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Return To Normal: Chapter Six – NSFW Version

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This story is No. 3 in the series "The Normal-verse Series". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Uncensored version of chapter six. Femslash. Pairing: Buffy/Faith. Not safe for work.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > Buffy-Centered > Pairing: Other FemslashjAkLFR2118,7235148,98023 Jul 0723 Jul 07Yes

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Disclaimer: I do not own any characters relating to either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate SG-1. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and does not provide any financial compensation.




Return To Normal






Chapter Six – NSFW Version








Faith Lehane, is insane!’

She heard the refrain a lot growing up. Believed it, even, because it was true. She was pretty crazy. Bat-shit fucking insane, some of the time. Given the crap that happened at home, it was only to be expected. You don’t fuck a kid over that badly for that long and expect them to come out of it anywhere close to ‘normal.’ Under the circumstances, Faith figured she had done pretty good. She didn’t drink, at least not often, or takes drugs, or at least not the hard kind. Okay, she smoked sometimes, and screwed more people than she should, but given what she had been provided in the way of examples for adult role models, she was doing okay. She had a job, and her own place, and wasn’t dead in a gutter somewhere…

But, if she listened hard enough, she could still hear the other kids taunting her. ‘Faith Lehane, is insane!’ At the time it had driven her fucking nuts, the way they had ganged up and hurled the words at her, as if the shit going on in her life and all that had happened to her was her fault. As if the clothes she wore or the food she ate were what she wanted, and not what she had been able to scrounge for herself when her parents were too far gone into a drug-induced escape to care that their daughter was trying to go to school, trying to learn something besides the sort of fucked-up shit they were teaching her by example, trying to pretend that she might be able to escape the sort of living hell they had made of their lives, and hers. But she was too different, too poor, too defensive, too anti-social; and the taunting never let up. She grew tough and hard and bitter, and by grade eight had given up on hoping that the education system might provide a way out. For years she had been determined to show them they couldn’t force her out, that she was too tough to quit, that she could succeed despite them… but the taunting never ended, there were no words of encouragement from officials or teachers or family who either didn’t care or blamed her for making their lives more difficult, and eventually she had just had enough of it.

Of course she pretended that she didn’t care either. That she didn’t need anyone, that she didn’t need an education, that she considered them all saps for staying in school when she could use her body or her street-smarts to make some money, to be the master of her own destiny, to find a way out that wasn’t dependant on school officials or the fucked-up bureaucracy of the fucked-up system. But even outside of school, even though the damned school made it real clear they didn’t want her back, the ‘system’ did everything in its power to screw her over. No matter how fucked up her mother and ‘step father’ were, they wouldn’t let her get away from them. She was too young to be allowed to have a job, but any money from the state went to her mother, who immediately shot it or snorted it or drank it. She quickly learned that those people who were supposed to help her were the most dangerous, the most twisted, the worst of the predators. She did what she had to in order to survive, but it was as if the system was designed to ensure that people like her didn’t survive, that they gave up and began the long slow process of committing some form of chemically-assisted suicide. It was a miracle that she had survived at all.

A miracle named Buffy Summers.

It still amazed her that after all the crap she had gone through, all the things she needed to do in order to survive, would have all come to nothing had not a stranger suddenly appeared out of the shadows one dark night. A beautiful stranger –blonde, perky, short; small boobs-- not the sort of girl Faith normally found attractive, more like the antithesis of everything she found attractive in fact… the cheerleader-type, the very personification of the kind of people she most hated, the kind of person most likely to look down on her and treat her like dirt-- okay, that train of thought had kind of derailed… but despite the way she looked, there had been something more to Buffy. Not just her amazing physical abilities, but a look in her eye, a hardness to her demeanor, which suggested she wasn’t quite the pampered Princess she appeared to be. That she had seen and done things only someone like Faith, who had both been there and done that, would understand. Someone who understood that life well and truly sucked, but it marginally beat the alternative, so you did what you had to do just to survive another day, hoping that the next one might suck just a little bit less.

Even Faith knew that she was obsessing over the small blonde. It wasn’t like she was the first person Faith had ever met who had learned the hard way about life’s less pleasant aspects. But there was an obvious difference. Most of the other people she had known who, like her, were at the bottom of the social order had gone into weird crap to escape it; the goth scene, drugs, crime, any bizarre shit that got them away from a ‘real world’ which didn’t want them and was doing its best to beat them down and keep them there. Despite a look in her eyes which made it pretty clear she had seen depths of human misery the equal of any of the fucked up shit any of the others had trolled, Buffy still looked and acted like she was a part of mainstream civilization. Even her name was a statement. There were no ‘Buffy’s’ in goth-dom.

If Buffy had somehow made a life for herself in the real world despite seeing the bottom, Faith figured she had a chance at making it as well. She’d never known anyone who had made it before Buffy barged into her life, but just knowing it was actually possible made a big difference. So she took the opportunity Buffy had presented her and grabbed it with both hands, getting the fuck out of Boston the same day, planning ahead, thinking things through for once in her life, knowing she would never get another chance and desperate not to fuck this one up. She desperately wanted to prove to Buffy –and prove to herself—that whatever Buffy saw in her which had made her want to give her a chance was justified, that she could make something of herself, that she was better than the garbage heap she came from and seemed destined to die in.

