On Second Thought
Premise: Way the heck back in S4, Willow makes a difficultchoice
Disclaimer: Joss owns everything except my cats, my softball glove, and this cute little end-table I found at a yard sale last week-end.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers:Up to the end of "New Moon Rising"
Distribution: But of course…Please give credit and disclaimer. Thanks.
Feedback: I’d definitely appreciate it.
Summary: Willow initially chooses Oz, in no small part b/c she believes he needs her more. The past week, however, has been excruciating—she misses Tara immensely. They meet for coffee and longing glances. Part 2 picks up immediately after the coffee date.
Part IIThey met every other day after that, moving into a sort of tacit understanding. Willow made herself go a full day without talking to her after that first meeting, then called again and they
met that afternoon. At the end of that time, they set up the next time. And so it proceeded.
Oz no longer locked himself in his cage, but he purposefully avoided the Espresso Pump at those times. "I know you have feelings for her. Why tempt fate by seeing it? I trust what you tell me."
If Willow had hoped that her attraction to Tara would dim, even slightly, she soon realized that the God of Such Hopes was simply laughing at her. Her stomach did double-axels when Tara came into view; triple axels when she leaned in close to Willow, face lit up with laughter and delight at those things that Willow had always found, well, spasticabout herself. Once, she actually found herself looking down Tara’s shirt—only a brief glance, before mentally flogging herself for her tackiness, but she had looked all the same. They never talked about Oz, or their own relationship. Even so, the grief was palpable for both of them: when they first met; when they parted; whenever their eyes met and held for that extra moment that vaults warmth into flames.
She and Oz were taking things slowly, or, to be more accurate, Oz was going slowly in deference to Willow’s wishes. They hadn’t made love yet, though Willow knew how much he wanted to. It wasn’t as if she found him repulsive, or feared that she would blurt out Tara’s name at the very worst possible moment. But she didn’t want anyone else to be in the room with them the first time they were sexual and right now, she knew that when she closed her eyes, she would see Tara. So they held hands, and talked, and kissed. It was nice. She loved him. He was Oz. And this ache would eventually fade.
And now, on a Friday ten days after letting Tara go, Willow was going to the Bronze with Buffy and Riley. Xander and Anya would probably be there as well, and they were always entertaining in their own unique, albeit oblivious, way. Oz had reconnected with the Dingoes, and they had an actual paying gig in LA that night.
"Go," he said, in his simple fashion. "Have a drink. Or five. Enjoy yourself."
She had seen Tara that afternoon, before Buffy had called with the Bronze invitation, and asked Tara what she was doing for the week-end. She had intentionally mentioned Oz’s absence, though she knew she was exercising decidedly questionable judgement in doing so. What was she hoping—that she and Tara would spend some kind of alternate-reality evening, where they both pretended that the past week and a half hadn’t happened? She knew that Tara would never acquiesce to such an idea, which gave her the strength not to dwell on it herself. It turned out to be a moot point, though: Tara was meeting up with friends from her Women in 20th-Century Literature class. Dinner; maybe a movie.
"Oh. Well. That should be fun. Shouldn’t it?"
But Tara only gave a half-shrug and asked Willow about her own social agenda.
"I don’t know," she replied simply. "I might call Buffy…"
Buffy, it turned out, had called her. Her best friend had earned both the noun and the adjective in the past ten days, putting aside considerable time for the two of them to talk. If she harbored any secret relief that Willow had chosen Oz, she never showed it. She listened to Willow’s sadness, and didn’t try to recast her feelings for Tara into something more genteel or platonic. So when Buffy called to invite her to join them, she decided that it was far preferable to sitting at home alone or perhaps darting from one restaurant to another in hopes of "accidentally" running into Tara.
"Willow—glad you joined us." She gave Riley a warm grin and a hug as he scooted to make room for her at their table. She thought that Buffy had probably been right in her original assessment of the Iowa boy ("Riley’s a goof") but she also found him to be genuinely kind. She wondered if they were all becoming a little cynical, interpreting basic goodness and openness as insubstantiality in some way. Then again, Tara was genuinely kind, and good, and open, and she would hardly call her a goof. Tara just seemed…deepersomehow, and wiser; you could see it in her eyes, those incredible blue eyes that could flash light and dark and cobalt, depending on what she was feeling—
"Will? If Riley has a big goober on his shirt, would you just tell him, instead of staring at him like he’s Bill Gates?" Xander peered at her, clearly mystified by her abrupt departure from their shared reality.
"Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. Just sort of lost in the space between my ears." She blushed and sat down. Buffy caught her eye and gave a quick smile. Willow found it comforting to know that one person at the table knew where her mind was. Along with my heart and body.
Anya gave her a perfunctory greeting before turning to Xander and mouthing the words "When can we leave and have sex?" This didn’t really bother her. She didn’t need to be the center of attention tonight…A little dancing, some laughter, and hopefully go to bed sufficiently tired to actually sleep.
An hour later, she stood and made her way to the bar to buy the group’s next round. Waiting for the bartender to make Anya’s "colorful pineapple and rum drink, preferably with a miniature umbrella, though it clearly serves no purpose," Willow looked around the bar. She wondered absently if she might find any of these women attractive. With the exception of her Doppelganger drive-through, she had never really thought about the possibility of being gay. And then she met Tara…Glancing over the various blondes and brunettes and red-heads and that one blue-head, Willow thought that none of them really stood out, except maybe that one woman with her back turned, who wore her almost-white hair loose and who was starting to turn and who was in fact Tara.
Triple-axel with a toe loop—Tara was here. The group had apparently decided to go dancing. Tara wouldn’t be expecting to see her, because Willow herself hadn’t anticipated being here when they talked this afternoon. But now—now it was OK, because it was totally by accident, and she didn’t have to feel bad about arranging some covert night meeting. They were both here, completely independently, and it would only be natural that they would talk. And since their dorms were so close, it would only make sense for them to walk back together, after the time with their friends (which, Willow decided suddenly, should be over any moment now). They could walk back and Willow could invite Tara up to her room and there would be no rush or worry. The luxury of hours with Tara, all alone…
Willow took a half-step to her right, trying to see if she knew any of the people with Tara before going up to say hello. With this new line of vision, she saw Tara’s left arm, and then she saw the hand that rested on Tara’s left arm.
