New Fic: Sweat and Blood

[Kaie the Bard]

Title - Sweat and Blood
Author name - Kaie-Marie
Rating - R - Sexual themes and violence
Disclaimer - I sure as hell do NOT own Willow, Tara, or any of Joss' other creations: Let alone a brothel.... Hell, if I did, I'd be too damn busy to write a bloody fanfic.
Feedback- Feedback? Yes please: It's the only way I'll get any better.
Summary- Willow is the Head Mistress of a brothel (whore house) where an unfortunate incident occours. Police, lead by Officer Tara Maclay, arrive at the scene and start collecting suspects...



Willow carelessly flicked a lock of fiery red hair from her face, a smile spreading across her lips at the approach of four young males from down the road. They seemed to be rather drunk: The perfect recipie for their financial demise.
"Hey! Guys! I told you we'd find 'em here! This is totally the right place!" one of the men cheered. The other three laughed and bleched in reply, nothing attractive nor romantic. None the less, a college boy custom. She raised twin fingers and motioned the boys towards her slender figure, wrapped in silk and form-fitted leather, which pressed against twin oak doors. There was no protest nor delay in the intoxicated boys who quicly ensued their prey. Sly grin still in tact, Willow slipped behind one of the large doors and let it slip shut behind her.

"Hey, guys, do you think we should be doin' this?" one of them paused.
"Come on Oz, these bitches want us to fuck 'em."
"Yeah, Ozzy, think of the ugly fuckers that come in here and bang 'em. We're the fucking relief party."
"Good one, Jessie."
"Fuck yeah." Jessie replied.

'a mess of losers' Oz sighed in his thoughts, his head shaking slowly as he turned from the other three. Returning Oz's sencibilities with the erection of a thoughtless finger, Jessie, Miles, and London began to bang loudly on the arched doorway of the towering Victorian era home.
"Come on, ladies! Let us in!" Jessie laughed, taking another large swig of the thick bottle he religiously grasped in his hand.

'you morons make me sick...' Oz fumbled in his thoughts as he took a seat on the large brick fence that surrounded the property. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his cell, analysing the time before he put it away once more.
"11:23," he mumbled, "Those idiots should be done in..hmm...a few minutes."
Chuckling, his eyes returned to the oak doors where the trio coughed, sputtered, and complained with the essence of small schoolchildren.

"Alright, boys. Hold up," a soft voice chimed from behind the doors as the large iron bolt slid back and the doors began to creak open. Jessie couldn't wait, shoving the door hard and knocking the young girl who had opened the door hard onto her back. Her eyes clenched shut as she resisted reacting in violence. Willow sat atop a slender desk rittled with papers and tilted her head,
"Agressive are we? You boys must be ball players." she smirked.
"Hell yeah!" London replied in a drunken cheer.
Willow closed her eyes and chuckled for a moment: 'cocky ball players trying to rule over my girls. This ought to be an interesting night.'

The petite brunette rose from the floor and dusted herself off, throwing a harsh glaze in the direction of the three males as she lined up with the other women for the ensuing 'inspection'. The boys began to wander back and forth, grabbing chests and harshly groping groins. Willows eyes narrowed at the sight of such an act, her hidden hand clenching into a fist.
"Perhaps you boys should lea--"
"We'll take this one." Jessie said aloud, cutting off Willows intruisional invitation of parting. The jock's fingertips had wrapped tightly around the waistband of young Buffys skirt, his face mere inches from her own. Her nose scrunched in protest to the strong scent of liquor and sweat: A mixture that her new proffession had made her grow accustomed to. Willow nodded and replied,
"Now, is that one for you, or one for all of you?"
Jessie grinned in a nearly dark demeanor: "All of us."

@->--

Willow sat atop her desk once more as her eyes trailed young Dawn, who paced impatiently infront of the entranceway.
"What the hell is taking so long?" Dawn wimpered, shrill fear in her voice of her sister's momentary retreat with the three drunken men. Willow didn't blame her, in fact: she was a bit worried herself.
"Now, Dawn, you know that if something was wrong, she'd hit the panic butto--"
A sharp squeal peirced the air as the switchboard lit up. Fate and karma, perhaps, as the red light flickered to Buffy's room. Willow fetched the rifle from beneath her desk, throttling her rage into twin barrels as she commanded Dawn to dail for help. Charging up a spiraling set of stairs, Willow firmly kicked open the door to the bedroom only to withdraw in a staggering shock.

