Deena, I loved it!

Yay! Thank you all. It was fun to write.

Deena! Rockage!

"Got a cigarette?" He smirked. "I seem to have left mine in my other pants." She frowned a little and he cast his eyes up. Really, where did this bird come from?

BWAH! I love this Spred.

Yay! Thanks, Deb. If I can keep it being this fun, I may continue with it.

I need to go back and finish my tiny little one for Plei - began it weeks ago and had to bail to deal with novel proofs. Mine was nowhere near as fun as this one is, though.

I never thought I'd do one, but Crazy!Fred was always my favorite, and I could imagine her going this way from guilt over working for/with the evil guys, and I love her tasering ways.

Also for Plei, on the occasion of her mumblemumble birthday. What she asked for, and a bit more. Affectionately titled "The Bar Story," though I'll certainly come up with something better later.

--

Buffy and Wesley walk into a bar and see Faith sitting there with a row of empty shotglasses in a neat line.

So Wes nods to Buffy, and he goes and sits in the corner while Buffy walks up behind Faith, and reaches out to touch her shoulder. But Faith blocks it with her elbow, and they strain a little bit for domination before Buffy backs off with a glance into the darkened corner where Wesley is sitting. The shadows play on his face and give light to his scar.

They talk quietly at the bar while Wesley orders whiskey by the bottle. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Buffy's hand slip from Faith's shoulder to the small of her back, that crease of bare skin where her shirt rides up. Buffy's fingers graze there lightly, and he can catch sight of Faith shuddering just a little. He'd catch his breath if he didn't have his glass to his lips, but he moves slightly in his seat, trying to make room for his awakening dick.

At that moment Faith looks back, following Buffy's line of sight, and their eyes catch. He nods slightly, angles his glass towards her in recognition, and keeps his expression controlled when she downs a shot and then gives him that slow, predatory smile that reminds him of one particularly outstanding moment from their torturous past.

Between the two of them, Buffy and Faith finish off the alcohol quickly, and there's a sway in their step that wasn't there a moment ago. They slide into the booth across from Wesley, and he offers them a drink from his glass which Buffy passes on, but Faith accepts with a long, heated look.

Wesley screws the cap back onto the bottle and gets up; Faith and Buffy follow him, their shoulders and hands brushing intentionally. There's a guy at the end of the bar who's been surreptitiously watching the entire exchange since they walked in, and as the door swings shut he whistles low to himself and mutters how he wishes he could be in that bastard's place.

Wesley works hard to keep his eyes locked on the road, but it's hard when Buffy and Faith have started to work on each other in the backseat. It went from chaste to triple X in a heartbeat, and Faith's pulled Buffy onto her lap with no regard for seatbelt laws. Faith's hands are groping Buffy's back, pulling her shirt up to reveal tantalizing skin.

It takes all his will to refrain from reaching his hand back to just touch, but he runs every red light with pinpoint accuracy and pulls in to a dirty parking lot.

It's a dive with some terrible name Wesley doesn't waste a spare brain cell on, as all of his attention is focused on the two women sprawled in his SUV, and the battle of wills fought with mouths. When he opens his eyes after realizing they're closed, he meets Buffy's urgent gaze in the mirror. Faith spares a hand to thread through the hair at his nape and grips hard, possessive and demanding, and he knows that if he doesn't get a room now they will fuck in the parking lot. So he climbs out of his car and heads inside, stumbling on a patch of wet pavement he didn't see in his hurry.

The pimply-faced adult at the counter takes his cash with a leer, and Wesley grasps the proffered key, returning a tight smile. He briefly wonders if there are any hidden cameras in the room, as he's gotten far more paranoid than he ever expected to be, then mentally shrugs and figures the clerk will get a damn good show if there are. With that thought he nearly runs back to the car.

He wrenches open the rear door, not pausing as he grabs Buffy's head and fastens his mouth to hers, while Faith looks on hungrily.

His hand trails down her shoulder to brush against her navel, to feel where her thigh meets Faith's, to where their groins are grinding together, inspired all the more for the deft flick of Wesley's hand.

Wesley threads his arm around Buffy's waist and pulls her from the car, locking her frame to his while meeting Faith's eyes as she climbs out of the car. Were it any other man, in any other situation, both Slayers would kick his ass, but at the moment it simply succeeds in making the situation all the more intense. They stumble through the parking lot, up the stairs, hands dipping into waistbands and short breaths echoing off the walls.

Wesley digs the key from his pocket as Faith's hands clamp onto his ass and Buffy mouths a mark onto Faith's shoulder. The key fits crookedly into the lock, and Wes curses softly and fiddles with it to the point that it breaks off into his hand. Faith chuckles behind him and brings her leg up into a strong, sharp kick that snaps the lock and opens the door wide into the darkened room.

He gives a whuffling laugh and tries not to think of the damage its done, choosing instead to lead them inward and turn to look at them. He doesn't really have any words; he just wants to look at them, drink this in, realize it for the insanity and precious thing it is.