And, for the most part, she had succeeded. Knowing from painful personal experience that being underage meant she had no rights, her first objective was to score some good fake ID’s. They had cost her far too much of Buffy’s money, and even then she’d had to blow the sonuvabitch to get them. But the work was good, good enough to pass all of the standard tests. She didn’t get too ambitious, getting a job bagging groceries when she first got to Denver, sleeping on a bunk at the ‘Y,’ opening a bank account and lying low. She didn’t scream at random or cut herself like she used to, even though sometimes the pressure inside her head still needed some kind of outlet before she went fucking postal. She had always been pretty athletic and started running, exhausting herself, sometimes meeting up with cute guys on the jogging trail. One of them offered her a job. A real job, not the prostitute kind the others had offered in one form or another.

After cutting back on the makeup and buying some better clothes she accepted his offer, going to work as a waitress at a local club, her body and attitude ensuring that no one ever questioned the age on her fake ID. She was soon earning more in tips most nights than she did in a week at the grocery. She was sexy as hell and knew how to work it, so became pretty popular, enough so that her homo jogging buddy offered her a chance to work behind the bar a few weeks later when the regular guy quit. Both of them were stunned at how good she was at it. Despite her grade eight education, Faith could take the orders for half a dozen drinks, mix them all, charge the right price for each one and make correct change on the fly, all in her head. Not being a drinker she wasn’t familiar with most of the weird concoctions people ordered, but she only had to be shown once and never forgot again.

Two months after being given a chance to make something of herself, Faith realized to her own shocked amazement that she actually had made something of herself. With some money in the bank she got her own apartment and started buying her own furniture. A month later she was living under better conditions, eating better, and enjoying better social standing than she had ever known in her entire life. But she realized that she was just marking time, not-so-unconsciously waiting for Buffy to come for her. It was weird. She’d never been obsessed with anyone like she was with the tiny blonde girl, but she didn’t even try to deny to herself that she fucking worshipped the ground Buffy walked on. After all the crap in her life Faith couldn’t find it in herself to have any faith in a God who had obviously abandoned her, and if He thought He was getting all the credit for Buffy saving her ass, well, He had another think coming. Faith knew who deserved all the credit for getting her away from her own personal Hell, and if anyone deserved to be worshipped, it was her own personal pint-sized savior.





It sort of bothered her that so much time had passed without Buffy contacting her, but it wasn’t like she was sitting at home pining over her, doing nothing but waiting for her to call. She’d made a life for herself, gone out with a few guys, even fucked a couple of them. But that was how she felt about the act; she had fucked them, scratched a physiological itch. It had been sex, with no more intimacy than the rutting of livestock. There had been more genuine emotion in the quick kiss she had given Buffy than there had ever been in the physical act she had participated in simply to relieve her sexual tension. To Faith, sex had never been about intimacy. It was the one weapon she could use to get back at those who humiliated her and denigrated her. She’d learned early that she could have anyone she wanted. Doing the boyfriends of upper-crust bitches had been her preferred method of hurting them in return. Becoming the school bike hadn’t done her reputation a helluva lot of good, but since they already looked down on her for things beyond her control she saw no reason to be upset that they were disgusted with her over something she actually could control. Although she was bothered by the lack of contact with Buffy, she understood it, and even expected it might last awhile. The look in Buffy’s face when she had told Faith she had her own problems had been telling.

After waiting in line one too many times to use the machines at the library, Faith had even broken down and purchased a used computer to search the Web for anything on her object de lust, coming across the State Security posters offering an incredible amount of money for information on her whereabouts. There was a time when she would have sold out anyone she had ever known for a small fraction of the reward they were offering for information on Buffy. She never even considered it in this case. But it did confirm that whatever she was involved in, Buffy hadn’t lied to her about having some serious enemies. The fact that the ‘Wanted’ posters soon disappeared confirmed her belief that Buffy was also more than capable of handling those enemies.

One day she was watching TV when suddenly every channel was showing the President arriving at Colorado Springs. Faith just about blew a gasket when they pre-empted the rerun of ‘Veronica Mars’ she had wanted to see. One of the few signs that modern civilization wasn’t doomed was that a brilliant show like ‘Veronica Mars’ was watched by millions, near the top of the Neilson ratings, unlike retarded crap such as ‘Ghost Whisperer’ which appealed solely to the ‘Under 80 IQ Points’ demographic,’ watched by a few people in their Rest Home as they imagined ‘Crossing Over’ snuggled up to Jennifer Love Hewitt’s magnificent bosom. She didn’t give a rat’s ass about the President even when he wasn’t interrupting her television viewing pleasure, but when he started talking about aliens even she stopped bitching. Not many things were more important than ‘Veronica Mars’ reruns, but interstellar war was one of those things. Just barely maybe, but it met the criteria.

