Okay, it was brought to my attention that some kitties were needing a little relief from my DF story, so, with much encouragement(nee, read harassing) I am dropping in this little filler until the next part of DF is ready. Enjoy!
Tara woke with a start, her eyes trying to focus in the darkness of the room. The blonde rolled onto her back, her hand snaking beneath the covers in search of light and warmth.
In search of Willow.
Tara sighed heavily when her hand encountered the chill of the empty space beside her. As her eyes finally adjusted to the blackness of their room, she saw that Willow’s side of the bed had not been turned down.
“Oh, Willow,” she whispered to herself.
Tara threw the covers back and swung her legs off the bed as she sat up. As she reached for her robe, she noticed the clock beside her: 4:37 a.m. Tara rubbed her tired eyes, yawning widely as she stood up and pulled the silky material over herself. The blonde carefully manuevered her way in the dark towards the door, opening it quietly. No need to alert the rest of the house, especially when she was only interested in getting one particular redheaded absentee sleeper to rise and shine.
Passing Buffy’s and Dawn’s rooms, Tara descended the stairs, holding her robe shut with one hand while the other held the bannister. At the bottom, she paused, glancing into the living room. As she expected, she could just barely make out the whitish color of a blanket spread on the couch.
“Not again,” she said quietly, a lopsided-smirk finding its way to her lips.
Tara tread quietly into the room, stopping beside the coffee table. “Willow,” she whispered. There was no movement, no acknowledgement that she’d been heard, so she tried again. A bit louder. “Willow.”
Again nothing.
Tara frowned and reached out to shake her Sleeping Beauty into wakefulness. Her frown increased to full-blown worry-face as her hand fell against an empty blanket.
“Willow?” she asked, quickly turning on the endtable lamp. She squinted against the sudden illumination, tiny green-yellow spots dancing before her eyes as they tried to adjust. When they did, Tara discovered the couch, like their bed, was empty.
Where is she?Tara walked from the living room towards the kitchen. No light was on, but as she hadn’t turned on any lights herself— for fear of waking others— maybe her lover had done the same. The blonde stopped in the entryway and ran her fingers up the wall until they encountered the light switch.
Click.
Again nothing.
Well, not nothing exactly.
On the kitchen island were the remains of a haphazardly made breakfast: bowl, glass, spoon, cereal box. Tara leaned against the doorframe, defeated.
And, not just a little frustrated.
As she lifted her hand to the switch, her eyes focused on a white rectangular object propped up against the cereal box. She pushed herself off the wall and drifted over the cool tile until she could see what it was.
“Tara.”Her name, each letter in a different color, was written on an envelope in Willow’s loopy cursive. The blonde picked letter up and raised it to her nose. She inhaled deeply, certain that she could smell just the slightest hint of the redhead’s vanilla shampoo; Tara smiled as she flipped the envelope over and withdrew the folded paper. Opening it, she read Willow’s words.
“Tara, by the time you read this, I’m sure I’ll already be gone. The library opens at 5 a.m. today, and I still need to do some research. I’ll be there all day, and most likely the better part of the night, so don’t wait for me for dinner. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know where I am, and that I’m okay. I can’t wait till I’m done with this paper— then we celebrate. I need my smoochies! I miss you, Baby. I love you. Willow.”Tara reread the letter a half dozen more times before she carefully placed it back inside the envelope. She dropped it into the pocket of her robe, rubbing her hand over the material, as if she could somehow feel Willow by doing so.
Days.
She hadn’t seen Willow for days. While she, herself, had finished her own finals, Willow still had one to go. A final final. A thesis paper the size of Webster’s Unabridged, and when the blonde was at home, Willow was in class; when she was in bed, Willow was studying elsewhere. And since they hadn’t really seen each other in a week, they hadn’t really spoken.
And they certainly hadn’t touched.
Or loved.
Hence the frustration.
Well, that’s gonna change. Post-haste.Tara smiled to her self as she turned and left the kitchen, switching off the light as she went back upstairs to catch a few more hours of sleep.
