
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/344811.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Buffy_the_Vampire_Slayer
  Relationship:
      Buffy/Faith_-_Relationship
  Character:
      Buffy_Summers, Faith
  Additional Tags:
      Daddy_Kink, S3, old_fic_reposted
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-02-22 Words: 3063
****** Sympathetic Magic ******
by gloss
Summary
     Things which have once been in contact with each other continue to
     act on each other at a distance after the physical contact has been
     severed. Set before "Consequences" (3x15).
Notes: Set during some misty, pre-"Consequences" s3 night.
"Shit-ass place, I know," Faith says, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it
on the motel room floor. She takes Buffy by the elbow and guides her to foot of
the bed. "Sorry. How you feeling?"
Golden girl's all kinds of banged up - big cabbage-rose bruise down the side of
her face, a cut lip, swollen knuckles - and Faith crouches in front of Buffy,
looking up, wondering if this is what her Watcher used to feel about her.
Before she died, that is.
"I'm okay." Buffy's voice is little, tinny, and she flexes her hands. "I should
get home."
"Nah -" Faith swallows a hot lump that doesn't belong in her throat and shrugs
it off. "I'll call Joyce. It's okay."
When Buffy blinks, her lashes cast shadows and she looks about eight years old,
sleepy and sad. "Angel -"
"Yeah, he's okay," Faith says. Big lug took off when the fight was over; god
forbid he actually stick around and help.
Sometimes - most of the time - she doesn't know how Buffy does it. Lives so
close to the asshole and never gets to touch. Spends every night, practically,
with him, cuddling or fighting or whatever, and all that need's got to be
building up inside her. Faith herself can't go a couple days without working
off the excess need, and B's done it for, what? A year, almost. Makes her ache
in a not-so-fucking-pleasant way, just thinking about it.
"I got you," Faith says a little later, and Buffy smiles, small and sweet, and
touches the side of Faith's hair.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Some of us got your back."
Buffy frowns, then winces when that pulls her bruise too tight. "It's not -"
"Yeah." Faith pushes herself back and up to her feet. That sympathetic ache's
joined now by something sour and hot in the pit of her stomach - not regular
anger, more like frustration, maybe like Joyce or, god forbid, Giles or
*Wesley* feels when Buffy gets all marshmallow-soft over Angel. "It's not. Just
it, isn't it? Big tight load of not with some spiky hair and Neanderthal brow
on top."
"You don't know anything." Cold voice, the one Buffy thinks will make anyone
she turns it on shut up. She never seems to notice that no one listens.
"Know a fuck of a lot," Faith says, jamming her hands into her back pockets and
rocking back on her heels. She's not much taller than Buffy, but at this angle,
with Buffy still sitting down, she feels nice and looming. "Know what it's
like, know you're full of shit, know -"
"Shut up." Buffy drops the cold voice and just says it normally, meeting
Faith's eye.
And then they're silent and still. Faith stops rocking, Buffy's not playing
little girl lost, they're just staring. Like a Western. High Noon. Except
they're not that far apart, and they're girls - Slayers - and that's a fucking
nasty shiner Buffy's sprouting around one green-brown eye.
"That's -" Faith reaches out and Buffy doesn't flinch, but her jaw goes hard
and tight and there's a lock of her hair, butter-bright, stuck to some of the
scabbing-over scratches. Her throat's gritty and her hand feels too heavy.
"Jesus, B."
"Nothing," Buffy says. She starts to move away.
"Stay still." Faith hears herself, pissed-off tone for no good reason that she
can think of, except for the ache and the frustration and fuck it all, Buffy's
too good for this kind of shit. "Hold still."
Tossing her head, narrowing her eyes, Buffy squirms a little and Faith closes
her hand around the hot, sweatdamp side of Buffy's neck to hold her still.
Buffy freezes, her little pink mouth opening, and Faith nods. Squeezes a little
for emphasis and swings her leg over Buffy's lap until she's straddling and so
close that Buffy's wheezy little puffs of breath break hotly over Faith's face.
"Stop messing around -" Buffy says and tries to jerk herself away.
"What did I tell you?" Widening eyes, and they're darker, like mahogany, like
Faith's own, right around the edges, and then Buffy jerks her head hard enough
that Faith grabs her arm to keep her still. "What did I just say?"
