Disclaimer:  I don't own 'em.  All the characters you recognize belong to someone who isn't me and are used without permission purely (!) for a little non-profit personal entertainment.

Codes/warnings/ratings:  Angel/Faith, NC-17, rape

Set shortly after Faith arrived in Sunnydale.  Faith's out prowling the town.  Guess who she runs into?

Vice
By Melissa
 

Okay, so I'm out prowling, right?  Looking for some action, a little ass.  I was tired, cold, horny, pissed.  I'd spent the whole fucking night hitching, and this was finally my chance to let loose, get me?

Yeah, I went out looking to get laid.  Of course I did.  Given B's whole I'm-a-prude attitude, I guess I shouldn't be so surprised that the whole slayer plus lack of decent fights equals horny equation is so unknown here, but there you go.

Of course, back then, I didn't even know Buffy.  Didn't know anyone.  It was my first night in Sunnydale, and all I wanted was to forget the past and live in the moment.

Want.  Take.  Have.

It's easy when you know how.

We're not the same as everyone else, you know.  It's not just the fact we're stronger or that we heal faster, or that we deal with demons and vamps for a living.

See, we're hard wired to kill.  It's what we're built for.  I told B once, if you're not enjoying it, you're not doing it right.  That's just how it is.

I'm not necessarily saying we're better.  Just different, you know?

That's how it is.

So, I'm out prowling, enjoying the scenery.  Window shopping.

I'd just got this really hot outfit.  Black leather pants.  Hipsters.  Tight.  Red PVC top.  Also tight.  I was feeling like I was on fire, you know, I was totally all that.  And god knows, I got enough attention, but no one really caught my eye.

I did see one guy - kind of cute, in a nerdy way, dark hair, dark eyes - but he was trading words with some snobby cheerleader chick.  Christ, who can be bothered, you know?  Oh yeah, and there was a girl - blonde hair, nice curves - but she didn't look interested.  C'est la vie, I guess.  Whatever.

And then - then I see this guy at the back of the bar, kinda hiding in the shadows.  He's got the kind of face that I can just picture girls all over the nation swooning over, but that's not what catches my attention.

It's his eyes, I guess.  He looks like he's lived a million years and it's not exactly been one giant party, you know?  He looks sad and tired and hungry and horny and I can *completly* sympathise, because that's *exactly* where I am right now, too.

So, I headed over to him.

If he looked good from a distance, up close he was even more fuckable than I thought.

I mean, yeah, I was pretty horny to start with, but this guy just had that *thing* you know - no, not *that* thing, I mean he was - I don't know - *magnetic* or something.

Fuck, yes.

So I smile at him and say -
 

**********************************

"Lookin' for a good time?"

She scared me, to be honest.  I know that's kind of funny - especially since I didn't know she was a slayer at the time - but she did.

Of course, I was feeling pretty guilty to start with.

I love Buffy.  I know this.  I know it clear to the bottom of whoever the hell I am.

But I'm also a vampire stuck forever at my sexual peak.

I tried to get Buffy to help out with a little tension release - I mean, really, isn't the 69 position designed especially to *prevent* complete happiness? - but she won't have anything to do with it.

She'll let me kiss her, and if I'm lucky, I might get to touch her a little, but it's like something clicks in her head, and that's it.

As far as Buffy's concerned, I have more chance of an embolism than an orgasm.

I didn't want to start prowling the streets.  Looking for casual sex.  But after a while, your right hand just isn't enough.  Christ, and I thought it was bad *before* I became a vampire.

So this girl is looking up at me, and all I can think is that she's beautiful.  Unbelievably so.  From the impossibly dark lipstick - blood, god it looks like blood - to the tattoos on her arms, to her tight leather pants.  God.

What did she say?  Something about - oh, yeah.

"You could say that."  There we go.  Nicely indifferent.  No, I don't want to fuck you right here on the bar.  No, I don't think you're hot.  No, I don't have a hard-on.

