Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Challenge/Prompt: slashthedrabble 448: Silk Sheets and nekid_spike 30in30: Day 23: Missing Home, Candles, Highs and Lows, Toys
Word Count: 500
Date Written: 26 May 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
When she's with her, she doesn't think about the other things. She doesn't hear her father's voice yelling at her for not being the son he wanted or her mother's sobs. She doesn't hear the other kids taunting her until she pushed them down or the dying screams of what little family she'd had left when she'd been called. She doesn't hear the Vampire in her Watcher telling her she wasn't good enough to keep her alive.
She doesn't hear her mistakes, doesn't think about them. She doesn't think about the fact that time is fleeting and every night almost gets them killed. She doesn't think about the fact that as much as she acts like she's Immortal, she's really not or that this world has given her every reason to be angry and refuse to protect it, to save it. And she doesn't think about how damn much better Buffy is than she herself.
She doesn't think about her being the hero and herself the villain. She doesn't wonder when Buffy's going to grow tired of their games and leave her, like everybody else has. She doesn't think about the worst, or the best. She doesn't think. She simply is. She simply feels.
She feels the heat pooling in her body, feels her skin being seared where the candle's wax drops onto her flesh and melts slowly, feels Buffy's tongue replacing the hot wax, feels herself coming higher and higher. There are no lows where Buffy's concerned. There are only highs. One touch from her always burns her higher.
Nobody's ever affected her this way. Nobody's ever let her forget who she is, what she is, what she's done. Nobody's ever given her such pleasure or opened her world to only feel the pleasure she gives her. Nobody's ever hit her like this.
She doesn't need the glow of the candles surrounding their bed, the sex toys that litter their room, the silk sheets she stole for their bed, or the moonlight streaming in from their open curtains, the only remainder of the world that still exists outside and wants so much of them, demands so much. All she needs is this blonde between her legs. All she needs is her touch, rather it's from her tongue, her fingers, or even just her nose burrowing into her short hairs as she laps at her.
Faith's fingers curve around Buffy's skull. This is all she needs, all she wants. Nothing else matters, and as long as Buffy's making the satisfied moans and sighs that are emitting now from her center, Faith can believe it's all her lover needs too. She lets her stroke her until she screams, lets her whole body shake, lets herself go with heedless abandon . . . After all, if all that matters is in this room, in this bed, what reason does she have left to pretend? Buffy's all she needs, and it's her name that rips out of Faith's mouth in a scream echoing into the night.