Oh my god, you… Faith, you’re so… you’re such a slut for me, aren’t you?”

It catches Faith off-guard enough to make her lose her concentration and choke. She pulls back, eyes watering, struggling not to cough, and stares wide-eyed up at Buffy. Her heart is racing and her thighs are a sticky mess and all she wants is to hear Buffy say it again.

Buffy leaves one hand in Faith’s hair but takes the other and wraps it around the base of the dildo, rocking her hips up into it and guiding it back toward Faith’s mouth.

“Aren’t you?” Buffy prompts again, running the tip of the toy teasingly across Faith’s lips.

“Fuck, yeah. I am,” Faith pants, voice reduced to a low, broken mess, before drawing the dildo into her mouth again. She swirls her tongue around it and sucks hard, hollowing out her cheeks, letting Buffy thrust roughly into her mouth a few more times before breaking off again. “I’m your slut, Buffy. I’m such a fucking whore for you.”

“Yeah, you are,” Buffy holds Faith in place, her hand cupping the back of Faith's head, and pushes the strap-on past her lips again. “You wanna get fucked, don’t you?”

Faith moans her assent around the toy.

“Prove it,” Buffy says.

Faith ignores the raw, wrecked feeling of her throat, the ache in her jaw, in favor of timing her breathing, keeping herself relaxed, not gagging or breaking her rhythm. It feels good to work hard for Buffy, to kneel, supplicant, and offer herself up so completely.

And it feels even better for Buffy to accept the offering, no longer hesitating. To be taken, possessed, embraced by Buffy, to be wanted so fully and tenderly and forcefully at once, with Buffy’s lips spilling out gasps and curses, her hands filled with Faith’s hair, her hips rolling into Faith's face.

“You look so good like this for me,” Buffy says, carding a hand through Faith’s hair warmly, rubbing the top of Faith’s ear gently between her thumb and forefinger. Then, she pulls the toy back, cupping Faith’s chin with her hand to hold her in place, when she tries to chase it with her mouth. "You like it, don't you?"

Faith nods, tilting her head to take Buffy's thumb into her mouth, in lieu of the toy.

Buffy groans and Faith feels her spine light up in response.

“You want more, though, don't you, Faith?" Buffy asks, pressing the pad of her thumb down against Faith's tongue. Faith nods again. "Greedy."

She is. Faith doesn't know how not to be, with Buffy. It's part of what scares her so bad.

But Buffy says it like a compliment. She smiles down at Faith and draws her thumb out of Faith's mouth, rubbing it gently down her chin. "I think you earned more. I think you deserve to get fucked. Is that what you want?”

Faith nods, unable to speak, taking shaky, desperate gulps of air.

Carefully, Buffy leans down and kisses her. It’s soft in comparison to how she’d been thrusting down Faith’s throat moments ago, though no less hungry for its gentleness.

When Buffy pulls back, her eyes are half-lidded, dark. “Get on the bed.”

Faith lays back on the sheets, heart thumping, and watches as Buffy hesitates over the box of sex toys. After a nervous glance Faith’s way, she stoops down and grabs a bottle of lube, waves it in Faith’s direction. “This one okay?”

Faith nods, “Let me.”

Buffy steps to the side of the bed and Faith leans over, taking the lube from her and pouring some out over the toy. She kisses the side of Buffy’s thigh, at the edge of the harness, and pumps her hand around the dildo, coating it generously.

“Come on,” Faith coaxes her, lying back again and guiding Buffy into place over her.

Buffy reaches down between them, gliding her fingers up the length of Faith’s pussy, spreading her wetness around.

“You feel so good,” Buffy tells her between kisses, rubbing her thumb in deliberate circles around Faith’s clit, before dipping lower. She fingers her a little, stretching her out carefully. Then she moves her hand to the base of the strap-on, holding it in place as she rubs the tip up and down between Faith’s swollen pussy lips. “I can’t wait to fill you up.”

“So do it,” Faith urges, bucking up against her.

“Spread your legs for me,” Buffy instructs, quietly. Faith does, letting her thighs fall open even further. Buffy leans up and looks down at her, rubbing her hands up and down the inside of Faith’s thighs. “You’re so gorgeous.”

“You too,” Faith says, warm and strangely bashful. Buffy’s never looked at her quite this way, not in the full, unflinching light of the morning sun: not so plainly, so hungrily. She tries to keep herself from squirming at the scrutiny. “Fuck me, Buffy, please.”

“Shh, I will,” Buffy says, squeezing Faith’s thigh gently in reassurance. “I promise. But let me look at you, first. Let me see how lucky I am.”

Faith shivers, and squeezes her eyes shut, feeling that restless thrum building up in her chest again.

“Hey,” Buffy leans in, cupping Faith’s face. “Open your eyes for me.”

For some reason, she can’t. Faith tries to obey, tries to do what Buffy asks, but she feels frozen in place, pinned beneath the weight of too much emotion. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Buffy says, gently and kisses the tip of her chin. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

Faith shivers. “Yeah.”

“My girl,” Buffy breathes and Faith opens her eyes to find Buffy hovering over her, gazing down into her face with so much open warmth and tenderness it makes her chest ache. “Say it for me."

“I’m your girl,” Faith breathes.

Buffy nods, and reaches down to push the dildo into her.

Faith gasps at the stretch, even though she’s wetter than she’s ever been, even though Buffy’s going slow, being careful, still drawing light circles over Faith’s clit as she pushes inside her.

“So good for me,” Buffy murmurs and Faith whines reflexively, writhing under her. “Look at you, taking me so well.”

Faith does look. There’s Buffy, kneeling between her thighs, face painted in careful concentration, in something enough like awe to make butterflies erupt in Faith’s stomach. There’s the dildo, glistening with a combination of lube and Faith’s own wetness, disappearing inch by inch inside of her. The muscles of Buffy’s abdomen clench and flex, her arms straining as she lowers herself, bracing her hands against the mattress, and drawing her body down close against Faith’s.

“Fuck, Buffy,” Faith whimpers, hooking her legs around Buffy’s waist, shifting her hips to help the toy slide in deeper. “You’re gonna make me come.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Buffy huffs a quiet laugh and rolls her hips experimentally, breath hitching at the sensation.

“I mean, like, now. Like, too soon,” Faith warns, wishing she were exaggerating.

“Good,” Buffy says, and kisses the column of Faith’s throat. “I want you to come whenever you want. As many times as you want.”

It takes a bit of effort, a few adjustments, before they find a connection that works for them. It feels so good, Buffy’s hands cradling the back of her head, brushing the hair out of Faith’s flushed face while she kisses her soundly. It’s hard to breathe, between Buffy’s relentless kisses and the tiny, high gasps of pleasure each thrust of the strap-on wrenches up from Faith’s throat.

She’s so lost in the crash of Buffy’s hips into hers, the naked greed with which Buffy kisses her, that she doesn’t notice Buffy’s left hand slipping back down between them until it’s already touching her. The first orgasm takes her by surprise, rocketing through her before she can even think about trying to hold it off. A high, startled gasp trips past her lips and she clutches Buffy’s shoulders desperately, letting her nails dig in.

“Was that…?” Buffy pants into her ear, hips slowing.

That won’t do. Faith’s whole body still feels on fire. It’s like she’s poised at the precipice of something exquisite, something she’s wanted all her life, something she could have to keep if she just went a little further.

It’s like she really needs to come again.

“Yeah,” Faith’s voice is frantic, she slides her hands down to cup Buffy’s ass, trying to resume the motion of her hips. “Keep going.”

Buffy pushes herself up for more leverage and picks up her pace again, driving her hips into Faith’s with renewed intensity. Faith makes this— this noise, like something she’s never made in her life. A mewl, a high, broken whimper that slips out of her without her meaning to let it, but she can’t even take a moment to feel embarrassed about it because Buffy’s staring down at her, tits bouncing, arm muscles taut, eyes blown wide. She’s working Faith over hard, really fucking her, and she’s doing it because Faith turns her on, because Faith asked, because she wants to make Faith come. She’d said so. She’d said it.

A bead of sweat rolls down Buffy’s neck, toward her collarbone, and Faith wants to lean up and lick it away. She wants to taste salt on Buffy’s skin, to let this moment, this impossible devotion dissolve on her tongue.

“C’mere,” Faith rasps, wrapping her arms tight around Buffy’s neck, drawing her head down into the crook of Faith’s shoulder. She twists her head, licking a broad stroke up the side of Buffy’s neck, curling up around her ear. She feels Buffy’s nipples drag across her chest, the hot puff of Buffy’s breath against her shoulder, tastes Buffy’s sweat in her mouth and that’s what does it. Faith’s second orgasm is white-hot, intense. She keens Buffy’s name, going rigid underneath her for an endless moment. “Oh fuck, oh god, Buffy.”

Buffy hums against her, slowing the motion of her hips but not quite fully stopping, and bites at the side of her neck.

“That was so good,” Buffy praises her, nuzzling the underside of her jaw. “Do you think you can do that again for me?”

“Again?” Faith laughs, breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Buffy says. “If you’re not too sensitive?”

Faith hums, considers it for a moment, and shakes her head. The truth is, even after coming twice she still feels turned on. She feels looser, more open, but not quite spent. Perks of being a slayer. Still, even she has her limits — she reaches down and bats Buffy’s fingers away from her clit.

“Just take it easy for a minute, okay?” she murmurs, before wrapping her arms around Buffy’s neck again and resuming the slow undulation of her hips.

“Okay,” Buffy agrees easily and leans down to kiss her again. She catches Faith’s hand when it comes down to stroke her face, winding their fingers together and pushing it back into the pillow beside Faith’s head as she slowly begins grinding her hips into Faith’s again, careful shallow circles to match the motion of Faith’s hips. “Like this?”

Faith nods weakly, feeling stretched open, aching pleasantly, but still somehow desperate for more. Buffy’s careful, working Faith back up slowly and steadily, until Faith is squirming with impatience.

“More,” Faith demands, bucking up against Buffy pointedly.

“Alright. Here,” Buffy says, pulling out of her instead, hands coaxing Faith’s hips upwards. “Turn over.”

The thought of Buffy fucking her from behind again is enough to make Faith’s cunt clench reflexively over nothing. She turns, propping herself up on her elbows, trying not to laugh as Buffy leans over her, strap-on jabbing awkwardly into Faith's spine, to grab a spare pillow. "Hey, B, you missed. A little lower."

“Shut up,” Buffy laughs, arranging the pillow under Faith’s hips. “There. Good?”

“Fine, yeah. How about you fuck me already? Sometime this century would be nice,” Faith taunts, thrusting her ass backwards. She’s immediately rewarded with a sharp, stinging slap that has her yelping and reflexively pulling her hips away. “Hey!”

“Ask me nice,” Buffy admonished lowly, rubbing a soothing hand over the place she’d swatted.

“Or what?” Faith challenges, craning her neck to look back at Buffy, eyebrow raised smugly.

Buffy heaves a sigh, like she might be annoyed, but her blown out pupils give her away. She brings her hand down on Faith’s ass again, harder this time, choking back a laugh when Faith moans and squirms back against her. “You know that when you make it so obvious that you like this, it kind of ruins it as an effective punishment, right?”

“I’m impossible to punish,” Faith says, moaning again when Buffy swats her another time. “Maybe you should just stick to fucking me instead.”

“Fine,” Buffy huffs and unceremoniously rams the strap-on back inside of her. Faith groans, burying her face in the pillow under her head and biting down hard. The pace Buffy sets is rough, uneven, wilder than before. She grips Faith’s hips and jerks her back into her thrusts and Faith moans helplessly, near delirious with want at the unexpected display of Buffy’s raw strength, how easily she moves Faith where she wants her.

Then, Buffy shifts her grip, angling Faith’s hips so that her next stroke is at a more downward angle and fuck.

“Oh shit,” Faith cries out, jerking back into Buffy.

“You okay?” Buffy asks, immediately stopping, pulling out.

"I'm good, I’m good," Faith groans, aching and empty, trying to wriggle back into the strap-on. “Again, hit it just like that again.”

Buffy hesitates for another moment before she sinks back into Faith. It takes a few tries, but she manages to replicate the angle again to the same effect. This time Faith keens and slaps a hand blindly backward, digging her nails into the side of Buffy’s ass.

“Fuck, right there,” Faith begs, bowing her back and rocking her hips backwards again. “Right there, baby, please.”

“Yeah,” Buffy breathes and picks up the pace, going harder, steadier than before.

Faith feels lit up from inside, filled up perfectly. It's almost too much, each relentless drag of the strap-on against her inner walls feeling somehow more intense than the last, shoving her closer and closer to the edge. It gets even better when Buffy leans down over her, sweeping the hair off of her back and pressing hot, wet kisses between Faith’s shoulder blades.

Then there’s Buffy’s hand spread out over the back of her neck, pushing Faith’s head gently down into the pillows. Faith nearly sobs in pleasure, letting Buffy hold her down.

“You look so fucking good for me,” Buffy chokes, breathless, fucking into Faith harder, faster. “I wish you could see how beautiful you look right now, all spread open for me.”

“Buffy,” Faith moans.

“Tell me how it feels,” Buffy pleads, lowly. “Tell me how it feels when I fuck you.”

“Feels so good, baby,” Faith whimpers, between high, breathless gasps. “You, ah, you’re gonna make me come again.”

“That’s all I want,” Buffy confesses, winding a hand in Faith’s hair and pulling back until it stings, and she has to lift her face up out of the pillow with a high, sharp cry. “You look so pretty when you let me fuck you, Faith, and you look even prettier when you come apart for me.”

“Oh fuck,” Faith shudders, feeling herself start to clench around the toy inside her. “Buffy, I’m—”

“Come for me,” Buffy whispers, right into Faith’s ear and that does it, she’s gone. Pure pleasure erupts deep inside her and she's coming, toes curling, hips stuttering, rocking into the pillow beneath her, just from the toy inside her, just from Buffy’s voice, just because Buffy wanted it.

“Jesus,” Faith pants, sinking bonelessly into the mattress. She feels Buffy start to shift, to pull out, and manages to fling her arm back, to catch Buffy’s arm and hold her in place. “Wait. Just… stay there a minute. Stay with me.”

Buffy hums and sinks back into Faith, carefully, letting her body rest flush against Faith's back. Faith can feel the press of Buffy’s tits into her back, shivers when Buffy starts dripping lazy kisses along her sweaty hairline.

Faith’s not sure how long they lay there, how long it takes for her to get her breath back, for her heart to stop crashing like thunder in her chest. When she finally wiggles and hums and Buffy takes the cue to pull out, it feels like hours have passed. Her mind has gone pleasantly foggy, mouth quirked into a satisfied smile she can't seem to wipe off. Gracelessly, she rolls over onto her back, blinking blearily up at Buffy as she fumbles her way out of the harness.

“Where should I…?” Buffy asks a little sheepishly, dangling the toy over the side of the bed.

Faith snorts and covers her face with her hand. “Just leave it on the floor, I’ll clean it up later.”

Buffy lets the strap-on thud to the floor a bit guiltily and then turns her attention back to Faith, crawling up her body slowly. “How was that?”

“No one’s ever made me come like that,” Faith admits, blinking up at Buffy, feeling warm all over. “I’ve always had to use my hands or something to get off. Never just from something inside me.”

“Oh. Cool,” Buffy’s face breaks into a goofy smile. She pecks the side of Faith’s mouth, then the swell of her cheek, her temple, the curve of her brow.

No one’s ever done this for Faith before, either, showered her with this kind of gooey, luxurious affection; kissing her face, stroking her hair, humming sweetly against her skin.

“One more?” Buffy asks, after a few minutes of quiet cuddling. She scrapes her teeth down the curve of Faith’s jaw, lightly.

“What?”

“Just one more for me,” Buffy begs, kissing Faith beseechingly, letting her hand drift down Faith’s belly. “Just one more. I’ll be gentle. I’ll make it good.”

“I don’t know if I—” Faith starts, but when she opens her eyes, sees the naked, earnest desire on Buffy’s face, she lets the words die in her throat. There’s not a thing in the world she wouldn’t give Buffy, just to have her look at Faith that way. “Okay. One more.”

“Yeah?” Buffy checks, kissing her again.

“Yeah,” Faith says and, despite her hesitation, she can feel herself getting wet again.

“Good,” Buffy says and slides down the bed, mouthing her way down Faith’s torso.

Buffy starts slowly, noses her way through Faith’s pubic hair, spreading her open carefully with her fingers and lapping at Faith gently, her tongue trailing so lightly over Faith’s swollen flesh that the sting of oversensitivity she’d braced herself for barely registers at all.

And this is another thing no one’s done for Faith before: worked so hard, been so careful, made such an effort to make her come so many times.

Faith’s never really minded — she’s never taken anyone else home for any reason other than to use them to get herself off, so she’d never had much in the way of expectations from them either. Her encounters had always been transactional, equal at best, one for one. If she was unlucky and she picked a dud, then she got herself off on her own. She’d never thought much about what it could mean, to give someone an orgasm, besides that fact that it felt good.

But now, with her hands desperately clutching the back of Buffy’s head, with Buffy’s tongue moving hungrily, deliberately against her, she almost can’t believe how different it feels. How much better it is, with Buffy, how much more she wants it.

Buffy’s tongue pushes up inside her, her thumb gently rubbing Faith’s straining clit and Faith feels her inner walls start to flutter reflexively as the simmering pleasure low in her belly builds and builds.

“Buffy,” Faith’s voice is hoarse, almost unrecognizable. She tugs on Buffy’s hair, urgently. “I’m close. I’m—”

“Wait, hang on,” Buffy says, climbing up Faith’s body. She kisses her, greedy, deep, pushing her tongue roughly into Faith’s mouth, until she’s overwhelmed with the taste of herself. Buffy moans into her, biting her bottom lip and tugging hard before she pulls fully away. “You taste so good. I had to share.”

“Fuck,” Faith groans, clutching weakly at Buffy’s shoulders. Buffy settles her thigh against Faith’s cunt, gripping Faith’s ass and urging her to roll up against it. At the same time, Faith feels Buffy’s pussy slide against her own leg, rocking into her frantically. She shudders and clenches her eyes shut, reaching for the orgasm building inside her like feeling for a lifeline in the dark.

“Faith,” Buffy practically sighs her name. She kisses Faith tenderly, coaxingly. “Hey, look at me. Look at who's got you. Let me see those pretty eyes when I make you come.”

Whimpering, Faith lets her eyes flutter open.

“That’s it,” Buffy says, kissing her cheek. “That’s my girl.”

Faith shudders. “Say it again.”

“My girl,” Buffy breathes, rutting into her a little harder. “You're mine, right? Tell me.”

“Yours,” Faith gasps.

“All mine,” Buffy says, nipping Faith’s earlobe, cupping Faith’s ass more firmly, helping her thrust against Buffy’s thigh harder. “And I’m yours. I’m yours too, Faith.”

“Oh, fuck, Buffy,” Faith moans, feeling herself come again, waves of warm, shallow pleasure pulsing over her, starting in her cunt and reverberating through her whole body. She keens and doesn't stop rocking against Buffy, chasing the aftershocks despite her mounting exhaustion. “Fuck, I love you.”

"Faith," Buffy chokes out, and jerks down hard into her thigh, teeth clamping down over the curve of her shoulder hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make Faith cry out breathlessly again.

Faith sighs, long and shaky, feeling Buffy's wetness coating her thigh and thinking, vacantly, that if she wasn't so wrecked she'd have asked Buffy to come over her mouth instead.

It's quiet in the aftermath, both of them catching their breaths, but after a few silent minutes Buffy laughs into Faith’s neck. She stretches and slides most of the way off of Faith, keeping her head pressed into Faith’s bare shoulder, hand palm-flat over Faith's still racing heart, their legs twined possessively together.

“Told you so,” Buffy says, sounding a little winded.

“What?” Faith mumbles, still half-dazed.

“I knew I could get you to come again,” Buffy says and Faith can hear the smirk in her voice, even if she can’t quite find the energy to crane her neck down to see Buffy’s face.

“Shut up, it’s not a competition,” Faith complains.

“You’re only saying that because you’re clearly losing,” Buffy teases.

“When I get the feeling back in my extremities, you’re done for,” Faith promises hoarsely.

Buffy laughs again and shifts a little, pressing even closer into Faith’s side. She trails tender kisses up the side of Faith’s neck. “Hey, is it… can I say it, yet? Or do you need me to wait?”

It takes a moment for Faith’s addled brain to catch onto Buffy’s meaning. Once it does, her finally slowing heart rate rockets back up.

“Um,” Faith’s throat seizes up.

“It’s okay,” Buffy says, softly. “I can wait.”

“No, it’s,” Faith says, finally finding her voice. She hears Buffy’s voice echo in her head, I’m yours, and knows it means the same thing. “Tell me. Please.”

“I love you, Faith.” The words spill out in a rush, they crash into Faith like lightning, coursing through her whole body. Buffy kisses the side of her neck again, slowly, reverently. “I really do.”

“I love you too,” Faith croaks, gritting her teeth against the sudden sting in her eyes.

Buffy’s breath catches in her throat, and she presses her forehead into the side of Faith’s neck. "I took the week off."

"Huh?" Faith pulls herself back from the brink of sleep, blinking down at the top of Buffy's head. "What?"

