Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS or any associated characters or settings. I simply like to write naughty things about them.

Rating: NC-17

Summary: It's short, so not much point. Power-play/Mild D/s warning.

Authors note: I wasn't sleeping, and this idea wouldn't let me alone till I wrote it down. No promises for coherence.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~





She is holding you, right at the edge of the precipice, and she will not let you fall.


No matter how much you beg.


Her hands are doing indescribable things, driving animal grunts from deep inside your chest. You cannot see her, but you do not need to. You know how she will look, right now, her hair dampened with the sweat of passion, her eyes darkened to indigo with intent and focus. You know her skin is flushed, its normal pale tone ruddied with effort. You could paint her from memory, every line and curve burned into your memory in strokes of ocher and cream, heat and the icy control you still cannot fathom.




The first time she did this, you were unable to believe it, much less understand.


You were obsessed with some school problem, what you can't even remember now, but your inability to find the solution was driving your temper high enough to match the stereotype you had hated all your life. She was the only one who ever saw that temper in you, the only one you trusted to not make some sarcastic comment about natural redheads.


Somewhere deep down you also thought she would forgive you anything, and so you did not worry about snapping at her when she interrupted your train of thought.


You learned a lot about her that day.


She took away your books, closing them with a precision that bordered on grace. Your protests were met with silence, even her eyes avoiding yours until your books, your binder and your pens were neatly stowed in your backpack, the bag itself closed and moved to its place by the desk.


Only then did she turn to you, and the look in her eyes stole the breath away from the tirade you were building. They burned with something less than anger, but more than passion, and one glance from them filled you with confusion and a sneaking spark of desire. She crossed the few paces between you and leaned down to slide gentle hands into yours. With firm pressure, she drew you to your feet, and kissed you.


Of course, kiss was a mild, inadequate word for what her lips and teeth and tongue did to yours in that moment.


You had always loved her lips, the soft fullness, but it was not until that day that you tasted the steel beneath the velvet. She did not merely kiss you – she took your mouth with hers, each motion an assertion, a demand, a claim. She swallowed the moan you could not suppress, and with it your will. All you could do in the moment was surrender.


It was obvious that she felt it. She drew back, and before a question could take shape on your tongue, she pressed one slim finger to your lips, and shook her head. You simply stood there, stunned, as she undressed you, and when she grasped your shoulders and turned you toward the bed, you moved as she guided you.


You found yourself on your back, the cotton sheets cool under your bare skin as her clothed form hovered over you. Your hands she cradled in her own, and with an inexorable surety, clasped them on the plain oak headboard. Her voice was low and steady as her eyes seared into yours.


“Keep your hands there. If you move them, I'll stop.”


She waited for some response. You opened your mouth to speak, to question, only to find your mouth gone dry, your tongue parched with nervous anticipation. Lips closing of their own accord, you swallowed convulsively, and simply nodded.


If this were a story, you would remember every thing she did to you that afternoon. You would replay every caress, every lick and bite and trail of fingernails on skin through your memory, savoring each gasp and sigh and rock of your hips. But this is memory, not ink and wood-pulp, so what you remember is how you felt.


You remember the rush of feelings. Desire, thick on your skin like syrup, delicious and weighing down your limbs. The way some of her touches were light enough to almost tickle, and others felt deep enough to draw your bones through your flesh. You know she used her hands, lips, teeth, and that glorious tongue, but you could not say you know exactly when she bit you, or where she licked, or of it was her fingers or her lips that pulled your nipple hard enough to make you cry out. The tingling excitement of not knowing what came next, the savory edge brought by a hint of fear.


The sounds stay in your mind. The soft shushing of her clothes against the sheets as she moved over and around you, the creak and whine of the bed as shifting weight stretched the springs. The muffled pop as she pulled away from suckled skin. And through and over it all, your own cries, from needy whimpers to groans pulled from the deepest recesses of your soul.


You do remember watching her head dip between your legs, for you had waited and waited for that. You had begged for it more than once, and she had only smiled and said, “Not yet.” So you have a very clear picture of her finally nibbling her way down your breasts and belly, lingering over the streaks from her fingernails, probing with her tongue at the rising marks of her suckling. You remember holding your breath, willing her, begging her silently to please taste you, to finally let you come.


And she did begin to taste you, licking in long slow strokes, ignoring the jerk of your hips as you tried to get her tongue where you needed it most. She was teasing still, driving you mad with the deliberation of her movements, when you made the mistake.


You stretched your fingers from their grip on the headboard, and brought your hand down to slide it into her hair.


