Addiction by Spwaddict

Disclaimer: (to the Barney theme…Everybody!)
I love Joss.
Joss owns Buffy.
We're a BtVS family.
Where we don't write for profit,
And we write only for fun…
Wont you say you'll give me feedback?

Author's Notes: I read a Stephen King short story from Everything's Eventual and there was just a little part in there about a motel room. It talked about the light and exhaust fan. I thought it was so true, and of course from there, I developed this.

Summary: A motel room addiction brings out the darkness in the girl who can't bring herself to stop.

I walk in to see the same beige colored carpeting. The same single bed with tacky sheets that looks perfectly made. I set down the same key with a piece of blue plastic attached to it in the shape of a diamond. Faded white writing on it reads '109'. It looks the same as it always does.

It's been seven different rooms in this small motel. I'm not sure how many rooms the place has all together. We'll have to find another place to meet soon. That is if I let it go farther than tonight.

At first it was rare. Then almost every day. Then every day. Seven times. I curse myself for letting it be that many, for the ten-thousandth time tonight.

I go into the bathroom. When I turn on the light, the exhaust fan starts running. There's never anyway around that. If I want the light, I get the fan. I don't know why I hate it so much. Light, fan. Light, fan. Maybe I just hate myself for coming so often to know that if I want the light, I get the fan.

I look into the mirror. Do I look older than last night? I seem darker, colder, more worn, more…used. I'm not surprised. I'm starting to look like her.

I hear her open the door, and come into the room. I breathe in, out. In…hold it…out. Damn. I can smell her already.

Her head moves lazily toward the bathroom door as I emerge. She's wearing her normal tight shirt, pleather whore-drobe.

"I don't think I was followed." Her voice has humor, as did the never dying smirk she seems to always torture me with. She knows how much it would kill me if anyone found out. She knows that it wouldn't matter to her. Not like she has a sterling reputation.

"Heard you killed a guy." I'm breaking rule number two. Don't talk about our lives outside this room, no matter how many times this room may change. Her smirk falls.

"And you still came." She saunters over to me like she's done seven times before, but her smirk still isn't there. That bothers me. She wraps her arm around my waist, and I see the sleeve of her shirt lift to reveal her tattoo. The tattoo I'd spent nights staring at while she slept. She pulls me into her hard, and grunts, completely primal. Her breasts press against mine, her hips crush against mine. Damn. I'm already weak at the knees. She leans in and runs her tongue along my sensitive spot behind my ear. Her face is in front of mine again, and I try to focus on the mock innocence that it holds.

"But if you have trouble fucking a murderer, then I can go…" That's why I broke the rule. So she'd leave, never look back, and loose herself into the darkness without sucking me in with her.

But she knows I won't let her go now. She tries to leave, and I pull her back before she's completely out of my grasp. I kiss her hard, but it's never hard enough for her. She slams into me, backing me against the motel room wall.

She sloppily moves her lips down my neck, kissing, sucking and biting. I'll have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow. My legs wont support my weight any longer, so I wrap them around her hips, giving her better access for contact. Giving her better control. She holds me in the position, the wall on my back and her body on my front. Her free hand moves under my shirt, under my bra, and starts to rub and pinch me.

"You like that?" Her hand on my breast becomes feather light, and I push myself into her hand trying to get more contact.

"You want me to touch you right there, don't you? You want me to taste you there? Hmm?" She's whispering almost dream-like into my ear, and I think I might pass out.

"God, I want--…I want you…" I very barely get that much out, but it's enough for her.

"Take it off." She orders, and I tear my shirt off over my head as fast as I can manage.

I'm on the bed now, with nicely made sheets torn off. My bra's gone and I honestly don't remember how. She's attached her lips to my breast and I'm moaning again. I reach for the hem of her shirt, but she slaps my hands away. She always wants me to be first. She gets off on my face when I orgasm, then she lets me touch her.