"To start," Buffy says. "But if I have to stay longer, I will. I mean, there's a lot to figure out. After you rest, we'll really talk it through, but I wanted you to know that I'm not leaving again until we figure out a way to do this that lets us see each other more. I'm tired of missing you."

"Oh." A whole week with Buffy. Here, in her home, with nowhere to go, nothing to do but be close to her — and maybe kill a few vampires along the way. All the sex must have done something to Faith's brain, knocked down whatever filter she usually relies on, because she opens her mouth to say something vaguely grateful and blurts out, "I could go with you."

"What?" Buffy asks, tilting her face up to look at Faith.

"When something's wrong, I mean. When there's an emergency," Faith continues, words flying out in a nervous rush. "I could go with you, to help, instead of you leaving me behind."

"I never wanted you to feel left behind," Buffy says, twisting to kiss Faith's chest. "I was trying not to drag you into Slayer Org stuff again. I know I was putting a lot of pressure on you before and—”

“I still don’t want, like, a job like that,” Faith cuts in. “I mean, I like what I do, just being a slayer. But you can use that sometimes, can’t you? I could back you up. Not, like, as your squad or whatever but like as your girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. It feels crazy to say it and mean it for real, now, not just to tease, not to goof off.

Buffy smiles, brilliant and cranes her neck up to peck Faith on the lips. “I like how that sounds.”

“Yeah,” Faith breathes. A sudden thought occurs to her and she laughs before she can stop herself.

“What?” Buffy grins up at her.

“Your pillow talk,” Faith says. “It’s gotten way better.”

Buffy groans, and buries her face in Faith’s shoulder.

“You didn’t even ask about any of my exes or—”

“Shut up,” Buffy huffs. “Or I really will make you go sleep on your stupid fold-out.”

“No you won’t,” Faith hums, smugly.

“No,” Buffy sighs, rolling her eyes, not quite able to keep the smile off of her face. “I won’t.”

Chapter Text

January, 2005

Buffy knows Faith is with her before she even wakes up.

It’s not really that she hears her (Faith’s quiet, when she wants to be), or smells her (she won’t, until Faith gets closer) or sees her (she’s asleep, eyes shut and all).

But she feels it in her body, like a switch that gets flipped on some primal, subconscious level. It’s almost a change in air pressure, the gravity of Faith, the enormity of her presence immediately shifting the atmosphere of the room she walks into. One moment Buffy is asleep, fully out, the next she’s back in her body, a little. Warm under the covers, comfortable, with just that dim little buzz at the back of her brain to tell her that someone’s close by. There’s no alarm, no fear, no urgency to the growing awareness.

And when she rolls over, half-conscious, squinting through the dark, she’s not startled or alarmed, because she already knows it’s Faith across the room, moving around in the dark, her eyes automatically seeking Buffy out too. She just feels it.

So she rolls back over, humming softly, content, and lets her eyes slip shut again.

And then the mattress shifts behind her, familiar strong arms encircling her waist, and her sleepy brain finishes processing what it means for Faith to be in the room with her and she struggles back to wakefulness, eyelids heavy.

“Wait, how are you here? Did I oversleep?” Buffy asks, groggily. When she’d gone to bed, it had been in anticipation of Faith’s flight getting in the next night. No way she could have slept an entire day away, right? Faith’s arms around her middle tighten, keeping her from rolling over.

“Nah, I got an early flight. Giles picked me up,” Faith says, wriggling in closer to Buffy, nosing her way through the fall of hair across Buffy’s neck to kiss the skin behind her ear. “Happy birthday, B.”

“Oh.” That makes sense. He’d been nervous at dinner, but Buffy had written it off as too much of that strong black tea he loves in the evening. And when she’d tried to check in with him after patrol, she’d been intercepted by Dawn, distracted until she forgot all about it. The whole gang must have been in on it. The knowledge sends a warm, pleasant flutter through Buffy’s chest.

Or maybe that’s the feeling of Faith’s hands, palms warm, fingers splayed wide, slipping under the fabric of her shirt, stroking her belly. It’s intimate, sure, not overtly sexual, but she can’t help the way her body reacts to Faith. Her brain still feels foggy and dull, but her other senses are sharpening swiftly. She shifts subtly back against Faith and says, “My birthday’s not until tomorrow.”

“Happy early birthday, then, whatever,” Faith huffs, but kisses the back of her neck again anyway. “I wanted to be the first person to say it.”

“You came all the way out here just for that, huh?” Buffy teases, breath hitching when Faith’s fingers immediately trail lower down her body.

“Well, not just that,” Faith says, voice a husky rasp curling over the shell of Buffy’s ear. “That was only the first part of my agenda. I got plans for you, Buffy.”

"Plans, huh?" Buffy repeats, sighing a little as Faith brushes a wisp of hair away from her neck, and follows the path of her fingers with her lips.

"Mhmm," Faith hums against her skin. "Schemes, even."

"What about plots?" Buffy asks.

"Oh yeah." A kiss. A scrape of teeth. "Big time."

"Designs?"

"You got no idea."

Faith eases her hands down the loose waistband of Buffy’s pajama pants, coaxing the fabric down her legs. Buffy helps, drawing her knees up and kicking the pants all the way off.

“Actually, I hate to b-break it to you," Buffy says, voice catching when Faith nips the side of her neck. "But, I think I'm starting to guess what kind of plans you have in mind.”

“Yeah? Damn," Faith’s voice is a soft, breathless rumble, almost a purr. She brushes the backs of her knuckles gently over the front of Buffy’s rapidly dampening panties. “What gave me away?”

“You’re not exactly subtle,” Buffy admonishes lightly, even as she cants her hips up to chase the press of Faith’s teasing hands. “What, two minutes in my bed and you already have my pants off?”

“You helped,” Faith points out, nipping lightly at Buffy’s earlobe. She cups Buffy’s inner thigh with her left hand, squeezing once and drawing her nails up along the sensitive skin. “Ain’t this what you wanted, anyway? To wake up to me touching you?”

“Well.” It’s getting harder, keeping her voice steady as Faith cups her pussy, sliding her fingers up and down torturously slow, pressing a little harder over the hood of her clit before drawing back down to do it again and again. But she does remember the phone call Faith is referencing, the breathless fantasy Buffy had shared in a fit of desperate arousal and a yearning for Faith so cavernous and vast it felt like she could fall into it and never get out. “If you want to get specific, I said I wanted to wake up to you going down on me. Not that I’m, ah, complaining.”

“Really?” Faith drawls, voice as low and drawn out as the pace of her fingers as she continues stroking Buffy. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re complaining.”

“Sorry,” Buffy breathes as Faith’s right arm, snaked around Buffy’s torso, rucks her shirt up to her neck, baring her breasts to the air. She feels the wet heat of Faiths’s mouth sliding across her shoulder followed by the sting of her teeth pressing into Buffy’s flesh. Faith presses herself closer against Buffy’s back, angling her neck for a better view down Buffy’s body.

“Don’t be. I like it when you get all bossy and demanding,” Faith rasps, and Buffy can feel the smile on her lips when she presses another kiss into Buffy’s shoulder, over the bruise she’d left behind. “It’s hot.”

Faith’s got a thing for watching, Buffy’s discovered. It doesn’t seem to matter if she’s the one touching or being touched, there’s this hunger in her, this need, bottomless and possessive, to not just feel but to see when they’re together. Even now, with Faith’s fingers teasing her through her panties, Faith’s teeth working a bruise into Buffy’s skin, Buffy can feel Faith’s eyes rove desperately across her body drinking in the image: Faith’s fingers gently kneading Buffy’s breast, her other hand teasing Buffy’s center through her underwear.

“Yeah?” Buffy shifts up against her, more insistently this time, and Faith finally relents, slipping her fingers down the waistband of Buffy’s panties to touch her directly. The first drag of Faith’s fingers over Buffy’s swollen, wet pussy wrenches a high gasp from her throat, sends a shower of sparks up her spine, has her curling her toes into the sheets.

And, God, okay, she gets it, she gets why Faith likes to see them together. When she looks down and takes in the outline of Faith’s fingers working her over, the peaks of her knuckles straining against the fabric of her panties in time with the sharp shocks of pleasure they pour out into her, yeah, yeah — she gets it.

“Oh yeah,” Faith breathes and it’s so not fair she can still string sentences together like this when Buffy’s brain is turning to mush in her skull. “You know I like it when you give me a hard time, B.”

And at this Buffy does laugh because, wow, what an understatement. What a surprise, even after all these months, the way Faith melts for her, the way she craves Buffy’s strength, Buffy’s bossiness, Buffy’s desire. And Faith gives as good as she gets, that’s for sure, but it still takes Buffy’s breath away thinking of how much Faith is willing to give to her. How much she wants to give up, if it's Buffy who's asking. The way she knows Buffy will take care of her.

She feels herself getting wetter at the thought of all that trust, all that power and, of course, at the memory of the last time she gave Faith ‘a hard time,’ shoving her face-down into the pillows, a hand woven through Faith’s hair, crooning filthy compliments into Faith’s ear while she writhed helplessly, shamelessly beneath her. Yeah. Buffy knows how much Faith likes that. She’s pretty sure the entire floor of their hotel knew, by the time they were through.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure creeping into your bed and trying to eat you out while you still expected me to be halfway across the planet would have been a great way to get my nose broke,” Faith continues, her voice drawing Buffy back to the present.

“Probably,” Buffy agrees with a laugh that stutters into a moan when Faith catches her clit between two fingers, squeezing it between them while she keeps up that torturously slow drag, up and down the length of Buffy's pussy.

“Well, you know how I am with a challenge,” Faith breathes into Buffy’s ear, voice rough, weighed down with want. “Like a dog with a bone. And I’m here all month. I’ll keep tryin’ and tryin’ and tryin’ til I get it right for you, B.”

“Can you—?” Buffy gasps, finally snapping, reaching down and clutching Faith’s wrist. She pushes down, tries to force her into applying more pressure. It’s no use; Faith’s as strong as Buffy and not halfway delirious with pleasure and sleep.

“Sorry, did you want something?” Faith coos into her ear and it’s obnoxious, it’s annoying, it shouldn’t be hot at all but Buffy feels a new flood of wetness spill out of her despite herself. And she knows from the sharp, shaky gasp that trips out of Faith’s mouth, that she felt it too.

“Did you come here to fuck me or to monologue?” Buffy manages, but her voice shatters to pieces on the last word, when Faith drags her tongue up the side of Buffy’s neck.

“Both, obviously,” Faith says, but instead of actually following through, she pulls her fingers out of Buffy’s panties entirely.

Buffy groans in frustration, wriggling back against Faith beseechingly. “Faith, please, I—”

“Shhh,” Faith cuts her off, gently pressing her damp fingers against Buffy’s lips. “I don’t need you to ask me, B. I already know what you want. I just need you to show me how bad you want it, baby, that’s all. A little goodwill. I just need—”

But Buffy’s already parting her lips, already drawing Faith’s fingers into her mouth. They’re sticky and warm, tasting like Buffy’s own wetness, and Faith’s skin. Familiar tastes, at this point, as insane as that is to think of: to know her own taste so well. She pulls back, leaving just the tips of Faith’s fingers in her mouth, sucking gently, brushing them so lightly with her tongue that she barely can barely feel it herself. It tears a broken little moan up from Faith’s throat, a sound that makes Buffy's hips jerk, pussy clenching reflexively.

She reaches up, curling her grip slowly, finger by finger, around Faith’s wrist and guiding it upwards while she leans down to take more of Faith’s fingers in her mouth, all the way down to the knuckle. She sucks harder, flitting her tongue around the digits, moaning salaciously and feeling Faith curse and pant against her in response.

And it’s just that easy. Buffy has her. All of that cockiness, the smugness Faith had reveled in earlier, teasing Buffy mercilessly has been transformed. Faith is all coiled, desperate tension behind her, rapid hot breaths pouring past her parted lips onto Buffy’s skin.

There's nothing Buffy couldn't get from Faith in this moment — not that she plans on actually changing their course now. They're both enjoying themselves. But still, it's good enough just knowing she could.

Buffy bobs her head intently and with great concentration, guiding Faith’s fingers in and out of her mouth, smirking around them as she feels Faith grind up against her ass. She takes advantage of Faith’s obvious distraction, using her free hand to slide her panties, sticky with her wetness, all the way down her legs, kicking them off somewhere beneath the sheets.

Then, she pulls back, pressing a tender kiss to the pads of Faith’s fingers, releasing her wrist. “Now?”

“Now,” Faith agrees, voice shaky and lets her moist fingertips skim their way lightly down Buffy’s body, until they’re settling between her legs, working her over with obvious intent now. Maybe earlier in their relationship, Buffy would feel a little self-conscious of how messy she is, all hot and swollen. The way she can feel herself dripping down her thighs, coating Faith’s eager fingers within seconds. Maybe earlier, but not now— not when she can feel the pleased little sigh Faith paints her neck with, not when she knows how much Faith loves her like this. Not when Faith kisses her neck again, nuzzling the back of her ear with her nose, whispers out, “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Missed you,” Buffy murmurs, fighting the urge to clamp her thighs shut around Faith’s hand, to hold it in place and grind up against it. That’s clearly not what Faith wants this to be, not with the way she’s still dotting soft, wet kisses all along Buffy’s jaw, her shoulder, her neck; not with the way the fingers of her other hand toy with the stiff peak of Buffy’s nipple in perfect counterplay to her hand between Buffy’s legs.

“Me too,” Faith rasps, pressing herself even closer against Buffy’s back, warm and solid. It feels good being so enveloped by Faith — the familiar smell of her, the warmth of her body bleeding into Buffy’s, the press of her stiff nipples against Buffy’s bare skin, the quiet hiss of her breath and the barely there little hums and whines she can’t quite contain as she works to get Buffy off.

It’s easy to relax into, once Buffy gives herself over to it. She melts backwards, letting her head loll back against Faith’s shoulder, parting her lips and letting the soft sounds of pleasure Faith coaxes out of her spill forth freely.

Faith doesn’t tease, but she does take her time, alternating between toying with Buffy’s clit directly and brushing idly past it with the heel of her palm, when she dips her fingers down lower. It's not a great angle for penetration, but they'll have plenty of time for that later - for now it's enough to have Faith's sly fingers teasing her entrance, peaking shallowly inside, a promise of more to come.

Faith's quieter than usual, content to keep her mouth busy working delicate bruises into the skin of Buffy's neck that will fade before morning but sting so deliciously now, as they're given. Buffy imagines how they would look in the light, a tiny string of pink and purple jewels along her bare throat and shoulder. She shudders and arches up against Faith's hand with a breathy sigh.

Faith bites her neck harder in response, sucking fiercely and then soothing the skin with a broad stroke of her tongue. "You like that, baby?"

It's rhetorical, but Buffy nods in answer anyway.

"Me too," Faith's voice is a low purr, a vibration that passes from her lips on the back of Buffy's neck, straight down Buffy's spine. “Love to give you what you want. Make you feel good.”

“You do,” Buffy breathes, shakily, canting her hips up into Faith’s hand. “You make me feel so good, Faith.”

“Love you,” Faith murmurs, quiet and sincere, and Buffy goes warm all over.

“You too,” Buffy rasps, “I love you too. I love—”

She can’t take it anymore, being this close to Faith without kissing her. Desperately, Buffy twists, craning her neck to angle her mouth towards Faith. She understands immediately what Buffy wants, doesn’t tease or make her work for it, just shifts forward to kiss Buffy back. The angle isn’t the best, but it hardly matters with Faith’s fingers on her clit, Faith’s body pressed into hers, Faith’s tongue in her mouth.

Buffy only breaks the kiss when it gets too hard to concentrate on it, engulfed in pleasure, that familiar urgent tightness coiling in her belly, the way she can feel her muscles start to stiffen, the way her pussy throbs.

Buffy comes with a sigh that turns into a high whine. She comes with Faith’s hot breath on her neck, her insistent lips dragging sloppy kisses along Buffy’s skin, her bare leg hooked around Buffy’s thigh to hold her open. She shakes and she shudders, panting in relief, ensconced in Faith’s arms, feels the warm tide of sleep start lapping at her almost as soon as the orgasm ends.

She can’t help it. She’s usually not a one-and-done kind of gal, but she had barely woken up at all and now she’s all loose and loopy, and the quiet litany of warm, nonsensical praise spilling past Faith’s lips into her ear is doing more to soothe her than anything else.

Buffy hums, stretching her legs out and shifting slightly in Faith’s arms. “Do you want—?”

But Faith shakes her head, pressing a tender kiss to Buffy’s jaw. “Nah. That was good.”

“You sure?” Buffy asks, even though her head feels thick with sleep. It feels unfair to just leave Faith hanging, when she’d come all this way and the first thing she’d done had been to give Buffy a toe-curling orgasm.

“Yeah,” Faith says, voice low and husky. “You can owe me one.”

“You’d like that, huh?” Buffy murmurs. “Why do I feel like I just got played?”

“Shut up,” Faith says and kisses her temple. “Go to sleep already. You gotta rest up for what I’ve got in mind.”

Buffy slips back into sleep like a warm bath, the thrum of Faith’s heartbeat at her back more soothing than any lullaby.

—-

Buffy wakes up feeling warm and loose and definitely like she needs a shower. Her thighs are still a little sticky from last night, and she knows her hair is probably a mess from being rubbed into the pillows all damp with sweat; she probably smells like sex and sleep but the fact that none of these things really bother her that much is still something she’s getting used to.

Faith’s asleep — they’d switched places in the night. She remembers drifting back into sleep in Faith’s arms, safe and sated and content, and her heart does a little swoop inside her chest thinking of Faith waiting, holding her until she was asleep to get herself comfortable.

Faith has grown into a surprisingly tolerant cuddler outside of sex, but she needs her space to sleep. She can’t stand feeling pinned down or crowded — a fact that she’d admitted to Buffy one night after a bad dream, eyes carefully cool, jaw set tight like she expected a challenge. But Buffy had learned by then, knew that there were still parts of an old life that Faith carried around, things Buffy didn’t need to try to take from her. Things she had no right to, no matter how much her chest ached thinking about them.

Besides, that had been something Faith needed to realize, too — that Buffy didn’t see her as a problem to solve, or a secret to uncover, or something to fix. That she didn’t need to change for Buffy to love her.

And so this — a compromise. When they’re here in Scotland, and Buffy needs to be awake first, Faith sleeps on the side of the bed lined up against the wall. Not penned in, but nearly. Buffy appreciates both the gesture itself and the practicality of it: it’s easier to ride that wave of post-orgasmic bliss through the morning when she doesn’t have to start off her day doing gymnastics to avoid waking up her jetlagged girlfriend.

Despite the general pervasive grodiness of her current condition, Buffy doesn’t rush out of bed. It’s nice, just lying there, watching the shallow rise and fall of the lump of blankets currently known as Faith, listening to the quiet rasp of her breathing, having her close enough to touch. Buffy restrains herself, despite the temptation. There will be time to touch later. She owes Faith one for last night, doesn’t she? Besides, anything she starts now would kind of derail her entire day.

It’s not that Buffy doesn’t seriously consider using Faith’s surprise early return as an excuse to take a day off. In fact, she knows that it’s probably what her friends are expecting anyway, since they’d orchestrated the whole thing. But if Buffy dumped her work off on Giles and Dawn and everyone else who covers for her whenever Faith was in town, she’d never get anything done. They’ve all been good about stepping up, filling in for her now that she’s spending more time in the States anyway. It wouldn’t be fair to ask for more, even if it is her birthday week and she could totally get away with it.

So, with a noble sigh, Buffy rises from the bed and resolves to start the day.

All the modern conveniences of the new millennium still haven’t solved the complex logistical issue of heating a castle in the middle of winter. Luckily, magic kind of has. Buffy’s a little fuzzy on the details of the charms Willow installed around the castle last year, but she’s eternally grateful for the one in the bathroom that makes getting in and out of the shower tolerable. Pleasant, even. Maybe it’s even a little too comfortable — Buffy lingers too long under the steady spray of the shower, daydreaming about Faith warm and naked in her bed.

Still, she makes it down to the kitchen before everyone’s already cleared out. She spies Dawn and Willow seated in their usual corner and they wave her over after she’s grabbed a plate of pancakes that the kitchen crew has made. It took a few dismal months and a couple of cases of food poisoning before they learned that making kitchen duties part of the mandatory chore rotation was a mistake. Buffy’s confidence in grabbing a plate of whatever the girls have thrown together has skyrocketed since they moved to a paid, opt-in model.

“Hey,” Dawn says, when Buffy finally draws near, having been slowed down by a few of the younger girls who had stopped her to say good morning. She’s leaning onto the table, chin propped up on her fist, grinning smugly. “Cut you a deal: head back up to your room right now and I’ll cover for you the rest of the day?”

Well, that can’t be good. Even if it is tempting. Actually, it can’t be good precisely because it’s tempting. Buffy’s been around the block enough times to know this is either the result of some kind of dream-eating demon who traps sleepers in their most pleasant fantasies while their physical bodies waste away, or Dawn is engaged in some kind of shenanigans. Discreetly, she pinches her wrist, to check. “What are you up to?”

