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TITLE: bait and switch
SUMMARY: Air stings his blood and his blood stings the air.
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: action, Faith/Wes UST
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, Mutant Enemy, making no money, etc., etc.
NOTES: For my![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo square 'bloodplay'. It's really hard keeping the word count on these things down. They keep wanting to turn epic... But this is just a short bit.
bait and switch
Wesley Wyndham-Price isn't expecting the shove to his knees, the knife at his throat. In the grime and damp of the alleyway, his knees are instantly wet and a wave of rotting garbage smacks his olfactory senses about.
It's secondary to the breath-choking sense of betrayal that hits him as she grips his hair and yanks his head back, throat up, as though she's offering him to the vampires skidding around the corner of the dead end alleyway, to be faced with something they've probably never seen before - and are unlikely to see again.
A Slayer offering her Watcher up like a sacrifice.
"Hey, boys," Faith says, and her voice is the purr of velvet over gravel. "What's the rush?"
Wesley barely feels the jab of the knife against his skin, the tiny cut in soft skin. The sting he feels is of betrayal, not flesh. He only notices the dribble of blood down his throat after she's flicked the knife around in her hand and slid the blade across his cheek in a steel kiss.
She's good with a knife - he remembers that much as he jerks back from the glint of the knife, and nearly lands on his back in the alley as Faith steps around him.
"You wanna taste some Watcher? You're gonna have to come and get it."
Realisation dawns, along with the singing sting of his wealed flesh. The damned woman has turned Wes into the bloody bait.
Air stings his blood and blood stings the air.
They're hungry, these vamps - hungry and a little insane. But not so far gone that they don't know that taking on a Slayer is going to cost them, and so, chasing them before, they were cautious, never closing, always taunting, playing by the numbers, calling for backup.
With the scent of Wes' blood in the air like a goad to their tastebuds, they become reckless.
Within a minute, Faith's dispatched four of them, her hair swinging about her in wild grace, and Wes's hands are gritty with the ashy dust of the fifth and sixth. He's not helpless, even if he's not a Slayer.
"You could warn me next time," he says, unable to control the anger that spurts out of him as he dusts himself off. She scared him there, the old memories rising faster than his new experiences of Faith could hold back.
She tucks the stake back into her jacket pocket. "I couldn't warn you. Your acting sucks."
Amusement and annoyance war within him for a few tense moments as he looks at her, deciding whether a lecture or laughter would be the better option. He's going for the lecture, when Faith steps in.
Her fingers close about his jacket opening, her face tucks into his throat, and her mouth closes, warm over the stinging nick she carved into his flesh. Wes' hands come up, intending to push at her shoulders, but get stuck just below her arms as her lips suck at the wound with all the sensual teasing that a vampire would never give him.
Faith calls it the post-Slaying hornies, and it takes them places Wes never thought he'd go even a year ago. But the sting of her tongue across his open wounds - sharp pain amidst wet pleasure - that's a new sensation.
His blood in her mouth. Just a drop, but still.
He felt like this the first time he watched her lick his semen from her lips.
Somehow, his hand finds her hair, tangles in the curling brown strands and hauls her head back as she hauled back his. But his teeth find her lip and he bites hard enough to taste the salty tang of blood, to feel her tense in his arms, to have her hips jerk against his.
Drawing blood is always a dangerous thing with Faith. And he works the taste of it into the kiss, rough and raw.
"Car," Faith says when they come up for air and her eyes glitter with heat.
"Room," he counters. They're not going to do the car again.
"You're no fun, Wes."
"If you count 'fun' as being interrupted in the middle of sex, Faith. Then, yes, I am 'no fun.'" But he presses his hips against hers for a moment, allowing her to feel his erection tight in his trousers. "Although you seem to enjoy yourself nevertheless."
"You're a good ride," she says huskily, and her lashes flick up as she grinds against him. "And a good sport."
Then she steps back, laughin, pulling herself free of him and leaving him hot in the cool night air. When he follows her to the car, Wes can taste her blood in his mouth.
