So the next chapter of Oleander Wine is up and ready for public consumption. The tallies are in and apparently you all wanted a sneak peak of the Terminator fic I’ve been working on. It’s a sequel to the story Here be Dragons and you might want to read that first before reading the sneak peak or it might not make that much sense.
Title: Between the Devil and Metal
Rating :: FR15
Warning :: Femslash subtext.
Disclaimer :: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and all related characters are copyright of Josh Friedman, Fox Television and James Cameron. The Terminator movie franchise and all related characters are copyright of James Cameron, William Wisher Jr., Warner Brothers and Columbia Pictures. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Series Synopsis :: They were found in a dark corner of Century, hidden away by the metal, and left for rot. They were darkness. They were death. They were dragons.
Between the Devil and Metal
Metal whined, the door beneath Faith’s hands buckling outward as she continued to tug on the massive handle and managed to separate the metal security lip, that made her scavenged crowbar useless, from the doorframe. Buffy moved forward, hooked the tips of her fingers beneath the ledge and added her strength to Faith’s. The three deadbolts keeping them out gave under their combined effort with ricocheting pops that filled the darkened alley behind the row of shops.
Brown eyes narrowed and Faith hesitated, turning to give the shadows behind them one last sweep before following Buffy inside. Her bare feet struck cool tiles and she shivered, stepping free of the Los Angeles smog and humidity into the air conditioned darkness of the store before pulling the door closed, as best she could, behind her.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the muted light leaking in around the damaged door and her brows tugged together when she found herself alone in the small storage area. She snorted—Slayer solidarity her ass—and made her way into the front of the store. Streetlights illuminated the racks of clothing in varying shades of blue, green and white, casting through the graffiti paintjob on the panoramic windows bared to the street.
Faith paused to study the swirling colors and hard edges, admiring the skill it had taken to create something so intricate and steady. Artists like that had been coveted by the Resistance, using them to tag safe houses and bunkers throughout the cities so that the humans knew where to gather and when to get the fuck out of dodge. Those symbols and their ability to create them with such quick efficiency had saved lives and turned kids into heroes that were hunted by the metal.
With a shake of her head Faith tugged herself free of the future and back into the present, deftly turning from the window she slid between the racks toward the far wall and the underwear hanging from it. Her eyes narrowed as she drew nearer to the wall and saw that underwear was a pretty loose term for the scraps of lace and silk lining the peg hooks in front of her. Faith’s head tilted back, arms rising to cross beneath her bare breasts as she looked for anything with an underwire that could actually support her.
She settled on a black number that tucked the cousins in tight enough to make her cleavage vaguely resemble an ass crack—just what she needed—and pulled the excuse for underwear that matched up her legs and over her thighs to rest on her hips. A presence behind her had Faith spinning, fists raised and eyes narrowed before they settled on Buffy who simply arched a brow in response and offered her a pair of jeans and a black pinstriped top. “Already got the tags off.”
“Thanks.” Faith snatched the jeans and tugged them on, frowning at the fact that they had six buttons to keep them closed. Her brows slipped together, a line forming between them as she struggled to master the buttons on the inside of the jeans and looked up, saw Buffy was already fully dressed—the days of B insisting on washing before wearing were long past—and winced. “How long did I space for?”
A narrow shoulder rose and fell. “Not long. Maybe a minute. Maybe two.” Her face remained expressionless as she watched Faith snap the last button and accept the top before she jerked her chin toward the back wall of the store. “There are jackets and shoes over there.”
Faith held the pinstriped top in her hand a moment, frowning down at the black ribbon lacing up the back and sent Buffy a confused look. “How’in the hell am I suppose to wear this?”
“Turn it over, brain trust.”
Sending the other Slayer a mutinous look she did as mocked and smiled at the zipper, lined by leather piping, running down the front and grinned, suddenly admiring the construction of ribbon and metal hooks. Buffy moved away from her and toward the back of the store as Faith unzipped and slipped on the top before following. Once the front was closed and her breasts were flattened by the constricting fabric, and no longer ass-like, Faith looked up to see Buffy handing her a pair of socks.
“You’re all over this B and E.”
“Learned from the best.” Her cheeky grin was accompanied by a derisive laugh as Buffy turned away from Faith and toward the shoes set up in rows of boxes. The more fashion conscious Slayer bypassed the strappy heels and peep-toed pumps for the row of boots. Brown eyes dipped, taking in the sight of the skin and scars bared by the sensible tank-top Buffy had chosen for herself.