Willow was smart. She knew that the hand was most likely attached to an arm. The arm, in turn, probably belonged to a complete body. This body was, in all likelihood, operated by a brain. Someone’s brain was telling her body to touch Tara. And continue touching her.
Finally a face came into view. It was a very attractive face—strong features, a sensuous mouth, short, tousled black hair. She was leaning in closer to Tara, handing her a drink and grinning as she spoke. Willow saw Tara’s own lips curve in amusement and then close lightly over the tiny straw in her drink.
She didn’tsee a group of friends. She didn’t see anyone who was there with Tara and this unholy spawn from the depths of hell. (Or whoever she was.) All she saw were the two of them, smiling at each other. At least the lecherous she-beast (or whoever she was) had taken her hand off of Tara’s arm…But no, that was apparently just to rest it on Tara’s back, as she moved closer and murmured something into Tara’s ear.
"Hey—you want this?" Turning, Willow saw the bartender looking at her with a mixture of impatience and curiosity. Numbly, she gave him the best tip he would ever receive, picked up the pitcher and the colorful drink, and walked on dead legs back to the table.
"What happened—you go to the bar via North Dakota? I thought we’d lost you." Xander quickly redirected his attention to the pouring of alcohol, so Willow was spared the necessity of a reply. Buffy, though, knew something was amiss. With masterful subtlety, she announced, "Willow, you look like a girl who needs to go to the bathroom. With me." She grabbed Willow’s hand and pulled her out of her seat. Xander glanced up, then noted sagely, "Nothing brings people together like urine."
Willow felt as if everything she had ever eaten or drunk or breathed was trying to fight its way of her body by way of her chest. Everything in her burned; even her eyes felt hot. Was she breathing? Suddenly, she couldn’t imagine ever having done so, at least without shuddering.
"Willow? What is it?"
Forcing her vision to Buffy’s concerned face, Willow muttered, "It’s Tara. She’s here with someone." Saying the words finalized their truth in her mind, and she fought to keep from crying. Was this how Tara had felt for the past ten days? How did she stand it?
"And you’re sure it’s …You’re sure it’s not just an acquaintance?"
"I know how someone looks when they’re interested in someone else. This demon-bitch—or whoever she is—is definitely looking at Tara with hopes that she’ll be looking at her many, many hours from now."
"And you think Tara’s reciprocating?"
"She wasn’t exactly showing her the door. Oh, god, Buffy—I feel sick." Willow leaned back against the hard, paint-chipped wall and tried to breathe.
Buffy was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, "What do you want to do? I mean, we could leave. I could say you’re coming down with something and walk you back home."
Willow just stared, shaking her head. Finally she said hollowly, "I know I don’t have any right to be upset. I mean, I made this decision. But seeing her—seeing her looking at someone and watching her smile…I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of her smiles, Buffy—it’s like everything else just fades to black and it’s just the two of you. And now she’s smiling at someone else. And I don’t know how to keep from exploding." She dropped her head in anguish. Buffy only nodded in understanding.
After a moment, Willow looked up hopefully. "Maybe she’s evil. Maybe she’s a vampire or a demon."
"OK, so, I know I’m not as quick as you, but you need to help me understand how this would be a good thing."
"Because then you’d have to stake her! Why, I bet she is! Yes, think she most definitely is! So—OK, very good. I’ll go divert Tara’s attention and you drag her out back and just stake the hell out of her. Take your time—make sure you do a thorough job. In fact, you might want to cut her head off, too." Willow was extremely pleased with this solution, and turned to head out the bathroom door.
"Willow, wait—I’ll certainly check her out, but if I don’t pick her up on my Slay-dar, I can’t just go kill her."
"I thought you were my friend," Willow replied, dropping into Full-Sulk Mode.
"I am. I love you more than anyone else in this world besides my mother. I would go through Hell to protect you. But I draw the line at impaling random lesbians."
Willow sighed. "I know. It just felt good to think of her, well, dead,I guess, is the word. But since that probably isn’t an option…No, I don’t want to leave. I mean, I do. But another part of me can’t imagine walking out the door and leaving them alone."
"Alone with at least a hundred other people?"
"Alone without me to watch them. To know what they do."
"I understand. I mean, it’s totally masochistic, which is probably why I understand it. But just give me the high sign if you want to clear, and I’ll take care of the explanations and parting gifts, OK?"
"Gotcha. Thanks, Buffy." Yanking on the bathroom door, she glanced back over her shoulder. "But remember— if there’s a halfway decent reason, you kill her skanky ass."
The physical sensations of the next hour could have been more quickly and cheaply acquired by driving jagged, acid-tipped slivers of glass directly into her heart. Instead, she sat at the table and watched Tara and the leering, all-corrupting succubus (or whoever she was) talk and dance. At least the music was fast—no full-body pressing. But that was painful, too. She had never danced with Tara, so she hadn’t realized that the shy girl seemed to leave her insecurities behind when her body was in motion. Willow sat miserably in a state of grief, rage, and belly-wrenching lust as she watched Tara’s sinuous movements.
The other woman obviously appreciated Tara’s physical gifts as well. She was perhaps three inches taller than Tara, and Willow could see the curve of Tara’s throat and jaw whenever she looked up slightly at the Amazonian satyr who even now plotted her conquest (or whoever she was). When Tara danced with one hand resting on her belly, Willow imagined how her skin was moving, swaying under that palm. When she occasionally brought her arms up, pulling her hair back, Willow could only swallow heavily as Tara’s breasts pushed against her indigo shirt, highlighting her silhouette.
She gradually abandoned even the pretense of involvement with the Scooby gang. Buffy, though, managed to convey quietly to the others that on this night, Willow needed to be in
her own head.