Yeah, right.

"You have a place?"

God, her voice.  Husky, sexy.  Dark.

"Yeah."

And then, before I really know what's happening, we're heading out of the bar and towards the mansion.

Neither of us says anything.

I've never done this before.  Well, I mean, I've done *this*, obviously.  I mean, I've never cheated on Buffy.  I just want to make that clear.  I wanted to, just wanted to get off, but I never did.

Until now, that is.

"Do you have a name?"
 

**********************************

We're standing in the middle of this big-ass mansion, and he's looking pensive.  Not good, you know?  So I ask him his name, and he just stares at me, you know, like I'm speaking a foreign language or something.

Ooooo-kay.

"A name?  Or should I just call you 'studly'?"

An empty threat, but it gets him talking.

"I - Angel."

Okay.  What?  "What?"

"Angel.  It's - it's my name."

Talk about your high expectations.

"Hippy parents?"

He stares at me blankly.

"You know, love beads, peace signs, biorhythms, flower power?"

He's still looking blank.

"I hope you fuck better than you think, *Angel* - "

And that's all I get out before I'm up against the wall and his tongue is in my mouth.

I can deal with that.
 

**********************************

I met her less than twenty minutes ago, and already she's pushing all my buttons.

I'm so turned on I can't think straight, and she's sure as hell not making much sense, either.  She's babbling something about music and herbalism, and then she says it - the f-word - *fuck* - closely followed by my name, and it's like I just snap.

The next thing I know, I'm pressing her up against the wall, kissing her, wondering how the hell I'm going to be able to live with myself after this.

God knows, I'm not about to stop it now.
 

**********************************

He's got one hand cupping a breast and another on my ass, and I can feel how hard he is underneath his pants, and I'm so hot for him, already, all I want is him inside me, I'm so desperate to feel him in me, I need him so badly.

I'm thrusting against him, and he's panting, Christ he'd better last the distance, I need to get off, I've got to get off.

"Condoms?"

Someone - was that me?  was that really my voice? - asks if there're any condoms.

"Don't need them," he says.

Don't need them, my *ass.*  I may be a slayer, but I'm not immune to everything.  And I have absolutely no desire to see if my immune system can fight off crabs or AIDS.

I give him a small shove.  "No condom, no sex."  God, that was hard to say.

He looks at me like I'm torturing him.  "I don't have any.  We don't need any."

I don't say anything to that.  What does he take me for?

"I can't get you pregnant."

"And STDs?  AIDS?  No glove, no love."  I'm proud of how tough I sound.

"I - I'm clean."

Oh yeah.  Sure.  Heard that one before.  "Sure."
 

**********************************

I've had this problem before.  I mean, I like having sex with vampires just fine, but having sex with humans is unbelievable.  Why do you think so many of us do it?

I mean, think - if we feel cold to you, imagine how hot you feel to us.  And imagine how amazing it feels to be buried inside such heat.

The trouble with having sex with humans - well, in that last few decades, anyway - is condoms.  Damn things.  I hate them.  *Hate* them.

Mostly, I can convince my partner that I'm infertile and free from infection, but not everyone falls for it.  "But I'm a vampire!"  just doesn't cut it.  And I don't always have the time or patience to bring them round.

I'm not proud of what happened with Faith - not that I knew her name, then, of course - but we seem to have reached a truce.  Mutual silence.  Better than Buffy finding out, I suppose.

It's weird.  It's like, if Buffy never knows, it didn't happen.

One more proof - like I needed it - that she's my world.
 

**********************************

"Let me *go*!"

I sound like I'm five years old.  I know this.  But I can't help it.  It's been about that long since I last felt like this.

I'm a slayer.  I'm built to kill.

*And he's stronger than me.*

Not possible.

Then his hand closes over my wrist and I feel him - skin on skin - for the first time, and I know.

"You're a vampire."

I sound flat, detached.  I'm proud of that, too.

He just ignores me, though, ripping at my top - oh, my new top - and thrusting against me.

