Author's Notes: What can I say; I have no idea where these story ideas come from. Uh, let's see, this is a mini-fic of sorts. It’s short for anything I’ve ever written, and it’s a finished story, which is frightening if you consider my track record. Be glad I was interrupted while originally writing it, or it would have ended up a ficlet instead of a short fanfic. Or cry ‘cause you hate it. Either way.
Story Notes: Takes place right after Faith wakes up from her coma in Sunnydale (only she’s woken up unexpectedly early).
Summary: A tingle, up and down her spine, like phantom hands, that has always done two things to her body. A beat. A shock of white-blonde in the moonlight, blinding. Deep breath in. Two things: put her on edge and put her on fire. “Maybe I like to live on the edge of the fire,” inside joke between her and herself.
Rated: NC-17
Date Started/Finished: June 23rd, 2004/June 30th, 2004
Midnight Truths
By ~Delenn~
The night calls to her in a way that it has since long before she could understand exactly what it was that was calling. Before her calling even, she could feel the pull of it.
She figures it’s perfect irony that now, when nothing makes sense, the night would. Finally, she gets the pull, knows what it is, knows what the night means and has always meant to her.
Still, she’s not about to go confront the night without looking the part. So simple to slip inside, grab the clothing to fit her needs, and reemerge into the stark night dressed to meet it properly.
Yeah, she loves the night but she’s respectful of it, knows that it protects her only barely and that there are plenty of things to hurt her, which are also hidden in its depths.
The perfect deep dark of night is spoiled this night though, there’s a moon breaking through the clouds and casting a glow through the dark. Figures that the moon would ruin her night. Focused light, moonlight, tends to make her nervous. Full moons more so, obviously.
Still, she’s at home in the night, and even after a bit of an absence she slides through it gracefully and effortlessly, one of the predators, the only ones who can really feel safe in the cover of night among the other big baddies.
But she’s had a new moment of clarity, so that when a twig snaps behind her, disturbing the still of her night, she doesn’t rush to meet it but instead waits, wants to see what the night is offering to her, or her to.
A tingle, up and down her spine, like phantom hands, that has always done two things to her body. “‘Lo there, luv, what’s a pretty bird like you doing out ‘ere all on your lonesome? Could be dangerous,” a fact, spoken so casually but with a hint of dare attached.
A beat. Another tingle. And she turns. A shock of white-blonde in the moonlight, blinding. Deep breath in. Two things: put her on edge and put her on fire. “Maybe I like to live on the edge of the fire,” inside joke between her and herself.
“Well, if it’s fire you’re looking for…” a meaningful pause. Flash of a sparkling white smile, not quite right, but sure random enough. “Wanna dance?”
Hints of a smile tug at her lips but she stubbornly fights them down. This isn’t some frat boy hitting on her. This is the night talking, and she still doesn’t know who is being offered up to whom. “Dance?” She snorts and raises one eyebrow, “Where exactly.”
Barely time for a breath. Cold, hard body pressed flush up against hers, breath on her neck, warning bells going off, “Right here, luv.” Instinct. She steps back, pushes forward.
Catching her breath, she watches that blonde shock stumble through the patch of moonlight to disappear into the dark. She’s not entirely sure how anything that white could blend into the darkness, but still.
Clapping off to her left. She spins, arms up, fists clenched, spine on fire. “Bravo,” she follows the sound of the heavily accented voice. Then nothing.
Behind her, too close, she can feel where breath should be on the back of her neck. Or maybe that’s just her skin growing Goosebumps. “Now you’re getting’ it, luv.”
A lunge. Block. Step. Kick up and out. Harsh breathing. Groaning. The still of night no more. She closes her eyes as she can hardly see anyway. Lets her senses guide her and they never fail, not when her body is on fire like this. “Oh, I’m sorry,” so sarcastic that she can feel it, “did you need some lessons?”
“’Fraid I don’t ‘ave the time, pet, an’ neither do you.” She can’t find the source of the voice, so silent and quick is the movement behind it. “What’d you come out ‘ere looking for?”
