Yep, sneaking back back in, like the utter feedback whore that I am

But there needs to be more killing, please

Geez, pushy Canadians, nothing but blood and gore makes them happy. Patience, grasshopper. Very, very soon. Really.

closing IE window, no, really

Last night, I sat down to write more of the Slayer!Willow story. This is what came out instead:

Title: Smokers
Pairing: Faith/Anya
Setting: Late S7
Summary: When you're up late, talking tends to turn into doing.

They meet on the porch because neither of them can sleep.

Anya can't sleep because there's nowhere for her to sleep. The potentials have kicked her out of the living room, frightened by her sex-and-violence talk, and the upstairs bedrooms have been claimed by people more important than she is. She could crawl into the sleep sofa beside Xander, but he's told her, very carefully, that he feels it's unwise. "We don't want to confuse proximity with get-happy time, Ahn," he explained. Well, she thinks, maybe you don't. Spike's single bed in the basement would be a possibility, but she doesn't feel like dealing with a pissed-off jealous Slayer.

She could go home; she knows that. She pays rent on a nice one-bedroom apartment on the other side of Sunnydale, taupe and cream and very modern. But lately, she's only been going there once or twice a week for clothes and mail. She feels like, weird and annoying as the whole situation is, she's a part of it, and doesn't want anything to happen while her back is turned.

And Faith? Faith has a nice, big double bed upstairs, waiting just for her. But prison has taught her not to sleep too easily in a new place; to watch, and wait, and smoke another cigarette, and crawl into bed just as dawn breaks the horizon.

Anya has made hot chocolate, because it's something to do. She brings a cup out to Faith as a friendly gesture.

"Here." Faith looks at her, startled, and reaches for the cup. "It'll warm you up."

Faith says nothing, just smiles and drinks deeply. Her cigarette is in the other hand, ash getting close to her fingers.

"You shouldn't smoke. It's bad for your lungs, and your heart, and you'll get yellow teeth and die."

Faith chuckles at that, a low sound. "I'm a slayer, Anya. Best case scenario, I might see 25. May as well enjoy the nicotine now."

"Well … you shouldn't smoke near me, then. I might get cancer and die young."

Faith looks at her, coolly. "You're over a thousand years old. I'd say you've had a pretty good run. 'Sides, B. makes me smoke on the porch, and I was here first. You don't like it, go on inside with everyone else."

Anya sighs, resigned. "Okay, then, can I have one? I feel like engaging in some risk-taking behavior."

"All you had to do was ask, Ahn." Faith, smirking, passes her the cigarette and lighter; Anya fumbles with it for a minute, then the light catches. The smoke is warm inside her mouth, filling it with the taste of burning leaves.

There's a moment of silence, then: "You know, I never thanked you."

"For what? The smoke? That's nada."

"No. For, for Xander. I know he didn't mean much to you, but you broke him in pretty well, and I'm glad I didn't have to deal with a virgin human teenager after a millennium of very skilled lovers."

Faith looks puzzled for a second. "Wow. I almost forgot about the whole thing with Xander. There was a lot of drama in my life then, know what I'm saying? He was … it was fun. I hadn't had a virgin since I was one. Surprised I didn't scare him off women all together."

"Well, you didn't. Or at least, you didn't scare him away from me, and I don't think the whole thing where he ran out of the wedding, breaking my heart and causing me to return to demonhood, had anything to do with you. Or me."

"You were a demon again? I missed all the fun."

"It was a sordid chapter in my history." Anya smiles, finishes her cigarette, grinds it out beneath her foot. Faith offers her the pack again; she shakes her head and returns to her mug of now-cool hot chocolate.

Just then, there's a cry from above their heads. Faith shifts, almost imperceptibly, into fight position; Anya shakes her head. "It's just Willow. She and Kennedy are still doing that new relationship sex-all-the-time thing. Apparently, Kennedy has a pierced tongue."

Faith looks at Anya, startled. "Damn, Anya, y'all have been having a good time without me. So shy little Willow is into tongue studs now?" Anya nods, then begins to laugh along with Faith. Faith speaks again. "Ya know, I could go for some of that new-relationship-sex-all-the-time thing right about now."

