Debts V: Cry Out Loud by Te June 1999 Disclaimers: I wish like hell they belonged to me. Spoilers: None. Summary: Faith is trying to cope with her new life, finds a friend. Ratings Note: NC-17 for sex, violence, disturbing imagery, foul language, and some more sex. Author's Note: Clearly inspired by Kate and Katie's Faith/Drusilla pieces. I bow. Oh yeah, and Hole's version of "Gold Dust Woman." Acknowledgments: To Rae for audiencing far, far beyond the call of the duty. Also, many thanks to Katie for looking this over for me. * Well, did she make you cry? Make you break down? Shatter your illusions of love? Is it over now? Do you know how To pick up the pieces and go home? * I'm in Uptown, bleeding out between two dead junkies. The place is otherwise empty, just another burned out building in the middle of fucking *Chicago*. I'd never wanted to be here, either, but sometimes when I sleep I don't wake up in the same places. I wake up smelling of the sewers, the underground. Filthy. Small red marks that might've been the recovering bites of stupid rats. Rat demons? Demons for all is what that *thing* says. It's strong. It knows better now than to fight me directly. I've learned how to ignore the pain it causes. How to medicate. Sometimes I even eat the junkies I find along the way. Not often, though. Too dangerous to be out here alone and ripshit. Don't want to die. But I found myself in this place, and between two dead and rotting junkies, and the sun had just fucking *barely* gone down and the only reason I know I'm still in Chicago is 'cause I'm on the roof and I can see... I fucking hate this. I can feel the absence of the thing's voice like a missing tooth. And I keep going back and going back to that empty space. And I know that just makes it easier for the demon to come back there and buzzbuzzbuzz at me when I sleep, when I feed, when I leave behind one who might rise. The sire must not leave. The sire must train and show. The sire must this and that and this... If the demon is telling anything resembling the truth I've clearly left my mark on Sunnydale. I wonder if the Boss would've been proud. I miss him, and it's the wrong way. I can't remember him without regretting that I wasn't the one to kill him, to feed upon that powerful blood. I know I've lost something. I just haven't lost enough not to care about that. And isn't that always the fucking way it works? I miss Buffy. I still dream about her, if that's what it is when I fall asleep in this body. I want to apologize and kiss her all over and *crawl* for her lust, nowhere near her forgiveness. And then I want to rip her into tiny pieces for killing my Boss. Before I could. And it's true, and it's not true and all I really *know* is that I have to make the demon fucking work *with* me. I've got to do this. So I'm cutting myself open with Rotting Junkie #1's pocket knife over and over again and just letting all my stolen blood spill. I don't know if I can die this way or not. The demon seems to think so. It's trying to take control right now. I tell it that I won't sleep until it's too late so it better just fucking surrender before we both go right on back to Hell. And then I cut open the healing wound again. And then I watch the blood slip into a big fucking fissure in the tar and flow and flow down between my legs and further and further and then there she is. Right there watching me. Hungrily, yeah. But I don't think vampires can look at anything bleeding and not look hungry. I know this one but I can't remember how. She's crouched on all fours, animal ready to pounce. The look would've worked better without the puffy-sleeved nightgown thing she's got on. And she's staring into my eyes but her eyes are still this deep human brown. Her face is still human, too. But I know what she is. She puts her face to the ground, kisses the tapered end of the fissure and then just shoves her tongue in and laps and laps. Kitten animal, all fluffy and silky and predatory. The next thing I know she's coiled between my legs and her mouth... She's sucking on my left thigh, through the jeans. Sucking the blood out of the fabric but I can feel the still-hidden hints of her teeth against my skin. I catch myself waiting for the voice of the demon. It offers advice sometimes. Like my very own megalomaniacal dictionary. But right now it's silent and I have to try to see for myself. It's hard. I'm fuzzy. The demon has let me bleed so much... I look and I see that her cheeks curve sharply, somehow. That her skin is peach marble. Peached ivory maybe. Looks sweet and cold and hard. Her mouth is smeared with my blood. I can't see her lips. "Are you a good dead thing or a boring one? Have you seen my Spike and killed him? I know he's still alive... Can you taste the stars on your tongue yet?" Drusilla, then. She's killed Slayers before... I wonder if that means my pet demon is afraid of her. I just stare at her. "I know you... you were one of Them, weren't you?" Her voice is dreamy, even the brief surge of malice is all muted, packed in cotton. Cycles down into this blandly interested calm. "I was never one of Them." "Would you like to be one of me?" The question makes me smile. There's nothing quite like a walking, talking sanity validation who'll also suck you. "Sure." And the next thing I know I'm pressed up against the low railing around the roof, and then I'm bent over it and I can see the street below, and the lights, and the lights' trails and the sky is... the sky is dusky red, thick with haze and overcast. Dried blood that has