She’s been forcing herself not to think about that very question. Not to think about the call to the night that she’s always felt and now understands. But it’s hiding in that thick voice, she can hear it, the night has spoken and they both know it. She’s here to fulfill her destiny and this contradicting creature is going to ensure it. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Then there’s a flash of movement through the moonlight and she catches one glimpse of sparkling blue eyes, staring right through her, and then their bodies are pressed together again, pricks at her neck, the tangy taste of her own resignation. Not breathing.
The attack never comes; there is no bite. No slide of fangs into flesh. No blood drawn. Instead, she looks up to see herself being regarded by those clear blue eyes. “Yeah,” it takes her a minute to remember that she asked a question, and what it was.
Her mind is screaming at her, and she obeys, pulling back, but the night has a firm grip on her and is not going to let her go. Suddenly she grins; if this is going to be the end to her calling, she wants it to go out with a bang. Firecracker. “Thought we were dancing.”
To her surprise, she is suddenly dipped backwards until her hair is hanging against the ground and her head is almost brushing the dirt. She looks up, still being regarded by those eyes. Another flash of a smirk, and she’s yanked to her feet, still caught up in an iron-firm grasp. Catches her breath. “Very funny. What, do people actually still dance like that?”
“Humor a bloke, won’t you?” There’s more to that comment, she’s sure. So, she doesn’t give time for it. Smoothly spinning against her cool cage, she reaches her arms up, tangles them into that amazingly white-blonde hair, and shimmies her hips towards the ground, loosening her hold and allowing her hands to trail down a hard body.
When she comes back up, it’s her turn to smirk. Re-entangles her hands, doesn’t stop twisting her hips. “I dunno about you, but that’s how normal people dance.”
A bark of laughter, harsh and surprised, but full of rich tones. Muttered, “Vixen,” and then the stone wall encasing her is slipping down, slipping away. Cool hands trail down her suddenly hot-seeming body, steady themselves, “Do that again.” Not a request.
It’s tempting to ignore the command, but just this once she will ‘humor’ someone. Just this once. Under her breath she murmurs, “Out with a bang,” and slowly lowers her body again.
The other body tangles against hers, moves in perfect rhythm against hers, holds her steady, pushes against her, and suddenly she’s seeing stars in the starless night. Only for a second though, and then she’s back to herself. Spins around, slides up the body pressed against hers.
A tongue darts out to moisten cherry lips. “You sure you don’t have time for those lessons? I could,” moves closer, grinds her hips against his, “be convinced for hands on,” her hands follow her words, brushing against hard muscles, “teaching.”
Forced breath against her ear, tickling, raising more Goosebumps, “Mmm… I could teach you things you couldn’t even imagine.” No time to think about it, to recover her wits about such a statement.
Suddenly she’s being pushed backwards until her back collides with the nearest available hard surface. Doesn’t matter. She whoops, pushing his jacket back off his shoulders and away from his body, “That’s more like it,” jumps up and wraps her leather-clad legs firmly around his waist. Feels the leather of his jacket brushing against her high-heels.
Enough is enough. He pushes her harder into the wall behind her, or whatever it is (she doesn’t care), and kisses her fiercely. Want, take, have. Out with a bang. She crushes his head to hers, joins in enthusiastically with the kiss, enjoying its brutal possession and engaging in a new battle over who will get control.
Finally, she yanks her head back and away, gulps in breath, and looks up. There’s a ledge of some sort that she reaches up and grabs onto, hoisting herself just up and off of him. Laughs. “Still feeling creative?”
He smirks in reply. Hands already moving to divest them both of clothing, her first. He doesn’t bother to untangle himself from her legs, just swiftly unzips her pants and pushes them back. There’s that smirk again as he drops unexpectedly to his knees, no longer holding her up at all, yanks her pants back and off of her hips, pushing them down.
Then he descends, his teeth ripping her lacy black thong away effortlessly. She thanks whatever powers brought her here that underwear has now become mere scraps of material, and thus easy to remove in a pinch, as his cool tongue presses against her sensitive flesh.
Briefly, he pulls back, looking up at her, innocent in the moonlight but with a wicked smirk still, mouths quietly but firmly, “Don’t move,” and lowers his head again. His hands stay off of her body, leaving her no backup support other than her arms holding her up.
She’s not planning on moving. This is new (she knew it would be different, didn’t count on this is all), but she’s not going to decline an offer like this. In the dark, she’s uncomfortable, unused to being out of control, but just this once (didn’t she say that before), she’ll let it go.
