![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Title: Eternity
Author: ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
dreamincolor
Fandom: Ats
Pairing: Faith/Darla
Genre: Romance/Dark
Rating: NC17
Highlight for Warnings: ** f/f sex, bondage, blood, death, vamping. **
Summary: Darla wants to give Faith eternity.
Word Count: 6886
Disclaimer: Joss wins.
Beta'd by: wehavedental
A/N: Written for globalfruitbat in Round Six of the ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
cya_ficathon. My apologies for being a day late! (Request included at the bottom.)
The slamming of small feet against the pavement acted as a beacon, one nearly as strong as the scent of fear beading at the nape of the young boy’s neck as his four-foot frame tore down the alley on thin child’s legs. His voice was a yelp, crying, almost incoherently with panic, for his mother.
Behind him a hulking man, with an abnormally heavy, deformed brow and inhumanly long canines, trailed leisurely after him, still greedily licking another’s blood from between his fingers. It only took a second’s sprint for the vampire to catch up with his prey, a heavy hand closing around the boy’s wrist as he jerked the child back towards him, voice a growl, “Stop yer sniveling, ‘aint nobody comin for ya.” Yellow eyes glinted as the man’s tongue slid out long enough to swipe a remaining drop of blood from his lower lip, “’Specially not yer mother.”
The boy stared up at him, blue eyes wide and mouth open as if to scream, but body frozen, silent.
The vampire smiled, one hand clutching viciously at a chunk of the boy's hair and jerking his head to the side, the other hand running a long nail along the arch of the child's neck, over a rapidly pumping artery. "Common, say it boy," The man's voice rung out in a low, self-satisfied growl, "Tell me I'm right."
“You’re half right.” A voice caught both their attentions as the base of a heavy boot collided with the vampire square in the chest. Momentum parted the demon from his victim-to-be, sending the boy tumbling to the ground, while it sent the vampire crashing into the brick wall behind him.
It only took Faith a fraction of a second to step over the small, shaking heap of child in front of her and close her fingers around the vampire's neck, staring into yellow eyes. “This is my part of town.” Her voice left her in a slow growl, the corner of her lip twitching up with satisfaction as the man’s elbow snapped under her grip, evoking a choked whimper. “You might wanna make a note of that, cause I don’t think you want me havin’ to remind you.”
The vampire’s body made a dull thudding noise as it collided with the ground, stationary only long enough for a grunt of acknowledgement before he was no more than fading footsteps, scrambling out of view and away.
For a moment, all was quiet; then, the bundle beneath her began to sob quietly. Faith’s eyes moved to the child’s tear-stained face, but found his round, blue eyes caught on something behind her.
Faith spun in time to see a slender, blonde woman emerge partially from the shadows. The figure crouched down low to the ground, arms open and voice smooth like silk, face invisible in the dark. “Come here little one, come here.”
The child scrambled from his patch of pavement to hide himself in the woman’s arms, letting her fold him in among soft fabric and pale skin. Delicate hands pet back the boy’s dark hair protectively, cradling his sobbing face against her chest and soothing the boy’s moans for his mother into a muffled cry, the woman’s voice a gentle coo, "Shhh..she isn’t here little one, she isn’t here. But I’ve got you now..” Darla’s eyes flashed golden yellow over the boy’s head as she lifted them, lips curling in a fanged smile, “And I always take good care of my children, don’t I Faith?”
Faith felt her fangs drop and her muscles tense in anticipation as her sire tilted the boy’s head to the side, exposing the arch of a slender neck. "Mmm.." The undead slayer’s voice left her in a purr, tongue flicking out to swipe over her bottom lip, “Like only a mother can.”
*****
Faith’s birthday was December 14th. It was July.
So the card, addressed clearly to Faith Lehane and tossed into her cell with the morning mail, that opened to the simple message of ‘Happy Early Birthday,” was more than a little out of place.
But it was the first time she’d gotten anything in months, and on a Saturday spent in a 6 by 9 cell, she didn’t really feel the need to complain. Instead, she sent a short note back to the return address saying they had the wrong Faith, or at least the wrong date - though if they wanted to try again in six months, present wise, she wouldn’t say no to a pack of Marlboro Reds.
A few days later the letter was tossed back into her cell with a stamp from the postal office, asking for a valid address. Waste of a perfectly good stamp, or at least waste of a perfectly good 39 cents.