She stopped.


Silent again, she moved up to look into your eyes. A smile that balanced between sadness and wry commiseration, and she cupped your cheek in one damp palm. She kissed you, softly, the steel gone as if it had never existed, and got up.


That, you remember very clearly. She rose from the bed, casually went to the sink, washed her hands and face, and proceeded to make herself comfortable in the easy chair. Incredulous, you watched her pick up her notebook and another sheaf of papers, and begin to study.


When you questioned her in shock and rising anger, she merely raised one eyebrow and calmly answered, “I said that if you moved your hands, I would stop. I meant it.” She refused to say more on the subject, no matter how much you nudged and asked and demanded answers. You fumed for a while, before finally settling back into your own work.


When she left that evening for a seminar, you packed away your school things and retired back to the bed. Your own hands roamed your body for the first time since she had become yours, and you hers. It felt naughty, furtive, this taking for yourself pleasure she had denied you. And you did take pleasure in your own touch, and you did finally tip over the edge into climax.


It wasn't enough. It was empty, devoid of the languorous afterglow that you had become accustomed to. Images from that afternoon kept running through your mind, and the pleasure you had given yourself was insignificant in comparison to the need that her actions had awakened.


You turned it over in your mind, trying to think your way through it. Nothing that had happened fit with anything you understood about her, about the relationship between you. You had always been the, for lack of a better term, dominant partner. She had been so shy when you met, so very unsure of herself. You had groomed her, gently brought her into your world, your circle of friends. You had been strong for and with her, building yourself into a bulwark to shield her from the world.


And then, that afternoon she had shown you a part of her that you hadn't known existed. A strong, unyielding, confident woman that took what she wanted on her own terms, knowing that it was offered freely. Yet when those terms were violated, she simply stopped, and the steel retreated back beneath the velvet, undetectable.


You fell asleep still mulling it over, before she returned that night.


The rest of that week went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The two of you went on patrol with Buffy, to the bronze with Xander and Anya, pored over musty texts at Giles' apartment. Still she would not speak of it, only smiling slightly and shaking her head whenever you brought it up. Your lovemaking was normal, well, normal for the two of you, with all its tender passion and unquenched urgency.


You finally pushed it to the back of your mind out of sheer frustration. You weren't getting any answers, and probing it inside your own mind wasn't getting you any closer to understanding. So you shrugged it off as a weird mood, maybe something hormonal that had taken her with a wild impulse and faded away.




This rushes through your mind as you rock on your knees, your hands clenched tight on the edge of the low stone wall before you. She is driving into you, her fingers fluttering deep within, just enough to make you wild. The slick sounds of her hand delving into you make a primal harmony with your guttural moans and her harsh breathing above you. You can feel the shift and slide of her, the raw need rising within, and you struggle to just hold on.




It was weeks later that you finally began to understand. Again, you had snapped in frustration. This time it wasn't at her, but at Xander, when he questioned the safety of a spell you suggested. She quietly gathered her bag and yours, told the gang that the two of you were calling it a night, and led you, again in silence, back to the dorm.


You hadn't balked. Her eyes had pierced you once more with that mixture of power and control, and you found yourself too aroused to even think of objecting. When she brought you through the dorm, into that space you now shared, she again undressed you in silence. Again, she lay you back upon cool sheets, and guided your hands to the headboard.


This time, you did not let go.


You writhed under her as she touched and teased. Her hands and mouth drew rivers of sensation from your body, and you gave them to her gladly. Your back arching, sobbing whimpers erupting from your throat, you almost dropped your arms a few times, nearly forgot her one instruction. And then the memory of her leaving you, naked and wanting, would rise behind your eyes, and you would clamp your hands harder, seeking to drive your fingers into the oak.


When she finally let you come, when her tongue danced across your clit and flung you into orgasm, you found yourself weeping, unbridled emotion streaming from your eyes and gasped out in heaving cries. She held you then, gently loosening your fingers from their grip, bringing your arms up around her neck. You clung there, wracked with emotion you had not known you were suppressing, wailing it into her shoulder, into the only person you now knew was strong enough to take it.


As you began to calm, she whispered to you, soothing words at first. Then came the beginnings of an explanation. “You're trying to control too much, sweetie. It's not good for you. It's killing you, and if you keep it up, it's going to kill our relationship.” She gently rubbed your cheek with her thumb, smoothing away a few stray tears that had trickled onto your cheek. “I'm not going to let that happen. You have to learn the difference between controlling yourself, and controlling everything and everyone else.”