And then she saw her. Buffy. Kicking ass and taking names. The fucking President saying she had saved the world, and then doing it again on live fucking television. Back in her Boston hell-hole Faith had seen some serious shit, but nothing like the Buffinator ripping the head off a ten-foot-tall demon made of living rock, live and in color. Damn it was amazing! The commentators were practically having an orgasm. Once it was over, Faith obsessively read newspapers, watched the news, searched out the internet for everything she could find Buffy-related, and it was pretty apparent she wasn’t the only one. The sheer volume of coverage was intimidating. Buffy’s mother couldn’t leave her house without being mobbed by reporters. Her best friend, a dyke named Willow Rosenberg –Faith frowned when she heard about Rosenberg’s sexual orientation, and wondered if she had a relationship with Buffy, and knew she was jealous as hell about even the possibility—was ensconced in Cheyenne Mountain, untouchable after the one press conference they had forced her to attend. The press camped out in front of Rosenberg’s new house –an old fixer-upper that Faith figured needed one helluva lot of fixer-upping before most people would consider it habitable—hoping to hear from Rosenberg’s partner –Faith perked up and almost hamster-danced hearing that Rosenberg was taken—but the girl was barricaded inside and wouldn’t come out.

Finally it was reported that she had been sighted in Los Angeles with her mother. Faith was pretty impressed with the way her mom handled the media scrum which followed, but not so impressed with the way Buffy’s ‘estranged’ father claimed he would be acting as her agent and demanded that all media inquiries submit their financial proposals to him. Faith had a pretty good idea how that would go over with Buffy, and hoped like hell she didn’t end up having to be the one to tell her that the douche bag was trying to pimp her out. Still, the media frenzy was amazing to watch. Even the SGC dudes, who did some serious ‘save the world’ shit in their own right, almost always turned every story into another excuse to showcase Buffy’s talents. The media indulged them because they were more interested in Buffy anyway. Buffy was young and pretty and not so intimidating with multi-barreled PhD’s or sheer creepy ‘fuck-with-me-and-I’ll-kill-you’ glares like the SG-1 crew had, so if the SGC wanted to them to concentrate on Buffy, the media was happy to play along. Two weeks after the attempted alien invasion, about the only thing most people remembered about it was that Buffy Summers was there to take care of it, and had looked damned hot doing it.





There was nothing unusual about going to work that night. No signs in the heavens, no psychic warnings. Just another day, another tight white shirt over a pushup bra, emphasize the goodies to increase the tips, check out the rear-view to ensure the leathers were accentuating what was there to be accentuated, get on the bike and ride to work, just like she did four nights a week, ten hours per shift. Nothing unusual about the ride, greet the usual co-workers, set up the usual bottles, clean the usual glasses, count the usual float. The next few hours were pretty standard as well; loud music, bouncing lights, lots of strange concoctions mixed for lots of strange people. Smile at everyone, laugh at the appropriate place even if you didn’t understand the joke, flirt with everyone, man or woman, but never let it go further than that with a customer, enjoy the lights and the sounds and the beat and the sensuality of the place, despite her feeling apart from the crowd even when she was a part of the crowd.

There was a Rap Artiste performing. Faith tried not to cringe. As always, she wanted to go up and politely explain to them that they sucked. It didn’t matter what their mom told them, or the people they paid to promote them told them; they sucked. It was a cultural thing. If you were a white guy trying to rap, and your name wasn’t Eminem, you sucked, by definition. You did not have ‘street cred’ because you did a few months in minimum security for tax evasion. You were a poseur; a pathetic bitch who would crap yourself if you ever came face to face with a real rapper. Rap was channeled rage; anger given voice over a hot jungle beat. Overhearing the sanitized bastardization of true rap blaring over the sound system, Faith wanted to gouge out her ear drums with an ice pick. But she didn’t, because that wasn’t what ‘normal’ people did, and she reminded herself she was pretending to be ‘normal.’ That, in her own way, she was as much a poseur as the ridiculously attired wigger on stage.

She was distracted from her musings by one of the servers. Someone wanted to talk to her. Nothing unusual; she was hot and her voice was low and smoky and people liked listening to her almost as much as they liked looking at her. But what this guy said next wasn’t usual. He said someone claimed to know her. Someone from Boston. At first she was afraid, quickly looking up, fearfully searching for one of Rutherford’s goons, knowing she shouldn’t have kicked him in the balls like that but damn, it had been sweeeet… but it wasn’t an unkempt Russian Mafiosi who captured her attention. For a second she didn’t even know who it was, just that she was beautiful, and tiny, and looked so young she should be wearing two giant neon signs saying ‘Jail’ and ‘Bait’ in flashing red letters over each shoulder so that nobody did anything stupid. Because a lot of people would want to do something stupid, given that she was wearing a skin-tight, backless, shimmering little sequined dress on her tight little body, and ‘fuck-me’ pumps on her dainty feet, and was beautiful, and hot, and looked ready to party…

For a second she wondered how Edgar could have ever allowed someone so young into the club, until her lingering glance worked its way up the slinky body and finally reached her eyes. Green eyes. Sad, and tired, and far, far too old for her immature-looking but admittedly seriously hot body. Huge, oceans-deep eyes which somehow conveyed the fact that they had seen the depths of hell, and fought their way out from it.