“Who says I have to be up to anything?” Dawn asks innocently, leaning back into her seat. “Can’t I do something nice for my favorite sister?”

Buffy slides her gaze over to Willow, who’s trying to hide a smile behind her mug.

“She and Xander took bets on whether you’d be up in bed all day,” Willow says immediately.

“Ugh, what the hell, Willow?” Dawn whines. “You used to be cool!”

“H-hey, I’m still cool! I’m very cool! I’m ice cold!”

“An ice cold traitor. You sold me out!”

“Uh, you’re not the one allowed to be outraged here right now,” Buffy cuts in, rolling her eyes. “Hello? I just found out my little sister and my best friend—”

“Hey,” Willow pouts, lower lip jutting out accusingly.

“Best guy friend are placing bets on my sex life?”

“Ew, gross,” Dawn throws her hands up. “Who said anything about sex? Not me. As far as I know, you gals are up all night playing parcheesi in there. Wholesome, fully clothed parcheesi. And that’s how I want to keep it — that’s why we had Willow place that silencing hex on your bedroom. You know, after Prague—”

“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again,” Buffy snaps, jerking her head to glance around the room. No one has looked up at them yet and Buffy hopes that means no one heard Dawn. It had taken weeks for her to live down the gossip last time — what had begun as an embarrassing if mostly true rumor of being walked in on had eventually morphed into a full-on Penthouse letter that had girls blushing and snickering every time she entered a room.

“I didn’t,” Dawn sputters. “I mean, it doesn’t count if—”

“It counts, Dawnie,” Willow says gravely. “And you should stop. You’re technically still speaking of it.”

“Okay, Judas,” Dawn huffs over Willow’s outraged squeak. Then she leans across the table, taking Buffy’s hands in hers. “Look, we’re getting off track. If you head back up to your room right now before Xander sees you, I can split the pot with you. Seventy/thirty.”

“Seventy/thirty? That’s the best you can do?” Buffy challenges.

“Come on,” Dawn groans. “That’s thirty percent on top of as many games of Parcheesi as you and Faith can manage in a day. Think of all the drills you won’t have to run in the snow!”

Honestly, it’s not a bad argument. Buffy’s debating the ethics of pushing for an extra ten percent when the decision is taken out of her hands.

“Ha!” Xander crows, jogging up to the table, black curls flopping boyishly over his forehead. He leans down and presses an exultant smooch to the top of Buffy’s head. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite extremely moral and dutiful lead slayer.”

“Hi Xander,” Buffy smiles, watching Dawn groan and drop her head down onto the table.

“And if it isn’t my favorite loser,” Xander reaches over and ruffles Dawn’s hair, yanking his hand back when she slaps him. “Ouch. Sore loser.”

Willow clears her throat, pointedly.

“And my favorite uber powerful witch lady,” Xander beams. Then he pauses, craning his neck for a view of the room. “Now, where’s my favorite, uh,” Xander hesitates, face screwing up in a way that Buffy knows means he’s thinking of, and discarding, several extremely inappropriate options.

Faith is far from his favorite person and tact and self restraint were never really Xander's strong suits to begin with. But he's trying — has been since she sat him down months ago and told him what Faith had become to her. Buffy loves him for it.

“My favorite… Faith?” Xander finally gives up, rather diplomatically.

Buffy beams gratefully at him, cutting into her pancakes. “Asleep. Jet lag.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Xander asks, wiggling his eyebrows. He gestures towards his eyepatch and adds, “Imagine I’m winking.”

“Believe it or not, that came through on tone of voice,” Buffy says around a mouthful of food, rolling her eyes.

“I do believe that. You know, everyone’s always said that to me. They say, ‘Xander, you have a very expressive and pleasant voice.’”

“No one’s ever said that to you,” Dawn grouses.

“Well, they’ve thought it! Clearly!” He gestures at Buffy before reaching across the table to snag a sausage off her plate.

Buffy smiles to herself and lets their voices wash over her, letting her mind drift. On mornings like this, surrounded by the people she loves most, the destiny that had once felt so suffocating now feels like such a tremendous gift. If she’d never been the Slayer, she would never have moved to Sunnydale and met Willow and Xander or Giles or Faith. She wishes, sometimes, that they could have all gotten here with a little less pain, fewer losses. She wishes her mom was here to see her now, how happy she can be, how good her life is. But for the first time in a long time, Buffy can look at her life and what it took to build it, and know that there’s nothing she would trade to make it different.

After breakfast, Buffy slips away to Giles’ office. He’s hunched over his desk, phone pressed against his ear, frowning in that slightly bored way he does when he’s dealing with someone to stupid to figure out they should just agree with him already. But he glances up when she walks through the door, breaking out into a smile that makes her throat feel tight with love. She steps right over to him, leaning down to hug him in his seat.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, while he reaches a hand up to gently pat her arm.

“You’re quite welcome,” he murmurs warmly. Immediately there’s a burst of sound from the other end of the line and he scowls. “No, not you, Irving.”

Buffy pulls back and steps toward the door, gesturing to it while shooting Giles a questioning look. He shakes his head, still growling down the line at whoever he’s speaking to, and motions to the chair across from his desk. Buffy sits, slouching down comfortably, glancing around the room. Truth is, there’s nothing even that important she has to speak to him about, but it’s just nice to share the space with him sometimes.

The office is just so… Gilesy. All rich dark woods and red-brown leather, walls lined with antique books and magical artifacts. It smells like tea leaves and his cologne and old paper. There’s something peaceful, reassuring about the place.

They chat for a few minutes once Giles finishes his call. The usual — intel, some chatter about a few of the girls, a review of the upcoming trips they have planned.

“And Faith?” Giles says, once business talk has concluded. He leans back into his chair, cradling a cup of tea between his palms. “Did she seem, ah, well after her flight?”

Surprisingly, Giles had taken the news that they were a couple with the most ease out of anyone. Buffy had come to find that most of her friends had suspected, to some degree, that something had been going on between her and Faith. Turns out a sudden and dramatic insistence on private missions with Faith that only ever budgeted for a single hotel room had, in fact, not been a particularly subtle method of sneaking around. Who knew?

Willow had been pretty cool about it, but Buffy always expected it’d be easier with her anyway. She had talked Buffy through her breakup with Satsu, had encouraged her to follow her own path. And whatever hatchet Willow and Faith had between them in the old days had been buried since at least the time Willow had driven out to LA to recruit her for the fight against the First.

Dawn and Xander were a bit of a tougher sell, admittedly. The bad blood between them had taken longer to settle, but things are better now. Even Xander doesn’t blink at Faith lounging around the common areas, offering unsolicited video game advice when he mashes buttons on the Playstation downstairs. Dawn no longer makes hasty excuses to leave the room when Faith comes in. But it still makes Buffy’s stomach twist to think about how tense things had been when she’d told them.

As frustrating as it had been, at least it had gone better than the last time her friends didn’t like her choice of date. No one had tried to get Faith killed, anyway. Sure, that was a depressingly low bar, but Buffy had learned not to turn her nose up at any victories in her personal life, no matter the size.

Still, it had been such a relief when, the night Buffy had taken them all aside to come clean, Giles had merely nodded and congratulated her on the relationship, breaking the tension in the room, staying with her as the others fumbled for excuses to leave. If he’d been shocked by the revelation, he’d done a tremendous job of hiding it - she had been grateful either way for his steadiness, his support.

She’d asked him about it once, on one of those late nights where they’d both lingered awake, alone in the study together. “Well,” he’d said, pulling off his glasses and wiping them along the edge of his shirt. “There’s always been something between you, hasn’t there?”

It had been exactly the kind of casual, devastating insight Buffy immediately felt guilty for not expecting him to have. All she’d been able to do in answer was nod and lean over the table to squeeze his hand.

Now though she smiles brightly, shaking her head. “Yeah. Same old Faith. Can’t believe you guys managed to pull one over on me like that.”

Giles smiles in return, takes a sip of his tea. “Yes, well. I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve, haven’t I?”

Buffy doesn’t linger much after that, already aware that the rest of the castle is waking up around her. She gives herself over to routine, heading to meet Willow for the morning catch-up. Living in the Internet Age means you can have a globe-spanning evil fighting organization capable of communicating instantaneously from nearly anywhere, regardless of the presence or skill of magic users. It’s pretty handy, honestly. Unfortunately, all good things come at a price.

“Reports!” Willow greets her with a smile, waving a sheaf of papers in the air. At least she’d printed them out; it might kill a lot of trees, but it’s so much easier to focus on the contents of the reports when she’s not stuck staring at a screen for hours. Besides, Buffy figures all the after-hours monster hunting probably makes up for the karmic badness of the whole situation’s general eco-unfriendliness.

“Goodie,” Buffy sighs, dropping down in the seat next to Willow’s.

“Looks like Bangkok’s up and running again after that freak storm,” Willow chirps brightly, undeterred by Buffy’s lack of enthusiasm. She slides the stack of papers across the desk to Buffy and turns her attention back to the computer in front of her. “And they might need some backup if these rumors of a krasue have any weight to them...”

—-

Scottish winters are surprisingly temperate, turns out.

For a land of moors and castles and high craggy cliff sides, Buffy had honestly expected more gothic novel weather: cutting winds, ferocious blizzards, bleak sunless days.

Alright, so it's bleak and sunless often enough, but the snow is always lighter than she expects. It's been a few days since the last fresh snowfall, though it's stayed cold, which means the grounds around the castle are kind of slushy and miserable.

And now Buffy has dragged twenty girls with superpowers out onto them and she can't afford to let on that she hates it more than they do.

"Good hustle, Leka! Remember to use your environment! Anything can be a weapon," Buffy calls, a little pointedly. Since bringing the girl over from Finland last year, she's done well, but she's got a tendency to rely on hand-to-hand too much. Being an uncreative fighter is a big disadvantage in their line of work. Buffy has been trying to get her to think outside the box more often.

Leka nods and hesitates, taking her attention off Buffy to cast around for a weapon. It's a mistake and one Buffy's not sure how hard to knock her for.

It's not like it was when she was training Potentials to fight the First, when Buffy had to push them hard, fast. It had been a scary, frustrating, graceless way to try to train slayers and the cost of it still lingers in Buffy's mind, even on the good days.

Still, she can't afford to be too soft. Vampires and demons won't spare anyone's feelings and there are no second chances in slaying.

With a sigh, Buffy hops up, snapping a bare tree branch off a nearby alder tree and throwing it, spear-like, past Leka's head. She jerks to a stop, whipping around to face Buffy.

"You're dead," Buffy says, with a shrug she hopes is casual and not dismissive. "You got distracted, you took your eyes off the vamp, he got the better of you."

"Vittu tätä paskaa," Leka curses, kicking her boot into the ground, looking frustrated and suddenly very young. Buffy’s not quite sure what the words means, but the tone leaves little to the imagination. Okay. Leader-time.

"Your footwork is getting way better though," Buffy offers, feeling guilty. "You're getting faster, steadier when things get more chaotic. Reacting way quicker. And that's good, Leka, that's going to help save your life. The number one thing I'm here to teach you girls is how to not die out there. And it's not good enough to be strong, or fast, or smart. You have to be constantly aware of your surroundings. You can't let your guard down for—"

Buffy began to feel it in the middle of her speech, that tingling on the back of her neck, that shift in the air. She glides to the left at the last second, snapping her hands up to seize Faith’s arm and to use her momentum against her, pulling Faith’s weight over the fulcrum of her shoulder before sending her crashing head over ass into the ground.

“—a second,” Buffy concludes smugly as the girls she’d been working with cheer and whoop, the mood instantly lifted on seeing Faith getting her ass handed to her.

Faith groans, rolling on her back in the slush for a moment, glaring up at Buffy from under the beanie Dawn had gifted to her a month ago at Christmas. It’s a bit theatrical, but Buffy appreciates the showmanship. “Best two out of three?”

Faith pins her in the next bout, but Buffy prevails in the third.

“Best five out of seven?” Faith pushes, pink-cheeked and breathing hard, eyes bright with a predatory keenness that makes Buffy’s heart pound.

The sparring, which had started off slow, ostensibly a demonstration for the younger slayers, has evolved into something… primal. The blows they’re trading are hard — not quite full strength, but barely holding back. Buffy can feel the bruise beginning to form on her jaw where Faith had clipped her with one of those deadly little rabbit jabs she’s been favoring lately. There’s a matching purple shadow welling up on Faith’s cheekbone, and her hands are scraped raw and bloody — Buffy had thrown her into a tree, and she’d caught herself against the sharp, brittle bark.

Honestly, Buffy can’t even feel bad about it. It had been too long since she’d been able to go all-out for something that wasn’t life or death. There’s this synergy, this animal excitement that Faith brings out in her like this, when they meet each other strike for strike, breath for breath, throwing everything they have to give out into the space between them. It’s not quite like sex, but it’s not all that different — that feeling of being challenged and matched at the same time, the drive to compete, to impress, to give, to revel in the harmony between their bodies.

They’re going so fast now that Buffy doesn’t even have time to think, really. This is what she loves the most — the way the world fades to a blur, her body flowing through movements borne on instinct alone, highly attuned and yet barely conscious at all.

In the end, Buffy ends up on her back, Faith’s arm levered against her throat, trying but not quite able to stop the tiny, jerking spasms of her hips up against Faith’s body. It’s just that— she loves this feeling, pinned under Faith’s weight, sticky with sweat, breathless and pliant, muscles burning. Faith smirks —of course she knows what Buffy’s thinking— and Buffy feels her face grow hotter. She at least has the presence of mind to crane her neck to glance over Faith’s shoulder, but the audience she’s expecting isn’t there.

“Went back inside,” Faith mutters, shifting her weight enough to take some, but not all, of the pressure off Buffy’s throat. Then she rolls her hips in a slow, hard circle against Buffy.

“Fuck,” Buffy keens, hand flying up automatically to grip Faith’s bicep, frantically. “Faith. Faith, we can’t—”

“Why not?” Faith asks, low, still rutting into Buffy, slow. Achingly slow. “Because we’re outside?”

Faith leans down, licks a broad stripe up the sweaty column of Buffy’s neck, ending with a stinging bite to the curve of her jaw.

“Because anyone could see you? The Big Bad OG Slayer, panting and whining, all spread out right there in the open ‘cause she just couldn’t wait to have it? Couldn’t even make it back inside ‘cause her pussy got so wet and swollen from slugging it out with her girlfriend that she let herself get fucked right there on the ground? Is that why we can’t?”

“I—” Buffy whines, shuddering hard at Faith’s litany of dirty talk. God, how did she ever learn to do that? Why does it work every time?

“You want it like that, baby?” Faith takes her arm off Buffy’s throat, grabs her tightly by the chin instead, holding her in place so she can’t look away from Faith’s hungry, searching gaze.

“Y-yeah,” Buffy croaks, arching up into Faith.

Something soft creeps over Faith’s face, for a moment, before that cocky steeliness takes back over. She leans down, opening Buffy’s mouth wide with a swipe of her thumb and leaning over her. She pauses, dark eyes blazing, and Buffy knows what this is — Faith’s giving her a moment to pull away, to redirect them, to ask for something else.

But there’s nothing on earth Buffy wants more in this moment than exactly this: Faith, the hunter, exalting in her victory. Faith the Slayer, ferocious and powerful.

Hungry.

She tilts her face up into Faith’s grip, opens her mouth just the slightest bit wider— permission.

She’s waiting for it, but there’s still something so shocking and dirty about it when Faith spits in her mouth. When she uses her grip on Buffy’s chin to force her jaw shut, to hold it there until Buffy swallows, when Faith leans down and pries Buffy’s lips back open with her tongue and teeth in reward, kissing her hard and relentless, all force and no grace.

And, god, it’s filthy. It’s such a degrading thing to let Faith do to her, Buffy knows she should be ashamed but mostly she’s just turned on. Faith’s desire is a vicious, relentless force — a wildfire stoked to the height of its power — and it’s all for Buffy.

The kiss she’s earned is all copper and salt and hot breath. With Faith’s tongue dominating her mouth, and Faith’s hands cupping Buffy’s face so hard she can barely move, it’s almost suffocating. She can barely catch her breath between Faith’s demanding mouth and the intensifying rocking of her hips. It’s dizzying, overwhelming — Buffy doesn’t even know if the blood she tastes is hers or Faith’s. But it doesn’t even matter at all, does it? If there’s any difference between them at all, she’s lost the ability to tell.

When Faith finally pulls away, it’s to sit up a little and shrug out of her jacket. She’s wearing one of her henleys, open at the collar, and Buffy wishes she could lean up, nose her way under the gaping fabric, and suck a bruise over her clavicle.

“I can’t use my hands,” Faith’s voice is throaty, all gravel and smoke. She flashes her scraped up palms towards Buffy apologetically and then spreads the jacket out on the ground between them, yanking Buffy forward until her ass is resting on the fabric. Then she reaches for Buffy’s pants, hooking her fingers into the waistband to pull her pants and underwear down to her thighs at the same time. “But you like my mouth, don’t you baby? I’m real good with my mouth.”

She is, of course, but it’s almost irrelevant at this point. Buffy’s so turned on it feels like her skin is buzzing. Faith yanks her pants down with brisk, unsentimental efficiency. She drops to her elbows on the ground and shoulders her way between Buffy’s legs, strands of hair spilling out past her beanie to tickle the insides of Buffy’s quivering thighs.

The moment Faith leans over her, breathes her in, Buffy’s already canting her hips upwards desperately, helplessly. She can’t spare more than a cursory thought for her usual anxieties — is she too sweaty, will Faith think she’s gross? Are they far enough away from the castle that no one will actually see? Is she really letting Faith fuck her here? Has she always been some kind of secret exhibitionist or is this new?

Each new question is obliterated by a ravenous swipe of Faith’s tongue almost before it occurs. All she can do is gasp and arch, weaving her hands into Faith’s damp hair and tugging sharply as she babbles and moans her way to an orgasm. “Oh, god, Faith, yeah. Oh, please, right—”

When Buffy comes, it’s with the sideways jerk of her head, muffling a stuttering moan against her own shoulder. There, with the warm sun pouring down over them, with that thin layer of slush melting against the back of her jacket, sweat drying cold against her skin, the distant twitter of waxwings in the air, the harsh puff of Faith’s hot breath against the crease of her thigh, Buffy thinks she never could have imagined a life this full of purpose and sex and love, veins coursing with endorphins and cool, crisp air.

Then, Faith scoots back up Buffy’s body, pausing at her belly to rub her face into the fabric of Buffy’s sweater, making her laugh and weakly push her head aside. “Faith, gross,” Buffy huffs, still a little winded. “You’re gonna ruin my sweater.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t made such a mess of me I wouldn’t need to get cleaned up,” Faith grins and kisses her again, gentle now. “You cold?”

She’s starting to be, with the adrenaline wearing off, but Buffy shakes her head. She lets her fingers drift down toward Faith’s crotch, but Faith catches her wrist and drags it back, laying it over her own still-thrumming heart and dipping her head to press a kiss against Buffy's bruised knuckles in consolation. “No time. We should get back before they send a search party. Unless you actually want to get caught.”

“But you didn’t—”

“Owe me,” Faith says and draws herself up to standing.

“I already owe you,” Buffy pouts but lets Faith pull her up. She resists the urge to slap Faith’s hands away as they slide her underwear and leggings back into place.

“Couple times over, now, but who’s counting, right?” Faith grins.

“Right,” Buffy mutters and she must give too much away in her tone because Faith freezes, turns back around to face her.

“Hey,” Faith says, voice soft. She reaches out, tugging Buffy closer to her by the hips. The kiss she presses to Buffy’s mouth is soft, inquisitive. “What’s up?”

Immediately, Buffy feels guilty and a little embarrassed. What a dumb thing to be insecure about, especially with Faith right here in front of her, being sweet and attentive like this.

“It’s nothing,” Buffy says. “I just...”

“What?” Faith asks again, that quiet, raspy whisper. “C’mon.”

“We’re good, right?” Buffy blurts, nervous, glancing down to her shoes. “I mean, it’s just— y'know, between last night and now, you haven’t let me—”

“Hey, look, just ‘cause I didn’t make you get me off when you were half asleep or right now when we’re about five minutes away from another Prague situation doesn’t mean I don’t want you. I mean, shit, I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman here,” Faith says very seriously, like she hadn’t just finished fucking Buffy in the dirt after wrestling her into submission. Then she leans in again, brushing Buffy’s lips with her own when she speaks. “Fuck, I can still taste your come in my mouth. Do you have any idea what that does to me? In a perfect world you’d have me up against that tree, making me beg for it til my eyes water, but…”

“But?” Buffy prompts, shakily, wet all over again.

“But I’m fucking freezing my ass off out here!” Faith’s voice is so genuinely aggrieved that Buffy can’t help but laugh. “Y’know, it’s really not that bad except this goddamn wind—”

“Okay, yeah,” Buffy concedes. The breeze is cutting and if they don’t get inside and clean up soon it’s going to be hell on their skin and Faith never brings her own moisturizer so she’ll use all of Buffy’s and then they’d fight on her birthday and it would be a whole thing. “Alright, fine. Let’s go. I’ll owe you one.”

“Two,” Faith corrects.

“Two.”

