Summary: She loved the touch, but something was still missing.
There are days Faith thinks she could go either way. She’s always been able to bond to women, her mother, her watcher, but this…she pulls back. The hair running through her fingers is soft, the arms that curve around her body are strong, the fingers working at her back are soft yet firm, digging into sore muscles with just the right pressure to pull pleasure from the pain. Faith loves the soft lips and the slow, hot air that curls over her neck as she twists on the bed, but something feels wrong. There is an element missing, and after several minutes it comes to her.
The smell of a man.
Buffy doesn’t smell sweet or girly even, but that essence of male is gone. Faith wants that mixture of sweat and deodorant and grease and cologne or aftershave or whatever that mysterious combination is that makes up the smell of a man.
The act of sexing someone doesn’t change much no matter whose legs she’s tangled in, and in that way she can go either way, but in her mind, this moment still feels ‘off’. It’s nothing like moral fiber or political picking sides that makes it feel wrong, it is all about the senses.
She runs her lips up the nape of Buffy’s neck, rustling her nose in hair that smells vaguely fruity, tastes the metallic of earrings and she suckles at her ears, feeling shivers run up Buffy’s spine. Faith arches her back as Buffy’s hands move lower, pulling at her thighs and bending her upwards before she disappears beneath the sheets, out of reach for kisses or sensual pondering.
Faith gasps words of approval and several she learned from sailors in Boston Harbor. She clenches her thighs and twists the pillow behind her head until she’s afraid the stuffing will burst from the seams. She lets Buffy lift her off the mattress with more ease than any man would ever have, bracing her toes in the tangle of blankets and sheets as she bucks against Buffy’s mouth and fingers.
Even though her eyes are closed Faith knows Buffy is smiling, can feel the upturn of lips and cheeks against her thighs as the Slayer shows her just why she is in charge, why both men and the women look to her as leader and lover. Faith gives in, letting the scent of her own womanhood fill the room, and yet even as the aftershocks of their sex make her tremble, Faith misses the tang of a man, doesn’t quite feel complete because the smell is not there.
She dresses and kisses her sometime lover goodnight before she goes. And then Faith goes hunting, needing the smell of a man, even a vampire, fighting, maybe even fucking, she doesn’t define what she needs from a fight any more than she defines these nights with Buffy…they are just needed, craved even, because in the end Faith is all about the senses.