Summary: Willow comes to a realization about the nature of her feelings for Tara.
Rating: M - Mature, explicit sexual content
Setting/background: Sometime around "Goodbye Iowa" before "This Year's Girl"
Notes: Thoughts in italics.
Feedback: Please. Constructive criticism especially appreciated.
Willow and Tara and other characters from the television shows Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel were created and are owned by Joss Whedon.
Willow stared hard into the gold-flecked khaki-green irises in the mirror in the second floor women's showers of Stevenson Hall. They stared hard right back at her, as they always did. With her forefinger, she pulled her right lower lid down to study the liner of her eye socket. It was a lush, pinkish red. Pretty much normal. She frowned with worry, releasing her eyelid to continue to study her reflection. Should I tell Buffy?
Instantly, she vetoed that suggestion, though it was not immediately apparent to her why. Buffy's the Slayer. My being possessed by something Hellmouthy would qualify as up her alley. Not that I want her to slay me or anything. Would kinda put the kibosh on the whole best-friend part of our relationship.
Of course, Buffy wasn't a stake-first-ask-questions-later kind of Slayer, like Faith. Perhaps the only time Buffy had gotten itchy-trigger-finger syndrome with her sacred duty as the Chosen One was a few months ago when Kathy Newman, her first roommate, turned out to be… a demon. Maybe I should talk to Giles first. He did just go through that whole F'yarl thing himself. He could relate…
Aw, that's silly. She only acted that way because Kathy was sucking her soul out, 'cause she needed one, unlike me, who's got one… Even if it's taken a temporary leave of absence lately. Her eyebrows relaxed as her face fell into a sad frown, thinking about the look of pain and anger on Tara's face when the other girl had left her last night, after the hurtful things Willow had said. That probably was the last time we'll ever talk. The thought filled her with an intense sadness. I'm evil. I deserve to have my ass kicked by a Slayer.
As if on cue, the door of the community showers opened, and a robed, still sleepy-eyed Slayer walked in with her shower kit and toothbrush. Buffy yawned. "Hey Will."
"Mornin' Buff." She doesn't look too tough all jammy-clad with a bad case of morning hair, Willow thought, as Buffy pushed Snoopy's nose to start up her toothbrush. Oh, who am I kidding? I can't even last ten seconds with her in a stare contest. Willow gathered her kit and headed for the door.
"Hey, you doing anything today?" Buffy asked, her mouth foamy with toothpaste.
It was Saturday. She and Tara had planned on visiting the campus art museum after having lunch together so that Tara could work on an assignment for her Art History class while Willow kept her company. Obviously, that wouldn't be happening now with their fallout. "No. Was just gonna stay in and read ahead for my English class."
"Well, I'm going driving today with Riley. You wanna come with?"
Normally, Willow would've gladly accepted the chance to spend more time with Buffy, even if it was shared time with Riley. She knew he was a good person in spite of his suspect Initiative connections who would treat her best friend well, even if his personality was a little wooden. But Buffy driving? There are less heart-stopping ways of having the evil scared out of me. "Nah. Good luck though."
"Okay… but why do I need good luck?"
As she dumped her laundry into the hamper, Willow reluctantly admitted the truth to herself. She couldn't approach Buffy or Giles with her problem since doing so would mean revealing the circumstances surrounding her condition—that for the past month and a half, she had been casting spells, some very intense ones, often all night long, with Tara. If Buffy weren't spending every free minute herself with Riley, maybe her roommate would've noticed the number of nights Willow's bed went unused lately. The spells often left both witches exhausted with the amounts of energy they expended, powerless to do anything but crawl into Tara's bed and fall into a deep slumber, their arms loose around each other, as their bodies re-charged.
But, their skills were growing. Their casting had steadily progressed from simple glamours to more complex elemental spells. Most recently, they had tweaked Willow's Tinkerbell guiding light spell, which was now five times more reliable than it had been with Willow basically winging it herself. Before their falling out, the next logical step in their progression to becoming powerful witches would have been more demanding incantations for small supplications to minor deities.
Willow sighed as she pulled out her copy of Paradise Lost and settled into her bed. Of course, she could continue on her own, as she had been doing prior to the awful yet wonderful night locked in the Stevenson laundry room after Tara had sought her out to see if they could work a spell to break the silence brought over Sunnydale by the Gentlemen. But the scenario of continuing her magical education by herself filled Willow with an intense dread.
Yet for some reason, she still wasn't ready to share Tara with the others. It was irrational, since it might actually be helpful for the two of them to practice spells with Giles' supervision. But there seemed to be more to her reluctance to divulge her secret life with Tara. Now, however, she may have no other choice. I really need to talk to Giles if it's as serious as us accidentally summoning something that's possessed me. If it made me treat her the way I did last night, it must be evil. Maybe he can draw it out then Buffy can get all Slayery on it, leaving me with the hard part—apologizing to Tara.
"I-I'm sorry, Willow. I… kind of have other plans for tonight?" Tara looked down, avoiding Willow's gaze. She was slightly jostled by a very tall student rushing past who mumbled an apology before he disappeared in the stream of students pouring out of the large lecture hall where Tara had just had her sociology class. Willow knew it was her only class for the day and had been waiting outside the hall to invite her to get some dinner and maybe try another conjuring spell with Tara's doll's eye crystal.
"Really?" Willow tried to keep her face neutral, her voice light, despite the hot pang that suddenly shot through her. "Why didn't you tell me?" The question came out of her mouth before she could censor herself. There was a little edge in her voice. "What're ya doing?" She couldn't seem to stop herself.
It startled her as much as it did Tara. "Um… I-It's not a-anything special. I-I'd kind of committed to it a w-while ago, you know? Just after w-we met?" Tara looked down again.
"Oh." Another pang shot through her.
"I-It kind of i-involves a different kind of crowd? Um… I-I don't know i-if you'd feel comfortable."
Oh…? Oh. She bit her lip. "This doesn't have anything to do with the other night, does it? 'Cause I thought I explained about that, about Buffy and her friends at the Bronze… I apologized." Her voice had become thick, and she felt flushed and nauseous.