Just when she thought that she couldn’t feel worse—an incredibly ill-advised thought in Sunnydale—the music shifted, gradually slowing into the kind of song that people who want to be close to their date pray for. The two women had been sitting for the last twelve minutes (if anyone was counting), but through a haze of dread, Willow saw the Other Woman (for this was who she was) take Tara’s hand and look questioningly at the dance floor. For one moment, Willow thought that Tara might say no, but then she nodded slightly and sat her drink on the wobbly table between them. Rising, they moved onto the floor. The Other Woman rested her hands on Tara’s waist; Tara looped her arms loosely over the woman’s shoulders; Willow bit her lip to keep from crying.
They spoke occasionally during what seemed to be a three-hour song. Willow vowed to herself that if Tara’s head dropped onto the Other Woman’s shoulder, she would just nod to Buffy and get out of the bar. She knew she wouldn’t do so, of course, but it felt dimly bracing to tell herself that she had a plan of action.
It didn’t happen, though. What did happen was that the two women were swaying slowly to the interminable music, moving in an almost imperceptible circle, until that moment when Tara’s brow furrowed slightly, as if anticipating or perhaps sensing Willow’s presence, and then she was looking directly at Willow, who finally let the tears come.
Tara stepped back from the woman, who clearly did not want her to do so, and then stood motionless, staring at Willow helplessly. Willow gazed back for a moment, and then ducked her head and stood up. "Gotta go," was all she could mutter, and stumbled toward the door. Buffy reached her in five steps.
"Willow—"
"Buffy, no. Please. Just let me go. God, just let me get out of here. Alone," she added miserably.
Buffy reluctantly let go of her arm. "I’ll call you in an hour, all right? I can come home; we can talk, or not talk—whatever you need, OK?"
Willow only nodded—she hadn’t really heard the words anyway. All she knew was that if she didn’t get out into the night air soon, she would literally collapse.
She managed to make it back to Stevens Hall without getting hit by a bus, bitten by a vampire, or eaten by a demon. She wasn’t at all sure that she was pleased by this. She turned off all of the lights, sat on her bed, and waited for the tears to flow unchecked. Oddly, though, they had stopped—frozen, it seemed, by the burning ice that was settling over her heart and soul. Anywhere…she wanted to be anywhere besides here, besides her own life. She had chosen Oz because she thought she should, thought it was somehow best, and now
the woman she was in love with was moving on to someone else.
And why shouldn’t she? Had Willow given her any reason not to? Why shouldn’t she dance with a tall, striking woman who wouldn’t keep her separate from her friends, who wouldn’t ask Tara to keep their relationship a secret? Why shouldn’t she kiss another woman, if Willow had told her she couldn’t kiss her?
Because I don’t
wanther to. She should be
mydance partner; she should kiss
me…She should be
mylover.But Willow had said no to these things.
She looked up, startled, at the knock on the door. Oh goddess…Please let it be Tara. If only to confirm my fears and leave in five minutes, please just let me see her. Alone.
For the first time that night, her prayers were answered.
At the sight of her, standing uncertainly in the doorway, Willow felt the tears threatening again. Unable to speak, she simply backed a few steps into the room. She watched Tara close the door and move tentatively closer.
"Willow, I’m s-so sorry. It didn’t start out to be anything l-like that."
"That’s some small class you got," Willow managed. "Only two students."
"There w-were more of us; we did go to dinner. Chris suggested going out. I thought there w-would be some other people."
"Nice name," Willow said in a near-whisper. She really didn’t want the Other Woman to have any identity whatsoever.
"Willow, I knew she w-was interested in me. When it turned out to be just the two of us, I thought about saying no. But I’ve spent so many nights in my room, feeling like hell…God, Willow, if you only knew how m-miserable I’ve been for the past ten days. I was ready to do anything just to turn it off for awhile."
"Anything?" Willow could barely speak through her dread.
There was a long silence. And then, finally, Tara replied, "No. Not anything. I w-wasn’t going to kiss her, or do anything else but dance with her, and I didn’t even particularly want to do that. Because the thing is," she went on, her voice breaking slightly, "I’m in love with someone else. I’m in love with this w-woman who picked her ex-boyfriend over me. And I don’t want to be, but I am. But she made her decision, and now she kisses him,and makes love with him—"
"No, I don’t make love with him, Tara." Willow practically shouted the words. "I don’t make love with him because I can’t. Because I’d be thinking of you. I know I would because you’re all I everthink about. He hasn’t slept over because I don’t want him to, and because I’m afraid I’ll dream about you and say your name. So I sleep by myself every night and the only way I can finally getto sleep is by imagining that I’m with you, in your room, and that I’ll wake up feeling you next to me. So I have most definitely notbeen frolicking in the fields of heterosexual bliss, because I’m too busy wanting to make love to you." She stopped, stunned at the outpouring.
Tara stared at her, her breath coming in shallow waves. The room seemed to blur somehow, as if melting around the edges from the heat that shimmered between them.
"Willow." Tara’s voice was barely a whisper. "I’ve tried to be your friend. I’ve tried to support you. But I can’t do it anymore." Her eyes darkened with pain. "God, Willow, I want you so much. I’ve never felt anything like how much I want you. I never initiated anything with you, because you weren’t ready. But I…" She stopped, looking down. Then her gaze met Willow’s with a fierceness, an urgency that Willow had never seen before. "Willow, if you don’t want me to kiss you, right now, you need to say so. Because if you don’t…"
It can be that easy. Just silence, and then I can feel her against me.
Willow stood, silently.
Tara took a step closer.
Willow stood, silently.
Tara was right before her. She reached out her hand, grazed her thumb over Willow’s lips and then slid her fingers into Willow’s hair.
Willow stood, silently.
And then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.
She heard Tara’s breath catch in her throat. "Willow…" She brought her other hand to Willow’s face. Willow turned, pressed her lips to Tara’s palm, then slowly kissed each finger, letting her tongue slide lightly over the tips. She heard Tara groan, and felt a surge of exultation at the knowledge of how much Tara wanted her. She edged forward, until there was no space between them—belly to belly; breast to breast—and snaked her arms under Tara’s, clutching her back and pulling her tight against her.