He sees his own feelings reflected back to him: hunger, need, and lust integrated into something that is frightening and compelling and irresistible.

They understand, and Buffy pushes at the door, moving the desk in front of it to keep it barred. Then Buffy and Faith move towards him, dark intent clear in their eyes, their strut and purpose synced in a way that defies analysation.

They move to either side of him, their hands running up and down his chest, over his dick, down his legs and up to brush through his hair. Faith carefully places his glasses on the table, and Buffy begins to unbutton his shirt. He lets his eyes feast, his fingers catching in their hair, watching the brown and blonde strands mixing and falling away and remixing in a dizzying dance.

Faith fastens her lips to Buffy's neck, and Wesley notes the moan it elicits as he realizes the exact placement of mouth over scar. It's worth noticing that such an action apparently makes Buffy permanently malleable, as Faith propels her backwards towards the bed, bumping with care at the edge of the cheap comforter.

Observant as he is, it feels as though there should be music playing something low and deep with a strong base line, like in those terrible pornographies he'll never admit he's seen. For a moment he feels like the token male in such a movie, until Faith fists the waistband of his jeans and wrenches them open, and Buffy pulls him down for a hot, engrossing kiss. Somehow, though, even that does not stop his mind from replaying the theme from Victor Victoria in surround sound in his head.

He doesn't know how he feels, though he tries to catalogue each sensation, save for the low pounding in his groin, which he realizes will be alleviated somewhat soon, as Faith has moved to a kneel, bringing his zipper down with carefully timed action.

His shirt disappears, and then his pants are pulled down with his underclothes. Faith motions for him to step up with one foot, then the other, and then he realizes he's standing in this ugly room with the curtains wide open, bare naked with two mostly clothed women.

Buffy and Faith take a step back, wrapping their arms around each other and making no pretense towards looking at him, up and down. This only serves to make the tense situation that much more unbearable, and he thinks faintly that this could not be more perfectly disturbing and exceptional.

Rather than thinking, he makes himself as comfortable as possible in a truly uncomfortable chair and motions for them to commence with the undressing. Faith rolls her eyes, but moves to lift Buffy's shirt. Buffy gives him a fierce grin and lifts her arms.

He watches, eyes roving, at the almost-dance they work at. They bump and grind at every spare moment, and he can tell they're choosing to put on a show for him--not that he minds. Clothes are shed like spare skin, falling to the floor with soft thumps amid low moans as skin brushes against skin. They are feeling each other out, and Wesley decides to take part in the proceedings.

Buffy has flipped Faith over to lie on the bed, and she tongues down between her breasts to her navel. She'd holding Faith firmly in place with strong hands that match the power beneath them. When Buffy goes lower, dipping into her and flicking her tongue right *there,* Faith writhes like a vampire with holy water poured down its throat.

Wesley is more interested in the dips and creases of Buffy's back, and he puts his mouth wetly on her skin after considering a spot for several moments. He notices how the skin has become tight and drawn as the years have passed, and he kisses he knob of her vertebrae reverently, as if apologizing, or trying to suck the sorrow that caused this from her bones.

Buffy moves, fitting herself to his hips, and he sucks in a breath as he tightens his hands on her waist. She is intent on the body laid out before her, but part of her attention is now focused behind her. Wesley slips a finger inside her, to test the waters, so to speak, and is rewarded with an insistent twist.

He fumbles with the rubber he'd grabbed from the pocket of his pants moments before, pushing it on with impatience before he positions himself and takes her. He uses her like the offering she is, because she wanted to and he was just desperate and alone enough to agree for the split second it took for him to get his keys. Without history or future they use each other for sensation and oblivion while Faith oversees from a bad angle with glassy eyes.

His motion pushes Buffy forward, and the rewarding noise Faith makes from that is entirely worth the spare purchase he has on this noisy bed. The entire sensation is enough for his overtaxed mind that it takes very little to bring him off, but his climax is preempted by Faith arching from the bed, and Wesley sees that she is indeed very bendy. Buffy tightens around him as Faith spasms around her mouth and tongue, and a chain reaction forms, from Faith to Buffy to Wes.

When it's over, and the moment has passed, tension settles over them like a dull chill on their skin. They gather their clothes and dress carefully, as though anyone who sees them walking out of this room wouldn't know its purpose. Buffy straightens Wesley's collar and brushes Faith's hair behind her ear. It's a muted thank you, and she gives them each a strained smile. They're all thinking about what she has to go to back to, and what she was escaping while she was here. What they all were.

Buffy leaves first, moving the door to prop against the wall and quietly exiting. Faith gives Wesley a hard look before she follows, and he knows that she and Buffy will go in opposite directions.

He leaves a crumpled ten for the maid and a crisp one hundred dollar bill for the door, and straightens his shirt incrementally. As he leaves, he takes his keys from his pocket and they jangle loudly against the odd clang of a loose hinge.

fin