Anya has seated herself on the steps; she has to glance over her shoulder to talk to Faith. "Me too. I mean, Xander and I still have intercourse when we're drunk or feeling weak and need comforting, or when I wear my pink gauze top and suggest a game of milkmaid and cavalier, but he always acts so embarrassed afterwards, and we can't get enough privacy to do it very often anyhow."

"THAT sucks."

Anya nods. "I know. And he keeps asking me if Spike was better at this or that, and even though the answer is usually no, I can't say it because he doesn't really want an answer, and really I keep swearing off him, but I never follow through."

"You … and Spike?"

"We were drunk and had both just been dumped. Plus, Halfrek had sex with him, like, ninety years ago, and I wanted to see if she was telling the truth. It's not a happy memory."

"Who's Halfrek?" Faith saw Anya was about to speak, but shook her head. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. "So Ahn, in that millennium of skilled lovers, you ever made it with a chick?" Anya hears a new intimacy in Faith's voice.

"Not as often as people sometimes think when they hear that I comforted scorned women. Occasionally, there'd be a sexual component to getting close enough to a woman to hear her vengeance wish, and sometimes it would just be a fun and convenient way to discharge a sexual need. But only about fifty times in all." Anya glances up. "I suppose I should ask you the same thing."

Pt. 2

"Four times. Once when I was 15 with my best friend to see what it was like, twice after I was called 'cos I was pretty much sleeping with everyone, and then I was seeing this chick in prison for, like, six months." Faith smiles, sheepishly. "She was a bank robber. Half-Mexican, half-black, gorgeous body. Dumped me for a heroin dealer. Said I was too possessive."

"I'm sure you weren't. Too possessive, that is."

Faith shrugs. "When I found out she was seeing the heroin dealer, I body-checked her new girlfriend into a dumpster. Broke a few ribs."

"Oh, dear." Anya feels herself more pulled towards this strange woman-child with the dark eyes and long, dark hair, who has sat down beside her on the steps. "I'm sure you just didn't know your own strength."

"That's what I told the warden, anyhow," Faith agrees. She snuggles more towards Anya, leaning her head on Anya's shoulder. Absently, Anya starts to play with Faith's hair.

"It's quiet out here. You'd never know the place was a hellmouth."

Anya nods, absently, in response, watching the stars, now stroking Faith's hair, now braiding a few strands. The hand Faith has wrapped around her waist is moving up, playing with the neckline on Anya's green peasant blouse.

Before Anya has a chance to weigh the wisdom of the situation, the hand has dipped into her blouse and her lips are mashed against Faith's. They both taste like ash and hot chocolate and lipstick -- Anya's vaguely perfume-y stick of Clinique, Faith's cherry chapstick. Anya melts into the kiss, hands moving from Faith's hair to her back, breasts, belly.

They stop and look at each other, Anya is startled; Faith isn't. "Ahn, that was amazing. And I'm not just saying that cause I wanna get laid; I really like you. You're different, not as tied up in bullshit and being right. "

"You want to … get laid?" Faith nods. "With me." Faith nods again, kissing her. This time, she rubs Anya's nipples between forefinger and thumb, making them stand up, sending a jolt through Anya's body, and teases her tongue against Anya's lips before making the tongues dance together, in and out, between their mouths, and whoa Nelly, Anya's gone, would do anything Faith asked her to do.

They stand, slowly, belly to belly, breathing each other's exhalations. "We should…" Faith says, not finding the words.

"Privacy. Yes. Good." Anya reaches in her pocket, fumbles for her car keys. Suddenly, the ten-minute drive to her empty apartment doesn't seem quite so forbidding. "I know exactly the place."

Hot damn, girl, this is funny and wonderfully in character. Also saucy. Lovely work, LJ.

reads second part. mops brow

Huh. Saucy, I said? Colour me understating. Hot like a thing that is hot. And excellent point about the lipstick tastes.

Thanks, Fay. It was fun to write.

Lyra!

Holy mama, woman, that was scorchy as it gets. And true? True to both voices.

Yowsa! Great read.

Lovely Anya/Faith. I could hear them speaking those words.

or when I wear my pink gauze top and suggest a game of milkmaid and cavalier,

(laughing hysterically)

(laughing hysterically)

THAT is praise.

Thanks, everyone.