Title: Need
Author: Lady Jesca
Email: jesca10@attbi.com
Distribution: Just email and ask!
Couple: Faith/Gunn
Rating: NC-17
Improv: #16 – A very shippy improv
Summary: How Faith gets through the night.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: These characters in no way belong to me in any way shape or form, no matter how many times I wish they were! Joss obviously didn't coin the phrase "Your wish is my command."
Author's Notes: My first Improv. I hope this is well received by all…I may just write another! I hope you like imagery, because I was apparently full of it, and then so is this.

Shift.

What the hell do they stuff these things with? No matter how many times I punch down the mattress and the pillows, they never conform. Ever.

It isn't hard to decide whether to keep my eyes open or to close them. When they are open I see the reality of what is. This cell, my jailors, my tormenters, my allies. My life is about making it through the day to lay on this fucked up mattress where God knows who else has marked it before me, and dream. I live for the dreams. There is only one thing better. Visits. It doesn't happen often, and I don't blame him. Would I visit? Probably not the old me. The before me. But now? Will I ever get a chance to prove it? Would I want a chance?

When I close my eyes, though, it's all him. I can feel my lips curl into a smile as the colors shift from the dark dismal blue of the cell to the creamy walls reflecting the firelight that plays across his chocolate skin. My ears calm when the sounds of screaming and banging, crying and cursing is erased and a soft sound of his breath enters my ear. His whispers. No, it isn't hard to decide to close my eyes. What is hard is the time I am forced to open my eyes and fight and defend and struggle to survive to get to this. This moment, where I can occupy myself with him. Only him.

Orange and cream, dark, rich colors and all their hues splash over us from the fire we sit in front of. I could imagine the tightly drawn shirt over his muscles, and describe the tingle of my fingertips as I touch it. The tightness of his pants, and how it tightens with my touch. But my time is limited, and the mystery is removed because I imagine him unencumbered and in all his glory, lying on his side, watching me watching him. Watching me memorize his every feature. He is patient. He waits. His intense eyes inspect the pleasure my face reflects at the sight of him. I play a game. I try to find a flaw. I lose every time. I don't mind.

His skin, rippling, hardened muscles under, but so smooth to the touch. I could let my mind play over the intricacies and dichotomies of his skin alone, but I move on out of desperation and anticipation, unable to draw my eyes away until I've seen it all. His dark eyes. I could swim in them, but something tells me I'd forget how. I'd rather drown anyway. I'd rather be immersed. His soft lips. They ache for the kissing, but the kissing will come. My own lips tingle at the thought of connecting. Wide shoulders with small hills and gullies, outlines of his strength. His hands. I almost give up. I almost cave in at his hands. I want to feel them caress me. I want to feel the hardness of life that has imprinted itself onto his hands brush over my skin, making me shiver and tingle with delight. His chest. What I wouldn't give to be able to run my tongue down his chest, explore a different way. Feel my taste buds experience every flavor that is him. His stomach. More muscles, more gullies to trace with my tongue. I wonder if I could make him squirm? To feel him squirming under me would undoubtedly be the undoing of me. Not that I don't like to be unwrapped many times. My eyes caress where his wiry curls bring them, hard now and hardening more as I feel his eyes watching me, watching my tongue as it licks my lips at the sight and the thoughts invoked. His legs. So strong, so muscled. Hard under the touch, but I don't touch, yet. I love the way his legs taper, slim, and then open to his feet. Even his toes, perfect. They crook where they are supposed to; they are straight where necessary. Not many people know how sensitive to the touch they are. How he jumps when I run my tongue across the bottom of them.

He knows me too well by now. Night after night has taught him when I finish looking at him and he moves onto his back. Now my skin tingles all over because I know its time. Touch. I love to rub my body over his. Teasing with my tongue as I trace the places my eyes were only allowed moments ago, I do indeed feel him writhing under me, and I feel wetness and heat between my own legs, but I try to wait. His hips jut up as my tongue traces his hardness and I feel his hands, those wonderfully large hands pull me slowly up his body. What a torture that is. To feel the length of my body rub the length of his in one feel swooping where I am at last in position. But I don't mind this position. A knee on each side of his head, my own head bent down to stare into those pools of intensity as his tongue shows me how much he misses me. His large hands keeping my hips in place, so that even my gentle rocking with him is stifled, but again, my lover knows me well, because he knows I don't mind. In fact soon after sound is reverberating off of the walls as hot and as blazing as any of the colors thrown off by the fire. Long after I can't watch him anymore, he continues, satisfying one need but creating another until I feel like I will never have satisfaction and for once I am not sure if I wouldn't rather the need.

I don't get a choice because now its all him. It's all about the feeling of abandonment when he finally lifts me and all about the moment just before when I know I'm about to experience him. I'm about to feel more and stronger and a moment of fear flashes into my mind because I just hope the anticipation is overshadowed by the feeling of him and what was I thinking? Of course it would be. I feel every ridge and ripple as his fills me fuller than I have ever hoped and always wanted. I hear the soft notes of his silky moan as I envelope him. His hands tighten around my waist because now isn't a time for moving. Now is a time for relishing. And we do. We revel in the feel of each other. But reveling turns to revealing as our passions peek out again, forcing his hands to move me over him. Causing each ridge to rub the walls of my insides. My back straightens and then curves inward because I can't help but throw my head back and let voice be heard. I want him to know all the pleasures I feel and I vocalize them as best as I can in my lover language of moans and groans, the occasional whimper and a squeak, maybe two.

Obviously he understands because his hands move my hips at a speed I crave and an intensity I live for. My eyes lock with his because I would be cheating myself out of the flip side of all the pleasures he provides if I can't see his eyes as he pours into me. I want to see the trickle of sweat run down his cheek and see the glistening of his chest. I promise my tongue another taste before this ends, but my eyes are riveted to him as I feel fluid leave me; enter me. My senses are alive as I hear every crackle of the fire, and feel it's every heat wave flash over me in quick licks. My skin feels every crevice of his as we merge for that moment in mind and body and then I hear the palpable silence that is left while our screams are ringing in my ear.

And it figures that with so much pleasure the cruelty of life would kick into overdrive as I just know that those screams came from outside. The cool air tickles my slick skin and my eyes inadvertently open to the cold blueness of my cell. I slip my fingers out of the wetness that is me and smile into the darkness. I smile. I don't cry. I don't curse. I smile. Because it isn't morning and I get to close my eyes again and that is worth smiling about.