'Hollow Heart' Final part by Jane Davitt & Bit Wes/Faith NC17

[janedavitt]

I can't believe we're at the end of this story; never had one that provoked such an intense response and thank you to all who commented and joined in the discussions.

Thanks also to darling_effect for beta reading this epic and, of course, to my wonderful co-writer, Bit, who inspires me to new heights of smuttiness all the time and is a joy to write with.



Previous parts are here

Chapter Fourteen

He wakes in the night but he's too sleep-blurred to do more than stagger to the bathroom to pee, pinball-bouncing off the walls and collecting a few incipient bruises and a drowsy snarl from Faith. Sliding back in beside her, he's awake enough to feel astonished pleasure when she rolls over and drapes her arm across him. It's not entirely comfortable, but he sinks back into sleep with his hand resting on her hip, taking her into his dreams where she's been for so long now.

Waking is a series of stages, none of them as unpleasant as he deserves. His head is muzzy, and his mouth dry, but Faith's drooling onto the pillow next to him and by some miracle there's a glass of water by the bed flanked by two aspirin.

Touched by her forethought, he swallows the tablets and drains the glass, thinking with a glimmer of humour that if she offers to bring him breakfast in bed, he's calling Giles because she'd have to be under some magical influence or other to do that.

Rolling onto his side, propped up on an elbow, he lifts a strand of hair off her face and leans down to kiss the skin he's exposed. She tastes clean and soft against his lips and very edible.

Hmm.

With a careful, stealthy hand, he pushes back the covers, getting a protesting murmur as she curls up tight, but persisting until he can see her, naked, bare, his.

And he owes her something.

There's not much of her he can get to as she's doing a good impression of a ball but there's inches and inches of smooth, unblemished skin, pulled tight over the knobs of her spine and when he leans forward he can kiss each one.

She makes an agreeable little noise when he strokes his hand over her hip bone and uncoils herself slowly on to her back. Wes thinks he sees her eyelids flutter, a glimpse of sleepy brown eyes, but she just purses her lips slightly and either goes back to sleep or pretends to.

And like this he can see her breasts quivering gently with every breath she takes, nipples hardening as they're exposed to the air, even more so when he leans over and gently blows on them. Faith doesn't react, but well, it can't feel comfortable so he kisses one better. Then the other one, swirling his tongue softly over the tightly budded nipple because she's supposedly asleep and can't moan at him to do it harder.

When he drags his tongue down her stomach, he can feel the muscles trembling and knows from her hurried breaths, the quickening of her skin, that she's awake. But like the first time he touched her properly in that awful motel room, she keeps her eyes closed. And as his fingers trace patterns over the slight indentation of her belly, he allows her this indulgence, like he'll allow her so many more. Because maybe this is the only way she can be passive, to take rather than give.

Besides, it's going to be fun to see just how much she can take.

And as he reaches the apex of her thighs with his busy tongue and fingers, she arches up just a fraction. Wes grins as he plants a chaste kiss on her mound and carries on down her thighs so he can gently worry at the scar on her right knee with his teeth.

"No fucking way," she growls, sitting up so she can tug at his hair. "Back up, Wes, or we're gonna have a problem."

He squints up at her. "Good morning, Faith."

The painful grip on his hair notwithstanding, he's feeling decidedly chipper.

"Back up," she insists.

"All in good time," he says primly. "Now let go of my hair, please."

She releases him, lies back and her hand's burrowing between her legs in an instant as she gives him a challenging smile.

"Oh, do stop that," he says. "We've both had enough of that activity recently, haven't we?"

He knows he has. Night after night and sometimes in the day, locking himself in the small washroom adjoining his office, and jerking off, eyes wide, heart hammering, consumed with a need for her that nothing but she could quench.

Missed her? He's addicted to her and if she thinks he's rushing what should be savoured, she can bloody well think again.

She bites her lip and nods reluctantly. "Just don't want to wait, Wes," she whines.

His hands push her thighs open further and he stares meaningfully at her hand until it drifts away. "I suppose you were remarkably sweet last night," he muses.

She chuckles, deep and rich. "Sweet. Yeah, right."

He can't help it. He nuzzles into the damp heat between her legs, ravenous for the taste of her on his lips, the smell of her. "So sweet -- " he whispers, the words lost in her moan.

Faith's just starting to get aroused; the heart of her damp and pink and when he darts out his tongue he can feel her clit swell and throb against the tip. It's a fascinating sensation, like a tiny little time bomb ticking away, definitely worthy of further investigation. He spreads her legs further apart with a tight, almost bruising grip to see what will happen. Her clit gets harder and she's getting wetter especially when he presses his tongue firmly against it. Then she grunts and tries to grab at his hair again.

"Was a fucking angel last night, Wes," she reminds him, with an impatient little buck of her hips as punctuation.

He nips her inner thigh in rebuke. "All in good time," he drawls. "I'm conducting a controlled experiment and I would prefer not to go prematurely bald while I'm doing it."

