Title: Control, Release and Everything After
Author: AngelChase
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Setting: Season 4, Release
Summary: General smut w/ a drop of angst + a hint of romance.
Note: I wrote for regala_electra as part of the Faith/Wesley Ficathon. Two things she wanted: Lilah (mentioned or involved in the fic), Faith as dom. She didn't want fluff.

Control, Release and Everything After

"You've spent way too much time around Angel," she insinuated as they walked inside his apartment. Wesley flashed her a questioning look that carried along a hint of irritation as he wondered what she was trying to bring up.

"You're having a guilt trip," she said. For a second, Wesley was thankful for Faith's honesty. Conversations seemed cryptic lately but Faith had no intentions to go beating around the bush and that was a refreshing change, although he was tired and didn't want to get into any more conversations for the night.

"It's not guilt," he conceded as he walked away from her, turning on some lamps along his way. "You should shower," he pointed out to the bathroom door with a harsh, nearly commanding tone.

Faith laughed sarcastically and walked after him. "First, you don't tell me what to do," she said with a playful note on her voice. "And second, I know what guilt looks like," she added. "Perhaps it's not about the shape I'm in. I might have deserved to have my butt kicked, but that look on your face…" she pointed back to the door, taking him back in time to the moment they entered the apartment. "It was as if you were cheating on your girlfriend or something," she finished with another laugh.

There was something almost surreal about thinking of Wesley and some girl, not because he didn't have the heart or the looks to find one. It was surreal to think of any of them, even herself, having a conventional romantic relationship. As she pushed the thoughts aside, she looked back at Wesley to find a very strange look on his face.

"Guess I touched a nerve," she evaluated the flash of guilt that had returned to his eyes. "What is it, Wes? You're not supposed to have any women over?" Her mock lingered in the air, turning against her, making it hard to breathe when he looked away.

Faith wondered what to say next. She was shocked, to say the least. Wesley had someone; or had had someone. According to the glimpse of pain she recognized before he turned his back on her, the second option seemed more accurate.

"Lilah," Wesley whispered, still not facing her. "And it certainly wasn't the re-edition of Angel and Buffy's relationship. It was mostly about release," his voice quivered with the last words.

"Lilah Morgan?" Faith tried not to seem too surprised, but she couldn't avoid it. Lilah and Lindsey had hired her to kill Angel. Faith had tortured Wesley in the process and now she was learning that somehow her victim and her former employer had ended up in bed together, the enough amount of times for him to care about her.

Wesley never replied, but she never expected him to.

"Did you love her?" She didn't know if the answer would mind in the end, but the question came up before she could think it over. He laughed softly, bitterly. "No," he admitted. "But I got used to her being around."

"Well, that's everything a girl wants to hear," she winked an eye at him, grateful for the opportunity to lifted the mood after that last comment. He twisted his lips into a half smile and let himself fall on the couch.

"How about that shower now, Faith?" He said with a low tone that made Faith wonder if he was suggesting or inviting her. She considered the second option for a second, before she smiled wickedly at herself. It had been a really long time in prison if she was putting Wesley and sex together in the same thought.

"Shower," she nodded, thinking that probably cold shower would be more accurate, although it ended up being quite the opposite.

She turned the water on, as hot as her skin could bare it. Her muscles were sore and the blood had dried on her skin. She scrubbed and scrubbed her body frantically, wanting to remove layers of dirt, months of anguish, days of despair and many minutes of frustration. Jail, Angel, Angelus, the mayor, pain, torture, Buffy, Xander, Giles, Cordelia, Willow… many faces coming to mind. Back to Angel and Angelus, Lindsey and Lilah, Lilah, Wesley…

She shook her head and let out a growl full of anger. One of her fists smashed the tiles and soon the other one followed. The tears were now mixed with the hot water that poured down on her.

"Are you ok?" His voice startled her. She looked around and noticed the damage.

"I…" She wanted to apologize, but she couldn't. He didn't let her.

"They're just tiles," he said. "Could have broken a few myself but I wasn't blessed with slayer strength".

"Bless, curse… same shit," she shrugged, appreciating his calmness, his understanding nature. Over the past, that same calmness used to irritate her, but now she was grateful. "You're good," she told him. "You're good when it comes to control."

