“Faith, we can discuss
this tomorrow.” The voice was once again asking
the dark-haired young woman, not telling her, to wait.
“Which ‘this,’ B?”
“All of them. Now, help me get undressed.”
The younger Chosen let
a bead of cold sweat run down her back, trying to dispel the emotions
that phrase unearthed in her. Limiting her
field of vision to a pair of well-worn sneakers, she returned to the
task of untying and removing them.
Buffy smiled at the
toned back of the seated woman, enjoying the familiar sensation of the
‘Chosen Two’ being able to unsettle one another. She
felt the cooler air of the room envelop her feet as her white ankle
socks were removed, while hands seemed to linger and caress the soles as
the cotton departed. In an oddly playful mood,
the blonde decided to pay back Faith for the comments she had made
earlier.
“Gimme a hand with my
shirt?”
“What, you too lazy to
do it?”
“No, but if I sit up
my head is going to start replaying every drum corps and explosion in
history, just for me.” While that was true,
Buffy knew it would also help bridge the gap between them by showing
her counterpart she trusted her. Clothing could
be seen as a form of armor; allowing someone to remove it showed trust
by exposing vulnerability. The blonde silently
mused that she must have actually paid attention in Doctor Walsh’s
class, allowing her to rationalize actions while overlooking
subconscious intimations. The train of thought
regarding the ‘subconscious intimations’ part of the last notion was
derailed when a pair of hands came to rest at her waist.
Moving her hands under
the shirt, Faith began to slowly move her arms upward, her wrists
catching the material while her palms tickled soft flesh and microscopic
blonde hairs along the ribs of the older Chosen. She
was used to being on the giving end of their double entendre
conversations, which only drove her to prove she could take it as well. She caught the smile from the woman beneath her
touch, though she was unsure of the exact reason. The
former Bostonian decided to test one theory by dancing her fingers
along the toned skin of the ribs.
“Faith, no, wai…” Buffy found herself giggling almost immediately,
amusement transmuting to pain as the laughter increased in intensity. The reverberations jarred her body, the
disorientation returning with a vengeance. “Ow,
pain, stop.”
The raven-tressed
Slayer watched as a face she found beautiful contorted in discomfort,
drawing her hands away to prevent further pain. “B…”
“No.” The
word came out as though she were scolding a dog. The
prone woman mentally kicked herself, not intending to sound remotely as
harsh but unable to exercise more control through the pain. “Faith, wait, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for trusting
me, B?” She paced away from the bed, her voice
increasing in timbre as she tried to mask the underlying sorrow and
self-revulsion. “I never stop hurting you, even
when I don’t mean to.”
“Faith…”
“Why are you actin’
like we’re friends again? You have every reason
in the world to hate me, B. Shit, I took over
your body! If I were you, I’d kill me! Call the next Slayer, maybe she won’t be such a
colossal fuck-up.”
“Faith…”
“What?” Letting
the pretences go, she was openly crying now, tears running down her
face. This was where she would be told to get
out; to disappear from the face of the earth.
“My shirt is stuck.”
“Huh?” Faith
turned, noting a strained smile on the face of the blonde. The
bottom of the shirt lay at her collarbones, exposing a firm stomach and
white sports bra. Envisioning the supple flesh
beneath, she was caught unaware as a pillow struck her in the head,
temporarily obfuscating her view.
“Quit imagining me
naked and gimme a hand getting there.”
The playfulness in the
voice helped to relax Faith a little more, the verbal jousting resumed. Wiping her eyes with the back of her jacket sleeve,
she gripped the bottom of the disheveled shirt. “Jeez,
B, what kinda girl you take me for?”
“The kind who…” Buffy paused as the shirt was lifted past her face,
almost certain Faith had intentionally leaned into her. The
contact was not unpleasant, the delicate curves of their bodies
pressing together as the material was pulled off her arms. “…um,
what was the question?”
Faith laughed, a sound
resonating amusement and triumph. She tossed
the shirt over the bed, depositing it on the floor on Buffy’s side of
the room. “Guess I win, huh, B?”
“Faith?”
“Yeah?”
“Jeans.”
Flustered and
off-guard, her mind offered the most articulate response possible. “What?”
“You sleep in the nude. You have no idea how uncomfortable it is to
wake up in denim. Besides, you owe me for the
literal tickle torture and hissy fit.” The pain
had lessened again to a degree low enough for Buffy to reopen her eyes. She met dark, semi-haunted ones with mirth,
anticipating reciprocation. The wait was
short-lived.
