Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.
Spoilers: Who Are You?
Warning: This chapter is a little bit raunchy. Bad words and sex acts abound.
The Dawning
Chapter Six
"Buffy, are you going out?"
Faith looked over her tanned shoulder to Joyce. The older woman looked a bit frazzled after the battle royale that had occurred downstairs. Her boney hand clutched the lapels of her faded flowered housecoat together, her face pale and disapproving.
"Thought I'd get a little post-battle celebration in down at the Bronze. Shake my boo-tang. You know?"
Faith turned back to the mirror. Fresh from the shower, she had blown out Buffy's blonde hair to skandom levels of height, and streaked it black with mascara. She had liberally applied the charcoal-tone spectrum of Buffy's eye shadow pack to create what she thought of as her 'looking to get laid nasty' smokin' hot look.
While watching Joyce through the reflection in the mirror she applied a nearly untouched lipstick, harlot-red, to her lips.
"Shall I watch Dawn then?" Joyce's lips firmed until they couldn't be seen. Faith wasn't familiar with maternal disapproval, but she definitely understood sarcasm. What she didn't understand was who the hell was Dawn, and why should Buffy care about her?
"Um, yeah," Faith drawled in Buffy's prissy valley girl voice. See, sarcasm, totally had a handle on it, even after a year and half-long coma.
"Buffy, do you really think it's appropriate for you to…" Joyce waved a hand towards Faith's slut attire of ass-hugging, black leather pants and scanty, backless blouse.
"Look smokin' hot?"
If Joyce's lips thinned any further she'd be in danger of biting them off and swallowing them.
"I just went through, like, a harrowing experience, you know? I mean, I just beat my sister into the floor. The same sister who I betrayed, stabbed, and threw off a roof all to save the love of my life. Bros before hoes and all that. I think I'm entitled to a little pick-me-up, don't you, Jo––uh, Mom?"
"You're not going to be picking up any men, are you, Buffy?" Joyce rubbed her brow. "I hardly think that'd be fair to Spike."
"Spike?" Faith mouthed. Buffy was dating a guy named Spike? Wow, who knew the tight-ass had it in her?
"Spike and I aren't together," Faith took a chance, throwing down the lipstick. "I can bang any guy I like. I'm an adult, aren't I?" Faith challenged.
"Yes, of course." Face withdrawn, Joyce turned to leave. "Could you, at least, nurse Dawn before you go out to 'bang' some strange man?" Joyce walked out of the bathroom without a second glance.
Faith dropped the mascara wand she had picked up to apply more streaks to her hair. It fell into the sink with a muffled clatter.
"Nurse?" she mouthed to her reflection. She tugged her blouse away from her collarbone, eyes dropping to her tits swelling over the lacy black bra she'd chosen. She never really took notice of Buffy's tits, but Faith did know her sister slayer was tight in more places than just up her ass. Come to think of it –– Faith twisted in the mirror to look at her rounded butt –– the bitch did look more lush than Faith remembered.
In a daze, she walked out of the bathroom, turning towards the soft blue light emanating from a room she'd never been in. She peered through the doorway, seeing the vague outline of a crib and changing station in the muted light of the mobile.
A small snuffling sound came from the crib and Faith's (Buffy's) boobs throbbed. Faith cupped her breasts, noticing how hard and tender they were beneath her palms.
"What. The. Fuck?"
Buffy had a brat? Straight-laced, in love until I die with a souled up the ass vampire, Buffy? That just couldn't be true.
Faith stepped forward, and slammed into an invisible barrier. Inside the room, symbols painted on the walls and ceiling glowed silver. Shocked, Faith backed up a step.
She pressed a trembling hand into the invisible barrier. Beneath her fingertips it felt as solid as a steel wall.
"Warded," she breathed.
Rocked to her core, and not sure why, she bounded down the stairs. Joyce stood in the archway leading to the den, surveying the damage the fight between Faith and Buffy had caused.
She glanced up as Faith landed in the foyer next to her.
