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Watching bridges burn

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Faith never bothers with goodbyes, but she loves watching bridges burn. Fucking everything up makes it so much easier to walk away, which is what she always has to do in the end -- she can leave while they're alive, or she can go when they're dead. Faith's met enough vamps to be used to blood by now, but it's less messy to leave before there are intestines all over her boots. Besides, there's a satisfaction to having the last word.

Fucking everything up is safer, familiar, something she knows how to do.The number one rule is not to get hurt, and fucking someone is such an effective way of fucking things up with them. It slices up people's affection like razor over their skin, or a stake through the heart.

She spreads her hand on the wall beside Buffy's shoulder, leans in, and breaths, "Ready for a real fuck, yet, B?"

For a long moment Buffy doesn't move at all. Then she says, "You'll need a better pick up line than that."

"I don't do conversation," Faith says, dropping her other hand onto Buffy's hip and sliding it down her thigh.

Have, want, take, she thinks, and kisses Buffy like an act of conquest.

Buffy pushes herself off the wall, body slamming into Faith's as her hand grabs a fistful of Faith's hair.

"Didn't anyone teach you to ask nicely?" Buffy says, pulling her head back.

Faith smiles, and she can see her red lipstick on B's lips. "What's the fun in that?"

Buffy's grip on her hair tightens, forcing Faith's head back, and then she steps in close, closer than Faith lets people get except during sex. Close enough that Faith can feel Buffy's heartbeat.

"I'm not a nice girl," Buffy says in a tone that's a threat.

"Prove it," Faith spits, and has a moment of brilliant satisfaction before her head cracks against the wall, and Buffy traps her arms with one hand, pushing her leg between Faith's thighs.

"Is this what you did with the vamps?" taunts Faith, and feels the scrape of Buffy's nails down her stomach. "Did you hold Angel down and ride him, B? Do you like being on top?"

"Shut up," Buffy hisses, pressing her thigh against the crotch of Faith's leather pants, and rocking her hips so their bodies slide with perfect friction.

"Make me," she says, and finally Buffy kisses her with a clash of tongues and teeth. Faith can taste the blood in her mouth.

Maybe this is her bridges burning, fucking things up by fucking, the way she always does. Or maybe it's something different. She hadn't expected Buffy's grip around her wrists, tight enough that Faith's not sure she could break it if she tried; hadn't expected that Buffy might fight so hard to refuse what she wanted and then not let go.

She pulls one arm to test Buffy's grip, and feels Buffy's weight shift instinctively, pinning her in place.

"You don't get to fuck me and leave," Buffy says, gripping Faith's wrists hard enough that they'll bruise.

Her usual flip response is on the tip of her tongue: "What makes you think you're special, B?" but it dies in her throat.

"I'm good at leaving," she says.

"I'm good at catching people," Buffy retorts, pressing Faith back against the wall with her hips, and kisses her so hard that it makes Faith's head spin.