Buffy’s eyes.

She didn’t even realize she was moving until she found herself on the other side of the bar, having leaped over it without once taking her eyes off of those of the girl she would never have recognized without seeing those unmistakable eyes. As she walked through the crowded dance floor to the table where Buffy sat with some strangers, Faith mentally catalogued the astounding physical changes. Her hair had been dyed black, and cut in a sweeping punkish style which didn’t really suit her, but had probably been required by what had happened during the fight at the airport. Her entire face had changed shape; her nose seemed longer, cheeks more pronounced, the baby-fat which once gave her face a pixiesh beauty burned away. She was a bit shorter, much thinner, boobs practically nonexistent, legs a mile long and so slender every woman in the club over twenty hated her for them alone. She looked like the models Faith occasionally saw being escorted to the club by men decades older; only not as pouty, not so self-centered, not so vacuous. Buffy’s eyes were brilliant and sparkling and alive with curiosity, looking directly at Faith with happiness and amusement and more than a touch of nervousness.

As she approached the table Buffy stood, and Faith didn’t even pause to think, to consider her actions, to wonder if her presence meant what she hoped it meant. She didn’t think about those things because she couldn’t think about them. All she wanted to do was do exactly what she did: take the beautiful girl in her arms and kiss her senseless, ignoring the reaction from the stunned onlookers, the wolf-whistles from the crowd. There was a bit of resistance at first, the tiny girl reacting with shock to the unexpected kiss, but that quickly gave way to appreciation for the emotional intensity of it, the sheer desperate need Faith was unable to hide, the sensuality and overwhelming desire she made no attempt to restrain. Everything she had wanted to say since she first met Buffy –was first saved by Buffy—she put into that kiss, saying more than her own inadequate faculty with words would ever have been able to express. Her joy. Her appreciation. Her desperate desire. Her incredible need.

When the spectacular kiss finally ended, Buffy was mortified to realize they had become the center of attention for everyone in the club. Even the moron on stage was staring at them, open-mouthed. But Faith didn’t care. She just held on to the girl and smiled down at her. “I knew you’d find me. I’ve been waiting for you.”





Buffy was pleasantly surprised by the apartment. It wasn’t fancy, and it was sparsely decorated, but it was clean and open and furnished with the sort of care Faith had never concerned herself with back in Sunnydale. Or perhaps, given the circumstances, never had the opportunity to demonstrate back in Sunnydale. For the most part the furniture was used, but in good condition. Old enough to have character but not so old as to be junk. Throw rugs were placed carefully under a table and in front to the television, but the hardwood floors had been polished and cleaned sufficiently that there was no need to cover it. A small kitchenette was off the main living area, with a bathroom and single bedroom off a small hall to the left.

Turning to face Faith, who seemed to be nervously awaiting her verdict, Buffy smiled, prepared to compliment her taste, when Faith saw everything she wanted in her expression. It was pretty much the first time in her life anyone whose approval she desperately wanted had looked at her like they were proud of her, and Faith couldn’t help but move towards her, crowding her, arms reaching around her back to pull her forward. Her wonderful brown eyes were heavy, but her sultry lips were pulled back in a pleased smile. She watched Buffy’s own eyes carefully, alert for the slightest indication of refusal. To her vast relief she could see nervousness, and excitement, and more than a slight tinge of fear; but as she lowered her mouth to meet that of the smaller girl there was no hint that her attentions were unwanted, her feelings not reciprocated.

Which was fortunate, because Faith had never wanted anything in her entire life as much as she wanted this girl. Their lips finally met, tentatively exploring, Faith allowing the smaller girl a few seconds to adjust, to get used to the feeling, before she tightened her grasp, and deepened the kiss, tongue exploring her lips, finally gaining entrance to her partner’s mouth. Their feelings, their mutual sexual attraction, rapidly gained in intensity as both began to penetrate each other’s mouths, tongues stabbing, sometimes gently wrestling with their counterpart, the sensuality and eroticism exciting both women, both already almost over-sensitized just by being in the same room, waiting for Faith’s shift to finally end.

Buffy felt Faith’s hands reach down, tug at the hem of her dress, massaging the back of her thighs as she used her wrists to lift the dress up all the way to her waist. Strong hands massaged her skin every inch of the way, before happily cupping the cheeks of her tight bottom, the tiny panties providing no barrier, the sensuality of the experience turning Buffy on more than she could recall being in… perhaps forever. And then Faith was lifting her, Buffy not even remembering when her arms had wrapped around Faith’s shoulders for support, her legs wrapping around the younger girl’s waist as the amazing kiss deepened even more, exciting them both to an almost frenzied degree. Buffy could hear herself moan, so turned on she was making slight thrusting motions against Faith’s wonderfully toned stomach, their tongues continuing to battle each other in a sensual duel which could have only one conclusion, although both would emerge the victor.

