So Mote It Be
by JT Langdon
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. I just took them out for a little spin and made them do naughty things.
We both knew it was inevitable. It was always going to come down to a face off between her and me. There were never meant to be two slayers, upsets the balance of things, and when one of those slayers has been turned into a vampire, well, it doesn't take an ancient prophecy to figure out that sooner or later those two slayers are gonna lock horns. The last time it happened Faith almost died. It wasn't from lack of trying on my part; I drove a blade into her gut fully intending to kill her. It was her strength that kept her alive, maybe her stubborness, too, her unwillingness to believe someone had gotten the better of her . . . that I had gotten the better of her. I can almost hear her saying, "Fuck if I'm gonna let you be the one that offed me, B." That strength and stubborness will be the end of one of us. It's gonna be her or me. Neither of us wants that. That's why we've avoided each other for as long as we have, made sure not to cross paths, postponed that inevitable moment for as long as possible. Because we both knew that in the end only one of us would walk away. The unaswered question is still why . . . why neither of us wants to kill the other. When Angel went bad I couldn't bring myself to kill him at first. Are the reasons Faith and I can't kill each other the same? Stranger things have happened, I guess.
"You just gonna stand there, B?"
Her voice snaps me back to reality. I look up. Faith is in a fighting stance, staring at me, her long, raven hair swept away from her face. The black leather jacket, white T-shirt, and jeans she has on manages to be sexy as hell and suit her needs at the same time. She has an intense look on her face, the look of a warrior . . . of a slayer. The mundane confluence of events that led to us standing across from each other in the middle of a musty old crypt almost makes me smile, maybe it's a sad smile, but it's a smile all the same. In spite of all our little games of cat and mouse, we stumble onto each other by accident. No . . . not by accident. Fate. Because this was inevitable, because the world doesn't have room for two slayers. We avoided it as long as we could. Now it was time to get it over with.
I make my move. Maybe I'm telegraphing the punch, maybe she is just that good, but Faith turns before I make contact, throwing me off balance so she can land a punch in my side. Pain flares through me. I've been hit harder, though. I jab my elbow back at her face, making contact, not where I wanted it, but it does the job. She stumbles back a step.
"Not bad, girlfriend," Faith says.
I laugh. "Thanks."
Faith comes at me. That's her style, head on. I admire that. She throws a punch at me. A good one. I don't do as well avoiding it as she did; she gets a piece of me. Not much of one, not as much as she was going for, but she still gets a piece. And her smile tells me she is proud of herself for it. I wipe that smile off her face with a roundhouse kick that sends her through the air, across the crypt. She lands against a marble tomb with a grunt, her body crumpling to the floor. A normal person would have either died right there or spent the rest of their life paralyzed from the neck down. But Faith gets up and dusts herself off like it was nothing. She looks at me. It would be easier if there was anger in her eyes; instead she looks playful.
"Guess you're serious," Faith taunts me.
"Guess I am."
"So am I."
"Good."
I let her come to me again. And she does. Faith charges at me a like defensive tackle blitzing a quarterback, fast, determined, one thought on her mind . . . to take me down. I have to time it just right, and I almost don't because as she rushes me I think how beautifully deep her eyes are during a fight, but just as Faith is on me I turn a little, grab her leather jacket with both hands and use her momentum against her, flipping her over and throwing her down to the floor, going down with her, landing on top of her, pinning her there with the weight of my body. She backhands me. It's more of a distraction than a real punch and it works, giving her the moment she needs to roll us both over, putting me on my back. Faith straddles my hips and looks down at me. We're both breathing hard.
