Faith was sitting on the windowsill of her 'borrowed' apartment, feeling the night city giving its heat back to the sky, when Lilah sauntered in as if the door hadn't been locked. Faith barely glanced up at her, intent on the bloody jag of glass cradled in her hands. She let it fall. It twisted end over end, sending quick reflected darts of light into her eyes, and shattered like a dream on the alley cement two storeys below.

Lilah stood in front of Wesley, held his chin roughly in her hand, and said, "You've got the wrong man." Wesley groaned, unconscious still, and Lilah pushed away from him.

"Guy you want isn't a man at all," Faith returned, her voice like glass shards. "So I'm diversifying, what's it to you?"

"Wolfram and Hart is concerned that you might have motives other than the money we're paying you." Easy, smooth, lawyer's voice. No trace of the fear she'd had outside the club. Faith missed that, wanted it back. Wanted to take Lilah by the throat like she almost had, before the limo pulled up. Take her...

But it seemed like forever since she'd been able to move. Hours that she'd been sitting here, waiting, waiting for it to end. "Bullshit they're concerned," she managed. "You're concerned, it's your neck, you just came to jerk the puppet-strings."

Lilah smiled like the cat that cornered the canary market. She took a small cloth from a pocket and wiped Wesley's blood from her hand, then let the lace flutter into his lap. "We need to get you back on track," she said, still looking down at Wes, and if the fear was gone, then it had been replaced by something else Faith knew all too well.

Faith tipped her head back against the windowsill, eyeing the careful green silk that curved over Lilah's ass. She rubbed her hands over her jeans, pressing hard, because if they were shaking then it was a lie. Wesley's head rolled to the side and one bleary eye opened, its colour hidden behind the bright puff of bruises. His tongue flicked out over his split lip, licking blood.

"Faith..." he said, and that was all it took. Faith vaulted off the sill and swiped a chair out of her way, hearing it shatter into kindling somewhere across the room. She hauled back to slap the the words out of his mouth, feeling excitement and revulsion twist together in her stomach. He didn't talk. He didn't know anything. He--

Lilah reached up, oh-so-casual, and took hold of her wrist. She didn't grab, she didn't hold tight, and her fingers were light and cool against the hot pounding of Faith's pulse. Faith lowered her arm. Lilah didn't let go.

"You don't need to do this," Wes mumbled. His eyes slid closed, and his shoulders tensed, then slumped. "Don't, Faith. You're better...have a choice..."

Lilah tilted her head, looking at Wesley like he was an amusing puzzle she could piece together at her leisure. Her fingers traced fever paths on Faith's skin. "They're persistent, aren't they?" she said, glancing at Faith as though sharing a joke with her.

Faith wanted to pull her arm back. She wanted to hit, to feel her knuckles crunch through bone, to seize Lilah by the throat until that fear came back and her eyes bulged, her neck stained purple with the outline of Faith's fingers, until she struggled and tried to cry. She wanted to carve reminders of herself into Wesley's face with a knife as bright and sharp as light. She wanted--

She stepped forward. Lilah's eyes widened and she backed up--one step, but it was enough. Faith shuddered, a quick chill, and stepped forward again. Lilah's fingers still circled Faith's wrist, and she yanked her arm back, jerking Lilah towards her, off-balance. She fell into Faith, and Faith kissed her, hard, not caring whose teeth got in the way. She swallowed Lilah's whimper when she bit down on her bottom lip, and only grunted when Lilah returned the favour. Faith didn't hold her, didn't trap her with a body too strong for itself. When she wrenched away from Lilah's lips, she was the one still snared by the hand on her arm.

A thin line of blood, like dark lipstick, stained the swollen pout of Lilah's mouth. She lifted a finger to catch the drop. She looked at her hand, then down at Wesley. He was staring at them with eyes dulled by pain. Lilah smiled, gentle as a panther, and trailed her bloody fingers across his mouth. He tried to turn away, but Faith cupped his cheek in her hand, holding him still.