@->--

Sirens flared as identical cruisers slammed into their respective spots outside the haunting brothel. Iron pistols rose to Oz's placement as commanding voices demanded his decent.
"You! Get down from there! You're under arrest!" a firm male voice boomed.
"What?" Oz called out in a confused voice, "I didn't do anything!"
"Get down and lie face down on the pavement! This is your final warning!"
"God," he sighed, begining his climb back down to earth, "What the hell happened anyways?"
Officer Maclay raised an eyebrow, "I'd ask you the same thing." she scoffed, turning on her heels and heading towards the twin oak doors that lay pressed open by the presence of it's Head Mistress.
"You must be Officer Maclay." Willow said softly, extending her hand in invitation. Tara ignored her greeting and replied,
"And you must be Willow Rosenburg, the head whore of this house. Take me to the scene." she said sharply.
Willow nodded, her spine shivvering from the cold tone of Officer Maclay's words. None the less, she began to acend the cold iron stairs that spiraled to the third floor of the exotic home, where the sobbing girls gathered around a single broken door. Tara grumbled and shoved through the blatent display of estrogen and grinned as her eyes fell on the display of the two men and the young hooker slung bloody and beaten over the frail frame of the chipped and beaten bed.
Officer Maclay turned sharply to Willow and said softly, "Looks like we've got a long road ahead of us..."

TBC

[Naeryn]

DIBS!

~A few minutes later~

Holy shit! I'm intrigued. I'm guessing Willow's outfit is the Vamp Willow one?
And officer Tara? ...I'm guessing she's not too impressed by the idea of a brothel, hmm?
Poor Buffy. Glad Oz decided to stay outside.

[Kaie the Bard]

Title - Sweat and Blood
Author name - Kaie-Marie
Rating - R - Sexual themes and violence
Disclaimer - I sure as hell do NOT own Willow, Tara, or any of Joss' other creations: Let alone a brothel.... Hell, if I did, I'd be too damn busy to write a bloody fanfic.
Feedback- Feedback? Yes please: It's the only way I'll get any better.
Summary- Willow is the Head Mistress of a Brothel where 2 men and a hooker (Buffy) have been murdered. Officer Tara Maclay is on the scene with her fellow officers to handle the situation
Note- As my work schedual is very uncertain, and I write "when the inspiration hits me", I will be posting updates about this size every 3 or 4 days.

His heated breath rolled from his sugar-caked lips that smelt of coffee and cheap cigarettes as he spoke, thick curled hair extending from the collar of his sky blue uniform as his stubby fingers adjusted an already loose button. His eyes either must've been lazy or stupid, because he regularly seemed to forget he intention of the interrogation. Faith, in her own rights, was no aid to this effort, clad in bikini cut dark stone wash jeans and a fitted leather corset, bound with scarred hide and plum lace.
"So what are you trying to say?" Faith muttered in her usually fitting harsh tone, her chest puffing with primal instinct in an attempt to either manipulate the fool into letting her free, or at least letting her off easy. The officer took advantage of her position and took a long, sweeping glance over bound and supple breasts.
"Now, Ms. -- "
"Cut me the crap, you chubby bastard," she spat, her hands balled into tight fists, "Either let me the hell out of here, or I'll carve my way out with your thick skull!"
The officer nodded slowly and turned his head to the large mirror-esque wall where the investigative team stood with raised eyebrows. The tallest of the bregade, a man in his early 50s, ran a coarse hand through his short, bristled hair and gave a low sigh.
"With resistance like this, you'd almost say it was her and wrap up the case." he sighed in subtle sarcasm.
"But we can't just blame her. I mean, there's no way that she could've slaughtered three people and gotten herself cleaned off in time." his assistant chimed.
"That's an awefully morbid look at it, Anya."
"Really? My kindergarten teacher always said I was the 'creative' student..." she replied, turning to leave the room with a careless flick of her crisp golden hair. Without much more than a second thought, resulting in only the slow shaking of his head, he followed the carefree girl into the halls where they awaited the arrival of the helpless and hopeless officer who let the iron door slam shut behind him in a protest of rage.
"What are we going to do about her?" he grumbled.
"Well, she was in the next room over from the crime scene. We can't very well dismiss her." Giles replied, wiping the oils from his glasses off on the bottom of his crisp, white collared shirt.
"I know, but can't we sedate her or something?"
"Potentially. I mean, that's what they do to rhinos, right?" Anya chirped.
Giles face twisted slowly into a half grin, "I fail to see the horns on her head, Anya."
"She's a hooker, Giles, she's always horny."