Overwhelmed with excitement, Buffy was only dimly aware of Faith carrying her towards the bedroom, occasionally staggering into the walls for support when she was overcome by the sensual fog of this, her most cherished fantasy come to life. The feel of Buffy’s tight bum in her hands, the taste of her in her mouth, the smell of their mutual excitement, was almost overwhelming. Her own excitement was at a fever pitch, her need for relief an ache deep in her body and soul. But mostly there was just the absolute, unbelievable joy of being with the one person who had ever cared if she lived or died, the one person who had given her a chance and believed that she would succeed on her own efforts. The one person she had been dreaming about since the day they met. The one whose face she saw even when someone else had been pleasuring her body.

Somehow they made it to the bedroom, Buffy’s strong slim legs tightly clasped around her waist the only thing preventing Faith from dropping the small girl onto the bed in her excitement. Instead she lowered her to the mattress, never once breaking contact with their tongues, audible moans coming from both of them at the increasingly sensual contact as they lay out on the bed, Buffy’s hands rubbing around Faith’s back, Faith’s hands never once leaving the tight backside she had admired since the first time she saw it. They were almost too excited to undress each other, Faith only reluctantly moving her hands from where they wanted to be, quickly lifting her tight t-shirt and tossing it away, her bra disappearing as if by magic. She paused momentarily, proudly, at the look in Buffy’s eyes as she took in her breasts, but was too excited to let the girl explore at her own pace. Instead she resumed their kiss, reaching around to unzip the sexy dress, enjoying every minutes of Buffy’s frantic effort to get it off without releasing her lock on Faith’s wonderful tongue, without lowering her hands from the spectacular breasts which had somehow found their way into her palms.

With a lot of moaning and even some giggling they eventually divested themselves of the unwanted clothing, Faith stretching out on top of Buffy, wanting to feel every inch of her body against the naked flesh of her dream girl. Just being able to touch her was a dream come true; feeling the softness of her skin, the innate sensuality of her body finally permitted open expression. Reluctantly ending the exciting duel their tongues had engaged in since entering the apartment, Faith kissed her way down Buffy’s wonderful body, gently laving the small breast before whimpering in sympathy as she came to the still-obvious scar disfiguring her magnificent lovers’ slim torso all the way from breast to hip. She gently kissed ever inch of the jagged scar, murmuring gently, hating the fact that it had happened at all but proud of the strength and heroism it symbolized.

But this wasn’t the time for regrets or reminders of horrors now safely in the past, for both of them. Faith wanted this to be a celebration, a time of joy, an experience to be remembered forever, without regrets or distractions. So she quickly resumed her sensual assault, feeling Buffy tense with nervousness as she approached her center, kissing and gently nibbling around her thighs until sensual excitement overcame fear. Only then did she make her way slowly back to where her mouth desperately wanted to be, sensually exploring every wonderful inch along the way, finally arriving at the destination she had desired more than anywhere else in the world. There was a wonderful smell, exquisite taste from moisture flowing unabated, every sense keyed to its peak as Buffy instinctively, without even being aware of her actions, spread her legs as Faith brought her fingers and mouth to where they longed to be.

Moaning continuously, Buffy was almost lost in an overwhelming sexual energy, excitement and pleasure combining to leave her unable to speak, barely able to even think beyond the sheer pleasure of the unexpectedly wonderful sensations happening to her. She’d never been with another girl before… doubted if she would ever want to be with another girl, except for Faith. Faith, who had always been a law unto herself, in many ways a mirror of herself, an example of what might happen to her should she ever lose control, lose herself by embracing the Slayer, accepting the power as her right rather than as a responsibility. But this was also a Faith who could change, could grow, who might have turned out differently had she been given a chance, the one regret Buffy had never permitted herself to acknowledge, knowing there were depths to her relationship with Faith that she just hadn’t been prepared to explore. Depths she was most emphatically exploring now, and it was everything she’d dreamed. Everything she’d feared.

The pleasure was so intense she was almost in tears. Hands clenched on the bed sheets, head twitching from side to side as Faith did things with her hands and mouth that no one else had ever done to her. Buffy moaned loudly, almost continuously. The sensual sound was music to Faith’s ears, encouraging her to ever greater heights, everything she had ever learned of giving pleasure brought forth because this was the only time it really meant anything, the one person who meant everything. There were times the slight girl shook so hard Faith had to hold on for dear life, but her mouth never left her target, her sensual goal a driving force that nothing would prevent her from attaining. It helped that every single one of her own senses were overwhelmed with the intensity of her own pleasure; taste, touch, smell, all enjoying every sensation she was experiencing, her desire for the girl she was pleasuring being returned a hundred-fold by the pleasure she was receiving just from the act of giving pleasure.