"W-Willow, really. It's not that." Tara led them to the side, away from the entrance of the lecture hall. Tara put her bag down and started to go through it. She pulled out a pink colored paper and gave it to Willow.
It was a flyer. The university LGBTQ student alliance was sponsoring a women's movie night, with a free double feature with two films titled Better than Chocolate—as if, Willow naively thought—and an independent short titled Deep Wells. "Oh."
"I-it's actually the second o-one I'm more i-interested in. M-my art history TA i-invited me—"
"You're going as someone's date?" Willow internally cringed at the accusatory tone in the question, but couldn't stop herself from adding "With your TA? Isn't that kind of unethical of her?"
Some of the students streaming past made rude noises and faces at them. Willow didn't notice, but Tara had, and the blonde's face was now bright pink. "No! N-not as her d-date. Sh-she wrote it a-and acts in it w-w-w-with…" Tara stopped herself, trembling. She hadn't stuttered this badly since first arriving on campus. Willow was glaring… at her? Willow was angry with her… Why was Willow angry with her? "I-it's my TA's movie. She made i-it w-with her partner. She thought I-I'd like to see it, since she made i-it, and, you know, since I-I'm gay?"
Willow's voice hadn't lowered to match Tara's. "And how did the subject of your sexuality come up with your TA?" The hallway had thinned with the majority of the students exiting. It unfortunately made her voice reverberate more loudly, just as Tara's sociology professor exited the hall with two students questioning points on the day's lecture. They looked up at the two witches, overhearing Willow's harsh words.
Tara, so flustered her face was now red, could only smile weakly at the stodgy-looking man as he passed, a look of concern on his bearded face. Tara waited for them to pass before turning back to the fuming redhead. "W-Willow, w-we are not having this conversation. I-I don't know w-what's gotten i-into you or w-why you're acting this w-way, but w-whatever i-it is, get over i-it. Don't talk to me until you do." She picked up her bag and turned, her long skirt twirling, and stormed off, leaving Willow, every muscle in her face still clenched in an ugly scowl, watching after Tara's hastily disappearing back.
If only I'd left it at that. Begged temporary insanity. At least until I figured out what was wrong with me…
She was fairly certain it was some kind of minor possession she was experiencing, due to one of the spells they'd done that had gone awry. Willow was famous for those, after all. She suspected that it probably happened while they were experimenting with the Tinkerbell spell last week. The spell was a revised version of a supplication, and so involved invoking beings from a spiritual plane in order to call the guiding light. Opening a portal in that manner may have allowed one of the malevolent spirits of that realm to slip into theirs. It would naturally have been attracted to the summoner of the spell—Willow. It was about that time that she started feeling different, almost hyper-aware of Tara's presence, super-sensitive to the other witch's proximity, the heat radiated by her body and the smell of her shampoo and soap over her natural scent, as they sat on the single bed under the Christmas string lights in Tara's room. It was like being in the after-glow of an intense spell, but constantly. That was when Willow started to become snippy around the other girl. God, I'm a monster. Tara had been nothing but an absolute sweetheart to Willow since they started hanging out a month ago. She listened to Willow dominate every conversation with stories of her life with her friends, hanging onto every word, no matter how nonsensical or inconsequential. She had offered Willow her grandmother's doll's eye crystal, and had been crestfallen when Willow had refused her generosity. She had graciously forgiven Willow for blowing her off to be with Xander and Buffy at the Bronze the other night, only to have the sheepish redhead show up at her door later that evening when her original plans fell through. I'm such a monster.
Willow looked down at the book in her hands then lay it on her bedside table with a sigh. She had read the same passage several times over and none of it had sunk in, her mind helplessly elsewhere. She closed her eyes, but it wasn't enough. She covered her head with her pillow. Paradise Lost, indeed. If only she'd forced herself to pause, take stock, evaluate the situation reasonably, clinically…
But no. Whatever hellspawn had taken up residence in her had not allowed her any peace on the matter…
By the time she'd resolved to apologize to Tara, explain her theory about her possession and ask her friend's help in finding some way to expel the spirit, it was already late in the evening. Willow still had the movie flyer, had been clutching it in her angry fist when Tara had left her, so she knew where to go. She pulled on her jacket and headed for the student union auditorium.
Willow arrived just after the second feature had begun. It was too late to find Tara in the dimmed auditorium. She was forced into a seat in the last row instead. She scanned the room as the film began, looking for the back of Tara's blonde head in the rows in front of her. Soon, however, her attention was wrested by the low moans coming from the hall's speaker system to the image flickering on the screen at the front of the hall of a sparkly pink thong being slowly pulled off a woman's hips by a pair of darker complexioned feminine hands. The 4:3 frame was already dominated by the hips, but the camera zoomed even further in as the pink lycra inched off the milky plane of skin, revealing a butterfly tattoo flitting just next to a dark patch of short, tight curls of hair. The camera continued advancing, in full macro mode, as its angle was brought slowly downward just as the hands re-entered the frame from either bottom corner of the screen. Willow's eyes widened and her breath hitched. For the next 45 minutes, she was pinned helplessly to her seat, though occasionally managing an uncomfortable squirm.
It was like a gynecological exam. Except without the gynecologist. And two patients. Doing self-exams—on each other. Deep Wells' credits ended and the hall lights were brought back on. So that's how two women… uh, get together. Very, uh, educational...
Her silent review was cut short as the rows emptied of gently laughing or chatting audience members, parting to clear her path of vision to the front of the hall and Tara, in the front row, still seated, chatting with a soft, lopsided smile on her face to a pretty, dark-haired girl who was grinning back at her cheekily, her dark red lipstick still managing to shine luridly in the dim light as she pushed her long hair behind her ear. Willow's demon instantly rose, furious at the sight of Tara's uneven smile in this unfamiliar context. I thought you were going alone. She covered the distance in ten seconds, weaving past the exiting audience in a flustered haze of hurt, anger, and though she didn't fully recognize it for what it was, arousal.
Tara turned in surprise at the familiar voice. "Willow?"
The brunette's left eyebrow raised at Tara. "Willow?" Tara nodded, and her companion gave her a knowing look before turning her appraising glance at the little firecracker of a redhead standing before them, who would be pretty cute if she didn't have a horrible fake grin frozen on her face.
