Ruin Me
Faith slammed into her hotel room and fell onto her bed, covered her face with a pillow and let out a long-due yell. While there was, admittedly, a shitload of bonus to being the second out of the Chosen Two, a day like today left her wanting to scream, stab, and stomp her way five years backwards.
There were two kinds of slayers in the world, she had discovered: The deathly sincere ones, all sugar-sweet about saving the world, and the self-conscious bad-ass ones, endlessly talking trash to prove how unbreakable they were.
Buffy had convinced her that beating the hell out of them wouldn't really be a valuable object lesson, and that's why Faith ended her workday getting all primal with the linens.
From the other side of the room, Dana cleared her throat, and Faith sat up, remembering the other way she could release some tension. "Hey," she said, her voice hoarse from the contained howl.
Dana nodded, her eyes all wary. Dana was always wary, and she didn't talk much. Ever. The others, as rah-rah as they got about all-for-one and one-for-all, skittered about Dana like she was the bogeyman come calling.
("It's like they never met somebody who went crazy before," Faith had told Buffy, after hours. Buffy had laughed, twirled her wine cooler between her fingers. "I think it's the torture and cutting off of hands that's freaking them out." Faith had laughed, too, because it was funny--she thought she would do the same, in Dana's place.)
Faith leaned back on the mattress, propping herself up on her elbows. "You ate dinner already?"
Dana grunted, and tipped her head towards the rickety table, littered with a room service tray and remnants of a dinner.
"Right." Faith arched her back, watched Dana watch her. "You've got to start talking some time, you know." She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "Anything I can do to help with that?"
And then Dana was on her, teeth against her neck, triggering that shock of rage any slayer would have felt, despite the bluntness of her canines. Faith bucked, rolled Dana under her, put her hands on her throat.
"Cute," she said. Dana grinned, and Faith kept her left hand on Dana's neck, pressing just enough to bruise her temporarily. With her other hand, she ripped the front of Dana's tank top, reveling in the sound of the fabric's slow shred.
She eased down Dana's body, bracing her arms against the mattress instead of skin. She shoved the tattered shirt back, let it bunch against Dana's shoulders, and focused her attention on Dana's breasts, her nipples hardening in the cool air. Faith bent her head, darted her tongue out, and Dana hissed, grabbed at Faith's head.
Faith ducked away. "Play nice." They grappled for a moment, but Faith caught Dana's wrists, pressed them into the mattress.
The noise Dana made was too close to a growl, but Faith ignored her. She trailed her tongue against Dana's skin, down the valley between her breasts, pausing to dip into her belly-button. Dana squealed.
"Ticklish?" Faith snorted. "Slayers shouldn't be ticklish." She swirled her tongue against Dana's belly-button again, and this time, Dana didn't make a sound.
Faith released Dana and sprang back, off the bed. She turned her back and ignored Dana, and what most definitely was a growl. Slowly, she stripped off her jacket, her jeans, her boots, until she was clothed only in a tank top and underwear.
Then, she strode over to the table, adding extra sway to her hips, and kicked one of the chairs out. She sat down, facing the bed.
Dana crouched on the mattress, still wearing her jeans. The remnants of her tank top gathered on her arms, and her hair and eyes were wild.
Faith spread her legs, slid her hand against the damp cloth between them. "Come on."
Dana hopped off the bed, stalked toward Faith with her lip curled. She kneeled between Faith's legs, and watched as Faith lifted her hips, shimmied out of her underwear.
Dana bowed her head, and her breath was hot against Faith's sex, her tongue even more so.
Her nails dug into Faith's thighs, but Faith didn't care a bit.