![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Here's part four; hope you all enjoy it!
Previous parts are here
Hollow Heart
by Jane Davitt and Bit
Chapter Four
He pushes her to her back and rolls on top of her, dipping his head to lick around her nipple before biting at it softly. "Yes."
Her whole body jack-knifes up and her legs split open which makes it easy to press his hips into her, cock jerking against her mound, to hold her down.
"Harder," she hisses when he sucks one tightly furled nipple into his mouth and she gives a grunt of approval as he grazes the edge of it with his teeth.
Then the other one and Faith makes noises he's never heard before, parting her legs wider so her arousal paints the head of his cock.
As he cups the weight of both her breasts in his hands and gives in to the temptation to gently kiss the soft patch of skin behind her ear, he gives a moment's thought to the logistics of fucking his Slayer.
She's already frantic, wriggling and groaning under him, issuing threats and commands in her throatiest growl, which might be because it's been over a year since Wood and Faith imploded and he knows for a fact that there hasn't been anyone else. Largely because he's kept her so busy that it didn't become an issue.
"Fuck me, Wes. Goddamn it!" she snaps imperiously but he holds off, just slides his hand down her quivering belly because she'll need to come more than once. And he has to take care of his Slayer's needs.
She's hotly soaked he discovers when his fingers trace the lips of her cunt and she shakes her head in annoyance. "No! Fuck me."
He ignores her mouth, or rather he kisses it, tongue delving deep inside which is a remarkably effective way to shut her up and anyway her hips are already tilting forward trying to get his fingers inside her, instead of tracing lazy patterns along her slit.
"Fu…"
"Shut up, Faith," he whispers in her ear. "I'll fuck you when we're both good and ready."
She laughs, but it's more of a moan, her head shifting restlessly on the pillow. "Don't see me ever being good, Wes, but I'm ready." Her head turns and her teeth meet in his earlobe, a sharp, sweet thrill of pain, soothed away by the soft, fierce tickle of her tongue. "What's it take to get you that way?"
And that would do it nicely, if it weren't a case of wetting water, but he's only too aware of her proclivities when it comes to sex and although the image of her over him, face suffused with arousal, breasts swaying as she rides him, is one he wants to make real, she's damn well not dictating this encounter, start to finish.
Without answering, he slides down, hands skimming the sharp points of her hips, and comes to rest between her legs.
"Don't need to, Wes," she whispers urgently as he rests his head on her thigh and breathes out through pursed lips, sending a short stream of warm air across the slick skin of her cunt, making her shudder. "Wet already, fuck, will you just --"
"I want to taste you," he says, leaning in to brush a kiss across her clit, finding it easily in the dark, which he's rather proud about. It's been a while for him, too. "And I know you're wet -- " He pushes his face against all that slippery heat, nose and mouth and chin, getting gloriously messy and not caring, tasting her, feeling her, smelling her; hearing the choked-off gasp she gives as his tongue darts out to circle her clit.
"Wes --" It's close to a wail as he pushes her thighs further apart, his thumbs making slow circles on the sensitive hollows of skin he finds there, in time with the ones the tip of his tongue is tracing.
He'd heard stories at the Watcher's Academy; shocked and salacious whispers about Slayers and their insatiable appetites. Some hot and panting Watcher had even written a paper about it in the late 19th century advising that all potential Slayers should have a strict regimen of ice cold baths and bromide so they could concentrate their energies on their slaying.
But right now all his energy is concentrated on Faith and relenting enough when she starts making a noise like she's in agony, to suddenly plunge his tongue deep into her cunt. Only the tight grip of his hands on her thighs stops her from pulling his head clean off his neck.
"Jesus… fuck… Wes," she shrieks and it's so incongruously flattering that he laughs right into her soaked pussy, causing another volley of moans from her.
All it takes is two fingers gently thrusting inside her while he drags the flat of his tongue over her clit and she comes. But he can tell from the way her head twists from side to side and her clit throbs frantically against his lips that it's not enough.
"Poor thing," he coos and bends his head again.
The sweetness of his words is in sharp contrast to what he gives her; sucking on her clit as hard as he can, with his tongue flickering over the captured, tender bump as his fingers, three of them now, shape themselves into an imitation of what she wants and plunge inside her.
She's past wanting subtle, wanting gentle -- if she ever did -- still caught up in her first climax, and he keeps her there, feeling her body tremble with exertion and need. And he could do this all night, he thinks. Could bring her, over and over, until she's breathless and exhausted, quivering at nothing more than the whisper of his breath on her skin.
Then she comes again and the sound of her hoarse cry wraps around his cock like her hand and he's moaning with her, sitting back and swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, needing her around him.
