Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project
Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project

By Prophecy Girl
For Mary Borsellino

There's a picture in my head.

Bubble gum popping against strawberry licorice lips. Caramel hair pulled back in pigtails, sweet as an unsuspecting victim. Sour apple eyes gazing innocently like they've seen no evil. Wouldn't I love to prove you wrong, baby..

How would those perfectly tanned thighs look wrapped around me as I make you gasp my name over and over again like a holy mantra? Make you see that I am your god, your devil, judge jury and executioner-every fucking thing you love and hate and fear and wish for.

The way your lips cover that lollipop betrays the innocence you seem to think you have. But I know where they've been, and it shows. I know your game.

Keep denying it sweetie, because the day is gonna come when everyone finds out the truth. What would they think if they knew you started it, that it was you seeking me out, you pressing me against a mausoleum and riding my thigh till the walls shook?

And you keep coming back, keep finding me, and the list keeps getting longer--the crypt, the Bronze, the park (bet you didn't even know you could do that on a see-saw), my motel, but not your bed. Funny how you fucked me time and time again (but I really fucked you, didn't I?) but never once asked me to share your bed.

Is it love? You don't fuck in your bed, you mope around for the rest of your life and someday your prince will come and take you in his arms.. Delusional little girl. That undead cock must be something else, to fuck up your pretty little head more than even I can. And I'm actually trying.

But it's fine-go right ahead because I'm just biding my time. You keep playing with fire because you like the burn. You crave it like some people crave chocolate. Like some of us crave blood, or you.. And someday I'll take you down and you won't even see it coming because you fooled yourself too long.

Maybe you'll let me tie you up sometime. We'll play a little game of Cowboys and Indians because you are my willing captive now. Maybe I'll make the ropes a little too tight but you won't even think to complain because I'm touching you, touching you and then it's not my fingers but the blade of a fancy knife as I cut into you. What do you think?

Do you think it's a game, Buff? A pissing contest of some kind? See who holds out the longest, who's the last left standing, who drops the match first? I'll win, B. I will always fucking win over you because you can't keep up with me. Because you pretend to be sweet and I like being salty, because you taste like candy and I'm a margarita. I can stay up later, I can hold out longer and maybe I taste better going down but you'll regret me more in the morning.

I'm a hangover you'll never conquer.


So she comes to me one night. Her cheeks are pink with embarassment, her eyes burn with lust, and her lips are wrapped around a Blo Pop. I'm at home again, sprawled across my new double bed. A purple velvet blanket covers black silk sheets. Talk about the lap of luxury. I'm still pissed about that shit she and Angel pulled on me so I just ignore her.

"It wasn't my idea.." she says softly, leaning against the wall. This is her interpretation of an apology, I suppose.

I scoff and turn a page in my comic book. "Kinda busy right now."

A light sigh. Then she lays on her stomach next to me and looks over my shoulder. "Ghost World?"

I slam it shut and stand up. "No. You don't get to do that."

Such innocent eyes. So full of lies. "Do what?"

"Fuck me over that way and then pretend like we're buddies or something. You don't get to deliver the mindfucks here, B."

She glares at me like she wants to say something but she knows if she does, I'll end the whole thing. She wants me too much to risk that.

I want to hurt her like I've never wanted to hurt anyone--and coming from me, that's saying a lot. I get back on the bed and push her down. She stays put, just watching me. "You are not in charge, you're not in control. I'm in control here." I pin her arms down to her sides, the adrenaline pumping loudly in my ears as I straddle her skinny waist. I squeeze her wrists a little too tightly, but she doesn't protest.

"You and Angel, plotting together. How fucking sweet is that? Poor B, afraid to tell the truth. Afraid to admit that not only did you already know about me switching sides, but that you keep fucking me anyway." I gasp exaggeratedly. "What ever would the Scoobies think if they knew?"

I dig my nails into her wrists and feel myself losing control. It all floats away at once, little fragments and pieces spinning away, away until I don't even know what I'm doing. I forget that I loved her once. "Faith, you're hurting me."

I smirk and grind my hips down slowly against hers. "What are you gonna do about it?" What are you gonna do, little girl? You can't hold a candle to me, you can't.. They wouldn't love you so much if they knew. I would. I would.

I forget that I was hurt. I forget about her and Angel and how I wanted to make her come again and again, shouting my name, proving that she really was mine. I forget that I never really wanted to kill her. I can't remember any of that when the only thing in my head is this gnawing, crying urge to cut into her and see if her blood is blue, or maybe gold. Yes. The revered Buffy Summers would bleed liquid gold and everyone would cry.

I bleed red, and nobody cares. But it's fine, just fine, because I can make her hurt, too. I can take my knife and run it down the center of her body..

I let her go, indented half-moon shapes prominent on her wrists and a haunted look in her eyes. "Get out."

She looks confused. "What?"

"Get the fuck out. Just leave!" Get out, get out before I try out my new toy, before I lose it completely. I need to scrape myself back together and I can't do that when you're here. The stakes get higher everytime and I fall a little bit deeper. Sorry, we can't play tonight, I have other plans. Plans to go crazy. Plans to cut someone up. And if you don't leave right now, it might be you.

Did I say that out loud? Maybe. She looks pissed, but she leaves. She slams the door and somehow, I know she won't be back for a long time. And when she does come back, she'll be coming for blood--I know this. I loved her once, and maybe she loved me until today. Who was being played with, then?

So carefully planned was my mindfuck, that it even fooled me.