"Damn…" She whispers when notices just how aroused I am. My cheeks turn a shade of red, hating how she affects me. But all she does is smile…no, she smirks.

At some point I'm screaming in ecstasy. I think it's when she enters her second finger inside me. She never tries for a third. She knows I'm still a virgin. Her finger strokes against my swollen and sensitive clit.

My body tenses. The bright speckles appear in front of my eyes. A fire spreads rapidly from my center into each of my limbs, each finger, toe, hair.

I smell smoke and chocolate. I smell her, like I did when she first came into this room. I feel her soft touches all over my body. I sense her chest heaving up and down from seeing my face at release. I don't want her to leave anymore. I don't want her to ever leave, because at this moment everything's perfect. This feeling of perfection is the reason why I keep coming back. I'm addicted to it. Every part of me aches for it all day, seeking its release at night. I don't really care anymore how it got started or how I ended up here. At this moment I don't really have to care about anything.

She lays next to me, half gazing at me, half waiting for me to repay the favor. I stay still, my body tingling for a moment longer before getting up; knowing that what she did to me was only half the reason why I'm addicted.

I wonder what they'd say? I wonder what expression would cross their face if they saw me now. Would they be angry, shocked, disgusted, aroused, or a mixture of all?

I wonder what they'd say if they saw me naked, with my face in between her legs. Surely nothing I haven't told myself a million times. They wouldn't give me anything I'd need. No twelve-step program. No support group. That's what you do with an addiction, isn't it? First, you have to admit you have a problem. Admit it to other people? I wonder what I'd say? I'm addicted to sex…hard and rough sex against a wall, pinned to the floor, tangled in an over turned bed. That should go over well.

Her hand runs through my hair, untangling me from my thoughts. She lightly pushes me deeper into her center, steering me to the places she needs.

I remember the first time. I was sloppy, didn't know what I was doing. But she was patient, guiding me through. Touch here, not there. Suck there, not here. She taught me well enough to get her off.

She also taught me how to hurt her. She got off on that too. I never would hurt her though. Not because I like her. I hate her. But because I'm cursed with that pesky humanity gig. Hurting people just isn't my thing. But I'm sure with a few more nights like this, I'll become like her enough to try anything.

I scrap my teeth against her clit and her hips shoot up, trying to ride my face. I try to hold down her waist without much avail. If she's not careful, I might suffocate…suffocate.

I wonder if Xander got to taste her like this before she tried to kill him. Before she tried to strangle him to death. I suddenly remember the horrific black and purple bruises around his neck.

She's close to the edge now, clawing at the mattress under her. Then I pull away from her to see her face. She whimpers helplessly, but it's all an act. She'd never be helpless. I look at her and that smirk.

"What's the matter, Babe? Lose your way?" Her voice was mocking. God, I hate her. Yet I come back every time.

Without warning, I shove three fingers inside her, feeling my nails scrape against her skin. She winces, actually showing pain…the only real emotion I've seen her make. I smile, surprised to know that I could actually hurt a Slayer.

I pull out of her then back in, not waiting for her to adjust. She winces, and then smirks. I do it again and her breathing becomes ragged again as she starts to rub her breast with a free hand. My fingers are getting slick, and she's reaching that edge again.

She cums, screaming every obscenity I know, and some I don't. I smile, knowing that I never made her scream before. Then, I feel disgusted with myself for being proud of that accomplishment. Of being just like her. This will drive me insane yet.

I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, looking for my shirt as she lightly runs her fingertips down my back. I hate that I shudder to her touch and I can actually feel her smirk on the back of my head.

"We don't have to be." She starts to kiss the back of my neck while pulling down a bra strap. If I can only find my shirt. Finding it would probably be a lot easier if my vision wasn't suddenly blurred by arousal.

"After that nice little thing you did for me, I'm feeling generous." She has a twisted definition of nice.

She's moved herself so I'm in between her legs. She works on the zipper of my jeans.

I jump up from the bed, redoing my pants. Rule number three, bitch. Don't ever mention him. She just laughs. I find my shirt, along with my shoes, putting them on hastily.