At rec time, the slayer threw some broad out of the internet waiting line, and googled the address– a little something she’d got off of watching Red, ‘cause she certainly hadn’t grown up with a computer – and found that there’d been a hotel there until about a month back, when the location seemed to have suddenly shut down. The company website didn’t give a reason, only linked to the chain’s other locations.
A few days later another letter came, marked with the same return address. This time, the only thing inside the envelope was a note scrolled in dark red ink. It simply read:
Faith,
Come. I have something for you, something you don’t want to miss.
Trust me.
Mother
Nothing too exciting really - it wasn't really from her old maid, that much was for sure, she was ten years in the dirt - not until Faith looked close enough to notice that the crimson lettering was slightly too lumpy in places, slightly uneven, as if the writer had been using a medium more difficult than ink. In suspicion, Faith brushed her finger over the lettering, then leaned down, touching the tip of her tongue to the page. Faint, thin and dried, faded - but she knew the taste.
Blood.
*****
“Lover,” Darla pet Faith’s hair down gently, arms reaching around the small body that was held, dangling, in the air between them. The undead slayer jerked at the boy’s limp form with vicious hunger, the child’s delicate shoulder cracking unpleasantly under her grip, and his head lolling loosely to the side as her fangs tore deeper into his neck. Out of the corner of her eye, Faith could see Darla smile, hands still stroking through her childe’s hair as she chided, “You eat like someone’s going to take your food away.”
Faith frowned at her against the boy’s skin, taking a few last swallows - the kind that left her warm and full from head to toe as his blood coursed through her, and sent a tingle of pleasure down the length of her body like little in life ever had - draining the child for every ounce of innocence. A few hot drops dribbled down her chin as she pulled back, voice a lazy growl. “And you watch like it’s a sport.”
“I enjoy watching you eat.” Delicate fingers trailed down the side of Faith’s face, brushing her jaw-line, “You do it with a certain..single-mindedness.” Darla’s hand pushed the boy’s drained body from between them, and it landed with weak thud at their feet. Faith’s sire pulled their figures close together, trailing her tongue, cool and slick against heated skin, up the side of Faith’s throat and jaw-line, catching the drops of blood that had been spilt. The slayer’s chest struck up in a low purr, and Darla pulled back to look up at her childe through thick lashes, licking her lips with a smile. “The same kind of focus you have when you‘re-”
She was cut off as Faith’s fingers dug into the smaller woman’s back, pulling her forward roughly into a bloody kiss.
*****
Faith considered calling the cops – for about two seconds. The image of the Sunnydale authorities, even when faced with the most pathetic of fledgling vamps, turning tail and running like hell from shock alone was still fresh in her memory. If the LA police department was anything like Sunnydale’s, it was probably best to leave them to their donuts.
She tried calling the Hyperion, but some stammery thing with a Texas accent picked up and started muttering about Angel not being around, and something about monks. Faith thought it was probably the worst lie she’d ever heard, but if the guy was too busy becoming a Zen master to talk, she could handle this one on her own.
And it had to be handled, because letters written in blood and sent from empty hotels were the type of things that made horror flicks - the kind where said letter-writers got fixated on their victim to be. And Faith, who wasn’t big with being someone‘s fixation, especially not the kind of fixation where whoever - or whatever- was writing her letters, eventually got sick of waiting, and came to corner her in a 6 by 8 jail cell, wasn‘t keen on playing out this scene.
No, she’d rather handle it on her terms - outside, and armed.
*****
Darla's tongue felt cold in her mouth, leaving cool trails of sensation where Faith’s own nerves had been warmed almost to numbness by heated blood. Her hands laced instinctively through blonde hair, pulling her sire’s face in hungrily. The borrowed blood coursed hot through her veins, she could feel the warm sensitivity building between her thighs as it had in life, and Faith was suddenly curious how it would feel to have Darla, with lips and tongue like ice, between her legs. She wondered, with her insides so hot and her lover so skilled, if even her undead body could be worked into a sweat.
“That’s the bitch.”
A man’s voice rung out behind her, and Faith reluctantly let her hands slip from their place in blonde hair, a growl rising from her chest as she turned to see the same vampire she’d thrown from the alleyway clutching his dislocated elbow, and speaking to the group of half a dozen vampires standing behind him, “In the black, that’s the bitch that stole my meal. Says this part a’ town is hers.”