“Don’t think I’m gonna let you off the hook just ‘cause you’re pretty, y’know?”

“Oh yeah,” Buffy rolls her eyes, squeezing Faith’s hand in hers and leading her back to the castle. “When have you ever?”

—-

They get split up as soon as they’re back at the castle. Giles is lying in wait to whisk Faith away to the garage, some question that absolutely couldn’t wait, apparently.

Which leaves Buffy to shower on her own for the second time that day. More efficient, maybe, but a lot less fun than what she’d hoped for.

After that, she’s got just enough time to grab lunch with Dawn and Xander before heading off to her first meeting. She’s been holding these one-on-ones with the girls for about a year. She tries to see each of them at least once a month, when she can — at least the ones here in Scotland. It’s harder to make time when she’s visiting other branches, when her time is so limited and there’s usually some grave emergency pressing down on them.

She’s got a handful of regulars she sees more often, girls who are struggling to adjust to the calling, or the ones that have just asked for more of her time. It’s slowly become her favorite part of the job. It’s challenging, sure, almost more than the slaying sometimes. But helping these girls, guiding them, giving them the kind of support and understanding she’d always craved in her younger days as a slayer makes it all worth it.That’s the kind of thing she could see herself doing, even if all the monsters in the world suddenly went away one day.

As much as Buffy loves the work, even she’s got restless days. The minute her last appointment leaves for the day, she’s out of her office and pacing the mansion, searching for her girlfriend.

“Have you seen Faith?” Buffy asks, peeking her head into the office where Dawn and Giles are huddled around an array of spread-out books and a brittle-looking paper map. She winces when they both look up, startled by her voice. “Sorry. Bad time?”

“Well,” Giles begins, pulling his glasses off to clean them on the hem of his shirt.

“I have, actually!” Dawn interrupts, already crossing the room, looping her arm into Buffy’s, walking them out the door. “Back in a minute, Giles!”

“You’re not going back, are you?” Buffy murmurs, once they’re safely in the hallway, out of earshot.

“I am,” Dawn’s voice is doing that thing, nearly a whine, which means she knows she’s totally busted. “I mean, eventually. Buffy, I could feel my eyes turning to dust. I just need a little break! Giles should understand that.”

“What happened to ‘you guys have got to let me get more involved?’”

“Okay, but like, you guys have also got to let me, like, blink. Stretch my legs. See the sun…”

“Do you even actually know where Faith is?” Buffy asks, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, totally,” Dawn says, too quickly. “I mean, specifically? Not really. But this is exactly the kind of thing I’m training for, isn’t it? Recognizing patterns, honing my instincts, helping slayers in the field.”

“You have no clue,” Buffy accuses.

“She’s probably in the garage,” Dawn says. “Giles had her looking at something in there earlier. And besides, she’s nearly as obsessed with those bikes as you are with her.”

“I’m not obsessed,” Buffy feels herself squawk and immediately flushes. Dawn’s resulting smirk is all the confirmation Buffy needs that further argument is useless — the more she denies it (even if it isn’t true) the more ridiculous she’ll look. Ugh. “It’s just, y’know, not easy going weeks without seeing her.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dawn says, bumping Buffy gently with her shoulder. “Look, I know an extra day isn’t all that much, but…”

“So this was your master plan, huh?” Buffy asks, gesturing vaguely around the hallway.

“Well, I asked Willow to set up an alert for flights opening up. And then it was Giles who went to get her from the airport. Xander, uh, Xandered around,” Dawn pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, in that bashful way she gets when she’s proud of herself but trying not to be obvious about it. “Y’know. Team effort.”

“Thanks, Dawnie,” Buffy says, wrapping an arm around Dawn’s shoulder and tugging her closer, to press a kiss to her temple.

Dawn leans into her for a moment before squirming away. “You haven’t forgotten about dinner tonight, have you?”

I thought that was tomorrow, Buffy thinks with a jolt. Aloud she says, “No.”

Dawn narrows her eyes but doesn’t argue, for once. “The girls are all really excited about it, okay? And I heard Sherri and Raquelle were arguing over which type of cake to bake, so you’ll probably end up with two. You have to pretend you like them both the same, even if one is better.”

“Oh, come on, I wouldn’t do that—”

“One of them might be carrot cake.”

“Oh, god, what am I, eighty?”

“See,” Dawn says, smug.

“Well, who puts vegetables in cake anyway?” Buffy complains. “That’s—”

The sudden sound of shouting as they approach the garage has Buffy stopping short. She and Dawn exchange a glance before they both rush forward.

“Found Faith,” Dawn mumbles.

“You’re delusional! You need to get a grip!” The voice is agitated and about as familiar as they come.

“And Xander,” Buffy says.

Dawn reaches the door just before Buffy, flinging it open with a hearty shove of her shoulder. The drama of their entrance is lost on the room's occupants, who barely glance their way before continuing their argument.

“Mind your own business, Xander,” Faith growls. “It’s got nothing to do with you, anyway.”

“Yeah, so?” Xander blusters, clearly without a comeback. Clearly, also, not about to let whatever this is go. “Someone’s gotta have the guts to be honest with you. Since apparently your girlfriend won’t be the one to tell you—”

“Xander,” Buffy cuts in, mind racing. What the hell is he talking about?

“No, Buffy, she needs to hear this,” Xander says, infuriatingly calm, flashing his hands palm up in her direction, emphatically. “Faith. You have a Christian rock problem.”

“Oh god,” Dawn rolls her eyes.

“Shut up,” Faith says. “No, I don’t.”

“Lifehouse, Switchfoot, Creed,” Xander ticks the names off on his fingers as he speaks.

“Oh, Creed is Christian now?” Faith scoffs, looking to Buffy with a shake of her head. “Explain ‘Higher’ then, dumbass!”

“It’s about God!”

“It’s about shooting smack. Buffy, tell him—”

“It’s literally not,” Xander insists. “Buffy, please—”

“Yeah, Buffy,” Dawn echoes, smugly. Buffy glares at her sister and Dawn smirks back. “Please.”

“Guys, we don’t have time for this,” Buffy says in her very best I'm the Head Slayer and I’m Very Annoyed voice. Thankfully, it works — everyone instantly snaps their gazes to her. “Faith, let’s go.”

“But—”

She turns on her heel and leaves the room briskly, counting on Faith to follow.

“Okay, okay. What’s up?” Faith says, instantly falling into step behind her. There’s an edge to her voice, slightly anxious, that makes Buffy feel a little guilty for tricking her, but, well — she was not about to step into that argument with Xander and Faith again.

“Dinner, remember?” Buffy tosses over her shoulder, breezy.

“You stormed out of there for that? It’s still early.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“I thought it was tomorrow,” Faith mumbles.

“Yeah, well,” Buffy shrugs, stopping when Faith reaches out to gently seize her elbow. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’, just… We got some time to kill, right? Come out to the garage with me,” Faith says, chewing her lip. Nervous, then. Buffy doesn’t ask her to elaborate. “Just for a minute.”

It’s not long into the walk to the garage that Faith’s hand slips into hers, palm to palm. Their fingers fit so perfectly together that even now, after all this time together, it still makes Buffy’s heart beat faster, makes her want to slow down and savor the feeling, to catch Faith’s eye and make sure she’s feeling it too.

But if she did that every time, they’d never get anywhere quickly. Besides, the last thing she needs to do is give Dawn more ammo to make fun of them with - getting caught standing around in the hallway holding hands like a pair of highschoolers would take forever to live down.

There’s a good fifteen motorcycles in the garage now: triple what they’d stocked last year, and mostly due to Faith’s influence.

When Buffy had broken off into that extended motorcycle metaphor, all those months ago, she hadn’t expected Faith to take it so literally, to insist on teaching Buffy how to ride. Truth was, Buffy had been pretty reluctant to learn, though she’d known putting her foot down and refusing wouldn’t have made half as romantic a story or done all that much to encourage an uncertain Faith at a critical moment in their relationship.

She’d been expecting about as much difficulty and embarrassment as she’d faced learning to drive a car. More, even. A bike just seemed so unruly; all that power and none of the safety precautions Buffy knew to count on — perfect for someone like Faith, but it just seemed so overwhelming to Buffy. She admitted all this to Faith in a rush, standing in an empty mall parking lot in Cleveland, where Faith had taken her to learn to ride. “Don’t sweat it,” Faith had said, settling the helmet gently over Buffy’s head. “You’ll be fine.”

And the crazy thing was, she’d been totally right. After a shaky start learning the basics of operating a motorcycle and getting comfortable with the feel of it, Buffy found herself adapting more quickly and more confidently than she ever had to cars. There was something in the added physicality of riding a motorcycle that felt more intuitive - the way she had to shift her balance as she rode, the feeling of leaning into a turn, of dropping her feet to the pavement when she was ready to stop. Cars, despite Buffy’s best efforts, had always felt awkward, inelegant, under her direction. But the sleek, beautiful Triumph Thunderbird she’d ended up buying for herself felt less like a vehicle and more like an extension of her own body when she was straddling it.

Faith, of course, had been all too pleased to have successfully converted Buffy. She also declared the bike one of the top five best things she’d ever put between Buffy’s legs.

Honestly, Buffy couldn’t disagree.

“Tuned her up for you,” Faith says, walking Buffy over to her bike and swiping a hand over the seat. “You were about due an oil change anyway.”

“Thanks,” Buffy says, leaning in to press a grateful peck to Faith’s lips.

Slowly, Faith had been requesting more responsibilities at the Castle, when she stayed. Maintaining the fleet of motorcycles had become her chief position, though she had a few younger slayers who she’d been training as backups.

Though she’d been careful early on about demanding too much from Faith while she was in Scotland, of slipping up and dragging Faith into a role in the organization she never wanted, Buffy had been pleased when Faith had suggested this position for herself. Faith was a good teacher, and the motorcycles had come in handy for slaying more times than Buffy could count — quicker and more maneuverable than cars, better for lone slayers or the typical duos they sent on patrol around the area. Buffy hadn’t been surprised when, as soon as they announced the option for training and licensing, a huge influx of young slayers had signed up immediately.

“And, uh, I got you something,” Faith mumbles, shifting awkwardly and pulling away from Buffy’s gentle hold to grab a box she’d stashed behind the bike. She shoves it unceremoniously into Buffy’s hands. “Here.”

As cute as it is, Buffy knows better than to comment on Faith’s obvious nervousness. It’s fun to tease, sure, but nothing feels worse than watching Faith lose her confidence in moments like these, to see her make herself smaller. They’re steadier now, more sure of themselves and each other, but Faith’s heart is still a fragile thing. Buffy intends to be careful with it.

Gingerly, she braces the box on the seat of the motorcycle and lifts the lid. Then, she peels back the crepe paper and lifts out the folded leather inside the box.

“It’s custom made,” Faith supplies, watching intently as Buffy unfolds the jacket and holds it up for inspection. “Good leather, y’know? Low profile, too, so you can wear it around. And, check it out, it’s got plating, sewn in here, see? That’ll absorb some of the shock if you take a spill on the bike. Should come in handy if any things bumpin’ around in the night decide to try anything on, too.”

The leather is a rich brown, nearly auburn in the light. There’s a general stiffness to it that Buffy knows is a combination of new leather and the armor plating, especially at the elbows and shoulders, but some of that will fade in time. The rest, she’ll get used to. “Faith…” Buffy breathes, turning the jacket around in her hands.

“Here. Want me to…?” Faith asks, shuffling forward and reaching for the jacket. Buffy hands it over, slides into it when Faith holds it up for her, the smell of new leather flooding her nostrils. Faith slides around to Buffy’s front, adjusting the lapels and tugging the zipper up to Buffy’s neck. She flexes her arms experimentally — it’s going to take some breaking in, but even brand new it feels more mobile than the other armored jackets she’s tried on.

Buffy pats down her front, feeling an unexpected gap in the material. “Is this—?”

“Storage for stakes,” Faith says, pointing out a zippered pouch on Buffy’s chest, then another near her hip. “There’s others too, in the interior lining. One in the back. How’s it feel?”

“Pretty good,” Buffy says, stretching her arms again, hearing the leather creak.

“You like it?” Faith asks, shyly. “‘Cause if you don’t I can — well, I can’t return it, but I can get rid of it. Get you something else.”

“I love it,” Buffy says, reaching out and taking hold of Faith’s fluttering hands. She tugs Faith closer, tilts her head up to kiss the anxious torrent out of Faith’s mouth. “It’s perfect.”

“Really?” Faith breathes.

“Mmhmm,” Buffy says. “I like how it feels. And I’m gonna like getting to think about you every time I put it on, even when you’re not here.”

“Oh,” Faith grins, cautiously proud. “I—I said I’d make it up to you, after last year.”

“Mission accomplished,” Buffy grins, kissing Faith again, a little longer this time. She can almost feel the pleasure radiating off Faith, the way heat ripples out from a bright bulb. The kiss keeps breaking off when Faith’s smile grows too large to sustain it, a fact that Buffy can’t help but find both adorable and an incredible challenge. She loops her arms around the back of Faith’s neck and pulls her down harder into the kiss, humming when Faith groans a little and settles her hands on Buffy’s ass. “Hey,” Buffy murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak. “Do me a favor.”

“Yeah,” Faith breathes. “I mean, what?”

Buffy grins, reaching up to the zipper at her neck and drawing it down. “Help me break this thing in?”

“You want me to wear it?” Faith blinks, sobering slightly. “Not your style? You can tell me.”

“I love it,” Buffy says seriously, holding Faith’s eyes, kissing her again to soothe the anxious wrinkle between her brows. “But when you go back to the States, I want to be able to wear it and feel like you’re here. And that’ll be easier if it smells like you.”

“Oh,” Faith says, voice rough. “I could just… spray it down with cologne or something, when I go.”

“Are you arguing with the birthday girl?” Buffy frowns dramatically. “Are you denying the simple, sappy request of your only girlfriend? On her birthday?”

“Okay, okay,” Faith rolls her eyes, not able to smother the laugh in her voice. “Jeez. Ball buster.”

“I think you mean ‘wow, that’s so romantic, Buffy, I’m touched,’” Buffy says, jabbing Faith in the ribs, laughing as she squirms away.

“Well, technically, only you’ve been touched so far. I’m still waiting my turn,” Faith says, licking her lips, giving Buffy a smoldering look. She slips into the jacket, all teasing, sinuous motion. She’s so sexy sometimes it makes Buffy want to scream. And judging from the knowing little smirk on Faith’s face, she’s not doing a particularly good job of hiding it. “But hopefully this dinner doesn’t drag on too long, so you can start getting me back.”

“Or maybe we ditch,” Buffy says, reaching out and pulling Faith closer by the lapels of the jacket. “Ditching sounds good.”

This time it’s Faith who leans in, kissing Buffy slow and hot. There’s a promise in the way she slides her tongue past Buffy’s parted lips, the way she catches Buffy’s bottom lip between her front teeth and pulls before she lets go. Her voice is rough, gravelly, when she speaks next. Her words make no damn sense. “Don’t think so, B.”

“What?” Buffy whines. “Why?”

“C’mon,” Faith laughs, cradling Buffy’s face in her hands, rubbing a thumb along the curve of her cheek. “That wouldn’t be fair. There’s a whole load of girls in there been looking forward to this all day.”

Buffy huffs a sigh. “Ugh. Since when are you Fairness Girl?”

“‘s a new thing I’m trying,” Faith says, grinning. “Picked it up from my girlfriend. Kinda the bossy type, usually pretty into the whole justice and responsibility schtick.”

“Yeah?” Buffy can’t quite keep the smile off her face as she finally gives up, stepping back and putting some distance between them. “Sounds like a wet blanket to me.”

“Mmm, she knows how to have her fun,” Faith says, flicking her eyes up and down Buffy’s body leeringly. “Trust me on that.”

The door to the garage swings open, admitting a pair of young slayers, Neha and Paz.

“Faith!” Paz cries out. Then, over her shoulder to the other girl, “See I told you we’d find her here. We were hoping you could— Oh. Hi, Buffy.”

“Hi girls,” Buffy says.

“Uh, bad time?” asks Neha, sheepish.

Faith looks to Buffy, raising an eyebrow.

With a deep breath, Buffy shoots them all a smile. “Just fine, actually. Dinner in an hour, okay? Don’t forget.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Faith says, flicking two fingers away from her temple in a dorky salute.

“And, hey,” Buffy drops her voice, stepping closer and angling Faith’s body so her back is to the girls still hovering in the doorway. “Thanks again. For the gift. For being here.”

Gently, Faith reaches up a hand, capturing a strand of Buffy’s hair between her fingers and tucking it carefully behind her ear. She leans in, slow, and presses a soft kiss to the side of Buffy’s mouth. It’s chaste, mindful of their audience, but the tenderness, the unrepentant intimacy of it has Buffy blushing all the same. “Couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

Faith spins on her heel with a loud clap of her hands. “Alright, so, what’s up? Get your frisbee stuck on the roof? Ball over the neighbor’s fence? Need help burying a body? Can’t reach the cereal on the top shelf in the kitchen?”

“I’m taller than you,” Neha points out, bluntly.

“Before you left last time, you said you were gonna teach us how to throw knives,” Paz says, crossing her arms.

“Ah. Before the Boss here has decided that knife throwing should be on the curriculum? That doesn’t sound like something I’d say,” Faith says, tossing a sheepish look over her shoulder at Buffy.

Paz has the good grace to at least look embarrassed. “Um. I mean—”

“Fine,” Buffy sighs, brushing her shoulder against Faith’s as she steps past her, making for the door. “Just don’t practice inside, alright?”

“Alright!” Paz agrees eagerly.

“You’re the best, Buffy!” Neha adds.

“Yeah,” Faith’s voice follows her out the door. “Pretty cool chick, huh?”

Chapter Text

January, 2005 (continued)

Dinner goes… fine? Actually, no, it goes well. Like, really well, at least by Slayer standards.

There are no demon attacks or vampire invasions or evil warlocks trying to destroy her. No ancient prophecy comes to pass, no inconvenient interruptions by ghosts or spirits.

Hell, the worst thing Buffy finds herself up against is the massive slab of carrot cake served to her by Sherri, who'd baked it herself. Buffy had accepted it gratefully, taken one exaggerated bite in her presence, and discreetly passed on the rest of the cake to Xander, who could put away any baked goods efficiently and without discrimination.

Maybe it's a natural consequence of getting older, especially as a Slayer. Buffy knows, at twenty four, she's officially outlived at least half of her predecessors...but she can't help but find herself feeling sort of dazed by the strange unreality of the whole situation.

To go from years of secrecy and isolation to this - just one Slayer in a world of dozens. Possibly hundreds. To have so many of them all here around her — cooking her dinner, baking her cakes, shyly sidling up to wish her a happy birthday or boldly throwing their arms around her and professing their admiration — it feels so unreal.

“Not even one messed up thing has happened tonight. Do you realize that?” Buffy asks, leaning towards Xander across the table. “You sure I didn’t get comatized or something again and I just haven’t realized it?”

“Ah, there’s that good ol’ fashioned Slayer optimism that’s carried us through so many dark times,” Xander rests his chin on his fist dreamily. “Say something else cheery for us all to bask in.”

“I’m just saying, it feels weird that today’s been so… boring.” A sudden sharp, stinging pain in her side makes Buffy jerk away. “Ow! Dawn, what the hell?”

“See, if you were dreaming, you wouldn’t have felt that,” Dawn grins, her nose doing that adorable little wrinkly thing so Buffy can’t even be annoyed about it. “Anyway, cut that out. You’re gonna jinx it.”

"No jinxing allowed," Willow chimes in, wagging a finger at them. "We're in the fun zone. The Birthday Fun Zone! Look, Kennedy made banners!”

She gestures at the drooping paper banners hanging from the eaves, neatly painted in huge red letters.

“‘The Fnu Zone?’” Xander reads aloud. “‘Fnu?”’

Kennedy winces, angling her head to Willow and whispering, “Baby, you know I’m dyslexic.”

“Ah,” Willow nods, cheerfully. “Well, one woman’s grave delegation error is another woman’s fun new catch phrase! We’re here to have fun and fnu.”

“Great! Just one question,” Buffy asks. “What is ‘fnu?’”

“Well, it’s an acronym,” Willow says. “Uh, it stands for, uh, uh, Fun!”

“Okay,” Xander says slowly. “So, we’re here to have Fun and Fun and…?”

“Yes, a fun, um, nifty…?” Willow offers, gesturing to Kennedy for help.

“Union?” Kennedy shrugs, glancing sideways at Buffy.

“A fun, fun, nifty union!” Willow declares, clapping her hands on each syllable. “To celebrate Buffy’s birthday! The big two-four! Very close to the big two-five! Better, some might say — all the excitement, none of the pressure.”

“Speaking of excitement, where’s Faith?” Kennedy asks, turning in her seat and craning her neck around the room to look. “Haven’t seen her since lunch.”

“Yeah, where is Faith?” Dawn asks. “She’s missing our fun, fun nifty union.”

“She went to grab us some more punch,” Buffy says.

“Oh! Punch — Kennedy also used a secret family recipe for the punch,” Willow supplies, leaning across her seat to press a kiss to Kennedy’s temple.

