Title: Five Times Buffy Lied ( And The One Time She Didn't )
Author: Sapphire Smoke
Fandom: Buffy The Vampire Slayer
Timeline: Season 3
Summary: Buffy really likes Faith, but all she can ever manage to do is lie about it.
A/N: So I've never done a "Five Times" fic, and figured it was about time. This is something I've been working on whenever my brain doesn't wanna cooperate with Chains or Queens, but I wanted to give myself motivation to finish it since it's been on my hard drive for months. It's a different style of writing then I usually do, mainly to lighten the mood from all the angst and drama I normally do. It's just something quick and fun (possibly walking the line of the "crack" genre lol) and I hope it entertains :)
The graveyard is quiet. Almost too quiet.
The wind blows through the trees, the leaves rustling in its wake. Buffy holds her stake firmly in her hand; knowing after years of being the Slayer that quiet almost always indicates that doom is right around the next corner either being very hairy, very smelly, or very undead; sometimes all three. The grass crunches beneath her shoes as she weaves through the gravestones, wondering if 'Alice Parker', or maybe 'Nathan Baker' will pop out and say hello, but the dirt remains undisturbed; they're just plain old dead.
Buffy would say that's boring, but then she'd run the risk of sounding like someone she knows and she's been trying to avoid that.
'Katherine Clive', how about you?
No? Well then, fine. Stay dead, see if she cares.
Buffy twirled the stake in her hand, finding her mind drifting to her bedroom, her bed, and how much she'd like to crawl in it right now and finally get a decent night's sleep. But no, she's the good Slayer. The responsible Slayer. Duty, destiny, and boredom all rolled up into one giant, lame burrito.
Damnit, now she's hungry.
Maybe she could ditch patrol early, just this once. It's not like anyone would really know, right? Besides, now she's craving Mexican.
And now she's wondering what Mexican vampires are like. Do they wear sombreros?
Maybe that's like assuming all American Vampires are fat though. Then again, she probably shouldn't feel bad about stereotyping vampires.
Yeah. She's leaving. When you start thinking about if it's politically incorrect to stereotype a vampire, it obviously means sleep is needed.
"And here I thought I was the one who's supposed to fuck off patrol."
Buffy nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the voice coming from behind her. Damn Slayer senses, what the hell?! Usually she can feel Faith coming from a mile away. Maybe she should talk to Giles; if the connection is off then she can't feel Faith coming, and if she can't feel Faith coming then she can't properly avoid her. Like now.
God, she looks hot.
Buffy doesn't lie to her, she only lies when it's important enough too, but she does do a lot of avoiding, "If you were blowing it off then why are you here?"
Why is she here looking like that should have been the question, but Buffy doesn't comment on how Faith looks because then that leads to Faith assuming she's checking her out.
Not that she does that or anything.
…Not intentionally, anyway. But it's kind of hard not to look when her breasts are practically spilling out of her shirt. Like now.
Shit. Eyes up.
Her eyes rest on Faith's face, who's now smirking at her. Crap, caught.
"Well ya can't check me out if I ain't here; just doin' ya a favor, B," Faith tells her with that little smirk that Buffy wishes she could wipe off of her mouth.
With her lips. Maybe her tongue. Probably her tongue.
"Full of yourself, much?" Buffy retorts, hoping the moonlight doesn't show the pink hue that has adorned her cheeks. She scoffs, because that's what she does best, and she walks away, because that's what she does better. "Do you actually have a real purpose for being here, or are you just trying to annoy me?"
She doesn't annoy her. Quite the opposite.
She's pretty sure Faith knows it too, which is why she doesn't get angry.
Faith follows her, catching up until she's matching her stride for stride through the moonlit graveyard. "Was bored," is all she offers her as a reason.
"It's not any better out here."
Of the century, probably.
Faith chuckles, "No wonder you're so tense."
Buffy stops, whipping around to face her. "I'm not tense!" she exclaims loudly. Why does Faith always have to assume?
Furthermore, why does she always have to assume right? There should be a law against that.
Maybe she'll write one.
"Nah B, course not. Ya just shouted at me for no reason."
Sarcasm. Buffy hates that, but she hates it less on Faith than on other people.
"I wasn't shouting," Buffy defends.
She kind of was.
"Ya know, there's other ways of relieving that tension that doesn't involve stakin' the undead," Faith tells her, with that tone that Buffy knows all too well.
The tone that makes Buffy's skin feel like it's on fire.
Take me, now.
"We're not all like you, Faith. Some of us don't slut around in hopes of getting an STD."
Okay, that was mean. She didn't mean for that to come out that way; she just overcompensated to stop what she really wanted to come out of her mouth.
"Screw you, Buffy. At least I don't have to fuck myself every night, wishin' I had the balls to take what I really wanted," Faith shoots back. She's angry, hurt, defensive. She gives her a look that probably would smite Buffy on the spot if she had the power when she adds, "Unlike some people."
She does. Every single night, wishing it was Faith. She touches herself and wishes it was Faith's fingers, her tongue, everything. She touches herself and wishes Faith would completely consume her; devour her, possess her, own her.
But she doesn't have the balls, and so she retorts, "The fact that you even think about me doing that to myself is disgusting, Faith."
"Didn't say you."
"I'm not dense."
"Coulda fooled me."
Eyes connect, glaring matches are had. She wants to hit her, she wants to kiss her, she wants to hate her, she wants to love her.
She wants her, and Faith can see it in her eyes.
Faith smirks, the cockiest look Buffy thinks she's ever seen adorning her features. "You want me," is all she says; such a simple sentence that carries so much meaning behind it.
And yes. Yes, she does.
God yes does she want her.
"No, I really don't," she lies, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. She laughs, like it's absurd, but it's scornful, like it's meant to be hurtful. She doesn't want to hurt her, but she's terrified. "In case you've forgotten, I'm the straight Slayer."
No, she really isn't. She just pretends, like it's a game. But games are meant to be fun, and pretending – lying – isn't.
So maybe not so much like a game, rather trying to bury a dirty secret.
But Faith doesn't look hurt though, just amused, "You're so full of shit, B."
"You wish," is all Buffy says back to her before turning and leaving, her heart pounding in her chest. She can't breathe; she can't think when she's around Faith.
She also can never tell the truth when she's around her either.