jedibuttercup

Round 8 of the Circle of Friends Remix is now open for reading at circle_of_friends.

Dancing with Faith, in every sense of the word, was like dancing with fire: liable to burn them both if Thomas lost control. But oh, what a glorious blaze it would be.

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Title: Deliver Me Unto Evil (The Self-Indulgent Remix)
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: Characters from Angel are property of Joss Whedon, Dresden Files belongs to Jim Butcher, etc., etc.
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers: Set post-canon for Angel; spoilers at least through "Backup" in the White Night - Turn Coat era of DF
Notes: Written for Round 8 of the Circle of Friends remix. Original story: Lead Me Not Into Temptation by cornerofmadness. Because I never could resist a good crossover, or an opportunity to do a little worldbuilding that makes certain issues with the canon make more sense. :)

Summary: Dancing with Faith, in every sense of the word, was like dancing with fire: liable to burn them both if Thomas lost control. But oh, what a glorious blaze it would be. 1500 words.

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Thomas stared up at the facade of the Hyperion Hotel, wondering which aspect of this case his half-brother would find funnier: the fact that a magic-based group ostensibly founded to kill all demons had set up shop in one of the most infamously demon-haunted parts of the LA landscape, or that it was about to be his turn to do the awkward ex-hookup dance with one of the women who worked with his current target. That was usually Harry's sort of luck. Pity he wouldn't be able to tell him about it; Harry didn't have all that many opportunities to laugh, these days.

He wondered just which of the rooms he could see lit on the upper floors belonged to the Watcher's Council's current bumper crop of Slayers. It was ironic that a war between the wizards and the Vampire Courts had left this particular group of vampire-fighting practitioners with a larger payroll than before the war had started-- but then, there were a lot of little ironies about this particular organization. Not least the fact that that they had somehow hooked up with one of the law firms the White Court kept on retainer in the last few years. Or the fact that they seemed to have completely forgotten their own origins sometime in the last few decades.

There was a reason the first Watchers had been known as Shadowmen; a reason not unrelated to the fact that their oft-times ally in the pursuit of casting primordial gods and ancient malignant spirits to Oblivion was called the Venatori Umbrorum: the Shadows of the Hunters. There was a reason they'd spent the millennia since keeping their prized supernatural fighters as far away from the White Court as possible, even when that limited their ability to act in direct support of the Venators. And most of all, there was a reason they'd traditionally kept very strict control of their Slayers' personal lives, something that seemed to have completely fallen by the wayside in the last few decades, if Faith Lehane-- and what he'd heard of Buffy Summers-- were any example of their current method of training.

To be fair, some of that had been intentional. There was absolutely no reason that anyone outside the Venators ever needed to know the details of the ritual the Shadowmen had used to rip the Hunger from a White Court vampire, twist it to defend the kine rather than feed from them, and weld it to a succession of young human women who otherwise would have been mildly gifted practitioners. Why tolerate an upstart rebellious bunch of freaks who meant to use the White Court's own nature against them, when it could be manipulated into becoming allies in the long, thankless war against the Old Ones instead, and take a few of the freaks out of the gene pool while they were at it? But Thomas would have thought they'd have kept a closer handle on the nature of their own agent.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip, remembering his heated encounter with Faith when she'd come to Chicago to deliver a message from her Watcher, and wondered whether he should have raided his brother's less appealing wardrobe before returning the visit-- or if that would have even made a difference. Then he shook his head and headed for the front door.

The lobby inside had a high vaulted ceiling and warm wooden accents, furnished in rich colors and lush fabrics, about as far from the soulless abandon of Club Zero as it was possible to get and still have four walls and a ceiling. The reception desk was manned by a young woman with a bored expression-- until she caught sight of him, and caught her breath on a sharp inhale.

"Uh, can I help you?" she asked breathlessly, automatically sitting up straighter in her chair.