It wasn’t long before the girl arrived where Faith’s talented tongue was driving her, her shattering orgasm a thing of beauty, the culmination of a hundred dreams. But that didn’t mean she was finished; not by a long shot. So far as Faith was concerned it was barely the beginning, her own pleasure at Buffy’s response overwhelming her with a giddy joy, pride at being able to bring satisfaction to such a wonderful woman encouraging her own competitive instincts to bring her more pleasure than she had ever experienced, more satisfaction than she had ever known in her entire life. So what would have been wonderful by itself was just the beginning, as Faith continued her caressing, continued her sensual exploration, touching everything she could reach, exploring the limits of Buffy’s sensual capacity.

The lesson continued for hours, perhaps, although Buffy would never know just how long the wonderful experience lasted, would never remember how many times she was brought to the heights of sensual overload, her mind overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience. Faith was inexhaustible, never stopping her sensual movements, as far from a machine as it was possible to get in her very human determination to bring Buffy more pleasure than her body could withstand. Even when she became so sensitive that each stroke of her tongue became unbearable Faith seemed determined to continue, forcing Buffy to take actions into her own hands. And her own mouth, her own tongue. Finally working up the strength to grab the larger girl, Buffy swung her around and began to reciprocate the wonderful sensations Faith had been bringing to her for hours, Slayer strength holding her down when Faith wanted to continue her own ministrations, Buffy’s unfamiliarity with the mechanics of the operation quickly pushed aside by her enthusiasm for figuring things out through trial and error.

It was soon Faith’s turn to groan and cry aloud as Buffy brought her to her own orgasm in seconds, the sensual activity of the past few hours having left her more than ready. Buffy’s enthusiastic efforts to experiment, to see what effect a stroke of the tongue could have as opposed to the brush of a finger, led from the first peak to many, many more. Faith almost strangled her several times when her thighs closed about the head between her legs in her ecstasy, her cries of pleasure loud and filled with overwhelming joy. When she could endure no more she pulled Buffy up on top of her, hugging her tightly, both their faces wet and sticky, both of their expressions exhausted but wonderfully happy, blissfully content.

Neither realized it when they finally fell asleep.







When Buffy awoke, hours later, she was still on top of her magnificent lover, unconsciously nuzzling a perfect breast, Faith’s hands lightly stroking up and down her back. For a second she wondered if she should be embarrassed at the whole ‘lesbo’ aspect of the situation, before she brushed it aside with the remembrance of advice she had given Willow the first time they met, back when she first moved to Sunnydale. ‘Life is short,’ she’d declared back then, never realizing just how true her words might be, just how short her own life would turn out to be, and how short it was still likely to become. There was no time for regrets, especially regrets over something too wonderful to be wrong, a cultural phobia that was as misguided as it was inappropriate. What she had shared with Faith had been wonderful, a revelation, and she did not regret it. In fact, after considering the matter for a few seconds, she decided that she fully intended to repeat it. Often, if she had her way.

Reluctantly removing her mouth from the wonderfully soft breast, and not ashamed at all over leaving it covered in her saliva from her detailed inventory when using her tongue as her chosen vehicle of exploration, Buffy looked up at Faith, who was gazing down at her, her wonderful brown eyes alive with happiness, the smile on her sensual lips something Buffy recalled seeing all too rarely. Their mouths simultaneously reached for each other, the kiss deep and sensual, the taste and smell of their previous nights’ activities almost overwhelming their senses. Faith could tell that Buffy was getting turned on, and encouraged it by lightly squeezing her soft pink nipples, causing the smaller girl to release her kiss in order to groan with the erotic sensation. As she crouched down to gently bite Faith’s much larger breasts, their centers began to rub together, their legs intertwining as the sensation grew in intensity. Both were incredibly turned on, their motion increasing in sensual violence, the friction growing as they maneuvered to get everything in the right place, the warmth and excitement growing as both used their fingers on their partners breasts to enhance the sensations flowing up from below. Buffy was too short for them to kiss and still maintain the degree of friction they desired, so when they both reached their peaks their mouths were free to groan aloud in joyous satisfaction.

Afterwards they returned to kissing, gently licking each others faces, lightly biting their partners lips. It was incredibly erotic… but also kind of sticky after all of the orgasmic activities. After a quick, mumbled discussion they both rushed to the shower, the pleasure of washing each others bodies under the hot water even more satisfying than the end result of finally being clean again.

After Faith put on a thick housecoat and left the room to fix them something to eat, Buffy looked through the offerings in her lovers closet, finally choosing a Colorado Avalanche jersey that came down to her knees, which gave her an excuse not to wear underwear just in case Faith got frisky after breakfast. She smiled just a bit evilly; she fully intended to make damned sure Faith got about as frisky as it was possible to get. But after breakfast. Not just because she was hungry, but because there was something almost tribal about preparing a meal by your own hands, sustenance provided by your own efforts. It wasn’t just breakfast; it was a chance for Faith to demonstrate that she had made something of herself; that she could provide for a mate. When she walked into the kitchen area, breathing deeply the wonderful odor of fresh coffee, she made her way over to where Faith stood in front of the stove, cooking scrambled eggs, and wrapped her arms around her.

