milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Faith comes in from outdoors, looking quietly pleased, and acquires dinner and coffee, then curls up in front of the fireplace.

Tomorrow, there will be blood and violence and possibly all manner of woe. Tonight...tonight was good.

As Alain would say, it is well.

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"I will admit to enjoying that as well," Charlie murmurs, making eyes at her.

Faith snorts quietly and pokes his ribs lightly. "Don't start that."

She's only half-joking.

"Flirtation is a natural state of being," Charlie says archly.

"Only 'cause you're so hot."

"And don't you forget it, Faith o' my heart."

"I'm not likely to."

Faith reaches over and plays a few bars of the Springsteen song I'm On Fire. Musical flirtation is love.

"'Tell me now baby is he good to you, can he do to you the things that I do, uh-huh,'" Charlie sings. "'I can take you higher. Oh, I'm on fire.'"

Faith sings along, her voice low and a little rough.

"'Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull, and cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my soul...'"

"'At night I wake up with the sheets soakin' wet and a freight train runnin' through the middle of my head, only you can cool my desire. Oh, I'm on fire.'"

He gives her his best rock-god eyes.

Faith meets his rock-god eyes with her most effective 'Oversexed Slayer' look.

"Oo baby," he says softly, then chuckles. "Be nice, Faithful. I'm trying to be a good boy."

"You are good. You're the best."

He beams at her. "Thank you, darling."

She smiles back at him, warm and soft. "Anytime, love."

He hugs her and kisses her cheek.

She returns both hug and kiss, leaning against his shoulder with a little sigh.

He holds her gently.

"I saw you when you were a little kid, and I still have wicked thoughts involving you, champagne, strawberries and copious amounts of whipped cream," Faith says into his shoulder. "I'm a sick, sick girl."

He laughs. "Sixteen is not a little kid. And I like strawberries."

"You were sixteen? You looked about twelve."

"I looked about twelve until I was twenty-two," he says dryly.

Faith blinks.

Then grins.

"So, about a week before we met, then?"

"I'm twenty-six!"

Faith looks very dubious.

"I'd show you my driver's license if I hadn't lost my wallet in the crash. But you can ask Liam. He's two years and six months older than me, almost exactly.

"But, my love, I want to say good night to Sethie and give Bartleby pleasant dreams, so adieu, parting is such sweet sorrow." He kisses her cheek again. "Good night."

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