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."