It's a far cry from the measured, formal battles of his encounters with Lilah. Faith isn't pretending to be indifferent and there's no need for him to hide what he's feeling either. He scrambles up and as soon as she feels his prick nudge against her she keens and wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him inside her in one swift thrust that ends with him whimpering because nothing ever felt this good.
"Gonna do it, Wes?" she grits out, and even underneath him, right now she's the one fucking him, because he's locked in place, revelling in the tight, wet heat that's silky and bumpy and perfect around him and she's arching up and falling back, strong enough to be able to move exactly how she wants to. "Gonna fuck your Slayer?"
He nearly comes just from that pithy question but decides to answer it with a quick swivel of his hips that has her legs tightening round him, nails digging into his back, sending a delicious frisson of pain through him, which is just another layer of sensation on top of all the myriad layers of sensation from being on top of her, being inside her.
"I've wanted to fuck you for years," he gasps and he's never even realised that before but with her spread out underneath him, she's familiar – a sight he fantasised about all those long, lonely nights in a rented room in Sunnydale with nothing but a bottle of Scotch and his own hand for company. But none of his fantasies ever came close to the feel of her breasts rubbing against his chest and her cunt rippling round him as he raises himself up on his knees and starts fucking into her in earnest.
She's still arching her pelvis up so he's thrusting deeper into her each time but when he clamps his hands under her arse to hold her steady she tries to twist out from under him. Typical Faith, always got to be on top.
"Let me…" she whines, capturing his mouth in a sticky wet kiss, which he pulls away from so he can bite down hard on her neck.
Her cunt clamps around him immediately and she cries out, clutching his arms. "I'm fucking my Slayer," Wesley purrs in her ear, "Not the other way round. You can get on top next time."
And before she can argue the toss, he's yanking her legs over his shoulders so he can make her yelp each time the base of his cock brushes against her clit and kissing her tenderly because already he can't wait for the next time.
He can't last long and he doesn't even want to. Too much self-denial, too much wasted time. There's a time and a place for drawing it out, and he'd be the last man to decry the pleasure to be had from a long, slow, torturous build-up until every nerve in their bodies is screaming for release but now, with his balls tightening and every slide into her feeling like flicking a sleeping tiger on the nose, knowing the next time it'll wake and roar -- well, he's not really interested in slow.
Just in coming after her, because he's felt her come around his fingers and he wants to feel her flex and clutch at his cock which, he thinks suddenly, with some distant part of his brain, she hasn't even touched yet.
God, he won't be able to last long when she does that, either.
There's a warning throb from his cock; that indefinable stiffening before there's no turning back, and it's only when she moans, inarticulate and desperate, her nails scrabbling at his back, that he realises he's taking her with him.
He's making noises that are meaningless and profound and she's saying his name in an endless chant as they retreat into their own heads for the space of a few seconds and emerge panting and tangled together, silenced by sensation.
She gives him a lazy smile that's softer than any of the others he's seen on her face. Even reaches up her hand to smooth down his damp hair.
"Kinda funny seeing you all rumpled," she murmurs, though what's really kinda funny is that he's still got his half-hard cock inside her, drawing in a breath each time he feels the walls of her cunt flutter around him in a tiny aftershock.
"That was…" he starts and realises that he doesn't have enough words or languages to begin to describe it.
"I know," she says just a tad too smugly for his liking but then she's nudging him with her foot. "C'mon Wes. We done with basking in the afterglow 'cause you're pretty heavy for a skinny guy?"
Not even Faith at her most prosaic can kill the mood. He pulls out of her, ridiculously pleased that she bites her lip when he does, and spoons against her. "I'm not skinny, I'm wiry," he clarifies running the tip of his finger along the sweat sheen on her back.
"Yeah, yeah," she sighs, trying to scooch away from him. "What the hell are you doing?"
Even Lilah had lost her bitch goddess vibe long enough for a post-shag cuddle, but Faith isn't Lilah and she's using her deathly elbows to try and get free.
"Sssh, just lie still," he begs, kissing the path his fingers have just taken. "Please, Faith."
She wriggles round so she's facing him and with a grudging smile, condescends to link her fingers with his. "You tell anyone I was snuggling" -- she practically spits the word out -- "I'll kill you. Capiche?"
"I don't have anyone close enough to share something like that with," he says mildly. "But I think if I told them that the beautiful young woman I'd just made love to had, ah, snuggled up afterwards, I'd get a reaction best summed up as 'so?'." He kisses her temple, feeling the pulse beating strongly there hard against his lips. "Cuddling isn't up there with most of the major kinks, Faith. Not for most people."
She's still holding his hand, but it's oddly tentative and she's shifting closer to the edge of the bed.
Or perhaps he's just not letting go of hers --
"Newsflash, Wes. I'm not 'most people' and that's not just 'cause of the Slayer deal, you know?"