Wesley gave her a puzzled look, but soon he realized what she meant. She was standing in front him naked, wet and frustrated. He hadn't been surprised. He hadn't attempted to examine her body with his eyes, let alone his hands. He remained in a prudential distance. Too prudential to be comforting, according to Faith's impression.

He blushed; suddenly aware and finding that control didn't come to him as easy as she thought. His eyes now wanted to look at her and his hands wanted to move some of those strands of hair away from her face before his fingers traced the line of her full lips.

"I'll let you…" he turned before his willpower left him.

"Don't. Let go and let me control this". She was begging, which was hardly a good way to take hold of a situation, but it seemed a good way to start.

"Faith, we shouldn't…" Always the proper man, he had to refuse, even if he didn't want to. They had serious matters at hand, although he could spare 15 to 20 minutes. It wouldn't be more than that.

"I haven't had a good fuck in years," she stated and stretched her arms towards him, finding the collar of his shirt and pulling him towards her with one quick movement before her lips crashed against his. His body was suddenly pressed against hers and then trapped between the wall of the shattered tiles and her body. His clothes were getting wet and wetter, as if he had been caught by a summer storm in the middle of the street with nowhere to run.

Nowhere to run, indeed. Drenched clothes and shoes didn’t seem to mind when her lips were parted, inviting him to taste her like he had always wanted to. Admitting it was a different story, but being human, Wesley had always been attracted to Faith’s soft curves, fleshy red lips and the long dark hair. And now all of those elements were at hand. His fingers were roaming along her collarbone and soon the hands found her breasts; caresses and scratches being mixed just to hear over and over the grateful moan that escaped from her lips.

But then he was no longer allowed to explore her flesh anymore. Slayer hands got his wrists and slayer strength pinned him against the tiles. "My idea, my rules," she whispered against his ear and he simply nodded, hiding the soft smile that her words brought up. He didn't mind. He didn't mind at all. It was part of the fantasy, actually. It was all about letting the slayer have her way, because she was stronger, quicker and darker. Of course, sometimes the fantasy would be just the opposite: how to prevent the slayer from having her way no matter how strong, quick or dark she was. One out of two seemed like a good enough deal anyway, so gave in.

Wesley remained by the wall even when her hands had long left his wrists and they were busy tearing off his wet, heavy clothes. Once naked, he felt her tongue trace complicated patterns on his chest and abdomen, thighs and knees, leaving his erection out of her path.

"Faith…" he protested when she moved away and knelt on the shower floor -still under the stream of water-.

"Don't make a sound," she said and he watched her running her hands across her chest, cupping her own breasts before one of them scooted downwards, between her legs. Her left hand parted her lips for him to see what the right hand was about to do. She moaned when two fingers brushed her clit and he groaned when the same finger were buried where he wanted to be.

"I thought you wanted a good fuck," he muttered, appreciating the torture but knowing that even Faith wouldn't be able to go on with it for much longer.

"So the watcher doesn't like to watch…" she said teasingly, but his words had served his purpose. She wanted to tease him, she wanted him to want her more than anything and anyone, but provocation would have to wait. She had waited long enough herself.

"Prove it, then," Faith stood up and pressed her body against his. "Prove that you're any good."

His mouth captured hers as he turned her around. It was her back against the tiles now and his body pinning her. His hands traveled down her sides until they found her butt. He pulled her to level both of them and then he entered with no other preamble. It was all fast and hard. The water was getting cold and there were still splinters over the tiles, scratching her back. They were wet and she kept slipping down, forcing him to keep her leveled to receive his thrusts. But it wasn't about never-ending love; it was about release. And release came in powerful waves, leaving them to rest on the floor, under the cold stream of water until they found the strength to dry up.

Dinner could have been uncomfortable, but they were starving. In between bites they exchanged hesitant looks, but hunger was the urgent matter at the moment.

"You should get some rest," he broke the silence as he finished doing the dishes.

"Great idea," she conceded and headed for the couch. He looked at her as she piled up some of the cushions.

"Come to bed?" He invited her before his brain could stop her. He didn't want to go through it again. Just sex was never just sex. Perhaps it wasn't love, but never just sex.

Faith examined him for a second, shook her head but followed him into the bedroom in the end.

The first time had been about release. The second time that night was simply about lust. The third time, that following morning, would be about something both of them could get used to.

The End