"Whatever." She lets go of his hair reluctantly and settles back on the pillows. "C'mon then, Wes. Do your worst."

And he had a mind to tease her some more because he's missed those throaty, furious whimpers she makes, but her folds are coated in that sweet-sticky glaze and he has a perfect sense memory of the taste of her blossoming on his palate and he's sick to death of living on memories, Wesley slides his hand under her arse so he can urge her to lift her legs, hook them over his shoulders in an artless, desperate move and then he dips his head and begins to tongue her in earnest.

She groans out her approval, breathy little grunts of pleasure that leave him in no doubt that she's enjoying this. Slick and slippery and wide-open -- his cock's filling and hardening with every lap and drag of his tongue, every swallow that takes her taste inside him.

He glances up and watches her reach back, winding her fingers through the bars of the headboard as she had done with his hair, anchoring herself as her lower body twists and grinds against his face. Faith's heels drum against his back, but there's no impatience there, just an ache of need he wants to soothe and then reawaken over and over.

His tongue pushes up inside her cunt, into that grasping, greedy heat, fucking her slowly as she chants his name.

"Fuck, Wes, please -- " She sounds close to tears and he replaces his tongue with one, then two, no three fingers as her begging increases; frantic mewls that may be the sweetest sounds he's ever heard. Her cunt ripples round his fingers as he grazes her clit with his teeth, then bites down hard.

Faith's beautiful when she breaks. Her body arches upwards for an infinity; her toes dig into his shoulders but still she keeps pushing her soaked pussy against his busy fingers, his greedy mouth, because she's just as hungry as he is.

Faith stills for one second, legs sliding down, gives him a slightly dazed smile and then starts fucking herself on his fingers, which are still embedded deep in her cunt. Forcing them deeper still as she plants her feet firmly on the bed.

"You're so lovely," he says, kneeling back slightly so he can watch her spread out before his avaricious gaze, hand still busy between her legs.

"Yeah," she mutters in agreement. "Rub my clit -- harder."

He's not in the mood to argue.

His thumb strokes and presses against tender skin and she mewls and kicks and squirms for him, already starting the long climb up again. He'd give her that second release gladly but the demands of his own body, almost forgotten in the drive to make her come for him, suddenly make themselves known, insistent and persistent.

"Faith -- "

It's all he says, but it's enough. Her desire-smoked eyes sharpen with comprehension and she smiles. "Mm."

He's still kneeling and she wriggles free and turns onto her stomach, her head level with his up-thrust cock. The perfect curve of her back and the flare of her arse are temptingly close but he braces his hands on the bed, gasping as her tongue curls around his erection, wetting it, slicking it. She doesn't do it for long, butterfly flitting from licking to sucking to taking him deep, then back to teasing, light flickers of her tongue across the exposed, leaking head.

"Taste good, Wes," she murmurs.

It's his turn to slide his fingers roughly into hair. "I want to come inside you," he whispers.

She's straddling his knees before he's finished speaking, a sinuous slither that ends with the head of his cock nudging into her as she settles herself in place, admirable thigh muscles letting her hold position without more than a quiver. Then she leans forward a little and kisses him, messy and wet, their tongues sliding together as she slowly drops down, engulfing him inch by inch.

Wesley doesn't know how he managed to live without this. She's in his arms and on his mouth and he can feel her heart thudding away against his chest. But wonderful though all that is, it pales into insignificance compared to the feeling of her cunt's tight wet embrace.

"I missed you so much," he breathes, wrapping himself tighter round her and she gives him her crooked smile.

"Preaching to the choir, Wes. Wanna know how much I missed you?" She arches an eyebrow mischievously as the same time as she flexes around him and all he can do is nod dumbly because he doesn't think he's going to regain the power of speech. "Enough that I'll let you go on top."

And it's tempting to pin her down on the bed and fuck her so thoroughly that she'll always be his but he shakes his head. "I love you like this, so powerful -- "

She swoops down to take his mouth in a kiss that's as sweet as it is ferocious, swivelling her hips slowly all the while so he has to clutch at her helplessly. "Sit back then, Wes," she gasps, when they both have to come up for air. "Gonna go to work."

Faith starts off slow, rising and falling in a rhythm that's as old as creation, nuzzling at his neck on the downstroke, never taking her eyes off him; it's almost too intense and she begins to move faster when his hands slide down to cup her arse.

He can feel the muscles shift smoothly under his hands. She's got, he thinks, the most delicious backside and he's got fond, frustrated memories of her wiggling it him very often recently in a blatant attempt to wind him up.

"I promised myself I'd spank you," he says suddenly, remembering. "For teasing me so much. Don't let me forget."

That gets a gurgle of laughter out of her and a clench of her cunt that comes close to ending their encounter. "Wes, you loved it," she murmurs, running her finger down the bridge of his nose and tapping his lips. "You totally got off on how desperate I was."

"That won't save you, you know," he says, trying not to let his resolve melt.