"Who's your friend?" I thought you were coming alone.
"W-Willow… this is Sandra. M-my art history TA? She's taking her MFA in a-art-making…"
"This," Willow said, "is Deep Well?"
"Well, one of them," Sandra said. "I know it was kinda hard to tell, we didn't really get too many shots of my face in, but that's my fault. I told my cameraman to focus on my good side." She extended her hand.
Willow didn't take it.
"Willow!" Tara chastised, shocked.
"S'okay, Tara. I gotta go. Dani and the others are waiting for me." She gestured to the end of the row of seats and a group of four men and women, in their mid to late twenties, who were lingering, obviously waiting on Sandra. One of them, an Asian woman with short, spiky hair that Willow recognized as the other deep well in Sandra's film, was watching on. "Nice meeting you, Willow. Tara, I'll see you in class. We can talk then if you want." Sandra stood to leave. Before she did, she leaned into Tara to whisper in her ear, "You know, for a little straight gal, she really gets all large with the butch."
Tara blushed hotly. She waited for Sandra to rejoin her friends before turning back to Willow. Before she could begin, Willow did.
"So this is what you wanted to do tonight, huh? It's nice to see your scholarship entitles you to free porn screenings every other Friday."
Tara gasped. She looked up at the exit, Sandra and Dani were not looking at them as they passed through the door, though their companions were, so quite obviously Willow's voice had carried. Sandra and Dani were very pointedly not looking at them. That did it. "Willow," Tara managed to get out as tears started to form in her eyes. "I never want to see you again." Tara got up, jostled Willow to the side as the redhead blocked the aisle, and ran for the exit opposite the one used by Sandra and her friends, leaving Willow alone for the second time that day.
I've got to stop thinking about this. What's done is done. I'll just see Giles about it, sit through the lecture about how not ready I am to be messing with the primal forces of the universe, and he'll help me get rid of this thing. Then maybe if I give Tara some time, she'll forgive me eventually for screwing everything up...
It wasn't a very satisfying plan to Willow whose natural temperament made her anxious to fix her mistakes right away, but it would have to do. Willow picked up her reading assignment for her English Lit Survey course and tried again to make some headway into the thick book, to at least get something done on her Saturday off. Soon, she was struggling to stifle her yawns. Reading right after a shower could always put her to sleep, especially when the material was something as infinitely dull and far-fetched as an epic poem about a bunch of fictional demons. Becoming familiar with hundreds of demon species in her Scooby research and even meeting more than a few in her duties as the Slayer's sidekick had unfortunately spoiled Milton's classic work for her. Soon, her eyes closed as the book fell from her hands. She rolled over to her side, and fell asleep.
"Soooo… This sucks, huh?" The angel-formerly-known-as-Lucifer scratched at his right temple, near the ridge where an ebony horn now jutted from his blackened forehead.
Beelzebub picked at a flake of burnt skin from his elbow, in the manner of a child picking at an old scab not quite ready to slough on its own. "Yeah, you can say that, Boss."
"Well, best laid plans and all that…"
Beel looked up at the alpha demon. He hesitated (TAFKAL had a bad temper and didn't take criticism well) before offering, "But see, boss, that's the thing… the Big O—"
"Big O?" Satan immediately looked at their lesser associate Belial, climbing out of the Lake of Fire™ before them, who immediately began to survey the female demons also making their way out of the Pit of Eternal Torment™. Belial caught eyes with Astoreth and immediately headed for the overly fecund fertility demon. Satan shook his head in disgust at his single-minded minions.
"You know, the Big Omniscient, Ubiquitous One, The Omnipotent, etc… Actually, it's the last one that I meant. I mean, damn, Boss, you knew He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named was the Big O before you started this little campaign, so, how well-thought out could these plans you laid have been?" The low growl from Satan's throat stopped his lieutenant short. "Hey, I'm just saying…"
"Never mind that now!" Satan rose to his full height. All traces of his former beauty fell away from his blackened body. He gained a new kind of terrible majesty as his skeletal wings extended behind him. Without a word to mark the passing of his former state of grace, he fully took on the mantle of the King of Hell. "Is this all that is left to me? This foul smelling, black pit far from the light for which I was once named? What can be done? What will we do?" There was a trace of his former sweet voice, belied by his ravaged appearance. "All we have left is revenge! Revenge on that weak reflection of our superior beings mixed with mud our grand Foe newly dotes upon! Man! Only that is left to us! It will be our new mission! Make life on Earth miserable for Man…!"
Satan's ranting gave way to the scowl on Santa's face. It looked like Santa, anyway. Or it possibly was Dr. Zaius instead. He held a briefcase and gave the two witches a disapproving look as he exited the Alexander lecture hall and walked past the alcove where Tara and Willow stood. "Don't be a poophead!" he admonished Willow. To Tara he kindly said, "are you gay, miss?"
"Here." He handed her a pink paper. It was a picture of Tara and Willow holding hands, casting a spell. "It's two for one night," Dr. Zaius winked, a bit inappropriately, Willow thought. He walked off, followed by Cornelius and a Gorilla soldier.
Xander trailed behind them, dressed in a tuxedo. "So, Will. You gonna introduce me to your pretty lady friend?"
Willow realized he was talking about Tara, and jealousy shot through her. It wasn't share time. Not when it came to Tara. "Uh, not right now, Xander. What happened to Anya?"
"Oh, Ahn had a bit of a relapse with the whole vengeance thing. We had a little disagreement about it, so we're just taking a little break, give us both some time to sort things out."
"Another 'break,' huh?" Willow looked down and saw that Xander seemed to have a third leg, dressed as his original two in a tuxedo pant.
"It's not as bad as it looks… Tickles, actually."
"Sorry, Xan, but Tara doesn't like boys. Er… I mean, she's really nice, so I'm sure she wouldn't not like you just because you're a boy, but she wouldn't like like you. So sorry. I'm the one she does spells with."
