It’s not sex.
Buffy can hear Faith groaning in her ear, her breathing hot and fast on Buffy’s cheek. They’re so close together she can feel the way Faith trembles when she hits the right spot – and Faith, of course, knows all her right spots and just when to hit them.
She moans, and jerks, and Buffy bites her lower lip. She’s watching, as best she can, out of the corner of her eye. It’s awkward, but she can see just enough that it makes her skin feel too tight, her stomach muscles clench.
Buffy presses the pad of her middle finger against her clit and slides it back and forth. She’s so wet, there’s no friction and she presses down, harder, and rolls her hips in tiny little circles.
Next to her, Faith rolls in slow waves, from her knees to her neck. She’s got one hand between her legs, frantically fingering herself, and the other moves between her breasts, pinching her nipples, squeezing. Her elbow digs into Buffy’s side sometimes, and Buffy shifts her weight, scooting the slightest bit closer.
It’s not sex. It’s not. She’s not gay. It’s just a release. It’s just working out her frustrations, and with Faith, fighting is like fucking, it’s all the same. They spar, and they slay, and, sometimes, Faith comes home with her and they get themselves off in Buffy’s bed.
“Let me hear you,” Faith grunts. She always says that, always wants Buffy to be louder, to speak more, to raise her voice and cry out and talk dirty. Buffy feels her cheeks heat, which is ridiculous because she’s no blushing virgin.
Her mother’s not home. She doesn’t have to be quiet.
She steadies her nerves, and then lets herself moan, her breath coming in little shaky whimpers. She fists her left hand in the covers, circles her clit, and cries out, quietly, just a whisper of sound.
Faith comes off the bed, her whole body tense, rigid, and she spasms.
“Fuck,” she groans, and “so good. Fuck.”
Buffy’s coming, and she whimpers and thrashes her head on the pillow. She squeezes her eyes shut because she knows Faith is going to look at her, is going to watch her come, and she doesn’t want to see her eyes, doesn’t want to catch that heat, that shattering want.
If she does, if she sees it one more time, she’s not sure she’ll believe it’s not sex anymore.