She giggles again, leaning in to rub their noses together before the smile drops away and she frowns and bites her lip, holding in a small sound that once released is his name. "Wes--"

"God, yes," he says fervently, following her from laughter to lust without a backward glance.

She links their hands and grinds against him, her eyes glittering. "Want you. Want this."

Then they're straining together; a messy, graceless tangle of limbs, mouths too busy kissing for any more words.

Faith's barely rising up, more interested in sinking down on him, clasping his cock tight and they're so close now. Not just from his own quickening thrusts and the way she keeps grinding her clit against him but because nothing can come between them as they cling together on the bedsheet sea.

She quivers around him, leaning back, pulling him with her. "Fuck me, just fuck me."

He's on top of her, still in her, staring down at her as she arches her back and reaches between them so she can rub her clit and the sticky base of his cock as it emerges from her. Wesley grits his teeth and shuts his eyes because the sight of her is going to make him come undone long before she does.

His strokes get choppier, more urgent, shunting Faith up the bed, until he pins her wrists to stop her from shoving her head into the wall.

"Don't," he mumbles indistinctly. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Lovely man," she smiles, then goes rigid under him, eyes rolling back as if there was any doubt when she's bucking under him, her cunt clutching at him like a vise. Three more hard, quick thrusts and he can't leave her, buried balls deep in her, breathing her name as he spills inside her.

He's just getting his breath back when she pushes meaningfully at his shoulder. "Can't breathe," she mutters, sounding as drained as he is. Reluctantly, but giving into the inevitable, he pulls out and rolls to his back.

There's a moment and then she stirs and turns towards him, shifting closer and tugging at his arm until he raises it and she snuggles up against him. It's like enticing a strange cat over to get its chin tickled; he hardly dares to move in case he startles her back into her customary brusque dash for the bathroom.

"Cuddle me," she says indignantly after a few seconds have passed and he's still lying there, stiff in all places but one, his arm curved awkwardly around her. "Fuck, Wes -- "

And she starts to squirm away but he's grabbing her and doing it properly, wrapping himself around her and breathing kisses and nonsense into the damp silk of her hair as she sighs and strokes his back.

"Love you," she says and there's still a hint of defiance about it, as if she's saying the worst swear word she knows but he doesn't mind.


*****************

"Love you," she says, glancing over at the calendar she's pinned on the kitchen wall. "Hey, I'm over my quota for the week. Who'd a thunk it?"

Wesley raises his head from silent contemplation of his bowl of cereal and tries to look stern. She smiles back at him in the most infuriating fashion.

"It doesn't count when you're just saying it to be competitive," he rebukes her mildly. "I'm not taking you out for dinner."

"Oh suck it up, Wes," she drawls, sticking out his tongue. "Said it more times than you this week and you know it."

She's perched on one of their kitchen stools wearing nothing more than a pair of black knickers and that shit-eating grin. And once again, he's eating breakfast with an aching cock despite her best efforts the night before.

"Well, even if your declarations of love were completely believable, I can't take you to dinner with Giles away," he reminds her. "In case someone suddenly decides to unleash an apocalypse."

"You were both away once and the world didn't end," she reminds him, reaching out to steal a freeze-dried strawberry from his bowl and popping it into her mouth.

"I'm not so sure about that," Wesley says with feeling.

Her mouth twitches in a grin. "Wes, get over it. You two were hot. Got me going, you know?"

"Tell me what doesn't," he says sourly, plunging his spoon into the soggy flakes in his bowl. "And I'm completely over it. We were in a stressful situation; it was just -- one of those things." He warms to his theme. "Giles and I are both men of the world; neither of us were, well, that is, it wasn't the first time for either of us. With another man, I mean, not each other. But it's something that we've agreed to never discuss and I'm perfectly happy with that."

"Mm," she says cryptically, grabbing an apple and tearing at the green peel with her fingernail, exposing the white flesh. "You know, Wes, it's his birthday coming up and you don't have a clue what to get him."

"No."

He thinks he's starting to hyperventilate here because the idea's both tempting and terrible and if she's really got her heart set on it he's not sure either of them stand a chance.

"No?"

"No." He firms his lips. "It would be a very, very bad idea, Faith."

"Would be fun," she murmurs wistfully.

There's just the slightest grin tugging at her cheeks and enlightenment dawns. "You duplicitous, deceitful little tease --"

She's leaping off the stool shrieking as he starts to chase her, hampered by giggles. He catches her easily and slams her up against the fridge door, pinning her wrists above her head and dislodging half a dozen fridge magnets in the process.

"You," he says in a conversational tone of voice, "are going to be late for work. When your Watcher reprimands you, I trust that you'll be suitably contrite."

She squirms against him, shuddering and yelping as her bare flesh comes into contact with cold steel. "Wes -- "

"What?" he says, sliding his hands down her arms and bending to lick at a pink nipple.

"I love you."

He glances up and smiles. "I know," he says gently.