It hit you like a sucker punch, the way you had been trying to control every situation since Oz left. Countless scenes flashed through your mind in which you had tried to impose yourself on people or events around you, building walls and patterns to keep your heart safe. Even her. You had even tried to mold her into someone who would never, could never hurt you by moving outside your expectations.


Your sobs began again, this time interspersed with abject, fearful apologies. She held you, and rocked you, and comforted you, and finally you fell asleep in her arms, wrapped in her forgiveness and the trust that she would keep you safe from yourself.




You are biting your lip to keep from screaming into the night. Your jeans are bunched around your ankles, your knees spread as wide as they can be with the denim restricting you. The grass tickles your legs as you move for her, the cool air of midnight brushes tiny shivers over your exposed ass as she takes everything you are and gives it back to you, renewed. Her every thrust, every slip of fingers over engorged nerves brings you back to who you are, who you need to be, for her, for yourself. Her voice, low and breathy, reminds you of just how close you came to crossing the line again.


Somehow, she feels it when the lesson has taken, and her touch takes on a new urgency. Her fingers curl inside you, now, dragging across the place she has been only teasing until now. Her thumb presses into your clit, rubbing in circles with each thrust. You can feel the wave rising, the tension that has coiled low in your belly intensifying. Your fingers tighten even further, and the scrape of your skin on the stone is the last thing you feel before climax flashes over you, and you scream her name into the darkness.


You are barely conscious as she gently withdraws her hand from your body. Carefully, slowly, she moves you, fastening your clothes before sitting down on the grass, and drawing your trembling body into her lap. Rocking slowly, she cradles you against her, and murmurs into your hair, “I love you, Willow.”


Tara is holding you, keeping you safe from yourself, and she will never let you fall.


Not even if you beg.

Wow. I am...blown away. Hot and beautiful.

Really amazing.

I want to leave really awesome feedback and say how I could totally see their characters in this and how true and believeable it was and just how well it was written, but I'm still just blown away.

You've made my day (hell, my week) with this.

God bless insomnia.

_________________
Amber Benson killed me once.

Check out my finished fics

Love, The Series … Two For Joy/21+/Joy To The World … Inevitable/Infinitely …

Confidential Eternal … A Twisted Date … Dachsund Through The Snow

Oh. My. God.

When I saw 'One-shot NC-17', I just thought: "Nice, another PWP." But it turned out to be so much more! Seriously, this is awesome...
Do you write very often? Cause you're obviously really good at it.

Congratulations again.

_________________
Less killy, more frilly

Very nice, well nice isn't exactly the right word and deep wouldn't cover it either.

While using Willow and Tara as the focal point this can speak on so many other levels. Control and who has it, when it should be given up and when it could with out harm to that person. I also like that it wasn't about who was tying who up or being spanked. It was more gentle than that, just a simple power exchange that didn't necessarily define the whole relationship but gave it more dimension.

Or who knows, maybe I am reading way more into this than you intended, I've had a lot of free time on my hands recently.

I like this piece and I agree you should consider writing others.

_________________
Heather aka vampyregurl73 aka Riverwillows73

My stories:
"Dry Heat – In Progress (still)" "Penny Arcade - Completed"

My Fic Challenge entries:
"Fireworks" "Promise" "I Did What Last Night?"

Wow, that is not at all what I was expecting. You brought that to a visceral and beautiful place.

_________________
Wave ... The Wish of Three Hearts
The Yuletide Present ... In From the Cold

"We're in love. We're lovers. We're lesbian, gay-type lovers."

Hmmm makes me wonder what was going on the day before....Great one shot.

_________________
Atlantic Antics Meeting Expectations
Learning to Laugh What I Discovered at Band Camp

AMAZING!!!
you have a talent for reaching into the soul of a matter and drawing it out into the light. this touched me very deeply. well done my friend, well done.

_________________
Life is created from the imagination. Never let your imagination die.
Darkest Desires
The True Nature of Soulmates
Scarlet Black

Laragh:



This is pretty awesome feedback!

I have never written anything in second person perspective before, and I was nervous as hell about it. So getting this as my first feedback was great! Thank you so much!


Mrs. Pineapple:



I had to put the NC-17 on it, because it really is quite adult subject matter, but i am so glad that it came across as something more than a PWP.

I am a fairly new writer. This is my second one-shot, and I have my first fic still in progress here on Pens. I am learning as I go, as, i think, most writers do. I appreciate the praise!


vampyregurl73:

is

This. Exactly this is the point.