I'm struggling, of course, but I'm not really worried.

I'm a slayer and he's a vampire, and I'm not five years old any more.

I'm going to win this one.
 

**********************************

She's fighting back, but with me in the state I'm in, all she's really doing is feeding the flames.

Maybe if I'd been thinking a little more clearly I would've realised how strong she was, what it meant.  But I didn't.

All I could think about was getting her pants off and getting inside her.

Nothing else mattered.  It was like my whole world narrowed down to our sex organs and what was required to bring them into contact.

God, I'm a shit.  Even with my soul, I'm a shit.

I hope Buffy never finds out.
 

**********************************

He's tugging at my pants.

I can feel tears pricking my eyes, but I don't let them fall.  Never cry in front of anyone.  It's weak and sad and pathetic.  If you've gotta, you've gotta, but always alone, y'know?  I hate it when they see me cry.  It's so damsel-in-distress.  So not me.

He can't be this strong.  It's not right.  I don't have a hope in hell.  He has all the leverage, all the strength.  God.

He's got my pants down, now.

Shit, at least it won't take long.
 

**********************************

God, she's hot, so hot, and tight, oh god, so good, I want this forever, god she's so hot, god, who needs a soul anyway?  God -
 

**********************************

"Buffy!"

I don't know who or what 'Buffy' is, and I really don't care.

I just want to get my pants back on and fix my top and get the hell out of here.  This is *so* not my scene.

"Get off me."  Again with the detachment.  I'm cool.  I'm cool.

He's still breathing hard - breathing?  I didn't think vampires even *had* to breath - but he raises his head and looks at me, this weird look on his face.

And, shit, he still looks sad.

I move to get up, but he says, "Wait - please."

So I do.  God knows why, after what happened.  But I do.

"I'm sorry - I - I didn't mean to - "

Oh, god.  An apology.  So *not* what I need right now.

"Whatever.  Get off me.  Before I stake you"

"Please - let me - "

And the shit puts his hand between my legs.  God, the nerve.  I was just about to tell him where he could stick his hand, when he does something - fucked if I know what - that just about makes me come.  A sort of flick-tap-squeeze on my clit, and I'm his.  Jesus.

"I have a soul."

For a second, I think I'm hearing things.

"I've been cursed, with a soul - "

*Cursed*?

He keeps fingering me, moving up a little so he can flick my nipples with his tongue through the remnants of my PVC top.

Christ.

I'm so hot, I feel like I'm on fire, god, want, take, have, a whole new plane of consciousness, and Christ, impending orgasm always does this to me, Jesus -
 

**********************************

And she comes, just like that.  In a way, I feel worse.  Not only do I force myself on her, I molest her *again* seconds after I'm done the first time.

But I had to do something.  To show her I didn't mean to -

Well, you know.  I'm not a bad person.  Really, I'm not.  When things like this happen - it's the demon in me.  The curse can't entirely keep it down.

Whenever I say something mean or out of character or hurt someone or do anything I'm not proud of, it's the demon.  Because I'd never do those things.  Never *chose* to hurt.  Never.

Never.
 

**********************************

So, we're lying there, afterwards.  I'm just beginning to think maybe he isn't so bad - god, the guy does have magic fingers, and he sure as hell hasn't tried anything in the neck region.

Hey, we all have our moments, right?

And then he pulls himself out of bed, chucks my pants at me and says, "That was great.  I gotta shower."  And he's gone.

What a shit.

So.  Game over.

I put my pants on, he takes his shower.

He looks surprised to see me still there when he comes back.

"Listen," I look at him, doing my best intense-and-slightly-loony look, "You get tonight for free.  Mostly because I don't really like killing people minutes after coming.  But the next time I see you - "

He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Dust.  You got me?"

"I got you."  But he's giving me this look, a look that says, yeah right.

I don't like it.

And the next time I see him -

Yeah.  Dust.
 
 
 

 
THE END

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