"Thank God Faith didn't make it up the stairs to Dawn."
Faith jerked up short, blinking at Joyce.
"Yeah," she said slowly. "Good thing those wards are on the nursery."
Joyce frowned, glancing up the stairs. "I suppose. But they're meant to keep out evil, not a misguided young girl."
Evil. The wards kept out evil.
Faith's fingertips tingled where they had touched the wall. She watched, chest tight, mouth dry, as Joyce surveyed the destroyed den. "You think she'd hurt a baby?"
Joyce opened her mouth to speak, before changing her mind, shaking her head. "Very misguided," Joyce muttered before heading to the kitchen.
Faith staggered, catching herself on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. Hands sweaty, heart in her throat, she stared down at her stolen Jimmy Choo sexy kitten heels, wiggling pink painted toes that weren't hers.
"I'm not evil," she whispered. "I wouldn't hurt a baby."
In the foyer mirror she caught sight of herself in her stolen body. Blonde hair blown out and shiny red lips. With the dark eye shadow, Buffy's eyes looked more brown than green. More like Faith's eyes. Harder. Meaner. Uglier.
Taking a deep breath through her nose, Faith straightened, throwing her shoulders back. "Fuck 'em," she muttered, regaining her equilibrium as she stalked out of the house to find herself a real bad time.
8888
Holy shit! William the Bloody. She had the deets on him, of course, from when he blew into town and tore up the Magic Shop, somehow driving a sharp-ass stake into B and Angel's star-crossed hurl-fest, but she'd never met the guy.
And what an effing shame that was. The guy was smoking hot with an edge of wickedness that never failed to make her panties wet. Faith had a type and the leather-wearing, cig-smoking, whiskey-pounding vampire was definitely hitting all her buttons.
With the music thudding hard in the background and the smell of sweat and sex wafting from the dance floor of the Bronze, Faith felt a little lightheaded, and being tucked away beneath the stairwell with a vampire that oozed bad-wrong ideas wasn't helping.
He was also staring at her with an intense kind of gaze that made Faith think he knew all her secrets.
All of Buffy's secrets.
Shit! Was Queen B, paragon of all that's right and virtuous, banging the bad boy vampire? Joyce had said as much, but looking at him, Faith just couldn't fathom it. Buffy was all into that 'make love not fuck for fun' bullshit.
Nobody got into her lady garden unless they practically proposed marriage.
And this guy, standing before her, all sex and sin, was not the make love type. He definitely put the fuck in fucking.
Did the dude even have a soul?
Faith did a covert scan and came up with a resounding no. She stared at the obvious bulge between his legs. No way in hell did this guy have a soul.
And no way was B banging him. Not with her fatal allergy to having a good time.
"How's Dawn? You leave her with your mum? Again."
Woah. Hello, disapproval. What was this guy talking about?
Brain still frazzled by the promise beneath his skin tight jeans, Faith muttered an absentminded, "Huh?"
Big effing mistake.
William the Bloody leaned in close, burning blue eyes flashing murder and blowing streams of smoke from his nostrils.
"Know you don't like acknowledgin' Dawn as ours, but survey says she is. I won't have you mistreatin' her because I'm her father."
Woah, woah, woah.
Faith wasn't ignorant of the mystical power of befuddlement and enchantment the pussy had on the male gender, but there was no way in hell Buffy had convinced this guy he was the father of her baby.
First, Buffy would have had to have sex with him.
Second, he was a vampire. Hello, shooting the cold dead seed down there.
Third, Buffy would have had to have sex. With him!
Did an apocalypse happen while she was in a coma?
Nothing he said was going to convince her that Buffy undid the triple lock that bolted her legs together, especially for this guy. Maybe he was delusional? Chasing after something he couldn't have.
Time to commence with the fuckery.
She leaned in close, spreading her hand in the center of his chest, sliding it up to toy with the soft hair at his nape.
Holy hell, he was solid. Sex on a stick and she wanted a lick.
