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snoggedTitle: We Live and Die This Way
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and many other corporations own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t. Tracy Chapman owns the lyrics to the song.
Pairing: Faith/Sandy
Word Count: 656
Overall Rating/Warnings: FRM/R; angst, violence, language, sexual themes.
Summary: Set during Season 4’s “This Year’s Girl.”
Beta Crew: Much thanks and love to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shakensilence, dragonydreams, and angelskuuipo as Faith is character I’ve written next to never and Sandy seems to be my BtVs character of the year this year. :) All other mistakes are mine.
A/N: Written for the lovelybrutti_ma_buoni who wanted Sandy/Faith, season 4 setting, getting her own back, fast cars. It might not be quite what you were expecting, but I hope this works for you, hun!
When the knife first goes in…
When it slides through flesh and bone to burrow itself into your very core…
It doesn’t hurt.
That’s because the body’s just gone into shock, and you find yourself thinking, Damn body, this bitch just stabbed you, ripped you open like a stuck pig. Doesn’t that mean anything? Doesn’t it?
It’s right then that your body answers back. It starts with a dull throbbing pain that spreads from the point of entry all the way down to your fucking toes. You gasp, sucking air into your lungs, and the pain crescendos, burning through your blood stream, tearing through your nervous system with such intensity that you think you’re going to implode.
Did you have it coming?
Maybe.
But so does she.
Now that you’re awake, there’s going to be hell to pay.
You don’t care how you get to her either. You’ll fight or fuck your way to get to that upper echelon if you have to, but you will make your way to find her, and you’ll get your own back.
But first, you duck into the closest building, avoiding the bright blue and red flashing lights that illuminate the alley.
It’s a bar.
Not the Bronze ‘cause there’s no shitty band playing on the stage. There’s just a speaker system and the intoxicating smell of booze in the air.
“Dance with me.”
The girl comes out of the writhing swarm of dancing bodies. She looks like a sweet enough girl with the barest hint of a wild streak in her dark eyes.
The starting chords of the next song makes you tilt your head, wondering why party girl needs a partner for Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car.”
“Not exactly dancing music,” you murmur, still managing to shimmy your hips, and show off just how your tight black leather pants accentuate your raw sexuality.
The girl giggles, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she takes another step towards you. “I’m Sandy.”
You got a fast car.
“Faith.”
You see a cop walk in, shining his flashlight into the dark corners of the bar and you do the first thing you can think of. You reach out, grab her hips, and pull her towards you. One of her legs slides in between yours, and she presses her cheek against yours. It’s funny, but you swear there ought to be a puff of breath on your ear instead of the reality, which is the very opposite of that.
She does lick you though, her tongue drags itself from your collar bone to the line of your chin and you instinctively rub yourself against her thigh, grinding your way into an invitation for more.
I’ve got a ticket to anywhere.
Sandy moans, shifting her leg away from you, teasing you just a little before she moves it upwards, and gives your clit the contact that it’s been craving.
Hungry….
Horny….
The parts don’t matter long as the action’s good.
‘Course, Sandy has to go and ruin the moment by shifting into demon form and sinking her fangs into your neck.
You gotta make a decision.
You’re still a Slayer. You still have a stake in your pocket, and you know right where it’s supposed to go.
You sink your nails into her hip, distracting her with the briefest pin prick of pain. It gives you the chance to reach into the inside pocket of your coat and you quickly sink the wooden point right into her stomach.
You can leave tonight or live and die this way.
You know just how it feels.
But that’s just how it has to go.
Nothingness.
Shock value.
“Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”
Sandy growls, clutching her stomach, her fingers pressing against the hole that almost matches yours.
You watch her retreat back into the crowd of dancers, and a sigh escapes your lips.
At least her wounds will heal.
Yours never will.
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and many other corporations own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t. Tracy Chapman owns the lyrics to the song.
Pairing: Faith/Sandy
Word Count: 656
Overall Rating/Warnings: FRM/R; angst, violence, language, sexual themes.
