the Dalaverse

Man, I wrote that quick. I still need Meg and Beth to beta it. but I'll post the rest here unbetaed.


Parlor Games (II)



She does this too much these days -- draws into herself, letting her thoughts distract her from everyday mundane situations. Although this situation is somewhat less mundane than average. She realizes that Faith is giving her a funny look, no doubt having seen her eyes grow distant.

Shaking herself a little, Buffy pulls her hand away, not ungently, and gets to her feet. She brushes her palms uselessly against her thighs and then hauls Faith up as well.

"I think," she says, "that I would like a tattoo."

Faith looks startled. Then a smile starts at one corner of her mouth and spreads across her entire face.



"Well, this is unsavory."

"It's a tattoo parlor, B, not a cup of chicken broth. It's not supposed to be savory."

Buffy glances around suspiciously. Really, it isn't anything like she thought it would be; it's well-lit, for one thing, with designs covering the walls. There's a heavily tattooed man in a wifebeater sitting at the counter flipping through a magazine, but he has a friendly face. He's not all pierced and glowery, and he doesn't look like he'll leer at the two of them. And, as they approach, she sees he's reading a copy of Southern Living. She snorts in an attempt to mask her giggles. Faith elbows her in the ribs. She's got that tough skin of hers on now, a don't-fuck-with-me attitude that Buffy has always admired, and at times tried to emulate. She feels that she is able to express her own ass-kicking abilities without throwing a punch, but Faith looks better doing it.

The man looks up at them. "You ladies interested in getting inked or pierced?"

"Inked," says Buffy as Faith says "Pierced" at the same time.

She looks at Faith, who shrugs. "Want to do my bellybutton."

"You could have told me that," Buffy mutters. They don't have the money for this. It was a stupid idea. "You know, how about you just get your piercing and I'll come pick you up later. I've changed my mind." She turns to leave, but not quick enough to avoid Faith grabbing her arm.

"No way, blondie. We're both gettin' done. Come on."

Buffy makes a noise of protest, but Faith pulls her along as the shopkeeper pulls up a section of the counter and lets them in the back.



He shows them a book of designs after receiving a shrug from Buffy when he asks what she's interested in. Faith chooses a little silver barbell for her navel. As the tattoo artist daubs her belly with rubbing alcohol, Buffy sits next to her, thumbing through the book of designs. She finds the girly pages -- butterflies, roses, goddess knots -- but none of them really interest her. She isn't even sure where she wants this alleged tattoo.

Faith is being pierced now and out of the corner of her eye, Buffy watches. Faith focuses on the needle going in, her face impassive. If it hurts, Buffy can't see it.

Once the barbell is in, Faith touches it gently as the guy explains how to care for her new piercing. She casts a slit-eyed glance at Buffy, silently daring her, and Buffy reaches out a bold hand to examine the barbell as well. Faith's stomach muscles are taut and lean, and her skin is soft, well-maintained despite all she's been through. This is the second time she has ever touched Faith in a semi-intimate fashion; this time as her fingers brush over pale flesh, Faith's stomach jumps a little against her. Buffy hopes her fingertips aren't cold.

The tattoo artist seems to take no notice of this; he tells Buffy that she can take her time picking out her design. Faith hops down from her chair and they lean over the book on a table, heads bent close together. Light and dark, Buffy remembers. It must be a pretty picture.

"You really don't have any idea what you want?" Faith asks.

Buffy wishes their hands would touch as they turn the pages. "I've always liked Celtic stuff," she says, thinking of the tattoo on Angel's back. "And I like your tribal arm-thingy."

"Celtic cross?" Faith flips to the appropriate section and Buffy considers.They're all pretty and it would be fitting, but...

"Nah."

"You're a hard to please woman, B, you know that?"

"Am not," says Buffy defensively. "I'm just...choosy."

"Sure," Faith says, smirking. Buffy is about to ask her just what she means when they come to the tribal designs pages. A black image with bold, sharp strokes comes to her attention. It reminds her a bit of Faith's tattoo, but without the swirly bits, and thicker.

She touches it and says, "I kind of like that."

Faith leans closer and reads the title. "It's called 'the Art of War.'" She draws back and quirks an eyebrow at Buffy. "Gentle when stroked, fierce when provoked.' Sounds perfect to me."

Amazingly, Buffy finds herself not blushing. "Yeah," she says decisively, "that's it."