"Can't pick up a cock to ride for the night with a baby on my hip."
Fury like she'd never seen before etched itself over his face, leeching away all his handsomeness and replacing it with ugly predator features. He didn't vamp, but his teeth shot longer, gleamed whiter, his brow became more prominent, cheekbones going razor sharp.
Heart suddenly surging like a freight train in her throat, she tried to ease away, but his big hand landed on her rounded hip, the beginning tips of his claws digging through the leather and into her flesh.
Certain he was on the verge of striking, she pushed at his hand, angling her throat away. Something dark flickered in his eyes and he peeled back his lips in a smile, an ugly showing of teeth meant to frighten instead of reassure.
"Baby, if you got an itch to scratch, you should've said. You might be a grade A bitch, but that wouldn't stop me from shaggin' your lush little body into the ground."
Faith's breath caught in her chest. Holy shit! She didn't know whether to flee or fuck! Instinctively, she knew sex with him would be the kind of filthy, thigh-quaking, bed-breaking extravaganza she craved to the very depths of her soul. The kind that would leave her soft and sated and boneless with euphoria. For a few minutes she'd breach Nirvana and drift into a place where it didn't hurt anymore. Pain and remorse wouldn't touch her, the anger would drain away, and there'd be nothing.
Wicked, perfect nothing.
That's when he'd strike. Drain her dry while she was lost in the sea of afterglow. The prize was almost worth the price.
Almost.
But she was a survivor. Always had been. It wasn't something that could be turned off, no matter how much she might want it. Truth of the matter, she didn't have the brass balls to take that last gasp. Not without a fight.
Slithering in close, she angled her slut-red lips up to his, smiling at the hunger etched into the hard lines of his body. "I could have anyone, Spike, even you. I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up. I got muscles you've never dreamed up. I could squeeze you until you popped like warm champagne and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little bit more. But I won't. Do you know why?" Licking her glossy lips, she didn't give him a chance to reply. "'Cause it'd be wrong."
Spike cocked his head to the side, a bird of prey sighting its quarry. Faith felt a shudder of unease that she'd overplayed her hand.
Wrapping his strong arm around her waist, yanking her into him with enough force the air huffed from her lungs, he lashed their bodies together. Leaning in, lips brushing the sensitive whorls of her ear, he spoke.
"Baby, we did that last night. If you want to ride me again, you won't hear me arguin', but I'd rather you be flat on your back, my face buried in your sweet-tasting quim."
Faith's whole world tilted.
B really was bagging this guy. This unsoulled, unleashed, evil-to-the-bone, vampire. And apparently she was doing it nightly, every wicked way possible, and maybe some impossible ways too.
The lucky cunt! She always got everything. The good watcher. The loyal friends. A loving family. And men. Men who effing adored her.
It wasn't fair. The perfect bitch got it all, and Faith had nothing. No home, no father, no man. Well, fuck that.
Want, take, have.
"Let's go back to my crypt, pussy cat."
Faith drew back, looking him in the eye. His face was pure lust, but it was the coldness in his eyes that reassured her. The same coldness had been present in all her hook-ups and it tickled her ass that little miss 'I make love' had a similar sitch.
"Got that new crop you wanted so much." He slid his hand up her back, weaving his fingers through her hair to hold her tight. "Put you in chains and spank that little arse of yours the way you like it."
Faith's breath hitched. Fuck her. That was hot.
Her smile was slow and not in the least bit sweet. "Wicked." The smile dropped, all seriousness. "No chains this time."
He nodded, but she had the distinct feeling he didn't agree, and even though she knew her flight instincts were screaming bloody murder, her fuck ones were too loud to ignore.
8888
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Spike's face was exactly where he said it'd be, his tongue doing filthy wicked things, and Faith was unlocking the first door to paradise.
She was spread out naked on his lush bed, the red velvet duvet tickling her sensitized skin. She white-knuckled his wrought iron headboard, the chains threaded through the metal and bolted to the stone wall behind the bed jangling with her every shudder and arch as Spike's tongue glided over her clit.
