Chapter 9

The Puppet Show

It starts slow. Hot kisses that rob you of your breath and your control. Vanilla scents and something richer and more primal. She is on all fours at first, one hand rising to cup your cheek as she takes her fill of your kiss.

You waver, wanting to drive her back to the floor and take her there and then as you have with all the others. Take control. Take your pleasure. But, for some reason that feels alien to you.

Buffy seems to sense your hesitation, and pulls back from the kiss.

"Faith, are you okay?" she says, her voice trembling and frail. "We… we don't have to do this if you are not comfortable." You shake your head to clear it. Perhaps it is the wine.

"I… it's just…" you can't find the words. Buffy sits back on her knees, her fingers on the palm you have to the floor give comfort. Why are you acting like a blushing virgin, Lehane? That ship sailed long ago, whether you wanted it to or not.

"It's okay. It really is." she says. "Maybe we are rushing things. It's a whole world of new."

You nod, and sit back. A sip of wine helps you gather your thoughts.

"No, it's not that. I just… It's like this. With guys? I take. I get what I want, how I want, and then I am out the door. No muss, no fuss. It's just easy that way. No-one gets hurt. Right?" Buffy does not respond, she just leans back on her hands, listening intently. She does that. Makes you feel like the stage is yours. Like what you say matters.

"Buffy, I feel like I am drowning here, y'know?"

"I came on too strong. I knew it."

"No, no. I… damn, I am terrible at this." you confess. "It's like, I have all these feelings and thoughts and they are all swimming around and I can't… it's like, yeah… I am drowning."

"What do you need right now?" she says.

You shake your head sip the wine.

"Buffy... I am all kinds of messed up."

"If it's the scars I..."

"I want you, Buffy. And I want this. And I am..." Go on. Say it. You're a big girl. Right?

"Scared?" Buffy says without malice or mockery. Her eyes kind. Brow soft.

You let out a deep sigh, and down the last of your wine. Buffy sits still, her head tipped to the side, waiting for you to talk. Your glass is empty now. Nothing sits between you now.

"Fuck it." you grin, dropping the glass somewhere behind you. "I'm just being a pussy."

She chuckles. You stalk forward on your hands and knees and kiss her roughly. She gives, pulling you both gently back onto the cushions. A button or two pops as you slip off shirt over your head and straddle Buffy's hips.

"Guess you'll just have to lead me round the curves."

You are not in control.

And maybe you don't care. Because your back is pressed into the cushions, hands clawing the ground, back arched to expose yourself to the pleasure as it fills you. And such deep relentless pleasure. Driving into your body, into your senses. Your heart hammers blood as your nerves crackle and spark, consuming you like hell fire consumes your prey.

Her tongue is hot and subtle. Two fingers slick and savage. Every moment rising hotly, taking you deeper and deeper into sensation.

She adds another finger. Then as you start to crest the curve, she slows, holding you back, holding you achingly between bliss and need. Then, when you think it cannot get more intense, she slowly slides another finger into you. Somewhere at the borders of sensation, an awareness that your body is arching up, every muscle straining to bring you towards that pleasure. Slowly she builds. Faster and faster, like your body hunting it's prey. And then, she makes another change and you gasp deep and long and low. It is nothing like you have ever felt. You are brimming.

Then, suddenly it is like you are filled with a million moths roaring towards a burning sun. You come undone like never before, like at a cellular level. A string of unformed obscenities fly from your mouth and it is almost like you touch on something holy.

You fall back into the makeshift bed like your strings have been cut.

Your world is Buffy. She has you now, held in her arms. Cradling you as you buck and tremor. And when you open your eyes, all you can see is her, all you can smell and taste and feel is her.

It takes you a moment to realise she is coming too. Lightly, like an aftershock to your earthquake. Her lip shivers when she comes, her lids pressed tight, her chest and cheeks flush red. Warm air puffs from her lips across your throat.

You both are still for the longest time, wrapped together, warmth and warmth.

"I've wanted to feel like this for so long." Buffy says. She turns to face you. "It's like you think and think and think all you like about how it is going to be, but… wow. Just… wow. I'm, like, buzzing from head to toe- but it's a warm buzzing. You know? It's hard to explain." she meets your eyes and giggles. "Thank you."