“Not a problem, B.” Though she put as much confidence into the
statement as she could muster, the words still vacillated slightly. She stepped back, breaking the contact she had been
thoroughly enjoying, expecting the blonde to start the process for her. Her mouth went dry as the idea began to sink in
that Buffy wasn’t going to help in any way. Had
Faith ever taken Intro to Psych, she might have recognized the war
currently being waged between her id and superego. Unaware
of the technical names involved, she was alarmingly aware of a fact
that was not helping her situation: B was watching her with a gaze that
never seemed to relay a definitive emotion, though traces of amusement,
hunger, impatience and contemplation had been visible.
Sliding her hands
inside the waistband of the jeans, she quickly released the button. Removing her hands from inside the jeans, she went
to retract the zipper. Not finding the tab, she
used her thumb to push the flap to the side, understanding why
unzipping the jeans was not going to be possible.
“Button-fly?”
“C’mon, Faith, you’re
the one who said you were going to tuck me in.”
The tease, the
challenge in the words was enough for Faith to push aside her
reservations and launch a counterattack. Sliding
her hands back in the top of Buffy’s pants, she set her thumbs around
the top button, locking her gaze with the one rising from the bed. She forced her mind to focus on the innuendo, the
familiar game continuing. Rather than concede,
the blonde had upped the ante. Unfortunately
for her, the younger woman loved a challenge.
“You know, B…” The first button was popped, the knuckles of the
taller woman nuzzling tender muscle as they inched towards the next
fastener on the pants. “…if I didn’t know
better…” Disengaging the next button, Faith was
almost certain she felt a small shudder ripple along the back of her
hands. “…I’d think you planned this.” Three of the buttons now loosed, she had a clear
view of white bikini-cut panties, the material seeming to amplify the
heat rising from the flesh underneath.
Buffy was trying
everything she knew to get her breathing under control. She
knew the younger woman could bring out her untamed side, but none of
her other lovers had ever managed to get her this… insane during
foreplay. She wondered why the ‘other’ had
interjected itself into that thought and why she was thinking of this
as foreplay, her conscious mind stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the
possible answers her subconscious offered.
Faith had arrived at
the last button, her hands sweating and trembling as it became undone. “Did you…” Sliding her
hands around to the firm, denim-clad buttocks, the raven-tressed Slayer
gave a playful squeeze before inserting her hands into the top of the
pockets there. “…ever imagine…” Tugging,
she slowly worked the jeans down athletic legs, her nails scraping
along through the material. “…I’d end up…” Slipping the clothing past delicate ankles and
feet, she lost herself in the game, slinking up the side of the bed.
Dropping her voice
into a sultry rumble, she whispered into the right ear of the blonde
Chosen, her prize still clenched in her left hand. “…in
your pants?”
Guiding her right hand
into the waves of dark hair, Buffy exhaled a single word in a defeated
sigh. “Yes.” She
tentatively guided the taller woman to her mouth, marveling in the
softness she found as contact was made.
To say Faith was
surprised would be a monumental understatement. Buffy
had kissed her. That single statement kept
repeating itself like a broken record in her head, consciously missing
the fact that she had opened her mouth and was returning the kiss.
The kiss. There
was some hunger in her actions, in the way she had drawn Faith in. Her tongue had snaked out almost as soon as it had
been welcomed, but now the mood was shifting. There
was less urgency on her part, more desire. Buffy
had surrendered control to her emotions, luxuriating in the comfort and
returned passion from the woman once more pressed against her.
Languidly breaking
away, Faith was still in denial about what had happened. She
had gone too far; B was going to kill her for this final insult.
“Oh…”
“Wow.” Buffy
felt numb. She had never been kissed like that;
Pike, Angel, and Riley had nothing on Faith. “I
see why Anya’s worried.”
“B, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Faith
stopped as a single finger was placed against her lips.
“Shh. I
kissed you, remember?” A smile gracing her
face, Buffy cupped her palm against a left cheek, drawing Faith back
down. “I… I think we need to make sure it isn’t
a fluke.”
The younger woman
looked into blue eyes, searching for the cruelty and sardonic taunting
part of her expected to discover. She saw only
sincerity, curiosity, and a touch of something she didn’t recognize. Lowering her eyelids and entering into the first
honest kiss of her life, Faith silently hoped and prayed she would come
to understand the last emotion she had seen in Buffy.
Let's review the facts. I'm male. I'm heterosexual. I was a virgin at
the time. Going by 'experience alone,' I would only be able to write
about computer geeks and video game addicts and math nerds, all of
which I've been at some point. I couldn't write about atheletes, or
prom queens, or magick, or interstellar travel (I still blame Fox for
screwing Firefly over).