by KrisBo5 » Thu Jul 04, 2002 1:42 am
Well, it took forever, but finally, another piece of the story. A special thanks to IsayAmberBensonsgorgeous and singgirl for urging me on. Same disclaimers apply as before, so if you don’t know them, check the Prologue. And with that . . . .
Darkness Falls, Part One: Descent(A)
“Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall be changed.” I Corinthians, 15:15
Covered solely by a red silk sheet, Tara sighed deeply. Contentedly. Hmm. The soft, trilling coo of a morning dove drew the blonde’s attention to the bedroom window; she rolled slowly onto her back and looked upon the new day. The morning sun, white and resplendent, streamed through the glass over the foot of the bed, reaching clear across to the other wall. She closed her eyes briefly, listening to the silence of the room around her, the house around her. It was peaceful and familiar and. . . home. She smiled slowly, the corners of her mouth turning up just so, as she heard another morning sound greet her.
“The frogs. . . came. . . in cans. . . . ”
Tara opened her eyes and rolled onto her left side, facing the middle of the bed. Her eyes fell on the sleeping form across the bed from her. Willow lay on her stomach, her face turned away from the blonde, her arms spread out above her head. The sheet had slid low over the redhead’s body, scarcely covering her buttocks; the wide expanse of her back was laid bare for Tara’s attentive study. My love.
“Storm. . . the gates. . . .”
“Willow?” Tara reached out and let her fingers softly caress the skin of her lover’s lower back. “Sweetie, you awake?” The blonde continued to stroke the porcelain flesh, finally letting her fingers dip beneath the sheet over one of the smooth slopes hidden there.
Willow felt herself rising, swimming towards consciousness, a voice like a song calling to her. Tara. Willow’s eyes fluttered open, and she instantly felt them sting and burn from the previous night’s sleeplessness. Squeezing both shut briefly, she reopened them and found herself focusing on the clock: 6:42 am. Blink, blink, blink, blink. Huh, just like yesterday. That is bee-zarre. She inhaled deeply then, allowing her body to join her mind in consciousness.
Tara smiled again at the sounds of Willow waking. Her hand had stilled its gentle ministrations on the redhead’s skin; she simply watched her now. Watched in wonder.
Willow gradually became aware of her surroundings in the room, most especially her physical location in her bed. She felt alone. And that wasn’t right. Tara. “Tara?” Willow asked, her voice rising with uncertainty.
Tara’s heart flopped in her chest as the redhead called her name. She slid her hand from beneath the sheet covering her lover, letting it move, once again, up the smooth, pale skin of her back. At her touch, Willow raised her head and turned towards the blonde. “Morning, Love,” Tara said, allowing her fingers to trace small, maddening circles in the sensuous hollow at the base of her spine.
Willow pushed herself up onto her elbows and drank in the beauty of the woman laying beside her. “Hi, Baby,” she replied, a smile lighting her face, all worry gone. She glanced over her shoulder at Tara’s wandering digits, and her smile grew wider. “Way better than an alarm,” she said, propping her chin in the palm of her hand; she continued to watch the blonde with unwavering eyes.
“You think so, huh?”
“Oh, believe me, I know so.” A moment of fulfilled silence passed between the women.
“Sleep well?” Tara asked. Her hand trailed up to the redhead’s shoulder, where she gently wove her fingers through the copper tresses resting there.
Mmm, not hardly. But, who’s complaining? “Well,” Willow began, taking a dramatic breath. As Tara’s eyebrows raised in a questioning expression, she continued. “All I can say is what little sleep I did get, it was the best I’ve had in months.” She was rewarded with a patented Tara-grin, slightly lopsided and completely endearing. Oh, my. “You?”
“No,” the blonde said, matter-of-factly.
O-kay. Not exactly the answer I was expecting there.
“I didn’t sleep at all.” Willow opened her mouth to speak, but the blonde went on. “I was watching you.”
Tara eyes on me? Mmm, that’s nice. Almost as nice as Tarahand. “Oh?”
“Mmm. I was a little concerned.” Willow tilted her head, curious. “You know, the frogs. Coming in cans and all.”
What? Willow’s mouth opened slightly and her brow creased in utter confusion.