“Look darling,” Darla’s voice was an amused whisper against her cheek, “you’ve made a friend.”
Faith only growled, watching as one of the men in the back pulled out a knife that was so long it could have been in the running for the title of sword, while another fledgling brandished a crow bar.
Darla moved away as three of the fledglings lunged at Faith in sequence. The first two, crow-bar man included, were over-eager in their attack, and were easily side-stepped, using their own momentum to send them tumbling past her. A few seconds later, a hit to the ribcage knocked the third to the ground.
But the fourth and fifth had better timing, and the latter’s fist caught her in the gut while she was still in mid-swing, busy landing an uppercut to the jaw of the vamp with the knife. The hit might have knocked the air out of her, if she had needed to breathe - as it was, she just shook on her game face.
Heightened hearing drew Faith’s eyes up in time to see Darla rounding the corner out of the alleyway, pausing only long enough to shoot Faith a smile, before vanishing.
At her side, the sixth attacker caught an elbow to the face, his nose cracking on impact. Blinking back into focus, she watched the fledglings regroup around her, forming a semi-circle, blocking her way out. The one with the knife moved into the foreground.
Rest in peace her ass - death was anything but peaceful.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way.
*****
Security in the big house just wasn't what it was cracked up to be. A few punches here, a bit of pick-pocketing there, and Faith was hauling ass in some unconscious guard’s truck down the freeway, her speed well into the triple digits. It was almost too easy – and she decided right off the bat that as soon as the adventure was over and she was back in the slammer, she was gonna have to send Big Brother a complaint. Next time, she wanted a challenge.
The envelope in her hand read 536, just like the curb at her feet. Faith frowned as she gave the building in front of her the up-down. At least a dozen stories high, the hotel bore a spotless paint job, moon-lit balconies that were big enough to throw a dinner party on, and the kind of curving, detailed exterior that reminded Faith of the European architecture class she’d flunked out of in seventh grade - not to mention one hell of an ocean view.
It had all that, and-according to the local paper in her hand- the fresh memory of six unexplained murders from the month before last.
Faith stepped over the yellow tape strung tight around the perimeter, and tried the doorknob. Locked.
In a single motion, she kicked in the lock on the front-door with the flat of her foot. The crack of the door swinging clear was familiar, and so was the feel of boots around her feet. They felt better than anything they’d let her walk around with in jail, and so did the leather pants hugging tight to her hips, like a second skin. Between that and the adrenaline pumping through her veins, Faith felt right again - like she was back in her own body, back in her own life. As if the last year had been nothing but a dream.
Inside the hotel lobby the air was dry, thin, and silent. Across the room on a marble floor, near the foot of a winding stair-case, chalk-lines in the shape of a body were fading. There were still blood-smears near the outline’s head.
Faith’s pulse beat in her ears like a speeding metronome, and she felt her jacket pockets out of habit - stake on one side, knife on the other.
In her mind’s eye, the past was split between the two weapons. There was a time when her hand instinctively reached for the stake, and blonde hair was a blur beside her in the graveyard and after the fight her enemies blew away, dust in the breeze. Then later on the timeline, her fingers found the knife first, and enemies turned to victims, as they bled to death on the floor.
Her boots squeaked on the stairwell’s stone steps, footsteps echoing around her, noisy in the surrounding silence. She paused and, with her cover already blown by her entrance and no intention of searching twelve-stories’ worth of rooms, called out: “Hello?”
Her shout echoed loudly through the dark, bouncing off the empty walls.
Then, in the distance, the slow drawl of a symphony, each note and instrument tinny, as if coming through old, turned-up speakers, met her ears as it seeped down through the ceiling.
“Right,” Faith cracked her knuckles as she rounded past the second floor corridor, the polished stone of the winding staircase squeaking under her feet. “Up it is."
*****
"You know, that noise has been going for hours now.” Faith took a long drag, before tapping the cigarette’s end’s absently, ashes falling into a miniscule pile on the carpet. “It wouldn’t kill you to turn it off.”
“No,” Her sire’s voice came leisurely, almost lazily, “though it might kill them.” Across the room Darla was sprawled out over the side of an arm chair, a long, blue dress draping elegantly down around her heels, and the wine glass in her hand tilted for the last drops as she waved a hand carelessly at the two men seated in the wooden chairs next to her, one belting out Italian in a shaking voice, the other playing the violin frantically, “Keep going.”
