Title :: Addicted
Rating :: FR18 (for sexual content and adult situations)
Disclaimer :: I do not own these characters that would be Joss Whedon and Eric Kripke. No profit was made by this work of fiction.
Note :: This story takes place during the season 3 episodes ‘Bad Girls’ for BtVS and the season 2 episode ‘Born Under a Bad Sign’ for SPN.
Synopsis :: A moment of release, of distraction can lead to anyone’s downfall. TtH Holiday Fic-a-Thon for Demona.
I got two pale hands up against the window pane.
I’m shaking with the heat of my need again.
‘Addicted to Bass’by: Puretones
He was drawn by the sound, a thunderous, muffled, echoing beat that filled a converted warehouse with life. Strong, vibrant life in its most hedonistic form packed the heated darkness around him with the pulse of human bodies lost in the moment. Hazel eyes narrowed on a pair in the very center of the crowd. Ensnared by the throb of the music as it dropped to 35Hz and they turned to one another, hands interlocking and rising above their heads as if rejoicing in their freedom, their power.
His lips quirked as he lifted the condensation lined bottle and tipped his head back, downing the rest of its contents. The glass struck the bar with sharp crack before he slid off his stool and began to make his way toward the pair that had caught his attention and confirmed the fact that Sunnydale had been the right place to stop off before taking care of Steve.
His narrow frame slipped through the pulsating masses, toward the pair and he watched as the brunette’s hips shifted, heeled boots following suit as she pulled the blonde forward by their joined hands. They slipped into a rhythm that the boys around them tried and failed to mimic. A rhythm that belied their humanity as they twisted and bent in unison before stepping apart with the next pitch in the treble and he took that moment of separation to catch the brunette’s gaze.
Dark brows quirked and glossed lips spread as she inclined her head before the blonde stepped into her once more and they resumed their dance. He paused a moment and his lips lifted in a challenged before he stepped back from the crowd of teenagers vying for their attention, separated himself and headed back towards the bar. He tugged at the flannel crowding at the bend of his elbows and pushed the rolled up cuffs higher over the toned muscles of his forearms before placing said forearms against the thick plastic covering the bar.
The trendy décor surrounding him gave way to pool tables set up along the back of the establishment far enough away from the stage and speakers to allow for casual conversation without shouting. He accepted another Miller with a nod and slid a ten across the plastic. He lifted the bottle to his lips; jaw working as he swallowed and a warm presence settled herself at his side. He accepted his change, leaving a tip and turned to look down at the brunette from the dance floor looking up at him with doe eyes ringed in black.
He caught the roll of the blonde’s eyes as she continued to sway to the beat a step or two behind her friend. His brow rose, “Hey,” and he then proceeded to take another pull from his bottle.
The brunette’s gaze dropped to his Miller and he nearly laughed at how easy it was to tempt someone already so broken. Glossed lips parted with a smile, that he could only label wicked was flashed in his general direction, “Buy a lady a drink?”
He inclined his head, “I would,” and he smirked, “if the lady wasn’t jailbait.” With that as his parting shot he made his way deeper into the club. Past the couples spread across the various couches and toward the pool tables. He stepped under the stairs, once again lifting the Miller to his mouth and his gaze dropped, concealing the moment when they shifted from hazel to black as a matching curl of smoke slipped past his lips and into the amber bottle.
A hand on his elbow had him dropping that bottle to his side, grasping it by the neck as he swirled the contents and turned, glancing down at the brunette. He raised his brows in question but the blonde interrupted him, her voice a throaty whine, “Faith. Let it go.”
He laughed, a low chuckle that brought the hair along the back of Faith’s neck up before he offered a half-ass apology. “I was a bit of a jerk wasn’t I?” The blonde sent him a look and he wondered at the flare of jealousy that came off of her before he ignored it and offered Faith his beer.
Her eyes narrowed on it before she yanked it from his long fingers and made a show of wiping off the head before taking a long pull that downed half the bottle. His smile stretched as she turned and twisted her wrist toward the blonde, bottle pointed at a less than ample chest.
Finely shaped brows pulled low over green eyes as she hesitated to accept it and Faith rotated her wrist, shifting the bottle’s contents, “Come’on B,” and arched a brow.
His lips quirked as he asked, “B?”
The blonde’s eyes rose to meet his and she seemed eager to take her focus off the beer, if even for only a moment. “Buffy, is me.” She offered him her hand and Faith grabbed it, slapping the bottle against her palm hard enough to force it closed and that harsh movement pulled her attention away from the extremely tall guy as she hissed, “Faith.”
She sighed and glanced down at the not even half full bottle and he stated, “You don’t have too.”
Faith snorted as Buffy turned to look up at the sweetest smile. Her own lips quirked in response before she gave in and took a quick sip. There was an indelicate female cough that she was more than certain covered the word ‘wuss’ and her nose wrinkled before she gave into the moment and downed the rest of the bitter liquid.