--
SUMMARY: Air stings his blood and his blood stings the air.
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: action, Faith/Wes UST
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, Mutant Enemy, making no money, etc., etc.
NOTES: For my
kink_bingo square 'bloodplay'. It's really hard keeping the word count on these things down. They keep wanting to turn epic... But this is just a short bit.Wesley Wyndham-Price isn't expecting the shove to his knees, the knife at his throat. In the grime and damp of the alleyway, his knees are instantly wet and a wave of rotting garbage smacks his olfactory senses about.
It's secondary to the breath-choking sense of betrayal that hits him as she grips his hair and yanks his head back, throat up, as though she's offering him to the vampires skidding around the corner of the dead end alleyway, to be faced with something they've probably never seen before - and are unlikely to see again.
A Slayer offering her Watcher up like a sacrifice.
"Hey, boys," Faith says, and her voice is the purr of velvet over gravel. "What's the rush?"
Wesley barely feels the jab of the knife against his skin, the tiny cut in soft skin. The sting he feels is of betrayal, not flesh. He only notices the dribble of blood down his throat after she's flicked the knife around in her hand and slid the blade across his cheek in a steel kiss.
She's good with a knife - he remembers that much as he jerks back from the glint of the knife, and nearly lands on his back in the alley as Faith steps around him.
"You wanna taste some Watcher? You're gonna have to come and get it."
Realisation dawns, along with the singing sting of his wealed flesh. The damned woman has turned Wes into the bloody bait.
Air stings his blood and blood stings the air.
They're hungry, these vamps - hungry and a little insane. But not so far gone that they don't know that taking on a Slayer is going to cost them, and so, chasing them before, they were cautious, never closing, always taunting, playing by the numbers, calling for backup.
With the scent of Wes' blood in the air like a goad to their tastebuds, they become reckless.
Within a minute, Faith's dispatched four of them, her hair swinging about her in wild grace, and Wes's hands are gritty with the ashy dust of the fifth and sixth. He's not helpless, even if he's not a Slayer.
"You could warn me next time," he says, unable to control the anger that spurts out of him as he dusts himself off. She scared him there, the old memories rising faster than his new experiences of Faith could hold back.
She tucks the stake back into her jacket pocket. "I couldn't warn you. Your acting sucks."
Amusement and annoyance war within him for a few tense moments as he looks at her, deciding whether a lecture or laughter would be the better option. He's going for the lecture, when Faith steps in.
Her fingers close about his jacket opening, her face tucks into his throat, and her mouth closes, warm over the stinging nick she carved into his flesh. Wes' hands come up, intending to push at her shoulders, but get stuck just below her arms as her lips suck at the wound with all the sensual teasing that a vampire would never give him.
Faith calls it the post-Slaying hornies, and it takes them places Wes never thought he'd go even a year ago. But the sting of her tongue across his open wounds - sharp pain amidst wet pleasure - that's a new sensation.
His blood in her mouth. Just a drop, but still.
He felt like this the first time he watched her lick his semen from her lips.
Somehow, his hand finds her hair, tangles in the curling brown strands and hauls her head back as she hauled back his. But his teeth find her lip and he bites hard enough to taste the salty tang of blood, to feel her tense in his arms, to have her hips jerk against his.
Drawing blood is always a dangerous thing with Faith. And he works the taste of it into the kiss, rough and raw.
"Car," Faith says when they come up for air and her eyes glitter with heat.
"Room," he counters. They're not going to do the car again.
"You're no fun, Wes."
"If you count 'fun' as being interrupted in the middle of sex, Faith. Then, yes, I am 'no fun.'" But he presses his hips against hers for a moment, allowing her to feel his erection tight in his trousers. "Although you seem to enjoy yourself nevertheless."
"You're a good ride," she says huskily, and her lashes flick up as she grinds against him. "And a good sport."
Then she steps back, laughin, pulling herself free of him and leaving him hot in the cool night air. When he follows her to the car, Wes can taste her blood in his mouth.
--
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