Summary: What Buffy thinks about when she’s had a hard night out slaying.
Of course she gets hungry and horny after Slaying. But it’s just kind of…um, tacky. Yes, that’s what it is, tacky, even though that word reminds Buffy of Southern belles and drawls and honey rolling down over hot fingers, sweat and humidity and now she’s just free associating.
But this is the place to be sweating and humid, a nice dark bedroom and a big fluffy bed. Mr. Gordo has been kicked to the floor, the pillow’s behind her head, and Buffy’s under a sheet. Thinking about Faith. Trying not to think about Faith, because Faith has a way of coming when you call.
Could climb right through the open window (Buffy’s tongue wetting dry lips, thumb circling the edge of her nipple) and smirk at her, a shadow in the dark.
“You got started without me.” And she’s so there, slinky and sliding her palms over the sheet, sending shivers through Buffy, drawing her hips up like black magic. “Bad girl.”
“Know you are,” Buffy said, eyelids fluttering, “But what am I?”
(She’d have that big toothy grin. Buffy pinches her breast into points, a hand traveling down her stomach, it’s so warm already, Faith would lick her lips with a long red tongue…)
“Bad,” Faith whispered into her ear, pulling down the sheet. “Thinking about Angel. Are you thinking about him, B?”
Buffy shook her head, tried to push Faith away, but can’t. Faith’s mouth sucking on her earlobe, making it all wet and dirty like her words winding into her brain. Angel in her head, stroking her arms, but it wasn’t Angel.
“You won’t be,” Faith said, still licking and sucking Buffy’s ear, putting a hand on her hip and pressing down. “It’s going to be me in there, and when I get done getting you off, he’s gonna have to work to get back in there.”
No. No. They shouldn’t. But it’s like being brushed with feathers, that rough warm tongue tickling the hairs on her cheek, getting so close to her mouth (Buffy’s throbbing down there, hips shifting and straining and the sheet’s like a hundred little touches on her bare skin, but Faith wouldn’t let her have the sheet, Faith would make her be naked and exposed like a…)
“Faith…” but Faith was kissing her, rolling on top of her in that tiny little tank top and pushing her breasts against Buffy, pushing up so there wasn’t any wiggle room between them, rolling Buffy’s lower lip between her teeth, pinning her wrists to the mattress. Leather scraping over Buffy’s thighs, feeling the press of warm trying to nudge her open, thrusting hard against her.
(Can’t move, Buffy’s hand is sinking, fingers combing through that hair, stroking against the outside of her pussy, such a silly word, but it’s better than cunt, but Faith would call it her cunt, wet and sticky and salty, the hair crackling, up and down while the funny ache in her stomach flutters. It would be just like that, thrusting against her clit with her thigh, getting Buffy so hot and wet and)
Mouth trailing over her throat, sucking on her collarbone before pulling off her shirt and looming over her. Faith’s breasts were bigger, firmer than hers, the nipples dark like plums or berries. Buffy felt something caught in her throat, suddenly thinking about biting down on them, and it was like Faith could hear her thinking, because one was there, dangling just out of range and Buffy lifted up, bit down hard. Faith hissed and Buffy licked at the cream-salt-spice taste of Faith’s skin. So long since anyone had touched her like this, and it wasn’t the same, not warm and so good against her tongue with Faith’s whimper begging her on, keep sucking at this fullness.
When Faith pulled her breast away, the wet kittenish pop vibrates down to Buffy’s very center part, the part that’s throbbing and aching and soaking Faith’s leather.
“Wild woman,” Faith said roughly, stroking the outside of Buffy’s thigh. “I knew it was in you, B. All that wanting in you, waiting to ooze out — just like this.”
She dragged her fingers over the thigh she’d had between Buffy’s legs and brushed it over her lips before swooping down for another kiss. “Are you still hungry?” Faith asked, feeling Buffy strain up under her, stroking all those wrong thoughts and wants up to a fever pitch.