Soft clapping accompanied her actions and she lowered the Miller to see that the extremely tall guy was grinning from ear to ear as he offered his hand, “Sam.”
Buffy took his hand and for a moment she could have sworn his eyes bled to black and in that same moment she couldn’t bring herself to care as Faith’s arm slipped around her waist. She absently tossed the beer toward a trash can and caught Sam’s hand before the two Slayers proceeded to lead him back toward the dance floor.
I’ve got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck
Then any boy you’ll ever meet, sweetie you had me.
‘Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off’
by: Panic! at the Disco
A wide hand spanned the side of her hip as Buffy’s fingers wrapped around the rust covered railing as the trio mounted the steps toward Faith’s home. Said Slayer was leading them with a hypnotic sway to her hips and Sam’s grip on her tightened as they both missed the next step and stumbled. His amused snort drew her attention toward him and his brows rose. Buffy’s head tilted back as she laughed, realizing that they both had been distracted by the same thing and her snickers were cut short as she noticed Faith waited for them on the second landing.
Her distracting hips were cocked and one arm hung at her side, loosely gripping another Miller from the twelve-pack, that Sam had picked up for them, rested on her slanted side. She lifted the bottle, taking a quick sip before dropping it and inclining her head toward the motel room door.
Buffy cleared her throat and stepped ahead of Sam, “We were just—”
“Checking out my ass?”
The blonde ignored the heat rushing to fill her cheeks with a faint redness as she reached her counterpart and snagged a beer from the container. Her gaze locked with Faith’s as Sam reached them, “Yeah, kinda.”
A sharply arched brow quirked in surprise before Faith spun on her heel and turned over her Miller to Buffy and shoved her now free hand into the front pocket of her jeans. Damp fingers wrapped around the key ring and with a far too cheerful jingle she pulled them free and unlocked the door, shoving it open with her shoulder and pushed her way into the room.
She carelessly nudged over the pile of clothes waiting for their turn in the bathroom sink and dropped off the twelve-pack beside the TV. She turned back to watch as Buffy dropped herself on the bed and leaned forward offering her back her Miller. Faith bent at the waist and paused when Buffy’s gaze dipped to where her breast pressed forward, straining against the too tight spaghetti strap top she wore. She caught the beer and the reddening of Buffy’s narrow features but before she could comment the door slammed and drew her focus toward it.
Sam’s lips were pulled up at the corners with a sheepish smile as he shrugged, “It jammed.”
Buffy watched her return the shrug and answered him with, “happens,” before Faith lifted the Miller up and downed the last of it as Sam made himself comfortable next to Buffy and took her beer from her. With a deft movement of his hands he twisted off the cap and took a pull from it first. His eyes fell closed as he tilted his head back, throat working before his chin dipped and he pulled the bottle free of his mouth.
He turned toward her, eyes slowly opening and her brow rose in question as he offered her back her beer, “Savoring it?”
He grinned, “It’s the small things that matter.” Faith snorted as Buffy took a sip and reached in the cardboard case to grab another for herself when Sam drew her attention back towards the bed, “Why not share?”
“There’s plenty to go around, yo.”
The Slayers exchanged a glance before Buffy shrugged and offered her the bottle. Faith’s brows drew down with the slight darkening of Buffy’s gaze but pushed herself off from the dresser and took a step toward the bed to snag the beer. She smirked as she watched Sam’s hand slip underneath Buffy’s hair to caress her neck before she tilted her head back and downed half the bottle’s contents in two long swallows.
Her chin dropped and she shook her head at the sight of Buffy’s mouth fused with Sam’s and her sister Slayer was using a hell of a lot more tongue than she’d have ever given her credit for. She turned away from the pair, toward the beer but a hand slipped into the front of her jeans and tugged her back toward the bed.
Startled, but not entirely unwelcoming Faith turned back and glanced down to see the slim hand down the front of her jeans holding her in place. Brown eyes widened as they traveled up a finely muscled arm to meet its owner’s gaze and for a moment she wasn’t sure who was more surprised with their eye contact, her or Buffy but it didn’t matter because Sam’s wide hands were suddenly on her and guiding her down to meet his mouth with her own.
His lips parted hers and a soft burst of cold air slipped across her tongue and down her throat. The hand cupping the back of her neck tightened and slipped upward to coil in her hair as the cold gave way to a spreading warmth and Sam gave a sharp tug as she replaced her lips with teeth and nipped at his lower lip. The hand gripping her shoulder slipped away and Sam slipped away, pulled back.
Her eyes opened, stared into the dark void that had replaced the hazel in his gaze and laughed. His lips spread in response to that low sound and the hand at the back of her neck turned her away from him. Guided her closer to Buffy and his fingers tightened before slipping away. She watched a pink tongue dart out to wet her now gloss-free mouth and Faith pressed herself forward.
