You were like Faith, but watered down, edge smoothed out with money, rage replaced with self-proclaimed brattiness.
You were just close enough that when Buffy fucked you, she could shut her eyes and pretend it was Faith's lips, Faith's fingers, Faith.
And you knew it too, knew it every time Buffy whispered Faith's name into kisses, and when Buffy opened her eyes and had a half-confused, half-sad look in her eyes when she saw you looking back at her.
And you knew that Faith was furious every time she saw Buffy stumbling half-drunk into your room, knew that Faith hit you harder during sparring in the Hyperion's basement not because you could take it but because she hated you.
When Faith's punches and kicks turned into bloody, biting kisses you can't say you were surprised. Hate and sex always went together for Faith, always always always except for Buffy.
She left dark bruises on your hips that didn't fade for a day. Buffy saw, and she knew. And maybe she was jealous, maybe just full of anger but now you had not only one Slayer but two who wouldn't hesitate to beat you to a bloody pulp.
But you were betting that they wouldn't.
And you're usually right, but this was a different kind of right, the kind where Faith is sucking on your neck and Buffy is watching, eyes latched on Faith, the kind where they both half-hate you and love each other and maybe half-love you too.
You laugh and tug Buffy down to you, and kiss her because you can, because she can look at you and see Kennedy not Faith, because Faith is smiling into your neck, because you feel like everything has finally fallen into place for the first time.