Slayer Chronicles' Journal (original) (raw)

[	mood	|	quixotic	]

A date.

Wes wants to take me out on some weird `I'm lonely, you're lonely, so let's hook up for our humanly needs of affection` kind of thing to some party benefiting the defeat of the first dude that ever cared about me. Sure, I'm tight with the gang now; I'm buds with Xander and got myself two cool watcher guys to

boss me around

watch my back, but I don't know how happy I can be in celebrating his death. Just seems wrong to be throwing a party over his grave, you know?

He was good as gold to me and when he was hiring me out to kill people and pick up his goodies, he was an overall good guy with a big heart and this jolly good exterior that could suck any starved for affection kid into his Rockefeller environment. See, I always wanted that -- the big happy family. I wanted a dad to bounce me on his knee and tell me how beautiful and special I was. I wanted the milk and cookies and the Sunday morning comics read to me over breakfast. Boss gave me everything I didn't get as a kid and I fucking loved him for that. Hell, I would've been crazy *not* to. We were two of a kind, me and him. Just two outcasts making nice with each other and ending up with the closest thing I ever had to a father-daughter relationship. And this daddy didn't even want between my legs. Imagine that.

I don't expect the gang to get why I can't be down with gettin' a big happy over his demise. I gave B the hammer and she nailed the guy. If not for me? They'd be kibbles and bits and I'd be... I don't even know. Maybe Wilkins would've seen my case as hopeless and eaten me up with the rest of the town. If I couldn't be his right hand man, at least I'd make a good crunch between his right teeth, right? I'm a little meatier than B. If a monster wanted a tasty treat, I'd definitely be the preferred meal. Not real sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, though. Whatever. I made my point as far as life goes if we hadn't shared that tripped out dream where I sealed my fate as a betrayer yet the big tool the hero needed to save the day and the world.

Anyway, the real kicker in this story is that I'm harboring some seriously lusty vibes for the not-so-tightly wound anymore English one. Not real sure why, considering I still think I've got a thing with B here, but it excites me more than it should. Every time he comes around for training, I lay the flirt on thick as honey and he ain't so shy in giving it to right back to me. Gotta say, I'm surprised that he's playing along. The Wes I knew would've bitched that we were breaking some kind of watcher/slayer code. I'm sure that in the bad old days of watcher/slayer lore when chicks had no life outside of slaying that their watchers got them off after a long night's slay.

I mean, if you think about it, it's a kinky sitch to begin with. You got your watcher that's typically an older dude type big on the books and not much else. There's gotta be a manimal inside of him just desperate to get out after all that repressing. Every guy out there has beast in him. I don't care how many poems they spout or flowers they buy. They all do it to get between their Juliet's thighs. Strip away the pretty and what do you got underneath? Pure unadultered lust.

Then you got your slayer. Typical Lolita material with the way slaying makes us. You can have a saintly chick, amp her up with slayer juices, and after a little down and dirty slaying action, you got a chick just beggin' for something to come along and pop 'em like warm champagne. Sounds like a match made in heaven, huh? Repressed watcher just dying to get his stake into some warm English channel and a hot young thing high on an adrenaline rush.

I bet B would have a heart attack if I told her my theory. Wonder what Wes would say? He's a little younger and hipper than G-man. He's an older guy, but not so much that he's old enough to have participated in the creating of me.

I bet Wes is real repressed when it comes to sex. The boy hasn't seen any action since his arrival in the 'dale and I highly doubt he's got a stash of chicks back in LA either. I wouldn't blame the guy if he had the hots for me either. After all, he did use the `d` word and offered to buy me a dress. Man, I gotta give him mad props for that one. Anybody with the guts to put me in a dress is one Hell of a courageous bastard. Guess this reunion thing is some fancy shindig where formal wear is in and street clothes are out. Bummer.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've gone fancy. Once for the Homecoming dance (where truthfully, I was big into fooling myself I was B's date when clearly I was just a tag along as usual while B got her kicks in slaying with the prom queen), once for Christmas at B's (I was just tryin' to impress Mrs. S with the crispy clean image after she was nice enough to go out on a limb and invite the outcast to her digs for dinner), and then there was the five minutes I humored Wilkins and donned some flowery pink thing he bought for me to wear at his post end of the world party. Didn't dig that much and if Wes even thinks that he can dress me up like the queen mum, I'll kill him. Boy better think twice before he tries puttin' me in some kind of prissy British get-up.