Caught that naked bottom lip with her teeth and lightly bit down before she laid a gentle hand on Buffy’s shoulder, urging her to lie back. Faith followed her down, straddling Buffy’s hips and slipping her hands up into that annoyingly, perfectly styled hair as her teeth grazed a pointed chin. Her breath dampened Buffy’s flushed skin before her mouth settled over the blonde’s and she slipped her tongue inward. Buffy returned the gesture, a quick sweep of her own tongue before Faith’s grip tightened and she took control of the kiss, dominated it until breathing became an issue and they separated.
Faith pressed her forehead to Buffy’s, kept their gazes locked as their breaths mingled and Sam eased his way free of the bed a moment before Buffy rolled them. Reversed their positions and smirked down at her counterpart before leaning over and capturing her mouth once more.
Callused fingers wrapped around the brown glass of another Miller and tugged it free of the case before Sam shifted and leaned against the dresser. His gaze locked on the bed as he twisted off the cap at the same moment Faith’s hands found there way beneath Buffy’s silk top and helped the blonde to expose her tan back as they pulled it free from her body. It was tossed to the side and Faith sat forward, hunching her shoulders so that she could catch a distended tip between her teeth and Buffy’s gasp helped build the warmth at the base of his spine as he took a long pull from the bottle.
Buffy’s back arched and pressed her meager chest further forward as Faith’s hands slid from her back to cup her ass and she turned, caught Sam’s gaze and offered him her hand. The Miller made a sharp crack against the cheap wood of the dresser and he shrugged out of his jacket before putting one knee on the bed and bent to catch the next breathy gasp with his mouth.
All these hot licks and rhetoric, surely do you no harm
They’re hopelessly human, both inside and out.
‘Hopelessly Human’ by Kansas
The decisive movement of the pen over paper paused as the door to his office exploded inward, splinters and larger shards decorated his once spotless carpet as Wilkins rose from behind his desk. The silver casing of the pen flashed is it rolled off the leather desk protector and toward the edge of his desk. His hand lowered, caught it as his second, Mr. Trick, arched a brow before he pushed himself to his feet from the chair stationed across from him. Slim hands rose, straightening the lapels of a pinstriped suit as he spun on his heel, face shifting into his true countenance. Saffron eyes narrowed on the two Slayers and his lips spread wide, revealing sharpened canines with the sight of a true demon at their backs.
“Are we interrupting?”
Faith’s brows quirked with Buffy’s cheerful inquiry, “Looks like.”
“We should have knocked.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Buffy’s head tilted back to grin up at Sam for his easy addition to their taunting.
“You’ve domesticated them.”
Faith’s eyes narrowed with the mayor of Sunnydale’s surprised statement and Buffy’s nose scrunched as she asked, “Domesticate? Do we look like cattle?”
Trick’s smile widened. “More like bitches.”
“Mr. Trick, a little decorum.”
He turned toward his employer and inclined his head, “The female dog is a domesticated animal.”
“You’re right.” He turned back to see Faith’s nod, “I am a bitch.”
His brows pulled together and in the next instant there was a sucking pain to the left of his sternum. He glanced down, eyes widening at the sight of the stake imbedded in his chest and his shoulders dropped, “Son of a—”
Buffy’s head inclined as she watched his body disintegrate and Faith’s stake fall harmlessly to the carpet with a soft thump. Her brows rose, “Again with the bitch.”
A hand settled on Buffy’s shoulder and Sam stepped forward, made his way around Faith and through the remains of Mr. Trick, the evidence that Wilkins was batting for the bad guys.
“Mr. Mayor.” He smirked, “Dick. You’ve been a busy boy.” The purring tone to Sam’s voice made the palms of Buffy’s hands itch with the urge to touch him, run her fingers down his chest and help Faith count the new and old scars that riddled his body again.
Wilkins pulled himself up straighter, “Now listen young man—”
“Don’t patronize me, Dick. We know what you’re doing. What you have planned and you’re ascension is a distraction that my father just doesn’t need at the moment.” His head dipped, lips curling upward, “And we both know that the hundred days to your ascension doesn’t start until tomorrow.”
Wilkins’ hands rose to straighten his tie and he fought to keep his gaze locked with the unsettling young man and not stray to the mess covering his area rug. “You’re father?”
“Azazel sends his regards.” Sam’s eyes bled to black and Wilkins’ felt his face flush as the Slayers moved to flank him, their gazes darkening several shades. “Ladies,” Buffy and Faith inclined their heads in unison, “remember to have fun.”
Faith grinned, “If you’re not enjoying yourself—”
“You’re doing something wrong,” Buffy finished.
Wilkins eyes widened and the Slayers smiled.