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Almost Lovers



So you're gone and I'm haunted, and I bet you are just fine.
Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out of my life?
- A Fine Frenzy, "Almost Lovers"


It felt amazing, the force and power and pulsing inside her when they kicked open the doors, setting the nested vamps ablaze with the light of day. She'd never felt so wild, like anything could happen. She walked through life in a sort of daze; a defense mechanism against the insanity she faced every day.

But here, now, in this damp room with its cracked walls and thick almost-shredded curtains, she was awake. Alive. Maybe for the first time.

She could sense the insects buried beneath the wooden floors, smell the sour stench of these walking corpses. Faith's heartbeat, pounding in an alternating rhythm with her own as they spun, rolled off each other, staked one after another after another. There was no music, but oh, how they danced so well together.

It wasn't a blur. Frenzied, yes. But she was keenly aware of every detail even as it happened and for long afterwards. Then it stopped. Every vamp dusted, a few crackling flames left here and there. Her gashed arm bleeding, Faith's panting, her own labored breath..

She felt it. The freedom. Everything thudding in her ears, the whole world enflamed, on edge. She thought it would all come crashing in on her any moment, felt like she'd explode if something didn't happen. Something, anything to break the spell. So when Faith grabbed her and kissed her hard, she didn't hesitate before kissing her back with equal hunger.

Her hips pushed against Faith's. Wanting, needing, just not sure what. And then Faith's hands grabbed at her breasts, squeezing roughly and she gasped. Angel had been so gentle, so reverant, and here she was now. With Faith, slammed up against a wall, the wood leaving splinters in her ass, even through her cotton pants.

Faith's knee between her legs, and she's gasping again. They've been touching for just under a minute, and Buffy's never been wetter than she is now.

She rakes her nails down Faith's back, drawing blood.

They fuck, hard and dirty and crazy. At some point they are back at Faith's motel, rolling around on the stained sheets, the dirty floor. Buffy has rugburn all over her ass and knees, and she doesn't care. Nothing exists but Faith's fingers and tongue. Oh god, that tongue.

Faith fucked like she danced.

Wildly, with abandon, and for hours at a time.

By the time she was finished with Buffy, the petite blonde lay prone on the floor in a state of orgasmic bliss, her eyes shut and her mouth opened in a permanent "o" as Faith rolled off of her and lit a cigarette. She wandered the room stark naked and unabashedly. Most people were terrified of their own bodies. Paranoid that anyone who could see it would find fault. Buffy was like that.

Not Faith.

The brunette stretched her taut body out on the floor, her legs slightly apart, and smoked slowly and deliberately. Her hand reached out and caressed Buffy's stomach, drawing her nails lightly over it, and Buffy shivered helplessly. She did not think she could come again, but had a feeling that if it was possible, Faith would find a way to accomplish it.

Faith's hand traveled low on her belly and suddenly pushed her two middle fingers into the other girl's center unapologetically. Buffy cried out loudly, her muscles clenching around Faith tightly, pulling her deeper into her body. Her hips thrust up, seeking release again already, but that wasn't in the plan. Faith pulled her fingers out and folded a third within them before sliding them back in. She tossed her cigarette into the ashtray and rolled, straddling one of Buffy's thighs and rubbing herself against the smaller girl's jutting hipbone.

The Slayers moaned together, riding each other for an impossible amount of time, extending the feeling as long as possible.

Buffy twists and turns under her, forcing her hip up, making the other girl cry out. She's soaked, Faith's fingers curling inside her. They ride each other mindlessly, for hours, for days, forever. Faith doesn't even want to come; she could rub against her until daybreak and long after. They soak the carpet beneath them, sweat and come and tears of frustration.

They come hard, panting and moaning and arching against each other.

When Buffy comes down, the tears are still running. "Please," she gasps. "No more.. can't.." Faith smirks and runs her tongue over her nipple again anyway. She clutches Faith's head. "Please!"

Faith backs off obediently, tired herself. Gets up, gets a beer, lights another cigarette. Buffy still lays on the floor, her body glistening in the moonlight from the window. She's covered in sex and sweat, and her eyes are still closed.

Faith wishes they'd been open, even just once. That she could pretend Buffy wasn't pretending she was with someone else. That it wasn't just the post-slaying hornies. She wasn't the type for a relationship, but she sometimes thought she could make it work with Buffy. Sometimes.

Where has thinking ever gotten anybody, though? So she took advantage. Spent as much time in her, on her, as she could. Because she knows it won't happen again. She knows Buffy will eventually come to her senses and realize she's not cut out for this. And, if Faith wants to be honest with herself, she deserves better. Faith's a mess, always has been. Even if she could tell Buffy she loved her, even if she knew how to form the words--what good would it do?

So she laughs it off, and thickens her skin again. Just a good fuck, right? That's all she's ever been to anyone. Buffy needed a good fuck, too.

So happy to be of service, B.

Hours later, Buffy struggles to stand up, her knees still weak. Faith is passed out on the bed, sprawled across it lazily like lionness after a morning kill. She doesn't wait for Faith to wake up and throw her out. Gotta go.

She steals one of Faith's tanktops and leaves her own, tattered and torn from Faith's impatience, laying near the door where it started. Unable to find her underwear, she pulls on her pants, studying each fingerprint-shaped bruise on her thighs. Glancing at Faith once more, Buffy stands and puts her boots on, grabs her jacket, and leaves silently.

Faith's eyes pop open as the door clicks shut, and she stares after her for a long time.

Almost.

 



 

 



 

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