Xander's eyes virtually bulged out of his head. "Ooo, spells! You do spells together? Can I watch?" Before she could answer, he said, "Uh oh, Will, looks like you're losing her. You should do something." He nodded behind her before receding into the background.
Willow turned back to Tara, who was leaning against the wall, the top few buttons of her blouse undone. A taller girl with long black hair and a smirk on her ruby red lips was leaning into the wall next to her, hovering over Tara. She was playing with the flaps of Tara's collar.
"W-Willow, this is Sandra, m-my girlfriend."
"But Tara," Willow frowned, "Isn't she your TA?"
Sandra leaned into Tara further to whisper something directly into Tara's ear. Tara giggled. It made Willow resentful that Tara was enjoying keeping secrets from her.
"Tara, won't you get in trouble seeing your TA romantically?"
"I-It's alright, Willow. Here." She handed over the flier. At the top of the page were emblazoned the words in bold letters:
THIS IS HOW YOU DO IT
A graphic underneath seemed to be a Xerox™ reproduction of an O'Keefe trumpet flower, but with a painted feminine hand fondling the petals. Willow somehow knew the flower was really Tara's vulva. She felt like crying.
"It's for class," Sandra said. "Educational video."
"Tara, this is so wrong!" Tara looked at her sharply and Willow knew she'd said the wrong thing to her sensitive friend. "That didn't come out right. It's not wrong that you're gay, just… not with her! She's wrong for you! She's bad!"
"See, Red," Sandra had become Faith, "that's your problem. That's always been your problem. How do you get off acting all superior, so goody-goody? You think you're better than me, just because you got a perfect score on your SATs?" Her hand moved over Tara's exposed belly. "You think you're sooo smart, little miss Brainiac-research-gal, gotta do the right thing, gotta think things through, but it's all for show. All you are is afraid. Afraid to feel more than you should, be anything more than B's perfect sidekick, or Xander's gal-pal. Afraid of the responsibility. S'why dogboy left ya, wasn't it? You weren't animal enough for him."
"That's not true… I have a lot of passion," Willow said.
"Uh huh," Faith replied, meaning, yeah, right. "S'all for the best. You wouldn't know what to do with T here. Y'know what they say about the quiet ones? She's a real hellcat in the sack!" The Slayer leaned into her witch. Faith suddenly held a large knife, and trailed the tip from Tara's ear down her cleavage to the third, still fastened button of her shirt.
"Tara, please, get away from her. She'll only hurt you." Willow took Tara's hand. "Buffy! BUFFY!"
Faith laughed but stepped away. Faith was afraid of Buffy.
Willow eyed Faith warily while taking Tara by the hand to lead her the short way down the hall to Tara's dorm room. "Thank goodness I was able to save you! I need to do a spell with you. There's something very wrong with me. I've been possessed, and you have to help me do a spell to figure out what demon's inside me."
Tara stopped walking, making Willow come up abruptly. "This… This isn't right, W-Willow. M-Magic is dangerous. Do you know w-what you're doing? Maybe you should listen to Faith. Or y-you should really talk to Buffy. She's y-your best friend. Or-Or Giles…"
Willow was becoming frustrated. "That's not what Faith said. Faith said I'm a coward, but I'm not. Besides, I know how to do this spell! Buffy's the Slayer. She can't help me with this. Not even Giles can help me with this. I don't need to be taught what to do…"
"A-Are you sure, Willow?" Tara asked. "S-Some of it looked… kind of painful?"
"Are we talking about the spell?"
Tara blushed and smiled shyly. No, not talking about spells. Willow felt her own face reddening. "Please, Tara. Will you help me with the locator spell first? I can't do it without you. There need to be two of us."
"But-But you have been, haven't you?"
"There was just Oz before I met you."
"Are-Are we talking about d-doing spells?"
"Uh… I don't know anymore," Willow said.
Tara's smile widened briefly, and she nodded. "Th-That's all right. W-We can learn together." They sat cross-legged on the floor facing each other. Willow reached out her hands, closing her eyes, and soon the familiar feel of Tara's warm hands filled hers. Willow's thumbs slid across the smooth skin of the back of Tara's hands, her fingers curling around Tara's as Tara's did the same. Willow felt the familiar tingle of a magical exchange between them, when Tara's hands abruptly went cold, but dry.
"Wanna be bad?"
When Willow opened her eyes, she was holding hands with a demon. She eyed it warily, and it leered lewdly back at her.
The demon was her size, petite framed with small breasts, encased in a tight black leather corset, a narrow face with full cheeks, a dimpled nose, shoulder length crimson hair, and large green eyes, though they were hooded in a sneer that matched the smirk that played on its thin, blood red lips.
Willow's eyes were drawn to its lips, so much so that like the camera in Deep Wells, she saw herself unerringly zooming in on those smirking, pouting lips seemingly without a will of her own. The demon pulled her in by their still clasped hands so that their lips were pressed together, gently at first, but then the kiss became more insistent, hungrier and more demanding. The demon opened its mouth, forcing Willow's lips apart, too, and a wet tongue slipped past her teeth into her mouth.
Willow closed her eyes to shield herself from the coyly teasing gaze of demon-Willow. Hiding allowed her to accept the invasion of the monster's cool tongue in her mouth. Hiding made it okay to suck on the thick muscle probing her, so that she gave it up only hesitantly when it began to withdraw. It left her breathless so that when the wet invader at last completely retreated, she was panting hotly into its mouth, her eyes still closed, breathing for the both of them, a sudden warmth between her legs.
"I guess you do," said the demon.
She opened her eyes, still lightly panting. The eyes had turned blue, intense cerulean rings that bore into hers, looking straight into Willow for the most private place within her. She gave it up willingly, happily, even. She realized, in a rush of recognition that filled her with the briefest flash of regret of wasted time before it was washed away in the flood of lust, that she was not disappointed.
"No… Not bad… never bad…" Her gaze lowered, raking across the Roman nose, the lips, full and swollen with their rough kisses, parted and also panting, the pale skin of her throat, the hollow of her collarbone, to the swell of cleavage framed by the flaps of the open blouse Willow had just undone. Beads of perspiration had collected there and Willow, as she had never done before, though she had been curious, dipped down and pressed her parted lips, teeth and tongue against the salty expanse of breast. Their hands were still clasped and Willow raised them above either side of Tara's head, pinning them down, pushing Tara back until they were leaning against the wall in the corridor outside her lecture hall. Her honey-haired witch arched upward at the teasing feel of Willow's mouth on her skin.
