Title: INSIDE YOUR HEAD
Series: Trip My Wire
Part 5 in the series
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer // Supernatural // eventually Tru Calling
Prompt: #010 writer's choice
Word Count: about 1100
Rating: PG-13 (should it be different, let me know)
Summary: Faith's not sure what's going on, but this little voice in the back of her mind, it keeps calming her down with reassuring tone, keeps whispering, who really gives a fuck, huh, and like always, she listens...
Warnings: Bad language
Disclaimer: Dean and Faith? Not mine. What you haven't seen in TV? Mine.
Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews! I'm glad you people have liked the fic so far! If you're wondering why I've been favoring Dean's pov, it's because I already have to deal with Faith quite a bit in my Envenom series (BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER) and I really don't want to end up repeating myself... so that's probably why. But I shall try my best and if you by any chance, happen to be a reader of both ficcies, be sure to tell me how you feel about the issue :)
Er, no real smut. I promise, coming soon! I'm almost done with the next part so it shouldn't take that long. Er, hopefully.
Oh and again, my word is fucked so the thing hasn't been spell-checked! I'm sorry!
This is just a lil weird filler promptie, I suppose and I know it's weird, just read it through and be done with it, heh.
I'm really slow with updating here in so you might want to check this thing out at my livejournal (link should be in my profile) - plus, since this place don't allow NC-17 I'm probably gonna post those parts only into LJ anyhow.
INSIDE YOUR HEAD
Faith's not sure what's going on, but this little voice in the back of her mind, it keeps calming her down with reassuring tone, keeps whispering, who really gives a fuck, huh, and like always, she listens because in the middle of all the familiar darkness and destruction, pain and insecurity, that little voice is the one thing she's always got. The thing she's relied on.
In the end that's always been the main issue, hasn't it? She agrees hesitantly, maybe it has; it's so easy to put the blame on her instincts, drain the guilt from her own shoulders. Yeah, just put it on nature, baby. It isn't her fault she was born into this, into being a slayer. She didn't ask for this.
Doesn't mean she don't want it, though.
It's bittersweet in a way, isn't it? Within her locked mind, she snorts mockingly and throws her head back in laughter. The laugh is the usual deep, raspy laughter that makes her frame oscillate until the air in her lungs is finally used and she has no choice but to gasp for breath. Then, the only sound she recognizes is the beat of her heart inside her body, inside her brain. It feels weird; the static noise around her and the beat.
Loud and clear, strong and vivid, inside, inside her head, you know? Like it wasn't hers... it's not, it's not yours! It's Dean's.
Even when everything's beyond chaotic; when nothing makes sense, somehow this always does. The instincts, they're the Slayer's most powerful gift, the Slayer's ultimate curse. It depends how you take it, B.
Only... right now? Everything's sort of weird, hazy. And those instincts she's always counted on, they seem to be fucked up, they're not telling her what's going on. Holy shit.
Faith only has these foggy, somehow distant memories of how this happened, how she ended up here with his body pressed firmly against hers.
The creaking bed, the dim bedroom. She was taking a nap, right? Right. She knows it's dark and dark means night, Dean, we have to go, and she pushes him away roughly, sitting up straight trying to ignore the stuffy feeling inside her head. It's never stuffy inside her head, for fuck's sake, not even when she's slept. Something's wrong, man, I gotta take a shower and-
This is the part she's not sure about, but she thinks... she thinks he pushed her back down, kissed her and said, no, not yet, just little while longer... She wanted to say something, but couldn't and it doesn't matter anymore, anyway.
Dean's whole body weight is suddenly on top of her, his hard hands underneath her shirt and Dean - he's not asking for permission. Faith's had all sorts of thing with all sorts of guys, but never has her mind been this misty without alcohol playing its own part. Hell, not even then.
His hand goes around her neck, bringing her head up and while her mind tells her to kick his ass, punch him, anything, her body doesn't comply. His mouth captures hers roughly, no gentleness whatsoever to be felt and it's ok; she figures he knows how she likes it. His teeth are scraping her lips, biting the corners of her mouth, but she's hardly noticing it... hers are pretty much doing the same thing anyway, when she's not trying to breathe.
Isn't he supposed to be the weaker one, huh? He's supposed to be gasping for air, not her!
The fingers in the back of her skull curl around the dark, thick locks pulling her head backwards and then his tongue is there, on her throat and it feels so good, so new that she just wants to laugh.
He moves so fast that she's puzzled for a moment - you're really slow today, Faith, aren't ya? - and in a blink of an eye her shirt is dragged over her heard, and then the hand appears, invading her jeans, pushing aside the silky fabric - hey, wait a minute, you didn't wear silk today, did you? - and she moans into his mouth...
"Ouch, Faithie, for fuck's sake!" Your eyes blink open and the needy moan on your lips dies. You try to focus on the moment, but your eyes don't want to cooperate and it takes longer than you appreciate for them to adjust into the light. When they do, you realise you're sitting on the bed with fingers curled around the collar of Dean's beloved leather jacket. And Dean? He's staring at you, his fingers wrapped around yours... and the look on his face isn't a happy one. That's the first thing your brain actually registers. Dean. Not happy. Bad.
... What the hell?
You frown and glance at your hands again. Ooooh, gotcha.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry," you sigh, opening your fingers letting the fabric slide off and push him back - just in case. You really didn't mean to pull him so close, honestly, but it was his own fault for sneaking up on you like that while you were asleep. At least you didn't punch him this time, right?
"You told me to wake you up in half," Dean points out as if reading your mind and at first you don't understand what he means. You told him to wake you up? Huh, why the fuck would you do that? This is when your brain reaches its gas tanks and suddenly decides to catch up with you. You were sleeping because... Oh, right - patrolling. Or, hunt as you've come to call them. Yeah, well, it's what Dean calls them anyway and you've sorta picked it up too, you guess. You're not sure when or why, though, it just happened along the way.
You look up, still sitting on the bed and watch him straighten his back as well as his jacket. His hazel eyes are on you, questioning, unsure. "So, we going or what?"
You nod fighting the humiliation threatening to turn your cheeks red - Jesus, you never blush, what the hell? And so you scramble to your feet in haste, eyes adverting his and mumble, "I gotta take a shower."
You disappear into the bathroom before he can say another word; the last thing you need is him asking stupid questions about the moans you're pretty sure escaped your lips at some point during the damn dream. The door slams shut, the lock clicks and you, you collapse against the closed door, drawing in a breath.
Seriously, Faith, what the fuck?