“It’s just guava juice and 7-up,” Kennedy says. Then she pauses, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a flask. “Also, vodka. If you’re into that.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Faith chimes in, as if summoned, leaning over Kennedy’s chair to set the two cups of punch she’d just retrieved in front of her. “But keep the pour light. I had an idea.”

“Uh oh,” Xander mumbles into his drink before also sliding it across the table towards Kennedy’s. “Thinking I might need some of that too.”

Faith rolls her eyes and grabs the drinks, settling down in the chair beside Buffy, scooting it closer until their thighs are touching. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Buffy murmurs, leaning in and pecking Faith on the mouth. She grabs the cup and takes a long, cold sip. “Thanks.”

“Pleasure,” Faith says, a little too raspy to be decent. The sound of Dawn’s fake retching across the table makes her whip her head sideways to glare.

“What was this big idea you had?” Buffy asks, before Dawn can open her mouth and say something annoying.

“Well, you’re off duty tonight, yeah?” Faith asks, leaning back into her chair, but keeping her thigh pressed close against Buffy’s under the table.

“Yep.”

“So, it’s not that late yet,” Faith says. “Let’s drive into town, find someplace to dance.”

“Yes,” Kennedy slaps the table, pocketing her flask. “I’m in.”

“Knew you’d have my back, Special K,” Faith says, snapping a finger in Kennedy’s direction. To the rest of the group she adds, “She probably shouldn’t be the one driving us, though.”

“Well, hang on, it’s Buffy’s birthday,” Willow cuts in. “What do you wanna do, Buffy?”

“A night out sounds fun, actually.” They haven’t all been out together in what feels like forever. “And it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Xander groans. “God, I never go out anymore. I can feel myself aging, becoming irrelevant, unhip. See? Like that! Who says ‘unhip?’ Not hip people, I tell you!”

“Okay! It’s settled. We’re going out!” Dawn chimes in, excited. She lets loose a little girlish squeal that has several heads turning towards their table. “Clubbing!”

“Now, wait a minute,” Buffy starts.

“The legal drinking age in Scotland is eighteen, Buffy,” Dawn points out, before Buffy can even get there on her own. “There’s no place in town that wouldn’t let me in the door.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Buffy sighs, rubbing her brow.

“Come on. Don’t be uncool.” There’s the Dawn Summer patented pout. The nose scrunch is considerably less adorable here, than it was earlier.

"Yeah, B, don't be uncool," Faith says, knocking Buffy's shoulder with her own. Traitor.

She's been sucking up to Dawn all year, in what she clearly thinks is a subtle ploy to score points with Buffy’s younger sister. Usually, it’s cute. Okay, even right now, it’s cute, even though it honestly should just be annoying. It’s just that Buffy can’t help how she reacts, the way her stomach flutters and the corners of her lips creep upward even when she’s trying to frown sternly. Sometime in the past year, Faith has turned into a being of supreme cuteness and, superpowers or no, Buffy’s still only human. There’s just no standing firm in the face of that kind of power.

Buffy hesitates, chewing her lip.

Faith, noticing her moment of weakness, strikes again. "The kid's not gonna do anything stupid. Are ya, kid?"

"Me? Stupid? Never," Dawn says, widening her eyes innocently.

"Uh huh," Buffy says flatly. But, god, they’re both looking at her with their big doe eyes and she can feel Xander and Willow across the table practically vibrating with the restraint it's taking them not to butt in. "Fine, okay. But we’re going out to dance, okay? Not to get sloppy. Or hook up with some slutty weirdo."

Dawn squeals again, Faith mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘speak for yourself,’ and across the table Xander and Willow high five.

And Buffy has to admit that from the moment they all leave the table to get ready upstairs, she can feel herself getting more and more excited. It has been forever since they all got to go out and do something as normal as dance and have a few drinks. The pang of bittersweet nostalgia for her years in Sunnydale — simpler in her memory than they ever were in real life, Buffy knows — is tempered by the brighter, sweeter anticipation of tonight.

She’ll be twenty four in just a few hours and when the clock ticks over she will be on a dancefloor with her oldest friends, her not-so-little-anymore kid sister, and her girlfriend.

She’s young. She has a life she’s proud of and people who love her. What more could she ask for? What could anyone?

—-

There are some definite perks that come with running a Slayer school. All of Buffy’s girls have a reputation around town as good people to have around in a packed, rowdy club. Okay, so, they might bring with them a slightly higher rate of property damage, but assaults and killings go way down. For this, as well as the skilful handling of the odd belligerent drunk, there’s not a doorman in town who ever makes them wait in line.

Which is good, given how Xander and Andrew notwithstanding, they’re about a dozen girls dressed to dance in the middle of winter. Okay, so not the most practical plan in the world, but screw practicality — Buffy only gets one birthday a year.

They funnel inside in a flurry of checked coats. Immediately, the boys and Kennedy head off to the bar for a round of drinks, leaving everyone else to claim a booth. It’s kind of nice, getting to take a breather while they wait for the first round. Almost perfect, actually. Except…

Buffy almost hates the dimness of the club, for how difficult it makes it to ogle Faith. That’s got to be a new dress — Buffy’s never seen it before. A red so deep it’s nearly black in this light, perfectly matched to the dark shade of lipstick Faith’s gone with tonight. It’s short and clingy in all the right places, gaping open on top enough to turn more than just Buffy’s head.

The thing is, it's not that Buffy had never noticed other women's bodies before, it's just that it feels so different noticing them now. Recognizing that the hot, churning feeling in her belly isn't just jealousy, it's want. Letting herself really feel it, desire melting low in her belly like hot wax, without trying to strangle the emotion out of shame or denial.

Women are hot.

Faith is hot. The hottest, maybe.

And she's all Buffy's.

“Hey,” Faith’s voice is low, gravelly, amused. “See something you like?”

“Oh yeah,” Buffy says, breathy. “Xander!”

“What?” Faith’s tone is so indignant that Buffy can’t help but laugh, leaning over her and reaching out to accept the drink Xander offers her: a deliciously, artificially luminescent bright green appletini. ‘A girl drink’ Faith always says, like she doesn’t end up spending half the night stealing sips when she thinks Buffy’s not looking.

By the time they’ve put away their first round, everyone’s feeling looser and more excited to dance. She lets Xander and Willow pull her onto the dance floor, leaving Faith behind with a peck on the lips, and basks in the nostalgia of it all. One dance turns into three, then four, Xander and Willow turn into Dawn, and Satsu, and Leah, and Jasmine, and Andrew, and then a cute stranger, some guy she’s never seen before, sliding up to her and dancing close enough to be decidedly more than friendly, but still not what Buffy would call pushy. Maybe he means to take it there, but he never gets the chance.

Because there’s Faith, sliding in between the two of them, supple and shadowy, a bolt of heat in the dark. She dances up against the man first, putting her back to Buffy, using her body to force Buffy back a step. The guy looks torn, flailing one hand weakly after Buffy before Faith presses her palms to his chest, redirecting his attention and there it is— that look guys get when Faith puts the work on them. And it is a work — Buffy knows Faith is about as interested in this guy as she is in the virgin mocktails Dawn’s been ordering all night.

But this guy doesn’t know that yet. He just looks kind of… dumbstruck. Hungry. Like he’s so sure this is the start of something life changing.

And then the turn. Faith dances him back a few steps, flicking her head to the side and catching Buffy’s eye with a wink, to be sure she was watching. When the guy, oblivious, leans in to say something to her, dropping his hands to her hips hopefully, she catches him with a palm against his chest again, pushing him off with a little more force than necessary. He stumbles, crestfallen, and bumps into a much larger, more annoyed looking man.

Faith pays no mind to the aftermath of the destruction, like always, laser-like gaze locked onto Buffy.

“Cut in?” she asks, not waiting for an answer before drawing Buffy close against her with a possessive grip on her waist.

“I think you’re supposed to ask before you interrupt a dance,” Buffy says, craning her neck to look over Faith’s shoulder where the pair of men are now exchanging furious hand gestures over the music. “You’re gonna start a fight, one of these days.”

Faith looks unconcerned. “Better than if I finish one, right?”

Buffy laughs and Faith grins, squeezing Buffy’s waist, rolling her hips to the music, so close now Buffy can smell the sweat under her perfume, the faint tang of alcohol on her breath.

“Miss me?” Faith breathes, barely audible over the music.

Buffy shakes her head.

“Cold,” Faith murmurs, pulling back just slightly.

Buffy catches her, winding an arm around her neck. It’s not a slow song, but Buffy slows them down, leans in until she can feel Faith’s tits press against her through their clothes. “Nothing to miss. Felt you right here the whole time.”

“Oh.” Faith’s eyes are huge, her lips looking plump and wet and biteable. Buffy resists the urge to lean in, knowing already that they must be attracting a good amount of attention anyway. Faith has that effect on the dance floor. Well, on anywhere, if they’re being honest.

"They're all staring at you," Buffy murmurs, letting her lips brush the shell of Faith's ear, just to feel her shiver.

"Yeah,” Faith says and Buffy doesn’t have to see her mouth to know she’s smirking. “Jealous, B?"

Jealous? Not hardly. Faith is beautiful. She’s sexy. She’s downright captivating — a brilliant, flickering flame in the dark. How can you look anywhere else? How can you want anything but to be nearer to it?

But the thing is, it doesn't matter who looks at her and wants her for themselves. The only person Faith is going home with tonight is Buffy. It will be Buffy's hands pulling that clinging fabric down Faith's body, Buffy's tongue tracing the line of Faith's clavicle, Buffy's hands between Faith's thighs, making her sigh and moan and break apart.

Let them look.

Buffy is the only one who will be allowed to touch.

"Jealous of guys like that who pant over you and get nowhere?" Buffy laughs. "Why would I be? They wouldn’t even know what to do with you, if they had you. Remind me: who are you going home with tonight?"

"You," Faith croaks, swallowing hard.

"Uh huh. And who's going to — what'd you say earlier? — make you beg for it til your eyes water?"

"You."

"Yeah. Me." Buffy has to fight to keep a smile off her face at how obviously turned on Faith is: breathing harder, blinking slower, pressing her body infinitesimally, desperately closer. "Why is that?"

"Cause I'm yours…" Faith's voice is the kind of ragged, helpless whisper that Buffy almost never hears outside of bed.

"You're mine," Buffy growls and Faith shakes against her. "So, what do I have to be jealous of?"

“Oh fuck,” Faith groans, dropping her forehead to rest against Buffy’s. “You’re gonna kill me, B.”

“Later, definitely,” Buffy smirks, the thrill of riling Faith up still buzzing through her like an electric current. “Little deaths. Five or six, maybe.”

Faith’s laugh is low and dirty, and Buffy feels it vibrate out of her body almost more than she hears it. “Oh yeah? Big talk.”

“Big game,” Buffy promises. “The question is: can you play?”

“Five or six is… ambitious,” Faith says, voice shaking just enough to betray her. “I’m just worried your mouth is writing checks your ass can’t cash, B.”

“Careful. You know full well what my mouth can do, Faith. If you’ve earned it,” Buffy says and Faith shivers against her. There it is. She’s won.

“Yeah,” Faith rasps. “Well, it’s been a minute. Maybe I need a refresher. How about we get out of here and—”

They’ve slowed now, too occupied by one-upping each other to remember to keep up the pretense of dancing. Or to pay much attention to their surroundings. That’s why it startles them both when Dawn comes crashing into them.

“I love this song!” Dawn says, rocking around gracelessly but enthusiastically between them. So much for the mocktails.

“Later,” Buffy promises, over Dawn’s shoulder, not bothering to hide her amusement at Faith’s bereft expression.

Dawn takes her by the arm, raising it high above her head and beseeching Buffy to twirl.

The club spins around her, light and sound and a night’s worth of possibility.

—-

It's almost two in the morning by the time they leave. Xander, Willow and Dawn are all looking hazy-eyed and spent as they shuffle toward the car, but Buffy's still sharp and wired.

She's not the only one — a few girls decline the ride back to the Castle, opting to stay in town and patrol until dawn. There's a safehouse to crash in, after all. Honestly, Buffy thinks about joining them but cramming into that apartment with a handful of Slayers after a long night does not sound private enough for Buffy's plans, so she bundles herself into the car with her friends and tries to be subtle when the heat of Faith’s hand on her thigh makes her squirm in her seat.

“Need a hand?” Faith offers quietly, leaning in as Buffy coaxes Dawn out of the car.

“Nah,” Buffy shakes her head. “Go upstairs and wait for me. I’ll be there in just a minute.”

Faith nods and disappears inside. Buffy spends the next fifteen minutes getting her drunk younger sister cleaned up and into bed. It’s not as annoying as it could be — Dawn is a sweet and surprisingly clingy drunk. Definitely a lightweight but young enough, and hopefully hydrated enough, to stand a chance at avoiding the hangover she’s earned tonight. Time will tell. Buffy leaves a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on Dawn’s bedside table, just in case.

Luckily, no one intercepts her on her way back to her room. She knocks once, gently, as a courtesy before letting herself in.

Her bedside lamp is on, casting a warm, orange glow over the room.

And there, in the middle of it all, is Faith; beautifully backlit, still wearing that slinky dress, and bent over the small but eclectic box of toys they’ve started accruing on this side of the Atlantic.

“Faith,” Buffy hisses, kicking the door shut and locking it. “You have all that stuff out and you didn’t even lock the door?”

Faith shrugs, looking unconcerned. “Yeah, so? Wasn’t expecting anyone but you.”

“Well, anyone else could have still walked in.”

“But they didn’t?” Faith counters, smirking and, okay, so she’s going to be like that.

Fine.

Buffy prowls a little closer, delighting in the unconscious way Faith straightens up as she gets nearer. She nods at the toys. “Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Not really,” Faith says. “If I was, I’d be out of this thing and touching myself already, since you seem to be fine taking your sweet time about it.”

Buffy swallows hard. As much as she’s been looking forward to getting Faith out of that dress herself, she can’t deny that walking in to Faith, in her bed, fucking herself because she just couldn’t wait for Buffy to show up also turns her on. “Impatient, huh?”

“Can you blame me?” Faith scoffs. “You, looking like that all night. Dancing up on me with all that I own you shit.”

“Please, I’ve never said that to you.” Something about the phrase makes Buffy’s guts feel all twisted up, and she’s not sure if she likes it or not.

“Don’t have to,” Faith says, simply, without bravado. And, god, she’s so pretty standing there, in that dress she wore for Buffy’s birthday, watching her with those big, doe eyes, wanting Buffy so plainly, so desperately but waiting, always waiting, for Buffy to reach out first. To take her. To have her.

“C’mere,” Buffy says, voice trembling just slightly.

Faith goes immediately, gliding over to Buffy, who receives her with two palms on either side of her hips, but does not move to kiss her. Instead, she just holds her, watching Faith breathe deeply, chewing her lip, still waiting.

Buffy lets go of her for a second, just enough to shuffle to the other side of her room and pull down the long, rectangular mirror hanging off her wall. She props it up against the wall opposite the bed and returns to Faith, sliding up behind her and angling her body so they’re facing their own reflections.

Faith’s grinning, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, hey. What’s that for?”

Buffy rolls her eyes, sliding forward to mold herself against Faith’s back, shifting against her so Faith will feel Buffy’s tits pressing into her. Times like this she wishes she were a little taller, so this would all come off a bit more commanding, but this is good enough. She can still get her chin over Faith’s shoulder, so it doesn’t look too ridiculous. “I think you can figure it out.”

“Kinky,” Faith says approvingly, eyebrows jumping.

Buffy hums against Faith’s shoulder, pressing her lips to it but not quite kissing it. “Want to make things interesting?”

It takes Faith a moment to answer, lost as she is in watching in the mirror as Buffy’s hands drift along her body, up her thighs, ruffling the hem of her dress, over her hips, her belly, her tits, her neck. “Uh. What did you have in mind?”

“A game,” Buffy says, tweaking Faith’s nipple just to hear her gasp.

“Okay,” Faith says, voice strained, thrusting her chest forward in a vain attempt to solicit more attention. “I like games. What are the rules?”

“I’ll get you off—”

“--I’m in,” Faith interrupts, grinning.

That does it. Buffy tips her head, biting the side of Faith’s neck hard — not enough to break skin, but enough to make her jerk and hiss. “Behave,” Buffy mutters. “For once in your life, please. Or we won’t play.”

“Okay, okay,” Faith’s voice is a little breathless. “Okay, fine.”

“I’m going to fuck you in front of this mirror and you need to watch,” Buffy says.

“Easy.”

“The whole time,” Buffy continues. “No looking away, no closing your eyes. Look away, you lose. Okay?”

“Okay,” Faith says. Then, as an afterthought. “I’m going to blink.”

“Of course you’re going to blink. I meant, like, other looking away. For longer,” Buffy clarifies. “If you can manage that, you win, and you can come as soon as you want. But if you lose, you’ll have to wait until I’m ready for you.”

For the first time, Faith looks torn about the idea. She’s never had a temperament for edging — always struggled with the delayed part of delayed gratification, even if by the end of the night she’s always well past complaining. But the moment passes and Faith nods. “Sure, I — wait. Is that it?”

“What do you mean ‘is that it?’”

“I win and I get to come? You already promised me that. If this is a contest now, then I’m gonna want more when I win.”

Leave it to Faith to turn this into a negotiation.

And Buffy doesn’t miss the deliberate use of when and not if, but she lets it slide this time.

“Well, what do you want?” she asks.

Faith pauses like she didn't expect to be asked and Buffy falters, wondering if she read this wrong. Was she supposed to go all ‘grr, argh, I’m the boss, you listen to me?’ just then? Faith does like that sometimes. But the thing is, she’d made a good point. It really was only fair to let her pick something extra, if Buffy was raising the stakes.

“What do you want, Faith?” Buffy asks again, dropping her voice lower, dragging her lips up the side of Faith’s neck as she speaks.

“It’s your birthday…” Faith mumbles, unexpectedly hesitant now that she’s getting what she wanted.

“I’ve already got my present,” Buffy reminds her, reaching up to squeeze Faith’s tits teasingly, before resuming her slow, ponderous exploration of Faith’s body. “I asked you what you want, if you win.”

“I…” Faith bites her lip, trailing off. She takes a moment, staring at Buffy touching her in the mirror, pacing her breathing, and Buffy waits patiently, not prodding, not pushing her. It’s still not easy, sometimes, for Faith to ask for what she wants, even when Buffy’s offering her everything. “I want you to tie me up.”

“Really?” Buffy asks, before she can stop herself, and Faith immediately stiffens against her. Buffy follows up with a hungry kiss to the side of Faith’s neck, over the spot she’d bitten earlier, letting her tongue rove over the skin placatingly. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Faith repeats, shakily.

“Definitely, extremely, totally yeah,” Buffy affirms, kissing Faith again, this time on the corner of her jaw, letting Faith’s curls tickle her chin. “I can do that.”

They’d only tried that one other time, a few months ago. It had been a little more spontaneous, then. Faith had been goading her, testing Buffy’s patience by conveniently “forgetting” when Buffy instructed her to keep her hands to herself and Buffy had threatened to take the choice away from her. And then when she’d felt how wet Faith had gotten from just the suggestion, she’d done it for real — it had been her cashmere scarf, that night. Not the sexiest option, but it had been nearby and a less intimidating option than those garish fuzzy pink handcuffs under Faith’s bed.

The scarf hadn’t lasted long in the face of Faith’s slayer strength — torn in half less than fifteen minutes after Buffy had used it to bind Faith’s wrists. But it was fun while it lasted.

Yeah, she could try that again.

Besides, she’d be better prepared this time.

Okay, just one thing left.

“If you want to slow things down—” Buffy starts, but Faith cuts her off.

“Yellow,” she says, impatiently. “And if I wanna call it all off, it’s red.”

Buffy had done some reading since that time with the scarf. The same sex shops that carried the lube and toys that they used also had plenty of books about, well, how to have good sex. Interesting sex. Some stuff Buffy had been curious about, some stuff she’d never even imagined possible or, well, appealing, but learning a little more had helped Buffy feel a little more confident in trying new things.

Talking about safewords had been awkward, to say the least. Faith had been cagey and annoyed, insisting she didn’t need kid gloves, that she could handle whatever Buffy wanted. She’d reacted like Buffy had been accusing her of something, when all Buffy had wanted was to make sure they never really hurt each other. If anything, though, Faith’s defensiveness had been proof that Buffy was right to make this a priority. Games were one thing, but she never wanted Faith to feel like she had to do anything she didn’t want to.

Eventually, they’d agreed on the stoplight system. It hadn’t really come up much in play yet, but well — Buffy wanted to remind Faith to use it, especially if there was a possibility she’d get tied up later.

“So, what are you now?” Buffy prompts, just to put a point on it.

“Green,” Faith sighs. “Though the more time we waste gabbing the closer I get to blue.”

“Blue?” Buffy prompts, pausing with her hands bunched in the silky fabric of the dress, slowly hiking it up Faith’s thighs.

“Yeah, the color my balls are turning,” Faith groans. “Come on, Buffy.”

“Is that how you think this is going to work?” Buffy asks, still not moving her hands. “You act like a brat long enough and I’ll stop thinking it’s annoying and start wanting to give you what you want?”

Faith offers her only sullen silence in reply, glancing away from Buffy’s eyes in the mirror.