"Faith, c'mon -" Buffy's whining, a little, but at least she's still. Her pulse
hammers hard under Faith's thumb, and if Faith squeezes just a little - like
this - a little harder - Buffy opens her mouth each time and when she tries to
exhale, it sounds like a little sigh.
"Good girl, that's it, just stay still." Faith can't quite breathe herself, her
chest's gone tight in that good way, that I just danced four hours and
coldcocked sixteen guys and downed a pitcher without feeling a thing way, and
Buffy's lashes are so goddamn long as she stares up at Faith, and every blink
is like a wrench, tightening Faith's ribs that little bit more.
Sympathetic pain. Like the dreams. They feel the same things, it's part of the
power.
Buffy's not moving. Not right now, but she's just as strong as Faith, and she
could throw Faith off if she wanted to. Still, Faith risks it, loosens the hair
from the blood on Buffy's face and strokes it back. Little damp, smells like
graveyards and some kind of girly perfume, expensive for a drugstore but cheap
when you get down to it, and Buffy shivers a little as Faith pets her hair.
"Fai -"
"Sshh," Faith says, and nudges Buffy forward, back up the bed until she's
leaning against the wall. Her hand's still - always - never not going to be -
on Buffy's throat, but loose now. Like jewelry, like the crucifix, necessary
and pretty. "S'okay."
"What're you doing?" Buffy whispers and shivers again.
"Pretty," Faith says, free hand sliding down Buffy's head, skimming her
shoulder, thumb dropping over the rise of one little firm breast. "Christ, B.,
you have no -"
Stiffening, sucking in breath just as Faith realizes what's going on and
tightens her hold again - the windpipe's delicate, like a reed, something
bamboo and breakable - and going rigid, Buffy stares at her. Angry, she's
angry, flushing high on her cheeks and across her chest above the top of her
tank, and Faith laughs against the sour gaseous fucked-upness swirling around
her gut and stoking the ache between her legs.
"What? Can't tell you you're pretty now?"
Buffy tries to shake her head, then thinks of better of it and settles for
shoving at Faith's shoulder. Faith grabs her wrist and twists it back.
"Fucking stay still, B., would you? Jesus."
"Sure thing, Daddy." Smirking, Buffy pretends to nod, to lower her eyes, and
she's always going to be better at playing good than Faith is. Part of what
Faith loves about the little bitch.
"The fuck, B.?" Her breath's grotty and ragged and something tight and thick's
pulsing right between her legs, redder and hotter and more insistent now that
Buffy's said - said that. "Fuck did you just call me?"
Do it again. Do it again and don't fucking stop. Neither of them have dads
worth much at all; fathers leave, that's what they do. Buffy's got Giles, of
course, but that's fucked up right there, hot as he is, acting all prissy and
sexless around the kids like he's scared they're going to notice he's not, in
fact, smooth as a Ken doll down there. So it's stupid and sick and just weird
to throb into fluorescence and need to grind her clit against the seam of her
jeans at the sound of that word, all breathy and bitchy on Buffy's sweet pink
lips.
"Daddy. Do what you say, whatever you say."
"Don't fuck with me, B. -"
Something cold and small, lodged in the back of Faith's chest, knows already
that Buffy's not fucking with her. Something about how her mouth's twisting
into a smile Faith's not sure she's ever seen on Buffy, something about the way
her lashes are fluttering unconsciously and she's curving into the hold Faith's
got on her neck. Something.
Problem with Miss Buffy Summers, of course, is that she's got the world beat at
setting Faith off-balance. Making her doubt, making her question, making her
fucking want shit she has no business daydreaming about.
"Not messing with you," Buffy whispers. Little croakily, and her eyes are dazed
from not enough oxygen, but even so, she manages not to swear, of course.
"Promise."
"Say it again."
"Promise."
"Not that. Say it again. Say it again and I'll treat you nice. Show you how you
ought to be treated."
"Daddy?" She sounds confused and Faith knows it's mutual. Again, a little more
firmly, and her blush brightens, deepens, right in time with the heat seesawing
through Faith. "Daddy. Please."
"Yeah -" Faith leans in, licks at the bruise, hot as syrup, and tastes blood.
Tastes something Angel's never gotten near, never will. And it tastes like
Faith, tastes like sweat and need and something dark as smoke off an oil fire
and the sparks thrown off by welders, and Buffy makes a small, high noise
that's neither agreement nor refusal. Faith brushes her lips over Buffy's,
which clamp shut, and whispers, "Be good, sweetheart. C'mon."
