BtVS/Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants fic: Raise the Sound, Faith/Tibby
My father is watching Centennial and I am writing fic and waiting to hear back about food plans for our holiday celebration. This is a nice combination.
Awhile ago I asked for prompts for holiday fics based on holiday music. (I'm still accepting prompts.)
Here is the first.
Title: Raise the Sound
Author: Carla
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Whedon and Brashares.
Written for: nikitangel for the prompt "Carol of the Bells" and Faith
Warning: AU apocalypse fic (Yes. Apocalypse fic from a Christmas carol prompt. I'm AWESOME.) Girl slash. Basic spoiler through the end of BtVS season seven.
Rating: 18+
Summary: The bells toll for the deaths, and cover the sound of the dead.
From everywhere, filling the air
O, how they pound, raising the sound
Oer hill and dale, telling their tale
Faith thinks about death when she hears the bells.
She’s old for a Slayer, thirty something, she’s kind of stopped counting, and she can feel every minute of it in her bones, joints, and sinews. She twists her head from side to side, and the crack of her neck as it pops is loud.
The 2012 Slaughter ruined lots of things for her, cars and holy water and shiny metal knives. It’s best not to think about how things went so wrong so fast. What she can’t help remember is the bells, and the way they rang for death.
Not many humans survived, and the ones that did went superstitious. Ring the bells to ward off the ghosts, to cover the cries of the recently dead. They locked themselves in churches, bathed in holy water - until they couldn’t any longer, and prayed for the sun.
Tibby drops down to sit next to Faith. Overhead, the bells are ringing, echoeing, numbing Faith’s thoughts into a bland gray mess. Their legs drape over the edge of the window of the bell tower. The wind is fierce, and blows hot and gritty into their faces.
Faith cants her head to the side to better hear when the bells die, the echoes bouncing off the trees and the empty shells of former office buildings.
She lets Tibby take her hand, tuck their fingers together.
The silence after is complete and short. She can enjoy it for less than a minute before she can hear the dead moving through the streets. They sniff and hiss and hunt.
Tibby squeezes her hand, and stares out into the darkness. Together they wait for the sun.
#
Tibby squeezes Faith’s shoulder, digging her nails into bare skin. Faith peeled off her armor as soon as she was in her room, shedding sweat and bits of skin and dried blood. She took a bad hit, but she’s already healed.
Only the ache remains.
Faith shoves three fingers up Tibby’s cunt, stretching her open, reaching for that rough little spot just behind her clit. She pumps her fingers in and out, the muscles in her arm flexing and releasing, flexing and releasing.
She grinds her thumb against Tibby’s clit, and she swallows a scream.
The bells start ringing. Faith’s room is the closest to the bell tower and she can feel the wall vibrate with the sound and strength of it. Tibby’s clinging to her, rocking against her, and with the noise all around them, she starts to come, starts to shake apart.
Her knees collapse and Faith holds her up, still thrusting, still grinding, until Tibby is almost crying with it, the overload of pressure, the need, the pain.
After, Faith eases her down to sit on the floor and, while Tibby looks up at her, watches her with wide, hazy eyes, licks her hand clean.
#
She patrols with the Slayers left. There aren’t very many, they put themselves out too much. She’s getting slow, a heart beat behind the others. They are mostly new, mostly young, not nearly well trained enough.
It’s no longer one Slayer dies, one Slayer rises.
Instead ten die, twenty, and then there’s a new one. Maybe forty fall and they get three new ones. It’s unbalanced, but that’s Buffy’s fault, and Willow’s, and, really, the whole damn world is shaking itself to pieces with the excess magic of it.
More Slayers meant more monsters, but fewer Slayers doesn’t seem to have the inverse effect.
#
Tibby’s waiting up for her when she comes in. Faith is exhausted, sore, grumpy. She’s bit the head off one of the Slayers who almost got the whole lot of them killed, and if it wasn’t pretty much a suicide mission, she’d patrol by herself the next few nights, just to spare everyone else her bad mood.
That doesn’t seem to bother Tibby, who’s naked - that’s kind of dangerous, what if they have to run out in the middle of the day because of some fire or attack or something - and puts her lips on Faith as soon as she walks in the room.
She kisses her mouth first, and then the column of her throat after she’s pulled away the armor. It continues like that, remove a piece, kiss the sweaty skin under. She lingers at Faith’s nipples, the curve of her right hip, the back of her left knee.
Then, when Tibby’s on her knees, she spreads Faith’s legs wide and puts her mouth on her cunt, teeth on her clit. She bites and sucks, licks her tongue up and down and left and right, then circles, big and small, fast and slow. She eases a finger into Faith’s ass, grips her thigh with her other hand, and sets about doing all the things with her mouth she knows Faith loves.
Faith comes, fast and hard, tearing at Tibby’s hair. Long, dark strands pull free, but Tibby doesn’t complain, just keeps going until Faith’s coming again, grunting and thrusting her hips forward so she’s grinding against Tibby’s face.
She holds her ground, manages to stay upright, and Tibby falls backward, collapses against the floor. She wipes her mouth clean with the back of her hand and then grins up at Faith, all cheek and lust and a glow.
How’s she’s managed to say so alive, Faith will never know.