A lot of people blur the lines between domination/submission and sado-masochism. While they are often combined in people and relationships, they are not the same thing at all.

And sometimes, power-play is about kink, pure fun - but sometimes it is about deeper needs, stronger tides of being, and I wanted to open a window onto that. In my head, of course, this is a way to pre-empt the asinine behavior written for Willow during season six, but it speaks to less tangible parts of who we all are as well, I think.


Not at all! In fact, I appreciate you investing your time and thought into the meaning behind the story itself!


LonelyTara:



Oh goody! I do love surprising people. Thank you for the kind words...to be thought of as a visceral writer is to me a huge compliment!


taranwillow4ever:



In my life, or those of the characters? *smirk*


sapphoselene:



I am so glad....and my ego and I thank you for the kind words!


All of you who responded, thank you. I was extremely nervous about this piece - writing in second person is really easy to screw up badly, and the format and subject matter aren't exactly the most mainstream either. In many ways this was pure experiment for me, and so the gracious response you have given me really put a lot of fear to rest. Thank you all, really

Morrigan, it was definitely meant as a compliment. Could you post a link to your other one-shot?

_________________
Wave ... The Wish of Three Hearts
The Yuletide Present ... In From the Cold

"We're in love. We're lovers. We're lesbian, gay-type lovers."

Wow, this made me de-lurk to comment. Oh my wordy-lordy, wow.

I don't often see d/s stuff that gets it y'know? That it's not about whips and paddles, but about power.

Looking forward to that link... please?

_________________
"Normal is not something to aspire to, it's something to get away from." - Jodie Foster

LonelyTara:
[url]
http://thekittenboard.com/board/viewtopic.php?t=5849
[/url]

Linky. Just so you know, though, this was my first attempt ever at any kind of smut, and it is a holiday story, very different in tone than this one.

Not to say that I am not enjoying the solicitation of shameless self-promotion *wink*


Candleshoe

Link above.

The tone of my earlier one-shot is very very different from this piece though. 'A Fireside Yule' was written from a very different perspective.

This one IS about power, and control, and the place of both in a relationship. I am beginning to think I should write more about that, from the response I am getting here. I do know exactly what you mean.

Most of the stories that you see including D/s are about the kink, not the dynamic. And for many people that is perfect - it is a different form of play, a fantasy that has little to do with the relationship itself and more to do with pleasure and exploration.

For others though - yeah, it's deeper, and different. And it manifests differently for every couple and situation.

I'm glad it resonated for you. *smile*



Im gonna need to buy new hats...

Thanks for the link!

_________________
"Normal is not something to aspire to, it's something to get away from." - Jodie Foster

HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DUDE!!!!!!! I knew your One-Shot was hot but you didnt tell me it was THIS HOT!!!

WOW!!! That was.... Hot. Beautiful. Intense (in the emotional sense). and I SOOO TOTALLY agreed with you that kind of game is NOT about the "kinky part". I figured that one by self-experience.

I promised you I'd read this today so I read it and....DAMN.... *mumbles* now I need another cold shower... *giggles*

_________________
Surprises and Secrets | Open my Eyes | Fire and Life | Family | | What a beautiful family
Sailor Senshi Light and Sun

Hot damn! I can't think of enough good things to say about this! It's gorgeous and thoughtful and hot and I'm going to start getting redundant if I keep going, but wow! So amazing!

Great job!

_________________
Ripples - Pretty Much Perfect and The Sequel to the Sequel, Who's That Girl?
Every Step That I Retrace/Always Leads Me Back to You/But I've Loved You All Along
Road to Recovery, The Call/The Lightning Strike, The Sun Will Rise

Alex_Vixen:

I'm glad you enjoyed it (figured you might). I'm glad it came through as something more than just sex and/or kink!


leonhart17:

Thank you so much! As nervous as I was about the format and perspective, I have been so very happy (and extremely flattered) with the response it has gotten. Thanks for dropping a line!

First off, I would like to absolutely encourage you to continue writing. This piece - who was it that said 'visceral'? That's an excellent word for this.


What you have here is a fantastic opening to a fantastic, deep, intense, smutty, sexy story that really should have happened, because when else has Tara NOT been that perceptive? You neatly summed up the entire driving point of the story, without giving away anything about the point of the story.


This just amused me, because of a piece of advice I heard awhile ago: "What was that you were so worried about last year?" - it may not sound like 'advice', per se, but it does bring up an interesting point in that even the things that we obsess over, that seem absolutely crucial in the moment, often aren't. In the long run, they don't even matter.