@->--

Willow let a low sigh slip from parted lips as she tucked away a lock of autumn hair behind Dawns slender ear. It'd been more than a rough day for the frail girl, no sleep to comfort her at the loss of her sister, and only the arms of the woman she subconciously blamed for the demise of her sibling and the other lambs-yet-to-be-slaughtered who dwelled in the house of Sin. None the less, fatigue collapsed upon this duckling with a sence of vengance, throwing her into a deep slumber.
"She's had quite the rough day." Willow whispered to the overbearing presence that stood at the doorway.
"How did you know I was here?" Tara replied softly, not to press the matter of events passed quite so early in the conversation.
"You're the only woman I've met who wears mango perfume." she said with a smile, tucking Dawn into her bed before turning to greet the slender female with her eyes. She tilted her head to the side, her red hair shifting upon her shoulders, "Have you eaten?"
Tara smirked, unsure of what exactly to reply, "And if I say no?"
Willow winked in her usual charm, "Come with me, I'll cook something up for the both of us."
Tara took a step backwards to exit the delicatly painted room, glowing of Dawns essence in it's pink displays of femininity. Willow followed shortly, her eyes resting on the sleeping angel as she slowly shut the door.

"So," Willow sighed softly, "Why are you really here?"
"I was worried about the girl."
Willow firmly placed her hands on her hips, a scornful look in her eyes, "You weren't so caring yesterday, eager for nothing short of blood and handcuffs."
Tara lowered her head slowly, "I had to take charge of the scene, Ms. Rosenburg." she replied, her officers intuition taking over in a defencive retraction.
Willow smiled and placed her hand on Taras cheek, "We're past the "Ms. Whatever-your-last-name-is" part of this escapade. Just call me Willow."
Tara nodded, her face escaping the womans embrace, "Alright then, Willow. Now, shall we stay here or step out? There are some things we need to talk about."
Willow paused, "I thought you were here for the girl."
Taras eyes narrowed, "That's exactly it: I'm here for the girl."

@->--

"Hey! HEY! Get me the hell outta here! You gotta help me!" Oz shouted, one hand firmly clenching the retaining bars of his cell while the other outstretched in plea. The patrol officer looked him over and withdrew a key from her belt, sliding it into place and unlocking the door. Oz paused,
"I'm free?"
The officer laughed in a high tone and grabbed his wrist, harshly grinding a pair of handcuffs onto his slender arms. "You're gonna be here for a while, pal."
"Oh man..." Oz grumbled, his head hung low as he was marched to the larger iron gates that spelt out the proceeding game of 20 Questions in his mind. Yellow was a colour everpresent in this place, not of the white walls or floors, but the dim lights that hung from above that echoed the truth of imprisonment:
No light.
No hope.

Or so he told himself, soon to be abolished by the comforting smile of his lover who stood at the front desk.
"Well, my little jailbird. What've you gotten yourself into this time?"

TBC

[LesbianJedi87]

HAHA IM FIRST! "dances"

SEE FEEDBACK!
I like this...Willow being "head whore" of a whore house is indeed interesting. Tara being a cop is definatly
And poor Buffy
Well at least Oz isn't a jerk like I thought he was going to be.
Sad fact that he gets thrown in jail for something he didn't even do.
Im eagerly waiting for SMUT!
If you update more often, I might just leave more feedback!
Great writting Kaie, you're doing great!

[Naeryn]

I CAN'T BELIEVE I MISSED BEING FIRST! DAMMIT!

Oh well. Dibs on the second post then

"I know, but can't we sedate her or something?"
"Potentially. I mean, that's what they do to rhinos, right?" Anya chirped.
Giles face twisted slowly into a half grin, "I fail to see the horns on her head, Anya."
"She's a hooker, Giles, she's always horny."

...that part made me just about fall off my chair. It's just so... so... Anya!
And, FYI, it's 'Rosenberg', not 'Rosenburg'.

The spelling nazi strikes again, right?