"I…am…yours."
The words slid past Willow’s lips, and Tara caught them in her own breath, tasted them, drank them. She pulled Willow closer, until her own lips hovered over Willow’s. Her eyes, now heavy-lidded, held Willow’s for one long moment, offering a final chance to turn away from the fire—
Please—
and then her lips closed over Willow’s, warm and insistent and needful.
Willow felt the room tilt and spin as her lips melted against Tara’s. Hungry—she had never been as hungry for anything in her life as she was for this woman. They drank from each other, aching.
When they broke, several moments later, they could only stare at each other. For all that she had fantasized about this, Willow had never come close to capturing the reality. And then it was too painful to be apart, and she pulled Tara back to her. Something had been galvanized within her, some need so insistent that it pushed aside her life-long hesitancy, her fear of taking some wrong step. She would know every inch of Tara’s body, every soft curve and hollow and swell. And she would start with her mouth…She cupped Tara’s face in her hands and kissed her, sliding her tongue over those full lips to explore her warmth. She could feel Tara groan again, the hunger echoing into her own body through their kiss, and then Tara was grazing Willow’s tongue, over and over, with her own.
Willow felt her body hum—her skin was flushed, her nipples swollen to an ache. She felt her wetness moving through her. She pulled away just enough to whisper, "Tara…Oh, God, I’ve never…" But she didn’t give Tara the chance to speak; she kissed her again as if trying to recapture all the hours before when she had shied away from this.
Never again. Never again will I go to bed wondering what it’s like to kiss her, what her body feels like, how she tastes.She felt her belly throb at the thought of what they were doing, at the thought of everything they would do.
She brought her hands to Tara’s waist and then her back, and slid her fingers under the hem of her button-down shirt. She felt Tara shudder slightly in her arms. Her skin was so smooth, so warm. Willow kneaded and stroked her fingers higher over the swell of Tara’s back. Tara’s own hands swept slowly down over Willow’s shoulders and to her back, her thumbs barely grazing the sides of Willow’s breasts. She kissed Willow’s closed eyes, then her cheek, and nuzzled back to her ear. Willow found herself struggling to catch her breath as Tara’s lips closed over her ear lobe, and then her tongue was circling Willow’s ear, dipping lightly into its hollow.
The room was hot, far too hot for comfort, Willow realized. She leaned forward and kissed Tara’s neck, feeling her pulse leap and crest under her lips. Lightly, she stroked her tongue into the hollow at the base of Tara’s neck, hearing her lover’s sudden half-gasp. She squeezed Tara’s shoulders, and then trailed her fingers to the top button of Tara’s shirt. Her mouth never left Tara’s skin as she easily popped open the first button, and then the second.
Tara slid one hand up to Willow’s chin, easing her face upward until their gazes met. Tara’s eyes seemed blurred somehow, unfocused with heat. She thought dimly that her own must have a similar cast.
"Willow…Willow, are you sure? This is what you want?" Tara seemed to have difficulty speaking; her breath was uneven as it fell on Willow’s lips.
Willow knew that Tara was asking about a certainty beyond her sexual desire. Tara was asking if this, if she, was what Willow wanted, and not just for this night—if they made love, it would be because they had each chosen the other, above all else.
She let her fingers rest flat against Tara’s collarbone. "Tara, I’m sure. Seeing you, tonight—God, yes, I was jealous. But it was also…It was just so wrong,you with someone else. And mewith someone else. We’re—We’rethe two pieces that fit together. I’ve been…emptywithout you."
Tears shimmered brightly in Tara’s eyes. She closed them briefly, as if to steady herself. As Willow leaned forward to kiss her, the harsh ring of the phone split the air, cacaphonous and shrill.
They looked at each other, both fearing that Oz waited on the other end. Willow bit her lip, and then turned and walked to the phone on the bed-side table. If it was Oz, she wouldn’t go into the full account right now, because she herself wouldn’t want to find out through a phone call from a hundred miles away. But she would tell him tomorrow. She wanted to be with Tara. She needed to be with Tara.
Before picking up the receiver, she smiled softly at Tara. "I’m yours. It’s that simple."
But it wasn’t Oz; it was Buffy. "Hey, Will—I waited as long as I could. How are you?"
"Better than I could have imagined, Buffy." She saw Tara relax.
"Wow—that’s some turn-around. Are you sure?"
Willow felt strangely calm now, as if she could handle anything. "I’m sure. I’d testify under oath that my surety is, well, sure…Tara’s here. And I’m with her…um, as you probably could have inferred from my speaking to you on the phone." From the corner of her eye, she saw Tara smile. "Buffy, I made a mistake before, but I’m gonna make it right. Can you understand?"
"Willow, if there’s one thing I can understand, it’s the imperative of being true to your heart. Besides, you sound happy, and confident, so color me supportive of this decision."
Willow grinned in relief.
"Uh, Willow?"
"Yeah?"
"Does this mean you don’t want me to come rushing home now?"
"Buffy, I say this with boundless love and eternal friendship, but if you come home right now I will murder you in your sleep."
"OK then. I’ll be at Riley’s, and you be with Tara. Biblically. I’ll see you tomorrow. And Willow—I’m really happy for you."
"Thanks, Buffy."
Sliding the phone back into its cradle, Willow turned to find Tara smiling gently. Looking at Willow, she said simply, "Thank you. Not for offering to kill Buffy, although that was touching in its own right…Thank you for being so honest."
Willow moved to take Tara back into her arms. "It’s what I want. God, Tara, it feels so good to knowwhat I want, and to act on it."
Tara gazed at her for long seconds. Finally, she said softly, "You are just so beautiful, Willow. Sometimes it makes me ache, just thinking about you. No one has ever grabbed my h-heart, and my mind, and my b-body, and just…heldthem, from the first moment, the way you have."
The room was growing warmer again. Willow slid her fingers back to Tara’s shirt.
