Title: Weekend Bikers
Author: Perry
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Written for the Faith ficathon, due ages ago. Written for theantijoss, who requested Faith/Buffy/Angel with smut and a flashback. AU from Faith, Hope, and Trick. Please excuse my fiddling with the timeline; Angel shows up a little later than he does on the show.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, no matter how much I wish. Opening quote and title from Good Omens, by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
"If there's one thing real Hell's Angels can't abide, it's weekend bikers."
Faith thinks she knows three things about love. One: love is for idiots. Two: love invades without warning. Three: love lives without reason.
The first, she learned from her mother. Boston was a nice place, but not in Faith's home. Her mother leased a dingy old apartment in Roslindale. There was one elevator, but it didn't work so well, sometimes, so Faith took the stairs. Three flights, which kept Faith in good shape. Not that she ever went home.
/Faith peers around the door, checking for Timmy, her mother's latest fuck. He isn't her favorite; Carlos used to slip her ten dollars before her mother forced her out of the apartment. Grown-up things, she said. What a laugh. Faith grew up wandering the back-streets and dark alleyways of Roslindale. She knows more than enough about sex, thank you very much.
The room seems silent, so it's probably safe. Faith ambles in, slumps onto the sofa, and dumps her torn backpack nearby. She stares lazily at the ceiling for a minute, then gets bored. Picking up the clicker, the girl flips through a couple channels before she hears muffled swearing from her mother's bedroom.
Fuck.
Hitting 'power' and tossing the clicker over to a nearby table, Faith pulls a textbook from her discarded backpack. Yanking it open to a random page, she tucks her legs underneath her and begins to stare blankly at the diagrams that clutter the page.
Her mother stumbles into the room, moaning and clutching her forehead. Fixing bleary eyes upon Faith, Mom snaps, "What did I tell you about turning the goddamn TV so fucking loud? What are you, deaf?"
Faith shakes her head, keeps her eyes lowered.
Mom sighs and rolls her eyes, then heads over to the liquor cabinet on the far wall. Pulling out a bottle of vodka, she pauses a moment, then speaks softly, "If Timmy comes round, let him right in, all right?"
Faith nods, then figures out Mom can't see it. "Yeah, okay."
Her mother walks quickly and purposefully back over to her bedroom. She keeps her face turned away, but Faith glimpses red, teary eyes before the door closes. So that's the end of Timmy, then, just like Carlos before him, and Dan before that, and a hundred thousand nameless and faceless men before that. It's a vicious cycle, her mother's love affairs. And they are that, love affairs. At least for Mom, who falls in love with every smile and wink. Faith hates it, and she hates the feelings she gets each time the vodka and tissues come out.
A little sad. Faith flips the page. Angry. More diagrams, one of a fish. Frustrated. Faith traces the skeletal system of the fish with a finger. Sickened. Disgusted at her mother's weakness. Her blind compliance with everything her stupid fucks ask of her.
So many fucking bones in this tiny little fish; how is she supposed to memorize all this when Mom's teary eyes won't get out of her head/
Faith remembers that lesson for years after Mom dies of lung cancer and a sharply dressed, prim English lady hands her a destiny.
The second, Faith figured out all by herself. Mostly.
See, she shows up in Sunnydale alone and afraid, though she tells herself she isn't. This is an uncomfortable, but not unfamiliar, state of existence for Faith. She's on the run from Kakistos, trying not to mourn her Watcher, completely broke and kind of hungry. Faith decides to go out, go dancing. Wanders the streets 'til she finds the Bronze. It's smaller than most of the clubs she'd seen hitchhiking from Boston, but bigger than some, so it's good enough.
Slipping behind the bar, she grabs a beer. Yay for Slayer perks- speedy escapes. On the second sip, she feels dizzy. Weird, but Faith's not giving up this buzz, so she heads out to the dance floor. Holding back a moment, Faith picks out three vamps. Seems like her (ex-)Watcher was right, and this is a busy, busy town. Sliding up to the first one, Faith pushes her hair to one side and leaves her neck exposed as she dances.
Faith leads him outside, kicks his undead ass. Realizing she's forgotten her stake doesn't calm her down. She grabs one from one of the other Slayer's boys, even thanks him nicely.
Other Slayer. Blonde and hazel-eyed, and god, hot as hell. Faith would have taken her right then and there, if her body language didn't clearly admit any advances would cause this chick to run away screaming. But her eyes give her away, curious eyes.
Maybe. If Faith's lucky.
She's still feeling that buzz when she wanders back unsteadily into the Bronze after her little encounter with the other girl. More than a buzz. More than the normal rush that comes from a good fight. More. It's enough to make her slide up to a nearby male, writhe back against him. Later, when she's riding him into the shoddy motel mattress, she keeps her eyes shut tight. While she rocks over him, Faith hears that voice again- the other Slayer's voice. Buffy. Whispering, not even anything explicit, which is weird considering that this is coming from Faith's mind and that's a very filthy place. She shudders, mumbles, trying to get out her name, call her attention, keep Buffy there inside her head. Faith stumbles and stutters over the word, "Bu- buff--buh-buh..." Gives up. "B."
