title: Clothes Make The Woman
fandom: actor – BtVS cast
summary: Eliza, behind-the-scenes on “Salvage.” And “Enemies.” And
“Consequences.” She’s had fun.
disclaimer: The characters in this story, while based on certain real
people, are not them. This story does not portray true events.
warning(s): f/f, f/m
archive(s): Silverlake, Elizadelic, blood & fire, CSSA, AFF.net
Dedication: B_A, Spoony, Bends, Exis, Selina and all the other kittens
at the DEH. Who loves
notes: There has been confusion on who some of the people mentioned are,
aside from the obvious cast members:
Nate – Dushku, brother/best friend/stylist
Jeff – Pruitt, stunt coordinator on BtVS s3
Dave – Grossman, director for s3e17, Enemies
Michael – Gershman, director for s3e15, Consequences
The fake tattoo dries on her skin, and it feels like an old friend. She
wonders if she can still get away with wearing it off the set. She’s
sure Nate would tease her – he always did, faking jabs and calling her
“Faithy” until she hit him, then took her down with ruthless efficiency.
Until Jeff taught her some moves that actually *worked*. She knelt on
Nate’s chest, still in full makeup after her fight, and grinned while
describing in great and gory detail how she was going to remove his
organs. He finally admitted she was formidable, and she jumped off,
God, she loves her brother. Right now, she misses him – he knows how to
make her up right. Unlike these new people, who obviously think Faith is
another Buffy. Or worse, one of the mini-Buffys.
The new lipstick is neutral, almost invisible, and thick. She misses the
old, a crimson gloss which went on smooth and tasted slightly sweet. A
smile plays around her lips as she remembers wiping it from Sarah’s and
telling her with a smirk it wasn’t her color. She recalls what happened
prior, too: how Sarah had told her right before Dave called “action!” to
play along; how the older woman slipped her tongue into her mouth, and
nibbled along her lips until she couldn’t breathe and the room spun; how
she wanted to throw her down and ride her fingers regardless of the crew
and other cast members about. The kiss was changed to a chaste peck on
the forehead after that, and she was secretly relieved. She’d never
reveal that, though, nor how the taste and feel of the blonde kept her
distracted for the rest of the day and nearly ruined the rest of the shoot.
The shirt is nothing special: something pink (pink?!) and short and
tight but not overly revealing, undoubtedly one of Charisma’s castoffs.
Which is, after all, perfectly in character – what else would Wes bring
but what’s handy, and what would be handier than Cordy’s closet? She
wouldn’t wear it off-camera, and she’s quite sure she doesn’t want to
wear it *on*.
[“Oh, it’s part of the new Faith. And it’s such a pretty color on you.”]
Fucking wardrobe. Makeup said nearly the same about the lipstick.
But the jeans…*god*, yes. They’re black and tight and *so* Faith. It
makes her ache for the leathers, and for a minute she thinks she’s
soaked right through the denim and she almost wishes she hadn’t gone
commando but she hates panty lines and these are *so* tight. She can
hardly breathe, and loves it. Almost as good as the corset they stuffed
her into for the airport scene. She chuckles, wondering when they gave
up looking for it. (So she forgot to take it off after the last shoot in
which she wore it and never returned it. Oops.)
Whoever invented stretch jeans is a genius. They’re just flexible enough
to do a few stunts but still cling to every curve like they’re painted on.
Whoever turned rubber into fetishwear, though…a *god*.
She wishes she had those shiny pants, so thin and tight she could feel
the heat from Nick’s hard-on as she squeezed his neck. She smiles to
herself – would Amber still see him as ‘big brother Nicky’ if she knew
that the tighter she squeezed, the harder he pressed *right* against
her? So hard that she felt every inch of him throbbing, pushing ever so
slightly into her; as deep as the clothing between them would allow. He
popped like a teenager just before Michael wrapped the scene.
When he got up, Nick did his best to avoid her knowing gaze. Just
stammered and rushed off to his trailer where undoubtedly for the next
hours he relived the memory of her thighs gripping his hips, her teeth
on his lips, shooting load upon load into his hand and thinking of her.
(God knows she thought of him that night. She’d felt how big he was and
pictured his cock breaking free, tearing through the thin latex of her
pants, forcing its way into her, as her thumb circled and her fingers
slid in and out and oh. just. *there*. His name was on her lips as she
bit them to stifle her scream when she came, arching up off the bed.)
Completely different from David. When he said he wanted her to wriggle,
the glint in his eye told her what he really meant as much as the
straining erection in his pants. And wriggle she did – after hours, in
his trailer, on him, on her back – until her entire body was limp and
her mind mush.
Oh, yes. Working with David again will be fun. Especially the fight
scenes. She thinks of next week’s script, of his talented mouth latched
onto her pulse point. A current runs down her spine, ending between her
legs with enough of a jolt to make her grab the edge of the dressing
table for support.
Damn. Shame he’s off the market.
She checks herself over once more. Adjusts her breasts ’til she’s
satisfied with the amount of cleavage showing. Slicks on a coat of gloss
– makeup artists be damned, she likes to play up what once got her teased.
With a final toss of her curls, she struts out to the set.