Rubbing her cheek against the soft cloth of the housecoat covering Faith’s back, she closed her eyes, savoring not just the feel of the girl in her arms but the smell of the food being readied. She could feel one of Faith’s hands gently wrapped around hers where they met under her breasts, but mostly Faith continued with her culinary efforts, adding mounds of shredded cheese and diced ham to the eggs, making sure the toast didn’t burn. It was such a normal, homey scene, Buffy thought she’d died and gone to heaven.

Eventually she released the taller girl and made herself useful by placing plates and cutlery on Faith’s small breakfast table. She poured coffee for them both, timing it just right as Faith decided the eggs were properly cooked at just about that moment, and used a spatula to place them on the plates, giving about 90% of it to Buffy. Which was about right; she still needed a lot of food as her body continued to work overtime fixing the mess she had made of it at the airport.

There wasn’t much conversation, but a lot of smiling and gentle teasing between them as they ate, Buffy finishing first despite consuming vastly more than her companion. Much of her time had been spent watching the top of Faith’s housecoat slowly loosen, exposing more and more impressive cleavage, so she was getting more than a bit turned on as she picked up the dirty dishes and placed them in the sink. When she returned to the table she ignored her own chair, preferring to sit on Faith’s lap, facing her, legs on either side of the chair, knowing the hockey jersey had made its way up, exposing her to the other girl, and turned on by that knowledge. In seconds they were kissing, tongues buried in each others mouths, the added taste of the coffee and breakfast adding spice to what was already and intoxicating elixir.

Reaching down, Faith was able to put aside the tempting distraction caused by Buffy’s roving tongue to grab the bottom of the smaller girls’ jersey and lift it up to her waist, her hands then immediately going around to cup and caress the butt cheeks she adored so much. She firmly believed that Buffy’s ass should be regarded as one of the natural wonders of the world, and was happily prepared to spend hours exploring its scenic wonders. But Buffy was doing some exploring of her own, somehow loosening Faith’s housecoat, exposing her chest, her hands reaching in the grasp the magnificent flesh, to squeeze and caress and in general worship the perfect mounds. Both began to breathe harder, tongues still gently wrestling, hands busy savoring their favorite body part of their counterpart.

Finally Faith couldn’t take it any more and lifted Buffy up to the small table. Forcing her legs obscenely wide, savoring the view before lowering her mouth to Buffy’s center, fingers reluctantly leaving the wonderful butt cheeks to be put to dexterous use at the front, teasing and exciting Buffy with their soft caress, their harsher penetration, Faith’s tongue not stopping for an instant despite all the activity going on in the same area. Buffy was moaning continuously, squeezing her own breasts in her excitement, barely able to think, beyond momentarily recalling walking in when Willow and Tara had been doing something similar, and being horribly embarrassed. She would have to withdraw her request that Willow not get frisky in the kitchen. There was no way she could justify denying her friend the opportunity to indulge in something so kinky, so very much fun.

The feel of Faith’s tongue and lips and fingers, all working together to provide her as much stimulation as she could endure, was quickly exciting Buffy to the breaking point. After all of the sexual activity they had indulged in the previous night Faith knew exactly what she most liked, exactly what most excited her. She used that knowledge to the fullest, taunting her lover, bringing her to the point of no return but refusing to let her step over, holding her to the limit for as long as she dared before finally stabbing her tongue deeply into Buffy’s core, savoring her cries of release almost as much as she savored the scent and taste of the liquids being released with her fulfillment.

For minutes afterwards she continued to lick and caress the swollen flesh, wanting to bring her lover down gently, enjoying the mewling murmurs coming from Buffy, her head still hanging down over the other side of the table. Faith was glad of that, because she didn’t want the other girl to see the tears in her eyes, and would have been humiliated if Buffy had known how happy she was, how much this had meant to her. To Faith, this hadn’t been about sex. It hadn’t even really been that much about love. To her it had been about worship, about demonstrating in the most personal way she could the fact that she worshiped the smaller girl, that she credited her for the changes in her life, the opportunities she now had that would never have happened had Buffy not burst into her miserable existence like an avenging valkyrie. All that she now was she owed to Buffy. She knew that Buffy would never accept such a claim, would go on about how Faith had done it all on her own, but Faith had seen too many people go down self-destructive paths simply because they never received the opportunity to choose anything else to doubt the difference Buffy had already made in her life. Becoming Buffy’s lover was merely a minor addition to her feelings for the other girl. She was a goddess; and Faith worshipped her.







Even two girls as sensual as Faith and Buffy found there were limits to the amount of time they could spend making love, despite the bliss of their new relationship. Granted it took a few days before they found any reason to leave the apartment, and even then it was because Buffy wanted to know what her friend had been doing since arriving in Denver. Never much for making friends, Faith hadn’t had much in the way of social interactions, until she finally came upon something she knew even a Slayer might enjoy.