I leave without an answer, both of us knowing that I didn't need to answer. I'd be there.

I walk into the room, alone at first like always. First I come, then her…in more ways then one. I don't know what I'm doing here honestly. I know she won't be here, not after what happened earlier tonight. I'm still wearing the dress I had on today, not bothering to change, which was a first.

I make my way to the bathroom, wanting to see myself in the dirty and cracked mirror. Just to see how much older, pale, cold, and diseased I looked. Taking regular records of my appearance in these motel mirrors have become habit.

I turn on the light…nothing. Just a harsh glare of the fluorescent light, with the ghost of dead flies haunting the inside of the light covering. I turn off the light, and then back on. Nothing. No fan. The fan always comes on, but it doesn't this time. It means something. That we'd choose this room tonight, the room with no fan. It means something I can't grasp yet.

I hear the door open and I watch her walk into the room. She's sees me, and then avoids eye contact. After today, I don't blame her.

"Didn't think you'd show tonight." Her voice is small and nervous, but I know better than to think she has actual emotions.

"I don't know. Same reason you did, I guess." She glances at me suggestively for only a second.

"I doubt that." I reply coldly, almost angrily. She sighs dramatically, finishing with her innocent act.

"Is this the part where you tell me it's over?" She starts to walk over to where I'm standing. "That I've been a bad girl? Do you want to spank me?" Her voice holds the same sarcastic tone, but there's fear laced in the words. I barely notice.

All the rules are broken now, and she seems to know why. She knows that it's over. I didn't know until just now.

She closes the space between us in a flash, grabbing me by the neck and crashing me into the wall. Her eyes are something slightly like lust, but darker. Much darker. I wonder if this is what Xander saw when she tried to kill him.

I struggle to talk threw her clenched fingers. "What are you going to do Faith? Punch me?" Her eyes flicker briefly to the darkened area around my jaw that will be a large bruise tomorrow. "Kill me? Nothing you haven't tried before."

She wavers a moment, as if considering it. Then she kisses me harshly, moving her hand to the back of my neck and holding my head in place until it starts to hurt. When she finally lets go of me, I almost fall to my knees gasping for air. She doesn't wait for me to recover entirely, which leaves me at a disadvantage as she pulls my dress up around my waist. She grabs my ass, smiling evilly at the silk underwear, and pulls me into her.

"Making up." This isn't about sex anymore. It's becoming about something else completely, and that scares me.

"You're insane." I try to squirm away, but it only makes her hold tighter. She looks at me, and she smirks.

No, she smiles. A sad smile that makes me think for a second that it isn't fake.

"Because that's not what this is about. That's not what we come here for, you know that. We agreed. Just sex, no strings…and now it ends."

She lets me go, my dress falling back down to my ankles, but her face was filled with anger. "You think you can do that to me? Just say no, and walk away?"

That's what all those D.A.R.E. cops said when I was in seventh grade. Just say no to drugs, addiction…Faith.

"I'm sorry." I stand there for a second, trying to decipher my next move. I know she'll let me pass. She's still seething with rage, but it's misguided. I make a decision.

I kiss her lightly on the cheek and she flinches slightly from shock. It's stupid on my part, really. Stupid to let my emotions get in the way. No matter how much I hate her, I'll still miss her. No one can get over an addiction…not completely.

I stop immediately at that. It's not her just saying my name that made me freeze. It was the desperation and craving that was screaming at me from between the letters. I look at her and her eyes are begging. It was something I never would have guessed.

I never would have thought she could have a weakness toward me. But her eyes held no barriers, and the look was unmistakable. I don't want her to have weaknesses. That would make her human, and I've been spending months convincing myself that she was anything but.

I don't want to. I can't possibly express the severity of me not wanting to go. But she doesn't need me, she doesn't love me. That would make her stupid. What she feels just makes her human.

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Addiction

By Spwaddict

brackish60518@yahoo.com