That tongue slips into her folds and traces a lazy trail of intricate patterns along her most weak skin. Wraps amazingly agilely around her clit and twists slightly, mouth closing to suck on that sensitive bud of flesh. Only a moment, enough for her to lose her breath, but not too long. Sliding back down, he traces every inch of her cunt with his tongue before plunging into her depths.
What was so soft is suddenly straight, focused, hard. She wants to clutch his head to her every time he pauses to move around, but she can’t or she’ll fall. She bites her lip to keep from moaning, hard, and tastes the coppery substance that is her own blood, pouring into her mouth. Maybe she bit too hard.
He jerks his tongue harder for a moment, waits until she is on the edge, and then pulls out to suck on her clit. Once, twice, and a little nibble with blunt teeth and she’s crashing into her orgasm, legs going limp. He pauses to pull her pants sharply down past her knees and steps between her legs again, sliding up her body until their mouths are level.
Arms wavering, she lets out a scream and then a strained gasp, releasing her now split lip and hardly noticing as a little blood dribbles down her chin. He crashes their lips together again, pulling her injured lip into his mouth and sucking on it hard, until no more blood comes and it swells. Trying to pull away to catch her breath, she can’t, and her arms give out.
She drops on him hard, their lips still entwined, and startled, he staggers backwards as her legs stay firmly encased around his waist. One of his feet catch on the upward slope and he stumbles; they both go crashing to the ground. He lands on his back, and she’s on top.
With a grunt, he lets go of her mouth, and she takes a moment to breathe as she untangles her legs from underneath him. Her lips are swollen, eyes wild, and she grins wickedly. Her still weak (but rapidly recovering) hands slide down his startled body, brown eyes locked with yellow, and she squats on her knees, lifting herself off of him.
Quick as a cat, she reaches down, undoes his fly, wraps her hand around his member (no underwear), and pulls him free. She grins again at his suddenly dazed expression, and she knows it isn’t from the fall.
In the moonlight his eyes flash to blue again and he reaches for her, ripping her new, black shirt squarely down the middle, her lacey red bra soon following in the same way. She can hear the metal of the under wire snap. She laughs, “You’re a quick study,” and reaches for his shirt, ripping the tight black material open to expose his chest. Satisfied, she smiles.
He groans, hands running along her sides to her now almost bare body to her hips. That smirk again, “Vixen,” and without further comment, he digs his fingers into her hips and lifts her up a little more.
To aid him, she moves one hand back to his member and guides it to her center as he lowers her down. As soon as they touch and he begins to enter her slick walls, she removes her hand instinctively and he slams her hips down, so that he is completely sheathed in her wet cunt.
Not even dazed in the slightest (she likes it like this, hard and fast), she lifts right back up and slams down to a pace she likes, her hands moving to play with the muscles of his stomach. Groaning, he catches on to her fast rhythm quickly and happily, meeting her thrust for thrust. His hands loosening their grip and sliding up her waist and to her breasts where he twists her nipples, causing her to gasp and slam down on him even harder.
She doesn’t care that he’s stretching her inner walls; all she cares is that she can feel his penis throbbing between her legs and she feels like herself again. The sex, the control, the feeling of using someone else for a change instead of being a pawn in the games of others.
He grins at her, hands moving all over her body, exploring her, finding the spots that make her gasp the most. “That’s my girl,” he groans as she rides him harder, faster. No, he doesn’t have any complaints.
She’s getting close again, she can feel it, and she’s ready to ride him for her own purpose happily, just as she has done with countless other men. Only he’s not every other guy, she knows that. Roughly, he lets go of her, braces his hands against the ground and uses the tilt of it to push up and forward, flipping them over, so that he’s the one on top.
Startled, she lands hard, just barely moving her hands in time to brace herself some. A strangled, “Oof,” escapes her lips as her bare back connects with the hard ground. She can feel rocks pressing into her skin.
There’s no time for her to recover, he doesn’t let her, just puts an arm on either side of her shoulders, lowers his head to kiss her forcefully again, and continues to pound into her as hard as he can. Her first thought is that how dare he manhandle her like this, and her second is that this is what she came for and that it feels amazing and exactly like it should.
