By Minim Calibre
Notes: Spoilers through AtS 4×13 Salvage. Faith/Wes, R.
Technicalities aside, it’s not exactly their first time. He doesn’t like to dwell too often—or for too long—on the other, but considering the circumstances, considering that his hands are sliding over the too-perfect skin of her thighs and his mouth is covering hers, keeping them quiet, it’s hard not to do so. Hard not to think about being bound and helpless, trapped and terrified, those thighs pressing into his hips as she straddled him, grinding her clothed body against his, licking his wounds and then making more, riding him until he’d spilled more than just blood. He wonders if she realizes how much of what he is now is tied up in what she did to him that night. If it proves useful, he’ll tell her. He doubts it will come to that, just as he doubts either of them will ever mention this to anyone.
It’s not like he planned this, not like he expected it when he parked the car at the outskirts of the darkness and told her to change her clothes. But older, calmer, and tempered by her confinement, she’s still Faith.
“So, what is it, Wes? This an excuse the get me naked? Is that what you want?” Still brash, still cocky.
“If you’d like.”
She stripped, he watched. She pulled him into the back seat with her and said “how ’bout it?”, so there he is.
It’s not like he even wants it. He simply needs it. Needs something to chase the demons and ghosts from his head, and, evidently, falling several stories onto a car wasn’t enough to do the job. He thinks he’s shocked her, taking her up on the flippant offer. They’ve had half a day to talk, yet actions still speak louder than words.
He pulls away just long enough to breathe and to look at her face. Brushes a strand of hair away from the sticky heat of her forehead, kisses her before he sits up and removes his shirt slowly and carefully, watching her as she takes in the scars still evident under the many cuts and bruises he’s picked up in recent days. So easy to focus on little things: her eyes as they widen slightly at the damage, her lips parting as he slips a finger inside her, the tiny sound of shock in the back of her throat when he closes his mouth around a nipple and bites, not at all gently. If physical evidence is any indication, she likes it; he can feel her tighten and push up against him, and can hear the little noises change to pants and groans as he bites harder.
The back of his SUV is too small and cramped for what they’re doing. He learned that lesson several times over during the summer, so he knows how to adjust. He doesn’t want to know where Faith learned it—perhaps she’s just a quick study. There’s still a strip of condoms in the magazine pocket. Lilah liked the car, liked it when he parked in dark alleys and…
He reaches for one, then slams into Faith, driving her into the upholstery, driving Lilah away. Her legs close around his hips, pulling him deeper, bare heels digging into his buttocks, urging him to go faster, harder. He can hear the muffled sound of her groaning against his lips. Waits until she starts to shudder and jerk before he lifts his mouth so he can hear her scream.