Summary: A Slayer and a vampire, footloose and morality-free, no training wheels required.
Spoilers: Through Buffy Season 4/Angel Season 1.
Feedback: Greatly appreciated (APostModernSleaz@aol.com)
Archive: More than likely okay, but please ask first
Disclaimer: The characters used within are the property of Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, and of course Joss Whedon. It's their sandbox, I'm just playing in it.
Notes: This story goes AU during "Five by Five." Written for little_bit for the Fanfic Junk Drawer challenge. She requested a few, um, specific things. Thanks to Soda for the beta! (Completed 1/17/04)
"Did too." Spike smirked at Faith. "Gonna have to punish you for that, you know."
"It doesn't count if the ball bounces back out."
"It does, and you know it."
"Yeah, yeah." She gently blew on the tip of the stick. "I'm still gonna beat your ass this time."
Wetting her lips, she bent over, curling her fingers around the pool cue. As far as indoor sports went, this one wasn't her favorite. Too much stillness and careful concentration needed. But her preferred methods of relaxation weren't appropriate for a bar in the middle of Bloomington, Illinois.
"Your contact's late," Spike said, making Faith's hand falter slightly, and she only ended up clipping the ball.
"Dammit, Spike, you made me fuck up my shot."
"Did I, now?" His eyes crinkled with mischief. "Would be a shame if you lost our little bet."
"Bigger shame if I stake your ass for making me miss," she grumbled, stepping back from the table and reaching for the cigarette she'd tucked behind her ear.
Click. Spike held his lighter in front of her face, and she stuck the tip of her cigarette in the flame, inhaling. She exhaled a large puff into his face and motioned for him to take his turn.
Turning back to the table, Spike steadied his own cue and said, "Now, pet, you know all's fair in love and war."
"All I know is, I'm gonna enjoy you finally handing over the keys to your motorcycle for an entire week when I whup your sorry ass in about five minutes."
"Slayer, I've been playing this game since before you were born, and furthermore, I'm just...that...good." He whooshed the cue forward.
Like everything else he did, Spike hit the ball with about a thousand times more power than he should have. It flew across the table, smacking two balls into the pockets with a clack. The cue ball then ricocheted off the side, hitting the last stripe and the eight ball. The striped ball rolled into the nearest pocket with the eight immediately following. Game over.
"Shit." Faith slammed the cue onto the table and glared at him. "You totally cheated."
"That I did," Spike grinned.
Faith backed him against the wall, placing a hand on either side of his head. "You're just lucky you're so hot."
His hands worked their way underneath the back of her shirt, running across her back as he crushed his mouth against hers.
"Get a room!" one of the patrons shouted.
Spike pulled away from her and looked at the bearded man in the plaid shirt. "Do you have any idea who you're talking to, you inbred pissant?"
"Like I care who you are, Sparkles," the man answered, giving Spike and Faith the finger before turning back to the bar.
Here we go. Faith placed a hand against his chest and whispered, "We have a job to do."
"And I have a pissant to kill."
He rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. "Fine. But after your contact gets here, I can follow him outside and drain him, right?"
"Better believe it," Faith nodded with a grin.
The door of the Red Cat banged open, and a tall, redheaded man dressed all in black down to his combat boots strode in. He looked towards Spike and Faith, who slightly inclined her chin in acknowledgment, then went straight for the back room. They finished their drinks, waited a minute or two, then followed.
Once they were in the room, Spike closed the door as Faith sat across from the man.
"The one and only. You're Mr. Bidill?"
He nodded jerkily, giving her an odd look. "Younger than I thought you'd be."
"What are you, 17? 18?"
She sighed and sat back, stubbing out the butt of her cigarette on the table. "I didn't come here to talk about myself, you know."
"Sorry." He slid a file across the table. "I just want to be sure you can deal with this."
"I've been freelancing through Wolfram and Hart for two years, and killing people a few years before that. I can deal. This your wife?"
Bidill nodded. "Maryanne. You gotta make it look like an accident, you know."
"No, I mean...I bought the wrong life insurance policy. I only get the fifty thousand if she's been dismembered by accident or somethin'."
"She a Quaxlar demon like you?" Spike asked.
"Huh? How'd you know I--"
"Oh." He blinked a couple times. "No, she's human."
At this, Spike raised an eyebrow. "Are you even anatomically compatible with her?"
Bidill blushed. "Long story."
"That I have no interest in hearing," Faith said. "Just make sure she's in your front yard tomorrow night, seven sharp."
He nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "Uh, thanks? For, you know, killing my wife and all."
Faith nodded, and he slunk out of the room.
"Well, that's something Hallmark doesn't make thank you cards for." Spike turned to Faith. "Now that that's settled, how 'bout I collect my winnings?"
Back in the bathroom of their Best Western suite, Faith stood on the balls of her feet and swiveled her torso around, trying to see how her ass looked in the mirror.
"Man, if Lilah or Lindsey ever saw this, they'd never let me live it down."