It's almost anticlimactic, three weeks later, when Faith finally corners her against an alley wall and leans in. Buffy is hesitant at first- because of Angel? The girl-on-girl factor? Because she's Faith, for god's sakes, her sister Slayer, her companion and rough friend, a slut, a whore, a rough girl who dances carelessly and drinks too much, an...- it takes Faith a minute to realize Buffy is kissing her back just as passionately.
The third- the third she's still learning. The love living without reason thing. But it does make sense; that's why Willow's still sort of pining away for Xander, and Faith's mother tried again and again and again, and that's why, when Angel comes back, Faith doesn't return to Buffy's room.
Buffy still loved him when he was gone, even though there was no fucking chance he was coming back from where ever the fuck he was. Except there was. And now he is. Back. And still in love with her, as well. And how on earth is there supposed to be enough to go around when all they can see is each other?
So she gets to experience it firsthand. She watches them, as Angel recovers and Buffy lets him back in, past those defenses Faith had worked so hard to get through. So damn hard!
Whatever. It doesn't fucking matter, and she's not going to end up like her fucking mother, completely shit faced every couple days after the latest truest-love-of-all-time wanders back out of her life. Just because she... used to love Buffy doesn't mean that she's gotta mope and cry and whine and shit. Doesn't mean anything at all.
Some new demon in town. Faith tunes in and out of the Scooby meeting. Doesn't at look Buffy or Angel, just fidgets with her stake. Some violence would be really good right now. Really damn good. So she just goes. Why bother sticking around? B. will handle it, with her little pet vampire tagging along like he's done for the past two days. She ignores the awkward silence as she leaves the school library.
She's practically sprinting towards the nearest graveyard when she hears soft thuds behind her. Buffy drops a hand on her shoulder, pulls her around.
"What the hell's going on, Faith?"
This is un-fucking-believable. What does she say here? I love you and you've left me for a vampire. I miss you, B. I can't sleep without touching you. I can't sleep without dreaming of you. I can't sleep without you, period. I've got this hole growing inside me, and every time you glance my way, I feel like someone's shoveled out another chunk of my insides.
She doesn't say anything, just stares at the weeds growing in the sidewalk. The streetlight illuminates every crack, every crevice in its surface, and she traces them with her eyes until they blur.
"Faith?" She hears the request behind her name. 'Look at me'. But she doesn't, not 'til Buffy raises her jaw with a warm hand. Faith blinks hard, then steels herself and looks back unflinchingly.
You don't mean anything to me.
She can tell when B. realizes what's going on. She's a smart girl, isn't she, even though she likes to play the perfect California blonde, ditzy to the core.
"Oh, Faith..." An intake of breath.
You aren't anything at all. Anything!
"I didn't realize... I didn't think..."
"Yeah, well, that's not really surprising, is it? We're Slayers, B. We act, we respond, we fuck. Don't worry your pretty little head about me, blondie, 'cause it's over! Get it? Over!"
Stop me.
But Buffy doesn't say anything, and Faith's shoulders slump for just a second, before she straightens her head and tosses her hair back, because maybe the one thing she can salvage here is her pride, even as her heart contracts painfully, grows heavy and oozes into those cracks in the darkened sidewalk.
Her motel room makes her restless. Faith sits on the dingy bed and imagines she can still smell the faintest hint of Buffy's shampoo on the sheets, though they were only together here once, and the room has been cleaned since. Buffy was uncomfortable here; it's below her, a cheap room for cheap sex. Faith is not attached to it.
Was not attached to it.
Now to think of changing rooms causes a sharp twinge inside her. This was where she kissed Buffy, up against that wall and on the floor and in that yellowing shower. That bed was where she flung Buffy down, crawled up her body and licked the inside of her mouth.
/ "You want it?" Faith gasps, her body practically twitching to rub, grab, feel.
"Oh god, Faith," Buffy's hands travel up Faith's back, grasping the hem of her tight black shirt and struggling to pull it off. Faith crosses her arms and helps her pull it over her head, shivering slightly as her heated flesh meets the air of the chilly room.
"No bra?" Buffy asks, lifting one delicate eyebrow.
Faith laughs, while Buffy sits up to suck one pebbled nipple into her mouth. "Surprised, B?"
"Not really." Buffy murmurs, struggling to unbutton Faith's tight jeans with only one hand. The other is occupied, swirling in slow circles around Faith's other nipple.
Pushing firmly against one of the other girl's shoulder, Faith sends her sprawling back against the sheets. Yanking off Buffy's red tanktop, she doesn't bother unhooking the bra. Instead, she pulls down the cups and leans down, licking and sucking and nibbling while the other girl writhes underneath her.
