When the guard announced that she had a visitor, Faith had been surprised. Angel had visited her just last week; surely he wouldn't have come back so soon, and there was no one else who would have thought to come see her. As the guard led her towards the conjugal trailer, she only got even more confused.
Inside the trailer, Faith found herself staring face to face with an attractive blond women.
Or not quite woman. "Vampire," she said, falling into a defensive stance, instincts and reflexes she hadn't used in her entire time in prison suddenly springing back into action.
The vampire smiled. "Slayer," she greeted Faith warmly.
"How?" Faith asked.
The vampire shrugged. "I have very effective lawyers."
Everything fell into place. "Wolfram & Hart." It was not a question.
The vampire didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. Faith's mind raced. Why would the law firm send an assassin now, after leaving her alone in prison for over a year? She looked around, searching for something she could use to defend herself, but for obvious reasons, there wasn't anything in the trailer which would lend itself to being used as a weapon. Nothing made of wood--
Oh well. She'd have to do this the old-fashioned, hands-on way. Just the way she liked it.
Kick. Punch. Block. Strike. Throw. Fall. Kick. Punch. Slayer and vampire exchanged blows, but Faith found herself evenly matched, neither of them able to gain the advantage. She kept fighting, throwing her whole body, her whole soul, into the fight, the Slayer finally let loose after being kept tight within for a year. That year's worth of aggression, finally given a vent, poured out of Faith in a series of kicks and blows, but still she couldn't manage to get the upper hand over the vampire.
She didn't care. To be back in action, honed for the kill, her body moving with a mystical grace, reveling in the physicality of flesh coming in contact with flesh, felt much too good to bring it to an end with a dusting. The world narrowed to two female bodies, each possessed of supernatural strength and speed, as they fought, danced, fucked.
She couldn't point to the moment when she realized that was what they were doing, fucking, that each punch and kick was its own perverse act of slayer-vampire foreplay. Slaying always made her horny, and as the two figures unleashed their fury on each other, Faith could feel the lust and passion build up, until when finally she ripped the vampire's clothes off of her, it seemed the simplest and most natural progression in the sequence of events.
Exhaustion assaulted her, but she did not slow as the vampire's fingers slipped one by one inside her, as she thrust herself against the creature's fist, their fucking neither friendly nor gently but hard, violent, and hate-filled. Pain and pleasure to Faith had always been the twin faces of a knife blade, and she gave in now to neither so much as to pure sensation, to life tinged with death or death tinged with life, she didn't know which.
When Faith had climaxed, the vampire stood up and kissed Faith on the neck, then began caressing the spot with her tongue. Faith didn't resist, didn't move, was as relaxed as she had ever been in her entire life. She must have had a death wish, Faith reflected.
Then again, the death wish was sort of old news.
"You never intended to kill me," Faith accused.
The vampire's laugh was haughty. "Of course not," she answered. "You'd be dead already if I did."
Faith accepted the answer without agreeing with it, then dropped to her knees as she went to thirstily taste the room-temperature coolness of the vampire's cunt. Her nails were sharp as they dug into Faith's back, exhilaratingly centering Faith in the here and now, in this action, in the physicality of this moment as her tongue worked to bring this creature she was destined, chosen, to stop the spread of their evil, against whom she was given the strength and skill to fight, to orgasm.
"Oh, Slayer," said the vampire. "Yes."
And then, and only then, the two of them collapsed onto the conjugal trailer's bed, their naked skin pressed against each other, Faith's still warm and sweaty from the exercise, the vampire's cool and dry.
"So beautiful, Slayer," the vampire said, tracing a strand of Faith's hair with a finger from brow to neck. "Not a bit like that sanctimonious schoolgirl."
"B'?" Faith asked. She found she felt the insane urge to defend Buffy despite everything. "She's not so bad. At least until you try to kill her friends."
The vampire laughed, a soft, gentle laugh, not the mocking laugh of before, but one with warmth, maybe affection even. "Still," she said, still stroking Faith's temple, "I can see what my Angel saw in you."
Faith could feel her eyes go wide. "Your Angel?"
She smiled. "You don't think he got his taste for blondes from that stick of a Slayer, did you?"
Faith's mind, trying to remember what she had been taught about Angel's lineage. He had been in the Master's line, and the sire of Spike through Drusilla. But in between the Master and Angel there was a woman--what was her name? Dahlia? Della?
"Darla," she said, as a memory of Buffy saying the name with enthusiastic distaste came back to her. "You're her."
Darla just smiled lazily. "In the flesh," she answered.
Wearing a hooded jacket to protect her from the sun (the day was overcast, but she had not lived 400 years by not taking precautions), Darla stepped into the limousine which waited at the edge of the prison complex. "How did it go?" asked Lilah Morgan, who sat on the other side of the car.
"Quite satisfactory," Darla answered, with a suggestive licking of her lips. "Quite."
"What did the two of you do?" Lilah asked, the lawyer's curiosity getting the better of her.
"What do you think?" Darla asked scornfully. "We played rock, paper, scissors."
Lilah nodded, thoughtfully. "Who won?"
Darla sat back in the limousine and smiled. "Sometimes it's not about winning, Lilah," she said, closing her eyes. "Sometimes it's about how you play the game."
"Which means you won."