"And do you really think I qualify as normal? Or Giles, or Buffy, or any of us for that matter?" He draws her closer, sighing as she resists. "Hold me," he says finally. "Be the one giving, not receiving if that helps, but I need this. If you want to think of it as a weakness or a perversion, feel free."
Her arms go around him with an unflattering reluctance but it's something and when he wakes during the night she's close enough that her breath's warm against his skin, even if by the morning there's space between them again.
She must sense the moment he's awake because she opens her eyes and gives him a dopey grin that makes his heart lurch.
"Hey," she whispers, waggling her fingers at him so he can't help but smile back. She's sleep-crumpled and glowing.
"Hello, Faith," he says, keeping to his side of the bed, mainly because he has a front row seat to see one of her nipples poking out shyly from the edge of the sheet.
"Gotta say, Wes, usually I'd be halfway to the next town by now. Don't usually stick around for the morning after."
His heart lurches in a far more disagreeable manner and then speeds up as she slides across the bed so they're eyeball to eyeball and if he just leans slightly forward he can gently tweak the nipple that's been tormenting him for the last minute.
Faith squirms against him, giving him a knowing look from under her lashes when his cock reacts with aching predictability.
"So am I allowed to know why you're not halfway to Clannoch by now?" he asks, eyes half shut as she clasps her hot hand around his prick.
She's already sliding under the quilt, but he hears her muffled voice say something about "breakfast in bed."
He's sure that he could've come up with something witty in response, but the smooth slide of her tongue over the head of his cock renders him speechless. It's like being caressed by warm, wet velvet with the slight drag and tug doing just enough to leave him fully erect by the time she's pushed him to his back and positioned herself between his legs.
He reaches down to touch her dark hair and she gives an impatient shake of her head and then relents and takes him in deep, slicking him up and drawing a heartfelt groan from him.
This is something he loves having done to him, content, mostly, to be passive because it's always different that way. Fucking Faith's mouth as she kneels or lies beneath him has a certain appeal but lying there, curious and trusting her not quite all the way is like taking a dare.
Sharp teeth dig in, just this side of pain, circling his shaft and he makes a sound that he supposes should be protesting, but somehow isn't. She chuckles, which eases the pressure, and pulls off him, her strong hand gripping around the base of his cock, holding it in place for her to kiss, mocking, tiny kisses until he sighs and murmurs, 'all better'.
Odd how easy it is to be playful with her. Unexpected and intimate and oh my God --
"Like that, Wes?"
She tosses her hair back and smiles up at him, eyes gleaming, lips parted and moist.
"Do it again," he says hoarsely.
Obediently she obliges, pumping her hand with deliberately measured strokes and rubbing the head of his cock, foreskin already peeled back because he's too hard for it to stay in place, against her closed lips, letting it slip between them slowly until it meets the barrier of her teeth, hard and smooth. It's driving him mad; there's the promise of warmth and she can suck like this, but it's not enough and she's teasing him now, tongue pointed and stiff, whipping it across the slick head of his cock until he's hearing desperate groans and not caring that he's the one making them.
"Please, Faith -- " he begs because he's in torment as he looks down, eyes barely able to focus on the sight of her, eyes glinting wickedly, as she slowly and deliberately licks at his cock like it's the most delicious ice cream surprise and she wants to savour the taste of it on her tongue. "Please --
She lifts her head for the three agonising seconds it takes her to promise him, "Gonna please you, Wes -- "
And then she's getting down to business. No joking. No waiting, just her lips closing over his cock, travelling down and this glorious tugging as she starts sucking him hard. She can't get too much of him in her mouth at this angle but he's always known her to be creative and the way one of her hands corkscrews down the length of him and the other one strokes his balls makes up for it. He is thrusting up into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth now, he can't help it when she's hollowed out her cheeks and one of her fingers is behind his balls now, rubbing, teasing, gently probing --
His hand tangles in her hair as he comes in this white hot burst, hips jerking, all grace lost as he cries out a wordless invocation.
There's a spectacular firework display going on inside his head as he slumps back on the pillows and allows himself one last tiny groan as Faith presses one last kiss to the underside of his cock, licking along the vein, then crawls up the bed and pokes at him; an unbearably superior look on her face.
"You OK there, Wes?"
He manages to whimper which seems to please her more than a long speech about how she's just reduced him to boneless -- there's a pun there, but he's not sure if it translates -- and blissful.
He reaches out and tugs her down so that he can kiss her and she turns that into a coda of sorts, because she tastes of his come and she knows it. Her mouth crushes against his, soft and yielding, in feel if not intent, and then her tongue works its way inside his mouth so he's no choice but to reciprocate. The taste of both of them, mingled and fresh is interesting and not unpleasant. Possibly, at another time, it'd even be arousing, but right now he's incapable.