Willow came upon the hem of a bra cup and caught it in her teeth. She tugged it down until a sliver of areola became visible. "Mmmm… good. Yes, very good," Tara breathed. Willow released their hands, allowing Tara to curl the fingers of one hand in Willow's auburn locks, the other to grasp the smaller girl at the hip. She pulled Willow firmly into her by the hair, as her other hand sneaked between them. "Very, very good."
"The best," Willow murmured into Tara's breast as her freed hands found Tara's ass and squeezed. Tara whimpered. Willow could feel the heart strongly beating beneath the flesh she was kissing and licking. Her hands began hitching the long skirt up as Tara lifted her right leg to wrap it around Willow's left thigh. Tara was magically without underwear under her skirt and in the shadows of the small space between them Willow thought she could see the briefest glimmer of moisture on Tara's inner thigh. "No demons here."
"Good heavens, Willow! Have you been… casting spells with this young woman without supervision? You know you shouldn't be practicing magic when your mind has been so unfocused! The results could be catastrophic! Do you recall the Spike and Buffy snogging? And the blindness? You surely haven't forgotten about the blindness?"
Giles was gesturing at his eyes to emphasize his point, but it was lost on Willow. She refused to raise her head from Tara's breast, unwilling to risk the possibility doing so would make the beautiful woman writhing above her stop stroking her hair or squeezing Willow's hips between her creamy thighs as she fumbled one-handed between them with the fly of Willow's jeans. "Oh go away, Giles, shoo!" Tara laughed as Willow's growled words rumbled through her breast.
Professor Giles along with his coterie of apprentices, Buffy Summers, Xander Harris, and Anya Jenkins, hurried away from the inappropriateness of the two rutting, spell-worn witches trying to swallow each other whole in the hallway outside his Summoning and Supplication 101 lecture hall. He kept his eyes focused in front of him, Buffy, her eyes down, unlike Xander and Anya, who craned their necks to watch even as they disappeared down the corridor.
As Giles and the others hurried off, Willow let Tara's skirt fall from her fingers in order to undo the rest of the fasteners of her friend's shirt. They were pressed close enough, however, that it did not fall back down its length to the floor but remained bunched between them. She reached underneath Tara's shirt behind the older girl to undo the clasp of the white silk bra. The open blouse framed the narrow strip of Tara's torso and the silk garment hung loose below Tara's full breasts when the clasp gave way. Willow nuzzled her way back down to Tara's left nipple and took it gently between her teeth. It hardened between her lips as she nipped and sucked it.
Tara had at last managed to get Willow's fly undone. The proximity of Tara's hand to her wet center, the varying pressures she had to apply in order to work the fastener down, so aroused her she was making small noises, Tara's nipple still in her mouth. Then Tara took her hand away, lowering her leg in order to tug at Willow's jeans and work them down her thighs along with her damp panties. When Tara couldn't go any further without Willow's cooperation, she asked for it with a single, softly uttered word, "help?" Willow complied quickly, kicking her tennies off and wiggling the rest of the way out of her jeans and underwear. Tara again curled her leg around Willow's bare thigh as one hand reached behind to cup and squeeze the smaller girl's ass as the other reached between them to do something similar with her front.
Tara's hand raking her short auburn curls dipped lower, fingertips began tracing her slit, drawing more moisture from between her swollen lips. Tara gently parted her labia, teased up and down, then ploughed more forcefully between until they found her erect clit and slowly circled, spreading the slick cream around and over the hard nub.
Willow released Tara's nipple and straightened. "Aaaaaaaahh…" Her hands tightened on Tara's shoulders as the older girl left her to bring her hand to her mouth.
"More, Willow," Tara said, her fingers lingering at her lips. Her hand left her mouth just as Willow pressed her lips once more against Tara's.
"Wanna taste you, too," Willow whispered hoarsely as their kiss broke. She lowered herself to her knees, her hands moving to the buttons at the waist of Tara's skirt. She quickly undid them. The skirt fell and puddled at Tara's feet. Gently, Willow lifted each of Tara's booted feet and removed the garment so her beautiful witch wouldn't fall if she had to lower herself when her knees went weak, something Willow was determined to make happen. She lifted the leg that Tara had wrapped around her thigh to her shoulder, planted small kisses along the smooth inner plane of creamy skin before turning her head the few inches to her girl's warm, wet sex.
Willow wanted to take her time, do it right, make Tara feel good, loved, sexy, wanted, because she was. She hadn't done this before, and didn't know if Tara had or not. The hot flare of possessive envy that filled her was quickly eased by the resolution that it didn't matter. Willow was a natural overachiever. Pleasing Tara would be something she would become so expert at, no one before her would compare. All it would take was the desire, which Willow had in spades, and some practice—again, not a problem for studious Willow.
Tara's panting moans filled her ears as the blonde's scent filled her nostrils. Willow's own mouth and cunt flooded. She could feel the heat generated by Tara's excitement as she nuzzled through the triangular patch of honey-brown hair covering Tara's sex. Without any hesitation, she placed her mouth on Tara's soft, most intimate place, and began.
Willow woke just before she came. Her mouth, nipples, and sex ached as surely as if she really had spent hours kissing, nipping, fingering and sucking at Tara, their breasts rubbing and sliding against each other's sweat-slicked bodies, Tara's face and fingers buried between her own trembling thighs. Her t-shirt clung to her torso, her nipples so erect they hurt as the damp cotton clung to them. Her shorts were likewise damp, though not from perspiration. The bed sheets were bunched up underneath her. She had apparently pulled the elastic gathers of the fitted sheet from the corners of her mattress in her sleep. She looked about her, her body still humming, as she regained her bearings. "No… no demon. Not possessed." Just incredibly horny... for Tara.
"Why the pale purple nipples? Did you forget your red pencil?"
