Imagine an unstoppable force meeting another unstoppable force.
And that's probably why double Slayer training gets… a little messy sometimes.
With a roundhouse kick, Buffy feels herself crashing onto the nearby library table. Her neck whips backwards with a small, echoing twinge of pain. Her elbow knocks over Giles's mug of lukewarm tea, right onto… one of his opened library books. Oh shit.
"Oh shit," Buffy repeats quietly, glancing fearfully over her shoulder.
Before she can go grab a towel to mope up the liquidy puddle seeping into old and very valuable pages — and of course, hide the evidence — Buffy is immediately pinned down.
Faith is immediately on her, her breasts heaving underneath her crimson, spaghetti-strap top, and with a shit-eating grin plastered to her face.
She hovers in between the other girl's legs and presses the axe handle against Buffy's neck with both hands.
"Now this is where I like it—you on the bottom and me on top," Faith tells her, voice a little winded and dark and rumbling with pleasure. She watches in undisguised eagerness as Buffy squirms in place on her back, her throat spasming wildly in effort to draw an inhale. "Aw c'mon, B. Don't give up now. Where's that Slayer fighting spirit?"
With a grunt, Buffy shoves her off, using her right foot to lodge against herself and Faith's stomach.
She gasps for air, leaping back onto her feet and discarding her own axe. As it clatters to the ground, Buffy winces.
Oh wow, Giles is not gonna be happy about this. Xander often called him "a stick in the mud"… and while he's not exactly wrong, Buffy does not want to be on Giles's bad side. He's only been gone for an hour, and she and Faith have at least broken a chair, and dented two walls of the library, and ruined a book.
Faith eyes her skeptically. She drops her own broad-axe with unceremonious intent, patting her hands together.
"Fine by me," she announces flatly, before charging headfirst at Buffy. Neither of them are wearing rings for this — Buffy's multiple, silver ones tucked away in her pocket, due to firsthand experience with ragingly colorful split lips and bruised eye-sockets.
Uppercut. Block. Jab. Dodge. Backfist. Block. Hit. Dodge.
Buffy's mind catalogs their separate moves in rapid-speed, keeping her expression stern and concentrated. She spin-kicks in mid air, aiming towards Faith's left cheek, just barely grazing her. As she lands with expert finesses, Faith lunges at her.
In the flurry of arms and confusion, Buffy discovers with mounting, resentful frustration that she has lost the upper-hand once more.
Faith's dagger glints out exposed to the warm light above them, smeared with a thin, dribbling layer of blood.
It's only been a few weeks since Faith arrived in town and Buffy thinks she occasionally hates her. She feels like she's still trying to figure Faith out — the enigmatic behavior, Faith's personality and her ticks, her fighting style. No, wait, Buffy has got that one figured out. It's dirty and full of cheating. Uugh.
She groans out, sweat dampening her nape. One of Faith's hand grips down on her hip.
"Is winning all you think about?"
"Better than losing, I'd say," Faith murmurs in hot, puffing breathes, nudging her lips behind Buffy's ear. It never fails — every time Buffy's around her, it sends a delightful, electrifying sensation jolting to life within Buffy's spine.
Faith carries a feeling like expecting a roaring, blackening thunderstorm. Or steel hitting against gleaming stone, flaring explosive, bright-blinding sparks. Faith loves her cheap, flavorless chapstick and she smells like menthol and sugary, fruity gum. She leaves playful, too-lingering kisses to Buffy's jaw, in the morning outside of Sunnydale High School.
She and Buffy are the same, and they always will be — so familiar with those lonely, silent hours. Those hours after patrol, when frantically scrubbing loose graveyard dirt buried underneath their fingernails, and washing out the bloodied, rotting gore and sewage out of their hair and jackets.
As soon as she witnesses the blood on her own dagger-blade, Faith chuckles.
"Got a little overexcited, sorry about that," she says, gliding it whisper-soft to Buffy's neck, across a major, pulsing artery before lowering the dagger.
Buffy nearly lets out a shocked, awed noise rip out of her, as Faith's mouth latches to her throat, licking aggressively, slowly over the bleeding wound. It's far too sensual and real and intimate, along with terrifying. She jolts out of Faith's hands, cupping her neck protectively.
She remembers their first meeting — Buffy remembers being a witness of the chaotic, human storm that was Faith Lehane. A teenage girl in those unattractive arm-warmers and ridiculously skintight, snakeskin pants. It wasn't exactly meet cute, but she knows she likes Faith.
Despite the annoyance at Faith's lack of obedience, and the initial distrust and jealousy, she likes her. Faith understands — the thrill, the heart-pounding adrenaline of slaying that turns on her base desires and urges. It's a secret, and it's almost perfect when Buffy kisses Faith like she is now, out of shyness, out of a wild, blundering attraction.
Faith never complains, and she wants just like her, allowing Buffy to crowd her against the book-cage.
They grind and touch all over, Faith's chipped, black-rose nails raking into Buffy's skin hard enough to sting, as she burrows a hand under Buffy's camisole.
Buffy opens her mouth, slipping her tongue wetly against Faith's, moaning low. She's thinking about pulling away, taking Faith's arm and dragging her to the janitor's closet or somewhere with a locked door, until someone clears their throat with obvious discomfort. A long moment passes before Buffy processes it and her entire face goes beet-red.
She stumbles back, gawking at her Watcher.
"Oh… oh," Buffy says, looking crestfallen as Giles removes his glasses, wiping them off with an eerie hush surrounding everyone. "Um, I can totally…"
"Don't… say anything," he interrupts, appearing disapproving and sounding that way as well. "You two are dismissed from training." Buffy lowers her eyes, wiping her cheap lipstick-smudged mouth and chin. "Faith, you'll be taking patrol alone tonight."
Faith hops off the book-cage, dusting herself and grabbing her worn, leather jacket.
"Yeah, sure. Whatever," she says agreeably, and then turns to Giles before heading out. "Hey, you're not a homophobe… are ya, Watcher-man?" Faith questions, smirking. She may look amused, and unfazed by the situation, but there's a warning glint in her brown eyes. Challenging.
Giles sighs out, placing back on his thin-wired glasses.
"Rest assure, I am not," he says informatively, calmly. Buffy stares at the other girl hopefully who smiles and nods to her. "However, romantic exploits have a time and a place, of course," he reminds them. "A private… place. Is that understood?"
Faith doesn't bother wiping at her own ruined mouth, but she punches Giles's shoulder with a friendly, harsh motion.
"Good to know!" she calls out, vanishing through the library doors.
Giles mumbles out a complaint and rubs his shoulder.
"ImsorryImsosorry," Buffy rushes out her apology, walking alongside him.
Giles' features soften with encouragement. "It's quite alright, Buffy," he says. "I'm sure that you and Faith…"
"No, about… uh, it was an accident…?"
She cringes outwardly, jaw gritting as Giles hesitates before racing for the scattered, upended items on the library table. He lifts the sopping, antiquely bound textbook. "This was an seventeenth century first edition…" Giles trails off mournfully.
"Like I said, complete… freak accident," Buffy explains, pretending she's not shrinking under his horror-struck gaze.
And that's how double Slayer training gets canceled indoors. But, thankfully, there's plenty of time for make-out sessions after patrol.