Title: Happily Ever After (As Told by Willow Rosenberg-Maclay)

Disclaimer: I didn’t invent these characters (except Parker and Joy)

Summary: Willow’s daughters are at home, sick with a small cold and Willow tells them a story

Rating: PG

A/N: This is where I’ll be putting all the short stories I have swimming around my head. As for my other story (Unbreakable Ties) I have the next three chapters all written out, but I wrote it at school in my notebook and need to transfer it to my computer. I know, I know “how hard is that?” Well, I’m not going to pretend like I haven’t been busy perusing the extensive “completed fics” archives that the Kitten Board has to offer, heh, sorry.


The day was bursting into an orange and purple mosaic of sky. Willow always enjoyed this time, in-between day and night. When they had first started dating, Tara had told her a story, all about how the sky turned so pretty before night-time because each individual day was celebrating its end and did so with a palette of colors it picked out—sometimes red, sometimes orange, or lavender, purple, violet, cobalt blue. Her wife told the best stories, but tonight she would have to do.

“All right, girls,” Willow turned to her two daughters who were currently stricken with a small cold, “what do you want to hear tonight?”

“Something demon-y!” Parker Anne Rosenberg-Maclay, that mouth-full of a name, smiled wryly up at her mother through a mass of short red hair.

“I can’t, baby,” Willow told her youngest daughter, before leaning in conspiratorially to whisper, “Momma’s within earshot.”

“I want to hear something romantic, Mommy!” Joy Rosenberg-Maclay clasped two skinny arms to her chest and looked at her mother through her big cobalt eyes.

“Ew, gross!” Parker scrunched her pretty face into a grimace that was cuter than it was indignant.

“You only think it’s gross because you’re a baby,” Joy told her sister factually.

“You’re only three years older than me!” Parker held up three fingers to Joy’s face.

“10 and 7 are completely different…you’d know that if you weren’t such a baby.”

“All right, all right, well, it’s Joy’s turn to pick so I’ll just have to tell a romantic story,” Willow resolved.

“Yes!”

“Oh no!”

“This story begins in the middle of another—just as romantic—story,” Willow began.

~~~

Xander and I were returning home from the grocery store in his new Volvo (which is now the old Volvo), see this was back when Momma trusted Mommy with grocery-type decisions.

“Are you sure Gummi Bears have vitamin C in them, Wills?”

That trust didn’t last for very long.

“No growing baby should be without a little Gummi in their diet, Xand, plus I’m sure there’s some sort of nutritional value hidden deep within its chewy goodness,” I smiled at him with bits of candy bear in between my teeth.

“Somehow, I don’t think Tara’s gonna buy it,” Xander’s smile turned from amused to amusedly wistful; “I can’t believe we have kids sometimes. I mean look at us, look at you; you have gummies in your gums.”

“That I do,” I smiled at him.

“It’s just hard to reconcile that with your career, your baby, your soon-to-be-wife,” Xander parked into the Summers’ driveway, “I feel like we’re still twelve some days, like you’re gonna come over in your pink Huffy with a stack of comics in its basket and we’re gonna sit around all day and wonder how cool it’d be to be Batgirl.”

“We still do that,” I told him, as I balanced three plastic bags on each arm.

“Yeah, but not as often.”

We headed for the Summers’ house which was where we lived back then, before Parker was born and before we bought this one, which, coincidentally, is right next to the Summers,’ though it isn’t a coincidence at all since we chose it for precisely that reason, but anyway.

When we came in we could hear Momma singing to Joy in the kitchen, and we could see her cradling little Joy in her arms and looking down at her with all the love in the world right on her beautiful face. The sun would come in through the kitchen windows and wrap itself all around her and I almost fainted at the sight of my baby there, holding my baby-girl. I wanted, for the rest of my life, to be met with that sight every time I walked through a door.

“When’d you get so damn lucky, Willster?” Xander asked from my right side.

“Day I met her,” I knew right then that I had a heckuva silly little smile on my face, but I couldn’t care too much because I was too damn happy to care.

“If you don’t make that girl your wife I know a million other lesbians that will, and it won’t be hard to find ‘em.”

“Tonight’s the night,” I whispered and I rubbed my hands together in anticipation and nervousness, and also, it’s always a little cold in that living room.

“How’s it going down, game plan-wise?”

“She thinks we’re going out to celebrate that new promotion I got, we’re going to her favorite place for dinner, then we’re gonna walk around downtown for a bit. That’s where you come in. You’re all set up right?”

“Yes, ma’am it’s all in perfect working order. How about you? Nervous?”

“Yes,” I practically hissed at him, “I can barely breathe when I think about it, and I know, she’s most likely going to say yes, I mean, we have a baby and we’re looking for a new house and all and if it hadn’t been for the state of California changing its mind so many darn times we would’ve most likely been married years ago, so I know she’s going to say yes, but…what if she doesn’t? You know, what if she doesn’t say yes?”

~~~

“Wait-wait, wait a second,” Joy interrupted, “you mean you guys had me before you were married?”

Parker grabbed her sides as she wriggled on the bed in laughter, “you’re illiterate!”

“That’s illegitimate—which you’re not, baby! You’re completely, one-hundred percent legitimate, it’s just that back then gay couples couldn’t get married like they can now, and we just couldn’t wait for the laws to be fixed to have you.”

“Oh, okay I get it now,” Joy smiled, “keep going Mommy.”

“When’s Momma gonna be done with our soup?” Parker asked.

“When I’m all done telling you this story…coincidentally.” Willow smiled, “So, by that time, Xander grabbed me by my shaking shoulders and told me, “Will,”

~~~

“Will, she’ll say yes. Trust me, okay; I’ve seen Tara look at you before. If you could step outside of yourself and just watch her looking at you, you’d know. It’s like no one else exists in this whole world except you.”

I could feel myself calming down, partly from what he was saying, and partly from the fact that at that moment Tara chose to turn around and fix me with a look that proved Xander’s statement completely right.

“Willow Danielle Rosenberg, are you just going to stand in that doorway whispering to Xander while your baby’s hungry?”

“No Ma’am!” I practically skipped all the way to the kitchen with Xander close behind and dropped the groceries on the countertop before kissing Tara square on the lips and then gathering little Joy up in my arms.

“Candy!”

“Willow,” Tara said, with her diligent hands placed right on her hips, “why is it that every time our daughter sees you, she yells out ‘candy’?”

“Baby,” I told her, “you know there’s no good reason for that.”

“Have you been feeding that baby candy?” She squinted her periwinkle eyes at me.

“No,” I said, lying as well as I could under the circumstances. See, I could never really lie to Momma, but she could never really accuse me of lying with no proof.

“Liar.”

“How come?” I pouted at her.

“Last week Joy gave me a kiss and got stuck to my cheek for a half hour.”

I lifted Joy up so we were nose to nose and told her, “this is the last time you rat me out,” then I proceeded to play Joy’s favorite game back then, ‘The Helicop-tickler.’

Through my periphery I could see that Tara couldn’t help smiling, even as she yelled out a ‘be careful’ at Joy and I while we spun across the expanse of the kitchen.

“So are you excited about your big date, tonight?” Xander asked her around a mouthful of the sandwich he had prepared for himself, with the food I had just bought, as Tara had been interrogating me about my candy-crimes.

“Yeah, I really am. Hey, what kind of sandwich is that?”

“Peanut Butter and Marshmallow Fluff,” he told her with a sheepish grin.

“Peanut Butter and Ma—Willow!” she yelled at me, but I pretended not to hear over Joy’s exuberant squeals and giggles.

That night we went to Momma’s favorite restaurant—you’ve both been there and I know you hate it because of all the veggies they put on everything so I’ll not gross you out with the green-colored details of what was on our plates, but I will tell you that we had a great old time just talking and eating and sneaking kisses.

Then we held hands as we walked all along downtown Sunnydale, Momma looked so beautiful that day, almost like she knew what was about to happen. She wore a flowing black skirt that would sway along her knees as we walked and a red top that left her alabaster shoulder blades exposed under the moonlight. What a knockout!

And I was a real nervous wreck, your Momma could tell.

She gave my hand a firm squeeze and said, “Baby, why so quiet? I usually have to make with the smoochies to tame that babble of yours.”

“Me? Nothing, I’m fine. Finey McFiney from Fineytown, that’s me, as a matter of fact I’m the mayor of that fine town and I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that our level of fine-ness is through the roof, if there was a fine-Olympics we’d take gold—or platinum—the best one, you know I don’t really follow sports at all. Though we should start, I’ve always wanted to do the wave.”

“Really?” At this point she raised one fine eyebrow at me—a gesture which usually means she’s not buying my story exactly but she’ll at least play along, “because usually when you say that, and your eyes go all wide like that…usually that means that you’re not fine.”

“I’m fine,” I assured, “I’ve just been rendered speechless by your ethereal countenance beneath these incandescent downtown lights, baby.”

“I think those incandescent downtown lights have zapped your brain.”

“Hey you! Yeah you! With the red hair, and the uncoordinated outfit! Flowers work better than those hackneyed lines you’re trying to pull, you know? Buy the girl a flower, buy the girl a flower!”

The high-pitched and highly annoying voice of the street vendor got both of our attentions and I led Tara to its source; it was a woman in her mid-twenties with hair that (thanks to peroxide) framed her face in blonde waves.

“Anya?” Your Momma’s eyes went wide at the sight of Auntie Anya standing there behind a booth of various brightly colored bouquets, “what’re you doing here?”

“Making a quick buck off your beau.”

Tara turned to me with bewilderment and amusement swirling prettily on her face and I tried my best to act confused too, I shrugged and told her, “get anything you want, baby.”

She started shaking her head, “y-you don’t have t—“

“Hey,” I tightened my grip on her hand and brought it to my lips to kiss, “I want to.”

She smiled up at me lopsidedly and through eyes that bore more love than I think anyone can stand, “Um, okay.” Her hand floated above a single flower, plain and simple.

“Not that one,” I told her.

Her ivory hand then hung in the air above a small bouquet of maybe five flowers, a bundle of the plain and the simple.

“Not that one,” I said.

She sighed and finally touched upon the prettiest bouquet, a dozen red roses tied together by an elaborate red ribbon that shone beneath the neon flare of downtown Sunnydale.

I handed Anya the money and when I looked into your Momma’s eyes I’d thought I’d faint at the sight of her expression—her eyes had gone hazy and misted over, making a color that was somewhere between cerulean and astonishing.

“Thank you baby, they’re wonderful.”

We kept on strolling a small ways before sure enough—

“Hey Red! Yeah you, c’mon, c’mon, flowers? How boring is that? What you need is the sugary smoothness of chocolate. Everyone knows you catch bees with honey and you catch the honeys with some chocolate. Right this way!”

The excitable voice came from one Auntie Buffy, who stood behind a display of an array of fine chocolates.

“Okay, what’s next? Dawnie and Joy are going to show up in a back alley and try to cajole us into a game of Three-Card Monte?”

“Don’t be silly;” I told Momma as I led her to the chocolate stand, “Dawn’s at least a better babysitter than that.”

“Is there some Scoobie Festival going on tonight that I’m not aware of?” Tara asked as we reached the stand.

“No slaying Tare,” Buffy told her, “just business.”

“Take anything you want, baby,” I spoke for the second, and not last in the least, time that night.

Tara’s hand stopped just short of a single, round chocolate piece wrapped in polyethylene.

“Not that one,” I told her.

Her hand then hovered above a bundle of three chocolate pieces wrapped in the same cheap material.

“Not that one,” I said.

Finally, she placed her dainty hand upon a large heart-shaped box decorated with lace trimmings and red ribbons; it looked like it housed at least twenty chocolate pieces.

“Willow baby, I don’t know what to say,” she said to me.

“Oh, baby, you don’t have to say a word. Your eyes tell a story, you know that? There are whole stories in your eyes.”

I took the hand that wasn’t busy cradling a bouquet and a heart-shaped box and swung it gaily between us; I was nervous and giddy and every beautiful feeling under the sun, but that’s just what love brings out in you. One day, you’ll both know what it’s like to be walking under the moonlight with half your soul hanging onto your arm, all warm and soft.

But it wasn’t long before we were interrupted.

“Hey you! With the out-of-your-league blonde hanging on your arm! Yeah, you—the pale-faced waif! You think some flowers—which will wither—and some chocolate—which will melt or be eaten—can beat out diamonds? Heck no! Diamonds are everlasting, and if you want to convince her that your love is too, you’ll head this way!”

Uncle Xander made a big show of calling us over, and by then I think your Momma had more-or-less caught on.

The stand held an array of diamond rings—plain ones with small diamonds, medium sized ones that looked like gilded plastic, all were cheap and obviously fake except one in the middle, placed carefully in a black velvet box. The platinum band was mottled with small diamonds that sparkled joyously and in its center, protuberant and proud, lay a large diamond with a square cut. The entire ring radiated with a silvery light and seemed almost magical beneath the beam of the moon.

“Willow, w-what’s--?”

I sunk down on one knee as my heart thumped so loudly that I could feel it with my entire body, “Now, I’m no poet, and I might babble my way through this meticulously prepared speech but I know you love my faults as passionately as my good qualities, so here goes—baby, from the moment I met you, I’ve measured my life out by the time I spend with you. If I’m not with you, then I’m not whole, I’m someone walking through life with a bunch of holes—like Swiss cheese or, or some sort of moon-crater-person—and that part wasn’t a part of the speech I wrote. The thing is, I can’t imagine waking up to a day where your head isn’t resting in the crook of my neck, because it belongs there. I can’t imagine a walk through the park where your hand isn’t laced in mine, because it belongs there. I can’t imagine coming home to any smile that isn’t yours, because I belong wherever you are. I belong with you. I love you, every part of you, every nook and cranny of your soul and your body, everything that’s ever happened to you to lead you to me. Every beautiful moment you’ve ever had—the stories you’d tell me about your mother and your grandmother, even the bad stuff, even the stuff that makes you believe you don’t deserve the very best of everything this world has to offer, because the bad stuff helped mold you into the one and only person who fits me, like a puzzle, the one and only person that I love, and I want to spend every day letting you know that I do, I want to spend every day giving you the very best of everything, because you do deserve it. That is, if you’ll let me…Tara Maclay, will you marry me?”

“Yes!”

And she was on me in an instant, with her arms around my neck even as she held on to the gifts I’d gotten her, she was crying and kissing me; enveloping me in all her love and happiness.

I could hear the Scoobies crowding around us, yelping in celebration. I could hear strangers applauding, and whistling in glee. I could hear them taking our picture and wishing us luck. But it all sounded like a buzzing in my head and body compared to Tara’s whisperings of love and dedication.
I grabbed the ring from the center of the table and slipped it on her finger and from that day on, we lived happily ever after—

~~~

“—Until Parker was born!” Joy finished for her Mommy.

“Hey!” the seven-year-old started, but the smell of her Momma’s Secret-Recipe Soup swayed her attention to the open door, “Momma! Soup!”

“I told you she’d make it in time,” Willow’s thin lips swung into a quirky smile as she looked up at her wife.

“Sorry if I took too long, are my sick girls hungry?” Tara made her way into the room, carefully balancing four bowls on a large wooden tray.

She was answered with a chorus of ‘yes!’

Willow looked on as her girls slurped soup hungrily into their small mouths, every now and then stopping to tell their Momma about this or that, she looked at her wife who smiled widely at them and listened attentively, all the while holding one hand to her belly which was swollen with the weight of a new life.

She blew on a spoonful of her own soup before swallowing contentedly—damn happily ever after felt good.

_________________
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
--Allen Ginsberg

Ok this was too cute! awwwwness much!!

_________________
|| Fanart...sort of || Short poetry || A little bit of smut never hurt anyone | Nothing left | Promise || Text ||

When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew. -Arrigo Boito

Awwww wonderfully fluffy. Loved the proposal-stroll-downtown!

And "moon-crater-person" -- I can just hear Willow say that


Thanks for sharing!

_________________
'Tara Tarantula. Hairy black legs. Now that's a thought.'
-Sleek, Three Words

Yay excellent loving story...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

This is too cute! I wish it was more than a short story! Think about it...

cheers.

_________________
Melissa

Missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you

Title: Girls Of Summer

Summary: I was thinking how Tara most likely had to be all on her own to deal with her mother's death. And how sad that was, and all. So I wrote this story to remedy that and I have Willow and Tara meeting one summer when Willow's parents decide to vacation in the countryside. From then on they spend every summer together. This takes place right after Tara's mother's funeral and how the two girls deal with it together.

Rating: Part 1 is good for the whole neighborhood. But if you read part 2 in your work place...then you're a jerk-face. (Eventual NC-17 in this one)

Disclaimer: Just no, man.



Part 1: Xander's Right

~~
Since her mother’s funeral Tara had been feeling like she was floating. Her head would get away from her at odd moments; she would stare deeply into space as if there were some specter there holding her attention.


It was an unbearable floating feeling she had, she needed something to ballast her. Instantly her mind flashed bright red hair and an adorably goofy smile, but Willow was in Sunnydale and wouldn’t be in town until summer. Willow was her wonderful, sunny, summer girl and it was fall now, with its frailty, its brown, and its echoes of death like a procession of ghosts.


She hadn’t even called Willow yet, even though she longed to hear her voice. She hadn’t called her because she couldn’t stop floating. On top of her bed, at the dinner table, as she walked to school, she floated.

Time ceased to have meaning; she could just barely remember its definition. She no longer cared what people said, because even as their eyes softened to exaggeration and their brows furrowed as if they hurt too, she knew they could never steady her. They just made her want to float farther away.


--


Willow Rosenberg didn’t look forward to anything in the world like she looked forward to Tara Maclay every summer. Especially since they’d started kissing.


At about 13, her parents had had too much of the city. The city was the reason for her asthma, the reason Mom was practically dying from stress, the reason Dad cheated with his secretary, the reason uncle David got mugged a month ago, and the reason poor cousin Gerald fell into the drugs. Salvation would come only from getting away from the city.

The anti-thesis of bad is good; if the city was bad then the country must be good. They bought 15 acres of the country, and would go every summer. It was a nice, big farmhouse in central California next to a pleasant town where little Willow could play outside and spend all day running around instead of at home, cooped up in her room with her books and computers.


They didn’t for a second note that little Willow hated everything about the country. Most of the animals scared her half to death, the sun burned her skin, the grass made her pale, sensitive legs itch, and she had no one to talk to. No Jesse or Xander.


It was on a despondent bike ride across an old bike path going through a long green hill that she’d found Tara. The girl had been huddled in on herself, sat at a fence with a big book on her lap.


The way the sun illuminated her white-blond hair made Willow hit the brake. “What’re you reading?”


The girl looked up through eyes brilliant and demure, “The N-Norton Anthology of W-W-Western Literature,” her smile was, at once, both awkward and endearing, “…Volume 2.”


With that line Tara had stuttered her way into Willow’s 14-year-old heart.


They were inseparable, insufferably so in Sheila Rosenberg’s opinion. “It’s just not good for her to be…well, fawning, all over that girl, all day like that. You know what I mean.”


“Ach, Sheila, let the girl have a friend. It’s just a phase.” Ira Rosenberg would say.


“Well, it’s not good for her, is all,” She sighed, “Of all the towns we could’ve gone to, we had to pick the one with the…”


“Sheila!” Ira yelped.


But Sheila’s meddling proved to be no great foe for Willow’s affection for the young farm-girl. She would visit her day and night, even if it meant helping with her chores or riding a horse, discovering the truth about magic or a fistfight with a fat older brother (that she had won, if only in spirit); as long as she could see her friend, Willow would be happy.


The following summer all their light touches and blushing looks had led them beneath a tree, laid on a checkered red and pink blanket. They laid splayed with the sun on their backs and laughing over some silly thing Willow had said when their laughter halted and their eyes met. In that heated moment, Tara had smiled shyly before leaning slowly to press her lips against Willow’s.


That bright summer day Willow had tasted yellow on Tara’s smooth lips. It had burned from her mouth to her toes.


In between their kisses they had whispered beautiful secrets. They kissed until the sun disappeared, and then again at Tara’s door.


When Willow had gone home that fall she had told Xander and Jesse, beaming, “I’m in love with a shy, precocious, stuttering girl from a small town; she can sing, and write poetry.”


Jesse had shrugged, “cool.”


Xander had shrugged, “is she hot?”


“She’s a total fox!”


And so began their romance. Willow had now known and loved Tara for three wonderful summers. They had etched their initials in every summer tree, encircled in large, lopsided hearts.


“You don’t think we’re hurting it, do you?” Willow had asked, with a deeply concerned countenance, as she pulled her pocket knife away from the tree’s trunk.


Tara had simply smiled and shaken her head, “No, i-it’s like a tattoo. We sort of just made it the coolest tree in the whole acre.”


Willow had tilted her head in that way that smitten young girls do and kissed her girlfriend’s adorable lopsided smile.


That had been just last summer. Willow had known she loved the girl long before they had ever started dating, though.


Just three weeks after having met Tara she had been allowed to sleep over; Tara’s mother adored the quirky little redhead with the intelligent green eyes and heavily encouraged the girls’ friendship.


It had been her first sleepover.


Before Tara, she had only ever been friends with boys, so not much with the hair braiding and pillow fights. Most of the time she was by herself in a big house, studying or playing video games, trying to keep her mind entertained and her thoughts away from the loneliness and alienation she faced daily.


Being with family was so different, she’d mused that day, giggling along with Tara at her mother’s jokes, as the three baked cookies. There was so much warmth and joy in their laughing voices, enough to fill up all the gaps that had formerly existed in Willow’s heart.


And that night, lying so close to Tara, face to face, with Tara’s sweet breath commingling with her own as she breathed in and out steadily. How close was close enough? She glanced longingly at Tara’s slightly parted lips as the girl’s warm breath swirled out of them.


Tara was always beautiful, but there was something almost angelic about the girl’s face caught in the state of deep somnolence. Willow felt almost, wrong, somehow, when she looked at her friend like this. There was a line between admiring your best friend and lusting after her, wasn’t there? And then, didn’t that make her some sort of creep for relishing in moments like this? For feeling hot from her chest to low in her belly as she watched her friend; for inching as close as possible to the girl at night, close enough to see the fair, faint hair on the girl’s skin in the moonlight?


Yes, she decided, these things made her a definite weird-o. Her eyes shut tightly with the sudden guilt she felt, and she hastily turned over in the small bed, away from Tara. She would do the honorable thing, for her. Tara wouldn’t want to be gawked at while she slept, especially not by some Willow-shaped dork.


As Willow’s heart clenched bitterly in her chest with her brooding thoughts, Tara’s soft face took on a pained expression while she slept. She sensed a Willow-y absence and shifted forward blindly until she was finally curled against the warmth that smelled like strawberry shampoo. She pressed harder against the sinewy back and sighed contentedly at its firmness.


Willow bit her lip in the darkness as she felt Tara’s soft, budding breasts pressed tightly against her own body. It was a very long night and she didn’t get enough sleep, at all. She felt restless and bizarrely giddy, like frogs were hopping and croaking all over her chest, their guttural noises reverberating around the cavity, making her heart shake like maracas. Why did she always think up frog-metaphors right before falling asleep?


As always, she’d had strange dreams. She woke to the wonderful, inimitable smell of breakfast at Tara’s house. Her stomach clamped and growled, announcing that it, too, had woken. She stretched and sniffed the air with a wide smile; she had never ever had a home-cooked meal. Even when her mother was home, she was fed the same instant meals, or fast food, or sometimes they’d go out to a nice place—this usually happened on report card days. But her parents never cooked, it was a waste of time and they were very busy people.


In Tara’s house though, there was always time for a home-cooked meal.


The redhead leaped out of the bed, making a beeline for the kitchen, “Wow, that looks good Tare. What brand is that?”


Tara’s brow quirked wryly as she watched Willow take a seat at the kitchen table, where Tara had set two plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, two smaller plates of toast and two glasses of orange juice--fresh squeezed, “Um, Tara Maclay’s Funny-Shaped Breakfast Collection?”


Willow laughed at the joke, “Every breakfast I’ve ever had has been the type where you poke holes into the wrap and then microwave it. If you, uh, don’t poke the holes, they explode. Which is actually pretty cool when it happens, I mean, sans the clean-up afterwards. Have you ever had to scrape breakfast burrito bits off the roof of a microwave? It really sucks.”


“Poor baby,” Tara pouted, “Well we take breakfast very seriously here. There’s, uh, no microwaves involved. And definitely no frozen burritos.”


“No, no, I can see that,” Willow glanced appreciatively at the spread, fork and knife at either hand, “Your place is like going to Denny’s, e-except everything actually tastes good, and nothing makes me barf.”


Tara’s smile threatened to stretch right out of her face, “You’re so cute. Oh, the bacon is from Morningstar Farms, by the way, so it’s veggie-friendly and very kosher. I asked mom to let me do the shopping, you know, just to be sure.”


Willow smiled and nodded as she took her first bite of pancake. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Tara’s musical voice was still forming words, but she couldn’t make them out as her mind conjured an image of her and Tara at an altar. Xander, dressed as a rabbi, was standing in front of them and for some reason was holding a bible.


“Do you, Tara Maclay, take this dorky girl, to have and to mold as you please, forgetting all others, for as long as you both shall live…and even onwards?”


Tara smiles and says, “Yes, please!”


Happily, the two girls kiss to cheers and applause. Willow turns to step on the cloth-covered glass and say a verse from Psalms.


Then, smiling toothily together, they turn to the buffet table. Willow picks up the knife placed there and proceeds to cut the first piece off a giant stack of pancakes, on top of which stood two happy little bride dolls.


“W-W-Willow,” Tara’s soft voice finally cut through her reverie, she grinned at Willow’s wide eyes, “What were you thinking about?”


Willow smirked at her, “I was thinking you’d look pretty in a wedding dress.”


The blonde laughed joyfully even as a blush broke out on her doughy cheeks, “You um, you must really like those pancakes.”


~~


Now, walking alongside Xander and Buffy across Sunnydale cemetery, she wished she were in any one of those moments. Anywhere but here, in Sunnydale, in a fucking cemetery of all places, away from Tara, not able to even see that she was okay, not able to even—


“I mean the last time we had sex she just kept yelling ‘this doesn’t mean anything, this doesn’t mean anything’ over and over, and over, and—Will, Willow. Hello? Hey, are you listening to me?” Xander turned to his friend with an indignant scowl, “Jesus, Will, you’ve been so out of it, lately.”


The redhead glared at him, “Well, my girlfriend’s mother just died, and she’s yet to call me or e-mail me or heck, even send me a text to tell me, in fact, she hasn’t called or answered her phone in over a month, and every day that I don’t hear from her I feel like I die a little more inside, but please, continue to tell me the unnecessarily sordid details of you and Cordelia’s sex life.”


“T-Tara’s mom died?” Buffy asked, as Xander just gaped, wide-eyed, at Willow.


The diminutive redhead seemed to grow ever smaller as her green eyes shone emerald under her tears, “Yeah,” she managed, “Some lawyer called my dad after the funeral. Apparently, Tara’s mom left a letter and some things for me in her will. But-but-but every time I call Tara, to, to see how she is, she doesn’t answer. And, and no one answers the house phone, and she hasn’t been on-line, and, and I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m even going to do, Buffy.”


The blonde slayer gathered her best friend in her arms as the redhead’s knees buckled, “Oh, Willow.”


“Willow, I, I’m sorry,” Xander placed a hand at the girl’s shaking shoulder, his own brown eyes tearing up at the sight of his best friend’s profound pain.


“I just—God, I just need to do something. I mean, I can’t just—what?—stand around and let her be by herself? It kills me to even think about her like that. All alone. I just want to be there to kiss the tears from her cheeks. Or even, even to wipe the snot off her nose; I’d be her official snot-wiper, if she wanted. I just want to help her any way I can. I just want to be anything she needs.”


Buffy looked into Xander’s equally pained eyes as she held her shaking, gasping friend.


Xander hesitated a moment, knowing he often said the wrong thing, especially when it mattered. But if there was even a chance that his statement might land somewhere near the realm of helpful, it was a chance he had to take, “Why don’t you? Why don’t you just, you know, go to her? You’ve made the trip there with your parents three times already, right? I, I mean, I don’t know…”


Willow’s eyes seemed to clear, and she looked upon Xander like he had the meaning of life tattooed on his forehead, “Alexander Lavelle Harris…you know I’ve never said this to you before and actually meant it, but, you’re right!”



To be finished in Part 2.

_________________
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
--Allen Ginsberg

gimme the part 2 pleeeeeaaaaaassssseeeeee
RC

I love young Willow and Tara stories ^_^

_________________
"For one human being to love another, that is perhaps
the most difficult of all our tasks, one for which all other work is but preparation."

"Goddess grant me the serenity to accept that which I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can, And Wisdom to know the difference."

"The real discovery lies not in seeking new horizons,
but rather in finding new eyes."

Really good story so far... I really hope Tara hasn't done anything stupid, and that Willow very very soon goes to help her...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

This is a beautiful idea; it has always saddened me that Tara had to go through that alone. You have a wonderful grasp of the characters (especially Xander's hesitation -knowing he always says something wrong). And your description of their budding romance is perfect-ah the joys of wistful summer days.

Thank you so much for this. I'm looking forward to chapter 2.

It is comforting to know that in this incarnation Tara doesn't have to go through the trauma of losing the security and stability of her mother alone as she has Willow to lean against.
In an unrelated matter, how could anyone not be enthralled by the ad slogan "just like going to Denny's only everything actually tastes good and nothing makes you barf."

_________________
I can deny chicks in chainmail nothing.
Amberhol-from the land of sky blue waters.
No Mere Music Hall, This my novel available directly from rosestindog@gmail.com.

Dedicated to everyone who left feedback, it was my main inspiration. My next story will be less angsty, more sexy and fun.

The song they're playing in the car is Joy Division's She's Lost Control.



Part 2: Say it Plain



Willow stood in front of the long, gilt doors of her father’s office, paralyzed. She never really spoke to him, and he, well he never really spoke at all. Browbeaten by her vociferous mother, Ira Rosenberg was little more than a suitable accessory his wife dragged along to her art party Show and Tells. Willow knew this and didn’t love him any less, though she never really knew why the hell he stuck around.


She gulped at the door, her green eyes wide.


For Tara, her head told her, and she opened the door.


There he was, her small bespectacled father, with a bald spot in the center of his head. She cleared her throat loudly, and then blushed, realizing how rude she must have sounded.


He looked up from his pile of papers, smiling; the lines around his eyes appearing like sun rays to her.


“Dad, I gotta talk to you seriously, okay—about something very serious—something that, something that you have to make sure to take me very seriously about, despite my, my age and, and any other extenuating circumstances.”


His daughter missed the reverence in his gaze as he spoke, “Yes Willow. Calm down now and rest assured, I’m taking you extremely seriously.”


“Okay.” She nodded emphatically. “This is my argument. Now, I’m seventeen now and three months, exactly. And in those almost-eighteen years I’ve done exactly zero things wrong—wrong being defined here as cause for you or mom to punish me. Taking those facts into account, what I’m going to ask you for next shouldn’t be too prodigious at all, I mean—


“Willow Danielle, say it plain.” He said, his benignity shining in his eyes.


“I need to borrow a car, and I need the key to the summer home. I plan on staying there for a while, probably a long time, with Tara. I have to.” And her soft face grew stony with her resolve.


He took a calm sip of a cold cup of tea that had been sat at a coaster in front of him, untouched, since early that morning. Leaning back slowly in his leather chair, he nodded. “You can have the Miata that no one uses. Your mother will be home from New York in two weeks, if she’s not delayed. You want to be back before her. If she finds out, I’ll do my best to take your side.”


~~



For the first time she saw the long, golden brown road leading to Tara’s town through the driver’s seat.


The entire ride she went over every possible situation in her mind. It was absolutely imperative to Willow that she say the right things. If there was ever a time for her to step out of spazdom, this was it. What would she say to her lovely girl, when she got there?

Tara I…


I’m sorry, I…


I, I wish…


Tara, baby, angel, sweetheart, love, I…


I…


By the time she reached the verdant pastures of the fields leading to Tara’s farm, she had nothing to say.


~~


There had not been a knock on Tara’s door for days.


Her father went around like a haggard ghost, her brother was like a jagged, black rock. She could find solace in neither. She could find solace in nothing. When she tried to write it out in her journal, she wrote “like quicksand, but quicker” and promptly dissolved into hysterics.


Today had been a calmer, quieter kind of crazy. She stared at her bare white wall hour after hour, replaying fond scenes of her mother that would never happen again; secret memories that only she knew about now.


Her brother had a very distinct knock. It was hard, dissonant, only sounding twice before he opened the door.


For a full minute he stood there, head down, big hands in his jeans’ pockets. “Looks like you’re saved, there, little sister.”


Her fair brows furrowed, “W-W-W-What are you talking about, Donny?”


“That little redheaded scamp you’re always running around with, that’s what.”


She frowned at him, like a frustrated sister does, “Her name is Willow Danielle Rosenberg.”


He shrugged dramatically, “Yeah, yeah, Rose and Burgers. God, figures you’d pick some Jew-girl too. Just to piss off God even more, I bet.”


“Yeah, that’s my main goal in life Donny. I wake up every morning and think; gee I wonder how I can frustrate Donny’s deities.”


“Now, I only got the one, you know…I ain’t like you and M—“ He stopped short, steely eyes softening.


For the first time they looked into each others’ eyes and shared their connection. Putting aside prejudices and the bitter family feuds they were born into. If it hadn’t been for their father and the family myth, they may have been friends; they may have been brother and sister.


Donny broke the spell, looking to the side, abashed, “Well, your girl’s waiting out back. She sent me to tell you. I didn’t want a fight or nothing, is all. And you know how Daddy is about you and her after he found you kissing.”


Tara’s eyes widened, hope shining in the blue. She looked at her brother—young, red-faced, ever angry. Was he trying, in his way, to be kind to her?


She stood and wrapped her dainty arms around his thick, red, neck. Softly, she broke down a bit on his shoulder. In all honesty, it did Donny more good than it did her.


~~

Willow smiled; her angel appeared in a blue tartan dress. She was happy to see the girl had packed a bag, her girl was blessed with such foresight, she mused, before her focus was engulfed in warm lips, soft arms.


They kissed, forehead to forehead, in back of Tara’s house where they had necked for countless days in the hot sun or the blue moon.


This time was more desperate than the rest; they kissed loudly and cried softly on each other’s faces.


“Tara, oh, Tara, I…I…Oh, Tara,” Willow cried.


“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” Tara told her as she kissed her forehead softly, before pressing her lips against Willow’s frightened pout, “We can get through this.”


Willow crashed into Tara’s arms hard, kissing her voraciously; deep kisses that left their lips red and raw. Her father was right, she would say it plain.


“Tara,” she whispered onto her lips, “I love you, and I’m going to take care of you, okay?”


~~

Confusion in her eyes that says it all
She's lost control.

As they drove side by side, hand in hand, across the empty, winding country road, they were silent. The sound of Joy Division in the radio was the only noise in the car.

Though both their minds raced with things to say, they simply sat contentedly in each other’s company. Tara’s hand tightened on Willow’s. How alive she felt now, after weeks of death.

And she turned around and took me by the hand and said
I've lost control again.

Willow peered at her obliquely, before smiling in understanding. With a wild grin she stepped on the gas. The expensive little convertible was now flitting across Tara’s sepia tone town. They were a bright stripe of red cutting across golden dawn.


Willow pressed the button to revert the car’s soft top roof, filling the small space in the convertible with the lashings of the racing wind. “Wahoo!” The girls laughed at the wind, their eyes shining with the excitement of runaway lovers.

And of a voice that told her when and where to act,
She said I've lost control again.

Willow stole dangerous glances at Tara as she drove; adrenaline pulled at her limbs, made her take the kind of chances that separated her from all the people she envied. The blonde’s hair was divine at dawn, golden, like the tresses of some goddess. The gold whipped alluringly in the wind as Tara danced in the confines of her seat belt.


“C’mere you beautiful thing you,” She tugged at the blonde’s forearm for a long, slow kiss at one hundred miles an hour before turning her eyes back to the seemingly eternal road.

And walked upon the edge of no escape and laughed
I've lost control.

~~


Willow had always thought her summer home warmer than the one in Sunnydale. Whether it was its more modest appearance or the frequency of Tara’s presence within its old wooden walls, she didn’t know.


It never felt more like home than now. Opening its door, she suddenly had a vision of her and Tara one day owning a nice little home of their own. What if this were their door? This their living room? That their breakfast nook? Those their walls and those their photographs of their own small, freckled child?


There was so much life still to live and she knew suddenly that it would all start now, with Tara. Willow starts and ends with Tara, it was formulaic.


“S-so, h-how are you here right n-now, I mean, I m-mean, well, this is sorta sudden, you know?”


The reckless, life-affirming exultation Tara had felt while flying through town in Willow’s very shiny car had now faded, making her feel anxious, frightened and sad.


Willow took note of the girl’s frame disappearing on her and rebelled, gathering her into her nimble arms. “Now, Tara Baby, I-I’ve lost so much sleep thinking of what to do about this. I ached to find you, I really did. I didn’t know if it was the right thing until Xander said it plain for me. And that’s really—I realize now—the only way to say things.”


Tara smiled into Willow’s weltering kisses, “You’re listening to Xander now? That’s a bit of an ill-advised decision.”


“No, no, no, he’s a genius,” Willow spoke into her neck as she licked it reverently; “He helped me invent this moment, after all.”


Breathless from the warm lips marking her pulse, Tara sighed. “I need to lie down. I m-might fall.”


Willow led her haphazardly toward the fireplace, laying a wool comforter and pillows down in front of the orange glow. She took her by the wrist and pulled them down into their woolen hideaway. She put her hands on Tara’s little waist and pulled until the comely blonde was on her lap.


“My Tara,” she caressed Tara’s cheek with the backs of her fingers as they sat, cocooned in their fiery nest, “What have you been feeling all alone these past few weeks?”


“Oh, Willow. I-I, I was so lost.” The girl’s wide-set eyes swirled like a whirlpool as she recounted the weeks after her mother’s funeral, “I felt like I’d lost myself. So, so much of what I am comes from her. Anything I ever saw in myself that I thought was any good was just the echoes of her in me. And n-now I-I, I w-w-won’t have h-her around to, to, teach me the r-rest, the rest of everything else I still don’t know.”


Willow hastily kissed Tara’s forehead, as if trying to dispel all the girl’s sullen thoughts with brushes of her lips.


For minutes or hours she cradled Tara in her protective arms, fully willing to absorb every drop of angst in the young girl’s body. She held her tighter and tighter and met her tortured blue eyes proudly, “Oh, baby, you even break up beautiful.”


Tara smiled sadly and wiped the tears from her eyes, “I have the things she left for you. D-do you want them now? It’s all unopened, she, she left it f-for you in a safe box.”


“Only if you’re ready, babe,” her green eyes were wide and mindful as she whispered this into Tara’s blushing ear.


Willow felt, more than saw, the blonde nod on her shoulder. She squeezed her sides before the girl could wiggle away, “It’s in your bag?” Again the pretty little blonde head bobbed up and down her taut shoulder, raising goosebumps.


Willow very easily stretched her right leg toward Tara’s bag, capturing its handle with her foot and vaulting it into her outstretched arm. “Ta-da!” She would do any silly, ridiculous thing for a smile or laugh from Tara.


Tara’s curvy body shook enticingly with her excited laughter. “Hee hee hee hee hee! My monkey!”


Willow frowned and grunted and danced like a monkey. “Hoo hoo hoo!” She called out wildly.


“Hee hee hee! What do you want silly, monkey-girl?”


Willow grinned like a feral animal before grasping her roughly, tickling the writhing, laughing girl with unmerciful hands.


“Ha ha ha! No! No! Willow, no! Oh, please, please, please! Oh! Ah! Ha ha ha ha!


“Oh, yes, yes, yes, Tara! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!”


Breathless, pinned and pink-cheeked, the blonde was an alluring sight post tickle-fight. Willow inhaled deeply as she watched the girl’s chest heaving. Catching herself, her eyes flickered up to Tara’s dizzy smile. Before those bewitching lips drew her in she turned to the bag.


“First zipper,” Tara whispered. Her voice was shaky; she was nervous but Willow held her in her pale wings, soaring safe and giddy.


Unzipping the large navy bag Willow searched its contents. Tara had packed clothes (good baby), the money jar she’d always kept (smart baby), little pink panties (oh baby), and finally, a small gilt safe (here we go, baby).


“It’s going to be seven, seven, one, one.” Her voice was as light as the fluttering of butterfly wings, and as delicate.


A gold diamond-encrusted ring, a photo album, and a letter were inside the tiny, sturdy cube. She unfurled the beautifully penned letter. “Should I, out loud?” She motioned questioningly with her thin arms.


Tara nodded slowly, “If you’re comfortable…I’d like to know what she s-says.”


Willow cleared her throat before starting,


Dearest Willow Tree,


I’ve been thanking God day and night for you, do you know that, you precious girl? How you are loved and needed Willow Rosenberg.


Do you know, (and you can ask my Tara for verification, and I hope, and in a way know, that she’s there with you for prompt verification)
do you know that just before you bounced into and all around my home I was just telling Tara that there existed a gap in our lives. I said “Tara, there’s a big hole in our world, don’t you know? And until it’s filled I just won’t be able to rest at all.”


Well, then you came and I saw our lives fill up. All the pieces fell into place, Willow Tree. The shadows over my Tara’s face dispersed and the sun finally shone on her countenance, illuminating what I had seen all along—the beauty and purity that surrounds my little girl.


Now, the first time I saw love spark in those big green eyes of yours, I was a protective Momma. But I’m overwhelmed with relief that such a big-hearted young woman is going to be keeping my baby safe. I couldn’t have asked for a stronger, gentler soul than Willow Rosenberg for my daughter.


I’m leaving you my wedding ring, and I know it will be rotting in a drawer for years while you practice proposals. I’m also leaving you a photo album I’ve kept of Tara since the day she was born. She’ll be excited to know that I kept all the embarrassing ones I swore to burn.


I suppose this is the part of the letter where I should make you promise to take good care of Tara, lest I come back as a scorned specter of a mother. But, why tell you what you already know?


The only promise I’m asking for of you girls is to enjoy your love to its fullest extent. It is beautiful and rare and the reason you’ll forever wake with a smile. I see it in you two so clearly, your love is forever and just about the grandest thing I’ve known in thirty nine years.


You’ve all my trust and love and guidance,
Deirdre Maclay


By the end of her reading Willow could hear Tara sob quietly. She gathered the whimpering frame in her arms and kissed her all about her face as she whispered, “I love you,” over and over, on her cheeks, eyelids, chin, forehead, the beautiful slope of her nose.


Tara’s hands clutched Willow’s forearms; she pulled the girl on top of her as she splayed herself on the floor. She needed to feel the weight of her girlfriend on her body, she needed a ballast badly. “Make love to me,” she twittered breathily.


“W…What did you…because I thought you might have said…well, and if you hadn’t had said…well, that, I’d be so embarrassed to have misinterpreted so…it would be so, so stultifying to…well, can, Tara can you just please say that until I start to believe it?” She rushed through her last broken sentence with eyes wide, lips tight; holding a hopeful breath.


Tara laughed and smiled and blushed, and rejoiced in the beautiful person she had found, “Make love to me, make love to me, make love to me, make beautiful, wonderful, willowy love,”


And her lips were taken.


Willow moaned and gasped into the wet velvet recess reserved only for herself. She was hyper-sensitive with anxiousness, I thought I was going to be stuck in third base forever and ever and ever and “Ohhh.”


Willow’s bottom is the most wonderful thing, Tara surmised from the grasp she had on it. She tried different pressures to see what she liked, see what Willow liked, she tried grasping a cheek roughly and pulling at the firm flesh there, she tried running her palms up and down its length slowly, deliberately. “Oh! Willow!” The latter made her lover jerk her slim hips into her center, and isn’t that just the most phenomenal response?


“Ah! Wow! What a great idea!” The redhead enthused as she ground her hips eagerly.


“Ah,” The blonde delightfully discovered the terrific way she could use Willow’s ass to press her harder onto herself. “Oh Will it feels so good.”


Oh yes it does baby, yes it does, so so so good, isn’t it? So good, there could exist no better thing could there…, “Tara!” She gasped, “Um, c-can you, you know? Can I? I, your dress…”


Tara smiled, “You want a minute alone with my dress, baby?”


“Ha ha ha, wise-girl! C’mon, don’t be mean. I want you and your dress to have various minutes alone. As in, without eachother. As in, both of you would be in a sense naked. And fast!” She pouted and showed Tara how big and sad and green her eyes really could get.


Tara shrugged coyly and quirked her perfect blonde brow, “If you want it off so drastically…”


“Is that how it is, evil vixeny seductress of mine?” Tara’s response was a long hot lick across Willow’s bottom lip. “Yes, yes I see.”


Willow trailed her fingertips across the satin soft skin of Tara’s back as she zipped down the dress. It was like pretty blue wrapping paper, she mused, and Tara was the present she had wanted on every Hanukah, report card day, birthday, but what had she gotten? A stupid pony that bit my arm. Flesh-eating, four-hooved monsters!


Reverently, she pulled Tara’s dress from her body, gathering the girl in her arms immediately after and feeling all exposed skin. “Oh, Tara you…oh, you. You just don’t know…how you…oh,” she blabbered nonsensically.


“You’re so excited,” Tara spoke, breathless and amused, “You h-haven’t even really seen anything yet.”


Smiling, the blonde slithered out of Willow’s arms, reaching back with a shy, obliviously sexy smile to undo her bra.


She held the bra to her chest with her hands, the straps undone at her shoulders, “Want me to show you?”


“Ah, oh, um, uh.”


Tara laughed, her breasts threatening to sway out of the barely-there-anymore bra, “I wish you could see the fish face you’re making right now.”


The redhead’s face matched her hair as she sputtered, “Hey now, hey, this is, like, every daydream, night dream, fantasy and thought I’ve had for the past three years coming true in this one wonderful moment, and I’m having various multiple overloads, for your FYI.”



Tara eyes softened, “You’d really d-dream about me like that?”


At Willow’s shy nod Tara let the bra drop onto the floor, crawling comfortably into Willow’s lap and pressing her chest as closely as she could to her body; with her hands around the redhead’s narrow shoulders she latched her mouth onto her lower lip.


“Oh, God, Oh, God,” The redhead leaned back to feel with her hands. Nothing in the world feels like a breast in your hand; a nipple grazing deliciously against the skin of your palm, scalding it.


“Pets make kisses so much better!”


She wanted to feel them with her mouth and clawed at Tara’s back, propping the girl up to suck at her breast. And oh, the taste of them! The feel of the tender skin. The soft and hard little nipples in her mouth; pink rosebuds that taste like summer.


“Willow, oh, Willow,” Tara pulled at her hair but couldn’t keep up with her need. The girl’s mouth was hot and wanton; she made a feast of her body. “W-Willow, I, I w-want to, to touch you too.”


“Mmn, mmm, uh huh,” The redhead moaned around a mouthful of breast she was just not willing to give up at this precise moment yet—


“Willow!”


“Yes, ma’am!” She gave both beautiful breasts a goodbye lick and promised to be back ten trillion more times.


She felt awkward as she slid her t-shirt up, but Tara’s eyes, like fire so hot it’s blue, on her body like that, made her slow the process. She grazed her own palm slowly across the tight muscles of her abdomen, feeling yet more wetness slide from within her at Tara’s moan and sway. Those infinite eyes held her and compelled her to do away with her t-shirt, camisole, all clothes really. And suddenly she was naked before the goddess she worshipped nightly for the better part of her youth.


Her nervousness returned, “I, ah, I’m built like a twelve year old boy, sorry.”


Tara smiled widely, lopsidedly; eyes never leaving the girl’s body, “You’re built like a cool monster fighter.”


Willow sighed at the girl’s admiration; secretly she loved Tara’s view of her; as cool, as strong, as sexy. It drove Willow crazy to look at the blonde and see that vulnerable, burning need in those sky blue eyes.


“So, so beautiful, my Willow.”


Tara noted, and immediately committed to memory every exquisite detail of Willow’s body-- the cherry blossom nipples, the freckled shoulders, the infinitesimal navel, cute as a button. And there, the one place she had yet to see. Scarlet curls were calling her mouth and hands.


But first, “You know, I don’t think anything in the world is sexier than a small-breasted redhead.”


And then her mouth was wrapped around most of Willow’s left breast. “Ahh, damn!” The image and feel of Tara’s warm tongue circling her nipple, teasing and tickling, had Willow rocking forward and grasping at a fistful of her blonde hair.


Her hot little tongue slid down the toned line of her abdomen; dipping into its navel, circling the hollow and then that mouth took a soft bite at the flesh above her cunt. It was all happening so urgently, so passionately. How she needed this woman.


“Tara, please!”


Another time, Tara would have the patience to tease properly, but as of now, she buried her face in Willow’s pussy. Her senses were flooded by the tart and sweetness of ripe strawberries. “Ohmgahwiggow s’goo.”


“Oh wow! Oh wow!” For all that she had imagined what the sight and feel of Tara’s face buried in her center might be like; she had never done it justice. The girl’s pouty, pillowy lips felt like heaven on her clit. Her hips started rocking erratically against Tara’s flattened tongue.


“Oh God! Oh God!” She could feel something white-hot building from within her belly.


The redhead’s thrusts were coming quicker and quicker, her hand tighter around Tara’s hair; the blonde could feel that inevitable moment approaching, she could feel it reverberating in her own body. Gingerly, she brought a single finger to the girl’s opening, circling it twice before entering the warmth.


“Oh Tara, oh oh, oh wow!” It was utterly magnificent. Flashes of brilliance pulsed hotly in her belly, in her cunt, through her arms and legs, into her brain.


“Mmn! Mmm m’god,” Tara rode the wave with her, swallowing the small flood at Willow’s center.


And when the girl lay in her stupor, Tara had kissed up her shivering body and held her tightly in her arms.


With a deep breath Willow came to, “Oh, baby. I ah, ha, wow.”


“Wow, Willow,” Tara whispered with a wide, wet, satisfied smile, “You came so fast, I only touched you for a little bit.”


“Ah, ha, hmm, well, yes, well you touched the right places honey.”


Tara kissed the flustered redhead, feeling more in love with every passing second in her company.


Willow felt a flame in her that she recognized from prior heated kissing sessions. A fire that she had always had to quell, a fire aching to touch more, to touch everything, to kiss more, to kiss everything. To know every part of Tara’s body and claim it in some way.


She flipped them over, deepening their kiss; there would be no more need to stop fires. She pulled back to taste her neck, the hollow of her throat, the graceful curve of her jaw.


“Oh Tara. You know how there are parts of the ocean they haven’t even discovered yet and all? When I look into your eyes, I feel like that. I-I feel like I’m staring into the whole ocean and there are parts of you I haven’t even discovered yet.”


“Willow, baby, that’s so beautiful,” Tara’s body swayed to rise closer to Willow’s. She clamped her thighs around the girl’s small hips, grinding her center with her own.


“You know you can do anything baby. You can discover anything you’d like.”


Tara’s eyes were a vulnerable blue that made Willow’s stomach flip. She ached for this girl from the depths of her soul. Grasping her rolling thighs she pushed her deeper into herself and kissed her fully.


She ran her hands up and down the smooth, womanly curve of her waist before grasping her back and pulling her up from the floor to her lap, finally sliding the girl’s panties off. Immediately her hands gripped the bare skin of her ass, oh, God, so soft, so perfect.


Her kisses became more heated, her hands bolder, now pulling hard at Tara’s nipples. Not so fast, not so fast. One can’t very well dash pell-mell into lovemaking, can they?


But the way Tara moved on her; arching her chest into her hands as if offering those milky breasts to Willow, rubbing her creamy center on Willow’s stomach and leaving a hot trail from her navel to the top of her cunt, throwing her head back in ecstatic gasping and moaning. This was a woman she had driven wild and this was no time to be slow or rational.


She grabbed Tara’s bottom, giving it a slap for good measure before laying the girl flat on the floor, “Are you ready, baby?”


Tara gave an enigmatic smile as she opened her legs, using a hand to spread herself so that Willow could see her wetness sliding out of her into tiny glittering puddles on the carpeted floor. “S-see how ready I am for you Willow? Do you s-see how badly I need you?”


Willow could only gape at the sight of her. “Tara,” she sighed in wonder, cupping her cheeks to claim those soft, stuttering lips. She gripped Tara’s wrist and pulled it away from her labia, placing the fingers in between her and Tara’s mouths.


“Oh baby, like peaches,” She licked the sweetened digits then fed them to Tara. Her eyes raked the girl’s form hungrily, she licked at her lips. When her gaze landed on the golden chalice between the girl’s spread legs she hissed in anticipation.


Kissing the girl once more, tasting the echoes of both their passion on her tongue, she descended into the softness of Tara’s primed and waiting body.


She grabbed her breasts in either hand, pushing them together and licking at the salty, trembling skin. Tara’s heady scent urged her further down the girl’s body. She licked at her skin reverently, never having felt a need as urgent as the one she felt right now.


Tara’s folds looked like flower petals and tasted like peaches. Willow licked up the length of the slit before sucking at her clit. She gripped Tara’s rotating hips as she licked at her in long, wild strokes. She felt a hunger in her she knew would never really go away, but rather sated temporarily. “You’re so good, Tara, you taste so good baby.”


She swept upwards, grazing Tara’s mouth with her imperious kisses. Supporting herself on her right forearm, she hovered over Tara. She stroked the flesh of her belly, feeling goosebumps ripple in the radiant skin.


“I love you,” Willow whispered into the girl’s neck before she slid one, then two fingers inside of Tara. Their pace slow and sensual; they swayed together in a desperate synchronization. Deeply, she placed herself inside Tara, moaning at her openness, the willing welcome she had received. God, how she wraps around me.


And then she could no longer go slow, desperation and passion taking hold. She stroked her faster and deeper, massaging the wet, velvet walls as the girl cried under her.

“Yes, Willow yes! Baby yes, Oh! Oh, I’m going to, going to!”


Willow pulled her into her arms as she shook with tiny gasping tremors. Muttering soft broken, stuttering sentences, “Oh, oh W-Will-ow, s-s-so, g-g-o-o-d.”


Willow kissed her cheeks as she smiled, pride and a primal satisfaction gleaming in her eyes.


Tara laughed at her expression, her spirit at rest. Between Willow and the floor, she no longer felt like she was floating.

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I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
--Allen Ginsberg

Yay for good update-y goodness...

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We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Madwriter
That was just.. splendid. Both for the insights into their characters and for the expression of their love.

thanks. I'll be keeping an eye out for more of your fics.
Anne

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Spells for Two

Every path has its puddle. Old English Saying... I think I just stepped in mine...

The letter from Tara's mother was poetic, lyrical, and very touching.
Such clarity about love which transcends humanity's narrow-minded classifications is rare these days and needs to be encouraged.

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I can deny chicks in chainmail nothing.
Amberhol-from the land of sky blue waters.
No Mere Music Hall, This my novel available directly from rosestindog@gmail.com.