“Ah,” Buffy nips her neck again, in warning. “I’ll give you that one for free, but you almost just lost. Now, c’mon, answer me.”

“No,” Faith mutters, catching Buffy’s gaze again in the mirror. “It hasn’t worked.”

“Wanna know what I think?” Buffy asks softly, slowly resuming the motion of her hands, now that Faith is cooperating.

“What?”

“I think you’re nervous, so you’re acting out,” Buffy says.

Faith blinks quickly, darting her gaze away for a moment before catching herself and looking back at their reflections. “Heard that one before. When did you become a school guidance counselor?”

“Um, a couple years ago, actually,” Buffy says, nose wrinkling in thought.

“Wait, what? Really?” Faith asks, dropping her eyes from the mirror and twisting around to look at Buffy’s face.

“I mean, yes. It was before you came back to Sunnydale. Look, this is starting to get really off topic? Also you looked away already,” Buffy says. “That’s like, two freebies in a row. Are you gonna take this seriously?”

“Okay, okay, yeah,” Faith pouts and sighs. “Uh, yellow, whatever."

“No, I mean, that doesn’t count, obviously,” Buffy clarifies. “Just, y’know. Can we talk about this later?”

“Okay, yeah, sorry.”

“Green?” Buffy prompts, hoping she doesn’t sound as impatient as she feels.

“Green.”

“Okay. Eyes front,” Buffy says, trying to put a bit of steel back in her voice. It must work because Faith snaps to obey her, eyes locking with Buffy in the mirror. Buffy hums in approval, dropping a kiss onto Faith’s bare shoulder, resuming her grip on Faith’s dress. She tightens one fist, bunching the fabric in one hand over Faith’s belly, sliding her free hand down to scratch light circles up Faith’s thigh. “Watch.”

She draws the hem of the dress up higher, higher, past Faith’s waist, exposing the trimmed patch of dark curls dewy with moisture at the apex of her thighs. Buffy expels a harsh, shuddering breath directly into Faith’s skin, caught off guard, both by Faith’s obvious arousal and the realization that this entire time she’s been pantiless under her dress.

“Were you like this the whole night?” Buffy croaks, not even able to keep up the stern, sexy seductress routine.

Faith grins at her wickedly in the mirror. “Was kinda hoping you’d drag me off to the ladies’ before we left the club, but…”

It might be a lie. For all she knows, Faith took her panties off once she was alone up here in Buffy’s room, and just decided on the spot this would make a better story. It doesn’t matter. Buffy can’t stop thinking about sitting next to her in that booth, their thighs touching, grinding into each other on the dance floor, Faith practically in her lap on the car ride home, exposed and dripping for her the whole time.

“This is what I do to you?” Buffy breathes into Faith’s ears, running the fingers of her free hand through the damp curls lightly. She feels it when Faith’s breath hitches, watches in the mirror as her throat bobs when Buffy slides her hand lower to cup Faith’s whole pussy, wet and hot, practically throbbing against her palm.

“Y-yeah,” Faith manages, all the bravado drained from her voice. She just sounds weak and beautifully, wonderfully earnest. “Like, all the time, B. All I have to do is think about you and I—”

Buffy curls her two middle fingers inward, swiping them along Faith’s swollen pussy, and the rest of whatever she was trying to say crumbles into a pitiful moan in her mouth. That’s fine. Buffy got the general idea.

“You’re a mess,” Buffy lets the words pour out like thick syrup, imagines them pooling and dripping down Faith’s body like the wetness collecting in the palm of her hand. She uses two fingers to spread Faith’s labia, exposing her dripping pink cunt, to the hungry, unflinching gaze of the mirror. Faith’s clit is already peeking out from its hood, engorged and desperate, begging to be touched. Buffy avoids it, even as she feels her own center throb in sympathy, even as her mouth waters for the taste, the feel of it on her tongue. Later. Later. “Look at you.”

“For you,” Faith groans, breathless, squirming back against Buffy’s body. “God, Buffy, please fuck me—”

Buffy retaliates with a swift, sharp pinch to the sensitive skin of Faith’s thighs that has her hissing and bucking her hips. “Don’t rush me.”

“Sorry.” Wow, Faith must be pretty far gone to apologize that quickly, that reflexively. She seems to realize it, too, a beat later; biting her lip and forcing herself still again.

But, smartly, she doesn’t try to take it back, so Buffy just strokes the pad of her thumb over the place she’d pinched and continues on.

“It’s my birthday,” Buffy reminds her, speaking into the crook of Faith’s neck. “And I haven’t even finished unwrapping my present yet.”

She leaves one hand holding the dress against Faith’s belly, keeping her exposed, but moves her free hand, still damp with Faith’s wetness, up along Faith’s body, gliding slowly over her abs, then dragging along the silky fabric of Faith’s dress. She deliberately lightens her touch over Faith’s breasts, just to hear her sigh in frustration, and continues drawing her hand upward, stopping at Faith’s throat. She pauses there, not gripping or pushing down, just lingering and swears she can hear Faith’s heart beat faster. In the mirror, Faith’s eyes are huge and locked onto the image of the two of them.

She looks positively debauched; hair a rumpled mess, that bruise Buffy bit into her neck darkening to purple in the dim light, dress hiked up to her abs, breasts straining and heaving, nipples hard and visible through the fabric, and her cheeks flushed, lips bitten swollen.

Buffy kisses the side of Faith’s face gently, tenderly, and feels the ripple that runs through her body as much as she sees it in the mirror. It’s that gentle, brief touch, more than anything else she’s done so far, that sends Faith’s eyelids fluttering shut for a moment, before she catches herself.

Oh yeah. Buffy’s going to win this thing.

But she’s going to make sure she enjoys herself, first.

Slowly, she lets her hand drift lower, this time sinking below the fabric at the top of Faith’s dress, cupping her right breast roughly, pinching the nipple between her thumb and forefinger hard enough to make Faith grunt before letting go. She shifts her hand until it bulges against the fabric, running the edges of her nails around the edges of Faith’s areolas in slow, maddening circles, before giving her one more light, unsatisfactory swipe with the pad of her thumb.

“B, please,” Faith whimpers, straining up into Buffy’s touch.

“Shh,” Buffy kisses the side of her neck again, soothingly, and pulls the top of the dress down, spilling Faith’s breasts into view. Buffy can’t be sure if the sharp, high gasp that rings out through the room is Faith’s or her own. “You’re so beautiful.”

Faith squirms, and opens her mouth for a brief second before pressing her lips together in a tight line.

“What?” Buffy asks, incredulous. “I mean, you’re seeing this, right?”

Faith stays quiet for a moment, and then plasters on one of those cocky grins she uses like a passport out of uncomfortable moments. “Well, yeah. You bagged a hottie, B.”

“I did,” Buffy agrees, tweaking Faith’s nipple affectionately. She finally releases the dress and it flutters weakly downward — fabric scrunched enough to barely reach Faith’s hips, keeping her lower half exposed. With both hands free, Buffy uses them both to cup Faith’s breasts, savoring the weight and feel of them; the stiff peak of Faith’s nipple pressing into her palm, the soft fullness of them. “But I’m not just talking about these.”

Buffy mouths at Faith’s ear, drawing the lobe into her mouth and worrying it lightly with her teeth before laving it with her tongue, wishing she had her mouth on Faith’s nipples instead. Reluctantly, she releases Faith’s breasts, finally letting her fingers drift to Faith’s back, to tug the zipper of the dress slowly down, tooth by tooth, until it’s finally loose enough to fall off her body, pooling on the floor.

“I don’t just mean your body,” Buffy continues, pressing herself to Faith’s bare back, rolling her hips up into Faith’s ass. She plants her mouth over the curve of Faith’s bare shoulder and sucks, dragging a path of frantic, wet kisses up to the corner of her jaw. Her hands run over Faith’s body again, hungrier, rougher, scratching faint white lines along the bottom of her ribs, down the sides of her belly. Buffy’s touch turns gentler, more careful when she reaches the scar. Faith doesn’t get quite so tense when Buffy touches it anymore, but she still forces herself to slow down, to be tender with it. “All of you, Faith. Every part of you is beautiful to me.”

She punctuates this with a kiss to the side of Faith’s temple, watches as Faith struggles with a deep breath in the mirror.

“Okay,” Faith says weakly, voice so impossibly soft Buffy feels it more than she hears it.

It’s kind of stunning, actually, that single word from Faith’s lips, at Buffy’s insistence. Not quite an agreement, but not the tortured, conflicted silence or the filthy deflection Buffy usually receives, when she says these words to Faith. Gratefully, Buffy presses a soft kiss to the shell of Faith’s ear and releases her hold on Faith’s body.

“What?” Faith asks breathlessly, twisting her neck around to watch Buffy and technically losing the game in the process, though that feels less and less important every moment they spend touching.

Buffy shushes her. “I’m just…”

She shrugs out of her own dress efficiently and without bothering to make it a show. This isn’t about seducing Faith, who Buffy’s pretty sure is physically incapable of being any further seduced than she is right now. It’s just about getting herself more naked for the part that comes next. Buffy unclasps her bra absently, grateful for the front clasp, and allows it to fall soundlessly to the ground. She hesitates with her fingers hooked in the waistband of her panties; they’re already sticking uncomfortably to her skin, but she decides to leave them in place, just to tease Faith a little more.

She takes a seat on the bed, scooting back until there’s just enough room between her legs for Faith to fit. “Sit,” she commands.

Wordlessly, Faith complies.

It feels so much better, skin to skin, her bare breasts squished into Faith’s shoulder blades as she coaxes her to lean back into her. “That’s it,” Buffy coos encouragingly, shifting a little further, hooking her ankles over Faith’s calves and forcing her to spread her legs a little wider for the mirror. “Good girl.”

And there go Faith’s eyes, slamming shut tight, breath hitching audibly in her throat at the praise. God, she makes it too easy.

“You’re supposed to be watching,” Buffy reminds her teasingly, drawing her fingers lazily through the wet patch of curls over Faith’s pussy. Faith’s eyes immediately snap open.

“Sorry,” Faith pants, rocking her hips up toward Buffy’s hand. “Guess all this softcore skinemax shit is putting me to sleep.”

It’s the exact kind of snippy, deliberately provocative deflection Faith only fires off when she’s really slipping, or when she wants Buffy to turn up the heat. Buffy bites back a grin, determined to stay in character.

“You know, I can see how wet you are,” Buffy says flatly, jerking Faith’s legs open even wider. She slaps a palm onto Faith’s inner thigh hard enough to make her fingers tingle, feels Faith jump at the impact, and completes the move by sliding her fingers through Faith’s dripping pussy, coating them in wetness. “I can feel it.”

She takes her wet hand and drags it across Faith’s face, from the top of her right cheek over her mouth, ending with her fingers pushing past Faith’s lips and into her mouth.

“Are you awake yet?” she growls into Faith’s ear and Faith only moans in reply, sucking hungrily at Buffy’s fingers. She presses them in deeper, making sure Faith gags and sputters before Buffy lets up on her. “You can whine that I’m taking too long and you can beg me to hurry up, but you can’t lie to me, Faith. You can’t pretend that you don’t love everything I’m doing to you right now.”

Faith quivers against her but doesn’t answer, blinking rapidly in the mirror, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and chewing to keep quiet.

Fine. A little more.

“God, look at what a mess you are. I tease you, I barely even touch that greedy little pussy of yours, I choke you on my fingers and you’re still dripping wet for me. Desperate for it,” Buffy taunts, heart pounding in her chest at the way Faith responds to her words, squirming back against her, chest heaving. “What do you see when you look in the mirror, Faith?”

“I…” Faith shudders, voice faltering, eyes blown wide as she watches Buffy tease her open.

“What do you see?” Buffy asks again.

“I-I see…” Faith croaks. “I see a dirty little slut, getting what she deserves.”

“And what’s that?”

“Getting her p-pussy teased,” Faith pants, writhing, jerking her hips pathetically up against Buffy’s evasive touch. “Kept open… dripping wet… aching for it…”

“Yeah?” Buffy breathes into Faith’s skin. “You like it, don’t you? When I make you beg for it.”

“Yeah, I do. Buffy, I do—”

“So beg,” Buffy commands.

It’s like turning on a faucet, the way the stream of shameless pleading tumbles past Faith’s lips in an instant. “God, Jesus, B, please, please. I need you to fuck me so bad. I need you to make me come, please. Oh, please, Buffy, please.”

It’s still so unreal seeing her like this, hearing her like this. Faith Lehane, the ultimate bad girl, the dark slayer, whimpering and begging in Buffy’s lap.

Buffy loves it.

“I thought you were bored,” Buffy counters drolly, using every ounce of self control she can to keep her voice steady, her face impassive. “Falling asleep. How can you want to get off when you’re falling asleep? Why should I bother?”

“I lied, I was lying,” Faith says, voice raspy with desperation, rocking her hips up into the air again. God, it’s such a sight — Faith’s hips chasing nothing, like she’s trying to fuck herself on thin air, while Buffy holds her back.

“Why?”

“I,” Faith hesitates, throat working desperately. “I don’t know. I was trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Mission accomplished,” Buffy says, wryly, still ghosting her fingers over Faith’s pussy without applying the pressure she so clearly needs. “Was it worth it?”

She expects a quick, resolute ‘no.’

Instead, Faith hesitates.

“You wanted this?” Buffy asks, gesturing incredulously to their image in the mirror: Faith splayed out and desperate, restrained and untouched while Buffy toys with her.

“I like it when you put me in my place,” Faith admits in a rush, cheeks flushing pink, eyes flitting away from the mirror. “When it feels like you could break me down into pieces.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause it makes me feel like I’m yours.” The words come out in a harsh, percussive patter, like a fistful of rocks striking glass. “‘Cause no one else can do that to me.”

“You are mine,” Buffy says, scraping her teeth down the side of Faith’s neck.

“I am,” Faith breathes.

“You want to come?” Buffy asks.

Faith hesitates again. “Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

“I want you to want it.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to come until you want me to,” Faith explains, looking almost pained by the admission. She chews her lip and continues, “I’ll wait, if you want me to. I’ll wait until you say I’ve earned it.”

“Even if it’s not tonight?” Buffy asks, more out of curiosity than intention.

“Yeah.” Faith’s voice shakes, but the look in her eye is dead serious. She means this.

It's a heady thing.

And this was the whole point, wasn't it? To get Faith desperate, to work her up, to make her wait for it? Buffy hasn't quite gotten her fill of teasing, of exploring Faith's body quite yet, but she can't deny that Faith's total and unexpected surrender hasn't gotten her feeling tender and generous.

“You know what I want?” Buffy asks, finally stirring her fingers to action again. She teases Faith’s breasts with her left hand, drawing the fingers of her right in slow, rhythmic patterns against Faith’s pussy. “I want you to look straight ahead into that mirror, and I want you to watch when I make you come all over my fingers.”

“Fuck, B,” Faith moans, bucking her hips again. This time, Buffy takes pity on her and meets her thrusts with the harsh, artless grind of the heel of her palm over Faith’s straining clit.

“I want you to see how beautiful you look for me when I break you down into pieces,” Buffy says, firing Faith’s words back at her, listening to her moan while she grinds harder into Buffy’s hand. “Can you get yourself off like this?”

“Think so,” Faith says, screwing her eyes shut and rutting up against Buffy harder, faster.

“Ah, ah,” Buffy says, abandoning Faith’s breasts to seize her chin and force her face forward, until she’s blinking deliriously at the mirror again. “Watch.”

“I-it’s harder with my eyes open,” Faith says.

“I want you to come, Faith,” Buffy says, hot and insistent in Faith’s ear. “Like this. Are you going to give me what I want?”

Faith whimpers, nodding vigorously, brows scrunched in concentration. She braces a palm against Buffy’s bare thigh, squeezing hard and using her grip for leverage as she rocks up harder, faster into Buffy’s hand, gasping and straining as she chases an orgasm that’s suddenly mockingly out of reach.

“That’s it,” Buffy whispers to her, letting go of her face, resting her palm against Faith’s throat again, possessively. “God, look at you, working so hard for me. Being such a good girl for me. I can’t wait for you to come on my hand, Faith. Gonna come so pretty, aren’t you? Gonna give me what I want—”

That does it. With a high, sharp gasp and a few more wild thrusts, Faith finally manages to orgasm, staring into her own reflection and it’s beautiful, she’s so beautiful—

“That’s it, Faith,” Buffy whispers, stroking her carefully through the last of the orgasm while Faith sags bonelessly back into her. “That’s so good, that’s so good…”

“Fuck,” Faith groans, head lolling back against Buffy’s shoulder, shivering with the aftershocks. “Jesus, B.”

Buffy nuzzles her ear, dots soft kisses wherever her mouth can reach, sliding her arms up around Faith’s midriff and using her grip to guide them sideways onto the bed. Faith goes easily, humming contentedly. Buffy lets her hand drift down to Faith’s inner thigh, the place she’d slapped earlier, and winces sympathetically when she feels the heat radiating from Faith’s skin.

“Sorry,” Buffy says, placing an apologetic kiss on the back of Faith’s neck.

“S’fine,” Faith shakes her head deliriously, and reaches down, covering Buffy’s fingers with hers and pressing them down hard against the bruising skin. She hisses and jerks her ass back into the cradle of Buffy’s hips. “See? Feels good.”

“You lost, y’know,” Buffy says, gently.

Faith groans and rolls away from her finally, rolling onto her stomach and peering at Buffy over an arm crossed under her head. “Best two out of three?” she offers.

Buffy laughs, stretching forward to kiss Faith’s forehead. “Not this time.”

Groaning again, even more dramatically this time, Faith twists onto her back, crossing her arms behind her head, arching her back to stretch out her spine, thrusting her chest up toward the ceiling, making her breasts jiggle invitingly. It takes all of Buffy’s self control not to crawl forward to them, to cover Faith’s hardening nipples with her mouth. She knows a distraction when she sees one. “Sure you don’t wanna call it a draw?”

“You lo-ost,” Buffy sing-songs, delighted at Faith’s answering scowl. “C’mon, be a good sport.”

“Well, you already got me off, y’know?” Faith says, trying a new angle. “So, the terms—”

“Oh, is that all you can handle? Just once?” Buffy asks, blinking wide-eyed at Faith. She smiles bashfully, training her eyes over Faith’s shoulder, like she’s embarrassed to make eye contact. Her voice is honey-sweet, sympathetic. “Hey, that’s fine, okay? Not everyone can—”

In a flash Faith’s on her knees, looming over Buffy on the bed, kissing her soundly, aggressively. Buffy lets her have this, for a moment, relishing the strength of Faith’s grip on her wrists, pinning her to the mattress, the smothering weight of Faith’s body over hers, the ferocity of her tongue in Buffy’s mouth. Just for a moment.

Then, Buffy wraps her legs around Faith’s waist and jerks, twisting them onto their sides, looping the crook of her elbow around Faith’s beautiful throat and pulling back hard, bracing the hold with her other hand. A taste of Faith's own medicine. And, okay, sure — maybe a little payback for earlier, when Faith won their sparring match.

The moment hangs — Buffy and Faith pressed together, skin to skin, Faith’s throat contracting wildly as she tries to swallow, to breathe, Buffy applying just enough force to stop her. The choke is brief, only long enough to make Buffy’s point for her — I’m still running the show here — before she lets up, not releasing Faith but letting her take in enough air to moan pitifully in submission. Buffy’s heart is thrumming in her ears, she can feel Faith’s pulse beating into her arm, can smell the way this is making her wet all over again. Not that Buffy’s immune, exactly — she slides her hips forward slowly, bites her lip not to moan when her swollen pussy smears wetness across Faith’s back.

Buffy doesn’t bother to hide her grin, knowing Faith can’t see it. Her voice comes out composed, steady, despite everything. “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” Faith gasps.

“Want me to let go?” Buffy asks. “You can tap.”

Faith doesn’t answer. She also does not tap.

Laughing, Buffy releases her anyway, pushing Faith gently away so she rolls back onto her front, still taking gulping, heaving breaths. “Come on. Even that turned you on?”

Faith shrugs and rolls back over to face Buffy. “Well, yeah,” Faith says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s you.”

And like that Buffy’s thumping heart skips a beat, a feeling like warm candle wax spilling over in her chest. She leans forward and kisses Faith, cupping Faiths’ face with her palms, pressing their lips together gently. She slides one hand down from Faith’s jaw, gently stroking her throat. “Does it hurt?”

“Nah,” Faith mumbles into Buffy’s mouth, shaking her head softly. “C’mon. You know I can take more than that.”

The thing is: she probably could. Faith’s appetites seem intimidatingly infinite sometimes. She’s usually the first to suggest something new, or at least the first to take steps towards actualizing whatever idle fantasy Buffy lets loose when they’re in the thick of it. Usually, this happens over the phone — time and distance tend to encourage Buffy’s creativity. And it’s getting easier, as time goes on, to just… say whatever.

Faith is always receptive.

Maybe too much. Part of Buffy worries that there’s nothing she could ask for that Faith wouldn’t at least try to give her. And maybe that’s not such a good thing. It’s power, sure, but it’s also pressure — a major responsibility.

So, she has to be careful.

