zeegoeshere

The Kind of Guy That Tries To Win You Over

Faith is looking for something new. Post-Chosen, post-recent-crisis.

Crossposted from crackformary, because Mary makes me glee.



The scent of Gotham City hits her as soon as she steps off the bus, and Faith smiles. It's a really particular kind of stink, that is--as far as she can tell--unique to the worst neighborhoods and suburbs of this city. It's something she remembers from when she was a kid, and it's kinda comforting in a twisted way to know that it hasn't got any better in the years between. She only spent a few months here when she was twelve or so, when her momma was chasing down some boyfriend or other, but it's still the same.

Someone jostles her from behind Faith walks faster, out of the crowds pouring out of the packed bus. She hitches her threadbare backpack further up on her shoulder and shivers; it's a cold night, and she's only wearing a thin, patched-up jacket that has seen better days, and a pink and white t-shirt that used to be Buffy's. Faith had grabbed it on accident while she was packing, although now she thinks it might have been a subconscious urge to... something.

It's a nice shirt. Comfortable. There's a faded bloodstain on one of the sleeves, and every time the fabric brushes against her skin Faith remembers her.

Which is why she'll probably throw the shirt away, after tonight. She's here to forget.

She heads for the nearest dark alley, and it doesn't take long to find what she's looking for. A gang of six vampires, cocky but just old enough to be a challenge. They take the girl-walking-alone-at-night bait hook, line, and sinker, which makes Faith wonder if Gotham doesn't have any slayers, or if the vamps here are just that stupid.

She hasn't done this in too long. Everything in Rome was a team effort, strategized and planned and effective and no fun at all. The only reason to patrol by herself was to piss off Buffy--a good reason, but it feels better than anything to do this for herself again.

She's staked two when unexpected help shows up. It's a man, she thinks, although it's hard to tell from the lack of light and the coat flying around him. And the red *helmet* on his head, what the hell?

It doesn't take long at all to finish them off, with helmet guy helping. It's actually kind of disappointing--she's barely even broken a sweat by the time the last one is dust.

Faith tucks her stake away in her jacket, eyeing the newcomer. A costumed freak. Great. Not that she should be surprised; this *is* Gotham.

"Not bad," she says, eyeing his knife. Knife, not stake: he had gone for the beheading technique, rather than the wood-to-the-heart. Not as efficient, but she can't help but be a little impressed (turned on).

She can't tell because of the retarded-looking helmet, but she's pretty sure he's smirking at her. "Same for you. We don't get many metas around here."

"I'm not a meta," she says automatically, even though... well, the jury is still out on what Slayers qualify as. Faith has never seen much in common between herself and Superman beyond the super strength. "I'm not a cape, anyway," she amends when the guy snorts loudly.

"Uh-huh. You're one of those chicks with superpowers that cropped up all over the place last year, right?" He waves a hand dismissively, and it's Faith's turn to snort.

"I'm not one of the newbies, no." It's tempting to say something cocky and stupid like 'I've been doing this since before you hit puberty, punk,' except for it's almost impossible to tell how old the guy is. Considering the rumors she's heard about this city, he could still be in high school--or he could be eighty. Faith just hopes he's not old enough to creak in bed, because she knows what she needs right now, and she can tell--even through the mask thing--that he's looking at her in all the right ways.

Faith rubs the heel of her hand over her thigh. "We gonna go back to your place? I'd say we go for it in the alley, but vampire dust is kind of a turn-off."

She's almost positive he smirks this time. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"Why would I want to?" She hasn't been laid since Buffy, and she needs someone to scrub that girl's scent off her skin. Judging from the way this guy moves, he's almost strong enough to do it.

"Hmm." The guy acts like he actually has to think about her offer, and something about that just--pisses her off. Makes her feel seventeen again, rage simmering beneath her skin all the fucking time, ready to go off at anyone who so much as looked at her sideways.

He's good, but she's faster than he is, and has him pinned against the alley wall with her forearm pressed against his throat. She has his stupid helmet off before he can struggle. He's wearing a second mask underneath, but she can still tell how pretty he is.

He punches her and she rolls with it, even though it really doesn't hurt. He looks furious, like she's jabbed him somewhere deep and vulnerable, instead of just taking him down a couple notches. His hands are balled into fists at his side, and she's reminded of her younger self, again. Pent-up anger, frustration, craziness with nowhere to go but deeper inside.

She tosses the helmet aside; it lands in a grimy puddle. "Calm down, sparky. I don't deal well with masks. If I'm fucking you, I'm getting to see your face."

The guy still looks mad, but he doesn't retrieve his helmet. "You don't like masks? What the hell are you doing in Gotham?"

Hell if I know. "Hey, I go where the vamps go. Judging from tonight, I could make myself useful around here."

"You won't make a dent in Gotham."

"Just doing my job. Not trying to be a hero or change the world." That was all Buffy. B and her little army of slayerettes--not Faith.

"You get paid for this?" The guy leans against the wall again, his hips jutting out. Faith licks her lips.

"Not in cash." She walks up to him, sliding a hand up underneath his jacket. She can feel the muscles of his stomach twitch, but he doesn't move to stop her. "I'm Faith."

"Red Hood."

Faith scowls and drops her hand. "Your actual name, asshole, not some fake title you thought up to impress your daddy."

His eyes narrow at that--she can tell even through the mask. "Call me Jason."

"Mmm. Got it, Jay." When she kisses him he parts his lips, an open invitation to slide her tongue into his mouth.

She starts grinding against him without even realizing it, and pulls back, panting. Jason is watching her with a shrewd expression on his face, but his cheeks are flushed.

