Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Faith/anyone, break
Buffy pins her against an old cola vending machine. Scuffed and dim, it bleeds a dull fluorescent red across the contours of Faith’s skin, drowning into her dark hair.
She doesn’t hold back, they never have, and the kiss is raw and heated, more teeth and tongue than lips. Faith takes her by the waist and counters back with her hands, pushes her fingers into the waistband of Buffy’s jeans. She can taste the woman’s smirk as her button pops, zipper tears.
The machine cracks and shutters back into the wall.
Their breasts press together, fabric on fabric, nipples hard as they grind together in frenzied tandem. Faith’s already wet, was at the first kiss, and doesn’t waste time sliding her hand into Buffy’s underwear. She can tell Buffy feels the same, grinds her teeth into the other slayer’s exposed collar, reveling in the satisfaction. Her skin is salty on Faith’s tongue and slick against her fingers, pressing in deeper until she feels her moan in response.
The plastic splinters further, shatters at the edges into raw, jutting fangs, sinking into her back and her legs. Jagged claws scrape at her arms and if there’s blood, she doesn’t notice.
Buffy rides her hand, straddling Faith violently into the machine, presses her free hand up her shirt. She obliges the command, scraping a path along Buffy’s skin with her nails, raw trails leading slowly up to her breast, taking it in her hand. Taking all of Buffy.
She almost comes at the thought, but the other slayer beats her to the finish, shuttering and biting back a cry. Faith’s name growls back down on her throat and the other slayer can feel it, lips pressed her neck, tongue along her pulse.
The machine at her back hisses with a final, dying surge, the red smear of light still burned into her eyes. Faith ignores it, tilts her head back and smirks as Buffy kneels down, undoes her pants.