What I Like About You
by Finding Faith
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Faith and Buffy are not mine. Characters belong to Joss
Whedon and Mutant Enemy and others.
Author's Notes: Kind of a short, abstract piece. Another "oh, if they
were only together" piece. Just something to get your senses going
without too much dialog or action. Tell me if it works!
*Buffy on Faith*
Faith is a vixen.
I like the way her eyes look just before she kisses me. How they are intense and stormy, like she is putting everything that she is into the connection between her lips and my skin. I like her eyes when we are in the bedroom. How they are almost black when she tells me she wants me. She captures me with them, but there is no way I'd ever try to escape.
I like when she smiles and I'm the only one in the room. Like it is a smile just for me, it's special. And her smile, her true smile, is gorgeous. It's toothy and wide and contagious. And when it's pointed at me, it warms me up in a way that a blanket or a fire or the sun never could.
She does little things sometimes that catch my attention. Things that maybe she doesn't even notice. Like when we walk into a room together, she is one step behind me and always puts her hand on the small of my back, leading me. It's just a touch and it's not always electric but it's comforting and it's always there. And she is always in contact with me. Even when we are in a place where touchy feely isn't the top priority, her hand always finds mine or her foot always finds mine or her fingers absently play with my hair. I like how she throws her arm around my shoulders whenever we walk into the Bronze. Or anyplace. How she throws her arm around my waist when somebody talks to me. A guy, a girl, a bartender, a store clerk, anybody. It's possessive and I love it.
Sometimes she tells me she loves me at the strangest times. Like when I'm leaving the room to get something to drink, or when we are tying our shoes before we go out, or when we are with the gang, talking about demons and evil things, she'll whisper it in my ear. Sometimes it just comes out of nowhere, like it was just a random thought that she figured she needed to mention. But maybe thats when it means the most to me, when it is unexpected. "I love you B." I smile and tell her I love her too.
I like how when we are on the couch together, after everyone else has left or gone to bed, and we're trying to be as quiet as we can, as we kiss and touch, she whispers things to me. Her hands make their way under my clothes and she says things that make my hair race and my breath quicken and my skin tingle.
She tells me things she likes about my body. She tells me how she loves the way I feel under her hands. She tells me where she likes to touch me, and her fingers go there, as if following the direction of her words. She tells me what she wants to do to me later in bed. Sometimes her sentences become incomplete and I can't really follow her and I don't even think she knows she is speaking out loud anymore. But it doesn't matter because her voice, sliding sexily into my ear, seduces me as much as her hands and her lips do.
"I need you Faith," and when I finally whisper that, and before things get out of control on the small couch, she'll lift herself from me and scoop me up and carry me upstairs. Her footing becoming unsteady when I run my lips up and down her neck. When my hand finds and puts pressure on her breast. A few times we haven't made it, and if there was nobody home, we'd have each other right there on the steps. Moaning and writhing in pain and pleasure as the hard corners of the stairs dig into our bodies where they shouldn't be digging into.
I like her hands. The way they are with me. Hands that were built for gripping rough wooden stakes and snapping vamp neck, are soft on my skin, as she sculpts my body with them. Like I'm made of glass. Like I'm made of porcelain. Fingers caressing all of me. My ankles, my elbows, behind my knees. Like she is trying to memorize me. Fingers stroking inside of me. Touching me where I ache for her. Where I throb for her. And when she puts her mouth on me, around me, taking me into her so intimately, I feel like I'm dying . . . . going to Heaven. Or maybe I'm being reborn . . . . into her Heaven. The ethereal zone she makes for me.
But things aren't always creamy with us. Sometimes it is hard and we are urgent. And clothes aren't removed as much as ripped off. And lips aren't kissed as much as bruised by crushing mouths. But it is always love. Intense love. Raw love. We've found ourselves after a slay, running to the dark corners of the cemetery, among the graves and the wet grass, needing release, and needing it fast. We take what we need from each other, and give it back just as good. But it ends just the same. Whether it is slow or fast, or hard or soft. Lying in each others arms. Shaking from the high of the sex and the love and the extremeness of it all. And then there are perfect kisses and exchanged I love yous before we fall asleep or get up to get dressed.
Sometimes she talks to me when she thinks I'm sleeping. She murmurs things that she would never say otherwise. But I know she means them just the same. Her words are slow and trembly as they float out into the quiet room. I try hard not to let her notice as my arms tighten around her. Sometimes she is afraid.
"I love you Buffy. I love you so much it scares me sometimes. Scared that one day you'll realize you could do so much better. That I can't give you all you deserve. And I won't see it coming. Cuz I love you. Maybe I'm being selfish, staying here. Keeping you all to myself when you shouldn't be mine in the first place. God, I never could do the right thing . . ."
And she trails off and I can hear the tears in her voice and they drop down only to get absorbed in my hair. I hold her as tight as I can without letting her know I'm awake. What else can I do? Except tell her how much she means to me in the morning. But sometimes she says happy things, that make me smile into her chest.
"Ah B, you make me so happy. I want to marry you Buffy. Maybe that's silly. We're young, and I'm no future husband, and I don't even know if it's legal. But I want to make it official, or whatever. I just want to be yours and you to be mine. Forever. I want to spend the rest of my life with you . . ."
And she trails off. Not tears, but I still hold her tighter, and hope that one day she can tell me these things to my face.
Some days are horrible. Maybe I had a fight with Will or Xander, or maybe Giles trained me to death, or maybe school drove me crazy, or maybe slaying gets to be too much. But at the end of that day I can always go home. No, not my house. The home of Faith's arms. And she accepts and she understands and she kisses my pain away. I think my heart beats only for her.
