Date: Tuesday, February 04, 2003 1:56 AMTitle: Fusion Author: s.a. Rating: PG. Pairing: Nada. Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Disclaimer: Other people's gardens. I just like to play in them. Spoilers: Faith, pre-Sunnydale. For reference, "Faith, Hope, and Trick" from Season Three. Feedback: It's the best kind of crack. email: firstname.lastname@example.org Summary: Dancing with herself. Distribution: Hole in the Ground, http://fubos.bluezfire.org/hole; List archives. Just ask.
Author's Notes: I'm one of those people who like to dance. With myself. Wherever I am, with my cd player extrordinarily loud. And there's this scene, where Faith's doing exactly that. They say every writer puts some of herself into her character. And you know my girl loves to shake her ass.
Faith likes to dance. She likes the way she is in total control of her body, how it moves and slides with ease. She's not talking about the old kind of dancing, the "step one, to the left, step two, to the back, everybody keep in time to the beat" stuff. She's talking about that kind of abandonment that comes with having music that lets you stop thinking for a few precious minutes.
She goes to clubs to get that, and more often than not the djs suck and she finds herself scamming free drinks from idiots who think they have a chance with her that night. Some of them do. Most of them don't. But she still gets her bourbon and Sam Adams chaser.
The times when it's good, when there's that hot, sexy vibe branching through the crowd and the music's good and everybody's stripping down because it's burning and sweaty and sticky and just better half-naked, those times she gets a smile on her face that means nothing but sin and grabs some unsuspecting person, dragging them onto the floor.
Their hips fuse, combining to form a fluidity led by her. Back and forth, fast or slow, it doesn't matter as long as they're moving, as long as she's moving. Her chest will rise and fall, and more often than not her partner's eyes will focus in on the extraordinarily hot image of her breasts bouncing in time with whatever song is being pounded over the speakers. It's okay, she figures, because she's not thinking about the person anyway, and if they're lucky they'll get to feel 'em up, so they might as well take a good long look.
Dancing isn't the same thing as sex. She doesn't even really use it as a seduction tactic, not anymore. Her tight body does that for her. She just moves the way she feels, to let out a lot of the things she won't let herself think about. It's one of those big words she heard, on one of those rare days she was in class--cathartic or something.
So she moves, she slides, she fucking slithers across the dance floor until the lights all bleed together and the music is just one big pulse throughout her body and the slap of skin against her own makes her mind hum.
And then she crawls into bed the next morning and sleeps until she can go back.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to s.a.
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