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The moon was full that night, filling the sky, radiating down glowing light. The air felt so much colder after she lifted her body from mine, the sweat against my skin already cooled enough to raise goosebumps.

In the faint moonlight, I can make out her silhouette as she rises to her feet and begins to reach for her clothes. She has a lithe, graceful figure, lean muscles rippling beneath her smooth, porcelain skin. I admire the swell of her breasts and the dips of her curves as she pulls on her shirt. She's beautiful, and I can't help myself from realizing it every time.

Yet again, my eyes traitorously follow her as she bends over to step into her lacy underwear. I'm struck by a memory, remembering the perfect way it felt to have her against me, inside me. I shudder and swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat, licking my lips. As if in response to my thoughts, she turns and looks at me, her pants dangling from one hand. I stare at her hands for a moment, deceptively small but so strong, like my own, and I imagine the bruises that will replace the pain I feel in my arms and hips.

She looks at me unflinchingly, her dark eyes full of some unspoken emotion. Faith's always been bolder than I could ever be, and it takes effort not to blush under her gaze. Especially as I realize how ridiculous I must look, lying naked on a patch of grass in the middle of a cemetery watching her dress.

She turned away a moment later, shaking her head firmly in response to something only she knows. She pulls on her pants, tossing me my own clothes.

"Well," she says lightly, her back to me as she moves on to her boots, "What are you waiting for?"

I scramble to my feet, throw on my clothes, and hurry after her as she stalks toward the front gate. I watch her hips as they sway, and before I can stop it, my mouth gets away from me. "Is it always going to be this way with you? Fighting or sex?"

She stops, glancing back at me over her shoulder, and she is uncharacteristically serious as she stares at me. "Is there something else you want it to be?"

I think of our fights, the hitting and kicking that culminates into clawing, biting and bruising kisses. Her levering over me, bucking against me, sliding inside me, before I could even think to protest, the agonizing mixture of pleasure and pain. I think of the dozen times this has happened before. I think of her touch, how soft her skin is, how she feels when's she's hot and wet around my fingers. The strange look she gets in those times when she stares down at me, something I might delude myself as being almost tender.

I think of the way she says my name, the way hers spills from my lips in whimpers, moans and cries. I think of the weird feeling that wells up inside of me when I'm with her like this. I try not to think of the fact that I stopped hating her a long time ago, and started feeling something different.

I force a smile despite the pain it causes my spilt lip. "No," I say with forced nonchalance, "We're just blowing off steam, right? You know how we get after slaying."

Faith looks at me for a long moment, her dark eyes unreadable, before she shrugs, turning away. "Yeah," she replies, a strange tone underlying her voice that I don't quite understand, "I practically created the routine, B."

We walk in silence, and I bite my lip to keep from saying more as we make our way out of the graveyard.