Willow never really did pay that much attention to who Tara was after the incident with Glory, did she? She got to know her at first, and they connected, and before Willow could let down all of her walls, they fought - and then Tara was, effectively, no more. After the resolution of that particular issue came, she was focused on Buffy. On getting her back, on helping her be comfortable with being back, on being upset that she wasn't more grateful for being back - and somehow, the actual Willow-Tara relationship got lost. They needed to re-learn each other.


And there it is, Tara forces Willow to surrender the control that she is convinced that she needs...

And then...

My god. This was powerful to read. She finally understands Tara's kind of strength, the strength to persevere uncomplaining (which is actually quite incredible, if you ask me), and finally, FINALLY feels that she can really rely on it. She doesn't always have to be the strong one: and that is the realization that she ACTUALLY needed to come to in season six... not just 'magic bad now?'

Oh, I could go on and on, but suffice it to say that this story was fantastic. I'm probably going to have to come back and re-read it to understand all of the layers...

_________________
Don't you sit upon the shoreline and say you're satisfied, choose to chance the rapids, and dare to dance the tides - Garth Brooks, "the River"

Great writing.

Just got around to this:

loved the element of emotional balance that managed to sneak its way into your piece. absolutely marvelous job of adding legitimate character and relationship development to smut. I absolutely adored Tara's short and simple explanation - the emotional (and physical) release it brings to Willow made so much sense and was very much in character. Beautiful. Really made an NC-17 shortie stand out

_________________
Lotus

Naeryn:

Wow. Thank you for taking the time to leave such detailed feedback. Really.



Exactly what I was hoping for. There was a fine line to walk between setting mood and being too descriptive. I'm glad it worked.



Unfortunately, it seemed there were gaps even before Glory. One thing that stood out for me in the season five episode 'Family' was that Willow was completely floored by Tara's family - that she said 'brother?' as if she didn't even know Tara HAD one. Now, Tara MAY have flatly refused to talk about her past - but how often has Willow been deterred from learning anything she really wanted to know? And I was trying to reconcile that egregious lack of curiosity that early on with the obvious love Willow carries for Tara. Lots of backstory in my head, obviously, that didn't make it to the page here. But I hoped that at least having written with that backstory in mind, it would show through here.



Oh yeah. The whole addiction angle. Which kinda made me crazy, with a wife who is an addictions counselor, and a history of addiction of my own - I know very well that addiction is not about the physical - though it has a physiological basis, the CAUSE is psychological. They did brush on that, a tiny bit, with the idea that Willow was trying to get away from what she saw as her mousey origins, but that seemed such a superficical treatment of a problem that had such profound consequences to Willow, Tara and the rest of the scoobies at the end of season six. So while this doesn't touch on the magic addiction directly, it does, to my mind, touch on what I see as one of the bases for the acting out that was written for WIllow in canon.

Again, thank you so much for reading in-depth, and then telling me about it!


SJ:

Thanks!


Zooeys_Bridge:




Thank you! I had worried actually, that I had put too many words in Tara's mouth there, that I had gotten TOO specific. I'm really glad it rang true for you.

And thank you very much for the rest of your kind words!

hahahah THE FUCK!?!??!?!

words fail me.

Doesn't this seem a bit like positive reinforcement of bad behavior, though?

Morrigan,

This was so powerful, so intense! It was so deeply felt, not just a top notch sex scene, but a fascinating look at their relationship dynamics.

Yeah, in the beginning Willow was the one who called the shots and Tara just waited in the wings. Now it's different.

It was hot, beyond hot, incendiary, conflagration, flashpoint fantasy HOT!!!! But the love was there, too, and that made the magic.

Thank you for sharing your incredible imagination with all of us!!!!!!

Ariel
How I Met Your Mother

Oh my god, how wonderful was this story. You make me ashamed to call myself an author, the way you used the words and language was almost poetical. The way you desscribed their lovemaking was so different to the usual groaning moaning and hard thrusting that we ususlly write about. And the idea that there is a lot more beneath the surface of Tara than we ever see until she want's us to see it and how dominant she can be when she feels she need to.

THis has jut been such a wonderful piece of writing and i'm sure will make us all step up our skills.

wow that had a punch to it..That was down right HOT...I can not form words...will be thinking about this short story for a few..great job

The response I have gotten to this little piece really has floored and delighted me. It has changed the way I have decided to approach writing, helped me realize that my strength lies, not in long continuous story, but in snapshots of time exposed to the air...