The bells start to ring, calling out to the dead, and Faith lets out her breath.
End
Awhile ago I asked for prompts for holiday fics based on holiday music. (I'm still accepting prompts.)
Here is the first.
Title: Raise the Sound
Author: Carla
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Whedon and Brashares.
Written for: nikitangel for the prompt "Carol of the Bells" and Faith
Warning: AU apocalypse fic (Yes. Apocalypse fic from a Christmas carol prompt. I'm AWESOME.) Girl slash. Basic spoiler through the end of BtVS season seven.
Rating: 18+
Summary: The bells toll for the deaths, and cover the sound of the dead.
From everywhere, filling the air
O, how they pound, raising the sound
Oer hill and dale, telling their tale
Faith thinks about death when she hears the bells.
She’s old for a Slayer, thirty something, she’s kind of stopped counting, and she can feel every minute of it in her bones, joints, and sinews. She twists her head from side to side, and the crack of her neck as it pops is loud.
The 2012 Slaughter ruined lots of things for her, cars and holy water and shiny metal knives. It’s best not to think about how things went so wrong so fast. What she can’t help remember is the bells, and the way they rang for death.
Not many humans survived, and the ones that did went superstitious. Ring the bells to ward off the ghosts, to cover the cries of the recently dead. They locked themselves in churches, bathed in holy water - until they couldn’t any longer, and prayed for the sun.
Tibby drops down to sit next to Faith. Overhead, the bells are ringing, echoeing, numbing Faith’s thoughts into a bland gray mess. Their legs drape over the edge of the window of the bell tower. The wind is fierce, and blows hot and gritty into their faces.
Faith cants her head to the side to better hear when the bells die, the echoes bouncing off the trees and the empty shells of former office buildings.
She lets Tibby take her hand, tuck their fingers together.
The silence after is complete and short. She can enjoy it for less than a minute before she can hear the dead moving through the streets. They sniff and hiss and hunt.
Tibby squeezes her hand, and stares out into the darkness. Together they wait for the sun.
#
Tibby squeezes Faith’s shoulder, digging her nails into bare skin. Faith peeled off her armor as soon as she was in her room, shedding sweat and bits of skin and dried blood. She took a bad hit, but she’s already healed.
Only the ache remains.
Faith shoves three fingers up Tibby’s cunt, stretching her open, reaching for that rough little spot just behind her clit. She pumps her fingers in and out, the muscles in her arm flexing and releasing, flexing and releasing.
She grinds her thumb against Tibby’s clit, and she swallows a scream.
The bells start ringing. Faith’s room is the closest to the bell tower and she can feel the wall vibrate with the sound and strength of it. Tibby’s clinging to her, rocking against her, and with the noise all around them, she starts to come, starts to shake apart.
Her knees collapse and Faith holds her up, still thrusting, still grinding, until Tibby is almost crying with it, the overload of pressure, the need, the pain.
After, Faith eases her down to sit on the floor and, while Tibby looks up at her, watches her with wide, hazy eyes, licks her hand clean.
#
She patrols with the Slayers left. There aren’t very many, they put themselves out too much. She’s getting slow, a heart beat behind the others. They are mostly new, mostly young, not nearly well trained enough.
It’s no longer one Slayer dies, one Slayer rises.
Instead ten die, twenty, and then there’s a new one. Maybe forty fall and they get three new ones. It’s unbalanced, but that’s Buffy’s fault, and Willow’s, and, really, the whole damn world is shaking itself to pieces with the excess magic of it.
More Slayers meant more monsters, but fewer Slayers doesn’t seem to have the inverse effect.
#
Tibby’s waiting up for her when she comes in. Faith is exhausted, sore, grumpy. She’s bit the head off one of the Slayers who almost got the whole lot of them killed, and if it wasn’t pretty much a suicide mission, she’d patrol by herself the next few nights, just to spare everyone else her bad mood.
That doesn’t seem to bother Tibby, who’s naked - that’s kind of dangerous, what if they have to run out in the middle of the day because of some fire or attack or something - and puts her lips on Faith as soon as she walks in the room.
She kisses her mouth first, and then the column of her throat after she’s pulled away the armor. It continues like that, remove a piece, kiss the sweaty skin under. She lingers at Faith’s nipples, the curve of her right hip, the back of her left knee.
Then, when Tibby’s on her knees, she spreads Faith’s legs wide and puts her mouth on her cunt, teeth on her clit. She bites and sucks, licks her tongue up and down and left and right, then circles, big and small, fast and slow. She eases a finger into Faith’s ass, grips her thigh with her other hand, and sets about doing all the things with her mouth she knows Faith loves.
Faith comes, fast and hard, tearing at Tibby’s hair. Long, dark strands pull free, but Tibby doesn’t complain, just keeps going until Faith’s coming again, grunting and thrusting her hips forward so she’s grinding against Tibby’s face.
She holds her ground, manages to stay upright, and Tibby falls backward, collapses against the floor. She wipes her mouth clean with the back of her hand and then grins up at Faith, all cheek and lust and a glow.
How’s she’s managed to say so alive, Faith will never know.
The bells start to ring, calling out to the dead, and Faith lets out her breath.
End