Faith’s gaze lowered and was distracted a moment by the curve of Buffy’s ass through the tight fit of her jeans before she noticed the extra pockets and belt loops that adorned them. Her considering frown became more prominent by the moment before she lifted her head and stated, “You grab the boots. I’ll snag the jackets and then we can get gone.”
Green eyes lifted from their study of the boots to send Faith a narrowed look before she sighed, “Do we really need jackets? It’s at least eighty degrees with forty percent humidity outside. Maybe we should skip on ‘em.”
A brow arch high and Faith inclined her head. “The more layers between us and them the better. You know that.” Not waiting for a reply Faith made her way between the rows of shoes to look over the small display of jackets and snagged a wool, flare-collared for herself before sorting through the rest. She gave a low whistle when she found a cotton, cropped jacket with a priest collar. It was short enough to stop just at the high point of Buffy’s waist and had enough detailing to look interesting against her less then stellar attire.
She bit through the thin plastic tab holding the price tag on before shrugging into her own jacket and tugged on her socks and turned, stiffening when she found Buffy standing just behind her. “Learn to stomp, B.”
An eye roll accompanied Buffy shoving a pair of comfortable looking motorcycle boots at her. The soles appeared thick enough to do some damage and take it in equal parts which sat just fine with Faith as she tossed Buffy the jacket she’d chosen for her. She snapped off the tag before fiddling with the zipper along the back panel as Faith pulled on the boots and rose, her brows tugging together. “There something wrong?”
A pointed chin rose and Faith’s mouth curved downward at the sight of damp lashes as Buffy struggled to find words. “No, it’s-it’s fine,” she paused, frowned, “it’s more then fine. It’s nifty even.”
She slipped into the jacket and fastened the buttons hidden beneath a flap of fabric and the two holding the high priest collar closed. Faith smirked in triumph at the fact that the jacket hugged Buffy’s chest and shoulders, stopping right where she’d thought it would. She watched Buffy adjusted the sleeves that ended at her knuckles before she looked up to see Faith’s nod of approval. “Looks good on you, B.”
A quick dip of Faith’s chin accepted Buffy’s gratitude before she turned and slipped through the rows of shoes and racks of clothes toward the back entrance, only stopping long enough to snag a red tank from one of the shelves. The pair paused at the back door, heads cocking in unison as they listened for anything out of the ordinary and a moment passed before Buffy slipped around Faith and into the alley. Another moment eased by before she motioned the all clear, Faith’s crowbar clutched tight in her fist, and the pair made their way past the dumpsters and stench of burning vegetable oil from the restaurant four stores up.
Their new boots crunched over the debris and rocks, ignoring the uneven ground as they glided over and through it until they reached the street and fell into step side by side. Their gazes swept over the quieting neighborhood of shops as they made their way down the street and further away from the site of their thievery. Faith lifted the tank top up and grasped the seam along the side and tore it before repeating the same process to the other side until she had the tank in two pieces.
“Here.” Buffy paused, turned toward Faith as she tucked one side under her arm and folded up the other into one long strip of cloth. Faith smiled when Buffy simply presented her with her left arm, the crowbar clutched in her right hand came to rest against her shoulder as she watched Faith tie the strip of red around her bicep. Buffy accepted the other half of the tank top and Faith’s left arm, the crowbar passing between owners and her arm jerked when Buffy tied off the strip and Faith nodded. “Thanks.”
She tucked in a loose section before allowing Faith to lower her arm and then she turned, glanced down the empty road. “We need transportation if we’re gonna make it to the safe house by dawn.”
“Reese isn’t gonna be happy to see us.”
Buffy’s shoulders dropped with Faith’s statement. “No, he’s not,” she blinked rapidly as if trying to will back tears before adding, “Because he’ll know what us being here means.”
Faith sighed, slipping her hand into Buffy’s and tugged her forward, made Buffy match her casual stroll down the sidewalk. “He will, but we’ll worry about that then. For now, let’s worry about our need to grand theft auto.”
Her sister in arms nodded, keeping stride with her and the hand nestled in Faith’s tightened before Buffy asked, her voice hopeful, “What about the ice cream?”