He wanted to put her wrists in those chains, but she adamantly refused. She didn't know what games he and Buffy played, but no way was she going to get trussed up. She trusted William the Bloody as far as she could spit.
Her orgasm hit and a scream ripped from her raw throat.
As her shudders started to die, Spike slid up her body, his lean hips hard between her thighs. Still dressed in jeans and tee, the stiff fabric abrading her skin, setting her on fire.
Manacling her wrists above her head with his long, impossibly strong fingers, he stretched her body out, sacrificial and vulnerable, tripping all her sensors. She opened her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but he rocked against her, his denim-covered cock scraping her clit.
She undulated beneath him, hissing and yowling like a cat in heat. Levering her mouth up, she tried to steal a tongue-twisting kiss. Angling away, he buried his face in her hair, stretching her arms higher, until she felt the stretch in her shoulders and her tits arched into his chest.
"Never goin'ta kiss you, bitch," he growled in her ear.
Anger rolled through her too late. Another orgasm struck, rendering her helpless as she writhed. Through the waves of pleasure, she heard the clank of chains and the kiss of cold iron around her wrists.
Mid-orgasm he leapt off her, taking away the delicious thrust and push of his body against hers. The ecstasy receded, and she yanked on the chains, feeling their bite on her wrists and the burn in her shoulders.
"Asshole! Let me go."
Across the room, Spike guzzled a bottle of cheap rotgut. He swished it like mouthwash, spitting it onto the dirt floor. He poured the last of the whiskey into his cupped hand, using it to scrub his mouth and chin clean of her cum.
"Asshole," she hissed again. He thought she was dirty? He was the goddamn vampire.
Ignoring her, he tore off his shirt, dropping it to the floor. His hands hovered over his fly, a look of supreme disgust on his face.
She looked at his crotch, heat edging her cheeks. Even from the bed she could see the shimmer of her cum on his jeans.
He quickly stripped them off, wadding them up with his tee and tossing them into the sewer. Faith watched the show, riveted at the limp piece of flesh between his legs.
She'd be humiliated if she didn't know the truth. Buffy made him limp, not her.
"See why I was on the hunt for cock? Limp dick seems to be an epidemic among you vampires."
Angel had rejected her as well. All because of Buffy.
Buffy. Buffy. Buffy.
Well, now she had her revenge. Too bad B would never know her post-baby body made Spike –– the vampire with a stake in his pants –– as limp as an alcoholic, coked-out, over-the-hill rocker.
The vampire pulled clothes from a broken-down bureau that listed to the side, yanking them on without a glance in her direction. Fully dressed, he pulled out a cell phone, hitting speed dial. While he waited for it to connect he lit up a cig.
Faith could only imagine who he was calling. A slayer was big money. He could potentially make millions off her.
Furious, and a little bit terrified, she went wild, screaming and thrashing in the bed.
Spike dropped the phone on the bureau, the cig on the dirt floor, and strode over to her. Ready, she lashed out with her free leg, eager to kick him hard enough to snap some ribs. He dodged to the side with fluid grace, batting down her foot. He rose up, pile-driving one knee into the center of her chest.
Air rushed out of her lungs in a whoosh, agony ripping around her ribs. Before she could suck air back into her burning lungs, something round and rubbery was thrust between her teeth.
A ball gag! Mother effer. She was going to murder his ass dead and shit on his ashes.
He left her muffled, still straining against the chains, to pick up the phone. The entire time he didn't even glance at her.
"You there, Watcher?"
He paused to listen, and Faith stilled. Why was he calling Giles? Threats? Ransom?
"I got Buffy's body here, but some other bitch is in residence. Want to tell me what's goin' on?"
The world dropped out from under Faith's feet. He knew she wasn't Buffy. He knew and he wasn't limp for Buffy. He was limp for her.
Once again Buffy got everything. The watcher, the friends, the family, and the man who effing adored her.
Faith threw back her head and howled through the gag.