"Still want coffee though," she says briskly, sitting up and pushing her hair back off her face. She wrinkles her nose. "And a shower."
"Bath," he corrects her. "Didn't you see it?"
She gapes at him. "Saw those weird fallopian tube things that you put on the taps but thought maybe the shower was somewhere else or --"
"You assumed," he says smugly. "Saw what you expected to. How often have I told you --?"
He supposes that he deserves the solid thump she gives him, but if she really thinks that she's on a holiday here, well, she's not. He has no intention of letting her training schedule lapse.
"Bath -- " she muses. "Big enough for two?"
On the other hand, a little R & R wouldn't hurt either.
They sit at opposite ends of the bath - he lost the tussle to sit without the taps digging into the small of his back - knees knocking together as she drapes her arms over the rim and arches an eyebrow as he stares at the impudent thrust of her breasts.
At least he manages not to drool, which is some small comfort.
"Pervert," she hisses, prodding at the head of his cock with her big toe. "Stop looking at my tits."
He refuses, along with his spent cock, to rise to the bait. "I can't help it. They're very nice tits."
Faith looks down at the objects in question, ends of her hair trailing in the water and nods in agreement. "They really fucking are." And then because she is who she is and he's starting to realise that he never wants her any other way, she sighs. "Jesus, I'm dying for a smoke."
"You know I don't like you smoking," he says more as an automatic reflex than with any real conviction and she launches herself at him, a small tidal wave of lavender scented water slopping on to the floor.
"And you know you can bite me, Wes," she titters (Faith titters? Who knew?) and then she suits her action by lightly snagging his nipple between her teeth before sitting back down with a hefty thud that sends more water careering over the side of the tub. It's like sharing a bath with an over-exuberant puppy.
"Maybe later," he says, closing his eyes. "You needn't think you can slack off your training just because you've had your wicked way with me."
"Fine by me. You're looking like you need a little recovery time anyhow, Wes. And just so we're clear, I get to go on top on the rematch."
He'd like to take issue with her phrasing because it's definitely lacking on the tenderness scale, but just then she picks up the bar of soap he brought with them and rolls it between her hands, making a thick lather, complete with a tiny bubble that detaches, floats up, and gets blown to extinction by a puff of air from her pursed, pouting lips.
"We don't have to take turns, you know," he says, his protest mild because she's running her hands over her breasts and the skin is shining under a thin layer of Crabtree and Evelyn's finest. "I really don't see myself keeping a score card, you know."
She pinches her nipples, a reflective look on her face, and he's lost as they darken and harden. "Just don't want you getting ideas, Wes."
"Then you should stop that," he says, the words emerging in a croak.
She tilts her head, a puzzled smile on her face, and then glances down and burst out laughing. "Those ideas I'm cool with. Just don't want you getting all macho man on my ass."
He didn't think it was possible, not this soon, but his cock twitches and fills a little at the alluring combination of words. "I can't fuck it then?" he asks, amazed at how calm he sounds as he meets her frankness with some of his own.
She sinks under the water far enough to rinse the soap off her breasts and rises up, the warm water clinging to her skin. "Dunno, Wes. Can I fuck yours?"
He knows there's a red stain flushing his cheeks but he runs a languid hand through the water so he can flick the rapidly evaporating bubbles at her breasts.
"Oh dear, I wish I'd remembered to pack my strap-on," he muses plaintively and now it's her turn to gape at him open-mouthed.
Faith wags a reproving finger at him. "You -- you're pretty fucking cool, Wes. Have I told you that?"
It's not meant to be this easy between them but he's fiercely glad it is. "Maybe a couple of times, but don't let that stop you from a repeat performance."
"What the fuck ever." She picks up the soap again and starts cleaning herself briskly, hands disappearing under the water into all sorts of intriguing places. "Don't get any ideas, Wes," she says when she sees where his attention is gone. "You've seen how I get now. So we can train after we have breakfast and give your balls time to re-fill." She scratches her neck ruminatively. "Guess it's kinda high maintenance having a Slayer in your bed."
"My Slayer," he reminds her, ducking under the water so he can wet his hair. "You should be proud of who you are, what you are, Faith."
Her lips twist as she stands up and he's sure that little bump and grind of her hips is entirely for his benefit. "Getting there. Now haul your ass out and make me breakfast or I'm going to get seriously pissy."
"Would I notice the difference?" he wonders aloud and she smiles like a seraph and tips a tooth mug of cold water down his back when he's not looking.
After breakfast, where she demolishes a stack of toast and uses her tongue to clean raspberry jam from her hand in a way that's all the more effective for being unstudied, he decides to call Giles.