(Would know just how to do it, stroke and nibble and rub and oh, God, Buffy’s so wet, and she could just throw her legs open as far as they go and fill herself up, thrusting hard as she can, and there’s going to be a stain on the sheets, oh God, she doesn’t care — Faith wouldn’t care, Faith would peel off the leather pants with those big, full breasts swaying and Buffy watching and she has to put a finger inside now because she can’t control herself, teasing that’s so good, so good and Faith is making her act like this want like this, always so hot and she’s soaked, can barely feel her finger.)
“Gonna give you something sweet, B,” Faith crooned, and she was just so naked, strong thighs gleaming with sweat, smelling of the want she had for Buffy, licking her lips over and over. “Do you want it?”
Straddled Buffy’s waist, pinning her to the bed to stare at naked Faith burning against her skin and Buffy must be under a spell. A crazy sex spell that made her hands float up and cup those spicy-salt breasts and squeeze. “I know you do,” she said. “Don’t you?”
“Hell yeah,” Faith said, dark hair cascading down. “You’re so pretty. And I always wanted to see you like this, under me and wanting…so…much…more. Wanting a taste.”
(More than a taste, have to have more, and she always knew Faith had to have her, cuz she’s always looking at her. And of course it’s so Faith to have to be on top, looking for a ride. Buffy needs more fingers, pushes the second inside and her thumb-side twanging against the side of her clit, sending crazy sparkles out like a firework, delicious heat moving…oh, everywhere. Shouldn’t feel like this, like she’s going to explode in spangles and spasms. So hot that she could smother…)
And it was just so there, Faith’s pussy, that warm juicy wet thing settling against her tongue. Slick, so easy to lick a stripe down, Buffy thought. Sex, filling her nostrils, little tendrils wrapping themselves around her brain until the world shrank. Lick, suck…Buffy wanted to taste more of this. Of this writhing salty goodness making her sticky-warm, sticky-wet, Faith all over her.
“God fuck yeah,” Faith babbled, practically bouncing up and down, one of her hands working over her breasts as she repeated every cuss she knew breathily.
(Getting closer, oh God, oh Faith, oh fuck how can she, and there are three fingers knuckle-deep, swirling and scissoring and finding a spot that just drives up the tension and the ache deeper than Buffy can reach. Almost there. Almost there, but not yet, can’t come yet because she can go higher, she’s a Slayer, she’s starving, and she can get so high–)
“Love you, love how you’re eating me, don’t stop, don’t ever stop,” was Faith’s low almost-command, almost a chant. Faith and her snake hips that were grinding against Buffy’s face, holding on unsteadily with her sweat-slick thighs. And maybe it was the oxygen debt, but every downward thrust of Faith against Buffy sent a thrill down her spine. “Oh, fuck yes, don’t stop, don’t–”
(Coming, gushing over her fingers, so hard, so hard and Buffy keeps moving her hand, riding it out, dizzy from sex and hot air and the weight on her lungs and the loss of all those silly rules because Faith wouldn’t care, doesn’t care, would scream as Buffy gave her orgasms, twisting fingers in her hair and tugging and yes, this is what she needs, get out all that horny crazy thinking, yes, it’s the Faith in her, sliding out of her body like her fingers, limp…happy somehow.)
She licked Buffy’s face clean, everything between them tasting like Faith and sex and wanting and needing. “I knew it,” she murmured, gently stroking Buffy’s stomach. “Did it so good, Buffy, the best I ever had…and I’m going to do so much to repay the favor…but not tonight.”
And she would leave like that, slide back into those pants while Buffy’s body was shaking with lust and tension, and as Buffy wipes her fingers on the spread, she’s suddenly cold. It’s just like Faith to use her to scratch that itch and go satisfied (Buffy pulls the fallen sheet up to her chin, suddenly tired, somehow dirty) with a blown kiss goodbye and worst of all, anticipation in her wake.
Buffy’s fingers crawl down. She doesn’t, didn’t, couldn’t want to do this (she yawns sleepily, turns onto her side, closes her eyes) but it’s Faith. It’s just…the way Faith gets to her.