Firecracker (The Bronze Remix)
The Bronze is dark, because it's always dark, because anything can hide in the shadows and because this is Sunnydale, anything does.
But because this is Sunnydale, it won't stay hidden long. Not today. Not with us here.
My skin is throbbing in time with the music, and at first I think it's because of the bass but then I realize it's her. She dances with me, dances against me, writhing and pulsating against my body, and I realize how much she's a part of me. Slayers, girlfriend, the chosen two, but when she says that, she's only saying a tiny fraction of what we are to each other, and we both know it. All eyes are on us, and why wouldn't they be? The lights flash colors, tinting our skin like tie-dye, and our bodies are moving like a single unit.
She reeks of old sex and stale cigarettes, and I know I'm supposed to find it repulsive, because I'm a good girl and good girls want everything to smell like vanilla. But right now it barely hits me what I'm supposed to want, because fuck, we're not even supposed to exist at the same time. We're an anomaly, a mistake.
Best mistake that's ever been made.
Her mouth curls up into a wolfish smile, and all that I want to do is be the girl that tamed the beast, because it's taking more energy to keep up with her than it would be to fuck her raw, which is what I really want to do.
There's something feral about Faith, from the glint in her eyes to the way the leather perfectly hugs her body, like it was cut from the mold and now the pants-maker can die happy because he's achieved perfection. It's taking all of my willpower (is that a Slayer thing?) to not knock her to the ground and take her right there, right in the middle of the dance floor, right with everyone watching.
Not that she wouldn't love that.
Her eyes capture mine, just for a second, but it feels like a lifetime, and my heart accelerates. She wants me, just as much as I want her- maybe more, because I don't know exactly what I'm getting into, but based on the look on her face she knows exactly what's coming, and she's practically salivating over it.
I'm overcome with need, and if we weren't surrounded by a group of boys we need to work into an adolescent sexual fervor, I think I'd either collapse or just do it, just lean over and taste her soft lips without stopping our hip-to-hip rubbing that's driving me fucking insane. But really, if that were going to happen, she'd be the one doing it; she'd be the one to whisper "Hey, B," and before I'd know what had happened, she'd have her tongue gently probing my mouth and I'd be surprised at it, shocked at how sweet and innocent it felt when it was coming from her.
In my daydreams, she's soft and gentle. But when I'm with her, all I want is to see it go, hard and fast, just the way I know she'd like it.
I want to light your fuse, Firecracker, want to feel you burn at my hand until you can't take it anymore and cry out, and for once, the only words on your lips will be my name, please Buffy, please B, and I'll tell you to come for me and you'll explode, lighting the sky with a billion colors tie-dyed on bare skin and a flood of liquid that's all for me.
She'll bare her neck for me, something she'd never do for anyone else, no, not Faith, she might be careless but she's not that careless, but for me she'll do it, expose her vulnerable white throat for me to suck at, finding pulse points, never mind any vampires because this time it's all about me. She'll tremble as my kiss lands there, marking her as mine, and somehow sealing our commitment to each other. It'll feel like love, real love, not the stories you read in kids' books, but something truer, the kind of love that's dripping with heat and love and sex. She'll part her thighs for me, and I for her.
But for now we'll just stand there on the dance floor, light reflecting in our hair, blonde and brown, black and white, the good girl and the rebel, and nothing is different but everything is as we meet in the steps of dances past.