Thomas walked slowly up to the counter, smiling languidly at her. Another Slayer: this one even younger and Hungrier than Faith, but much less experienced in wielding her power. Just being this close to her made his own Hunger sit up and take notice, whispering in his ear about how good she'd taste and how much more potent even one sip of her energy would be than any thousand of the women who passed under his hands in his guise as a French hairdresser.

There were only two ways to effectively control the Hunger from the inside: strict self-discipline, or running up against one of the few things that could stop it cold-- true love, perfect faith, or self-sacrificial courage. Such purity of selfless emotion was poison to the Hunger's ability to feed, like Christian symbols were to the Black Court and their degenerate Hellmouth-corrupted offshoots, and the Watchers had made good use of those weaknesses over the long millennia. But without either such defenses or a thorough mastery of self, women like that young Slayer-- or his younger sister Inari-- were completely vulnerable to its effects. Inari had managed to escape the consequences, thanks in part to Harry, a timely broken bone, and her loving porn-star boyfriend; all too many Slayers probably would not, especially if the war kept going the way it was.

"Hi," he said, bracing both hands on the countertop-- conspicuously empty, just in case anyone warier was watching-- and smiling at her. "I'd like to leave a message for Illyria?"

"Illyria?" A surprised voice, slightly husky and pants-tighteningly familiar, interrupted from the carpeted staircase at the back of the lobby. "Thrown over already for bigger and badder, huh. Nice to see you again, Thomas."

"Faith." He turned to glance up at her, smiling appreciatively. No skull and roses halter top this time, but the snug leather pants and crimson, deeply vee'd sleeveless tee were not a bad look on her either, and didn't at all disguise her reaction to him. "Thought I'd finally take you up on that invitation. But I didn't think you'd mind if I combine a little business with pleasure while I'm here."

"Business with Big Blue, huh?" She lifted her eyebrows, hips swaying in reminder of the exact nature of that invitation as she descended the stairs. "Didn't think that was your kink."

"My lady asks, and I answer," he replied with a slow leer, leaving the nature of the request-- and the asker-- to the imagination. Lara had been the one to order him there; but he had no doubt his older sister and de facto ruler of House Raith knew more than he'd prefer about Faith's visit to Chicago as well, and it was never her way to accomplish only one goal when several more had lined themselves up so conveniently.

"Well, well. I think I like the sound of that," she replied, finally coming to a halt in front of him. The pull between them was exactly as electric as he remembered from their seductive dance all those months before; nothing like the sweet mad abandon of Justine, the woman he would forever measure all others against, but passionate and powerful enough to be dangerous, all the same.

Dancing with her, in every sense of the word, was like dancing with fire: liable to burn them both if he lost control. But oh, what a glorious blaze it would be.

Thomas bent over with an exaggerated flourish, pressing his lips to the back of her offered hand. "I thought you might."

Faith shuddered, nipples tightening visibly at the whisper of his Hunger against hers. "Think your business can wait an hour or so? Illyria should be back from Angel's office about then."

It was a bad idea. A very bad idea. But he already knew what his brother would say, if he asked him: what was life, if you didn't indulge in a few bad ideas every now and again?

The problem of Illyria wouldn't change for an hour's delay; the news that she'd escaped the Deeper Well where the Venators and their allies had put her so long ago, and had gathered enough mortals to her side to begin regenerating her power, had already been months stale before it reached Chicago. They either had to take her down again, hard, before she could accumulate more of a base and start freeing other Old Ones-- or, if that proved not to be her aim, and she really was working as an agent of the Watchers Council for whatever reason, enlist her as an active agent in the Oblivion war to stop her former competitors from returning.

Thomas hadn't been looking forward to finding out which option it was going to be. A little shared distraction might be just the thing to settle his nerves-- and top off his energy, just in case.

"My lady asks, and I answer," Thomas repeated, letting the Hunger surface a little more in his gaze, and smiled as her eyes darkened in reply.

Then Faith turned her hand in his, and began to pull him back toward the stairs.

(x-posted to circle_of_friends & AO3)