my girl's tall with hard long eyes
She wears something expensive whenever they meet, flaunts it with her hair, perfume, shoes. Flaunts it with her perfectly arched eyebrows and exquisitely painted lips. She smoothes her hands over her clothes, aware in that typically vain way of just how everyone stares, wants her, wants to be put their hands where her own are and feel what she is feeling.
Faith likes it. She loves it, watching Cordelia do her preening, knowing that as soon as they've had their little public prelude, gotten everyone to look and see what a gorgeous thing Cordelia is, gotten them worked up and heated, Faith will walk out and Cordelia, she'll follow.
Sometimes they don't even bother to go far. Cordelia's car serves just fine when it's been too long between meetings and Faith is greedy and hungry to get what she's been waiting for. All she has to do is flip Cordelia's skirt up and yank her panties down. Faith's gotten adept at getting her own jeans off with one hand, boots tossed into the back seat as she pushes Cordelia roughly into place.
The seat reclines and the shadows on the street give just enough cover. A hand over Cordy's mouth, or, better still, Faith's mouth pressed there instead, keeps the whole street from hearing what Faith's got going on.
Cordelia wriggles and moans, long legs spread as wide as she can manage, hips arching up when Faith's fingers slip and slide there where the flesh is full and plump and slick. The seat of the car is some sort of torturous teasing, keeping her from getting just the right angle, just the right spot under those fingers and it makes it hotter, makes her work for it that much harder.
Faith groans a little when she slips her fingers inside and rubs there, just there, up high and curled right on the spot. She feels all that tension, and her own body is pulsing with the same need. She pauses long enough to grab Cordy's hand and slide it between her legs, earning Faith a hissed curse and then a rough pinch on her inner thigh.
Cordelia doesn't like her own good time interrupted.
Faith gives a low chuckle and wriggles her hips until Cordelia's fingers are rubbing right inside of her, manicured nails and shiny rings adding their own kinky roughness to the act. Bump and grind of Faith's hips to Cordy's hand gets things going again and there's nothing left to do but push, stroke and kiss.
The car rocks with their urgency. The street is empty enough that no one pays it any attention.
Cordelia comes with a sharp cry that Faith doesn't really try to cover. Her body tenses at the sound Cordy makes and the slickness that covers her fingers. Faith rocks against Cordelia's less-than-attentive hand a few times to ride the wave and in another heartbeat or two she's making sounds of her own, stifling them in the perfumed mass of Cordelia's hair, pressing her face to the soft curve where neck and shoulder meet.
In time, Faith slides her fingers free, listening to the sigh Cordelia gives, exasperation and disappointment in one little exhalation. Cordelia takes a little longer to pull her hand away and Faith shivers when she feels those perfectly shaped nails trail over her pouty clit. It's almost an invitation to start all over again, but she knows from experience that any effort to do so in the car will get her nowhere but pissed off when Cordelia protests.
"You got a curfew tonight?" she asks instead as she lifts herself up into the driver's seat and stares while she can at the lovely expanse of Cordelia's still-spread thighs and the shadowed darkness between them.
"Really?" Cordelia asks, sarcasm tightening the voice that was moaning just a new minutes earlier. "Do I look like I'm 12? Besides, my parents are off on some wine tasting thing, I don't even know if they remember they had a daughter at this point." She won't meet Faith's eyes but she doesn't hurry to look for her panties either. One hand touches her bare thigh and lingers there.
That's as close to a 'let's get a room' as Cordelia will ever admit to. Faith doesn't let her reconsider.
She doesn't even let Cordelia put the seat up, preferring the feel of Cordy's warm skin under her fingers to having both hands on the wheel as she starts the car and drives off, bare-ass and smiling, towards whatever motel is closest.
my girl's tall with hard long eyes
as she stands, with her long hard hands keeping
silence on her dress, good for sleeping
is her long hard body filled with surprise
like a white shocking wire, when she smiles
a hard long smile it sometimes makes
gaily go clean through me tickling aches,
and the weak noise of her eyes easily files
my impatience to an edge--my girl's tall
and taut, with thin legs just like a vine
that's spent all of its life on a garden-wall,
and is going to die. When we grimly go to bed
with these legs she begins to heave and twine
about me, and to kiss my face and head.
- e.e. cummings