I’ll need it.*****
By 2:30 p.m. Willow was fully ensconced in her research, taking copious notes and writing pape-after-page of ideas, viewpoints, opinions. She had sequestered herself a cubicle near the back wall of the third floor, near Biochemical Engineering, one of the quietest and secluded places in the entire library.
Well, on any other day, one of the quietest and secluded.
Unfortunately for the redhead, it was finals week, and being thus, there were nearly a dozen other students sporadically seated around her, each in their own little version of Higher Learning Hell.
After finishing what she was sure was the most boring paragraph she had ever read in her whole life— including all of the endless hours of demon research and free-time pleasure reading— Willow dropped her pen in the binding of her book and sat up. She raised her arms above her head and stretched long and hard, hearing her back crack and pop from the hours and hours of idle sitting. Then she lifted her eyes to the ceiling and stared for several seconds, slowly rotating her head to loosen her tired shoulder and neck muscles.
Tara massage. She took a deep breath as she thought of her lover. Of her lover’s hands. Of her lover’s hands touching her. Touching her body. All over. Massaging away the stiffness, the weariness, the aches and pains.
Just touching her.
Period.
Willow felt her body flush with heat, a heat Tara always created inside her, whether the blonde touched her or not. Simply thinking about her lover brought her core body temperature up ten degrees, making it almost impossible toconcentrate or, well, breathe.
And having been pretty much Tara-less, in every single sense of the word, for the past week, Willow was feeling particularly. . . hot at the moment. The redhead pulled the neck of her shirt away from her skin, flapping it back-and-forth in an attempt to get some cool air on her skin.
Okay, enough. Think. About science. Theories. Equations. The sooner you’re done, the sooner you get. . . Tara.Willow hunched back over her book in a determined huff, her eyes absorbing the words before her in a newfound, exhilarated pace. She grabbed her pencil and started scribbling notes furiously, a smile playing on her lips.
And then suddenly, someone was touching her.
Barely.
Feather-soft.
But touching her nonetheless.
Hands were on her waist, fingers pressing gently into her hipbones.
What the. . . .Willow stiffened and sat up, turning to give some perve a piece of her mind.
“Don’t turn around.”
Willow froze, mid-turn.
A shiver ran down her spine as Tara’s whisper caressed her skin.
It’s my perve. Willow slowly faced forward again, letting her hands rest on top of her books as she waited for Tara to speak again. But instead of speaking, the blonde trailed her hands slowly up Willow’s body, over her ribs, grazing her breasts, over her shoulder blades, up to her neck. Another shiver raced through Willow as Tara’s touch elicited goose bumps over the bare skin of her arms.
“T-Tara,” Willow stammered, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Shh,” the blonde whispered. “Don’t say anything.”
Tara slid her hands back down Willow’s body, retracing their dizzying path to her waist. Once there, the blonde slowly used her fingers to inch the redhead’s shirt up and out of her jeans; as soon as she felt the hem of the garment, the blonde pushed her hands beneath it, sighing softly as her searching fingers finally discovered Willow-skin.
Oh, God. . . . Willow opened her mouth slightly as she felt Tara’s warm hands on her skin. She sat up straighter in her chair, not knowing what was going on or what was coming next.
Only that Tara was here.
And Tara was touching her.
Behind her, Tara shifted, scooting her chair closer to Willow’s. Tara opened her legs enough for the back of Willow’s chair to fit between them; the blonde leaned forward, pressing up against the back of her lover’s chair as she lowered her chin to Willow’s shoulder. “Willow,” Tara whispered, her breath a light caress touching her ear. The blonde shifted suddenly, moving to rest on Willow’s other shoulder. “I miss you, too.”
Oh, God. . . . “Tara,” Willow whispered, trying to look at her.
“Shh,” her lover said again. “Don’t move.”
Willow didn’t move. She faced forward again, completely at Tara’s mercy.
Tara kept her chin on Willow’s shoulder, even as her hands began a gentle exploration of Willow’s body. Venturing further under her lover’s shirt, Tara’s hands glided from the redhead’s waist, over the flat planes of her stomach. Willow’s skin was cool beneath her palms, smooth and soft; she felt the redhead’s muscles contract as her fingers met one another near the button of her jeans.
Willow closed her eyes as Tara’s hands blazed a path over her skin. She could feel her heat rising, her heartbeat increasing with every second that passed.
Tara-touch. And then, Tara’s hands were on the move again, traveling northerly, until finally they reached their intended destination. Tara softly cupped the undersides of Willow’s breasts in her palms, rubbing her thumbs against the gauzy material of the redhead’s bra.
Willow’s eyes snapped open as soon as Tara’s hands had found her breasts, realizing suddenly that her lover meant to take this to its inevitable finish.
In the library.
In public.
In front of people.
Willow glanced around quickly, her eyes darting table-to-table, cubicle-to-cubicle, searching for signs that someone— anyone— could see what was going on near the back wall.
But no one seemed to see.
Or if they did, they didn’t seem to care.
Tara’s palms advanced further, cresting over Willow’s breasts until she held one fully in each hand; she felt the redhead’s nipples harden instantly with her touch. Slowly she massaged the shrouded flesh, smiling as she felt her lover’s heartbeat pick up its pace. Ever so gently, the blonde rotated her hands so she could softly scrape her fingernails over Willow’s hardened nipples, arousing them until they were pepple-hard beneath her fingertips.
As the aching pressure in her breasts continued to build, Willow moaned with pleasure.
And pain.
Again, she eagled the floor, but no one was looking their way.
Willow felt perspiration appearing on her body, her forehead, her neck, her back and stomach. But no place more acutely than between her breasts. Tara continued to stroke her, moving her quickly from one level of pleasure to another.
Tara slid one hand off of Willow’s breast, and the redhead whimpered softly at it’s abandonment. The blonde shifted and pressed her lips against her lover’s neck, over her pounding pulse, for several seconds. She let her tongue dart out to taste the redhead’s salty skin before pulling away.
While one hand continued its ministrations on Willow’s breast, the other moved lower, making its way steadily towards its new, exotic southern location. She reached the band of Willow’s jeans and paused; the blonde felt her lover catch her breath, holding it unconsciously in anticipation.
Tara smiled and then continued on, trailing her hand over the metal button, then the zipper; lower still, to the inside of the redhead’s thigh. She took hold of Willow’s leg and tugged, pulling it several inches away from the other.
Oh, God. . . . Willow could feel her body’s senses sharpening, honing in on themselves, spiraling down between her legs to the center of her being. It was not perspiration she felt there; it was her own desire, her own need for Tara, soaking her panties and jeans.
Tara’s other hand moved from Willow’s breast, mirroring its twin’s actions. Tugging the redhead’s other leg, she spread her lover’s body wide to her attentions, allowing her roaming hands complete access to all of the redhead’s hidden wonders.
Willow’s breath caught in her throat as Tara’s hands moved over her legs. The blonde’s hot breath feathered over her neck and ear, sending new waves of desire coursing through her. She licked her lips, tasting her own saltiness, then bit down on her lower lip in an attempt to stifle another moan from emerging. It was becoming too much for her, and she knew it; she would have to find release soon, or she knew she would come undone.
Tara breathed in deeply, pulling Willow’s heady scent inside of her, reveling in it. Willow turned her head, ever so slightly to the left, and was able to catch her lover’s eyes for the merest of moments; the blonde’s own want and need were evident, reflected back to her in pools of deep blue, and the tiniest of smiles touched Willow’s lips.
One hand worked its way back up Willow’s body, quickly finding one breast and squeezing gently, as the other slid over the crisp material of the redhead’s pants, pausing near her inner thigh. The blonde could feel the heat emanating from her lover’s center, cascading over her skin in hot waves.
Without any further hesitation, Tara pushed her hand between Willow’s legs, over the heat and velvet wetness that was hidden beneath.
“Oh, God,” Willow rasped, her body convulsing involuntarily.
Tara began to rub her hand back-and-forth over Willow, down to the wood of the chair, then back up to the rise of her pubic bone. She ran her palm over the pants’ seam, making sure her fingers pressed the rough material into Willow’s clit as they passed over it.
Willow felt her whole body caving in on itself, collapsing, spiraling down, down, down, past her stomach to where Tara’s hand was working her over. The redhead reached for her lover’s hand between her legs, not sure if she wanted her to stop or urge her on more quickly, but Tara’s voice stopped her.
“Don’t move,” she whispered, her hands still moving over her in the most intimate ways.
Willow brought both hands to the desk top, grabbing onto the nearest book for dear life. “T-Tara, please,” she whispered, barely managing to form words.
“Shh,” her lover soothed again, placing another kiss on her neck, tasting the skin again as well. Then, the blonde began to stroke Willow faster, harder, pushing her fingers deeper into the folds of hot material; she could feel the increasing heat and wetness seeping through, covering her hand with a sheen of Willow’s essence. A moan escaped her own lips as the sensations washed over her, coursed through her; her own body responded to Willow’s, as it always did, and she felt her own panties dampen.
The hand on Willow’s breast dropped, gliding over her stomach to the band of the redhead’s jeans; with nimble fingers, Tara maneuvered the button through the whole, giving her fingers just enough space to force themselves inside.
Willow leaned back against the chair, trying to give her lover a better advantage without giving anyone else a free show. “Tara. . . God. . . .”
Tara’s fingertips pushed beneath the elastic barrier of Willow’s panties, instantly making contact with the wiry, dark auburn curls hidden there; the blonde’s fingers progressed no further as her other hand stroked Willow faster.
Willow couldn’t hold on.
Not any longer.
The last week, not having Tara touch her at all had caused Willow’s tolerance level to decrease; normally what would take a much longer time to achieve was approaching at the speed of light.
And there was no way to stop it.
“Tara. . . oh, God, yes,” she said, her voice a bit louder than she anticipated, her breath coming in short, staccato rasps.
Tara moved faster, harder, urging Willow on to climax. Two final strokes and she felt Willow give way, a new wet warmth making contact with her palm. Willow’s body shook as she reached orgasm, and she groaned as her body’s internal pressure was finally released.
The redhead propped her forehead in her hand, trying to get control over her senses once again. Several seconds passed Willow’s breathing finally returned to a normal pace. It was then she realized that Tara’s hands were still touching her, they hadn’t moved.
That’s it. Willow raised her head and turned her body slightly, happy to see Tara’s flushed face smiling at her. Willow’s breath caught in her throat again as she looked into her lover’s eyes. She felt herself falling into them, falling forever, and she found herself returning the blonde’s smile. Then, without warning, she pushed her lips against Tara’s in a deep, searing kiss, her tongue forcing its way over her teeth, seeking out its mate. Tara gasped at the redhead’s sudden movement, but she opened her mouth, welcoming her lover inside. They tasted one another, bathed in one another, the heat between them building again.
Quickly.
Willow broke the kiss, pulling back to look deep into Tara’s eyes. Their breath was ragged, an intoxicant driving them to a drunken desire in each other. Willow laid a hand against her lover’s jaw as she pressed their foreheads together. She closed her eyes, visions of Tara dappling the backs of her eyelids. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes; she dropped her hand and craned her eyes to survey the library. Her eyes found what they were looking for and she turned her attention back to Tara.
“Come with me,” she whispered.
TBC
Kris
“Frell that!”
Edited by: KrisBo5 at: 8/2/02 9:33:31 am
by KrisBo5 » Thu Aug 01, 2002 11:56 am 
I love recruits! Not as much as I love C though! Hey baby! sorry I took so long, I had to sleep at some time, ya know...
but we have all the time for that once you get hold of a camera 
: -->
when Kris is not willing to update ... WE LOVE YOU KRIS, don't ever doubt that but it's good to be productive too). if you have questions, comments please don't hesitate to ask, we're here to guide and help. 
(there is no emoticon that bows but this one kinda falls so i hope it's ok...) second: due to you, because i had to harass you so often i became a willowhand 
at: 8/3/02 4:21:27 pm