AtS Femslash ficathon
Apr. 18th, 2004 12:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doyleTitle: Get Out of the Kitchen
Author: Doyle
Pairing: Cordelia/Faith/Darla
Rating: NC-17, to be on the safe side
Notes: AtS Femslashficathon entry for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
patrizia who wanted angst and heat.
Faith's new personal philosophy: life sucks, and then you die. And then stuff starts to get a whole lot more fun.
Not an inch to move in this dive, just how she likes it. Must be a hundred degrees. She can pick out all the other vamps in the crowd just from who's not breaking a sweat. Like dancing in a sauna, like the steam and the heat in the prison laundry room.
She's forgetting what the world was like with the volume turned down, before she could feel the beat like she was part of the speaker system, before she could feel the heartbeats all round her like an extra bass. She can smell that the girl sliding against her is on her period and that the guy creeping his hand into her waistband jerked off in the shower today. Eeny, meeny, miny - mo lands on the girl. Faith licks a slow line along her skin, ear to collarbone. Mo tastes like salt and cosmetics. Faith could use a tequila. The blood smell's making her hungry.
Time to eat later. She's going to live for-fucking-ever. She lives her head and screams that exact thing to the ceiling, to the whole damn world, but the music carries it away.
Angel says he'll stake her if she comes to the hotel again, and she bets he really, honestly, gosh-darn means it this time, too. She'd tell him to get a life but, well, obviously.
He's pissed off today. Down in the basement, working out his pain with his fists. Clearly, he only does this so she'll feel threatened. Should've stuck to Tai Chi. Oh no! Please, don't realign my energy centres, anything but that!
She gasps, clutching her head, and if she lives eight thousand years it will never stop being funny how he always takes a step towards her. For that one second, every time, he forgets that she's had the world's greatest Advil.
He stomps past her, up the stairs. She follows, catching him up on what she did last night. "So the guy leans out of the door, and it's just enough for Faith to grab his shirt and she yanks him all the way out." She laughs. "He was a single dad, so we didn't even need an invitation." That was a new thing, Faith shoving her up against the barrier, the guy moaning and bleeding till they fell into the house. Cordelia landed on her back with Faith on top, so caught up in the biting and the tearing at clothes and the tongues in each others mouths that they almost forgot the kids. Cute little snacks, Disney eyes and Pokemon jammies. Faith said she was full after the dad so she dragged the youngest home for Dru to play mommies with.
Angel sits down - more like falls - onto the circular couch. Aw. Normally he at least makes it to the weapons cabinet before he chickens out on her.
Cordelia's not wearing any underwear beneath the black skirt that goes to mid-thigh. She makes sure he realizes that as she straddles him, sitting on his lap with her arms around his neck like a little girl asking daddy for a pony ride.
"Why do you keep doing this, Cordelia?" he asks, and if he's not broken, he's bent nearly double.
"Family," she says. "Makes me feel all warm and tingly. Grandpa." Kisses him, hard and deep, and grinds in his lap, and when she can feel him start to lose himself in the despair she slides off him. "See you tomorrow, same as always."
He never tries to stop her.
Darla doesn't remember hell. She thought she would. The door of that motel room opened and Drusilla was there, flanked by Angel's girl and another brunette, and Darla knew she was going to die. She thought she would wake up in the earth remembering burning flesh and charring heat.
Instead there's the same blankness that there was before. She's starting to doubt there's a hell at all. That could be a liberating thought or a frightening one. Torture doesn't frighten Darla; she likes to think she's made something of an art of it, from time to time. The thought of eternal nothingness…
She presses her palm against the cool glass, looking out over the city, and thinks that given the choice she'd rather burn than freeze.
Dealing without mirrors is easy, so long as you've got someone to make sure your makeup's on straight.
"Looking five by five, Queen C," Faith says. She's sprawled lazily on top of the bed, fanned-out hair nearly black against the white coverlet. This could be a movie poster, if her interesting parts were covered by rose petals.
"Mascara," she says, "black or navy blue?"
"The fuck difference does it make?" Faith, she thinks, is a guy trapped in the body of a girl trapped in the body of a vampire. "Whichever. Black."
Somewhere off in the house Drusilla screams, a high, keening wail that goes on and on like an ambulance siren. It makes Cordelia jump, dragging the brush down her cheek. "Dammit!"
Faith laughs. "Over here." She sits on the side of the bed. Faith licks her own thumb, pulls her in close like a mom cleaning up her kid, rubs at the smudge. "There you go." Lies back down, smirking.
Oh, like this is totally innocent girly makeup time and not big lesbo foreplay. "You know what, I'm not even hungry yet."
"Yeah," Faith says, rubbing small circles over her stomach. "Still kinda full from those lawyers."
Big liar. That was weeks ago. God, Angel's face when he locked those doors was fun. Just edges out his expression when she and Faith walked into that motel room with their fangs on show.
"Stay in tonight?"
"Yeah." She rolls on her stomach to look over the edge of the bed. "Keep the high heels on."
Darla doesn't knock. She never does. What she does do is slam the door behind her hard enough that it splinters at the handle. "Drusilla won't stop screaming," she says.