Summary: Set during Season 4’s “This Year’s Girl.”
Beta Crew: Much thanks and love to
shakensilence, dragonydreams, and angelskuuipo as Faith is character I’ve written next to never and Sandy seems to be my BtVs character of the year this year. :) All other mistakes are mine.A/N: Written for the lovely
brutti_ma_buoni who wanted Sandy/Faith, season 4 setting, getting her own back, fast cars. It might not be quite what you were expecting, but I hope this works for you, hun!When the knife first goes in…
When it slides through flesh and bone to burrow itself into your very core…
It doesn’t hurt.
That’s because the body’s just gone into shock, and you find yourself thinking, Damn body, this bitch just stabbed you, ripped you open like a stuck pig. Doesn’t that mean anything? Doesn’t it?
It’s right then that your body answers back. It starts with a dull throbbing pain that spreads from the point of entry all the way down to your fucking toes. You gasp, sucking air into your lungs, and the pain crescendos, burning through your blood stream, tearing through your nervous system with such intensity that you think you’re going to implode.
Did you have it coming?
Maybe.
But so does she.
Now that you’re awake, there’s going to be hell to pay.
You don’t care how you get to her either. You’ll fight or fuck your way to get to that upper echelon if you have to, but you will make your way to find her, and you’ll get your own back.
But first, you duck into the closest building, avoiding the bright blue and red flashing lights that illuminate the alley.
It’s a bar.
Not the Bronze ‘cause there’s no shitty band playing on the stage. There’s just a speaker system and the intoxicating smell of booze in the air.
“Dance with me.”
The girl comes out of the writhing swarm of dancing bodies. She looks like a sweet enough girl with the barest hint of a wild streak in her dark eyes.
The starting chords of the next song makes you tilt your head, wondering why party girl needs a partner for Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car.”
“Not exactly dancing music,” you murmur, still managing to shimmy your hips, and show off just how your tight black leather pants accentuate your raw sexuality.
The girl giggles, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she takes another step towards you. “I’m Sandy.”
You got a fast car.
“Faith.”
You see a cop walk in, shining his flashlight into the dark corners of the bar and you do the first thing you can think of. You reach out, grab her hips, and pull her towards you. One of her legs slides in between yours, and she presses her cheek against yours. It’s funny, but you swear there ought to be a puff of breath on your ear instead of the reality, which is the very opposite of that.
She does lick you though, her tongue drags itself from your collar bone to the line of your chin and you instinctively rub yourself against her thigh, grinding your way into an invitation for more.
I’ve got a ticket to anywhere.
Sandy moans, shifting her leg away from you, teasing you just a little before she moves it upwards, and gives your clit the contact that it’s been craving.
Hungry….
Horny….
The parts don’t matter long as the action’s good.
‘Course, Sandy has to go and ruin the moment by shifting into demon form and sinking her fangs into your neck.
You gotta make a decision.
You’re still a Slayer. You still have a stake in your pocket, and you know right where it’s supposed to go.
You sink your nails into her hip, distracting her with the briefest pin prick of pain. It gives you the chance to reach into the inside pocket of your coat and you quickly sink the wooden point right into her stomach.
You can leave tonight or live and die this way.
You know just how it feels.
But that’s just how it has to go.
Nothingness.
Shock value.
“Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”
Sandy growls, clutching her stomach, her fingers pressing against the hole that almost matches yours.
You watch her retreat back into the crowd of dancers, and a sigh escapes your lips.
At least her wounds will heal.
Yours never will.
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no subject
on 2012-04-28 06:00 pm (UTC)Means a lot to me.
Plus, after my rewatch of "This Year's Girl," Faith totally takes down the demon that hands her the tape and gift from the Mayor without even blinking. Made me think she was still very much a Slayer.
no subject
on 2012-04-28 06:12 pm (UTC)You're right about Faith.
Gabrielle