Faith bends over and kisses me. Her lips are fierce against mine, hungry, needy. I slide my hands inside her leather jacket, pawing at her breasts through her T-shirt. She moans into the kiss, her hips moving like she's humping me. Her tongue flicks over mine and now I'm the one that moans. I like the feel of her breasts in my hands, the weight of them, and I like the feel of her nipples stiffening under my touch, straining against her T-shirt as if shouting at me that she isn't wearing a bra. Faith shrugs off her jacket then I start to lift off her T-shirt, impatient to see her naked breasts. She pulls her T-shirt over her head and tosses it aside. Her breasts are perfect, firm round globes capped with tight pink nipples, like white raspberries, plump and succulent. I slide my hand over bare flesh, cupping her breast, using my thumb to stroke her nipple. Faith moans softly.
"Damn, B."
When she leans forward a little her breasts are in my face and I crane my neck to reach them, closing my lips around her nipple and sucking it, lightly, flicking it with my tongue as I do, still holding it in my hand. Faith moans again, louder this time, her dark hair raining down on me as I suckle at her breasts, moving from one to the other, groping them, kissing them, nibbling on them hungrily. Her hips never stop moving, always shifting, humping, grinding. I reach down and fumble with the snap of her jeans, getting them open, unzipping them, shoving my hand inside. Her lack of underwear doesn't surprise me. The lack of hair on her mound does, though, and I shudder at the feel of her, rubbing her with the flat of my palm, loving the smoothness of her, the wetness.
Faith groans deep in her throat, rocking her hips against me, riding me. I rub her slit a little faster, grinding the butt of my palm into damp flesh, holding her pussy in my hand almost like I am claiming it, making it mine.
"Fuck, B," Faith mutters above me. "I'm gonna come."
I rub her pussy faster still, feeling her climax building, each little spasm nudging her that much closer. Faith thrusts against my hand, harder and harder, grunting with the effort, then her body suddenly tenses and her cries echo through the crypt. Her pleasure spills over my fingers. For a moment neither of us move, me still trying to decide how her come feels on my hand -is it like honey? Almost. But honey thinned out a little with water- and her above me, panting for breath, recovering.
Faith lets out a laugh, a soft, beautiful laugh, then she kisses me. Her lips seem even softer now than before, I don't know why, and hungrier, even ferocious, the kind of lips that want to feed. She kisses along my jawline and down my neck, pressing her lips to the telltale scars I have there, tracing the shape of them with her tongue. I moan softly, bringing my hands up to twine them in her dark hair, whispering nothing, unable to speak. Faith slides her body down mine, scooting lower until she is wedged beween my thighs. I hear the snap of my jeans, the unzziping of my fly, then my pants are being yanked down over my hips. Faith presses her lips to my mound, kissing me through my cotton panties, then her fingers are hooked under the waistband and she is pulling those off, too, exposing me. Her ragged breath tickles my clit and I whimper pitifully, lifting my hips a little, thrusting my cunt at her, telling her to take it, to take me. She laughs again, that same beautiful yet dangerous laugh, then she gets her mouth on me, hungrily sucking my pussy. I rake my fingers through her hair again as Faith eats me. She kisses and nibbles my slick folds before dipping her tongue into me, taking the occasional swipe at my clit, making me crazy. My grip in her hair tightens. The tingling starts in my toes first, curling them, then rises upward until I feel like I'm on pins and needles instead of the concrete floor of a crypt. Faith's tongue flutters over my clit, so lightly I can barely feel it, and when I come for her it almost catches me by surprise. I cry out, arching off the ground as my orgasm tears through me.
I am breathless long after that last tremors have faded, spent and exhausted, unable to move. Faith lifts her head from between my legs and crawls on top of me, straddling me again, genuine sadness in her eyes. We both knew it was inevitable, that it would always come down to this. Well, maybe not quite like this, but we knew eventually the moment would arrive when one of us would have to make a painful decision.
"I don't wanna do this, B," Faith whispers.
"Let me make it easier for you." I shake my head, feeling the odd contortions in my face that transform me into the animal I have become, tears blurring the image of Faith lifting the wooden stake above her head and aiming it at my heart, the irony not lost on me at all.