His heavy leather coat is splayed over them, shielding them from the moonlight, and she clenches her legs harder around his waist, tangles one hand in his hair and splays the other against his chest. Her tongue battles with his as his cock pounds into her center, trying to get deeper, dragging them both closer. She squeezes him with her inner muscles along with the pounding rhythm of their bodies.
Releasing her mouth, he lowers his head to place one chaste kiss against her jugular and then trails feathery kisses alternated with quick nips along her collarbone, down to one of her full breasts, and then to the other. It’s these danger tinged kisses against her flushed skin that finally pulls her over.
With a startled gasp and a harsh scream, she climbs over that edge once again, her climaxing muscles clench his cock harder than ever before and he lets out a muffled roar against her skin, following her climax with his own and biting down on the skin he had previously been kissing, just at the top of her left breast.
They both shudder and he collapses on top of her, her legs still wrapped around him and she doesn’t really care that his dead weight is making it difficult to breathe. He lets go of where he bit her, and strangely it doesn’t bother her. After a few seconds of catching their breath they begin to move shaking muscles.
Rolling onto his back, he pulls her with him, so that her head is spooned against his chest, her hair splayed across it. Not that she really had a choice, since her legs are still wrapped around him and her pants are caught at her ankles by her high-heeled boots.
There are a few moments where the only sound is her harsh panting and his shallow breathing. After she’s relatively sure that her voice will hold steady, she exhales loudly and murmurs, “God, I wish I had a smoke.”
Bright blue eyes lighting up, he offers her a genuine smile, shuffling her around on his chest slightly so that he can fish in one of his duster pockets. A few seconds of shuffling later, his hand reappears to her view triumphantly holding a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. “Nothing better after a good rough an’ tumble than a good fag,” he agrees with her readily, reaching his other arm over her to pluck out two cigarettes and light them.
Once they’ve caught, he tosses the pack of cigarettes and the lighter carelessly to his side, taking one cigarette and placing it between his own lips and pressing the other to her own. She looks down as she sucks the welcomed nicotine in and notes the chipping black nail polish on his fingernails.
Both take deep breaths in of the nicotine and then exhale puffs of smoke, she’s rolled slightly to the side to avoid singing him. As their nerves calm and bodies relax there is no sound but the inhale and exhale of smoke.
Not until the cigarettes are done and they both reach over to snub them out in the cool ground, do they speak or move. Almost reluctantly, Faith lifts her lower body up and lets his cock slip from her core. Scooting up slightly, she rests her bottom on his flat stomach and reaches to one side to undo her shoes and slip her shoes, socks, and pants off. As soon as the one side is finished she moves to escape the other.
She stands up and steps off of him, surveying the fact that she’s now totally naked and he’s still managed to retain his jeans and jacket. “I’d like to point out that you were wearing more clothes.”
He laughs at her, having tucked himself back into his jeans and zips them back up. Standing along with her, he sheds his duster easily, spying the ruins of both his and her shirt a few feet away. Without a word, he hands her his duster, leaning himself against the wall (so it was a wall) they were so recently up against.
Enjoying the cool feel of the leather and the smell of cigarettes and alcohol that clings to it, she accepts the jacket and puts it on, her hand accidentally brushing the bite mark above her breast as she does so. She ignores it. Once she has the duster wrapped around her perfectly curvy body, he speaks, “I never did get your name, pet.”
Instinctively, her fingers find the spot where the bite mark is through the leather. She exhales. “Faith.”
Nodding, he steps forward, pulls her body against his again, tilts her head up, and kisses her one last, passionate time. Their tongues battle for a second, entwining and dueling, before he pulls back, steps away, grabs his discarded lighter and cigarettes and starts to walk off. “Spike.”
She spares a moment to be confused, looking up into the starless night sky for a reason as to why he’s leaving. Then she smirks and moves to lean against the same wall he was. If this isn’t the night her calling ends, then so be it.
Just as he passes under a streak of moonlight, he turns, his hair mussed into a bleached-blonde, spiky mess, alabaster skin glinting in the moonlight, dark blue eyes fixed on her. “An’, Faith, I’ll be back for my coat.”
Please e-mail the author of this story with your comments. goddess_delenn@yahoo.com