Theme: Sacrifice
A/N: I don't know where this one came from...frenzy, I suppose, would be the best way to describe it. Enjoy.
She will never get used to this.
He is standing across the hallway, leaning up and out, sagging into the steel wall and letting his cigarette flame away. It's Turkish tobacco, slightly sweet and slow-burning; he never smoked them before he died.
Faye looks down at the rivets in the metal floor, telling herself that her eyes are burning because of the smoke, even though it never bothered her before. They burn and itch and she brings up a hand and brushes at them furiously. She finds what she was afraid was there. The salty warmth on her fingertips stings in the dry cracks of her cuticles and air whistles out from between her lips… "fuck."
And suddenly he is here, a hand on either side and his cigarette smoldering on the floor, the ashes coiling like something alive and one of his legs is between both of hers, rising up and parting her like the ocean. He is too close too close, filling her up with the smell of nicotine and suspicion because he can't possibly want more than this. She refuses to move as his tongue is hot against her skin, and she bites on her lips to keep from saying more more, and he mumbles something she doesn't know what and she is wrapped around his waist, surrounding him taking him in and she hates herself for it but hates him more in the instant before she can no longer think or hate.
"Fuck," she says, "fuck fuck fuck…" It stops being an ugly word halfway there, becomes something new and different, smoldering like his cigarette. It becomes her prayer, though for what she doesn't know.
"I…I…I…" she gasps in the emptiness inhales it in and lets it freeze her insides. The feeling is nothing new. Cold on the inside, warm on the out.
"Shut up," he suggests helpfully, and she pulls on his hair until he winces.
His hands are rough underneath her clothes, calluses scraping over her hipbones and kneading her skin like he is trying to make her into some other woman, a woman who is taller and more slender, a woman that Faye cannot will not be. A woman who deserves to be made love to, deserves more than this. Too much too much too close too false too masked…she squeezes her eyes shut and hates the sparks that explode behind them. Hates that it feels good to fall back into the familiar, rocking rhythm hates the pulsing crashing hates that she says, "fuck fuck fuck Spike fuck…" Hates that she defiles her prayer for him, defiles her body her mind her self-worth. Hates herself for believing that this is more than what it is, his replacement. She weeps. Weeps out of exhaustion and pleasure and pain and friction and disgust with him herself the ship the circumstances. Weeps because she knows what this is when he pulls away and sets her back on her feet, wipes a tear away with the pad of his thumb, and she can feel the calluses and ridges that form his fingerprint. She hates that she can't make this go away, when so much else has.
A/N: Review, please.