Cordy and Faith share the look of somebody-else's-problem.
"I went last time," Cordelia says.
Faith rolls her eyes. "Fine. Whatever."
Dru's not so hard to handle. Scream back at her till she stops and distract her with a dolly. Faith pads naked to her room and makes her shut the hell up and when she gets back Cordelia's kneeling on the bed, hands flat to the wall. Darla coiled behind her, one hand teasing at a nipple, the other pressed between her legs. Cordelia's head's tilted way, way back. Her throat looks like it goes on forever.
She's still wearing the high heels.
"We shall have to have a party," Dru whispers behind her. "When the baby arrives to ashes and rain."
"Party," Faith echoes. "Candy and cake. Yeah, we'll do that." And she shuts the door in her face.
Angel threw her out into the rain.
She digs her heels into the mattress as Faith's tongue flicks against her clit. Fists her hand in the girl's hair, hard enough that one sharp move will tear it off in clumps.
This seems to increase her enthusiasm.
Angel said she was perfect despair.
Cordelia bites her, hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to make her come. Darla digs her nails deep into her wrist, glaring a warning - she's not supposed to bite. These things have an order, and she can't let these girls remember that she's a day younger than they are.
Angel still has the soul, and he rejected her, and she will not be powerless that way again.
Things that she notices, quite unconnected from one another: Faith calls her 'mommy' when she comes. Cordelia has mascara on her face. Twenty-first century girls are imaginative creatures. Outside the closed door, Dru is babbling to some imaginary playmate.
Darla lies in the middle of a tangle of limbs and doesn't try to extract herself.
And she thinks, though she'd never admit it, that it's not unpleasant to have a family again.
And she thinks, could Angel be so perfectly, heroically despairing against all three of them?
And she thinks, for a moment, that she's almost warm.
END
Author: Doyle
Pairing: Cordelia/Faith/Darla
Rating: NC-17, to be on the safe side
Notes: AtS Femslashficathon entry for
patrizia who wanted angst and heat.Faith's new personal philosophy: life sucks, and then you die. And then stuff starts to get a whole lot more fun.
Not an inch to move in this dive, just how she likes it. Must be a hundred degrees. She can pick out all the other vamps in the crowd just from who's not breaking a sweat. Like dancing in a sauna, like the steam and the heat in the prison laundry room.
She's forgetting what the world was like with the volume turned down, before she could feel the beat like she was part of the speaker system, before she could feel the heartbeats all round her like an extra bass. She can smell that the girl sliding against her is on her period and that the guy creeping his hand into her waistband jerked off in the shower today. Eeny, meeny, miny - mo lands on the girl. Faith licks a slow line along her skin, ear to collarbone. Mo tastes like salt and cosmetics. Faith could use a tequila. The blood smell's making her hungry.
Time to eat later. She's going to live for-fucking-ever. She lives her head and screams that exact thing to the ceiling, to the whole damn world, but the music carries it away.
Angel says he'll stake her if she comes to the hotel again, and she bets he really, honestly, gosh-darn means it this time, too. She'd tell him to get a life but, well, obviously.
He's pissed off today. Down in the basement, working out his pain with his fists. Clearly, he only does this so she'll feel threatened. Should've stuck to Tai Chi. Oh no! Please, don't realign my energy centres, anything but that!
She gasps, clutching her head, and if she lives eight thousand years it will never stop being funny how he always takes a step towards her. For that one second, every time, he forgets that she's had the world's greatest Advil.
He stomps past her, up the stairs. She follows, catching him up on what she did last night. "So the guy leans out of the door, and it's just enough for Faith to grab his shirt and she yanks him all the way out." She laughs. "He was a single dad, so we didn't even need an invitation." That was a new thing, Faith shoving her up against the barrier, the guy moaning and bleeding till they fell into the house. Cordelia landed on her back with Faith on top, so caught up in the biting and the tearing at clothes and the tongues in each others mouths that they almost forgot the kids. Cute little snacks, Disney eyes and Pokemon jammies. Faith said she was full after the dad so she dragged the youngest home for Dru to play mommies with.
Angel sits down - more like falls - onto the circular couch. Aw. Normally he at least makes it to the weapons cabinet before he chickens out on her.
Cordelia's not wearing any underwear beneath the black skirt that goes to mid-thigh. She makes sure he realizes that as she straddles him, sitting on his lap with her arms around his neck like a little girl asking daddy for a pony ride.
"Why do you keep doing this, Cordelia?" he asks, and if he's not broken, he's bent nearly double.
"Family," she says. "Makes me feel all warm and tingly. Grandpa." Kisses him, hard and deep, and grinds in his lap, and when she can feel him start to lose himself in the despair she slides off him. "See you tomorrow, same as always."
He never tries to stop her.
Darla doesn't remember hell. She thought she would. The door of that motel room opened and Drusilla was there, flanked by Angel's girl and another brunette, and Darla knew she was going to die. She thought she would wake up in the earth remembering burning flesh and charring heat.