Buffy moans as Faith finally rips the bra off, reaches around and unzips her skirt. Hooking her fingers underneath Buffy's panties, she slides them both down in one smooth motion and tosses them onto the motel floor.
This is perfect. Faith, yanking off her jeans in a motion without her normal, casual grace, stares down at Buffy. More than perfect. Crawling onto the bed, she breathes hot air onto Buffy's skin. /
It makes her skin itch to think of it, so she grabs her CD player and a stake, stomps out, and slams the door. She doesn't bother locking it; no one wants any of her shit.
Faith thinks that maybe she shouldn't be listening to music on patrol. She should be paying attention, keeping aware, waiting and watching and ready to attack. Instead, she turns the volume up louder, finds a handy gravestone, and plunks herself down. Tapping her feet rhythmically against the inscription, Faith doesn't hear the vampire sneak up behind her, silently and solemnly.
He taps her on the shoulder. Spinning around violently, Faith raises her stake.
Angel lifts his hands in the air. "Faith."
What the fuck? Does no one in this hellhole understand the concept of greetings? At least a 'hey'?
This is him. The competition. The guy B. screwed her over for. She lets her arm relax, though the rest of her body is tense. "Angel." Her voice is light, even though her throat feels constricted.
He goes right to the point. "I followed Buffy when she ran out today after you."
Don't get angry. You don't care, remember? "Well, that was ballsy of you. Think B. knows her boyfriend is a creepy stalker even when he's not being an evil SOB?"
Angel looks like he can't decide whether to glare or to look away. He settles for ignoring her comment. "When I first came back from... where I was..."
That's a laugh. He's a serial murderer and he can't even pronounce the name of where he's headed. She interrupts, "Don't spare my delicate feelings. When you stumbled back here from Hell..."
He's controlling his anger again, "She smelled different. It drove me crazy. I couldn't remember her name, but I could smell you on her, and I... I wanted it to stop."
Faith doesn't say anything. Maybe no one believes it, but she does have some tact. Sometimes.
Besides, she doesn't know what she'd say.
"I wanted her for myself. She's..."
Faith finishes his sentence for him, "Perfect. Yeah, I know." Admitting it is unbearably hard, and yet, unbelievably easy.
He nods. "But she's confused. Because..." There is a strange look in his eyes, like... like perfect despair, but not quite. Like it's being tempered by something. And he looks at her with hope.
"Because?" This pain in her chest- is hope. And it makes her crazy, and angry, and upset, because goddamnit, was this what her mother felt? Despair and then this- pain- this- agony- this- will he finish the fucking sentence already?
And he does.
So, the truth is, it all works out pretty nicely. Faith climbs in Buffy's window that night, sits upon her bed and leans back against the wall. When Buffy enters, they have a nice chat that basically goes along these lines:
"I love you. And I want you. Come here."
Her tongue is in Buffy's mouth and her hands are just thinking about exploring some more interesting places when Angel, perched on the windowsill, makes his presence known. Buffy spins around, eyes wide, but before she can speak, Angel blurts, "I know you love her." He walks closer, and Faith watches as he kneels down by the side of the bed, and rests her forehead against Buffy's. She can't meet his eyes, but he continues to speak, softly and slowly, "I know you do. And I understand. And you know I wish..." He leaves off while they share a forbidden-lover moment, then continues, "But what I want is for you to have love."
Buffy interrupts, speaking in a soft, plaintive voice, the voice of a child, "But I love you too. God, Angel, I love you so much."
He smiles, inhales the smell of her hair and speaks again, "I know." A pause. "You should have who you love."
At this point, Faith is tired of being quiet, and tired of whatever game Angel is playing. So she slips in, "And you can have them you love." Buffy turns wide eyes toward her. "Yeah."
Buffy glances at Angel for confirmation. He nods, keeping eye contact. Looking back at Faith, who is grinning widely, Buffy lets a smile start.
Buffy's bed is definitely too small for all three of them, and they're fucking lucky her mom is out of town again on a convenient art thing. Faith presses herself closer against Buffy's back, and draps an arm over her waist. The three lovers settle into comfortable positions; Buffy snuggled into Angel's chest and spooned against Faith, while Angel tangles a hand in Buffy's hair and then, hesistantly, reaches out to rest his other arm over Buffy's waist, settling on Faith's side. She tenses, then relaxes, and grins at him while he smiles back.
This is good. Really good. And as Faith closes her eyes and listens to Buffy breathe, she's pretty damn pleased.
Because maybe this isn't perfect happiness for any of them, but Angel laughed three days ago, a full and hearty laugh, and Buffy quips away and keeps on smiling, innocent as ever, and Faith? Well, Faith gets it now. Gets, you know, it. Love. Hope. The whole damn package.
And it makes a beautiful sort of sense.