Both musicians sat with their legs bent out at slightly awkward angles, their ankles chained tight to the legs of their chairs. It wasn’t polite to run.
The vocalist was doing his best to steady his tone as it fluctuated with what may have been, under different circumstances, a near-professional flow between high and low notes, while his fellow moved his fingers over the violin’s strings at the speed of light. The two tunes came together in the hotel’s silence to piece into a single song, building into a rhythm that careened up and down through the octaves, but was flawed by the panic that sharpened their notes. Faith took in another drag, and with it the stench of fear pouring from their guests.
“You’ve really no taste, dear girl.” Darla chided her absently from across the room, eyes slipping shut as her leg, slim and ivory pale, dangled off the chair’s edge, swaying subtly with the music. The moonlight, coming in through the window behind her, illuminated Darla’s curves with all the beauty of a painting - the kind that belonged in a museum, to be admired throughout the ages.
Faith breathed in one a last, long drag, before tapping the cigarette’s end mildly, and watching the better half of it crumble down to the pile of ash. “I’ve got enough taste to know that native Italians, as a general rule,” the undead slayer flicked her cigarette butt towards the two men sweating and bleeding all over the carpet, and kicked her boots up onto the china coffee table in front of her, “taste like BO. Maybe you should have bathed them first.”
Darla ignored her, reaching over to grab the vocalist’s wrist – who gaped in terror until Darla shot him a glare, at which he immediately burst back into song - and ripped away a piece of heavy tape that blocked a scarcely-scabbed puncture wound in the musician’s wrist. The wound, when Darla’s misleadingly slim fingers squeezed hard at the man‘s forearm, cracked to pour a trickle of crimson into her outstretched wine glass.
The vocalist squeaked as she slapped the tape back over the wound, before stretching her silhouette out in a long, cat-like arch, rising to her feet as she swirled her glass tentatively. “It’s an acquired taste.”
Faith rolled her eyes, but watched with a smile as Darla slunk across the room towards her, spinning on the heel of her foot, and falling back into her lap. Faith shifted under the smaller woman’s weight, leaning forward to speak into Darla’s hair with a smirk, “Like this music.”
“Have you never heard of Turndot, my little cretin?“ Darla‘s eyes were caught on the musicians struggling to maintain an even tune, the vocalist grasping at his wrist, face in a grimace. “It’s not quite the same without the wind instruments of course, and the percussion…but I suppose if I want to show you that, I’d have to take you out to a real theater.” The older vampress lifted the glass to her lips, taking a thoughtful sip, “Of course, you’d probably eat the orchestra.”
“N’ what exactly,” Faith’s fingers gripped Darla’s slender thighs, bending one of the blonde’s flexible legs back against her chest as Faith spun her sire around in her lap, adjusting the smaller woman until Darla was straddling her, the blonde’s dress bunching up around her thighs, “do you think you’re doing?” Faith’s finger tapped lightly on the edge of the wine glass.
“Them?” Darla smiled wryly, lifting the glass to her childe’s lips and tilting till a stream of warm, thick liquid poured onto Faith‘s tongue. “They don’t count, I found them performing for change on the side-walk.”
“After you left me to the mob.”
Darla only smiled. “Shouldn’t have been much of a challenge for you, really.“
There was almost a pouting quality to the undead slayer’s voice. “They stabbed me.“
“In the side, not the heart.” Faith watched Darla’s eyes wander casually back to the musicians, light brow furrowing thoughtfully as she continued, “Street performers…though, I suppose it’s something that they know Puccini.”
“Puccini,” Faith tested the name on her tongue, “Sounds like a kiddy name for a chick‘s-”
“He was a composer.” Darla answered coolly, the wine glass back at her lips. “This song’s called Nessun Dorma,”
“Mmm..“ Darla’s hair tickled the end of Faith’s nose, her sire’s scent washing over her as she leaned in closer, eyes slipped shut. Darla smelled like lavender and spice; like the sweetest, richest perfumes, mixed with the most basic of pheromones. Like fine culture, and animal instinct.
“It’s about a suitor.” Darla leaned back against her childe’s chest, her head nestling into the crook of Faith’s neck. “A suitor that wanted one woman so badly,” Darla’s fingers laced up behind Faith‘s neck, winding themselves around waves of dark hair absently as her childe’s arms curled in around her waist. “That he wouldn’t settle for anyone one else, that he’d risk everything.” Faith’s darkly painted lips planted a kiss on the top of a blonde head as Darla finished, voice a low purr, “Risk everything to have her."
