Feeling It by Te July 1999 Disclaimers: If she were mine, I certainly wouldn't be sitting at this computer. Spoilers: None. Ratings Note: R for language, violence, sex, themes... Summary: Not long after arriving in town Faith checks out the Sunnydale night life. Author's Note: I have nothing to say here. Acknowledgments: To Dawn Sharon and Spike for fine audiencing and enthusiastic evil, and to Angel-baby for the once-over. *smooch* * This town don't feel mine... * Faith's in the basement, except she's pretty sure these fucking people think of it as The Basement. Times like these (whatever time it actually is) she realizes she's so far from a real city that by the time she gets back she'll be nothing but meat. Basements are supposed to be big enough to have the occasional stretch of random empty space, dotted with stolen, broken spotlights and just full of people with interesting things hidden in pretty vials, between sheets of wax paper. Basements are not supposed to have actual lawn mowers. But this is Sunnydale, and this is the closest approximation to her life she's been able to manage and, when it comes right down to it, living by the docks means she gets her shit before anybody comes near it with vials or paper. And she's feeling it. Faith is feeling it, heavy in her veins and blinding. She knows when she wakes up tomorrow her eyes will feel like tiny dried up marbles in her head from forgetting to blink... but this place is too dark for her to really care about her vision, special-girl senses or no. Faith's got everything she needs right now with the thick smell of surprisingly expensive beer and kiddysweat. Sure, she knows none of them are that much younger than she is, but they all smell so *clean*. Fresh and new. She laughs to herself as the dance partner of the moment spins her around and pulls her back against his crotch. She can just fucking *see* him trying to set his face into this month's MTV version of nihilistic apathy... but his cock is *rock* hard through his carefully worn jeans. Pushing against her, grinding with the music, sliding all stealth-like into just the right position for a little not-so-dry humping and finally, finally, when he figures out she isn't gonna push him away it's all ragged thrusts. Faith laughs again and pushes back into it and the boy moans so loud she knows *everyone* can hear it over the music and she just keeps going. Hitting her own groove. But just when she starts to think her six foot Ken doll might have some use after all, he jerks like someone stuck a pin in his brain and *stops*. And then fucking *leans* into her neck and kisses her with all the finesse of a warm piece of a liver and "Thanks, babe." he's off and stumbling. And while her blood is in that incredibly optimistic hot-and-fast-and-oblivious mode the rest of her body is abrubtly cold and clammy. She thinks 'here it goes,' and then she gets that one full body shiver she knows is her skin's way of saying *used*. Her clit's a hard little nut and she's wet and practically fucking *pulsing* out of her cheap little satin panties but the only thing her brain wants to do is tell her what a stupid whore she is. Faith starts toward the keg and gets a quick blurry view of Kenboy surrounded by his pasty sweaty baseball cap-wearing clones. Realizes that he's actually gonna *brag* about his dance-floor rub off while his pants crust up on the inside. Thinks 'what the fuck am I *doing* here?' Can't come close to deciding whether she's pissed that she didn't just stay home and hump the punching pole until she was off or bruised or both... or whether she's pissed that she's tempted -- really tempted -- to walk over there and put on a show. She could lean up against the wall with her shoulders down and unobtrusive and her tits out and... And get herself dicked by *more* than one fratboy larva. Oh yeah, this is her life all right. Faith doesn't really need the ice pick suddenly chipping at her spine to let her know she's sobering up much too fast. Fuck. She shakes it off as best she can and pushes into the crowd, bootheels sticking on the of-course layer of drying beer on the floor, waiting for it, waiting and *there*. "I knew you'd be back for more." Faith lets Kenboy get a hand on her tit, rubs into it for that half-second of through-the-clothes-golden and then she gets hold of his wrist and waits and waits and the music screams into a guitar solo and then she squeezes. Watches the smile falter, twist, *jerk* into a surprised grimace and before she can really think about it she's got their hands up under her skirt and the bone that's no longer in the right place under his soft boy skin gets her right where she needs it and she grinds down and down and -- "Get the fuck off me!" Down. Flicks a look over and sees the same crowd by the keg as before. Watching and snickering and pointing like slow, sweaty monkeys and she doesn't stop. Not even when Kenboy figures out he's got another hand and tries a weak little roundhouse. Faith gets his other wrist without even really trying. He's looking a little sick, his eyes are wide and dark and the only reason he hasn't screamed yet -- she knows this -- is that he can't fucking believe that he's feeling bone scrape bone while some crazy bitch grins at him and bucks like a bitch in heat. And she giggles, really giggles and it feels so good she knows she has to have *something* sweet and right left in her veins and when she takes in a deep breath she smells the boy and ohhhh... his sweat is all sharp and... dirty. With fear. And the fear pushes her diaphragm down at the same time the knob of bone pushes up on her clit and just that bit to the side and *fuck* yeah... Faith watches him feel her come on him and all of a sudden he's *green*. Quick shove and he's falling back through the crowd and she hears what may or may not be a shriek and a retch and then she's turning and moving. One last sweet spasm makes her stumble a bit but by then she's out the grubby little screen door and walking up the grubby little staircase into the big, hot, damp summer night that's no fucking match at *all* for her panties. Yeah, her life. Faith tosses a grin back over her shoulder at the noisy little house. "Thanks, babe." And then walks off down the road. End. Lyrics cheerfully stolen from "Drive" by the Deftones.