*****

The inside of this club is dark, cool, and yes, a little putrid. Blasts from the air conditioner send shivers down the dancers' backs, but the sweat rolls down their necks and chests all the same. A sweet, disgusting rot of a smell emerges from the combo of sweat and well-intended perfumes. Bodies mesh together and spread the sweat, and the stink� and ohhhh, I could easily snap every one of those scrawny necks and make a real meal for myself.

I push through the crowd slowly instead, winking at some potential snacks and growling at many others. The atmosphere, the music, even some of the faces floating through the crowd give me an odd feeling of familiarity. With this thought comes a sort of certainty that makes me giddy and shivery at the same time. I've been here before. Damned if I know when or why, but I was here. And that familiar tug gives me the needed something to propel my feet across the sweaty mess of a dance floor to the hub of sensuality in front of the stage. To the beers and dancers and social outcasts there for the booze and good fucks� to her.

She's dancing alone, but everyone around seems to be *with* her, never making contact to constitute a partner, but definitely sidling up for a brush or a smile, or just an acknowledgment that yes, there are others on the dance floor with her. She gives each one a casual bump or look and goes back to herself, more excited by her own movements than anything going on around. I move in slowly, fixing her with my most vicious grin.

She almost stops� comes so damn close I can feel the will to deny me some minor satisfaction oozing off her with more intensity than the sweat that literally oozes out of her pores. Then she winks and smiles, does a nasty and suggestive little grind with her hips, then runs her fingers through her damp hair. Another short wiggle clues me in that she's not brushing me off-- oh no, she wants to dance. A little bump and grind down and dirty on the dance floor to make all the boys pull their hair and turn to little lustful puddles. Goddamn, she's hot.

Again the familiarity and I'm moving, my arms finding a seemingly natural spot behind my head. My hips slice through the air, cut lazy paths through the stale cool air of the air conditioner and it only reminds me how much I want friction and hot, sweaty flesh to rub against. This on my mind, I take a step forward. Just a step but, ooooh, I can feel her heat now, and her thigh brushes so slightly against mine.

I smile again, 'yeah, baby, I dig you' that smile says, and open my mouth with something ludicruous and totally unexpected. "Faith."

Her return is just out of place, and *how* is it possible when only that strange sense tells me I've seen this girl before? "Buffy." She lets her eyes pan down, and a grin of her own lights up her eyes. "Diggin' the new look, B."

I glance down, admittedly curious, to see what the hell she's talking about. I see only the bottom of the lacy black material of my dress and lots of leg-- white, luscious leg that I know must be the envy of every pathetic whore I've walked by. Uh-huh, I'm dressed to kill, and a small surge of satisfaction rises in me knowing I've caught her eye. Her predatory eye, which sweeps over me with undeniable hunger and *want*. The question of what other look she could be accustomed to isn't important as I move my arms forward and around her neck, not gripping, but sliding on her mostly bare shoulders.

This she accepts graciously and moves her shoulders in rhythm with her hips, rubbing and nudging against me as she slides her hands oh-so-slowly up my sides. Soon they're up, over, and God, her hips are grinding against mine in a way that makes me feel so *good*. We move together, setting our own rhythm to the music while a sort of circle parts around us, leaving us to the scrutiny of many a curious eye in the booming nightclub.

And kids do stare. How they do stare at a couple that just *must* be lesbian, and not afraid to show it to all the 200 plus brats who fill the club with their stuck-up attitudes and classic good looks. We choose not to ignore them, but give them a ride, show them how little two people really can care about the stares and mutters being cast in their direction. Because, damn, we're hot together and we know it.

She-- Faith-- leans into me and mutters in my ear and I feel my lips spread in a fresh grin. The song is just starting to taper off and so do we, our rhythm lapsing into tiny pumps and movements that could almost be considered dancing. We move away together, pushing through the recently gathered crowd and now I smell it-- hot, pumping blood overriding the sweat and perfume, filling my nostrils with its delicious fragrance. It takes all my willpower not to give into the sensations and just *feel*� to blow my cover.

Faith ushers me outside and the warmer air outside sets my skin to tingling. Not that I mind it, but being outside, near nature, away from that recycled cold shit inside� *shudder*. All of a sudden I'm a million times more aware of the fresh blood pumping beside me and I turn, grinning, to see if she's digging this new situation as much as I am.