Part Five
Previous parts are here
Hollow Heart
by Jane Davitt and Bit
Chapter Four
He pushes her to her back and rolls on top of her, dipping his head to lick around her nipple before biting at it softly. "Yes."
Her whole body jack-knifes up and her legs split open which makes it easy to press his hips into her, cock jerking against her mound, to hold her down.
"Harder," she hisses when he sucks one tightly furled nipple into his mouth and she gives a grunt of approval as he grazes the edge of it with his teeth.
Then the other one and Faith makes noises he's never heard before, parting her legs wider so her arousal paints the head of his cock.
As he cups the weight of both her breasts in his hands and gives in to the temptation to gently kiss the soft patch of skin behind her ear, he gives a moment's thought to the logistics of fucking his Slayer.
She's already frantic, wriggling and groaning under him, issuing threats and commands in her throatiest growl, which might be because it's been over a year since Wood and Faith imploded and he knows for a fact that there hasn't been anyone else. Largely because he's kept her so busy that it didn't become an issue.
"Fuck me, Wes. Goddamn it!" she snaps imperiously but he holds off, just slides his hand down her quivering belly because she'll need to come more than once. And he has to take care of his Slayer's needs.
She's hotly soaked he discovers when his fingers trace the lips of her cunt and she shakes her head in annoyance. "No! Fuck me."
He ignores her mouth, or rather he kisses it, tongue delving deep inside which is a remarkably effective way to shut her up and anyway her hips are already tilting forward trying to get his fingers inside her, instead of tracing lazy patterns along her slit.
"Fu…"
"Shut up, Faith," he whispers in her ear. "I'll fuck you when we're both good and ready."
She laughs, but it's more of a moan, her head shifting restlessly on the pillow. "Don't see me ever being good, Wes, but I'm ready." Her head turns and her teeth meet in his earlobe, a sharp, sweet thrill of pain, soothed away by the soft, fierce tickle of her tongue. "What's it take to get you that way?"
And that would do it nicely, if it weren't a case of wetting water, but he's only too aware of her proclivities when it comes to sex and although the image of her over him, face suffused with arousal, breasts swaying as she rides him, is one he wants to make real, she's damn well not dictating this encounter, start to finish.
Without answering, he slides down, hands skimming the sharp points of her hips, and comes to rest between her legs.
"Don't need to, Wes," she whispers urgently as he rests his head on her thigh and breathes out through pursed lips, sending a short stream of warm air across the slick skin of her cunt, making her shudder. "Wet already, fuck, will you just --"
"I want to taste you," he says, leaning in to brush a kiss across her clit, finding it easily in the dark, which he's rather proud about. It's been a while for him, too. "And I know you're wet -- " He pushes his face against all that slippery heat, nose and mouth and chin, getting gloriously messy and not caring, tasting her, feeling her, smelling her; hearing the choked-off gasp she gives as his tongue darts out to circle her clit.
"Wes --" It's close to a wail as he pushes her thighs further apart, his thumbs making slow circles on the sensitive hollows of skin he finds there, in time with the ones the tip of his tongue is tracing.
He'd heard stories at the Watcher's Academy; shocked and salacious whispers about Slayers and their insatiable appetites. Some hot and panting Watcher had even written a paper about it in the late 19th century advising that all potential Slayers should have a strict regimen of ice cold baths and bromide so they could concentrate their energies on their slaying.
But right now all his energy is concentrated on Faith and relenting enough when she starts making a noise like she's in agony, to suddenly plunge his tongue deep into her cunt. Only the tight grip of his hands on her thighs stops her from pulling his head clean off his neck.
"Jesus… fuck… Wes," she shrieks and it's so incongruously flattering that he laughs right into her soaked pussy, causing another volley of moans from her.
All it takes is two fingers gently thrusting inside her while he drags the flat of his tongue over her clit and she comes. But he can tell from the way her head twists from side to side and her clit throbs frantically against his lips that it's not enough.
"Poor thing," he coos and bends his head again.
The sweetness of his words is in sharp contrast to what he gives her; sucking on her clit as hard as he can, with his tongue flickering over the captured, tender bump as his fingers, three of them now, shape themselves into an imitation of what she wants and plunge inside her.
She's past wanting subtle, wanting gentle -- if she ever did -- still caught up in her first climax, and he keeps her there, feeling her body tremble with exertion and need. And he could do this all night, he thinks. Could bring her, over and over, until she's breathless and exhausted, quivering at nothing more than the whisper of his breath on her skin.
Then she comes again and the sound of her hoarse cry wraps around his cock like her hand and he's moaning with her, sitting back and swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, needing her around him.