Always hyper, her body filled with too much energy and needing to release it in a manner more adrenaline-inducing than simple exercise would permit, Faith had begun participating in an ‘extreme sport’ known as parkour. Actually, because Denver didn’t have the sort of urban density parkour’s European inventors were able to exploit, she was a practitioner of what was called ‘Free Running.’ Basically it was using urban environments as an obstacle course, with the objective of maintaining continuous motion and speed despite any intervening obstacles. Free Running added stylized gymnastic movements which weren’t strictly necessary to the objectives of parkour, but they looked cool, and ‘looking cool’ was an objective in itself. It required nerves of steel, perfect timing, extraordinary gymnastic talent, and the not-so-trivial ability to land on concrete without shattering your knees.

Buffy had never seen anything like it, and fell in love with the concept immediately. Her physical condition limited the moves she could perform, meaning she was accepted as a gifted expert by the others in the troupe Faith practiced with, rather than the superhuman abilities she could already see herself using in her mind’s-eye once she was fully recovered. She was less interested in the physical artistry of free running than she was in the efficient escape and evasion concept of true parkour. It was a way of looking at her environment she had never considered, a philosophy that complemented her own innate physical gifts as the Slayer. Beyond the philosophy there were techniques the parishioners had developed for running, jumping, and most especially falling which she quickly adapted to her own training regime.

Despite wounds which weren’t completely healed, within a few hours Buffy was pulling moves none of the other could dream of matching, so she pulled it back a notch or two to fit in with the group. Not only did she not want them to wonder who she might be, but she wanted to learn from their greater experience. Plus it was a lot of fun. By nature and inclination she was quite competitive, but she was also in a new relationship and didn’t want to screw it up by showing off. The four others in the group, three men and a woman, weren’t exactly best friends with Faith, but were the closest thing to it Buffy had ever met, even back in Sunnydale, so she did some not-so-subtle digging into what they knew of Faith’s tastes and feelings.

It was exactly the right thing to do, diverting them from considering her own abilities by concentrating on her motivations, which were understandably on uncovering whatever information she could on her partner. They teased her a bit about it, some showing more than a bit of jealousy, the other woman most of all. Evidently they had all made a play for Faith, but hadn’t gotten anywhere. That surprised Buffy. The Faith she knew back in Sunnydale would not have been so restrained. She had never been one to impose a requirement for emotional intimacy on sexual acts, had treated it more like any other physical function, little more than going to the toilet or breathing. In the here-and-now, this Faith was more discriminating. Not quite looking to join a nunnery, but not prepared to scratch an itch with the nearest available body either.

Over the next week they went out almost daily to practice at various locations. There was a sense of adventure and thrill-seeking to it that added that extra spice to their activities once they returned to Faith’s apartment. Even more than the sex, it was the sheer joy in Faith’s expression as they leapt between parkade levels, or climbed the outside of balconies, that Buffy most savored. She had never seen Faith so carefree, so happy, and it gave her a warm feeling to know that she was partly responsible for putting that look on her face. But it also worried her, because she knew that it wouldn’t last. It wouldn’t be long before she would be sufficiently recovered to go back to the SGC, and would have to leave. Faith was the most self-reliant person Buffy had ever met, but she was aware that in many ways that was out of necessity rather than choice. Their relationship was already the most serious one Faith had ever known, and they both knew that it would devastate her when Buffy had to leave.

Knowing the end could come at any time made for some pretty intense evenings. The sheer intensity of their coupling, in turn, made it that much more difficult to contemplate the inevitable end. Once Buffy returned to work, it would be very difficult for her to return to Denver. Planning for her rematch with the First would occupy all of her time. Bringing Faith to Colorado Springs was a non-starter. She was using fake ID, she was hiding from a big-time gangster, and she was underage. In terms of ‘life experience’ she had seen and done more than most people twice her age… but that wouldn’t prevent the cops from returning her to Boston if they found her.

Buffy had been checking her email each day, grateful that Willow had taught her how to do it without leaving a trace which could backtracked to her present location. It was only partly paranoia. Mostly, she didn’t want anyone to use her to find Faith. Even though she wasn’t deliberately looking for news on herself, she couldn’t help but note even in passing that she remained pretty far up in the media spotlight. Her ‘fame’ didn’t mean she would be in any position to help Faith if she did something stupid and brought media attention down on her. The SGC had helped her out when she was concerned with Willow’s safety, but unfortunately Faith didn’t have the sort of skills they were looking for. Which was a shame, because it was becoming really important to Buffy that she figure out a way to protect Faith. She was determined to find a way to let her friend enjoy the life she had made for herself through sheer guts and incredibly hard work.





Eleven days after showing up in Denver there was a message from General Hammond in her inbox. Things were happening, and they needed her back, if she felt up to it. He was very careful to state that he wasn’t demanding she return, only that there were political considerations regarding taking actions against the First which she might want to address. Reading between the lines, the message was clear: the government didn’t want to take on yet another powerful opponent, and unless she could convince them it was necessary, they were going to pass on the conflict.

Immediately replying that she would be returning to the Mountain as soon as possible, Buffy went to find Faith. She was trying to think of a way to tell her friend that she had to leave, without coming across as yet another of the many people who had abandoned Faith in her short, but so far unforgivably brutal, life. Doing so was going to be difficult. Because she already felt like she was doing exactly that.

The End

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