*****
The sound of violins, tinny through aged speakers, rung out over the silence of the near-empty hotel, and led Faith to an open-doored room in the seventh-floor corridor.
The room was dark and silent, but for the music echoing out from what looked like an old record player, illuminated by thin strands of moonlight that leaked in through a half boarded window. The better half of the room was black, and it was from there that a feminine voice – low, and smooth, like seduction - came out through the darkness. “I’ve been expecting you.”
A slender, pale hand reached out, far enough into the light for Faith to see, and grabbed the nob of the ancient record player, drawing the violins to an abrupt halt.
For a long moment, all Faith could hear was her own breathing.
”That old line?” Her voice shattered the silence, “How original.”
A woman, all blonde hair and slim curves, in a long, dark red dress stepped out into the pale light. Her lips were painted a color to match, and curved up in the kind of smile that was nothing if not predatory. ”I’m a fan of the classics.”
Faith hesitated a moment, then wrapped her fingers around the stake inside her jacket pocket. Beauty like that wasn’t found in the living.
“Did you kill them?“ She made her voice firm, demanding. “The people in this hotel.”
“Even if I did,” Blue eyes were on her, cool and calculating, and inhumanly bright. “You can’t help them now.”
“You’re big on pointing out the obvious, aren’t you?”
“You already know that I did.“ The other woman was giving her the up-down now, moving her gaze slowly, unabashedly over the length of Faith's body, and the slayer suppressed the urge to shiver as another’s eyes dipped into every bend in her shape, as if to memorized each muscle and curve. “Why ask?”
Her voice felt thin in the dark. “Just call me curious.”
The corner of the woman‘s lip twitched up, hinting at a smile. “I think I’d rather call you Faith.”
It only took the slayer a split-second to cross the length of the room, fingers clamping down hard around the woman’s throat, her body forcing the vampire back against the wall. Under her hand, the skin was soft, but cold. Dead.
She pressed the point of the stake against the vampire’s breastbone, exposed by a plunging neckline. “You know, I’m not big with people knowing my name, when I don’t know shit about them.”
“Then maybe you should let me finish,“ Faith could feel the vampire’s words leave her in an unneeded breath, suddenly very aware of just how close their bodies were as the other woman‘s chest rose and fell against her. "I’m Darla."
Then before Faith knew what was happening, she was being shoved backwards with inhuman strength, and her eyes were stinging as some kind of powder - white and grainy, that burned - was thrown into her face, into her mouth, into her lungs.
She choked on it, hands rubbing at her eyes frantically in a way that only made them burn more, her throat on fire as she coughed. The thud of her knees colliding with floor felt almost distant, faint compared to the burn. She heard a clatter across the room, but took a moment to place it.
It was her stake, being knocked out of her hand, and skidding across the ground.
Then she felt a weight on top of her, the pressure of the other woman’s body straddling her. She tried to sit up, to move against her, but suddenly her arms and legs felt like they were made of lead.
Faith’s eyes caught on the white, left-over grains that coated the vampire’s fingers, and she growled. “Magic.”
“So,” The woman’s slender body was shifting around on top of her, settling back on the slayer’s hips. Delicate fingers fanned out over Faith’s lower stomach, pale palms icy cold over the several inches of exposed skin. “You really aren’t as stupid as they say.”
“Darla,” Faith’s words burned as they left her, the taste of the poison powder still strong in her mouth. “You're Angel's ex." Slim and blonde, but one to pack a punch - she certainly fit the bill. Angel had always had distinct taste, taste not unlike Faith's by any means.
The woman answered ruefully, "I'm his sire."
“And yet,” Faith’s mind was running a mile a minute. She hadn‘t told anyone where she was - she’d covered her tracks too well for the cops to follow her, and she hadn’t reached Angel. Suddenly, she was desperately wishing that she had left the Texan some kind of message, the address, anything. “He still dumped you."
"Boy got a soul.”
“And then,“ Faith pressed, stalling. "he left you high and dry."
“Speaking of which,” Crimson lips twisted in a sneer above her, “get any visitors lately? Last I heard, he hasn't exactly been keeping up with his whole redemption-in-ten-easy-steps plan."
