Written for femficexchange on Tumblr.

Prompt: Faith/Buffy

tell your boyfriend, if he says he's got beef,

that i'm a vegetarian and i ain't fucking scared of him

Angel is in the library again today. He doesn't act all swoony around Buffy, because Giles and Xander tense when he's in the library and so he has to act cordial, like he's an ally, like he isn't making out with the Slayer on the side. He's talking about some vampires that have nested up in an old mansion and Faith is sitting next to Buffy, jaw clenched and trying not to look like she hates the stupid broody asshole.

Buffy, meanwhile, is sitting up straight, Little Miss Prim and Proper, making doe eyes at Angel whenever someone glances her way. Under the table it's another story. Under the table, it's Faith's hand that's holding hers, their fingers tangled messily together.

"What do you think, Buffy?" Angel asks.

Above the table, Buffy smiles, calm as can be. Under the table, Buffy's hand jerks away from Faith as though it's received an electrical shock. "I think it's about time these vamps learned what happens when you mess with the Slayer," she says. "Faith, you coming?"

"Yeah," Faith agrees, and grins back at Buffy, as flirty as she can be without Angel picking up on it.

She is not scared of Angel.

This is why the whole situation pisses her off. Because if it ever comes out, it's going to look like they didn't tell anyone because she was scared of Angel or some shit like that. And she is not scared of Angel.

But Buffy is.

Buffy, who for some reason Faith has fallen completely in love with, who has Faith's trust and Faith's heart and doesn't seem to understand that she's the first to ever have both, is scared of telling anyone that she likes making out with a girl. She's come up with lots of theories about how they're attracted to each other because they're both Slayers, they've fought together, they're experimenting, and Faith is getting sick of the girl she loves telling her what they have isn't real.

"Kiss me," Faith says now, low and breathless, Buffy straddling her lap in the armchair of her crappy motel room. Her hand, resting on the small of Buffy's back, slips under Buffy's tank top, fingers splayed against the heated skin underneath.

Buffy stares at her. "Faith," she protests. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Faith looks up through her lashes at Buffy, something she knows makes her girl crazy.

"Stop," says Buffy, leaning in and frowning unconvincingly. Faith's fingers trace patterns on her back, and she stammers as she continues, "We need to—to talk about u-us. This."

Faith parts her lips, tilting her head up to look at Buffy. It's a Sunday morning, so no chance of demons or Angel swinging by to check in on Buffy, and the sunlight coming in through the window illuminates the golden hues in Buffy's hair. She's ethereal. "So talk," she whispers, voice low and smoky.

"I hate you," Buffy mutters almost childishly, and kisses her, starting out soft before turning hard and biting. Faith moans into her mouth and pulls Buffy flush against her.

This is how most of Buffy's discussion attempts end up, Buffy tangled in Faith's arms, kissing so hard that they have to break for air. Faith's seen Buffy kiss Angel, all sugar and spice, sweet little innocent pecks, and she'd always imagined Buffy to be a good, pure little girl when it came to romance, the kind who kiss you like they're in a cute PG sitcom and skip down the street with their arm tucked demurely in yours. Pastel pinks and lollipops, daisies and butterflies.

But this isn't that. This is Buffy, blazing and jagged, a passion that matches Faith's. And Faith hates Angel, because he doesn't seem to realize what he could have. All Angel wants is the cute girlfriend Buffy wants to be, not the Slayer she is. She pulls away to rest her forehead against Buffy's, both of them breathless.

"We," Buffy gasps, "we need to talk."

"Fuck that," says Faith, and kisses Buffy again.

"Faith." Buffy pulls away. There's a serious expression on her face, and it makes Faith's stomach turn over. "I mean it." She climbs off of Faith's lap, legs wobbly. Faith gets up off the chair and tries to kiss her, one last time, suddenly desperately afraid that she won't get the chance again.

Buffy places her hand on Faith's collarbone, stopping her. "This isn't me," she says, voice shaking. "There's something about you that just…" She trails off lamely. "I have to go," she says, her voice tight, almost as though she might cry. Her lower lip wobbles and it pulls at Faith's heart in a way no one else really can.

No one can touch her like Buffy Anne Summers.

"Yeah," says Faith dully. She steps back from Buffy and sits down on the crappy motel bed, staring at her knees. She doesn't like feeling so much, and she's glad she doesn't show it. "You go ahead."

She hears Buffy walk over to the door, and then hears her walk back, and then she feels a hand touch her shoulder awkwardly. "I didn't want—" Buffy begins.

Faith jerks her shoulder away.

It's two days before someone snaps, and surprise, surprise, it's B, grabbing Faith's jacket in the middle of patrol and kissing her hard enough to bruise. Faith is thrown up against the wall of a nearby crypt, Buffy pressed up against her, and there isn't enough air in her to keep this kiss going. She slows down their makeout session to a frenzy of kisses, her mouth on Buffy's cheeks, neck, collarbone—there, she's pushing up Buffy's shirt to kiss her stomach—

"Faith," Buffy moans. Faith has never hated someone so much.

Faith has never loved someone so much.

Buffy's hands fist in her hair and push her lower. It's always Buffy calling the shots, never her.

And they're lying in Faith's motel room. It's always a blur how they get there, but they always end up cuddled together under the sheets, Faith stroking Buffy's hair as she drifts off to sleep. Buffy will always make excuses to everyone about having some all-night battle she'd had to fight. Faith doesn't need to make excuses, because no one ever asks.

"Angel might be looking for me," says Buffy. Faith knows she isn't going to get up, but she can hear the tension, the fear.

"I'm not scared of Angel," Faith scoffs. She's not. "That empty space in his head is probably collecting dust."

"Stop," says Buffy sharply. "He's my boyfriend."

"Yeah, I know," Faith replies. "Not like you shut up about him. Oh, Angel's so hot, Angel did this, Angel, Angel, Angel—" She rolls over so that she's on top of Buffy, balanced on her hands, her hair falling low over Buffy's face. She tugs down the sheets that have been covering Buffy's chest.

Buffy tugs them back up.

"What, not up for another round?" Faith says acidly. "You'd think that with all that tension from your boyfriend, you'd be aching for a good roll in the—"

"This isn't about Angel, Faith," Buffy replies, and sits up, pushing Faith away and tangling her in the bedsheets. She leans over the side of the bed and haphazardly pulls on her tank top before turning to face Faith again. Faith lets the sheets drop from her bare chest. "Stop it," Buffy adds furiously, and tosses Faith her shirt.

Faith ignores the shirt and shoves it off the bed. "It doesn't matter what I say about Angel," she says, and leans in. Buffy smells like cinnamon and mowed grass. "You're gonna come running back anyway."

"I am not," Buffy retorts, but her eyes dart towards Faith's mouth. She's already leaning in to meet her.

Faith is going to pull back now. Faith is going to pull back, and pull away, and get out of this toxic thing that's only going to burn her to the ground. Faith pulls back, except her mouth is on Buffy's and her hand is tangling in that ethereal golden hair and they're falling back, back, onto the bed.

She'll tell Buffy to make up her mind, but she just has to make sure she remembers every second of this kiss before that. Because Faith isn't scared of Angel.

Faith is scared Buffy won't choose her.