"Tara…Please let me touch you." She heard Tara inhale sharply, a small, inarticulate sound coming from deep in her throat. She held Tara’s eyes with her own, slowly undoing another and then another button on Tara’s shirt. Finally, she looked down at her work. With her thumbs, she pulled the material away until the shimmering black fabric of Tara’s bra rested before her.
Oh goddess—she’s the beautiful one.She trailed her fingers up Tara’s belly, drawing a small shiver, until her hands rested, barely touching, on Tara’s breasts. Then gradually, as if wanting to draw this moment out, she cupped Tara’s breasts in her hands, and squeezed them gently. Tara swayed forward, biting her lip. She brought her own hands up and covered Willow’s, feeling Willow’s fingers roll her nipples gently between them.
For Willow, the incredible feeling of Tara’s soft flesh, even through her bra, was overpowering enough. Now the sight of Tara’s hands encouraging hers seemed to flip some trigger within her, a voice that impelled her to see more, touch more. With heightened urgency, she pulled Tara’s shirt down over her arms and tossed it to the floor. Tara’s bra clasped in the front—at least for a few more seconds. But soon Willow had unsnapped it, and edged it off.
She knew that she had been attracted to Tara for some time, and she knew that she often fantasized about stroking and kissing Tara’s breasts. But the sight of Tara, standing partly nude and vulnerable in front of her, made everything in her twist and shudder—with hunger, with a fierce protection, with love.
She pulled Tara close to her again, and kissed her collarbone, flicking her tongue over the smooth, exposed flesh. Tara’s hands went to her hair, and she whispered Willow’s name as if it were a song. When Willow reached the swell of Tara’s breasts, she swallowed hard, and trailed small kisses over each until her lips rested, slightly parted, over one swollen nipple. Unconsciously, she ran her tongue over her lower lip, knowing only that she was wetter than she had ever been in her life and desperate to have Tara feel the same need. Breath catching in her throat, she finally lowered her lips to Tara’s nipple and sucked it hungrily into her mouth.
Tara choked back a small cry, and pulled Willow’s head closer, as if wanting Willow to take all of her within her mouth. Willow circled her tongue, again and again, around the engorged nipple, pausing only to utter a small groan before pulling it deep within her mouth again. One hand still stroked Tara’s other breast, and finally she nuzzled her way to that heated flesh, after squeezing Tara’s breasts together briefly and flicking her tongue over each nipple.
God, I need her so much. How did I ever tell myself I could let her go?She had never felt such heat before; she couldn’t imagine being sated of Tara’s body.
"Willow—Willow, my legs are shaking. I don’t think I can stand up much longer."
"Then don’t. Lie down."
Tara smiled one of her slow, enigmatic smiles, then linked her fingers through Willow’s and pulled her toward the bed, pausing to kick off her shoes. Instead of stretching out, however, she sat and faced Willow, who stood between her parted legs. Reaching behind to grasp Willow’s hips, she pressed her lips to Willow’s belly, and then the very top of her skirt. Her hands slid under Willow’s top, first to her back and then to her stomach, pushing their way insistently upward. Willow pulled her sweater impatiently over her head, and stood before Tara in her black camisole. Tara’s lips pressed further up on Willow’s stomach, while her hands returned to knead and squeeze her hips. She looked up at Willow, no longer smiling but simply open in her need. "I want to see you." Willow rested her hands in Tara’s hair for a moment, cradling her head against her, and then eased the camisole slowly up over her breasts. She understood, intuitively, that Tara wanted to watch this unfold, so she let her fingertips linger over her nipples.
"Oh God…Willow, you’re…" She looked up helplessly.
"I’m yours."
And then Tara had stretched her full length onto the bed, and held out her hand to Willow. Willow knelt over her, undoing the drawstring of Tara’s pants. Her hands felt strangely confident, eager, as they began to tug the loose fabric over Tara’s hips, Tara lifting herself slightly up off of the bed to help. She could see how wet Tara was, through the dark fabric of her panties.
I’ll taste her. Soon I’ll slide my fingers and my tongue into her and I’ll taste her.The thought made her dizzy.
"You…You too. Nothing more in between us." Nodding, Willow stood and unfastened her skirt, letting it slide to the floor. Then, as if by some unspoken understanding, each slipped her fingers under the hem of her panties and tugged them off.
I didn’t do her justice. I just couldn’t imagine how beautiful she is.
Willow knelt again over Tara, keeping herself braced with her arms. With her eyes locked to Tara’s, she lowered herself.
With the first full contact of their bodies, Willow shuddered, and heard Tara choke out a small gasp before circling her arms around Willow’s back and holding her tightly. Willow rested her head on Tara’s shoulder for a moment, and tried to catch her breath. Finally she looked up, meeting Tara’s eyes, and could only shake her head in wonder. Then she kissed Tara again, tongue stroking into her mouth while Tara welcomed her.
Her leg slid between Tara’s thighs; without thinking, she pushed herself deeper into that sweet, warm space and felt Tara opening for her, then wrapping one leg tightly over Willow’s. With the movement, Willow’s thigh brushed against Tara’s soft curls. She felt something heated, and slick, melt into her skin. Tara’s wetness. On her.
Oxygen becoming an issue.She needed to stop because she wasn’t sure she could keep breathing if she didn’t. She dragged her mouth away from Tara’s and looked helplessly into her eyes.
"I feel like my blood’s on fire," she whispered, before bending once more and kissing the warm, smooth rise of Tara’s breasts. Her hands traced the curves down Tara’s sides and then slid behind to her back, and finally lower still, until she felt the full curving of her hips. She squeezed the soft flesh gently, and then instinctually pulled Tara closer into her, grinding her own leg more urgently into the heat and wetness that Tara offered up to her.
Suddenly, she felt Tara’s hands on her arms. She pulled her mouth away from Tara’s nipple and looked questioningly into her eyes.
"Sit back, just a little bit." Willow was slightly puzzled by Tara’s request but she complied, leaning back on her knees, poised over Tara’s legs. Tara sat upright, and then took Willow’s right leg and gently maneuvered it, Willow bracing herself against Tara’s shoulders, until Willow was straddling her thighs.