Angel hadn't answered her letters. Angel hadn't answered her calls. Angel had been busy. “Shut up.”
“And you’d think that someone like him would know when not to step on an abandonment issue.. But he’s got plenty more helpless to help, doesn’t he? The kind that haven’t tried to kill him. The kind that aren’t murderers.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Language, dear girl.” Darla’s cold fingers brushed over her mouth, red lips in a chiding smile. “It’s unbecoming.”
“Oh yeah, ’cause writing letters in blood? That’s downright charming.” Faith was trying hard to focus on the feeling in her fingertips, on flexing them at her side, but her mind's eye was full of Angel - eyes deep and sincere as he told her that it would be ok, promised that he would be there every step of the way. “You really know how to woo a girl.”
Fingers pet over the skin between Faith‘s shirt and the belt of her pants in long, cool strokes. “It doesn’t take much, to lure a tiger out of it’s cage.” Then fingertips were gliding under her shirt, pushing the fabric up to bunch around her ribs, those blue eyes taking her body in with inhuman intensity. Exposing more and more of her. “Tigers aren’t meant to be caged, dear girl.”
Faith’s eyes pressed shut as she concentrated on twitching her arm at her side, flexing the muscles inside her jacket sleeve. “I turned myself in.”
“Not the cage I was referring to.” Delicate fingertips were moving in small, circular strokes up the length of Faith’s stomach, nails scratching gently along her skin as the woman’s voice left her in a purr. “I’m going to make you an offer,” The woman’s hips rocked into hers, “One you won’t be able to refuse.”
“You know, you keep saying that, but so far you’re not showin’ much that I’m that interested in besides..” She was going to say ’an undead heart to stake,’ but the words got lost somewhere between the other woman’s pelvis rocking just so against hers, and the blonde curving her body down, leaning in till their chests brushed and their mouths just nearly met, till Faith could feel her own breath bouncing back off of the other woman’s lips.
“You say that now,“ Blue eyes stared down at her, and Faith inhaled sharply as the vampire’s body arched back up, nails dragged in a long, sudden stroke from the base of Faith’s ribcage, to as far below her belt as the fabric would give, sending a irrepressible shiver up the slayer’s spine. “But life is just full of surprises."
*****
If someone had told Faith Lehane a year ago that she was going to be tied down - thick, braided metal ropes knotted expertly around her ankles and wrists, and her naked body stretched out over the sheets spread-eagle - she would have laughed.
As it was, she could only moan.
The ropes, looped tight around the bed-posts, burned Faith's ankles and wrists raw, but did nothing to temper her efforts as she flexed against her bindings, straining her bare hips several inches off of the sheets, towards where Darla's figure sat calmly between open thighs. Slow, slender fingers drew back from Faith's stomach to ghost down the slant of her hips in infuriatingly slow, feather-light touches. “Some day..” Darla’s tone left her in an almost disinterested murmur, her fingers tracing delicately lower until they trailed down directly between spread thighs, over the wet, most sensitive inches of Faith’s body in a half-hearted stroke, “You’re going to learn patience.” Faith shivered as she felt one unsatisfying finger slide into her, before gliding back out.
“Someday,” Faith growled her frustration through gritted teeth, hips jerking forward impatiently as Darla pulled her hand completely away, casually examining slick fingertips in the dim lamp-light. "I’m going to learn never to close my eyes in the same building as you. This isn't.." The slayer’s voice hitched at the sight of Darla licking her fingers clean, and looking up at her childe through dark lashes as Faith finished raspily: "fair."
"Life isn't fair, dear girl.." A shudder ran the length of Faith's spine at the sight of her sire leaning down tentatively, blonde hair tickling the insides of her thighs. She could almost feel Darla letting go of a little half-smile against her skin as the vampire brushed faint, temptations of kisses up the inner most stretch of her legs, before shifting to nestle her face in between them, the tip of her nose nearly touching. "Life will never be fair, will never give you what you deserve.." Darla's words came in a cool pant over tingling, wet skin, and the metal bed posts creaked as the slayer's legs fought with a new desperation to close, to pull her sire's face in closer. Her lower body was completely off the bed now, trying to arch several impossible inches closer, as near to Darla's hovering lips as she could get with her wrists straining in their bindings behind her.
She could both hear and feel Darla let out that characteristically deep, full laugh, and in response Faith let out the kind of low, guttural groan that she could remember few other lovers ever evoking. Few evoking, and none like this, by breathing on her.