"You seriously telling me ya never done this before?" you are genuinely surprised. Her skill and technique was beyond anything you even imagined possible, let alone experienced. Maybe it was because chicks knew chicks from first hand experience. Maybe it was just luck that you two clicked. Whatever it was, the fact that Buffy felt anywhere in the proximity of the pleasure you feel now? Wow. That was a real kick in the head.

"Well, I've done... stuff. But not this. Nothing like this." Buffy nuzzles you and places a lingering kiss on your cheek.

Oh god, you would do anything for this girl. Absolutely anything. And to be honest, that power she has over you is terrifying. As much as you feel connected to her, feel as if you know her. You don't. She comes from different world to you. A different class. Your world is death in the darkness and hers is of life in the light. Your affair has been conducted in secret, with stolen moments and secret glances. Imagine the scandal if two cheerleaders where found out? Would Buffy deny you? Turn on you the instant her popularity was threatened?

And what if she knew what you are? What you really are?

"Faith." she whispers sleepily against your neck. Her chest falls evenly, breath soft and you realize she has drifted off.

You pull the blanket from the nearby couch over you both, and nestle in. Her arms wrap around you like a welcome.

And you know you are in trouble.

Sunlight streaming down onto your eyes wakes you. The room is pleasantly cool on your naked flesh. The candles switched off. The pillows neatened. Many back on their couches. Your body aches deliciously, like after a good fight, but you have never felt so rested.

You find Buffy sitting in the porch, sipping from a mug of coffee. Sunlight catching her hair like some kind of magical aura. She wears an over-sized Razorbacks shirt, which exposes her golden shoulder to the light. You remember the scent and taste of that skin; ache for more.

Her smile carries away any fears you had that she had regrets. You offers you her hand, and pulls you down into a kiss.

"Good morning. I wondered if I would have to check for a pulse soon. You slept like the dead." she grins. "It was adorable, but, if I watched you any longer I would feel like a creep. Oh, and…" she holds up the mug. "Subject to turn into a monster if not caffeinated properly."

Damn living on The Hellmouth. Amazing how many metaphors tend take on a freakish angle.

"Sorry I can't offer you anything except cereal for breakfast. I confess- cooking skills? I don't have a one of 'em."

"Nah, I'm cool. Besides, I have an important project I need to work on." You chuckle "Areal project, that is. Not a "study sleepover" kind of project."

"I dunno." Buffy says. "Felt pretty real to me."

Yeah. You are in deep trouble.

It always astounds you just how normal and cheerful Sunnydale is during the day. It takes blissfully unaware to candy colored levels. Lawns are mowed. Papers are delivered. Roses are watered and fed.

Today, you sort of understand. You feel safe and something close to happy, and wouldn't it be something if that was the whole truth? That life was all morning dew and welcome kisses. You know, you absolutely know that it isn't like that. That as much as the day is sweet, the night has teeth. That life will devour you whole if you let your guard down. Turn your flesh to ribbons and leave you scarred.

Oh, but for gentle fingers. Trace. Trace. Trace.

Jenny is at Giles's house when you bound in. The sly dog. He is making a big breakfast whilst she is in the living room kneeling in front of a naked girl.

"Hello." says the girl to you. "Have you seen Warren?"she says with a saccharin smile. "I'm looking for him."

"Faith," says Jenny proudly, as if she was introducing her newborn babe, "I would like you to meet April."

"Hey, girl, how's it going?" you say.

"My battery died and I have no motor functions below my neck. Also I cannot find my boyfriend. Have you seen him?"

"I am running her off of Rupert's car battery at the moment until we can figure out how the rest of her works." Jenny says, accepting a cup of coffee from Giles.

"It seems she was built by a boy named Warren Mears." he says "Perhaps you can jump on the... erh... net thing for her, do a search, see if you can track him down?"

"Yeah, I will get on that. Hey April, don't worry your pretty little processors, we got ya."

April's smile sums up exactly how you feel.

You find Warren Mears in less than twenty minutes whilst you munched on bacon with your free hand. A ping on the mortuary records, and about a months ago newspaper listed him in a brief article about "Wild Dog Attacks on The Rise". Welp, so much for loving reunions with sex bots.

You grab his current address and a battleaxe.