As a result of both the enthusiastic feedback and this realization, I have decided to make "Never Let You Fall" into a series of vignettes that, depending on interest, could stretch from where I have placed this in time, between seasons 4 and 5, all the way through season 7, and perhaps beyond. This wont be telling the story of the Scoobies and their adventures - it will be focused on our ladies, and the development of their relationship, though some of those developments will necessarily be rooted in the wider happenings in Sunnydale.

This is not canon. It started there, and started partly as a way to avert the catastrophes of season 6, and so the wider settings will be more and more AU as time passes. And it will not be all about sex, as the original story was not all about sex. Some of the installments, as the one I am about to post, will be less sexual than the original, and some may be more. All, however, will be about the ways in which power and its loving use can manifest and shape a partnership. And, always and of course, about our Willow and Tara.

And all of this, dear kittens, depends on you. If enough people want it, I shall endeavor to do the subject matter justice, as well as writing naughty stories for your viewing pleasure. I heartily welcome both praise (obviously) and constructive criticism (perhaps not so obvious). Critique given in the spirit of support can only make the series better - whether I agree with what is said or not, it will at the very least force me to think about the plot and style choices I make.

But before I post the next installment - feedback to the feedback.


KnightlyLove::

Thanks!



I am working on developing this into a series of vignettes, and that question will be addressed. Thanks for the feedback!


Ariel:

Thank you so much for the very kind words. The response I've gotten has inspired me to expand this from a one-shot into more - so I can more fully explore this particular dynamic between these two particular characters.


willowtaralover:


I actually came to writing through poetry, and so this was very nice to hear. Especially as this story came to me in much the same way most of my better poems have, as an urgent, demanding idea that would not be denied until it was written.

The next installment is less poetry, and more process. I hope you enjoy it.


bouncer73:

Thank you!



Next vignette immediately to follow.

Rating: R





“How did you know?”


My stomach clenches a little. I have known this conversation was coming, that it needs to happen for both our sakes. But I am still nervous about it.


She shifts up to lean on her elbow, watching my face. “I mean, I get, okay, how I was being all control-freaky and being a big jerk sometimes. And you know I'm sorry for that, right?” Her eyes search my face anxiously, the tiny muscles at the corners of mouth and eyes relaxing again as I smile and nod. “And I'm glad you're doing...whatever it is we're doing, which I don't know if I really understand yet, and how did you know I would want to, how did you know it would work?”


I sternly tell my stomach to stop fluttering as she looks at me, expectant. She's so, well, adorable, her hair rumpled and the light of early morning sparkling the curiosity in her eyes, that I feel myself calm. This is the woman I love, and she already knows the worst of me. This...this should be okay.


“I didn't.”


“You didn't?” She actually squeaks that out, and the lack of accusation in her incredulity puts me right back at ease.


“No. I hoped, and I thought it would. But, I didn't know for sure. I just knew something had to change. And..” I can feel myself blushing a little. “I h-had been thinking about that for a while.”


A grin tugs at her lips at that. “So...it isn't just for me? I mean, umm. You like the taking charge thing?”


“I didn't know I would when I started it but..”


I think back to that first attempt, the first time I tested the possibility of blending power and love and control and sex. I feel it in my body still, the heady rush of her compliance, spiced by the terror that she would settle back into her mind again, instead of letting her heart and body take her where I wanted her to go.





I had suspected that she would not reach that place that first time. And in a way, I needed her not to. I needed to leave her wanting, so that she would learn that in this, as in anything, I mean what I say.


It was so hard to pull away from her! When I felt her fingers in my hair, I had to swallow the groan of disappointment. I wanted to feel her burst under my tongue, to feel her writhing, wanton, under me. I wondered, as I willed myself over to the sink, if she would know that I was washing my face and hands to lessen the scent of her on me, lest I return to her, take her, make her mine in the primal need I felt that afternoon.


Oh, yes, I learned again that day the price of control. I was burning for her, flashes of her scent and the sounds she makes pressing into me, the timorous lust that had been on her face obscuring the page I was trying to study. As she badgered me for answers, I blessed the very selfishness that I meant to address, for she did not see my internal struggle to stay with the plan I had devised.


She doesn't know that I left early for the lecture I had that night. I could bear it no longer, the pungent aroma of sex still lingering in the room, the heightened color of interrupted arousal on her face. It wasn't the first time we had stopped in the middle of lovemaking – being a member of the Scooby gang means answering phone calls at some of the most inconvenient times – but it was the first time either of us had freely chosen to stop in the middle of sex since we had become lovers.