I love how she loves me, because I love her the same way. Completely.
*Faith on Buffy*
Buffy is a goddess.
I like the way she says my name. It is sweet coming from her lips. She turns the simple, one-syllable word into a song. Whether it be when she is crying it out while jerking through orgasm, or if she's yelling at me for something silly. Like forgetting to turn the TV off, or putting the juice carton back in the fridge empty. It makes me grin, which usually turns her scoldings into a hands-on-the-hips "What are you smiling at Faith?" Which only feeds my amusement, which turns her questioning into a hands-in-the-air "I give up," before she approaches me and kisses me with the sweet lips that my name just fell from.
Her hair fascinates me. I could play with it for hours. I like the way it shifts and sifts through my fingers. It's golden and satin and fine and the flower aroma that lingers up from it as it messes itself in my hands is intoxicating. I take deep breaths of it until it lines the inside of my nose, so it will stay there long hours after we've moved. She moans out her content when I put the pads of my fingertips on her scalp and massage around gently.
Her mouth is lovely. The inside of it, moist and velvety. I could sleep there. I could live there. And it tastes good, it's so warm as I move my tongue in and out. But I know a place thats warmer. And I go there. I indulge myself on how she feels against my face. Her quaking thighs under my hands. I'm enticed by the smell again and she tastes like a fine wine. And I don't spill a drop. I move back up her and her skin is salty and her nipples are salty and her tears are salty. Just something about her that makes my taste buds spring to life. I go to her mouth again and share.
She lets me touch her sometimes, when it's not even about sex. In bed, at night, I'll get us both naked, and she lets me have her. But I don't take her over edges. Sometimes it's not like that. Sometimes it's just about feeling. Feeling her. Not building up the pleasure, and then releasing it. But instead, keeping the pleasure constant. I kiss her all over, lazily. I touch my lips to her every fingertip. I kiss the bottom of her feet, the undersides of her breasts, her underarms, the swell of her buttocks just below her lower back. I touch parts of my body to hers that would never normally touch. I sit between her knees and lift her leg, to run her calf along my shoulder, her toes over my nipples. I lay her face down and slide my stomach over the back of her thighs. So all of my body knows all of her body.
And she lets me do what I want. Let's me think I have control. When really, really it's her with the control. All of it. Because at her request, I would do anything. Anything. No matter what it was. On those nights, if we ever do give each other release, the orgasms are slow and long, and don't crash into us as much as roll over us. But they are no less intense. And they cause our eyes to get heavy and our muscles to relax, and our minds to become tranquil. On those nights, she lets me stay inside after she clutches at my fingers. And I fall asleep there, inside of her. And even if during the course of the night my fingers slip out, my hand seems to say there, cupped, cradling the softest and warmest part of her, while I dream of hazel eyes and blonde hair. I don't think I could stand sleeping in a bed alone after this.
Waking up next to her every morning is a gift. Like having Christmas everyday. Or a birthday. Or anything that makes one happy. And I get it everyday. When she opens her eyes and looks at me in those waking moments of day, with a lazy smile and droopy lids and sleep warm cheeks, I fall in love all over again. And in moments like those, it's like I surrender to her completely. Like I lose my own life and find it again, miraculously, in hers. Where I always want to be. She'll whisper a "good morning" or a "hey" and in this profound moment when I'm singing inside and more than blood is beating through my heart, all I can say is "hey" back. But it works, because the smile she gives me is the sun.
We're with each other all the time almost everyday now. And I'm glad for that. Because one second away from her and I miss her miserably. When we're not together, in the same place, in the same room, she is walking around in circles in my head. Driving me crazy in the best kinds of ways. And it doesn't stop until she's with me again. Until I can put my arm around her to steady myself, and stop the room from spinning, which is how I always feel whenever she walks into a room. She'll kiss me on the cheek and I can smell her light perfume. My heart speeds up, adding extra beats, just for her.
I like how when we're with the gang, she doesn't hold back with me. When we are at an end-of-the-world meeting with everybody, she'll casually keep her hand on my thigh. When everyone is at the house, having a movie night, she'll lay her head down on my shoulder, and in my lap when she gets tired. Yeah, they all know about us. We told them. And they accept. But you'd think she'd still be a little hesitant, cuz it's me ya know. Skanky Faith. But she doesn't. I like how when we are sitting around during the day, just me and her, she'll sometimes get a call from one of the Scoobs, asking if she wants to go out with them that night, when we already have plans.
"Hey Buff, you want to do something tonight?"
"Well, me and Faith -"
"You can bring her along if you want." Bring me along? Sha...right...
"Nah, not tonight. Faith and I have a date." And she calls it that. A date. Not hanging out, not going out. But a date. It makes my tummy flutter every time I hear it. Not cuz I'm nervous, but because I never thought I'd actually "date" someone. Especially someone like Buffy.
Sometimes I don't know how she can stand me. I even piss myself off with my mood swings. I get sad, sometimes suddenly. And tears will fall before I can get away from her so she won't see. I know, I'm big and bad and not supposed to cry. But I do sometimes. Only in front of her though. When she asks me what's wrong I always just shakes my head, tell her I can't. It's because I'm afraid I'll screw up. She doesn't ask again. But it's almost like she knows what I'm thinking because she pulls my head to her chest and soothes me.
"It's okay Baby. Everything is alright. I love you. That will never change. I'll always be here. Faith . . . shhh . . . Faith." She kisses the top of my head and she'll just repeat my name like that, cuz she knows. She knows it's all I need to hear.
She loves me. Maybe the only one who could ever love me. And I love her more for that. I love her completely.