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This story is No. 9 in the series "All Things Faith/Giles". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Waiting was boring, patience was for losers, and cravings? Come on, they never went away on their own - just made you wicked cranky if they weren't satisfied. (Faith/Giles) Vague Season 8 Spoilers.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
BtVS/AtS Non-Crossover > Romance > Faith/Giles(Past Donor)VesicaFR2111,3112899222 Jan 0822 Jan 08Yes

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Title: Waiting
Author: Vesica
Rating: NC-17
Fandom, Pairing & Prompt: BtVS, Faith/Giles, pulse
Word Count: 1268
Disclaimer: Just borrowing my favorite two for a bit.
Summary: Waiting was boring, patience was for losers, and cravings? Come on, they never went away on their own - just made you wicked cranky if they weren't satisfied.
Warning: Exceptionally vague spoilers for Buffy Season 8.

Author’s Notes: Written for Oxoniensis' Porn Battle V – The Fifth Dimension. At this point, writing Faith/Giles is like slipping into an old pair of jeans - a little shabby and worn, but in all the right places, and they just feel like home. Hopefully this doesn't feel like old territory.

Waiting was boring, patience was for losers, and cravings? Come on, they never went away on their own - just made you wicked cranky if they weren't satisfied.

Ever since London, she and Giles had been playing this wonderfully twisted, dangerous game of teasing and verbal sparring and she'd figured it was just that – a game.

After all she'd made herself clear after Gigi and when his pants had stayed on, she figured that was her answer. But now she didn't know.

The man was eight kinds of evil, tossing out one-liners that had her searching for double meanings or sometimes scrambling for a dictionary paired with these lingering looks she could never quite read.

It was frustrating – the not knowing. She wondered sometimes if he even was playing or if she was reading too much into it, the pathetic little outcast Slayer latching onto the only person she had.

She'd slip out sometimes at night, after he was asleep, and find a quiet rooftop. Keeping watch, she told herself, when really she was just trying to get through the hours 'till dawn - sucking down the smokes and shivering in the cool night air that didn't do a damned thing to edge off the searing ache of need inside.

Sure she got herself off but not as much as she used to. Was it possible to break yourself? Because she certainly knew all the moves but lately it wasn't even worth the effort. She'd be there - hand cramping, nerves skirting that line between almost there and pain, working and working but never getting closer to what she needed. Even on those rare occasions when she managed to come it didn't bring any relief – just made the aching worse.

With all the waiting and not knowing, it was no wonder she snapped.

There had been yet another monster of the week for her to slay and before she could just get it over with, Giles had to get his two cents in.

He gave the same kind of advice as always – planning and musty book knowledge versus her gut feel for the fight and when to strike – and, once again, he was teetering on the brink of telling her what to do.

You know what? Fuck that shit. She didn't take orders – not from him – and he damned well knew why.

She'd snapped that if he was so smart, he could go kill the damned thing himself. Put up or shut the fuck up. Even offered him her bag of weapons.

He failed miserably at stifling his annoyed sigh. "All I was saying…"

"Yeah, I get what you're saying. I just don't feel like listening." She tugged on her jacket and would have been out the door had he not stepped in front of her. "Whatever - looks like you're gonna need something else kill time 'till she forgives you."

She went to push past him and he reached for her arm only to think better of it. Smart move, she thought, stepping around him.

"I never said I was killing time."

It stopped her dead because in all the months of playing and teasing and talking – about the past, about the future, about themselves - she'd never heard that tone. It was a little angry, a little hurt and a lot unsure.

"Faith, you're an idiot…" She spun around, a dozen things to say to that on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't get the chance before his hands were on her shoulders (To keep her from going? To keep him from changing his mind?) and he was kissing her.

God, it was like a jolt of caffeine, like that first smoke after a transatlantic flight, like when a vamp turned to dust and you realized you'd made it – you were alive. All those nerves she'd thought stopped working were suddenly crackling, sending a hundred frantic messages to her brain.

Somewhere amid tongues and hands and little kisses – down the bridge of her nose, along his jaw, at the corner of her mouth – he amended his statement to "I'm an idiot" and mumbled something about doing this ages ago.

Not that she cared at that point. She'd gladly be an idiot if that's what it took to keeps his hands fisted in her hair, mouth crushed to hers as she canted her hips against hard bulge in his pants.

Frankly, she was thinking they were both idiots for deciding that backed up against a sideboard was a great place to do this.

It got a little blurred after that – the stumbling to the bedroom, tumbling onto the bed and groping like she hadn't..well ever. It always seemed like missing the point but now?

Crazy things that never did it for her usually were driving her wild. Now after so long with nothing every sensation was cool water soothing her parched nerves. She drank it in, gulping down the rasp of the lace of her bra harsh against her taut nipples, the rush of cool air on hot skin as she slid out of her pants, the whisper-light tickle of his breath on her thigh.

Because finally here was what she'd been needing, what every cell had been screaming for. It was wonderful and too much and like flying and drowning at the same time. Her heart was pounding, lungs fighting for air, but good or bad, it didn't matter because he was it. He was the water at the end of her desert.

Some part of her couldn't believe it was happening, finally, and so when staccato rattle of a cell phone on vibrate suddenly came from the nightstand, it was no more than she expected.

She couldn't help but look and immediately wished she hadn't. She didn't know if a kick in the gut hurt more when you weren't expecting it – life had taught her to always expect it.

She gently pushed him away from her and reached for the phone, careful not to pick up as she handed it to him. "You're gonna want to take this."

He glanced at it, long enough she knew he'd seen the display, and took it from her, tossing it to the floor. It disappeared somewhere under the bed and he reached for her. "No, I really don't. Come here."

Somewhere in the tangle of arms and legs, long after her voice had started to go hoarse, around the time she found herself reduced to nuzzling because her muscles all felt like wet noodles, she began to see the point of delayed gratification. Not that she was signing up for a lifetime membership or anything, but maybe waiting wasn't quite so boring.

She forgot all about the phone until the next morning, wouldn't have remembered it at all if she hadn't stubbed her toe on it, kicking it further out of reach, on her way back to bed.

It was still early, sun not quite peeking over the horizon, and in the half-dark she had to feel around to find where it had tumbled. She glanced at the screen as she returned it to its place on the nightstand. She couldn’t' help but smile, a soft smile that didn't feel quite right on her lips just yet, and she slid back into bed, careful not to wake him.

Because it just seemed right - that while they were busy giving in to what they'd both wanted and denied themselves - for other people and their rules, their feelings, their expectations – somewhere in the dark beneath them, three more of Buffy's calls had rolled straight to voicemail.


The End

You have reached the end of "Waiting". This story is complete.

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