“You’ll take exactly what I want you to,” Buffy says, punctuating the words with a gentle kiss to Faith’s swollen, pouting mouth. A promise. “No more, no less.”

Faith nods, eyes wide, and swallows hard again. “Okay.”

“You’ve been good for me tonight,” Buffy says appreciatively, kissing Faith again. She pauses, thinking. “Well, actually, you’ve been kind of a pain in the ass, but I’m going to chalk that up to enthusiasm. Because I love you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Faith snorts. “Love you too.”

“I know,” Buffy says. “That’s why I’m gonna tie you up.”

“Oh,” Faith blinks and rolls closer, sliding her bare legs forward to tangle with Buffy’s. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Buffy nods. “I think we can compromise here.”

Faith surges in to kiss her and Buffy lets her do it, shivering at the way Faith presses their bodies closer and closer, clinging to Buffy like if she lets go for even a moment she could fly off the earth itself. She’s instantly overwhelmed by sensation; the way Faith smells like sweat and sex and faded perfume, the weak little moan that wrenches out of her throat when Buffy slides a hand between them to stroke her, idly, just because she loves the way Faith’s pussy feels — all hot and wet and silky under Buffy’s fingertips. They kiss, and kiss, and Buffy keeps it all lazy, languid, no matter how hard Faith tries to escalate things. The longer it goes on the more excited and frustrated Faith gets — she’s always so good at working herself up, Buffy hardly has to put in any effort at all.

Still, there have to be limits.

When Faith starts to bite, starts grinding herself against Buffy’s thigh, starts breathing harder, clenching her eyes shut, all signs that she’s trying to make herself come, Buffy puts her hand over Faith’s throat again and pushes her back.

“Enough,” she says, voice rough, even to her own ears. She clears her throat. “Lay back.”

Miraculously, Faith complies without arguing, rolling flat onto her back, watching Buffy with wide brown eyes.

“Good,” Buffy says, reaching out and stroking Faith’s cheek affectionately. “Thank you.”

She slides off the bed, going to the closet and withdrawing a bag from the top shelf. From inside it, she produces two black leather wrist cuffs, and raises them up so Faith can see them better in the dim light.

“Kinky,” Faith croaks, after a beat of silence. She’s staring hard, trying to seem cool, as if Buffy can’t hear her heart beating from across the room, can’t smell the way she’s started to drip down her thighs.

Buffy lets it slide.

She crosses the room, crawling over Faith’s supine body, settling herself over Faith’s hips, pleased when Faith doesn’t even try to reach up and grab for her. She rests one cuff on Faith’s quivering stomach, and lifts the other up so she can admire it. “They kind of remind me of those bracelets you used to wear,” Buffy says, turning the cuff over in her hand, pretending she doesn’t notice the way Faith is completely enraptured by the sight of her. “Remember? Those chunky leather cuffs. I always thought they were cool — I could never pull them off, but I liked the way they looked on you. And then I was shopping last weekend, thinking about when you would get here, and I saw these on display and I knew I had to have you in them.”

She snaps the cuff open, uncoiling it slowly, exposing the soft padding in the lining and running a finger across it. The cuffs were wide, designed to cover the whole wrist, spread out the pressure they would take — safer than ropes, Buffy had read. Sturdier than her destroyed cashmere scarf, that’s for sure. And, she wasn’t just making it up — something about them did remind her of Faith’s classic style. Something about the thought of Faith wearing these for her felt right.

She holds the open cuff out, gesturing for Faith to supply her wrist. She thrusts her arm wordlessly toward Buffy, still breathing hard.

“Check in with me,” Buffy says, tracing her fingers gently over Faith’s offered wrist, feeling her pulse jump. “Where are we?”

“Green,” Faith grits out. “Sorry, I’m just…”

“You want this, right?” Buffy asks, softly. “We don’t have to. I only thought…”

“No, I really want to,” Faith licks her lips. “It’s... I really want to. I just wasn’t sure you would ever…”

So, they’re both kind of thinking the same thing.

It feels a little better, actually, knowing Faith, of course, knows what this is about for Buffy. That Buffy won’t have to explain.

Because, yeah, that time with the scarf — it had been the first time they’d actually tried it, but not the first time Faith had hinted she was interested. But she had never pushed, and Buffy had never taken the opening to follow through because—

Well, because she wasn’t sure she wanted it. That she would ever be able to want it — her or Faith, tied up, at the other’s mercy. It was one thing to use her words to control Faith, or even to overpower her physically, but something about restraints just felt so loaded.

Truth is, they’ve come a long way over the years. The bridge between them? Just full to the brim with water underneath it. Practically overflowing. Watch out, neighboring towns and villages — flood warning in effect. Time, distance, insight had all done their parts. And Buffy can appreciate some things now, about Faith, about what happened between them, enough to look back on their worst moments and not flinch, not feel that ice cold plunge in her belly, that combined sense of betrayal and violation that used to leave her feeling weak and dizzy when she thought about Faith.

These days she looks at Faith and just sees her girlfriend. One of her best friends. A part of her, walking around, alive outside of her body. The girl she crosses oceans for, the girl she saves the world with. And yet despite all that some things go deep.

Bone deep.

The rattle of chains, the feeling of desolation, hopelessness, real fear and rage and hurt. The desperate, manic glint in Faith’s eyes, the cool wall against Buffy’s back. “If you’re a screamer, feel free.” Angel’s eyes on her, hooded, intense — playing that part of sadistic boyfriend so well. Too well. And Faith, spinning out of control, slipping out of Buffy’s hands.

It had been one thing, showing up at Faith’s apartment, burying that blade in Faith’s flesh, knowing she had to be prepared to kill her. It had been painful, exhilarating, impossibly hard, disturbingly easy. And yet, Buffy had been able to go through with it, because by then she’d already lost Faith.

She’d lost Faith the night Faith had tied her up and gloated over her, promised to hurt her, the night Faith had found the bloodiest, deepest wound Buffy carried and dug her nails into it — because she could. Because she thought cruelty could be the same as control, which could take the place of being cared for. Because it was all she felt like she was good for, by then. And because she wanted to make Buffy hate her as much as she hated herself. Because she was trying to get far enough under Buffy’s skin to twist them into the same shape — to push Buffy so far, she’d finally snap. She’d end it, once and for all, for both of them.

And, well, it worked. Eventually, it worked. And it had started, for real, not the night she’d made a horrible mistake and killed Alan Finch, but the night she had transformed herself into a figure out of Buffy’s nightmare — Angelus, reborn as a girl.

So, yeah.

Bondage was a bit of a touchy subject between them, to say the least.

And despite the way they’ve grown into each other, the trust they have between them, there are parts of the past that linger in the space between them like ghosts or cigarette smoke. A flash in the corner of your eye. The hint of ash on a breeze.

But Faith isn’t that girl anymore, sick and in so much pain all she could do was try to turn that black hole inside of herself out and unleash it on others — on Buffy — because she wanted her; wanted to leave a mark on her life, even if that mark was a bruise, a gaping wound, a knife through the back.

There might have been love, somewhere, tangled up in all the hurt, all the envy, all the anger, and despair, and fury they’d unleashed on each other back then. But it still wasn’t anything like the way they were now.

If Buffy’s being honest, there’s a sort of… freedom, a sense of security, in the contrast between what she feels now and what she felt back then, to know the difference, to live in it and be sure. There’s something intense and powerful about how it feels to love Faith fully, openly, without it hurting. To know Faith feels the same, without any of the resentment and the shame and the self-loathing that came with loving Buffy before.

They’re different.

They’re better.

But there’s still this one thing…

And maybe that’s why they need this, and Buffy’s pretty sure they do. Because it’s not just Buffy herself thinking of their past, and fighting back a flinch. It’s Faith — the way Buffy will catch her, sometimes, dark eyes swimming with guilt, when something happens that draws her back into the past. It’s the way Faith is calmer, steadier, more stable than she’s ever been — and yet she still acts like she owes Buffy something. Like the rest of her life will be lived in debt.

And it’s stupid to think that sex, no matter how good, can heal a wound like that. Buffy’s not that naive.

But maybe it can help prove a point that Buffy doesn’t know how to put into words, just yet.

“I trust you,” Buffy says, snapping the cuff into place, running her fingertips along the space where the leather ends and Faith’s skin begins. “Do you trust me?”

“Y-yeah.” Faith nods.

Buffy leans down and kisses Faith, taking her time, trying to pour out all of her emotions into Faith’s waiting mouth. She grabs Faith’s cuffed hand and raises it, pressing it palm flat against her beating heart.

When they part, Faith’s eyes are wet and her breaths are shaky, uneven. “Green,” she cuts in before Buffy can ask, seeing the question on Buffy’s face. “You?”

“Green,” Buffy says, after a beat. Is yellowish green an answer? No, keep it simple. Go slow. She clears her throat, examining Faith’s wrist again. “Not too tight?”

Looping a finger through the D-ring attached to the cuff and gestures at Faith to tug. She strains her arm to keep the cuff in place when Faith jerks against it, but the leather holds up under the stress.

“Feels good,” Faith says and offers up her other hand.

Buffy kisses the inside of Faith’s wrist before she fastens the other cuff. Then she crawls over to the corner of the mattress, dropping to her belly and reaching around underneath for the nylon straps she’d set up a week ago.

“Holy shit,” Faith breathes, as Buffy hooks the cuff on her wrist onto the strap, pinning her arm to the bed. “You planned this.”

Buffy shrugs, and moves to do the same to her other arm. “Well, obviously.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you haven’t been dropping extremely obvious hints you wanted me to do this to you for months now.”

“I just… I really never thought you’d—”

“Okay, wait, be quiet,” Buffy says, sitting back on Faith’s hips now that she’s done with the cuffs. She reaches out and seizes Faith by the chin, then presses a warning finger down over her lips. “You can do us both a favor and stop assuming things about what I can and can’t do for you. Ask for what you want. Just be prepared not to get it, if it’s not what I want too. This isn’t about you, right? This is my present. Can you handle that?”

“Y-yeah,” Faith nods.

“Good.” Buffy reaches over into the top drawer of the bedside table and produces a length of black silk. She holds it over Faith’s head for a moment before dropping it, letting it flutter down to fall half over one of her eyes, knowing she’ll instinctively reach up to move it. The sound of the metal hardware on the cuffs jerking lets Buffy know they’re doing their jobs perfectly, as does the flicker of annoyance and excitement across Faith’s face as her predicament sinks in. “Can you handle this?”

“You wanna blindfold me?” Faith asks, flicking her head to shift the silk off of her eye.

“I’m going to blindfold you,” Buffy corrects and pauses, searching Faith’s face for discomfort, waiting for her to offer up a safeword.

“What, you gonna gag me too?” Faith asks, more curious than goading and Buffy pauses to consider.

There’s definitely something hot about the idea. She’s already got Faith willingly strapped down, about to be blindfolded, utterly at her mercy. To take the last thing she’s got left — her smart mouth — and strip it away too is kind of a headrush just to imagine.

But this is already a lot.

And, honestly, there’s no use kidding herself about it — Buffy likes the backtalk.

So, no. No gag.

Not this time, anyway.

“I want to hear you,” Buffy says by way of explanation, picking up the blindfold. Faith dutifully lifts her head up to allow Buffy to tie it into place. Buffy strokes a grateful hand through Faith’s curls when she’s done. “Good girl.”

“Woof,” Faith says, half-laughing.

Buffy rolls her eyes. “Can you stay that good for me?”

“Sure, ain’t that my specialty?”

“Maybe I should gag you,” Buffy mutters.

“You could always give me something better to do with my mouth,” Faith offers.

“Later, maybe,” Buffy says, breezily, sliding off Faith’s body and padding silently away from the bed. “If you’ve earned it.”

“Wait,” Faith blurts, straining up against the cuffs before she catches herself. “Where you goin’?”

Buffy debates not answering, but it feels too mean. “Not far. You don’t have to worry about it. Your only job right now is to lie there and look pretty for me.”

Faith licks her lips, but tries to do as she’s told. Buffy stands in the center of the room, watching as Faith slowly wills her body loose. It’s not totally relaxed — Buffy can still read tension in her shoulders, in the too-even way she’s breathing, but she likes the effort.

More than that — she likes the view.

Faith, lithe, naked, stretched out on her bed, black cloth over her eyes, arms tied down to the bed. God, how many men, how many women, had wanted her like this and never had a chance at having her?

And here she is for Buffy.

Willing.

Waiting.

It’s enough to make her dizzy.

But she forces herself to breathe quietly, to remember to blink, drinking in the sight of Faith bound down for her — all that warm, smooth skin, all those hard, coiled muscles, the soft fullness of her breasts flattened slightly by gravity, the divot of her hip bones, the sticky wetness clinging to her thighs.

All of this for Buffy.

Only for Buffy.

After a few minutes of silence, Faith seems unable to stop herself from squirming.

“Still there?” she calls, an edge of nervousness in her voice.

“Yes,” Buffy affirms, unmoving. “I’m not going anywhere, Faith. I told you that. We say what we mean now, don’t we?”

“Y-yeah,” Faith agrees, taking a deep breath and forcing herself still again.

Buffy waits another minute before she moves again, quietly, not wanting to give herself away and break the anticipation, the tension building between them.

Faith did her a favor, being over eager earlier. The box of sex toys is already open, so Buffy doesn’t have to risk Faith recognizing the sound of the metal clasps snapping open. Instead, she silently retrieves a vibrator, setting it atop the bedside table next to a bottle of lube. Not time for that just yet.

Finally, she slides her soaked panties down her thighs and climbs back onto the bed.

The moment Faith feels the dip in the mattress she sighs, sliding a bare thigh closer to Buffy’s body until she hits skin. Buffy lets her get away with it because, well, it’s nice. It feels good that Faith needs her that much, wants to touch her so badly all the time, even just a little bit, the edge of her thigh just brushing Buffy’s kneecap. How could she deny her that?

“You did a good job waiting,” Buffy says, voice low and warm. She reaches out a hand, ghosts her fingertips down the ladder of Faith’s ribs. Faith shivers and then twists to press against her. Buffy withdraws her hand, reluctantly. “But I need a little more from you, Faith.”

“Anything,” Faith promises, the syllables tripping over themselves on their way out of her mouth. And it’s a… lofty, if dubiously achievable response. Sincere enough, though.

“Just a little more of this. I said I wanted to take my time with you. Promise to be good, to be patient. Don’t spoil this for me.”

“I won’t,” Faith says, her voice doing that smoky, raspy thing Buffy can’t get enough of. “I just want… I wanna give you what you want.”

“Easy,” Buffy says, fighting the urge to lean down and kiss the words past Faith’s parted lips. “You’re it. You’re the only thing I want.”

Faith nods.

Buffy shifts down to the foot of the bed. She starts there, between Faith’s spread legs. First, curling her fingers over the curve of Faith’s ankle, tracing the pads of her fingers over the delicate bones there, scraping the edges of her nails lightly along the sole of Faith’s foot until she laughs and jerks it away. Buffy smiles reflexively, guiding Faith’s knee up, cupping the heel of her right foot and leaning down to press a kiss there, low on her calf. She skims her lips upward slowly, dragging a trail of lingering, open mouthed kisses up Faith’s leg, to the side of her knee, stopping to suck a bruise at the very bottom edge of her thigh. She can hear Faith breathing faster and faster, but she’s quiet, except for the occasional small, unconscious moan.

And when Buffy finishes marking her, guides Faith’s leg back to the mattress, and moves to the other side, she can hear the frustration in Faith’s answering sigh.

“My timetable, not yours,” Buffy reminds her, tracing the soft arch of Faith’s left foot, leaning in to mouth a kiss to the side of her ankle. She makes a point to go even slower this time, dragging a wet trail up Faith’s leg, punctuated by unexpected nibbles and a constellation of small hickeys. By the time she reaches Faith’s left knee, her girlfriend is practically quivering in anticipation, and Buffy has heard the cuffs jerk against the bed at least three times.

So Buffy pauses, Faith’s leg raised up, using it to brace the front of her body as she leans against it, resting her chin on Faith’s knee and just… watching.

She’s flushed, sweating a little, face tense, bottom lip caught brutally between her teeth.

“Hey,” Buffy leans up, swipes her thumb down Faith’s mouth, to free her lip. “Quit that.”

“Sorry,” Faith grits.

“That’s mine,” Buffy reminds her, gently. She crawls the rest of the way up Faith’s body, to draw her swollen lip into Buffy’s mouth. She runs a tongue along it gently, lets go and graces it with a soft peck. “I take good care of what’s mine, don’t I? No one’s allowed to hurt what’s mine. Not even you.”

Faith shivers and nods but doesn’t answer back.

“What’s wrong?” Buffy asks, leaning in and kissing the side of Faith’s neck, to calm her. “What’s got you so tense?”

“Can you just… get it over with?” Faith asks, voice too raw and desperate for Buffy to be annoyed at Faith rushing her. “If you’re gonna… hit me or whatever—”

“Whoa, whoa, red, wait, stop,” Buffy says, sitting up and pushing the blindfold off Faith’s eyes.

She blinks dazedly in the dim light before focusing her gaze on Buffy. “What?”

“Hit you?”

“Isn’t that why— I mean the cuffs and the blindfold and all?”

“No,” Buffy hisses, mentally smacking herself when Faith winces at her tone. Buffy takes a breath, another, a third and forces herself to continue, softer and more controlled. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Oh.” Faith’s voice is quiet, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Not an easy emotion to bring out of Faith in the bedroom.

“Is that… what you wanted?” Buffy asks, trying not to cringe. “Because you didn’t… you just asked to be tied up, you didn’t say you wanted me to, like, smack you around or anything.”

“I don’t know,” Faith shrugs, as much as the restraints allow. Buffy reaches up to unbuckle her but Faith cuts in. “No, no, wait, please—”

“Okay, okay,” Buffy says, dropping her hands back into her lap. “Talk to me.”

“Can you touch me?” Faith asks, voice breaking a little. “Please?”

Buffy reaches out, presses a palm to Faith’s belly. “Go.”

“I don’t know, I just… I can’t move and I can’t see. And you were taking so long, just… touching me. And not even trying to get me off, or work me up so you could tell me not to come, or anything and I guess I just didn’t know what you were doing. What the point was.”

“So I had to be about to hurt you?”

“Not in a bad way or anything,” Faith clarifies, voice almost pleading. “I know you’re not like that. And I bet I would have liked it. But — yeah, I guess. I thought you were... But then you didn’t do it. And I kept waiting. And the longer I waited the more uneasy I got and I just… I don’t know. I freaked out, I’m sorry.”

“Do you want to take these off?” Buffy asks, gesturing to the cuffs.

“No, no, I don’t want to stop. I mean it.”

“Okay. But, Faith, I would never do something like that without talking to you about it first. That’s not the kind of thing you just spring on someone like that.” Once again, a pit opens up in Buffy’s stomach as she thinks about what it means for Faith to make that kind of assumption, about the kind of dark things that had happened to her when she was younger, stuff she’s only shared in scraps and pieces.

Faith winces. “I know. I should have thought of that.”

“Do you want to try again with the blindfold off?” Buffy asks, stroking her hand along the side of Faith’s face.

Faith leans into her touch and shakes her head no. “Put it back on. But can you just… explain?”

“Explain?” Buffy echoes, sliding the blindfold back in place. She kisses the space between her eyes, over the silk.

“What you’re doing. What the point is,” Faith practically begs.

“Okay,” Buffy agrees, leaning down and pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to Faith’s mouth. It’s meant to be quick — barely more than a peck. But Faith’s lips part under hers at the first brush of Buffy’s lips, a needy little moan spilling out of her and Buffy gives in, driving her tongue into Faith’s mouth and laying claim to it.

Faith’s panting by the time Buffy pulls away, nuzzling her way up Faith’s jawline, to whisper into her ear. “I want to worship you.”

“Oh,” Faith rasps.

“Does that surprise you?” Buffy asks, drawing Faith’s earlobe into her mouth and worrying it between her teeth. She sucks, lightly, and releases it with one last sharp nip. “It shouldn’t.”

Buffy spends a little more time kissing and biting her way down the side of Faith’s neck, over her shoulders and clavicle. Bite, suck, kiss. A perfect rhythm — sharp, dull, soft. A dozen tiny marks, sure to fade by sunrise, but gorgeously arrayed on Faith’s skin right now. Little monuments to Faith’s beauty, to Buffy’s irresistible attraction to it.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about, since I saw you all dressed up to go to the club. All dressed up for me. I thought about what you must have felt like picking out your clothes, putting on your makeup, all that effort, all that planning for me. Even the little show you put on, on the dancefloor for me. And all I wanted was to take you home, to spread you out, to show you what it meant to me. To spoil you.” Under her lips, she feels Faith shiver. Smiling against her skin, Buffy continues. “You like that, huh? You wanna get spoiled?”

Faith nods, voice a cracked, smoky whisper, “Please.”

“I don’t know who in their right mind could see you and not want to just touch you. Feel you under their lips, their fingertips,” Buffy continues, cupping Faith’s jaw again and dragging her palm down Faith’s neck, her chest, pausing to cup her breast briefly before tracing lazy spirals down her ribs, her belly, her hips, the top of her mons. “Sometimes I think we rush too much.”