“Life won’t give you what you deserve,“ The older vampress' voice came over her skin again, a little lower than most women's, a little richer, "But keep close to me, lover.." Straining her neck, Faith could see the blonde head between her legs tilt up just enough for blue eyes to meet hers, "..and I will."
Then suddenly a finger slid into Faith again, crooking inside her in what was almost a come-hither motion; and a helpless, full-body shudder tore through the slayer as Darla's cool tongue moved in a smooth stroke from just above the still-buried finger to Faith's clit, pressing from the slayer's chest a completely uncharacteristic whimper.
And a year ago, Faith wouldn’t have believed it – that it would only take a few more brushes of an ice-cool tongue, only a few small, delicate fingers curving expertly inside of her, to make her cry out, clenching and writhing so wildly that the slayer bent the weak metal of thin bed-posts into a whole new shape - to exhaust her until she lay near-motionless against the sheets, wrists and ankles bruised and throbbing, and Darla’s slender frame stretched out unrepentantly on top of her.
A year ago, she wouldn’t have believed it - but life was full of surprises.
*****
You have strength now, power, but it’s nothing compared to what you could have. Nothing compared to what you will have.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Darla’s tongue flicked out over her canines, “I’m talking about a re-birth.” And Faith’s memory was suddenly flashing back to the words ’Happy Early Birthday,’ and the signature Mother, and Faith was mentally kicking herself for not putting two and two together, for not realizing.. “I’m talking about a second life, a second chance.”
“No,” Faith couldn‘t suppress the alarm in her tone, “you’re talking about sucking me dry”
“The prelude to eternity, dear girl.”
“Don’t call me that.” She could feel the muscles in her upper arm flex on command, and she could make her fingers twitch. She could feel her toes. “You’ve never even met me.”
“I’ve heard stories. I’ve seen you in Angel’s dreams, in his memories. Seen what you’ve done,” Fingertips played in Faith’s hair, brushing stray strands from her face gently, almost affectionately. “What you’re capable of.”
“You’re crazy.”
“What I’m talking about, Faith, is no more jail-time, no more guilt.” Cold fingers ran down Faith’s cheek, then over her neck. Over her shirt and between her breasts, palms pressing down where Faith knew the vampire felt her frantically pumping heart. “I’m talking about freedom.”
Then Darla was lowering her body again, their hips rocking together with a slow friction as the vampire leaned in closer, till her lips brushed Faith‘s ear. “I’m talking about your philosophy, Faith.”
“Funny,” Faith was focusing on flexing her toes, on just barely moving her ankles, on the feeling coming back into her legs. “I don’t remember having a philosophy involving-”
“Want.” The other woman lifted herself back up, eyes moving over every inch of her prey, taking in every bend and curve. “Take.” The cold fingertips were moving over her again, sliding under the fabric of Faith’s shirt, under the fabric of her bra, and she was unable to repress a shiver as cold palms slid against her bare breasts. “Have.” The whisper came against Faith’s neck, and she could feel the scrape of elongating canines against her throat, sending another tremor down her spine - one that fed both the fear pumping in her chest, and the warmth building between her legs.
The tips of fangs began to press slowly into her jugular, piercing through the outer-most layers of skin-
And then Faith’s arms were snapping up, quick enough to grab Darla‘s hair and jerk her face up and to the side, forcing their lips into a rough collision as she pulled the vampress away from her neck, and into a kiss. Faith felt the quick pain of fangs pricking her lips, and then there was the taste of salt in her mouth, blood mixing with saliva as her lips worked against Darla‘s, tongue pressing deep into the cold cavern of the vampire’s mouth.
And for a split second the slender body was rigid on top of her - tense with surprise - but it quickly melted into the embrace, cold palms stroking at the slayer's breasts from beneath her clothing as she let a moan escape into Faith‘s mouth.
Then a shriek of surprise. Blue eyes went wide as Darla jumped back, grabbing at her neck and choking on the burn in her throat, on the white, magical powder that had coated the inside of Faith’s mouth.
It wouldn’t freeze up her limbs like it had Faith’s - that would require a pulse, something to spread the poison - but it was enough to let Faith’s hand find her inner-jacket pocket.
By the time Darla had stopped spluttering, Faith was forcing the blade of her knife up against the vampire’s neck. “Get off.” Blue eyes stared down at her in disbelief. “Get off, or I’ll cut your head off.”