Willow hesitantly sat next to Tara on the bench facing the painting. She left a good two feet between herself and the other girl.
Tara kept her eyes on the sketchpad on her lap, the point of her lavender pencil suspended above the tip of the breast she had been sketching, copying from the Delacroix oil hanging on the wall before them as part of her art history class assignment.
The silence became awkward. Willow shifted her weight, leaned an inch closer to Tara. "I kind of like 'em… They're kind of like, Elizabeth Taylor's eyes. Unusual. Or, uh, unique?"
More silence. "I, uh, emailed Sandra, and apologized. Her… girlfriend? She wasn't in the university directory, so I guess she's not a grad student here. I wrote her a note, too, and just attached it to the email I sent Sandra." Willow paused, licking her lips. It had taken her fifteen precious minutes to find Sandra's email address from the university directory, type the apology and send it after she'd woken from her impromptu nap/wet dream. But she had felt it had been absolutely necessary to do so before throwing on street clothes and practically running the half mile to the museum to find Tara.
Tara still hadn't looked at her. But she hasn't told me to go to hell, so I'm doing okay so far. She decided to push her luck, and reached for Tara's free hand.
Tara quickly pulled her hand away, upsetting the colored pencils between them on the bench. They scattered over the white tiled floor. Willow quickly got down on her knees to retrieve them, Tara remaining seated on the bench.
Willow carefully placed the pencils back on the bench but frowned as she did so. "Sorry." She winced. "The red one broke."
"That wasn't you. It broke earlier." Tara finally looked at her, and gestured to her sketchpad and the lavender-nippled Lady Liberty.
Willow swallowed. "Well, there are a few other things that I really do need to apologize for, so while I'm down here, in proper groveling position…" She settled herself fully on her knees before Tara. "I've been such a jerk the past few days, Tara. I'm sorry. For being the biggest jerk in the city of Jerkville. Heck, I am the Mayor Jerk of said metropolis." Still here, not with the running and saying she never wants to see me again. Okay, easy now. "I've been acting like a possessive fool when you have every right to have friends of your own and a life of your own." She cleared her throat, swallowing the pang of envy down before it could stop her. "In fact, you deserve the best of those things. And a girlfriend who's beautiful, and kind, and sweet, and generous, like you." Not like me. "Someone who will totally fawn over you and fall all over themselves to treat you the way you deserve, like the sexy goddess you are…" Did I say that last part out loud?
"My point is," Willow continued hurriedly, "I've been a horrible, horrible friend this week. And I've been aware of it, but it was like I couldn't stop myself. It was so bad, I even thought I was possessed by some kind of evil demon succubus or something…"
"S-succubus? Th-That's a lust demon."
Again, Willow bulled her way forward. "Or something. But of course that wasn't it. It wasn't any evil mojo… other than me. It was all me, with the rudeness and the insane jealousy and the jerkhood…"
"W-Why would you be jealous?"
"You said you w-were jealous. Of what?"
Willow leaned back, flustered at the sudden inconvenience of her friend's superior listening skills and super-sensitive ears. Cute ears that stick out a little when she has her hair tucked behind them like that, ears I would very much like to nibble… Okay. Focus, Rosenberg. She sighed. What did she have to lose? She'd pretty much blown everything last night and lost all that had made her happy since Oz had left. Every ache that had healed since he'd betrayed and left her—even some that had gotten better than before—had done so because of the slightly frowning, still seething, but possibly—hopefully—calming girl in front of her. Here was an opportunity to perhaps get it back, or, if she were brave enough, maybe even more. "I'm jealous of anything and anyone who takes you away from me, Tara. I've, uh, realized that I'm kinda gay, and I, uh, think I want to be kinda gay with you."
"Oh," Tara said, still frowning. She had a steel trap mind but had always been more of an instinctual, rather than logical, thinker. It took a moment for Willow's admission to register. "Oh!" She was still frowning, however.
"Take your time with it," Willow climbed to her feet. "I'd even be happy with just being friends again." She sat back down on the bench.
Tara's frown deepened at that. "Really?"
Willow paused. "No. Not really. But believe me, I'm an old pro at being rejected and dealing. I'll live if you say no." She held out her hand to Tara. "Okay?"
Tara took it. "It is. For now."
Holding hands with a girl you've realized you have a crush on is a sublime experience. Maybe not sublime in the speculative philosophy sense of experiencing the divine and being awestruck with the enormity of the revelation, though I guess logically it depends on how much you idealize her as a heavenly being herself. My girl, my angel, my goddess… I know it's too soon for any of that. I really need to get beyond just holding her hand before I can call her my own personal Venus…
At least, though, it's sublime in the heady feeling you get when you wanting her is recognized and, if not validated, then at least acknowledged as having even a slim possibility of being not completely out of the realm of the sane, and your soul just soars. But it's also the sudden humbling recognition of the truth that you and your emotions are very, very small, while the real world outside, where the girl lives along with all the other objects and people in the world, perfectly fine oblivious of you and you wanting her, is just… ginormous. It's like you have this interdimensional cocoon your want has made, separate but in the middle of things and you invite her in by offering her your hand. When she actually takes it, you're suddenly outside yourself with wonder and hope and anxiety, so then, you're everywhere, but nowhere, all at once, simultaneously.
The girl in question was holding my hand, which I was very self-consciously aware was damp and clammy and not very awe-inspiring on my part. I had just run a half mile in my anxiousness to find her, and hello, computer nerd here—my people are not known for our natural athletic abilities. Between the sudden exertion and the freaking huge rabid rodent bats trying to bore an exit through my stomach lining, I was feeling not a little queasy. To be honest, though, I think I would've run ten miles just to be in this very position, sitting on this bench in the middle of a public museum, with her holding my sweaty hand in her cool one. See, my finding her was necessary, having for the span of a day lost her, solely through my propensity to act stupid around her without even trying.
I want to do so much more than just hold her hand. But right now, just that simple act alone is almost enough to make me pass out.