Instead there's the same blankness that there was before. She's starting to doubt there's a hell at all. That could be a liberating thought or a frightening one. Torture doesn't frighten Darla; she likes to think she's made something of an art of it, from time to time. The thought of eternal nothingness…
She presses her palm against the cool glass, looking out over the city, and thinks that given the choice she'd rather burn than freeze.
Dealing without mirrors is easy, so long as you've got someone to make sure your makeup's on straight.
"Looking five by five, Queen C," Faith says. She's sprawled lazily on top of the bed, fanned-out hair nearly black against the white coverlet. This could be a movie poster, if her interesting parts were covered by rose petals.
"Mascara," she says, "black or navy blue?"
"The fuck difference does it make?" Faith, she thinks, is a guy trapped in the body of a girl trapped in the body of a vampire. "Whichever. Black."
Somewhere off in the house Drusilla screams, a high, keening wail that goes on and on like an ambulance siren. It makes Cordelia jump, dragging the brush down her cheek. "Dammit!"
Faith laughs. "Over here." She sits on the side of the bed. Faith licks her own thumb, pulls her in close like a mom cleaning up her kid, rubs at the smudge. "There you go." Lies back down, smirking.
Oh, like this is totally innocent girly makeup time and not big lesbo foreplay. "You know what, I'm not even hungry yet."
"Yeah," Faith says, rubbing small circles over her stomach. "Still kinda full from those lawyers."
Big liar. That was weeks ago. God, Angel's face when he locked those doors was fun. Just edges out his expression when she and Faith walked into that motel room with their fangs on show.
"Stay in tonight?"
"Yeah." She rolls on her stomach to look over the edge of the bed. "Keep the high heels on."
Darla doesn't knock. She never does. What she does do is slam the door behind her hard enough that it splinters at the handle. "Drusilla won't stop screaming," she says.
Cordy and Faith share the look of somebody-else's-problem.
"I went last time," Cordelia says.
Faith rolls her eyes. "Fine. Whatever."
Dru's not so hard to handle. Scream back at her till she stops and distract her with a dolly. Faith pads naked to her room and makes her shut the hell up and when she gets back Cordelia's kneeling on the bed, hands flat to the wall. Darla coiled behind her, one hand teasing at a nipple, the other pressed between her legs. Cordelia's head's tilted way, way back. Her throat looks like it goes on forever.
She's still wearing the high heels.
"We shall have to have a party," Dru whispers behind her. "When the baby arrives to ashes and rain."
"Party," Faith echoes. "Candy and cake. Yeah, we'll do that." And she shuts the door in her face.
Angel threw her out into the rain.
She digs her heels into the mattress as Faith's tongue flicks against her clit. Fists her hand in the girl's hair, hard enough that one sharp move will tear it off in clumps.
This seems to increase her enthusiasm.
Angel said she was perfect despair.
Cordelia bites her, hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to make her come. Darla digs her nails deep into her wrist, glaring a warning - she's not supposed to bite. These things have an order, and she can't let these girls remember that she's a day younger than they are.
Angel still has the soul, and he rejected her, and she will not be powerless that way again.
Things that she notices, quite unconnected from one another: Faith calls her 'mommy' when she comes. Cordelia has mascara on her face. Twenty-first century girls are imaginative creatures. Outside the closed door, Dru is babbling to some imaginary playmate.
Darla lies in the middle of a tangle of limbs and doesn't try to extract herself.
And she thinks, though she'd never admit it, that it's not unpleasant to have a family again.
And she thinks, could Angel be so perfectly, heroically despairing against all three of them?
And she thinks, for a moment, that she's almost warm.
END
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2004-04-17 04:26 pm (UTC)Damn good, Doyle.
Things that she notices, quite unconnected from one another: Faith calls her 'mommy' when she comes. Cordelia has mascara on her face. Twenty-first century girls are imaginative creatures. Outside the closed door, Dru is babbling to some imaginary playmate.
I love the character insights here, and the voices are perfect.
no subject
on 2004-04-17 04:27 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-04-17 05:28 pm (UTC)And this...
He's pissed off today. Down in the basement, working out his pain with his fists. Clearly, he only does this so she'll feel threatened. Should've stuck to Tai Chi. Oh no! Please, don't realign my energy centres, anything but that! Way funny! He. Thanks.
no subject
on 2004-04-17 05:32 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-04-17 06:01 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-04-17 06:04 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-04-18 09:59 am (UTC)I know someone already copied that one in a comment, but I really liked it! Perfect touch. And the whole Faith club scene was fantastic.
no subject
on 2004-04-20 09:19 am (UTC)I don't know about Angel, but the image sure gave me a perfect happy. Erotic *and* insightful. Doyle, there's times that I really hate you.... ;)
no subject
on 2004-04-20 09:20 am (UTC)no subject
on 2004-05-12 11:56 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2004-05-17 04:46 am (UTC)Angel says he'll stake her if she comes to the hotel again, and she bets he really, honestly, gosh-darn means it this time, too. She'd tell him to get a life but, well, obviously.
Heh - love that line.
no subject
on 2004-05-17 04:46 am (UTC)