And, Goddamn, how'd this happen, she's got a fucking wooden *stake* in her hand. "Now," she says, running the wood across my cheek. "Play nice and we'll be just fine."

I growl but hold still, my lust and anger at discovery conflicting just enough to add to the tingle of my skin and keep me rooted to the ground. Faith shoves forward against me and her legs, warm and beaded so nicely with sweat, meet with mine and make us both shudder. I feel that surge again-- that aching sort of feeling that tells me this wasn't a chance meeting at all but that something much grander and more� destined� is at play here. And still that feeling that I *know* her when I can't place my finger on how or when or why I could so easily forget.

"So. I must be pretty transparent."

Faith smirks at my words. She makes a little movement with her hips, more to fuck with my head, I think, than to turn me on. "That's the thing about humans," she says evenly. "They've got this little thing--" She ducks her head forward and catches my earlobe in her teeth, tugs back, then whispers so seductively in my ear, "Called a pulse."

A surreal feeling washes over me as I realize, damn, she's right. The differences inside were subtle and noticed only because I know, at least, that I've always been a narcissistic bitch and I'm superior to most of the world's inhabitants. Most, that is, if not all. But now� *now* I really feel the difference and I feel like a god. "Vampire," I mutter, and smile at the taste of the word on my lips.

"You've *got* to see the irony here, B," Faith says, drawing back only a little. Her lips part and her tongue flicks forward to run smoothly across her teeth, blunt and white and nothing, I realize, like mine. Probing with my own tongue I feel too-sharp points and can't help but wonder how it'll feel� what it'll do to me� to feel the razor sharp fangs I so admired in the hazy distance hours ago in the presence of the goddess before me now. I shudder imagining the possibilities. "You do," Faith concludes with another of those damn smiles.

I shove forward myself this time, pressing her body so tightly that my intentions can't be misread. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," I admit, "but I know that I was one major bitch of a woman when I was alive, and I can so easily kick your ass now." I lift a hand to her face and run it down slowly, temple to jawline, trace it along there until my fingers brush over those blood red lips. "So don't get any ideas about using that," I drop my gaze and grin, "stick."

Faith snickers and again that nagging *feeling* washes over me, sending my fists to clenching and skin to tingling, and, if I had one to do the job, my heart to pounding. Annoyance comes in just as rapidly, making me wonder and anticipate and fear all in one sweeping motion. Damn, this girl. This grinning, snickering, piece of shit goddess of a girl. I'd do as well to strangle her as to take that handy stake from her and fuck her brains out.

"Something funny?" I ask casually.

"You," Faith returns. "They must've really fucked you up when they turned you, B. Can't you remember your weapon of choice?"

Reaching out, I let my hand brush against the stake, marvelling at the smooth texture and splendid beauty that I should *not* see in it. Faith lets me take it and I tap it thoughtfully against my cheek, revelling in the sudden rush of power and sense of onerwhelming d�j� vu that comes crashing and tumbling over me. Suddenly the air around me is *charged* and the itchy, tingly feeling becomes an all out burn. Faith is looming over me, grinning, making damn sure I know there's power play here and she's in control, she's in power, she's making me feel�

I snap to with a start and the stake drops loosely from my hand, hits the ground, takes off rolling on the slight incline. I follow it with my eyes, then lift them to Faith again. She's got that same smirk on her face and the temptation to sink my fangs into that sweet little neck of hers is so strong that I have to back away, snarling, and reach for something behind me to hold on to, to grasp, to keep down the storm of half-formed emotions and recognitions pounding through my mind.

Finding nothing to grip I turn, shaking my head, and start away from Faith and the truth she show showed me, away from the realization and understanding and clarity. It was so much better inside, dancing, sweaty bodies so close as to almost mold together. I shiver considering the contrast between that and the standoff just passed and quicken my pace to hurry away from her-- because my sire, my beloved, my *girl* told me what I was and I refused to believe it, too content in my haze of sweet nothing mixed so gorgeously with startling new sensations� and she told me there was another.

And so thinking, I run to the safe haven of my sire--my savior-- where I can plan our next confrontation.

~end~