It's a far cry from the measured, formal battles of his encounters with Lilah. Faith isn't pretending to be indifferent and there's no need for him to hide what he's feeling either. He scrambles up and as soon as she feels his prick nudge against her she keens and wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him inside her in one swift thrust that ends with him whimpering because nothing ever felt this good.
"Gonna do it, Wes?" she grits out, and even underneath him, right now she's the one fucking him, because he's locked in place, revelling in the tight, wet heat that's silky and bumpy and perfect around him and she's arching up and falling back, strong enough to be able to move exactly how she wants to. "Gonna fuck your Slayer?"
He nearly comes just from that pithy question but decides to answer it with a quick swivel of his hips that has her legs tightening round him, nails digging into his back, sending a delicious frisson of pain through him, which is just another layer of sensation on top of all the myriad layers of sensation from being on top of her, being inside her.
"I've wanted to fuck you for years," he gasps and he's never even realised that before but with her spread out underneath him, she's familiar – a sight he fantasised about all those long, lonely nights in a rented room in Sunnydale with nothing but a bottle of Scotch and his own hand for company. But none of his fantasies ever came close to the feel of her breasts rubbing against his chest and her cunt rippling round him as he raises himself up on his knees and starts fucking into her in earnest.
She's still arching her pelvis up so he's thrusting deeper into her each time but when he clamps his hands under her arse to hold her steady she tries to twist out from under him. Typical Faith, always got to be on top.
"Let me…" she whines, capturing his mouth in a sticky wet kiss, which he pulls away from so he can bite down hard on her neck.
Her cunt clamps around him immediately and she cries out, clutching his arms. "I'm fucking my Slayer," Wesley purrs in her ear, "Not the other way round. You can get on top next time."
And before she can argue the toss, he's yanking her legs over his shoulders so he can make her yelp each time the base of his cock brushes against her clit and kissing her tenderly because already he can't wait for the next time.
He can't last long and he doesn't even want to. Too much self-denial, too much wasted time. There's a time and a place for drawing it out, and he'd be the last man to decry the pleasure to be had from a long, slow, torturous build-up until every nerve in their bodies is screaming for release but now, with his balls tightening and every slide into her feeling like flicking a sleeping tiger on the nose, knowing the next time it'll wake and roar -- well, he's not really interested in slow.
Just in coming after her, because he's felt her come around his fingers and he wants to feel her flex and clutch at his cock which, he thinks suddenly, with some distant part of his brain, she hasn't even touched yet.
God, he won't be able to last long when she does that, either.
There's a warning throb from his cock; that indefinable stiffening before there's no turning back, and it's only when she moans, inarticulate and desperate, her nails scrabbling at his back, that he realises he's taking her with him.
He's making noises that are meaningless and profound and she's saying his name in an endless chant as they retreat into their own heads for the space of a few seconds and emerge panting and tangled together, silenced by sensation.
She gives him a lazy smile that's softer than any of the others he's seen on her face. Even reaches up her hand to smooth down his damp hair.
"Kinda funny seeing you all rumpled," she murmurs, though what's really kinda funny is that he's still got his half-hard cock inside her, drawing in a breath each time he feels the walls of her cunt flutter around him in a tiny aftershock.
"That was…" he starts and realises that he doesn't have enough words or languages to begin to describe it.
"I know," she says just a tad too smugly for his liking but then she's nudging him with her foot. "C'mon Wes. We done with basking in the afterglow 'cause you're pretty heavy for a skinny guy?"
Not even Faith at her most prosaic can kill the mood. He pulls out of her, ridiculously pleased that she bites her lip when he does, and spoons against her. "I'm not skinny, I'm wiry," he clarifies running the tip of his finger along the sweat sheen on her back.
"Yeah, yeah," she sighs, trying to scooch away from him. "What the hell are you doing?"
Even Lilah had lost her bitch goddess vibe long enough for a post-shag cuddle, but Faith isn't Lilah and she's using her deathly elbows to try and get free.
"Sssh, just lie still," he begs, kissing the path his fingers have just taken. "Please, Faith."
She wriggles round so she's facing him and with a grudging smile, condescends to link her fingers with his. "You tell anyone I was snuggling" -- she practically spits the word out -- "I'll kill you. Capiche?"
"I don't have anyone close enough to share something like that with," he says mildly. "But I think if I told them that the beautiful young woman I'd just made love to had, ah, snuggled up afterwards, I'd get a reaction best summed up as 'so?'." He kisses her temple, feeling the pulse beating strongly there hard against his lips. "Cuddling isn't up there with most of the major kinks, Faith. Not for most people."
She's still holding his hand, but it's oddly tentative and she's shifting closer to the edge of the bed.
Or perhaps he's just not letting go of hers --
"Newsflash, Wes. I'm not 'most people' and that's not just 'cause of the Slayer deal, you know?"