"Where do you want it?" the tattoo artist asks. Buffy frowns. She hasn't thought about that yet.

"Can I make a suggestion?" says Faith, raising her hand. "Your lower back."

Buffy glances at her backside out of reflex. "Will it hurt more back there?"

"I can't believe you're worried about the pain," Faith teases. "It's cute." Buffy looks at her sharply, but she says it deadpan.

She pulls in her lower lip, considering. It would be sexy. And the shape is right. And it wouldn't be easily seen.

And Faith suggested it. Faith knows more about these things than Buffy does.

"Okay," she says meekly, nervous again. Which is ridiculous -- she's the Slayer, the chosen one or, okay, one of the chosen two, and do all the potentials to whom she gave power count? She decides that they don't. It's still hers and Faith's club. Anyway, she's been shot and stabbed and beaten to a pulp; this shouldn't be any big deal.

She lies on her stomach on a worktable, a sheet of paper underneath her like the kind they have in doctors' offices, after pulling her black sweatpants down a little and her gray tank up a little. Breathing deeply, she closes her eyes as the area gets cleaned.

Faith leans down, concern reluctantly showing on her face. "You okay?"

Buffy nods. "I just don't like needles very much," she confesses in a small voice. Needles go in hospitals, and there's Mom to remember, and before that Celia.

Awkwardly Faith pats her shoulder. "We don't really have to do this, you know," she says in a low voice. The tattoo guy has paused. "Say the word and we'll go home."

"No," Buffy replies stubbornly. "I want to."

"You sure, Buffy?" She opens her eyes upon hearing her full name. Faith has stood up and Buffy is now eye-level with her waist, the new navel ring flashing at her.

"Yes." Then, almost mumbled into the table, so quietly it's barely audible but of course Faith hears: "Hold my hand?"

Faith gives the tattoo artist the thumbs up and says, not without affection, "Can't talk a Summers woman out of anything, I guess."

Then she lays her hand on Buffy's, just in time for the first prick of the needle.

It doesn't hurt much, really. It feels more like a pinch than anything else, and Buffy got some vicious pinches from Dawn when they were little. Still, it's very uncomfortable, and though Slayers typically have a high tolerance for pain, self-inflicted pain is something else altogether. She's glad for Faith's warm hand on her own; every now and then Faith will stroke Buffy's wrist with her thumb. Slayer hands. They aren't the hands of a man or a woman, a child or an adult, they're only Slayer hands like her own.

The process takes about an hour, and Faith doesn't once let go of Buffy's hand. It isn't as expensive as Buffy thought it would be. Giles is going to kill her regardless, but at least she feels a bit better about the price. The tattoo man tells her to put lotion on it a few times a day for the next couple of weeks, and not to immerse it in water, as he's ringing them up.

"It'll itch like a mother," Faith adds, Buffy's fingers lightly encircling her wrist. It's comfortable like that, and Buffy doesn't want to analyze it or explain it away.

It's full dark as they wander through the streets of downtown Cleveland, keeping an eye out for both human and demon predators. There's nothing for a good ten minutes, for which Buffy is grateful, because she still has her grip on Faith's wrist and they're walking very close together and she wouldn't interrupt it for anything.

But Faith ducks her head, peering down an alleyway and drawing them both to a stop. "You hear that, B?" Buffy didn't hear anything, but she follows Faith into the alley, first glancing around for anything setting a trap.

Once she's around the corner it's much darker and she can't see Faith at all. Her throat tightens, but before she can say anything she finds herself pressed to the brick wall, Faith's arms on either side of her.

A smile twitches at the corner of Buffy's mouth. "Heard something, huh?"

"Yup," Faith says cheerfully. "Think it's gone now." She leans in close, her nose bumping Buffy's, and that faint hint of cinnamon grows stronger. Instead of kissing Buffy properly, however, Faith presses a set of full lips to her cheek. It would be sisterly if they weren't so close and Faith's mouth wasn't so enticing and Buffy's legs weren't starting to shake as Faith rubs a gentle finger over her new tattoo..

Listen to Slayer 102.9, she thinks suddenly. It'll blow your mind.

Then they're kissing for real and Buffy is touching Faith intimately for the third time, and the fourth time, and the fifth and sixth and seventh and eventually, she loses count.



Well. There it is. Two titles are currently fighting for domination: "Changing Stations" and "Parlor Games." I like them both.