"We're going now, or I'm throwing you down right here," she warns. He nods and moves past her, getting his bike. It's a nice ride--Faith doesn't have as much of a thing for motorcycles as she used to, but sliding on behind him, feeling that motor rumble, still makes her want to hump something until the world blacks out.

The run-down building where he lives is close, thank christ. Faith manages to hold it in until he unlocks the door to his apartment, and then she has him against the wall, biting on his lips and pushing his shirt up, letting her nails scrape over the skin of his chest. Already she can feel how scarred and tough his skin is, proof that he isn't invulnerable, unlike--some people.

He pushes back against her and they hit the floor. Faith lets him grind down on top of her and kiss her neck; she could roll them over, but he seems to really like where he is. His thumbs are rubbing over her nipples, and the material of his gloves is rough enough it would probably be painful for a normal person. Faith grins and arches up underneath him.

They get their shirts off, and then Faith gets impatient. She shoves Jason off of her and drags him onto the bed, tossing him down and straddling his waist. He makes an 'oof' sound, looking faintly impressed.

Faith toys with a scar over his ribcage. "Tell me you're not one of those losers who doesn't like strong women."

Jason grinds up, pushing his erection against her ass. "I don't fuck anyone who can't break at least a few of my bones."

"Good answer." Faith unzips her fly and pushes her jeans down--she isn't wearing underwear. He's got two fingers inside her just that fast, and now that the gloves are off she can see the way scars criss-cross his knuckles, too. She pushes against his hand and leans down, biting his shoulder and neck.

His breath hitches, laughing against her teeth. "You're going to give me a hickey."

"Yeah, so? What, is someone gonna check?" Faith gropes beneath her until she finds the fly of his pants, impatiently pulling his dick out.

He smirks at her and strokes his thumb over her clitoris. "Maybe."

"Cheating on me already? I'm hurt." Faith squeezes his dick and just as she opens her mouth to ask for one, he hands her a condom. She grins again and slides it on.

The only reason he feels so big inside her is that she hasn't done this in... god, is this really the first guy she's fucked since Robin? How depressing. It doesn't matter--far as she's concerned, the pain makes it better. She digs her nails into his shoulders and presses down, feels him shudder and thrust up.

He has a good rhythm. And he's just way too fucking pretty when he throws his head back like that, exposing a nasty (hot) scar on his neck. Faith wants to bite it and lick it and god, sometimes she thinks she's spent way too much fucking time around vampires. Even if she hasn't fucked one yet, unlike--no, fuck, she *isn't* thinking of Buffy, not fucking *now.*

Faith growls and rides him harder, squeezing herself tight around him. When she scratches her nails deep against his skin he just moans and gets rougher, running his hands over her body and pinching her nipples, her ass.

"Come on, dammit," she pants, and he just smirks at her. But he comes for her, obediently enough, yelling and digging his thumbs into her hips almost hard enough to leave bruises.

Faith slips off of him and ties off the condom, tossing it in the direction of the trash. She straddles his face and braces herself on the bed rail, biting off curse words every time he licks her. She comes grinding against his face, her hands denting the metal rail.

The bed isn't really big enough for two people to lie side by side, which is fine because Faith isn't a cuddler, anyway. She sits on the edge of the bed while Jason sprawls, leering at her.

"Got any cigarettes?" She had quit, months ago, because Buffy and the slayerettes hated the smell. But... well.

He tosses her a pack and a lighter, and she nods her thanks. Smoke fills her lungs, and even if simple lung cancer couldn't kill a slayer, it's nice to at least pretend the risk is there.

"So your neck." Faith makes a slashing motion, indicating his scar. "What happened?"

His leer turns into something more twisted and ugly. "I guess you could call it a lovers' spat."

Faith's fingers move automatically to the ugly scar on her stomach, the one Buffy gave her six years ago, and Jason's eyes follow the movement. He raises an eyebrow.

"You too?"

Faith drops her hand. "Maybe."

He's looking at her like he wants to know more, and Faith isn't gonna spill her life story to some guy she just fucked, no matter how pretty he is. She stubs out her cigarette and reaches for her pants. "Thanks for the help tonight, not that I needed it--"

His hand is on her arm. "Why are you in such a hurry? Got an appointment?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "I'm not the type to stay for breakfast."

He shrugs. "You can crash here if you don't have anywhere else to go, that's all."

She bristles. "Just because I got nasty with you once doesn't mean you get to--"

"Oh, get over yourself." He shoves her, not lightly, and rolls his eyes. "This doesn't have to happen more than once if you don't want it to. You just look like you could use a base for operations, that's all."

"I'm not planning any operations," she retorts. "And I've got plenty of money, so fuck your charity."

"All of the hotels here suck. And if you go that route..." he hesitates. "You might get found by certain people when you'd rather stay hidden."

"Batman doesn't scare me."

"Not who I meant. Besides, I'm sure he already knows you're here." He falls back against the bed. "Whatever. You can leave now if you want to, but the window's pretty easy to get into if you feel like coming back."

Faith chews her lip. She meant what she said; she's not planning any 'operations' beyond staking any vamps she comes across. But even something that simple can get messy and complicated, and she could probably use an ally.

"I'm not sleeping in your bed," she says finally.

"There's a cot in the closet," he says. "The shower's through that door." He rolls over on his side, away from her. Faith doubts he's asleep that fast, but he certainly appears to be.

The water in his shower is flaked with rust, but it's hot enough to do the trick. Faith scrubs shampoo through her hair and soap into her skin, and doesn't think about Rome. She's in Gotham now, and she maybe has a partner, and maybe has another chance to start over.