"Come on, Wes," she heard herself say. "Don't you want to play?" She grabbed him by his shirt front and hauled him up, chair and all, ignoring the strain in his shoulders where he was still tied to it. She forced her lips against his, taking his kiss like a stolen prize, tasting his blood and hers and the salt of his sweat. His shirt tore in her hand and the chair thumped back to the floor. Wes cried out at the jolt, sprawling half out of the seat.

Lilah knelt in front of him, shoving aside the remains of his shirt, her fingernails tracing the ragged lines of cuts on his chest. Faith stepped behind him and snapped off his bonds with a quick rip. She kissed his neck, scraping with her teeth, and bit hard and sharp on his earlobe. "Leave if you want," she whispered. She kneaded his shoulders, watching as Lilah's hands pressed lower, tugging at his fly. "Run, Wes. If that's what you want."

She felt his head turn, the rasp of his stubble against her skin, and then pain blossomed high on her cheek. He'd bitten her. She hissed, "Bastard," and twisted sideways to tangle his mouth in hers, one hand splayed on his throat, fighting not to let her fingers tighten. With her other hand, she clutched his arm and slipped it inside her t-shirt. His fingers hesitated, stuttered, then grazed over her breasts, pinching her nipples. They hardened in his hand and she shuddered, lust scalding her, sinking deep between her legs.

Lilah dragged Wes's pants off and straddled him, her mouth busy on his nipples, and he groaned into Faith's mouth. She broke the kiss, her breathing ragged, and grabbed Lilah's dress at the back of the neck, tearing it open. Wesley unhooked the skimpy black lace of Lilah's bra. Lilah's eyes looked dark and drugged, nearly frantic, as she pulled Wesley's face to hers for a kiss. He made a strangled sound, half pain and half wanting, as she jarred his swollen jaw. She shoved her hand between Faith's thighs and pressed upwards, squeezing against the seam of her jeans.

Faith yanked off her t-shirt and stepped away from Lilah's hand to strip off her jeans. Lilah watched her, her head thrown back, while Wes sucked and nibbled on her breasts, her hands working between his legs. His cock stuck up hard and thrusting between them, and Faith pulled them both off the creaking chair. Wes fell to the floor and lay there, battered and still, his breath harsh and gasping. Faith threw her leg over him, nearly sitting on his face, leaning forward to latch onto Lilah's breasts. She felt his tongue, wet and hot and slippery, and she hissed and rammed down on him. Lilah pushed her back so that she could lower herself onto Wes, her face empty and open, her belly quivering as she sank down. Faith felt Wesley's gasp against her thigh.

Faith took Lilah's hair in one hand and kissed her, her mouth hard and wanting. Eyes closed, she made herself stay still while Wesley's fingers joined his tongue, rubbing her clit and sliding inside, blunt and savage. Lilah moved against her, her nipples hard as they chafed Faith's.

Faith didn't want to yell, to show any sign that this was tearing her apart, leaving her broken and mindless. But Lilah's kiss faded into softness, fear erased by desire, and Wes writhed beneath her, so stubbornly fucking good, and she had left herself behind only to find that she couldn't, and she was falling.

Falling like glass.

She shattered like a dream, crying out, the warmth of bodies around her, because Wes and Lilah were falling too. Wes held her hips and she rode his face and Lilah plunged down onto his cock and trembled as she came. Wes waited until Faith finished before he let go into Lilah, and then they tumbled together onto their sides on the cold tile of some stranger's home.

They splintered apart. Lilah pulled a dark coat over the shreds of green silk, and her eyes were scared again when she slipped out the door, but her smile was bright and smug. Wes strained to pull his clothes on, holding back the bite of pain. He lay on his back, shamed tears sliding down into the hair at his temples. He didn't look at Faith, but she turned away to dress.

She opened the window to let in the chill wind that promised rain. She sat like a sentry, watching the night and waiting, waiting for this to end.

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April 25, 2004