So I fled. I gathered my notebook and my bag, and headed for a rarely used bathroom at the rear of the auditorium. I could not get there fast enough, and as soon as I was inside, with the door locked behind me, my hands were plunging inside my clothes. Leaning against the tiled wall, its cold seeping through my blouse, I handled myself roughly, far harder than I normally like, driven by the animal need for release.


It came soon enough, barely, for me to wash my hands and splash cold water on my cheeks, and emerge in time for the seminar. I was trembling, still flushed, and aching to just turn around and head back to the dorm, back to Willow...but I made it. And thank the Goddess that the material was actually interesting! It helped pull my brain back to the rest of the world, and calmed me enough that I could crawl into bed that night, and keep my hands to myself.


The next few weeks were...interesting. After I made it clear that I wasn't going to talk about what hadn't quite happened that afternoon, Willow let it go. Verbally, at least. I would catch her watching me, her brow crinkled in that fetching way that happens when she knows there is an answer that she needs, but she doesn't quite know the question yet.


It wasn't that I didn't want to talk about the problems I had with some of the things she did and said, and my worry about the ways she regimented her life. I had tried. But my Willow is very good at rationalization, and even better at not seeing the things she does not want to see. Those traits were part of the walls she had built around herself after all of the drama surrounding Oz, and Veruca, and even the insecurity of coming to accept her love for me.


I understood all of that. I always had. I also understood, from bitter personal experience, that the fences you build to protect yourself also hem you in, and can warp you in ways you can't see until much later, when the damage has already been done. I had seen my mother twist herself to avoid the 'demon' my father feared, until she became someone I didn't recognize, and I did not want to see Willow broken for fear of the unlovable geek she saw inside. Especially since it was exactly that geek that I loved so very much.


I don't know exactly where the idea came from. I dreamed it, but I'm still not sure whether the dream was birthed of my mind alone or if it was a gift to me, to us, from outside. I only knew that it felt right, that solid, forged surety that I had only felt a few times in my life – that same surety that led me to Sunnydale, and bade me seek Willow out in the first place.


So I had planned, and waited for Will to lash out for no reason, and I had acted. And now, I waited yet again, for her to snap once more, and give me the opportunity to show her to herself when the walls had been weakened.


And as I waited, I felt a sea change in myself, or perhaps a new understanding rather than a change. I found myself fantasizing about that afternoon, savoring and building on the memory of her acceptance of my control. Her reactions under my hands, the way her voice had failed in the face of my actions, even the lost look she held right before I left her there, unfulfilled – all of it was heady, thrilling, delicious.


This wasn't just about what I wanted for her anymore, or even for our future. It was also about me, and what I was beginning to understand about myself.


And so I waited, a little less patiently than I had expected, for my Willow to slip again. Eventually, weeks later, she did. And when I stepped in, anticipation thrilling under my skin, and took her home, she gave herself up to me without even a token protest, her eyes conveying her curiosity and her trust.


I could have wept, with the sheer joy and power and terror of it, with my anxious hope that this would work, that this would help her vent the storm of emotion that she held inside. My fear that I was doing this for myself and not for her after all, and my ache over the way I believed success would bring pain to the surface kept my own lust in check – but only barely.


I wanted her. I wanted to take her, to claim her, to mark her body and soul for my own. I needed, almost, to feel her open herself to me, to give me her power so that I could show just how amazing she really was.


Before any of that, though, before I could explore these things I was coming to desire so fiercely – first, I had to break her down.


I made love to her that night as I never had before. I used every trick, every bit of knowledge I had gained in our months of explorations with each other. I had been paying close attention, all but taking notes, plumbing every secret of her body that I could, all for this one night.


Slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, I brought her up to that place she finds, just before she is ready to come, when her breath begins to halt and catch in short panting gasps, and she becomes nearly frantic. I brought her there, as tenderly as my own fierce passion would allow, and then I kept her there, my touch just that bare whisper too light, my strokes that infinitesimal bit too slow to push her over the edge.


I was fighting cramps and tremors in my own body, the exertion and fine control I needed to keep up my gentle torture taking its own toll when I heard the change. Her body still undulated beneath me, but the panting breaths were shifting, deepening and growing harsher. Becoming sobs.


My eyes stinging, I delved more deeply, more quickly into her, finally granting her the release she sought – and more important, the one she needed.


