Title: Knights Consort (9/?)

Author: Cyclone

Feedback: Please be gentle.

Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.

Rating: Just a little bad language.

Spoilers: Anything and everything.

Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Summary: There's more to love than sexual attraction. In fact, sometimes, sexual attraction just gets in the way.

Author's Note: Nothing much to say here.

I'm eating breakfast with Faith, nursing a mug of coffee, as I try to sort out the current... situation. Faith Lehane. Now there's someone who's easy on the eyes, and there's nothing quite like a bad girl to get the imagination going.

She's sex and naughtiness all wrapped up in a hot, leather-clad package.

"So," she says, "when are you gonna get yourself some Xander-lovin'?"

I nearly choke on my coffee.

I need to stop drinking the stuff. It seems like every time I have a cup, someone tries to kill me with it by talking.

"Just take it easy. Even back then he was always a bit... eager."

I am not blushing. I'm not blushing.

No, really. I'm not. I'm too busy staring at her to blush.

"Oh, come on. Don't try and tell me he doesn't get your motor running."

I sigh. "That's just it. He doesn't."

"What? Seriously?" Well, what do you know? She can be surprised.

"Seriously. As much as I... care for him..."

She coughs pointedly.

I roll my eyes. "All right, fine, as much as I love him, he doesn't get me excited, not that way." I slump back. "I'm in love with someone who's got the wrong body parts to turn me on. How screwed up is that?"

"Well, try looking at it from a different angle. Maybe he does have some of the right body parts, just with a few extras you could do without."

Coffee was a deadly weapon, yes, but now... hypothetically speaking, how would one go about killing the second senior Slayer with my coffee cup?

Her comments are not helping.

"I'm serious," she says. "Think about him, piece by piece. What you find might surprise you."

I think about that. Worth a shot.

So, Xander. That messy mop of hair of his. His eye: warm and inviting... and silently forgiving the loss of its mate; it would make my heart melt if a part of me didn't still feel guilty. His mouth: his lips look quite kissable, and his tongue? God, the things I've heard about his tongue send shivers down my spine.

Hands: strong, work-hardened, yet soft. Sometimes, he'd massage my shoulders, my neck, or even my feet, and it was like the stress would just vanish. Of course, then he'd do something like tickle me, but that's something else entirely. The rest of his body was... strong, but it also had scars: reminders of close shaves, of poor decisions made, of lessons learned.

"Wow, girl, you've got it bad if you haven't gotten to his dick yet after this long."

I blink.

"His what?"

Faith stares at me. "You have got to get laid."

"You offering?"

What can I say? She's hot. She's currently single. She swings both ways. And did I mention she's hot?