Faith had been working with Wolfram and Hart for almost two years, ever since she took out Angel for them. It wasn't a bad gig. She usually only had to go in once a month, bum around the lobby and wait for someone to give her a check or new marching orders. She'd just received both and was on her way to Austin with $5000 in her pocket when she saw him. Mister Warm Champagne himself, coming out of the bigass mystical surgery wing with a huge grin on his face. Considering the last time they'd met she'd been wearing B's body, it was impossible to resist screwing with him a little.
Once he wrapped his head around the whole body swap thing, he'd invited her to grab a couple de-chipping celebratory drinks with him. And once she'd made it clear he wouldn't last five minutes in a fight to the death against her, they got along swimmingly.
That was almost a year ago. And in that year, she'd seen and done a lot of insane things. But this...this was probably the worst.
Bang, bang, bang. "Come on, time to pay the piper!" his voice came through the door.
"He is so gonna pay for this," she muttered.
Giving the skirt one more tug, she opened the door, slid one arm up the frame and cocked her hip. "Well?"
Spike whistled and tapped the riding crop against his hand, slowly running his eyes up and down her body. "Light of my life, fire of my loins."
"You've been kicking around for a century and you never bothered to pick up a better kink than Catholic schoolgirl? It's so cliché."
"No, it's a classic," he said, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her to him. "And with good reason."
Spike pushed Faith towards the bed, swatting at her ass with the riding crop as he followed behind.
Faith crawled onto the bed and struck what she hoped was a demure pose: legs crossed neatly at the ankles, knees held tight together, hands folded primly on her stomach. It took biting the inside of her lip and clenching her hands as hard as she could to keep from laughing aloud.
But she was all business the second Spike cracked the crop across the tops of her thighs. No more light taps, just leather kissing skin, sending little flares of adrenaline and lust shooting up and down her body.
She was a good little schoolgirl, and a good little schoolgirl didn't moan when her evil vampire boyfriend ran his hands up her legs. She definitely didn't moan when he flipped the pleated plaid skirt up and dragged the leather riding crop along the curve of her hip. And she really, definitely didn't moan when he swooped his head down to gently bite her where she was most vulnerable.
After all, a whimper wasn't the same as a moan.
The minutes slowed into a honey trickle as he continued his ministrations, until she was half out of her mind when he finally undid his pants and slid into her.
Usually, when Spike was brandishing the riding crop, it meant he was gonna be on top that time, which is why it took her by surprise when he suddenly rolled over and reversed their position.
"You're so hot to get on my Harley, Slayer, you'd do well to practice first," Spike said, grasping her hips.
Faith smiled mischievously, plucking at the buttons of her crisp white shirt until they popped off one by one. "Guess that means you're gonna play the teacher?"
"Well, I wouldn't want you to have to pick it up off the street, would I?"
She dropped her eyelids and licked her lips. "No, sir."
"The trick, y'see, is to let your body roll with it," Spike said, languidly rolling his hips upward. "If it's leaning to the left, you lean into it." Tilting their hips together, he slid his hands from her hips up her side, cupping her breasts and flitting his thumb across the peaks of her nipples. "There's bumps in the road, you just gotta fly with it." He jerked his pelvis, thrusting into her hard and fast and, disturbingly, with some accompanying sound effects.
Faith bit her lip in an attempt to suppress the odd combination of a giggle and moan that was bubbling up inside her, and when he unexpectedly jerked his hips again, her teeth clacked together and the coppery tang of blood flooded her mouth. Spike immediately grabbed the back of her head and crushed her mouth to his, greedily sucking on her lower lip while continuing to guide her hips against his.
Her whole body was humming, and she was teetering on the brink when he brought the crop up one last time to smack it across her ass. She was gone. Flooding warmth and electric tingling coursing under her skin, and Faith screamed "Fuck!" as loud as she could, hoping every single person in the Best Western heard her. Spike's orgasm, which followed shortly after, was almost quiet in comparison.
Faith shrugged the blouse off, but kept the skirt on as she laid down next to him. "When I win pool--"
"When. When I win, you're wearing the schoolgirl getup."
He opened one eye and peered at her with a mixture of amusement and vague horror. "That's insane."
"That's hot." She yawned, stretched, and snapped the light off. "Got an early day tomorrow."
"That you do." Spike slipped an arm around her waist and pressed himself against her back.
It'd taken him forever to fall asleep. Or maybe not, because it was hard to tell -- no breathing and all. At any rate, after about an hour, Faith had managed to wriggle out from under his arm, sneak over to the closet, pull on some clothes, and fish his keys out of his duster's pocket.
Totally worth it, because the rumbling of the Harley between her thighs was like the best damned vibrator cranked up times a hundred, with the rush of adrenaline to give it that extra boost.
Lean into it, she could do that. Spike would go nuts when he found out she'd taken it joyriding. Probably fuck her up real bad.
Added bonus, Faith grinned, before kicking the stand, revving the engine, and peeling off into the inky Illinois night.