"And do you really think I qualify as normal? Or Giles, or Buffy, or any of us for that matter?" He draws her closer, sighing as she resists. "Hold me," he says finally. "Be the one giving, not receiving if that helps, but I need this. If you want to think of it as a weakness or a perversion, feel free."
Her arms go around him with an unflattering reluctance but it's something and when he wakes during the night she's close enough that her breath's warm against his skin, even if by the morning there's space between them again.
She must sense the moment he's awake because she opens her eyes and gives him a dopey grin that makes his heart lurch.
"Hey," she whispers, waggling her fingers at him so he can't help but smile back. She's sleep-crumpled and glowing.
"Hello, Faith," he says, keeping to his side of the bed, mainly because he has a front row seat to see one of her nipples poking out shyly from the edge of the sheet.
"Gotta say, Wes, usually I'd be halfway to the next town by now. Don't usually stick around for the morning after."
His heart lurches in a far more disagreeable manner and then speeds up as she slides across the bed so they're eyeball to eyeball and if he just leans slightly forward he can gently tweak the nipple that's been tormenting him for the last minute.
Faith squirms against him, giving him a knowing look from under her lashes when his cock reacts with aching predictability.
"So am I allowed to know why you're not halfway to Clannoch by now?" he asks, eyes half shut as she clasps her hot hand around his prick.
She's already sliding under the quilt, but he hears her muffled voice say something about "breakfast in bed."
He's sure that he could've come up with something witty in response, but the smooth slide of her tongue over the head of his cock renders him speechless. It's like being caressed by warm, wet velvet with the slight drag and tug doing just enough to leave him fully erect by the time she's pushed him to his back and positioned herself between his legs.
He reaches down to touch her dark hair and she gives an impatient shake of her head and then relents and takes him in deep, slicking him up and drawing a heartfelt groan from him.
This is something he loves having done to him, content, mostly, to be passive because it's always different that way. Fucking Faith's mouth as she kneels or lies beneath him has a certain appeal but lying there, curious and trusting her not quite all the way is like taking a dare.
Sharp teeth dig in, just this side of pain, circling his shaft and he makes a sound that he supposes should be protesting, but somehow isn't. She chuckles, which eases the pressure, and pulls off him, her strong hand gripping around the base of his cock, holding it in place for her to kiss, mocking, tiny kisses until he sighs and murmurs, 'all better'.
Odd how easy it is to be playful with her. Unexpected and intimate and oh my God --
"Like that, Wes?"
She tosses her hair back and smiles up at him, eyes gleaming, lips parted and moist.
"Do it again," he says hoarsely.
Obediently she obliges, pumping her hand with deliberately measured strokes and rubbing the head of his cock, foreskin already peeled back because he's too hard for it to stay in place, against her closed lips, letting it slip between them slowly until it meets the barrier of her teeth, hard and smooth. It's driving him mad; there's the promise of warmth and she can suck like this, but it's not enough and she's teasing him now, tongue pointed and stiff, whipping it across the slick head of his cock until he's hearing desperate groans and not caring that he's the one making them.
"Please, Faith -- " he begs because he's in torment as he looks down, eyes barely able to focus on the sight of her, eyes glinting wickedly, as she slowly and deliberately licks at his cock like it's the most delicious ice cream surprise and she wants to savour the taste of it on her tongue. "Please --
She lifts her head for the three agonising seconds it takes her to promise him, "Gonna please you, Wes -- "
And then she's getting down to business. No joking. No waiting, just her lips closing over his cock, travelling down and this glorious tugging as she starts sucking him hard. She can't get too much of him in her mouth at this angle but he's always known her to be creative and the way one of her hands corkscrews down the length of him and the other one strokes his balls makes up for it. He is thrusting up into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth now, he can't help it when she's hollowed out her cheeks and one of her fingers is behind his balls now, rubbing, teasing, gently probing --
His hand tangles in her hair as he comes in this white hot burst, hips jerking, all grace lost as he cries out a wordless invocation.
There's a spectacular firework display going on inside his head as he slumps back on the pillows and allows himself one last tiny groan as Faith presses one last kiss to the underside of his cock, licking along the vein, then crawls up the bed and pokes at him; an unbearably superior look on her face.
"You OK there, Wes?"
He manages to whimper which seems to please her more than a long speech about how she's just reduced him to boneless -- there's a pun there, but he's not sure if it translates -- and blissful.
He reaches out and tugs her down so that he can kiss her and she turns that into a coda of sorts, because she tastes of his come and she knows it. Her mouth crushes against his, soft and yielding, in feel if not intent, and then her tongue works its way inside his mouth so he's no choice but to reciprocate. The taste of both of them, mingled and fresh is interesting and not unpleasant. Possibly, at another time, it'd even be arousing, but right now he's incapable.