Guess we were all feeling a little jumpy at the idea of goin' back to the high school 'cause here it was - a Saturday night - and we're all at the Pump sippin' on over-priced fancy coffee drinks. Party's next weekend and we've all been dreading it in one way or another. Kid's got it worst though. She don't like the idea of us gettin' cozy with all her teachers. I think the runt's been gettin' bad grades or something and doesn't want the witches tattling to Momma B about what a slacker she's turned into. Not like B's got much room to bitch, I hear her grades weren't so stellar either. 'Sides, little D's been through more than most. Can't expect straight A's from a kid that faces death on a regular basis. That's got to seriously fuck her up in the head.

"Are you guys really all going to my school next weekend?" the kid asks, her baby blue's looking hopeful that we'll forget the whole thing. "It won't be all that cool. I mean, just teachers and people who you never liked anyway. Then they'll be all my friends there and other people you don't know and you could do much better things. Like go to the Bronze! When was the last time we all went there?"

"We?" Red arches a brow at D's question. "I don't think Buffy would like it very much if we brought little Dawnie to the Bronze with us."

The kid rolls her eyes and clarifies. "I don't mean I would go, but you guys could! It'll have much better music and... alcohol!" On a side-note, she manages to slam her mocha down on the table and exclaim the expected. "And I'm not little! I'm fifteen years old!"

Her argument's winning points with me, but the witches don't seem too keen on the idea of skipping out on this party. Just for kicks, I hop in on Dawn's hate parade for this reunion. "Kid's got a point. I don't know about you guys, but I'd rather shake it to some techno than get down to Sinatra and Streisand."

I shudder at the thought of slow dancing at some old geiser's idea of what a good jam is. The only thyme and reason to my dancing is deep in my bones when the beat hits me and my body starts groovin' to whatever's blasting over the speakers. I got a wicked knack for knowing how to move to any tune under the sun.

"Sunnydale High dances weren't that bad," Red speaks up in defense for her school. "They were just more into the happy fun pop that the popular people liked rather than stuff that you know, you would like, Faith. Principal Snyder wouldn't have found the music you like school friendly."

"Then it's a good thing he got eaten, huh?" I joke. I heard the little weasel was one of the first to go. Boss had a big hate on for the guy so I can't say I'm surprised to hear he became lunch meat. When the gang gives me looks to kill I just shrug. "What? He was always giving me shit for not having a hall pass whenever I hung around school. Guess he didn't get the memo where I was just visiting."

"He did think he was god of the school," Xander points out with a friendly grin. "I'm with Faith in cheering on his untimely demise."

It's good to have the Xand-man back in the mix-up. He disappeared for a while there, lickin' his wounds after the big verbal beatdown B gave him. A part of me wants to reach out to the dude and tell him I understand. I mean, I get the wonderful title of second string slayer. Nothing puts a damper on your ego like hearing some other chick does your job better than you do. If anybody gets what it feels like to be left out -- it's me. I dunno though, I'm not exactly a fan of the heart to hearts. Think I'll stick with laying off on the Xander ribs and actually being nice to the guy for a change.

"Anyway," Red continues, shooting glares at us both. "We're all going and that's that."

"Man, who died and made her boss," I mumble to myself. Only Wes hears me since I'm practically on his lap with how cramped this fuckin' table is.

He just shakes his head and leans in to whisper in my ear. "Quit your complaining. You'll have a good time, I promise you."

I just snort in response, causing the gang to send me some mighty curious glances before finding something more interesting than me to stare at. Equally quiet, I reply with a cynical, "Promises, promises. I'll believe it when I see it, Watcher man."

"Hey! What's with the whispering?" Once again, the fiery Wiccan is on my case. Goody. I just love having to justify my actions to the chick.

"Chill Red, it's got nothing to do with you."

But the damage's already done. Suddenly everybody's lookin' at us like we just had sex right here on the table. It's not like the Wiccans haven't been playing footsie the entire night. I got a load of foot coming my way after Blondie misjudged the distance of Red's ankle and I suddenly had a stranger's foot traveling up my calf. Tara noticed her mistake right when my eyes went wide and looked around the table accusingly. Girl's been quiet ever since her mistake. Probably scared I'd tease her if she got on Willow's bossy bandwagon. I seriously don't remember Red being such a take charge kinda girl.

"Slayer/Watcher business," Wes clarifies. I snort again. If only he knew what my thoughts on slayer/watcher biz was these days. "Don't mind Faith's unhappy spirits. We had a slight mishap during training today. I think it'd be best if we headed home now."

He gets up from his chair and looks at me expectantly. "Faith?"

"Y-you're leaving?" Blondie asks, looking slightly disappointed.

I take one look at the way Wes is lookin' and agree with the man for a change. "As fun as mochas are, I got a promised massage waiting for me back home. Sorry T, but you'll have to create your own fun now. I'm bailing."