When exactly did I start feeling this way for her? I mean, sure, when casting a spell together, there's often the warm tinglies of the magic passing from her to me and back again, and the initial endorphin rush when the spell is successful. Doing spells with her often got really intimate. But this wasn't that, though maybe that was the knock on the door to what I'm feeling now. And maybe knowing that she liked girls pushed me to crack open that door a bit, just to peek in? Then wham! Next thing I know, I'm kicking down the door and making myself at home on her gay couch in front of her gay television, looking through her gay bathroom cabinet, rummaging through her gay refrigerator. Hey, Tara! Guess what? I think I'm kinda gay!
But am I really? I mean, there was Oz, and before him, I wanted Xander. I still love them both, of course in different ways. I mean, Xander, he's like a brother to me now, so ick, but then… and Oz… my first, in so many ways, even if he hurt me so bad it could make me… swear off guys.
That can't be it, can it? Do I want Tara because she's… safe? I gotta admit, my luck in Boystown? Not great so far. My first boyfriend was a killer demon robot. Oz cheated on me, almost ate me, then just left town without a word. Xander was clueless all those years up until our big formal wear fluke. I just don't get guys sometimes, and it sure seems the same in reverse. Spike couldn't bite me for the uh, unlife of him. For a very, very smart man, Giles can be so clueless sometimes, like Dad—
Oh God. How the frilly heck am I going to explain this to Mom and Dad?
I should talk to Buffy. Nononono! Buffy will freak. I can't tell Buffy. Buffy doesn't know the first thing about liking girls…
Okay, okay, so the talk with the Buffster will have to wait. I should start with someone who won't freak, or wipe their glasses and lecture me about doing spells. Someone who'll listen calmly and give me sane advice.
That automatically rules out Mom. Maybe Mrs. Summers? Should I impose on her like that? I could call Aunt Debbie or 'her good friend' Carolyn, if I knew them a little better… Or the campus counselor. But I don't want to talk to a stranger…
There's no way in any of the innumerable hell dimensions this is easier than liking boys.
Hey, waitaminute… I'm research gal! The research gal. I can figure it out on my own. But, uh, later. I've got better things to do right now.
She's beautiful. I can stare at her all day long. Except she might think that's creepy.
So, okay. I like girls now. I seem to have a talent for putting myself in the company of a lot of pretty ones, some even beautiful ones, so yay on gay me! I guess I'm an overachiever at this, too… Except I don't know if I could like like them, much less adore them. I mean, Buffy? See above, Xander, brother, except, Buffy, sister. So, no. Not even a little. Cordelia? God, no. The words "high maintenance" mean anything? Faith? Well, there's the whole psychotic bitch thing working against her, though she did look good in those leather pants… Uh, I didn't just think that. Anya? Oh my God, no. Xander's short attention span can be a blessing, in the right situation.
Besides, none of them are Tara.
How come she's not with someone already? She's so sweet and patient. She really listens and seems honestly interested in me. She's smart and creative and a powerful witch. And she's gorgeous. When she smiles, I feel so good inside, too. When I'm the one making her smile, oh my God, I'm in heaven… And that voice. I can imagine her purring in my ear in the morning, telling me to get up for class or to wake me from a bad frog dream, her warmth and scent surrounding me, her breasts pressed against my back, her arm around my waist, her front to my behind, her legs wrapped around mine…
Omigod. I'm having morning-after spooning fantasies about her. I am so out of control.
I think I'm Tarasexual.
What if she doesn't want me back? Ohgodohgodohgod. I need to talk to someone. Someone who can relate to pretty girl rejection… Xander—!
"Willow," Tara was saying softly.
I had totally spazzed and zoned out on her. The girl, literally, of my dreams. "Huh?" I said. Smooth, Rosenberg! Had I been drooling?
She's trying to take her hand back. Why? She's shaking her head… Please, Tara, stop frowning. I'm sorry I was such a dummy. I'm sorry I made you feel this way. Pleasepleaseplease, Tara, stop looking like that.
"It's not going to w-work like this."
My heart sank. I let go her hand and she put her sketch pad to the side while I started fidgeting with the pencils I had been holding for her in my suddenly nervous hands. I put them down and started fidgeting with my fingers instead.
"I need to know something…"
My throat was dry and I could barely speak. "Uh, what about?"
"W-Willow, you hurt me really bad. Y-you as much as said I-I'd play on my being gay to get ahead with my classes."
"You have to believe me, Tara, that was so not what I meant! I only wanted to protect you…"
"Y-you assumed I can drop everything I'm doing, just because you w-want me to."
"I know, I've been very selfish…"
"Y-You insulted someone who w-was only trying to be nice to me."
"I'll find her, apologize to her in person."
"A-and you as much as-as outed me to my sociology professor."
"Er, I don't know how I'm going to fix that one."
"Now you-you tell me it's all because… you've got a crush o-on me?"
"Um… yeah?" She looked absolutely thrown for a loss. "Er… I know it was pretty presumptuous of me to just assume you would be available once I finally admitted that this was what I was feeling. Or that you would even have any interest in me if you were. I mean, look at you, all with the hotness. You probably have a girlfriend already. I just haven't been a good enough friend for you to feel comfortable enough to tell me. I could see that. She's probably beautiful and completely sane without any issues. While me, total geek, plus I've been a lousy friend and I'd be lucky for us to just be friends again, so… okay?" I took a breath, holding it.
She shook her head. "I-It's not enough."
My hopes deflated with my breath. The dread came up. It felt stronger than the awe just then. Much stronger. I felt like I was going to be sick. "I know, Tara, it's totally not enough. But I swear, I'll do whatever I have to to fix things, make them the way they were before."
"That's not w-w-what I-I…" She stopped herself, frustrated. I bit my lip to keep myself from jumping in and trying to finish her sentence for her in my eagerness to make her understand. She can so be insecure girl sometimes. I hate to hear her stutter—well, not hate meaning I don't like her voice. I so do. Tara can make a swear word sound like a song. Not that I've ever heard her swear. She doesn't like to talk about it, but I think she must've come from a pretty strict home. I wonder how they handled her being gay… Uh, Tara's speaking again. Shut up, dummy. "I mean… I w-want more, too, maybe?"
Huh? "Huh?" I couldn't have heard right.
She took my hand. I'm sure it felt like a cold dead fish in her hands, 'cause that's what the thing at the end of my wrist felt like to me.