As I gathered her to me, cradling her through the first storm of weeping, I shed no few tears of my own. It had worked, and once she calmed we would see if this had borne the fruit I hoped for, but my beloved, my darling, my Willow was in so much pain, and I could neither shield her nor lift it from her. All I could do was this, was to lance the wound and be her anchor while she cleared the infection away. And so the silent tears scalded my cheeks as her slender body was wracked with the force of her anguish.


After she calmed, after I spoke to her the words of my dream, and I held and soothed and loved her through the agonies of guilt, she fell asleep in my arms. I lay there, stroking her hair, for hours, pondering the difference between justification and excuse, and hoping I was on the right side of the line between them.





Talking about how this feels to me is both harder and easier than I expected. I'm choosing my words really carefully, because I know how fragile she is after last night, and I need her to know that I do not want to hurt her. And she is listening, calmly, taking in what I say and thinking it over, before allowing herself to react.


That's a good sign, I think, and it gets even better when she starts asking me questions about where we are going from here. I don't know all the answers, and her smile when she understands I don't want total control is breathtaking.


“So, this is like, just a different division of labor? Kinda?” Her tone has that breathless quality it takes on as she is talking her way through a new idea. “I mean, we still do what we do, with Buffy and school and everything, cause we do so well doing things the way we do, but you help me not go all Gwendolyn Post, and I -”


I have no idea who Gwendolyn Post is, and so I break in to ask, and listening to that story carries the last remnants of my nerves away. I finally unfold from the bed and stand in the late morning light. As she gets into the way that woman hurt and deceived everyone around her, I turn back to the bed.


“You could never be like that!”


The vehemence of my tone startles her a bit, and she rises into my arms, my hands sliding into her hair as she presses herself against me. A tender, achingly gentle kiss, and she smiles.


“I know. You won't let me.” Her voice is low, urgent with truth and love.


She slides down my body, trailing kisses down the skin of my chest and belly as she sinks slowly to her knees. My hands are still in her hair as she looks up at me, her breath stirring my curls and desire plain on her face, husking her voice. “Let me thank you for that?”

DIBS!!!!

It is AMAZING that you take thought and relationship dynamics and make it riveting! This is an incredible exploration of a Tara who is only hinted at in canon, although many of us agree that she was kind of "in charge" in their physical relationship.

So glad you're continuing the exploration.

And yeah, HOT SMUT!!!! ;-) is always lovely!

So thanks again and call me a fan!

Ariel

Aw, I missed dibs. But a really great look into their minds and the division of power in any relationship. But also, really good smut.

Just thought I'd add the last bit in, you know.

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"You know what the chain of command is? It's the chain I go get and beat you with 'til ya understand who's in ruttin' command here." - Jayne

Wow. I mean just...wow. I LOVED the first one but this one...getting into Tara's head like that was just...amazing. It got me all tingly in like, not necessarily a sexy sense but a...no...no it totally gave me sexy tingles. I just...I don't even know what to say about it other than that it's fucking amazing. I always said that I could see that...the whole dynamic of Tara being dominant over Willow. Like...Willow has so much control in her life and Tara so little that sometimes Tara needs to feel in control of something and Willow needs to feel like she doesn't have to control everything. I think you handled the dynamics and the motives behind it very well and I think you have a very strong grasp of the psychology of D/s. It shows in your writing.

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Proud General of the Kitten Army -Semper WillTara-

No truer love there did exist
Than twix this hacker and her witch.

wow.... speechless

I'm so glad you're continuing this! This is probably one of the best explorations of Willow's dark(er) side that I've ever seen! Love it! (and definitely need to reread the first part!)

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Ripples - Pretty Much Perfect and The Sequel to the Sequel, Who's That Girl?
Every Step That I Retrace/Always Leads Me Back to You/But I've Loved You All Along
Road to Recovery, The Call/The Lightning Strike, The Sun Will Rise

i keep going back to re-read the first section every few weeks. so imagine my excitement and uninhibited joy to discover that you are going to continue this. thank you, thank you, thank you.

i am newly learning about D/s, and i find that seeing through Willow and Tara's eyes to be illuminating. i can see the struggle that each have to allow themselves to be what the other needs. the trust and risk involved. the balance needed to ensure that needs are met (even when the needs are not consciously understood or acknowledged by the person having them). the need for honest, open communication. i love that this is only a part of the relationship between them, rather than the whole of it.

if you are wanting to see if you should keep going then my vote is a million times YES!!!!! i will look forward to seeing more in the future as you are able and willing to continue.

your friend and fan,
sapphoselene

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Life is created from the imagination. Never let your imagination die.
Darkest Desires
The True Nature of Soulmates
Scarlet Black