Buffy leans down, mouthing her way across the line of Faith’s shoulder, up her arm, pressing a soft, slow kiss to the inside of her elbow, and then up to the edge of the wrist cuff. Then back down again, slower, and to the other side. Faith twitches underneath her, and Buffy keeps talking. “I think it’s a slayer thing, kind of. We’re used to living fast, because the next day could be beautiful sunny skies or… well. Apocalypse.”

She runs her hands through Faith’s thick hair, using her nails to scrape gentle circles against Faith’s scalp. Bending slightly, trying to balance most of her weight on her knees on either side of Faith, Buffy presses a kiss to the top of Faith’s hairline. “But as long as we’re together, I tend not to notice as much. I’m so wrapped up in having you, I don’t think twice about it. But then…”

She slides down Faith’s body, settling between her thighs again, feeling Faith’s wetness on her belly. Cupping one palm on either side of Faith’s ribs, Buffy slides her mouth lazily, aimlessly up and down the length of Faith’s torso. She bites a bruise into the side of Faith’s ribs, dark and purple, one that makes Faith hiss and writhe underneath her. She nuzzles Faith’s breasts, flicks her tongue over Faith’s nipples, draws them into her mouth and sucks at different speeds and pressures; hard, to make Faith gasp and jerk, lightly to hear her moan and whimper and push up into Buffy’s mouth for more, always more.

“Then?” Faith croaks, after Buffy’s moved on from her breasts, nosing her way down Faith’s belly.

It takes Buffy a moment to remember what she’d been saying. “But then you’re gone, or I am, and I always think — I should have taken my time with her. I should have savored her.”

She dips her tongue into Faith’s bellybutton, can’t help laughing when Faith squirms away.

“So, that’s what I’m doing. That’s all.”

Buffy drags herself back up Faith’s body again, kisses her pouting mouth again.

“So. Is that okay with you?”

“Huh?” Faith’s voice sounds hazy, almost drunk, she arches up toward Buffy’s body.

Buffy feels a little swell of pride in her chest at that.

That’s as good as yes anyway, right?

Buffy kisses her again, on the side of her mouth. Then, higher, on the swell of her cheek, the place Buffy had bruised earlier when they were sparring. She lingers there a beat then moves to Faith’s temple, covered in silk. Her eyelids, covered and still fluttering under Buffy’s lips.

It goes on like this. Buffy, pressing her body into Faith’s, tracing paths up and down Faith’s body with her hands, her lips, Faith’s soft, anxious moans making ripples in the silence like coins tossed in a fountain.

Faith’s as hungry for Buffy’s words as she is for her touch, so Buffy runs a litany for her.

“So good, you’re being so good.”

“Look at you. Look at you. So pretty.”

“That’s it, Faith. Perfect.”

“I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I love you.”

And Faith, beautiful, incredible Faith — pliant, moaning and whimpering, a perfect instrument under Buffy’s fingers, producing sweet, clear notes of delirious pleasure under Buffy’s touch.

When Buffy’s fingers finally part Faith’s swollen labia, she feels a little drunk herself. Head swimming, lost in the haze of Faith’s soft cries, her heady smell, the wetness coating Buffy’s searching fingertips.

“You feel so good for me,” Buffy whispers, leaning forward to press a soft peck to Faith’s clit, pink and swollen. She flicks her tongue against it, while she’s at it, before backing off at the first frantic jerk of Faith’s hips. “Shh, shh, wait, okay?”

Faith nods, dropping her hips back against the mattress a moment later.

“Good girl,” Buffy says again, pillowing her cheek against Faith’s plush inner thigh, watching her own hands as they graze up and down the length of Faith’s pussy. “That’s so good, Faith. You’re doing perfect.”

Still holding Faith open, she drags the tip of one finger around the edge of Faith’s entrance, watching with a pounding heart as she opens and clenches around nothing.

“Ask for it,” Buffy instructs, quietly.

“Please,” Faith’s voice is a broken, shaky mess. “Please, Buffy, I need to feel you inside me. I’m so empty without you, I need you, I need you—”

“Okay,” Buffy says and obliges her. She sinks her middle finger inside Faith, to the second knuckle. And when it’s encased in moist clenching heat Buffy can’t help but moan along with Faith, overwhelmed by how good it feels. “How’s that?”

“It-it’s good,” Faith moans and Buffy can feel it when she bites the sentence in half. Careful. She’s trying.

“But…?” Buffy prompts, mouthing at Faith’s thigh to signal her intent: nothing shady. She wants to hear what Faith didn’t let herself say.

“But I… I want more,” Faith admits, panting.

“More fingers?” Buffy asks, prodding Faith’s entrance lazily with the tip of her index finger as well.

“Yes,” Faith hisses and grinds down for a moment before catching herself, easing off before Buffy even has to remind her. Buffy kisses her thigh again, in reward. “But also deeper. And I want you to fuck me.”

“Wow,” Buffy says, swallowing hard. “That’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” Faith’s voice has slipped into a whine but she’s still holding back, not forcing herself down on Buffy’s prodding fingers.

“You’re so needy for me, aren’t you?”

“I can’t help it,” Faith blurts out. “I really can’t. It’s like— it’s like the more you give me, the more I want, B. And I’ve never been like this with anyone else. I’ve never wanted anyone so much, I just—”

Buffy slips that second finger the rest of the way inside Faith, and her words break off into a moan.

“Uh, thanks, Buffy?” she prompts.

“Thank you,” Faith babbles. “Thanks. Buffy, thanks. Thank you for fucking me.”

No one in the entire world has ever begged as prettily as Faith does, and Buffy barely needs to push her for it. Buffy tips her head again, sinks her teeth into the soft flesh of Faith’s thigh and bites until she shakes and gasps. She swipes the skin with her tongue soothingly, after. “Okay. Move.”

Her range of motion is limited by the restraints, but that doesn’t stop Faith from giving it her all, shifting her hips up and down, fucking herself on Buffy’s fingers while Buffy watches, contributing only the occasional twist or stretch of her fingers as Faith works and works.

When she feels warmed up enough, Buffy pushes a third finger into her.

“Thank you,” Faith says again, voice taut, higher than usual. “Thanks.”

Buffy hums, leaning up and using Faith’s preoccupation to shock Faith’s clit with the lazy stroke of her tongue. “I like that you’re greedy,” Buffy confides, speaking into Faith’s hipbone. “I like that you can’t get enough of me. That I’m the only one who’s ever made a mess of you like this.”

“Just you,” Faith affirms, voice hitching, hips thrusting as Buffy lazily curls her fingers.

“You wanna come?” Buffy asks.

“Can I?”

“Sure,” Buffy says. “Go ahead.”

Faith gives a series of short, concentrated, desperate thrusts and then moans pitifully. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not… You haven’t…” God, Faith's just so cute when she's in over her head like this. She's trying so hard to be good, to be polite, to say the things Buffy wants to hear. If she would just ask Buffy would tell her to be direct, to be honest, but no stubborn, sweet, perfect Faith just stutters and guesses instead.

“What, it’s my fault you can’t come?” Buffy scoffs, biting her lip as a flush spreads up Faith’s neck to her cheeks. “I mean, I’m letting you fuck yourself.”

“I know, I know,” Faith grunts, still desperately chasing an orgasm that will never come from Buffy’s fingers inside her alone. Her cheeks are bright pink. “And thanks, I’m just— Please, can you suck my clit a little? Rub it? Just— something?”

“If I do,” Buffy draws her words out, like she’s not convinced, like she’s not actually terribly interested in the outcome either way, “then what are you gonna do for me?”

“For you?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that fair?”

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yeah, whatever you want, I just— please—”

Buffy covers Faith’s pussy with her mouth, pressing the flat of her tongue over Faith’s clit and grinding her face down against it. She presses her left palm down over Faith’s belly and holds her there, to stop her from rutting down, making up for it by finally putting her right arm to work, driving into Faith with thrusts hard enough to make the bed shake. She presses her fingers up, feeling that familiar, spongy place inside of Faith and rubbing hard, steady circles against it.

“Oh fuck,” Faith moans, twisting her hips, arching up into Buffy’s mouth. “Jesus, B, I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me come. Fuck, fuck—”

Buffy slings an arm up over Faith’s hips, forces them back into the mattress, wraps her lips around Faith’s clit and sucks.

It’s explosive, the way she goes off in Buffy’s mouth. A flood of wetness coating her tongue, her chin, dripping down Buffy’s wrist, staining the sheets.

“Oh fuck,” Faith curses again, weakly. Her thighs quiver around Buffy’s ears, her lungs heaving desperate, raspy breaths into the stillness of the night.

Buffy loves having her like this — a helpless, shivering mess. Open and wet and aching, raw and beautiful and pliant. Buffy pulls back to watch her for a moment, breasts heaving with those great gulping breaths, face flushed, mouth slack and still producing soft, helpless little whimpers.

So, so beautiful.

It makes Buffy’s heart clench in her chest.

Slowly, she runs her tongue out along her bottom lip, tasting Faith’s come, drawing it back into her mouth, to swallow. And she can’t help the way her gaze is drawn back to Faith’s pussy — still dripping, swollen, begging for more.

Buffy’s leaned back down to taste her again before she even realizes what she’s doing. Faith gasps, and Buffy’s tongue is coated in a fresh burst of wetness, even as Faith twists weakly away.

“I can’t—”

“Shhh,” Buffy hushes her, smearing sticky-wet kisses over Faith’s thighs, her hip bones. A shiver wracks Faith’s body, like a wave crashing on the shore. “I think you can.”

“I don’t know if—”

“You said you’d give me anything,” Buffy reminds her, lapping at her gently, so softly she’s sure Faith can barely feel it. Faith groans but doesn’t try to squirm away this time. There’s something so irresistible about Faith when she’s this sensitive, this on-edge. It’s too damn hard to just stop touching her. “I want to feel you come again.”

“I’m— I’ll try,” Faith says, voice like the burn of good whisky, the sooty grit at the bottom of an ashtray.

“That’s all I want,” Buffy says, pressing a kiss to her clit that makes her hips jerk again. “Color?”

“Green,” Faith answers immediately, still all gravelly and hot.

“I like pushing you, Faith,” Buffy says, dragging the flat of her tongue down Faith’s pussy, to probe at her entrance. She circles it once, twice, three, four, five times before diving in. Faith gasps again, harsh, and Buffy feels the jerk of the restraints as she strains against them. “Do you know why?”

“W-why?”

“I like to see what you’ll take for me. From me. I like to see how far you’ll let yourself go, if I’m leading you.”

If her first orgasm hadn’t been so built up, so intense, or if Buffy had given her a little more time to recover, this would probably be easier.

But she likes the challenge. Likes to watch Faith work for her, likes to show Faith what she’s capable of when she puts herself in Buffy’s hands and trusts Buffy to take care of her.

She works Faith back up with her mouth, thrusting her tongue in and out of her, using her left palm splayed over Faith’s hipbones to keep her in place. Gradually, she puts her fingers back into the mix, reaching over to use the pad of her thumb to toy with Faith’s swollen, aching clit, making her hiss and curse.

“Easy,” Buffy coos, wrenching herself away from Faith’s dripping pussy, just long enough to speak. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s too much—”

Back up for air. “Too much?”

“But also not enough and I— I don’t know. Fuck, B, you’re gonna kill me.”

“It can’t be too much and not enough. It has to be one or the other.”

It’s a prompt, and they both know it. A way for Faith to say, without breaking the scene, if she wants more or if Buffy should back off.

“It’s not enough,” Faith finally breaks, groaning, pressing her head back into the pillows, arching her body. “I need more. I need—”

Buffy reaches up to the nightstand, finally, for the vibrator.

She squirts out a dollop of lube onto her fingers, though Faith is plenty wet already, and slathers it along Faith’s slit, slippery fingers sliding off Faith’s clit teasingly enough to make her hiss in disapproval. And then, since the sheets are already ruined, she wipes the excess lube off on the side of the bed and flips the vibrator on.

“Is that—?”

Buffy’s got the vibe pressed up against her before Faith can even finish the question. She chokes out a moan, jerking her hips away at first, and then back up against the toy — like she wasn’t sure what she wanted, exactly.

So Buffy just holds it in place, slightly above Faith’s pussy — lets Faith rock her hips up against it, a jerky, desperate rhythm that builds and builds in intensity until Faith is panting loudly, each breath a moan, straining and cursing. “Fuck, B, fuck, fuck.”

When she comes again it’s with a high-pitched mewl that yanks Buffy back down to earth, back into her body, from the place she’d floated into on her own, up in the atmosphere somewhere, where Faith was the only thing that mattered, and getting Faith off was the only thing she had to do.

She switches the vibe to the lowest setting, pulling it off Faith’s clit and sliding it down to let it pulse soothingly against her until Faith was groaning and whimpering and twisting away again. Powering it off, Buffy lets it roll off the mattress and stretches herself out over Faith’s body, unfastening her from the straps on the bed, but leaving the cuffs in place.

Instantly, Faith’s arms wrap around her shoulders, drawing Buffy in close.

“Was that good?” Buffy asks, softly, pressing a kiss to Faith’s slack, panting mouth. “Are you okay?”

Faith nods weakly, “Can you get…?”

Buffy slips the blindfold up and off, pressing a soft kiss to Faith’s eyelids. “There you go.”

She twists on the bed, grabbing a water bottle off the table and taking a long sip before offering it to Faith. “Here.”

Faith’s still a little weak, dazed enough to let Buffy prop her up a little in her arms and swallow a few mouthfuls of water. She looks a little clearer eyed after, grinning dopily at Buffy. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Buffy grins back.

Faith leans up, cupping Buffy’s face, and kissing her softly, happily. “Y’know, I used to think ‘fucked my brains out’ was an expression, but…”

Buffy laughs. “Okay. So, good, then.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re even? I owed you two. That last one was a freebie.”

“Jesus,” Faith groans, letting her head loll against Buffy’s chest. “Yeah. Even steven.”

“You sure that’s all I owe you…?”

“Positive,” Faith snorts. “But, y’know. All those concussions. My memory can be a little wonky. Maybe I’ll remember something else later. In, like, a few hours.”

Buffy rolls her eyes, but keeps her mouth shut, content just holding Faith. Leaning back against the headboard, it feels good to feel Faith rest her weight against Buffy — the tickle of her hair against Buffy’s bare chest, the sticky-warmth of her skin, the soft puff of her breath. Buffy draws Faith closer to her, runs her hands up and down Faith’s arms, her back, squeezing and rubbing until Faith stretches and purrs like a cat against her. She unclasps the cuffs over Faith’s weak protests and massages the clammy skin over her wrists.

“Feels good,” Faith murmurs, lazily. “Quit it.”

“Quit it?”

“Yeah, you’re gonna put me to sleep,” Faith complains, pushing herself off of Buffy and scooting away. “Not ready for that yet.”

Buffy takes her in.

Hair a sexy, disheveled mess, eyes half lidded and heavy, looking about as wrecked as Buffy had ever seen her.

“You sure?” Buffy asks.

With a tired grunt, Faith flops back onto the mattress. And for a moment that seems like the end of it, until she weakly slaps her own cheeks. “Okay, c’mon. Get up here.”

“Are you for real?” Buffy laughs. “Faith…”

“I never joke about eating pussy,” Faith says gravely.

“That’s a lie. You made, like, three jokes about it this afternoon alone.”

“Buffy, please, this is deadly serious to me,” Faith says. “Come on. Sit on my face, already.”

And she can’t deny that she’s still turned on. Getting Faith off like that really, really got her going, but she was planning on doing the gentlemanly thing and sneaking off to rub one out in the bathroom while Faith dozed in post-orgasmic bliss.

“You sure?”

“Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?” Faith huffs a laugh. “‘Cause last time I brought up a face tattoo you were not on board.”

“Okay, shut up now, please,” Buffy mutters, climbing over Faith’s body. She braces herself on the headboard, kneeling over Faith’s face. Something about this position always sends a nervous thrill up Buffy’s spine.

She feels so… open. So exposed. She knows Faith loves it, because Faith never shuts up about how hot it is for her, but it still feels strange to Buffy, at least before it really starts.

“That’s it,” Faith murmurs encouragingly, craning her neck up to swipe her tongue through Buffy’s folds, sending a trail of sparks up Buffy’s spine. She moans appreciatively. “Mmm, baby, you taste so good. C’mon, come down here for me.”

With Faith’s hands cupping her ass, she lets herself be guided lower. She’s slick and she’s ready, and the moment Faith’s mouth covers her, whatever stupid nerves she’d been feeling dry up and blow away.

“Oh god, Faith,” Buffy whimpers, squeezing the headboard harder, rolling her hips down into Faith’s mouth.

Faith leads with her tongue, short, sharp flicks of it all over Buffy, never staying on her clit for too long, no matter how good it feels, no matter how Buffy strains down into it. She angles her chin down, to lap at Buffy’s entrance, before opening her mouth wide and pushing up into Buffy with slow, rhythmic strokes, sliding her face up and down Buffy’s length. Her hands on Buffy’s hips grip hard enough to bruise as she encourages Buffy to rock down against her mouth.

Before she knows what’s happened, Buffy’s fisted one hand into Faith’s hair, using it to hold Faith’s face where she wants it as she rolls her pussy down into it.

And Faith…

Blissed out, eyes shut, moaning up into Buffy’s dripping cunt like there’s nowhere else on earth she’d rather be than here, getting her face sat on, getting fucked by Buffy again.

“Faith, yes, Faith,” Buffy pants, slumping forward to press her head into her forearm, braced against the headboard. She slides her knees forward a bit too, shifting the angle to get more pressure out of each downward stroke against Faith’s mouth. “Oh, Faith…”

God, it feels so good. Faith under her, the fingers of her left hand clenched on the back of Buffy’s knee, her right creeping up Buffy’s chest. Buffy moans when Faith grabs her breast, palming it roughly, then shifting her grip to tweak and tease her hard, aching nipple. Quivering, Buffy brings her other hand up out of Faith’s hair, to play with her other nipple.

It’s so much — Faith’s hot breath against her, her tongue flicking Buffy’s clit, her hand on Buffy’s breast. She’s never been more grateful for the silencing hex Willow put on her room, because she can’t stop the stream of high, broken moans and whimpers bubbling up out of her throat.

“Oh, god, that feels so good. You’re doing so good for me, Faith, you’re eating my pussy so good…”

And Faith moans and jerks her face up, really putting her neck into it, encouraging Buffy to bounce down onto the tongue she finds suddenly thrust up inside her. Buffy’s hands shoot back down into Faith’s hair, tugging hard enough to make her gasp into Buffy’s pussy.

“More, Faith, give me more. Make me come. Come on, do it, do this for me. Be my good girl and make me come all over you, right in that greedy, hungry mouth. Come on,” Buffy pants, grinding down harder and harder, before jerking Faith’s face up toward her clit. “Come on.”

Faith does as she’s told, drawing Buffy’s straining, desperate clit into her mouth. There’s a rhythm to it — she sucks hard, then circles Buffy’s clit with the tip of her tongue, then flattens it out and drags it up and over, and then sucks again and again and then the tip and the flat and Buffy’s legs are quivering and Faith sucks her clit again, a smacking wet sound when her lips slide off, a desperate gasp of air, and then her mouth again and Buffy feels it building, that bubbling, pins and needles sensation, that livewire coiled low in her belly, about to explode and then and then—

“Faith,” Buffy whines, jerking her hips into Faith’s mouth again. Holding her in place with her fingers in Faith’s hair, rolling her hips against Faith’s patient, waiting tongue until the last waves of pleasure finish rolling through her.

Then she’s sliding off, collapsing sideways onto the bed with a grunt.

“That looked fun,” Faith says, hoarsely. She’s breathless, audibly exhausted, but it doesn’t stop her from curling up against Buffy’s back, hooking a chin over her shoulder, and wrapping her arms around her. “Was that fun?”

“We should change the sheets,” Buffy says, at length.

“Fuck the sheets,” Faith offers, diplomatically. “C’mere.”

Faith’s arms are warm, familiar around her. She can feel the strength in them, revels in it, lets herself go limp in the cradle of Fatih’s hold.Buffy’s eyes drift shut, she focuses on the loose, empty feeling in her body, on the soft puff of Faith’s breath on the back of her neck, the feel of Faith’s hands finding her own, threading their fingers together.

“Okay. Yeah,” Buffy sighs, wiggling back into Faith’s arms. “Fuck the sheets.”

“That’s my girl,” Faith hums, kissing Buffy’s shoulder.

And, god, 24 hours ago they were just like this, weren’t they?

Buffy a sleepy, wrung-out mess. Faith, at her back, kissing her and whispering to her, and doing whatever she could to touch her, to ease Buffy gently into sleep.

And she realizes, right then: she wants this every day.

Faith and her. Every day. Every night. Together.

Maybe there’s not a way to do that, yet. Their lives, for all the ways they’re melding together, still have different responsibilities, different roots.

But it means something, right? To know? To let herself want it?

“I can hear you thinking,” Faith mumbles, kissing the back of Buffy’s head.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Faith kisses her again, behind her ear. “But save it for the morning, okay? It’ll keep.”

Faith’s right.

All of it: what they know they want, what they still have to figure out, what it’s going to take to get there — it will keep.

They’ve got enough time to figure it out.