The blonde did as she was told, eyes on the blade that never left her throat as Faith struggled to sit up. Struggled, but was too stiff. Her limbs were just loose enough for her to roll over, to force Darla between her and the ground.
Faith held the blade in place with both hands, breathing hard. She could feel the blood on her neck, beading together with her sweat, the salt in her perspiration stinging at the shallow wound. Beneath her, the vampire held perfectly still, visage shifting back to it’s human guise.
“You need this, Faith.” Darla stared up at her, eyes wide with desperation. “You need me.”
“I don’t need anyone.” The blade pressed down harder against pale skin, and a thin trail of blood leaked out from under the metal.
“I can make it go away, Faith, I can cure it. The guilt, the pain, everything. I can make you like new.”
“No.” Her hands shook, and so did the knife, digging deeper into the skin beneath it. Faith watched a few, salty tears slide off the bridge of her nose, and splash onto the vampire‘s cheek. “Nothing can.”
“Yes, I can.” A slender, pale hand lifted to brush over Faith’s cheek gently, blue eyes beneath her slit with pain, or sympathy. “You can."
The blade pressed in against Darla’s neck tighter, harder, until the blonde’s face contorted in agony.
Then the knife clattered to the floor beside them, and Faith was lowering herself down, holding the curve her neck over the other woman’s lips, where it was hit with a cold exhale of surprise.
Faith set her jaw, growling through her teeth. “Do it.”
Then pain was tearing into her with the vampire’s fangs, running the length of her body in a powerful jolt as she felt strong hands wrap around her neck, holding her rigid body in place as Darla’s fangs pierced into her, draining her.
Then she could feel the warmth leaving her, feel the cold pushing in. Feel her mind begin to swim.
Then woman was releasing her, fangs pulling out of flesh with a sickening, squelching noise, and Faith could feel the hot blood still pouring out, running off her collar bone to stain the other woman’s dress.
Weak from the blood-loss, and dizzy, Faith could only watch as Darla lifted her knife from the ground beside them, holding it between their chests. For a long moment Faith half-expected to feel it plunge into her, the memory of another place, another time when she’d been pierced with her own knife swelling up in her memory. Thoughts of another struggle, another blade, another blonde.
But under her, Darla was dragging the blade across her own chest, along the length of her breastbone. Crimson blossomed up from the cut like a thin river, and a strong hand was in Faith’s hair, pressing her lips to the fresh wound.
She lapped at the blood at first, weakly, hesitantly, but it was only a moment before she was swallowing the blood in greedy, hungry gulps. She felt herself struggling to dig her teeth into the wound, but it was impossible. There was too little flesh, and too much bone. Not enough blood.
Faith’s fingers tore at the neckline of Darla’s dress, struggling to reach softer flesh, but the fabric didn’t give quick enough, and suddenly Darla’s hand was on her head, pushing her face downwards. Her head was forced below the hem of the vampire’s dress, which was bunched up around open legs, and the fingers in Faith’s hair guided her face against length of the vampress’ inner leg.
The slayer watched through half-lidded eyes as the razor-sharp blade slit over the pale, flawless skin in front of her, high up on the inside of Darla’s thigh. The cut was deep, and immediately began to pour beside Faith‘s cheek.
Then the fingers were in her hair again, strong and reassuring, and pressed the slayer’s mouth down over the wound. Salt and metal greeted her parted lips, and it took her dying body a second to gather her strength before she was biting down, ravenous with a hunger stronger than anything she’d ever felt before, and piercing into the buried artery as deeply as her draining strength would allow. Both her hands gripped tightly to Darla’s leg, fingertips digging into soft, pale flesh hard, and even as the body under her jerked instinctively at the pain of Faith‘s dull, human teeth tearing into sensitive skin, Darla was moaning her approval, hands in Faith’s hair to hold her head in place as she swallowed the life pouring into her in desperate, starving gulps - even as she felt herself fading, even as the blackness closed in around her.
Because it was only a temporary rest - the prelude to eternity.
- END -
Request: I'd really love a dark Faith/Darla fic, set whenever. I like the idea of Faith as a vampire, but really, I'm just interested in a Faith/Darla fic!
A/N: Hopefully this was close to what you wanted. :D There wasn't any mention of ratings, so I hope what I did include doesn't make you squeamish!