by AntigoneUnbound. » Tue Nov 05, 2002 8:30 pm
On Second Thought: Part 5
But first, a few last responses to Part 4:
]]Stereo (Karen)—I’m glad you liked the Willow babble! Yeah, I think Tara’s definitely the person most likely to worry about other people that she didn’t even know. Thanks for the kind words and encouragement.
]]DW—As ever, you say the nicest things! (Insert blush here.) I’m glad you liked Giles’ parting comment to Xander. I think that he’s a nice example of the "less is more" precept when it comes to humor. Thanks again for your incredible support, and don’t forget that I’m lovin’ "The Heart Rules the Mind" in all kinds o’ ways!
]]AmberEyedDragon—I’m psyched that the characters feel real to you. I think that on the show, they drive the plot instead of vice-versa, so it feels pretty imperative to write them well in order for anything they do to interest the readers at all. Thanks for the good thoughts.
]]Patty—Wow…Those were some of the kindest words I’ve ever read about a piece I’ve written (for anything). Actually, this is my virginal effort: I just found the board not long ago. Thanks a lot for your positive thoughts; I really appreciate you taking the time to write them.
And now, we return to our story…
Premise: Way the heck back in S4, Willow makes a difficult choice
Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy created Willow and Tara, but I, a lowly lesbian from the heartland of America, join other defiant Kittens in rescuing them from the wretched refuse of Season 6.
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 chose Oz, in no small part b/c she believed he needed her more. It became clear, however, that her love for Tara was only growing. They met for coffee and longing glances. Willow ran into Tara at the Bronze, only to find Tara being, shall we say, appreciated by another woman. Willow fled, Tara followed, Big Time Sensuality (to quote Bjork) ensued. They fell asleep contentedly in each other’s arms. Willow awoke to the sound of someone entering the room—Oz, stopping by on an ill-advised whim. Oz wolfed out, but Tara employed a soothing spell that included, in essence, offering herself to the werewolf while Willow was anchored in a state of safety and calm. After a rather tenuous stand-off, Oz bounded out the door, still in wolf form. The next day, Willow and Tara called a Scooby meeting to talk about the night’s events, a conversation that included Willow coming out to everyone. They all responded well except Xander, who had a brief moment of blinding self-importance. He was eventually, however, set straight (as it were). The meeting ended with the plan that everyone try to locate Oz, using a reasoned mixture of caring and caution.
On Second Thought—Part 5
"You know, of all the sentences I thought I might h-hear today, none of them included Mr. Giles using the phrase ‘stirring in my loins.’ That one might stay with me for a long, long time." They were walking back from the Scooby meeting.
"And, holy phallocentrism, Cat Girl—can you believe Xander? Honestly, does he really think he’s that irresistible?" The radius of Willow’s hand gestures was directly proportional to her emotional agitation, and an estimated compass reading suggested that right now she was Filled With Righteous Indignation.
"Actually, sweetie, I don’t think he thinks he’s irresistible at all. I mean, I kinda figure that’s wh-why he looks so hard for any sign that he’s attractive to anyone at all."
Willow paused on the steps to Tara’s dorm. "But he has Anya, and she makes it pretty clear that they enjoy carnal knowledge on a daily basis."
"Well, yeah," Tara acknowledged, tugging on the heavy door to the building. "But don’t you think Anya’s kind of, um…"
"Rude? Socially clueless to the point of stupefaction? Surprisingly able to pay for basic necessities in light of the fact that she apparently holds no job and certainly can’t have any savings?"
"Well, I suppose ‘yes’ to all those things…But I was thinking more along the lines of, um, not being particularly discerning with regard to her choice of intimate partners."
"Oh—you mean easy. Loose. Spends more time with her legs in the air than a professional tight-rope walker."
"Uh, yeah." Tara slid her key into her lock and pushed open the door. "So I don’t know how special he feels to her; you know, how irreplaceable."
Willow considered this, and began to think that her girlfriend had a good point. Sometimes she had to remind herself that Tara didn’t consider herself to be socially adept—she was probably the most discerning yet charitable judge of character that Willow had ever met.