"Still want coffee though," she says briskly, sitting up and pushing her hair back off her face. She wrinkles her nose. "And a shower."
"Bath," he corrects her. "Didn't you see it?"
She gapes at him. "Saw those weird fallopian tube things that you put on the taps but thought maybe the shower was somewhere else or --"
"You assumed," he says smugly. "Saw what you expected to. How often have I told you --?"
He supposes that he deserves the solid thump she gives him, but if she really thinks that she's on a holiday here, well, she's not. He has no intention of letting her training schedule lapse.
"Bath -- " she muses. "Big enough for two?"
On the other hand, a little R & R wouldn't hurt either.
They sit at opposite ends of the bath - he lost the tussle to sit without the taps digging into the small of his back - knees knocking together as she drapes her arms over the rim and arches an eyebrow as he stares at the impudent thrust of her breasts.
At least he manages not to drool, which is some small comfort.
"Pervert," she hisses, prodding at the head of his cock with her big toe. "Stop looking at my tits."
He refuses, along with his spent cock, to rise to the bait. "I can't help it. They're very nice tits."
Faith looks down at the objects in question, ends of her hair trailing in the water and nods in agreement. "They really fucking are." And then because she is who she is and he's starting to realise that he never wants her any other way, she sighs. "Jesus, I'm dying for a smoke."
"You know I don't like you smoking," he says more as an automatic reflex than with any real conviction and she launches herself at him, a small tidal wave of lavender scented water slopping on to the floor.
"And you know you can bite me, Wes," she titters (Faith titters? Who knew?) and then she suits her action by lightly snagging his nipple between her teeth before sitting back down with a hefty thud that sends more water careering over the side of the tub. It's like sharing a bath with an over-exuberant puppy.
"Maybe later," he says, closing his eyes. "You needn't think you can slack off your training just because you've had your wicked way with me."
"Fine by me. You're looking like you need a little recovery time anyhow, Wes. And just so we're clear, I get to go on top on the rematch."
He'd like to take issue with her phrasing because it's definitely lacking on the tenderness scale, but just then she picks up the bar of soap he brought with them and rolls it between her hands, making a thick lather, complete with a tiny bubble that detaches, floats up, and gets blown to extinction by a puff of air from her pursed, pouting lips.
"We don't have to take turns, you know," he says, his protest mild because she's running her hands over her breasts and the skin is shining under a thin layer of Crabtree and Evelyn's finest. "I really don't see myself keeping a score card, you know."
She pinches her nipples, a reflective look on her face, and he's lost as they darken and harden. "Just don't want you getting ideas, Wes."
"Then you should stop that," he says, the words emerging in a croak.
She tilts her head, a puzzled smile on her face, and then glances down and burst out laughing. "Those ideas I'm cool with. Just don't want you getting all macho man on my ass."
He didn't think it was possible, not this soon, but his cock twitches and fills a little at the alluring combination of words. "I can't fuck it then?" he asks, amazed at how calm he sounds as he meets her frankness with some of his own.
She sinks under the water far enough to rinse the soap off her breasts and rises up, the warm water clinging to her skin. "Dunno, Wes. Can I fuck yours?"
He knows there's a red stain flushing his cheeks but he runs a languid hand through the water so he can flick the rapidly evaporating bubbles at her breasts.
"Oh dear, I wish I'd remembered to pack my strap-on," he muses plaintively and now it's her turn to gape at him open-mouthed.
Faith wags a reproving finger at him. "You -- you're pretty fucking cool, Wes. Have I told you that?"
It's not meant to be this easy between them but he's fiercely glad it is. "Maybe a couple of times, but don't let that stop you from a repeat performance."
"What the fuck ever." She picks up the soap again and starts cleaning herself briskly, hands disappearing under the water into all sorts of intriguing places. "Don't get any ideas, Wes," she says when she sees where his attention is gone. "You've seen how I get now. So we can train after we have breakfast and give your balls time to re-fill." She scratches her neck ruminatively. "Guess it's kinda high maintenance having a Slayer in your bed."
"My Slayer," he reminds her, ducking under the water so he can wet his hair. "You should be proud of who you are, what you are, Faith."
Her lips twist as she stands up and he's sure that little bump and grind of her hips is entirely for his benefit. "Getting there. Now haul your ass out and make me breakfast or I'm going to get seriously pissy."
"Would I notice the difference?" he wonders aloud and she smiles like a seraph and tips a tooth mug of cold water down his back when he's not looking.
After breakfast, where she demolishes a stack of toast and uses her tongue to clean raspberry jam from her hand in a way that's all the more effective for being unstudied, he decides to call Giles.
Part Five
Tags: