KW Jordan

A bite mark on a neck and the title Bitten by KW Jordan

The characters of the fandoms I play in do not belong to me. They are the property of various directors, producers, and other people I probably wouldn't want to be. I'm merely borrowing them for my own amusement. The scenarios, however, do belong in their entirety to me. I haven't, nor will I ever, make any monetary profit off of the creation of anything not my own.

The characters in the original pieces I have written are my intellectual property, and mine alone, unless stated otherwise by me. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is completely unintentional, unless otherwise stated by me. The characters in the uber fiction I’ve dabbled in are my intellectual property unless otherwise stated by me. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is in body only, also unless otherwise stated by me.

I'll warn you ahead of time that the contents of my work may be considered inappropriate for anyone under the age of eighteen, and may be considered offensive by some audiences. I'm just that kind of person. I like violence, and I like sex--better yet, I like consensual sex between women and sometimes it's violent. If you choose to disregard this warning and continue ahead to read any of my works, I don't want to hear about it if you dislike what you find.

However, if you would like to express your interest in my work in a positive way, I would love to hear about it--in great detail, even if it’s a critique. I'm always open to suggestions for future reference. Or if you would like to host my work on your domain, feel free to e-mail me. Please do not take my work or post it elsewhere without my permission.

Any quotes or lyrics used are here without permission. I meant no disrespect to the artists. I apologize for not requesting permission to use them beforehand, but please allow me to leave my work intact. No monetary profit will ever be made from the use of your work by me.

Joss Whedon & CO
“The Animal in Me” by “Motley Crue”
“Hands All Over” by “Maroon 5”
“Here Comes Trouble” by “Honor Society”
Pam Lord (because she’s got it like that)

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Era: S3
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Fan Fiction
Pairing: Buffy/Faith
POV: 3rd

Summary: If I bury my teeth in her throat like I’m itching to, will she ever stop craving me?



Chapter One: Overdrive

It was just another fight, and it didn’t even last two minutes from the moment Faith spotted them from across the cemetery and ran full out to pull one of them off of a struggling Buffy. There were two of them, guys with shining silverish blue eyes, jet black hair, and pale skin. It ended as soon as Faith drove her stake through the bigger one’s unprotected back. He tore his mouth away from Buffy’s neck with a cry, loosening the hold he had on her as he collapsed, dying. The second demon took off, and Faith was too preoccupied with Buffy to give chase.

Faith stared, alarmed. Buffy was clutching the right side of her neck, drenched in crimson from her hand to the right shoulder of her thin baby blue jacket. Buffy’s lips pulled back in an angry, pained grimace as she gingerly probed the wound just shy of her artery. Galvanized into action, Faith grabbed Buffy’s hand, prying it away to get a good look at the damage, and whistled.

“Shit, B, he fucked you up but good,” She drawled.

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” Buffy gritted out.

Shiny spit and bits of white skin tissue glistened in the stray light of the quarter moon that broke through the thick canopies of the trees that towered over them. The demon’s blunt teeth had chewed Buffy’s skin up badly. Faith felt Buffy’s hand twist in her slick, bloody grip and she let her go, too stunned to put up a fight. Buffy tore off her jacket, using it to put pressure on the wound.

“We should probably get gone, B,” Faith managed, “Before the blood attracts bigger game.”

Buffy’s eyes flickered over Faith’s shoulder and she jerked her head, “You mean like them?”

“Oh, great,” Faith muttered.

She turned, already launching herself at the three vampires coming at them. Faith had no intentions of playing around, she wouldn’t risk one of them getting around her to Buffy right now. The first vampire got slammed down over her knee and staked. The second was brought to his knees with a full strength kick to his groin, and then the third was staked immediately. Then Faith reversed her stake and struck backwards, dusting the second vampire as he came at her again.

“Come on,” Buffy jerked her head at the gate, “I need to get home. I have school tomorrow.”

“Whoa,” Faith grabbed for Buffy’s left arm, “Shouldn’t we go check in with G? We don’t know what that bite has in it. We don’t even know what the fuck those guys were.”

Buffy looked at Faith’s hand darkly and Faith let her go with a shove. They stood there, staring at each other for a long moment. Ever since they defeated Gwendolyn Post, Faith had felt even more distant from Buffy, which was a feat. She didn’t know why she even was bothering now.

“What-the-fuck-ever, B.”

“Yeah,” Buffy muttered under her breath, following after her, “Whatever, F.”


The water was scalding hot. Buffy braced her hands against the walls of the shower, bowing her head under the hard jets. She let a hiss out between clenched teeth as the water washed over the wound. Blood streamed down across her upper chest, between her breasts, over her torso, and down her legs, pooling at her feet in a pink, watery puddle, and running down the drain.

She knew Faith was right. She should have gone to see Giles about the bite. Unfortunately, Buffy hadn’t really been in the mood to talk to Giles since this past Thursday night after the fight with Post went down. She really didn’t want to face his disappointed look...or anyone else’s, which was why she’d been searching out Faith more and more since their fight. Faith was easier.

They were mad at her for keeping Angel a secret. She got, was dangerous, but none of her friends even cared about how this had been affecting her. They didn’t want to know. She had to be honest, she didn’t want them to know how terrified she’d been since she found Angel.

They didn’t need to know. She had tried to move on, and now he was back, and what was Buffy supposed to do? She loved him, but she didn’t want him--not anymore. Angelus had taken care of that. She couldn’t even touch Angel without feeling him there with them now.


“You were great. Really. I thought you were a pro.”


She knew what she was actually feeling. Angel was a vampire, and she was still a Slayer, even if she did love him. She’d felt him all along, but somehow, it hadn’t felt like this. It was sickening.

Her tears mixed with the water. Sniffling, Buffy grabbed for the washcloth and lathered it up. Pushing the pain down, Buffy scrubbed industriously. Her skin began to sting from the rough attention, and Buffy absently applied more pressure as she passed over her breast. Suddenly, her neck throbbed, hot and painful, and Buffy closed her eyes and let out a frustrated growl.


She rushed through her shower. Finished, she turned off the water and reached around the curtain for the towel she’d hung on the wall fixture. She tussled her hair dry roughly, then used the white terrycloth towel to gingerly pat her tender, reddened skin dry before she stepped out.

Draping the towel around her hips, Buffy tied it off as she paused in front of the sink. Buffy’s eyes fell on her reflection in the mirror and she hissed softly at the sight. Leaning forward, she brought her left hand up to probe at the angry, swollen mass of flesh. The heat pouring off of the bitemark almost seared her fingers, and at the contact, a clear liquid trickled from the deepest puncture.

Buffy closed her eyes briefly against the sight, then reached under the sink counter to retrieve the massive First Aid kit her mother and Giles had put together for her a while back. She set the heavy white tool box on the counter and popped the red latch. Then she pulled out the supplies she needed and set them on the other side of the sink; one bottle of rubbing alcohol, one tube of antibiotic, cotton swabs, gauze pads, one role of medical tape, and a pair of scissors.

Buffy gritted her teeth and poured the alcohol directly on the wound. The burn brought tears to her eyes and the tendons stood out in her neck as she bit down on a scream. She held a thick wad of gauze beneath the wound, catching the runoff of alcohol, blood, and skin. Her other hand was clenched into a fist at her side, her fingernails digging deeply into her palm.

The bite throbbed with cold heat. It ran through her veins like fire and ice, and settled in her belly, pulsing white hot with every beat of her heart. Buffy took shallow breaths as she forced herself to work through the pain, using a cotton swab to gently apply the ointment to the wound. Finished, she covered it with a couple of layers of gauze and taped them down with practiced, steady hands.

Thinking, Buffy took four maximum strength pain killers and a sleeping pill, and chased them with water. She cleaned up after herself, throwing the trash away, and then she returned the First Aid kit to the cabinet under the sink. Then, pausing, she contemplated the cow print pajamas she’d left on the toilet lid. She shuddered and grabbed her bathrobe instead, her senses in overdrive.

Buffy didn’t normally sleep in the buff, so to speak, but her skin felt like it had been peeled away to expose all of her nerves. The mental imagery made her cringe in disgust, but it was apt. The terrycloth robe scraped against her body in a way that was jarring, and she quickly gathered her dirty clothes and put them in the linen basket before she retreated to her room.

In her bedroom, Buffy locked the door behind her and closed the blinds over her open window. She shut off the lights and dropped the robe, allowing it to pool around her feet on the carpeted floor. Stepping over the fluffy pile, Buffy grabbed the covers and tossed them to the foot of the bed. Then she settled herself on the bed, gingerly laying down and curling up on her side.

She wasn’t awake for long. The medication Giles supplied them with was working its’ way into her system, stealing over her senses with a creeping, seductive lethargy. Her breathing evened out. Her eyelids fluttered for a long moment, and then stilled, only the faintest twinges remaining.

Underneath the bandage, the wound shimmered a pale, silverish-blue that faded slowly.


Buffy woke up abruptly and she knew something was wrong. She was hot, so hot. She shifted around to see the alarm clock and something deep inside her blazed into blistering, painful, life. Her back arched up off the bed and she rolled over, curling in on herself. Her hands clenched, balling the fitted sheet in her fists and she bit back a moan as her thighs brushed together again.

Oh, God,” She gasped.

The room was pitch black, but to Buffy’s eyes it was lit up like high noon. The early morning was silent, but she could hear her mother’s heartbeat and rhythmic breathing down the hall. The sheet was soft, but Buffy could count the individual threads digging into her bare flesh. The mattress was soaked through, and Buffy could smell the sweat and the come that slicked her thighs.

Something was wrong. She was turned on, so turned on. Buffy’s hand crept down her own abdomen, leaving a trail of heat in her wake. Her fingers brushed dampened curls and she whimpered, pulling away from the contact and forcing herself to roll up out of the bed.

On weakened legs, Buffy stumbled from her bedroom and down the hall. In the bathroom, Buffy tore at the bandage, exposing the wound on her neck. Leaning in, she inspected her reflection, bewildered. The swelling had gone down, leaving bruised, twisted flesh in the shape of a human mouth, and new skin shined a creamy white against the angry red of irritation.

She brushed her fingers over the mark and let out a sharp cry as her knees buckled. She caught herself on the counter and bit down hard on her lip. Cold heat radiated from the inside of the wound, pumping her veins with that fire and ice, and Buffy felt it settle in her womb, making her wetter. She dropped her head forward, her eyes clenched shut, as her entire body responded.

Buffy nearly forgot the importance of the bitemark. She nearly forgot the source of the pain she’d felt for weeks. She nearly forgot the reason for her confusion. The need that swelled her clit and had come dripping down her thighs would have robbed her of everything if she’d let it.


She was pressed up against Pike, his body so real and alive in her embrace. The smell of cigarettes and leather filled her senses. She knew he was everything she wasn’t supposed to want. That was what made the vibration of the motorcycle feel so good between her thighs.


Buffy’s body trembled at the onslaught of memory. She’d wanted Pike, badly. She’d known what sex was, but she had no way of knowing what her body was aching for. Now she knew, and Buffy wanted to crawl out of her skin to get away from whatever was making her crave it.


Angel’s body was hard and sculpted, so cold and solid against her own. The smell of his cologne did nothing to mask the odor of death and blood. She knew he was everything she was made to destroy. That was what made her feel so alive and real in his embrace.


Buffy slid her hand down the arch of her throat, tracing the tendons. She didn’t want to remember. Angel’s hands had worshiped her body, and Angelus’ voice haunted her. She was horrified.


Xander’s touch was so tentative, his fear a palpable thing. It smelled sweet, and something inside Buffy pulsated with the power she had over him. She knew she was hurting him as she manipulated him out on the dancefloor to taunt Angel. The very thought made her wet.


Her palm brushed across her nipple and Buffy moaned, feeling her insides clench around nothing. She ached at the emptiness, and she knew Xander would have filled her until it hurt. He would have been warm and alive underneath her, and his submission would’ve been complete.

Her eyes snapped open again. Only the thinnest ring of gilded hazel stood out around the inky black of her pupils. Her breathing was erratic and her heart hammered against her ribs, blood chasing the flush across her skin and making the fine blonde peach fuzz all over her body stand on end. Her legs gave out and Buffy slumped gracelessly to the floor, burying her face in her knees.

Oh god.”


To Be Continued in Chapter Two

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