"Dr. Maclay, I think you may have hit upon the patient’s underlying issues. I wonder if I might make a personal appointment with you to discuss my own…needs. That is, if you have any openings."
"Oh, I could certainly make myself open for you. I’m sure I could fit you in." Tara looked equal parts innocent country girl and colossal slut.
Oh my God, she’s a total closet vixen. Out lesbian, closet tart. The thought was a wonderful one. She grinned and moved into Tara’s arms.
"So here we are, all freshly showered, or at least showered within the last three hours, and at least moderately fed, and—oh my gosh—all alone in your room that you share with absolutely no one whatsoever. Whatever shall we do?" Was that even remotely sexy, or funny? Is it a bad idea to try both of those at once, like swing dancing to a Gregorian chant?
But Tara was looking at her with a crooked, widening grin, and her eyes were darkening slightly. "Are you trying to seduce me, Ms. Rosenberg?"
"Oh God, yes. Is it working? ’cuz I know I’m about as subtle as Tom Green’s humor but the fact is, I really, really wanna make love with you very soon; in fact, now-ish works really well for me, so howzabout it—do I fall into the ‘At Least Moderately Compelling’ category of seductiveness?"
Tara brushed her fingers over Willow’s lips. "Close these for right now," she murmured gently. Then she draped a soft kiss on each of Willow’s eyelids. "And close these for right now, too."
Willow held herself as quietly as she could, willing herself not to talk or to peek at Tara for reassurance. She felt Tara’s lips, soft and full, upon her cheek and then just at the edge of her ear. "I love you, Willow. You can seduce me by walking into a room. Just…just try to turn down the volume on some of those channels in your mind, and listen to what your heart and your senses tell you." With that, Tara guided Willow’s index and middle fingers to the pulse point in the hollow of her throat.
"Do you feel that? Do you feel how my heart beats for you?" Willow swallowed and nodded once.
After a moment, Tara slid Willow’s palm just inside the now-unbuttoned top of her shirt and over her heart. "And that? Do you feel my heart under your hand? So strong, for you?" Again, Willow only nodded.
Tara guided her hand under her bra, so that Willow’s fingers grazed over her nipple—swollen, and hard. "Do you feel that, Willow? The minute we walked in the door, I felt my breasts start to ache for your fingers, and your mouth. Feel it, Baby. Feel how full I am for you." Her voice was growing thicker. Willow was unable to stop—or maybe she didn’t really want to stop—the half-moan that slipped out of her. Still unseeing, and now silent once more, she stroked Tara’s breast and rolled her nipple gently between her thumb and forefinger, now deeply attuned to Tara’s breathing—its shallowness, and the catch when Willow cupped her breast fully in her hand and squeezed with greater urgency. Willow heard another sound, too, though she wasn’t sure what created it. It was a slight rustling, and she could feel Tara’s weight shifting slightly.
And then Tara had taken her other hand, and was easing it slowly but insistently inside of her pants and under the hem of her panties. Willow swallowed hard, and felt the dampness of Tara’s soft curls. Tara’s hand glided to her wrist, and she gave a final guiding push, and Willow’s fingers had slid into Tara’s wetness. At this, she didn’t even attempt to stop herself from groaning. She opened her eyes to find Tara looking at her, heavy-lidded, with unabashed need.
"Yes, Love," Tara whispered softly, hands sliding to Willow’s shoulders as she rocked herself into Willow’s hand. "Yes, I find you just about more seductive than I can even describe."
Willow could keep silent no longer. "Oh god, Tara. I just get so crazy-hot thinking about you; I have for months now. And now I know how you feel, and taste…" With that, she stroked two fingers over Tara’s clit, and felt her lover buckle against her. "Now that I know it, I feel like it’s all I want to do. I know I shouldn’t just be thinking of myself right now but I can’t help it. I—I feel angry at the idea of anything taking our attention off of each other."
Tara’s eyes were the dark cobalt she’d seen last night. "And you think I don’t? Right now I don’t care that we’re on a Hellmouth and I don’t care about the forces of evil and I don’t want to think about any battles to save the world. You’re my world, and right now fighting evil feels like something I do to spend time with you." With a reluctant half-gasp, she edged Willow’s hand away from her and began to back over to the bed. Willow paused only long enough to slide her fingers into her mouth and taste Tara’s incredible sweet wetness, and then she was following Tara, who had sat down on the bed and pulled off her boots and socks. Willow balanced awkwardly on first one leg and then the other, pulling off her own tennis shoes. She stood before Tara, feeling an almost painful mixture of desire and hesitation. She wanted this, so much; but now, in the daylight, looking into Tara’s eyes, she felt the old fear of making a mistake, of being inept or inadequate or just wrong, somehow.
Suddenly she felt Tara’s hands on her belly, slowly edging lower to where Willow knew her jeans were soaked with her wetness. Her thumbs rubbed gently over the fabric and pushed into Willow’s folds. Tara looked up at her, running her tongue slowly over her lips.
"Take it, Willow; take what’s yours. I’m giving it to you." Her voice choked slightly, and then she said simply, "Take me."
The permission given was taken, urgently. Willow pulled Tara to her feet and slid her fingers into the soft golden hair that she loved so much; without preamble or subtlety she brought Tara’s mouth to her own and kissed her so fiercely that her lips ached. She plunged her tongue across Tara’s soft lips and stroked into her hungrily. She felt almost dizzy with want, and all of the voices in her head had quieted, and distilled into a single insistent thread that existed only to have Tara, right now.
She wanted to be gentle. No, actually she didn’t. She felt like she should be gentle, and slow. Wasn’t that the right way to make love? And she did love Tara; she wanted to be the perfect lover for her. So why did everything in her right now want to abandon gentleness, abandon slowness and just devour her lover?
But then Tara’s hands had edged under her shirt and Willow suddenly felt her nails dragging down her back. Tara’s mouth slid down to her throat and her teeth closed over her neck with surprising force, just for a moment. And then Tara echoed, close to her ear, "I’m giving it to you."
Her breath shallow and ragged, Willow pulled Tara back to her lips and then her fingers were tugging at the opening at the top of Tara’s shirt. Almost unable to believe her own actions, she gave into the temptation of her own impatience and yanked Tara’s shirt open. She heard buttons pop and roll to the floor. She had never felt such an ache, such a desire to take and ravish and just have.
Any doubts she may have had about Tara’s response to her actions were drowned by the groan that came from her as Willow simply shoved her bra up for the moment and began to squeeze her breasts. She pressed them together, stroking her thumbs over the taut nipples. Finally, she reached behind Tara and worked to unsnap the bra, even as her mouth descended on Tara’s breasts and she sucked one swollen nipple into her mouth.
"Hurry, Willow. God, please don’t make me wait long." With that, Willow dropped to her knees and began to yank Tara’s pants down to her ankles, where Tara shook them away from her. Before she had even stood fully, Willow had tugged her own shirt over her head, and then slid her bra over her arms. Finally, she shucked her pants down and stepped out of them. She pushed Tara back down onto the bed, kneeling over her a second later.
"Roll over," she whispered insistently. "I want to kiss your back."
Tara obliged, repeating thickly, "Please don’t make me wait." Once Tara was stretched out on her stomach, Willow lowered herself against her back, feeling her breasts push and flatten into the surprising muscularity. Tara groaned; Willow bit her lip with the exquisite sharpness of the sensations. She kissed Tara’s neck fiercely and then began to lick across the expanse of her back. She could feel her own wetness slipping out of her as she rubbed herself slowly over Tara’s ass. She found herself thinking dimly that she could probably come just from this.
And then an image came into her mind; and she knew only that she wanted to experience it. Dragging herself away from Tara’s back, she leaned back on her knees, one leg on either side of Tara’s left one. Tara looked back at her questioningly. For a response, Willow reached down and slid her hands under Tara, low on her belly. She tugged insistently, urging Tara onto her hands and knees.
"Goddess, Tara, you’re so beautiful." It was all she could say before edging forward and sliding her fingers into Tara’s wetness. Tara gave a small cry and rocked forward slightly; and then she pushed back against Willow’s hand, as two fingers found her opening and thrust into her. Willow slid her other hand along Tara’s back and then down and over her full breast, swaying heavily.
Willow edged forward once more until her own wetness was painfully close to Tara’s hip. She removed her hand from Tara’s breast just long enough to part her lips and press herself against Tara’s flesh; and then she was squeezing and cupping Tara’s full breast again. And still Tara rocked back against her, letting Willow fill her as much as she could.
Oh God, it’s so good. She’s so open, and so wet. It’s so easy to slide in and out of her. I need this; ah, sweet goddess… She watched, vision blurred with the heat of her aching, as Tara’s back rippled and arched under her. She swallowed heavily as she watched Tara’s ass pushing back against her hand; she saw her own fingers disappear into Tara’s clenched opening. After a moment, she brought her other hand away from Tara’s nipple and down her belly and still lower; and then she was massaging Tara’s swollen clit with hungry, insistent fingers while the fingers of her other hand continued to plunge into Tara. At this, Tara dropped her head to the pillow and whimpered; but then she had arched her back again, tossing her head from side to side.
"Willow…Oh goddess, yes; it’s…" Willow could see Tara biting her lip as she struggled to find the words. "Having you in me; filling me…" Willow could feel sweat forming on her forehead, trickling its way down over her eye brows and into her eyes. She shook her head, wanting to see every stroke of her hand, every twisting of Tara’s body. Her own clit was sliding easily, wetly over the soft swell of Tara’s hip. Every time she pumped into Tara, she felt the stroking of her clit. Every time Tara pushed back against her, she felt it. She was having difficult focusing entirely on Tara’s pleasure, because she could feel her own climax building.
Suddenly Tara’s movements slowed; Willow wondered briefly if Tara needed a different kind of touch. But then she heard Tara whisper hoarsely, "Don’t stop; oh…It’s—Oh, it’s building; I’m so close." With the stilling of Tara’s movements, Willow’s own clit was barely stroked, but it helped her concentrate more fully on thrusting into Tara as deeply and fully as possible; it helped her focus on the slippery stroking of Tara’s clit. Tara rocked back and forth, so quiet that Willow could barely hear her labored breathing. And then she pumped herself onto Willow’s hand more forcefully, more quickly, and as she did so Willow felt her own clit surge. She knew Tara was coming; even after one night she was learning to recognize the signs and she saw them: saw the tightening of Tara’s body, the hitched breathing; the barely audible moans—and then she felt Tara come, a long shudder ripping through her body as she clenched around Willow’s hand, coming around her fingers with heated spasms. And with that shuddering, Willow’s own clit throbbed, and she ached to touch herself. As Tara’s body slowly stilled, she whispered, "Pull out of me, Baby. And Willow—do it; I can feel how wet you are."
"Are you sure?"
"Willow, I want to grind into you. I want to feel you come against me." Groaning, Willow slid her fingers out of Tara’s tight, wet opening and away from her clit. She used the fingers of one hand to spread herself open and then braced herself against Tara’s back as she quickly stroked her clit, pumping her hips urgently against Tara’s ass. Looking down, she saw Tara’s breasts swaying beneath her as she rotated her hips back against Willow’s own wetness. It was happening; so fast, but so good…
"Tara; Baby I’m coming. I can’t stop. I’m gonna come…"
"Yes, Willow. Let me feel it. Let me feel you come." With the words, Willow’s back arched forward and her clit surged once more, throbbing with the force of her climax. Wetness poured from her; trickled down Tara’s leg; and still she ground herself against the smooth flesh.
Finally, she felt the last shimmering of her orgasm flicker. She leaned forward and planted a soft kiss against Tara’s back, and then edged around and stretched out on the bed, pulling Tara down to her.
They kissed in deep, lazy strokes and nips, nuzzling each other’s lips and smiling against one another. Willow battled a sense of embarrassment at her own lewdness; she was confident that she hadn’t done anything Tara didn’t want, but she had quite honestly never expected to do something like rip someone’s shirt off, popping the buttons in the process.
"Hey…You, love o’ my life," Tara nudged her playfully. "Are you OK?"
"Oh, much-ly OK. I would take gold at the OK Olympics. I am to OK as Jerry Falwell is to closet-case." She paused, fighting an urge to bury her face against Tara’s soft neck. "It’s just…well, I was so…so forceful. And I was kinda surprised at just how forceful I was."
"And how much you enjoyed it?" Tara eyed her with a teasing glint.
"Well, yeah, to be honest. Tara, I ripped your shirt off. I mean, hello—what kind of lesbian does that?"
Tara propped herself up on one arm. "Willow, did I give any indication that I was feeling anything but quite pleased with what you were doing?"
Willow dipped her head slightly. "Well, no…"
"Are you saying that you’d try to rip my clothes off even if I didn’t want you to?"
Willow looked up in shock. "God, no, Tara! I could never enjoy something you didn’t want!" She was completely horrified at the thought.
"And I know that. Willow, this afternoon, for whatever reason, I wanted to give myself to you; I wanted you to be—to use your word—forceful. The next time we make love, I’ll probably be in a completely different kind of mood; you too. And we’ll let each other know what we need, and we’ll make love in that particular key." She punctuated her calm words with a slow, gentle kiss.
Finally, Willow pulled back slightly and looked at her with what she knew had to be the expression of an Utterly Smitten Woman. "How did you get so wise, Baby?" She knew Tara had only had one previous sexual experience before; it sounded as it if had been comparable to her own satisfaction level with Oz.
"Heck if I know," Tara mused, looking at her with a half-smile. "I mean, here I am—a shy girl who stutters and hides behind her hair when she meets new people. And yet, barely five minutes ago I was saying things like, ‘Let me feel it; let me feel you come.’" Her face flushed quickly, but she continued. "And I wouldn’t take it back for all the world. It’s exciting to be sexual with you, Willow. I’m tired of being so scared of my own feelings; I’m tired of walking around on eggshells. I mean, I-I’m not going to get all self-confident and poised after reading a couple of pamphlets or anything, but what we have…It’s a great start."
Willow looked at her. Yes, it is I—presiding Elder of The House of Smitten. Aloud, she only said, "Think you’ll get tired of hearing me say I love you?"
To which Tara, emerging slowly but resolutely into the world of cheekiness, said, "Think you’ll get tired of my tongue in your mouth?"
Which told Willow that the answer to her question was a resounding no.
***
Several hours later, they dragged themselves out of bed and back into the showers.
"I bet we have ‘Eau de Hot Sex’ all over us," Willow had said as she climbed under the pelting spray. She tried not to think of what would happen if she ran into Oz again smelling as she did. Lifting her fingers to her lips before grabbing the bar of soap, she inhaled Tara’s scent. If they could bottle this, it would put every coke dealer in the world out of business. Tara was all over her, and it was incredible.
"You want to write an ode to hot sex?" Tara asked, letting the warm water pound softly over her.
"Oh, the hot sex was incredible," Willow agreed, rinsing the shampoo out of her hair. Looking over, she watched the water trickle between Tara’s breasts and over her belly, disappearing into the thick tangle of her hair. Tara caught her look, and began slowly rubbing the bar of soap over her breasts. After a moment, she circled the bar lower, down over the curve of her stomach until she slowly parted her own lips and eased her fingers into her folds.
Willow was on the verge of doing something considered extremely inappropriate in decent society when she heard the bathroom door swing open. Two disembodied voices were laughing and speaking in low voices. Looking back at Tara, Willow mouthed, "This isn’t over yet."
"I should certainly hope not," Tara murmured with a smile.
They checked any of the spots Willow could imagine Oz going. At first, she hadn’t wanted Tara to come with her; not to protect Oz, but to protect Tara. She could see the hurt in the blue eyes, however; even after she explained, Tara was reluctant to part.
"Willow, if we’re together, then we’re together. I don’t mean joined at the hip, although come to think of it, that’s pretty hot at times." A quick and very naughty look stole over her face. "I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be out looking around on your own, and if I really am your partner, I want to be the one with you."
Willow sighed, and relented. "I get it. I mean, I certainly don’t want you running around solo right now, especially with Oz being…however he is."
The point had proven moot, however: Oz wasn’t at Devon’s; he wasn’t at the Bronze; he wasn’t with any of the other Dingoes. After checking everyplace Willow could think of, the two of them called Giles, who told them that no one else had seen him, either.
"The others are coming back here at eight o’clock," he informed them. "More, I suspect, to finish my scones than to hatch a bold new plan."
"Well, we’ll head over, too. And on the way, we’ll hatch a bold new plan to have you make more scones, OK?"
"Yes, Willow. It is my heart's fondest hope that my contribution to the epic battle against the forces of darkness be my moist, flaky pastries."
"Well, that and your stirring loins. Or did you mean to say ‘sterling’? Do you think you have sterling loins?"
"Yes, well, I’ll be ringing off now so as to have both hands free with which to plunge sharp objects into my ear-drums such that I will never hear another word that any of you speak ever again."
Promptly at 8:00, Willow and Tara knocked on the ornate wooden door to Giles’ home.
"Ooh, jam tarts," Willow exclaimed excitedly, catching the wonderful scent that permeated the small dwelling.
"Evil never rests; why should Betty Crocker?" he remarked dryly, giving Tara an affectionate smile as she moved hesitantly into the living room.
The others arrived almost immediately afterward, though, as Giles had said, no one actually had any new information.
"Maybe he’s left town again," Xander suggested, looking at Willow. "I mean, I know you two need to talk, but maybe he just couldn’t do it."
Willow tried to sort out her feelings about that particular prospect. On the one hand, she felt like she needed to talk to Oz; there had been no closure the first time he left, and there would certainly be none this time if he had indeed left the fair environs of Sunnydale. On the other hand, she couldn’t deny that a part of her just wanted it to be over; didn’t want to have the agonizing talk that she knew lay ahead of her and Oz. She felt guilty about this, but it was true: she wanted to enjoy her relationship with Tara; she wanted to spend her time learning more about Tara’s body and the incredible hidden rooms in her mind. She wanted to go to movies and talk about books and learn more magic together and wasn’t it about time for her to be kissing Tara again, anyway? It had been at least half an hour…
"Well, that would be good, right?" Anya was saying. "I mean, if he comes back around he’ll simply rip Tara’s throat out and eat her."
"Oh my God, Anya," Willow cried out. "Don’t even think about that, much less say it out loud!" She noticed that Tara was looking down at the floor. Was she afraid? Of course she was afraid—she should be afraid.
"I’m just saying that neither of you are on his good side right now, and his bad side has big sharp fangs, claws to rip your chest open, and a tendency to leave his victims eviscerated and partly eaten. Let’s face it," she continued, seemingly oblivious to the IMAX expressions of horror that surrounded her. "Willow cheated on a werewolf, and Tara cuckolded him. There’s no way that doesn’t lead to bad feelings."
"Willow, while I’m loathe to encourage Anya’s particular phrasing—indeed, I’m loathe to encourage her in any way—I must confess that she has a point. It would seem to be safer if Oz were in fact out of Sunnydale." Giles looked at her sympathetically.
"Maybe you’re right," Willow muttered.
As if reading her mind, Buffy commented softly, "I know it doesn’t help the resolution confusion, Will. But some of the alternatives…"
"I know. I mean, there’s a part of me that does want to talk to him; well, actually, there’s no part that wants to talk to him, because, hello, major guilt and angst and let’s face it, I’m very seldom naughty, and did I mention guilt? But I feel like I should talk to him, and apologize that he found out that way. And say goodbye," she added softly, almost as an afterthought.
Tara spoke up suddenly. "But does this conversation even m-matter?" She hurried on, as several faces turned her questioningly. "I mean, it’s important…It’s v-very important as far as feelings are concerned. It’s just that, well, what w-we want doesn’t make a difference. Oz is either s-still in town, or he’s not." She blushed and looked away.
Willow slid her hand under Tara’s and entwined their fingers together. She just has no idea how smart she is. She thinks she just said something stupid.
"You think you just said something stupid, don’t you?" Anya asked abruptly. Everyone looked at her in shock, which really, Willow thought, shouldn’t be happening after this many gargantuan social offenses on Anya’s part.
"What? It’s clear she’s embarrassed: she looks down, she stutters—"
"Anya, if you don’t shut up I’ll buy you a rabbit’s-fur coat for your birthday," Willow threatened.
Anya’s eyes widened in horror. "That’s just an awful thing to say! Especially when all I’m trying to say is that Tara really has no need to be embarrassed. She’s very smart, and not just about books and magic. You all just act as if it’s perfectly understandable that she hide herself away and it isn’t. She’s as smart as anyone here." As Xander looked at her with a dawning pride, she added, "She’s certainly far smarter than Xander." The look of pride hit sundown.
Tara looked up, as if unable to believe what she had heard. "Th-thank you," she said softly. And then, more forcefully, she added, "That was very nice of you."
"Oh, I’m never really nice," Anya replied matter-of-factly. "I’m just the voice of truth in a world of artifice and social convention."
Willow looked at her with something akin to affection. OK, it wasn’t closely akin; it was more like a second-cousin kind of akin, but it was easily the warmest she had ever felt toward the ex-demon.
"The awful thing, of course," Anya was saying, "is that Oz walked in on you right after you had become orgasm friends. I mean, he must have smelled your sexual arousal and just—"
"Uh, Ahn? I don’t know that this really helps the game plan and it certainly isn’t helping your relationship with Willow and Tara," Xander interjected.
"Relationship? Oh, a three-way. Yes, I know, Xander—you told me plenty of times this afternoon you’d love to watch me with them. The whole subject really did give you a zestiness that you haven’t shown for awhile," she said, nudging him playfully. She turned to Willow, who by now was thinking how nice it would be if she and Tara could find a nice little home in the country; perhaps a country like Denmark. These people would visit, but not too often.
Xander smiled weakly while Buffy, Riley, and Giles all sat by in a kind of weird fascination. "It’s like a train wreck," Buffy muttered. "I can’t look away."
"So, even though I like penises, I find you both reasonably attractive; Tara, I couldn’t help noticing that you have wonderful breasts. I know Xander can’t help noticing them. I would very much enjoy touching them."
"Giles, make them stop," Riley croaked desperately.
"I’m truly sorry," the transfixed librarian murmured, but I’m horrified beyond the capacity for rational discourse."
Finally Willow found her voice, and her gross motor control. "Not that this hasn’t been a wonderful conversation, wherein ‘wonderful’ is defined as ‘just about the most heinous, unnatural thing I’ve ever been cursed to bear witness to in my entire misbegotten life,’ but we really should be going." Standing, she glanced down at Tara, who would, she thought, probably never speak again.
"I’ve made people uncomfortable, haven’t I?" Anya seemed truly puzzled by this. "Well, I didn’t mean to. Tara, I think you’re very smart and I think you should talk up more. And the whole sex thing—I just mean that you should be extra careful because the animal in Oz is very much an animal: when he thinks that his territory is being encroached upon, he gets even more primitive, if that’s possible."
Tara looked up at Willow. "She’s right, sweetie." The incredible blue eyes were troubled, and Willow wanted to know all of the nuances of that distress. But for the time being, Willow sank back into the couch and helped herself to another jam tart.
Later that evening, as she, Tara, and Buffy walked back to their dorms, Willow felt a small shudder flick its way up her spine, and in its wake left the certainty that Oz hadn’t left town.
He’s still here. And he’s close.
And though she gripped Tara’s hand more tightly, and felt the reassuring squeeze of those strong fingers in return, she couldn't help glancing over her shoulder and wondering what it was that moved in the shadows.
*****
To Be Continued
yep, that's our anya allrighty
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just found this line funny. So Willow. Good enough to be a sig.
Sleek
at: 11/6/02 3:36:51 am
at: 11/5/02 7:38:59 pm