"I’m hungry," she murmured, before leaning close to nuzzle Willow’s neck. Willow felt soft, silky tendrils of hair brush over her breasts. She imagined Tara’s lips following the same path, and felt herself grow wetter. Tara kissed her way over Willow’s collarbone and down to the flushed heat of her breasts. She slid her tongue in short strokes over Willow’s flesh, planting a sensual kiss after each sweep. Willow looked down at the profile of Tara’s face, her beautiful lips parted as she took Willow into her. She watched as Tara reached her nipple and slowly circled it with her tongue. She had never seen, never imagined anything so erotic in her life.
After stroking Willow’s nipple until it ached with the swelling, Tara slid her hands to Willow’s back and pulled her fiercely to her, engulfing Willow with the warmth of her lips, of her mouth. Willow groaned and tangled her fingers in Tara’s hair. She could feel her wetness sliding out of her, and thought dimly that it must be joining with Tara’s. The image slid like lava from her head to her belly, and twisted there hotly.
Tara moved from one breast to the other, and then back. Her movements weren't rushed, or desperate. Willow had never had a working definition of "steamy" before, but now she did, and she was drowning in it. Tara’s hands rubbed down her back, and onto the swell of her hips. She massaged Willow gently, fingers alternately caressing and squeezing. And then, arms reaching further around Willow’s hips, she began to edge lower, with an almost unbearable slowness, her mouth never leaving Willow’s breasts. Willow felt this, felt the heat shimmering from her as Tara neared her opening. Tara’s fingers stroked closer and closer until they finally grazed against Willow’s swollen lips.
Willow breathed Tara’s name, knowing what was about to happen, and shifted to open herself more fully. Tara looked up into Willow’s eyes, her own glittering with need and wonder.
"Willow—Willow, I love you," she whispered, and then her fingers were stroking into Willow’s wetness, teasing her opening and edging forward to Willow’s clit. Willow could only choke back a cry, mouth open but soundless.
This…I didn’t know it could feel like…Oh God, so good… Images, words tumbled together in Willow’s mind as she felt herself start to rock back onto Tara’s hand. She felt Tara’s thumb circle her opening and then slide deep inside of her, as two of her fingers flicked over her swollen clit and then probed on either side, pressing it gently between them.
"Tara…What are you doing to me?" She felt almost as if she would cry with everything that was roiling and cresting inside of her.
"Loving you, with everything I have." She met Tara’s eyes again and realized that their glittering arose not just from hunger but unshed tears. She lowered her mouth to Tara’s and welcomed her tongue against her own.
She knew that if this continued, she would come, hard, against Tara’s hand. And as good, as mind-bendingly good as this felt, she didn’t want to come yet. She didn’t even know why; she only knew that she wanted to feel more, know more before it happened. So she pulled back slightly from Tara’s kiss, and gently took her wrist. "Not yet," was all that she whispered, but Tara only smiled as if she understood without further words. She gently drew her fingers out of, away from Willow; and then, with a languorous grin, she lazily stroked them over Willow’s nipple. Willow could see the glistening of her own wetness, upon her own flesh, before Tara slowly lowered her mouth and licked it hungrily. Then she closed her lips fully over her nipple. Willow felt another wave of helplessness wash over her, as Tara looked up into her eyes and smiled impishly. "Delicious," she said simply.
Willow knew then why she hadn’t wanted to come yet, why she hadn’t wanted to give herself up to that completion. It was because she was so hungry, so incredibly hungry to have Tara under her, in her mouth, under her tongue. It was because she was so desperate to taste her.
She placed her hands on Tara’s shoulders and gave a gentle but insistent push. Tara lowered her elbows onto the bed and slowly lay back down, her silver hair fanning out around her on the pillow. Willow stretched out over her, kissing her with a greater fierceness and urgency. Her mouth felt dry with want. All she could think about was feasting off of Tara’s flesh, and drinking her essence. In her mind, she had done this so many times. Her fantasies had begun subtly…She would be thinking about the time she and Tara had just spent together, and gradually she had begun to add to those thoughts, creating new images and exchanges that hadn’t actually occurred…Hugs would last longer in her mind’s eye; she would kiss Tara’s cheek, or brush her hair back from her eyes. When Tara had come down with a bad cold, Willow had taken her soup and read to her. When she thought about it later, she found herself imagining that she offered to rub Tara’s back and shoulders, to help ease the ache of her body. And Tara, in her mind, had accepted and turned over, and Willow had massaged the sore muscles—through the night-shirt at first, but then, because it really would be better to reach the muscles directly, she slid her hands under Tara’s shirt and all along the length of her back, fingers sometimes grazing slightly along her sides, feeling just the hint of swelling of Tara’s breasts. And then she had finally acknowledged to herself that she wanted Tara—wanted to kiss her, hold her, make love to her. Her fantasies became more explicit until finally, one night when Buffy was at Riley’s, Willow had let her own fingers wander down to where all of that heat was calling out Tara’s name; she parted her legs; she tentatively began searching in the wetness and the hunger to learn if the image of soft blond hair upon her breasts and full lips upon her own could indeed make her body pulse and quiver and surge. And oh, yes, how it could. Willow thought about how she would make love to Tara; how she would place her mouth over Tara’s wetness and slowly drink of it. And as she thought of it, and touched herself, she became the lover and the loved, wondering if Tara’s body responded as hers did; if it leapt at the same kind of touch and stroke. When she brushed over her own swollen tip of nerves, she imagined it as her own tongue over Tara, and wondered if Tara would like this pressure, or that. Though she didn’t especially like penetration, she wondered if Tara did, and gently pushed two fingers into herself and imagined those same fingers pushing into Tara. Would she open to her, welcome the fullness? If Willow curved her fingers—like that—would Tara arch up off of the bed? Would she want to feel a slow, insistent pushing, or would she want Willow’s fingers, or tongue, to thrust hard and fast and deep into her? Willow wondered all of these things, pictured all of these things until she could hold off no more and then she came, writhing and aching and always, in a final, helpless whisper, uttering the same word: Tara…
Now she was about to live those pictures, and learn what Tara wanted and needed. Slowly, she kissed her way down over Tara’s breasts, and then her belly. Oh God…Slow down. If you move like you want to it’ll be over too soon. Ah, but she’s so beautiful. So hard not to devour her, now, no more waiting.Tara was moaning above her, choking out Willow’s name. She kissed downward, breathing in Tara’s scent—honeysuckle, it reminded Willow of, and a sweet musk that she somehow knew was a part of Tara’s arousal. She kissed over Tara’s full mound, not probing further, not yet, until finally her thumbs slid up into Tara’s folds and she slowly but insistently spread her open to receive Willow’s mouth. With a groan, she finally gave herself up to what she had wanted to do for so long.