Though I'm seriously doubting she won't be gettin' a whole lot of fun with less people around. As soon as she drops the kid off with Xander, her and Red will be playing tonsil hockey. They've been shooting each other red hot looks all night. No wonder they've been down with the footsie.

Me and Wes head for his car and soon enough we're riding out down Revello Drive, past B's and over to the part of town my place is at. Kinda weird to no longer live in the poor section. Weirder yet is how much I almost miss the broken down buildings and dirty barefooted kids playing with broken glass. Gives a place character, you know? I hate fancy high rises and little 4 bedroom houses all built in lines and squares to be as perfect as possible and totally lackin' any originality. B's house is like that. I dig that my window's still busted from my throwdown with B. It gives it more of a homey feel, you know?

"So Wes, fill me in here, are you really here to help a girl out after a hard day's work or did you just want to get in some more alone time with me," I tease the boy once we're in the elevator and goin' up.

"A bit of both," he answers, a ghost of a smile on his scruffy face. He must be at odds with his razor again. He's had a five o'clock shadow for days now. It's bordering on sexy. "Didn't you want an excuse to leave?"

I cross my arms defensively but probably just look like a pouty kid. I *did* want an excuse to bail on the superfriends. "Maybe. But I won't say either way. That'd make you right and we can't have that."

I grin at him and the both of us step out of the elevator, wearing matching strides as we walk the 10 feet to my door. Wes just shakes his head in amusement at my call while I make quick work of the lock. "No, we can't. You're far too stubborn for that."

"Got that right, buddy."

Once we're in, we lose our jackets and shoes. All this time with me has really chilled him out. I swear it took me about two weeks to get him comfortable enough to lose the loafers when we hung out at B's house during Dawn Duty. I've got him house trained now. He can actually take a seat without given permission. Gotta love a submissive male. I got him eating out of the palm of my hand now and he fuckin' loves it. This guy is such a trip, I swear.

He comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder and starts to rub it in, a precursor to that promised massage I guess. I've gotten over my issues enough to *not* freak when people get touchy feely with me on a more intimate basis than the usual wham bam thank you ma'am deal.

"Where does it hurt?" he asks me, with actual concern in his voice.

Earlier today we were doing the usual thing, goin' to the park for a run and then hittin' other places around town that could put a little variety into an old routine. Wes found us this park with these wicked cool wooden planks that looked like balance beams. He made me get up there and practice concentration and balance by doin' a handstand for a timed period. Then some kid came outa nowhere with a soccer ball and I took a hit in the center of my stomach and toppled over. Real smooth, huh? Slayer gettin' taken down by a fuckin' kid with a ball. Not my proudest moment, but I'll live. The fall was long and woodchips aren't exactly cushy. Ended up flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me. Wes went all guilt trip guy on me and closed up, mumbling about how he wasn't cut out for this watcher gig after all. Let's just say it took a whole lot of reassuring on my part to get him back to the dude I could have fun with.

"My back," I reply without tryin' to cover it up with some fake bravado about how I was tough shit and could handle a little fall off a makeshift balance beam three feet up in the air. His hand trails down to the place between my shoulder blades and my eyes flutter shut. This felt good. "We should take it to the bed, Wes. Better that way."

He `hmmph`s in agreement and off we go. When I make a move to lose my top, he turns away like a perfect gentleman. I'm kinda disappointed, I take great pride in the nice rack I've got and when I so willingly show it off, he's gotta be nice about it and not cop a peek. He still doesn't turn around even after I make a big bounce on the bed and settle on my stomach.

I roll my eyes and finally call out, "You can turn around now... wimp. I'm decent."

The shuffling sound of feet on carpet is the only way I know he's spun around to face my half naked figure and then there's a weight change on the bed and I know he's taken a seat down next to my legs. I should've lost the pants and made him massage me in my underwear but I got too much respect for the dude now to pull a skanky act like that on him. He's been straight up with me and I won't ruffle him too hard. Don't wanna scare the boy off, you know? He's cool.

He doesn't even comment on the wimp thing. He lets it pass and reluctantly gets on the bed. There's a moment of hesitation before he asks, "Do you mind terribly if I sit on top of you?"

His words come out strained, like he can't believe he has to ask such a question. I snicker and nod the best I can in my current position. "Do I look good in leather pants?"

"Erm, yes," he mumbles and then catches onto what I'm doin'. In other words - yea, he can get comfy on my ass as long as he gets those longer fingers of his working. "Must you always answer a question with a question?"

"Why? Does it frustrate you, watcher boy? Maybe you should spank me."

Wes chuckles and presses his down deep into my back, enough to get a moan out of me. "But I'm afraid that might add to your injury. Then I would have to massage that as well."