Another tiny squeal and a tremor that runs double-time down the length of
Buffy's body.
Faith doesn't move. Just breathes in Buffy's shallow little gasps and tastes
blood gumming on her lips and says again, "C'mon. Say it again. Be good."
Buffy's eyes close and Faith squeezes her throat, so when Buffy speaks, her
back's arching and she whimpers, "Daddy -"
"Just like that, so good." Rocking her hips, and fuck her if the seam's getting
soaked and really isn't doing the trick, and Buffy's mouth is still open, and
Faith licks her way inside. Buffy's eyes fly open and Faith pulls back. "Ever
been kissed, pretty?"
"Yes -"
Squeeze. Tendons bow under Faith's fingers.
"No."
"No, never ever, have you? Daddy's going to kiss you -" Words and need
slithering up her throat, spilling over her tongue, and Faith'd like to think
she always in charge, always the one who makes the decisions, but Buffy.
Christ, Buffy. Changes everything: Came first, has it all, and Faith wants to
give her more. Everything she deserves. "Kiss you right, make you feel it down
to your little toe -"
Whining, sighing, Buffy tries to purse her lips, but Faith crushes their mouths
together, catches Buffy's lips against her teeth, and kisses her with
everything she's got. Everything, and more, pouring heat and aching-smarting-
bright want into that pretty mouth, more than she's got, kissing until Buffy
starts shaking and Faith's rocking her hips between Buffy's legs and Buffy's
hands are opening and closing on the slipsliding sheet. Kissing until she can't
breathe, until Buffy's neck is bruising and slippery under her hand, until she
sees black and gold stars swimming over Buffy's face, and Faith breaks away.
Slowly, too slowly, petting sweaty hair and kissing Buffy's pointy little chin
and her throat, kissing the bruise from the fight and the one from her own
hand, tasting the blood right under the skin.
"Fai-Daddy."
"Yeah, honey. Got you, got you baby -" And Faith slides her hands around
Buffy's waist and pulls her out flat, blankets her with her own body, and keeps
on kissing the hollow of Buffy's throat.
Buffy's hips twitch and she gnaws her bottom lip. "I can't - you - please -.
Can't."
Faith wriggles her hand over Buffy's tank, over the swell of her breast until
her thumb finds the nipple, hard from the night air, hard all over again for
more, and her own nipples sting from not being touched. "Can. Need to, honey.
Daddy wants you to feel good. You want to feel good, don't you?"
Buffy squeezes her eyes shut and nods.
"Open your eyes. Tell me what you want."
"Please -"
"Say it, Buffy."
Hair whips over her face as Buffy shakes her head. "No. Can't. Faith."
No. Wrong, not Faith. Faith can't do this. Faith pinches Buffy's nipple, tugs
it upward until Buffy squeals. "Say it."
"Can't."
She kisses Buffy again, sucks all that sweet shame, anxiety like soda pop and
melting ice cream, chocolate-strawberry-more chocolate, off her tongue until
Buffy quiets and starts kissing back, making little kitten noises in the back
of her throat.
"Say it, sweetheart."
"Daddy. Please."
Running her hand down Buffy's heaving stomach, Faith pushes it hard between
Buffy's legs, blessing the girl's need to wear skirts, always skirts for the
first Slayer. Hot cotton, damp, and Buffy's hips are lifting, legs parting.
"What do you want? Hmmm, Buffy?"
Buffy's thighs clamp shut and she goes rigid when Faith's fingers spread and
grip her cunt. "Daddy."
"Yeah, sweetheart. Daddy's here. Not going anywhere." Never, Faith knows that
now, not now that she can make Buffy squirm and blush, so happy her skin's
practically singing and her undies are going slick and when Faith works one
finger inside to superhot skin, wet as dawn grass and so fucking soft her
breath catches, Buffy's whole body shakes open, arms and legs flinging out.
"Feels good?"
"Ohhh -"
So long for her, so long untouched and somehow Faith suspects that one night
with Angel, even if it was good enough to drive him over the edge, wasn't good
enough to keep anyone, let alone a Slayer, happy for very long. "You like it,
don't you?"
"Oh -"
"Yes," Faith says, the power going hot and gritty in her chest, speeding her
hand, as she tugs Buffy's panties down and pushes her skirt up and gathers
Buffy into her arms. "Daddy's here."