"But… I-I thought you w-were straight. W-What about Oz? W-When he comes back?"
"Oz?" That made me pause. I'd almost forgotten I'd talked Tara's cute little ears off moaning and crying over Oz weeks after he'd left me. This was after Xander and Buffy and Giles had had enough and couldn't stand to be around me and I'd accidentally cast the my-will-be-done spell to cap off my self-pity party. But I couldn't not be honest with her. She had a point. What would I do if Oz were to come back now? I honestly don't know. The truth was, I hadn't thought about Oz for some time. Most of that, I know, had to do with the girl sitting next to me, holding my one hand in the two of hers. It was starting to tingle, no longer cold and dead. She had brought it back to life, just like the rest of me. "I don't know if Oz is ever coming back. To be honest, I really don't know what I would do if he did. But I can't keep waiting indefinitely, can I?"
She seemed conflicted. She struggled a few short moments, biting her bottom lip, before her face finally fell. She let my hand go before raising hers, I thought (I prayed) to cup my cheek, but no, she lifted it to feel my forehead instead. "A-Are you feeling okay? M-Maybe something has gotten in-into you."
I captured her hand in my own and looked her straight in the eye. "There's nothing in me that needs to be chased away, Tara. I know this is very sudden for you. But no less so for me. It's all so confusing. And scary. I don't know if what I'm feeling makes me gay. All I do know is that I am having feelings. Very strong feelings. We're talking freakishly gorilla-strength feelings. For you. And I know there's no mistaking the fact that you're a woman, and technically, I am too, even if I have the build of a fifteen year old boy—"
I wasn't expecting her to shut me up by squeezing my cheeks with her free hand. She let go quick, though, un-puckering my lips. "I take back w-what I asked you earlier, a-about you being straight? I'm the last person to ask you to justify yourself, Willow. If you're gay now, you're gay now."
My heart soared like an eagle.
Then plummeted like a… a flightless bird. Like a big, big defenestrated chicken.
"I guess I'm not sure w-what this all means…" She withdrew her hand and cleared her throat, looking… embarrassed? "For us? W-What does this mean to me? Are you l-looking for a mentor? Because I don't think I can be that for you. I'm not all knowledge-woman about being gay, just because I l-like girls."
Oh. I hadn't foreseen this. Didn't she get it? Didn't she understand that I had a major jones-on for her? Not for just any woman. Only her. "That is so not what I want, Tara. Unless by mentoring you mean providing hands-on training on the ways of Sapphic love!" I Groucho'd my eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood.
The deer-in-headlights look she gave me was really not what I was hoping for.
"Sorry, Tara." I said, truly contrite. "I mean, as much as the thought of you disciplining me on the subject seems oddly appealing, I really wasn't looking to make our friendship into some kind of educational experience. I was kinda just hoping you'd, like, want to go out with me sometime. Not to do spells. Not to study or go to a lecture. But maybe see a movie, or have dinner. And to talk? About anything and everything, not just the, uh, gay thing. And… hold your hand. And… maybe more, if you end up, like, like liking me? 'Cause I know I like like you, you know? But if you don't like like me, I would still want to be friends, anyway. I mean we've still got the Wicca thing going—at least I hope we still do. 'Cause the magic… it didn't start out with all these darn confusing lusty feelings. But maybe I threw it all out of whack dumping this on you and now it'll be too awkward and we'll never be able to go back to just that… Oh God, I hope not. I mean, I hope you do, but if you don't, I hope being friends is still an option? I guess I'm not making much sense. Besides, you haven't even told me if you've got someone already and maybe I'm babbling on for nothing so I should just stop now."
"No. There's no one."
Apparently she was waiting, too, because then neither of us said anything.
Then it suddenly dawned on me. Strange as it seemed, this beautiful girl needed reassurance as much as I did. And maybe a little prodding. "So… would you like to, uh… with me, that is…?" Our faces were inches away from each other. I could smell her vanilla soap and the heat rose in me again. The scent reminded me of waking up in her bed, after an innocent night of casting spells. It made me wonder how it would be to wake up in her bed after a night of doing other things, not so innocent. With less clothes on. In fact, some downright naughty things, with absolutely no clothes on. Or maybe just an accessory or two. Uh, guess that really ought to come later, after I get the basics down—if she'll have me. Oh, please have me. Oh! And what does vanilla soap taste like?
"I-I've… um, thought about it?"
"You have?" I reached out and found her hand with minimal groping while my eyes never left hers. My heart was beating furiously.
Tara nodded, turning her eyes down, though her fingers curled around my palm. She smiled shyly. Did I mention what her smile does to me? Oh God, I was going to melt. "There may have even been a dream or two…"
"Really?" My relief was almost physical. "Me too! In fact, just before I came over... uh, so to speak." I squeezed her hand, feeling absolutely euphoric and literally giddy with her validation. "I think it's what pushed me into finally admitting what I'm feeling." I know I was grinning like an idiot.
"W-Why don't w-we get some coffee?" She squeezed my hand back and smiled again. At me. For me.
YES! "Yes!" We let go briefly while she got her things together but as soon as her hand was available, I claimed it again in mine. "So…you've had sex dreams about me, huh?"
"Hm?" Her eyebrows scrunched up, cutely. "Oh! Uh, Willow, I mean daydreams. I've daydreamed about you?"
"Oh? Oh!" Think fast, you perv! Well, technically, I had the dream in the daytime, and that whole spooning thing just a few minutes ago… "Me too. I, uh, yeah. Me too."
Tara giggled. "Don't worry, Willow. I've had those kind, too." She grinned teasingly and gave my hand another little squeeze.
Ooooh, yeah. All is right in the world.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that having your feelings validated by the girl you want by her interlacing her fingers with yours, pressing your palms together, feeling the heat of her through her narrow handspan, her strength in her long digits, her beauty in the softness of her fingertips, can be as awesome as being struck dumb by catching the briefest glimpse at the face of God. It doesn't always come from staring at mountains or hermitting yourself in the woods. Sometimes it comes just from your girl holding your hand.
|< Précédent||Suivant >|