nothing whatsofuckingever to do with what she's doing to me. She licks the cuts in my arms and it burns so bad I know she's healing them somehow. She bites at every bit of flesh I spattered with my own blood. I'm screaming, I think, and I don't stop. Not when she rips my clothes away, not when she tongues me like she did the tar. Fuck I know I'm gonna die from this, and not just because of the teeth sneaking around between my ribs. Slashing me and sucking at the wounds. No wounds but hers. One of hers. I try for a second to get my own back but her hands are everywhere, her mouth is everywhere and all I can do is lay here and let her fuck me. Two fingers inside. I know her fingers are tipped with things trying to become claws but she's gentle here. Relatively. She fucks me hard and God I hadn't felt... hadn't realized. Some things are still the same and I love this feels so good. I bear down around her and her growl is so fucking *pleased*... I spread a little wider and she yanks me back off the railing. I feel rusted metal ruck a little at my skin. It's nowhere near strong enough to break anything and I'm flat on the rooftop again. I try to hook my leg around her but I'm... weak. It takes moments to remember what I'd been doing, and the memory doesn't last. I was getting *fucked* and I am getting fucked and this doesn't have to stop. It won't. I can be interesting. When she lowers her throat to my mouth I don't hesitate. She's so fucking *sweet*. I think of fruit but it's really just this cool, thick blood. With a bite. It hurts. I don't think I'm gonna taste anything for days. I don't care, either. I want to be able to forget this before I have to have anything else. She shifts against me, not pulling away -- not that I can stop her -- but whatever she does makes me lose my grip and I have to sink my teeth inside again. I can't hear anything, but I can feel this... this ice hard friction, slicked with the blood her body doesn't give up without a fight. I fight and it's like machinery... like fucking her without enough lube but neither of us cares. She's loud, she cries out loud when I pull harder, suck more. I can finally get my hands up and I rip her dress open, and oh God her breasts are so fucking *there*. They don't feel cold, but maybe that's just because we're the same temperature. They feel *right*. Her nipples are hard, a bit warmer than the rest of her. I wonder what it would've been like if she hadn't fed so well before she came to get me. I wonder if I would've cared. But soon the feel of her nipple against my palm is just as dirtyhot as everything else and all I can do is fuck and fuck and fuck. I'm not even really sucking anymore, just biting her, chewing, gnawing. We've switched places somewhere along the way and now I pin her with my body. Her hand is trapped between us, knuckle pushing, slamming up against my clit. I pull off away from her, straddle her to make it easier for her to get leverage. Ride on her hand until I come yelling. And then I get down between those snow pale thighs and do my best to return the favor. I tonguefuck her for a few moments but it's too fleeting, I want more of her taste, more of me in and around her. Her hands cup my head. I know she could crush my skull if she could work up the willpower to do it before I got her off. I won't let her. I pull off just long enough to get my fingers inside her, twist awkwardly until I can suck her clit at the same time. Her sex is nearly purple in this light. I restrain the urge to bite down... I want her to ask for that. I settle for fucking her like that, tasting her slickness, rasping my tongue over every spot my lips touch, twisting inside her. I can get in three fingers and I don't hesitate. I get this helpless image, wondering if I could fist her. How much better could it be than this? Drusilla. I can feel my mind trying to write the name in the grooves of my brain. I want to help. I want more of this. I want to see this wet sanity she achieves again, crying out for me to wrap her in the sky. Coming so hard I nearly do myself. Yeah, give it up give it up give it up... When she finally stops writhing I've already got her wrists pinned. I have no idea if that would really do much good but I have her. "I want you." Drusilla stares at me. Smiles and glitters at me like the stars, like the splash of torn gods. "Will I be your sweet? Will you never stop?" I feel like I'm being tested, though her voice hasn't changed. I feel her in my head now and I wonder if she's the one that's been doing the writing all along. My demon is cowed silent. Its quiver is this... this weird fucking tuning fork laid against the pleasure centers of my brain. "You're my woman," I say. And then because I can't come up with anything else, because I feel myself young and stupid against all this grave-silk power, I reach out to one of the bodies and rip off its jawbone. Brush off a summer fly and place it on her chest. Drusilla. She frees one hand and toys with the jaw bone, eyeing it curiously. The silence lasts too fucking long. Finally, "would you have this one speak, then?" I shake my head and focus on her eyes. Mine, hers. One of hers and this clicks into place like the Boss' eyes when I asked him about employment. Like the impossible sex of my fangs descending for that tiny stretch of forever all these nights. And suddenly Drusilla smiles. Runs the jawbone over my face with her free hand while the other loses all tension beneath my palm. "What's your name, sweet?" "Faith." "Take me home, Faith." And I do. End.