"I wouldn't mind," I put it out there, makin' it clear that I've got no problem with it if he doesn't. "I get off on pain."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Beats me," I answer, though that confession of mine wouldn't surprise anyone on this planet. I'm known for gettin' off on the rough stuff. I even found it kinda sexy when B was kicking my ass. "I thought you didn't like questions."

We share a laugh at our not-so-subtle flirting and then get silent when he goes into massage mode. I'm not really hurting, not anymore at least, but I ain't gonna say no to a good thing. This is nice. This is more than nice. Apparently watchers know their way around sore muscles and I'm turned into pudding under his touch. I can feel myself drifting in and out of consciousness, lost in good feelings. Horny me wants more than close but no cigar. Logical me says to enjoy the ride and wait for your fucking girlfriend, you cheating bitch. Granted, I haven't done anything with Wes, but my thoughts are bad enough. It's only a matter of time before I lose the already weak grip I have on self control and fuck his brains out.

"Are you all well now?" Wes half questions me and shakes me out of a slew of bad thoughts I'm having. Some only bad in the way of what I'd do to him if I didn't have a girlfriend, the others bad in the way that I'm beating myself up over the first batch of thoughts. My brain's having a fuckin' tug of war and let me tell you, it ain't pretty.

"Five by five," I reply, grinning sardonically to myself. "Where'd you learn to do that? I know that's not in Watcher training. G-man never cared much for after slay rubdowns. Did you and Angel have some kind of kinky routine I'm not aware of?"

He nearly chokes when I hint at him havin' a thing for the now dusted broody one. I really shouldn't joke about the big guy but fuck, it's just so easy. We all know what happens when Angel gets a big happy. Maybe that's why the guy still carries a shitload of guilt around with him for that whole thing.

"No!" he exclaims quickly, ruining my homoerotic fantasies. Bummer. "Angel and I... we never did anything quite like that. Not even close actually. In fact, I can't recall a time where we even hugged one another."

"Too manly for hugs, Wes?" I joke.

But I gotta admit, I really don't peg either of these emotionally stunted dudes as the type to be down with the hug and cry, learn and grow crap. Angel's good for hugging, if you're a damsel in distress type. He's got that brave warrior complex goin' on. He can't pass up a chick in distress. And Wes? Well, after hearing what his folks did to him, I'm finally startin' to get why this boy has issue on top of issue. He's probably a lot more screwed up than I think.

"I am British, you know," he reminds me in a prissy voice. How could I forget? Brits don't dig human affection much. "We aren't exactly known for our quickness to hug and kiss our friends and family."

"You're more of a shakin' hands kind of guy," I add in. "Only hugs I like are the kind that lead to something more."

Wes knows I'm spouting bullshit now, but he doesn't call me out on it. I really wish I hadn't wimped out on everyone after the big battle with B and gone all boo hoo-y straight into Wes's arms. That was seriously stupid of me. When was the last time I even cried? Better yet, when was the last time I cried and let someone hold me? It's hard to act like the bitch around him after he saw me so screwed up and totally off my game.

"I wouldn't doubt that," he chuckles and then slides off of me. I frown at the loss of contact but say nothing. Instead, I flip my body over and hug my pillow to my chest, a questioning look painted all over my face as I stare him down.

"Going somewhere?"

"That's entirely up to you. Would you care for a night of vampire slaying?"

"Hell yea!" I exclaim, sitting up in bed. "I haven't been workin' my ass off just to look buff. I could use a little stake action."

"Alright then," he smiles. Watcher man just got his cast off a few days ago, so I'm not surprised he wants back out in the field. "Get dressed and I'll meet you downstairs. Perhaps I'll even grade your progress tonight."

I flip him off instead of sayin' what's on my mind. Watcher's Council. Gotta be honest here, I'm not looking forward to those prissy bastards marching into town like they're the bees knees of all things slayery. They're not the ones out there every night bustin' their asses to keep the streets safe. They sit up in merry old England and think they know what it's like to be out on the hunt. I don't get what beef they got with us, though. Giles and Wes got sacked, B quit, and I was never the favored slayer. B was their golden girl and I was the mistake that went bad. Think I pretty much lost my place in their ranks when I turned rogue.

I just can't help but think that as much as Wes acts like he couldn't give two shits about the Council, that a part of him does care what those jokers think and he'll get a kick out of showing 'em how he put a leash on naughty Faith. I don't let him boss me around because he's some big bad guy I'm scared to disobey. I train with him 'cause I want to. When B went bad, he showed me a man worth knowing. I dig the fact that he's as messed up as I am. It's what makes us such a great team. I'm flawed, he's flawed and it doesn't fuckin' matter with us. I'll be damned if the Council thinks they can ruin the good thing we got going on here.