She slid her tongue into Tara’s wetness; suckled her with a neediness she hadn’t realized she could feel. So good…Sweet; it’s sweet cream, and so much of it. I’m in her—my tongue is sliding into her and she takes me… And Tara—her soft cries of Willow’s name; her legs falling helplessly open to give herself entirely to Willow; the grinding and rocking of her hips under Willow’s mouth…it was almost too intoxicating, this wild joy she felt at knowing that she was giving Tara such pleasure.
She swept up, along the length of Tara’s full lips, and then over and around her taut, swollen clit. Every few moments, she slid back down to her opening, drawing out more of the sweet wetness that she found so incredible. And when she was there, teasing that heated center with her tongue, Tara arched up into her. So Willow went back to her clit, but gradually brought her hand to Tara and slowly edged two fingers into her. Tara gave a low moan as Willow pushed fully into her, and held, and then curved her fingers and dragged them back, almost withdrawing. Her mouth held a light seal while her tongue circled Tara’s clit over and over. Finally, she pressed harder with her lips and began to stroke more forcefully. Her fingers continued their insistent thrusting.
"Willow…Oh God, Willow…I’m close; I’m so close. Don’t stop; don’t—I need you, Willow." Tara’s voice was almost a sob. Her legs pressed hard into the sheets, flexing and releasing by turns. And then, finally, through the haze of her own lust, Willow felt Tara’s body stiffen, grow tight-wire tense; she was barely whispering Willow’s name; and then, with a long, shuddering cry, Tara came…arching, twisting spasms that rocked them both, left them shaking and groaning each other’s name.
When Willow finally withdrew her fingers from Tara, she slid them, one by one, into her own mouth, sucking off the wetness, unwilling to let any of it escape her. She felt Tara release her hair and tug gently on her shoulders, pulling Willow back up to her. Willow moved eagerly up the length of Tara’s body to find her smiling at her, even as a few tears escaped from her incredible eyes. Without thinking, Willow reached down and kissed each trickling path onto her lips. She realized that she herself was grinning hugely; it felt as if her smile would stretch clear off of her face. She flopped down beside Tara and pulled her as tightly into her arms as she could. She held her, wondering at the happiness bouncing through her like a pinball. Finally, she pulled back just enough to look at the beautiful woman—my lover—laying beside her. She reached up and stroked the soft face.
"I love you, Tara Maclay," she whispered, finally giving voice to what she had known for a long time. The blue eyes widened, and then shimmered. I want to spend my life helping her understand how absolutely lovable she is. I want to heal those bruised places that make her shocked that someone could be in love with her.And then she nestled back into the warmth of Tara’s body and smiled the universal smile of someone in love. Suddenly she thought, "Mrs. Butterworth’s Lite."
"Huh?" Tara pulled back a little bit, and tilted her head quizzically.
"Oh. OK. So, I guess I now have absolutely no inhibitory neurons where you're concerned, not even a tiny little runt of an inhibitory neuron that always gets picked last for inhibitory neuron basketball." Willow could feel herself turning a deep red. "I thought I had thought that."
Tara laughed deeply. With her hand on Tara’s chest, Willow could feel the quick rise and fall of her breath, and the rumbling of her laughter within her chest. She thought it was the most delightful thing she had ever experienced.
"So, leaving aside for the moment the idea that you’re completely uninhibited around me—which is so incredibly OK with me, by the way—what’s with the Mrs. Butterworth’s
reference?"
The blush edged back into Willow’s face. "Well, see—I was just thinking about your…" She felt the blush go from red to crimson. "About your, uh, wetness." And that would be flaming scarlet,she assessed, as her face grew even hotter.
"And I taste like maple syrup? I mean, it’s better than Pepto-Bismol, I guess, or Ny-Quil, but still…"
"No—you don’t tastelike maple syrup. You feellike maple syrup; Mrs. Butterworth’s Lite, to be specific. On my lips…" She looked up at Tara, feeling the twisting sensation spiral into her belly again. "On my tongue." She swallowed, hoping that she wasn’t expressing all of this in some horribly Willow-esque, very-much-not-how-she-meant-it way. "I mean…the feeling of you. Warm, and slick. You taste…you taste like nothing I could have imagined before. And believe me, I spent lots of nights imagining it." Was she making any sense whatsoever? Did Tara think that Willow had just compared her wonderful, delicious, incredible wetness to a pancake syrup? And if so, wouldn’t that probably annoy her just a little bit?
Looking worriedly into Tara’s eyes, she was relieved to see them crinkle with laughter. "God, Baby, I love you how paint things. I love how you make me see your world."
She called me ‘Baby.’ So, that’s one of her pet-names for me. We have pet-names.Smiling at Tara, she could see the blue eyes shift, subtly, from merriment to stillness and then to what Willow now recognized as hunger.
"And how do youtaste? How do youfeel?" The words hung heavily between them. Willow felt the twisting sharpen, plunge as she thought reflexively about how Tara answers to those questions.