"Daddy -" Buffy twists and clutches, throwing one leg over Faith's knee,
burying her face in Faith's neck, pushing against Faith's hand. "Please."
"What do you want? Tell me what you want -"
She has to tug Buffy's head back by her hair, and finally Buffy's eyes open,
and she's dazed and panting and Faith circles her clit with two fingers until
Buffy's mouth opens and Faith kisses her again and starts rubbing the groove
between her inner lips, slick and so hot, fingertip teasing at that near-virgin
hole as her teeth nibble at the tip of Buffy's tongue.
"Please, want to, wanna -"
"Hmm, sweetheart?"
"Please?"
"Tell me. Tell Daddy, let me make you feel -" Her fingers thoroughly soaked,
Faith nudges one into Buffy's hole, slowly, and the muscles contract
crushingly-hard even as they suck her inside. "Daddy wants to fuck you, baby."
Hair's plastered over Buffy's face in sweat and renewed blood and her eyes are
wild as she nods and lifts her hips farther. "Daddy. Daddy, fuck me, please -"
Buffy's gone, flying and sweating and twitching in Faith's arms, and it's
beautiful, so much red and gold and flash of little white teeth, and when Faith
kisses her, Buffy kisses right back, sucks Faith's tongue into her mouth, and
Faith always knew Buffy had it in her, this same need and hunger that's more
than killing, more than sex, that's power and lust and she's making Buffy feel
it. Letting her feel it, and she slides two more fingers inside when Buffy's
hole irises open, and it's so tight and slick, being swallowed like this,
scissoring and turning her fingers until Buffy freezes, then drawing the meat
of her thumb down the head of Buffy's clit and biting her neck, kissing her
hair, letting her feel it all, and Buffy loves it, opens and begs and gives
more, takes Faith deeper and pushes back and kisses hard.
"Gonna come for me? Come for Daddy?" Faith asks, breaking, panting, her own
cunt shuddering and hurting in tight, sharp little spasms. "Sweetheart -"
Buffy gasps when Faith rubs the back of her wall with two fingertips, where the
skin's taut but spongy, and her hips lift and jerk from side to side as Faith
twangs the side of her thumb against Buffy's clit and the whole fucking room
smells like sex right now, smells like Buffy and power and hunger and now
Buffy's keening, her knee coming up, nearly knocking Faith aside, and it's two
longer than life syllables shrieking from her mouth: "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddy-"
"That's right, so good, so right, come for me, want you to come," Faith
mutters, bucking and rocking, wishing that this was enough to make her come,
thinking for half a second it might be, as she keeps fucking her fingers inside
Buffy even as her hole tightens to something smaller than a thread and tries to
push her out, and Buffy lifts again, spasming and gasping, before going stiff
and shoving Faith away.
Strong little fucker - Faith, surprised, ends up on her back and Buffy's
struggling off the bed, pulling down her skirt and shaking, and she looks
goddamn glorious, bruised and blushing and her hair's never going to calm down.
Panting, Faith pushes herself up on one elbow.
"Buffy?"
"Shut. Up." Bitten, bitter words, not cold. Poisonous. "Just -"
"B. -" Faith makes herself shut up. She raises her hand, slick with Buffy's own
juices, smelling like a goddamn flower garden and low tide, licks the palm and
extends her arm.
"Shut -"
"Buffy Anne Summers," Faith hears herself say. Because there's humiliation, and
then there's mutual need and no way in fucking nine levels of hell is she
taking all the blame and humiliation for this.
"Wha -?"
Faith sits up, kneeling, and nearly sways to the side, she's so needy and
hurting. "You heard me."
It's a shivery, half-hearted little laugh Buffy gives as she wraps her arms
around her waist and looks away. "Fuck off, Faith."
"Don't take that tone with me." Faith's mouth is open, her heart pounding and
everything fucking hurts, but she had a girl in her arms, the best in the
world, and that's not every going to change. "And don't use that kind of
language."
Slowly, more slowly than fall goes to winter, than a Watcher bleeds out under a
vampire's bite, slower than anything, Buffy turns her head. She looks at Faith,
eyes wide and glittering, mouth swollen with kisses. She starts to smirk, then
stops. "What're you gonna do about it? Daddy?"
That's her girl. That's her, right there, and Faith's a moron and full of love
and she feels like a saint welcoming the arrows as she opens her arms and
waits, holds her breath, waits for her girl to come back.
If Buffy just says the word, Daddy's here.
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