As Tara made her long, deliciously circuitous route toward Willow’s aching wetness, Willow thought she would break apart with the wanting. She felt Tara’s breast resting against her wet curls, and then Tara cupped her breast in her hand and eased it against Willow’s folds, slowly rubbing it along the length of her lips until they parted and Willow felt her wetness covering Tara’s flesh. Willow groaned, her fingers in Tara’s hair gripping reflexively. Tara shifted again, just slightly, until her nipple brushed against Willow’s clit. Willow thought wildly that she would surely come from that pressure, and that image. But then Tara shifted, and Willow felt hot breath wafting against her own heat. Tara’s mouth was gently nudging open her own lips, and finally, Tara eased her tongue into her wetness. Willow heard choked sounds coming from both of them. Over, and over; and then circling in some magical, secret way that made Willow shudder with each movement…She felt Tara slide into her, and then withdraw her tongue just to her opening and tease her there. And then she slid back up to her clit, which throbbed and ached with the warm insistence of Tara’s mouth. She knew she would come soon—she had been on the edge, it seemed now, from the moment that Tara had first touched her face that night. She could feel herself rocking into the sweet mouth, hips grinding helplessly. It was rolling across her, through her—a wave of heat and ferocity… She realized suddenly that she wanted to look into Tara’s eyes when she came. She wanted to feel Tara against her, while she came—see her helpless need and her utter completion.
"Tara…Baby, come here." The words were no more than a whisper. She felt Tara reluctantly pull her mouth away from her wetness and heat, and then she was edging up Willow’s body, draping kisses like warm snowflakes across her torso and breasts.
"Tell me, Love. Tell me what you need." There was no judgement, no disappointment, no pre-conceived assumption of what should happen. There was only Tara, looking at her with wanted. The sight, and the knowledge, pushed the wave deeper into Willow’s core.
"Push—push your thigh into me, and let me look at you. I need to look at you when I come." Tara swallowed, and leaned down to kiss her. Willow felt the soft curtain of her hair falling over her cheeks and her eyes. Tara positioned herself between Willow’s legs, groaning as she did, and asked, "This? Like this?" Willow shuddered, and looked at Tara wonderingly.
"Yes. How…How do you know…?"
"You tell me. Your body tells me." The blue eyes were a shade of cobalt unlike anything Willow had seen there before. Tara began to rock, and push, and grind into Willow’s open core, with a slow, certain strength that Willow found unbearably erotic. Even apart from the delicious friction, Tara’s intense gaze and the feel of her muscles moving under Willow’s fingers were like unseen strokes on her clit. Willow slid her hands from Tara’s hips to her shoulders, and then to her breasts, swaying gently above her own. Cupping, squeezing, she groaned Tara’s name and tried to keep from closing her eyes with the intensity of her reactions. She spread her legs even more, offering up all of her swollen flesh and heated wetness to Tara’s soft strength. Did I make her feel this good? Oh, goddess, if she felt any of this…
And then she felt the wave begin its crest, somewhere deep within the soles of her feet, and roll its way forward up her legs and over her thighs and across her hips and then right to the tip, she was at the very edge…She slid her hands to Tara’s face, cupping her beautiful smooth skin; she held the incredible, glistening blue eyes with her own; she managed a final choked cry of Tara’s name—and then the wave hit her; slammed into her; wrenched her back and shoulders up off of the bed until she was clutching Tara’s body against her own, mouth hard against Tara’s neck, as she shuddered, again, and then again…And then, finally, they both eased back down, where Tara lay full against her, gathering her breath for a moment.
After a few seconds, Tara lifted her head and kissed Willow deeply. Their lips weren’t rushed now; they could explore each other’s warmth with a leisurely assurance of the future. Finally, Willow looked into Tara’s eyes, running the back of her fingers across Tara’s cheek. "How did you do that? How do you do these things to my body?"
"It’s what we make together. I…I build off of you, and your passion, and the way you make me feel, and we just…pusheach other; lifteach other." Tara cocked her head to one side, a sudden question entering her gaze. "You know, right, that you do to me what you just felt? You know that?"
"I guess I hoped so. Now I know so." They gazed at each other, one mirroring the other’s smile and wonderment. After a moment, Tara rolled to her side and looked up at Willow. Both seemed to register their exhaustion at the same time.
"If you would have told me this morning that I’d feel this way tonight…" Tara murmured.
"I know," Willow replied. "Why do I think I’m going to sleep better than I have in, oh, about ten days?" She felt Tara smile against her shoulder. "Wanna spoon? I mean, I know you’re gonna end up on your stomach, but consider it a lay-over on the way to your final destination."
"So is ‘lay-over’ supposed to be a really naughty pun? ‘Cause even if it isn’t, it’s funny." Tara’s voice began to grow indistinct.
"Well, if it’s funny, then I definitely meant it." Willow leaned down, and held Tara’s eyes with her own. "I love you, Tara." And then she felt, as much as heard, Tara’s reply falling softly against her lips: "I love you too, Willow." They smiled at each other again, and then finally Willow rolled over onto her side, feeling Tara’s breasts press into her back a moment thereafter. OK, it’s late. You’re both tired. Don’t turn back into the all jazzed-up, turned-on Willow again right now…Although, if we both wake up, just by funny coincidence, at the same time in, like, a couple of hours, then, well, we’ll have had enough sleep at least to replenish some strength and we could certainly… Such were Willow’s thoughts as she drifted asleep in Tara’s arms.
~~~~~~~
As it turned out, however, it wasn’t a funny coincidence that woke them up at the same time, and it wasn’t a couple of hours later. It was not quite four and a half hours later that they were awakened by the sound of the door edging tentatively open.
Willow’s first thought was that frogs were holding their annual Amphibian Pride March and her room was on the parade route. And then her alpha waves began to switch over to betas, and she assumed Buffy was coming home. She wasn’t awake enough yet to be embarrassed, so she sat up, completely naked. "Buffy, I thought you said—" She stopped, realizing that it wasn’t her roommate who stood trembling before her.
By the dim glow of streetlights filtering through the windows, she saw eyes begin to turn, begin to glow. She heard breathing quicken, grow shallow.
"I should have called," he managed to whisper, the despair in his voice mingling with grief and rage and a guilt borne of the knowledge of what he would do.
To be continued Edited by: AntigoneUnbound at: 10/23/02 10:17:09 pm
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Well done. 
.
...it's so obvious that she wants Tara in every way...go and get the girl..damn!
-Viv-