“Storming the gates and such. Sounded kinda worrisome.”
Sorry, I meant to say, what?! Willow casually slid her free hand towards the elbow holding her chin and pinched herself. Hard. OUCH! Okay, definitely awake. Maybe she’s asleep. Yeah, that could be. Maybe I should pinch her, check it out. Then she could expl— wait! Wait just a dang second. Willow squinted her eyes at her lover. “I did not say that.”
Tara laughed, a tinkling sound that set butterflies free inside Willow’s stomach. “Honey, I swear that’s what I heard.”
Willow remained silent, enjoying the sight of her love playfully teasing her about her subconscious, often inane babbling. She took another deep breath. “Well. . . .”
“Well?”
“Well, I was thinking,” the redhead started.
Tara’s grin widened. Oh, good, something new to try. “About?”
“Maybe there’s something to be said about all that.” The blonde raised her eyebrows, waiting. “Frogs in cans, storming the gates.”
Tara burst into laughter. “Oh, Willow.”
“I’m serious— you can’t underestimate amphibians.”
More laughter erupted from the blonde. She rolled onto her back and clutched her stomach, trying to catch her breath. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes as she shook her head in merriment.
Willow felt her chest tighten, her heart picking up its tempo as she watched her lover shake with childish delight. The redhead felt her own laughter bubbling up, and soon she found herself wiping her own tears from her cheeks.
Tara’s laughter finally subsided to the point that she could let go of her stomach. Taking a few calming breaths, she focused on Willow; the redhead tucked several runaway strands behind her ear and sighed. Tara reached out and touched her lover’s shoulder lightly; Willow covered the blonde’s fingers with her own, intertwining their knuckles. “You’re too far away,” Tara said, squeezing gently.
Amen. Willow dipped her head and kissed her lover’s fingers softly; releasing them, she half-pushed, half-crawled on her elbows towards the blonde, completely losing the bedsheet along the way. As she closed the short distance between them, the redhead tossed an arm over the other woman’s body and pulled; the combined effect caused Tara to slide towards Willow while she, herself, came to rest slightly on top of the blonde. Their chests pressed together, the silk sheet covering Tara the only barrier between them. Willow brushed some hair away from Tara’s cheek and smiled into the cornflower depths of her eyes. “Better?”
“Um,” the blonde started, shifting her body under Willow’s frame. Tara yanked on the sheet, successfully extracting it from between them in one go. Voila. Unencumbered by the sheet, their breasts pressed tightly together, perfectly together, each woman’s nipples becoming erect at the sudden intimate contact. “Now better.”
I’ll say. Willow stared down at her lover, letting her eyes pore over every inch of her face, memorizing every detail. She lightly traced a finger over one eyebrow, continuing down her jaw and over her lips, before falling away to rest, cushioned, in an eddy of golden hair.
“What are you thinking?”
“Hmm?” Willow asked, semi-drunk on the beauty that she held in her arms.
Tara reached up and touched her index finger to the center of Willow’s forehead. “What’s going on in there?”
Willow brought her eyes to Tara’s and held her gaze for several seconds. “You sang to me.”
It was a simple statement. A simple truth. But the tone of Willow’s voice, the look in her eyes, made Tara pause. She felt her heart tighten in her chest unexpectedly, the redhead’s suddenly serious expression revealing how much it meant to her. Everyday, my love. For the rest of my life. “Yes.”
Willow shook her head, almost imperceptibly, her eyes never wavering. “Thank you.”
A smile touched Tara’s lips. Then, Willow did. A tender, fluttering kiss, their lips softly pressed against one another. Neither escalated the embrace, they simply enjoyed the nearness, the touch of one another. Willow raised her lips, her tongue darting out to moisten them. Oh, my. Tara’s hand wandered down Willow’s back, settling near the supple rise of her buttocks. “You know, I’ve actually sung to you before.” Her fingertips drew idle patterns over the milky-white skin, feeling the flesh dimple with goosebumps. She smiled again.
I’m under your spell. Willow returned her lover’s grin, remembering the first time Tara had serenaded her.
“In fact,” Tara began, “if I’m not mistaken, we ended up. . . well, right here.” Tara’s smile widened even more.
But Willow’s didn’t; it slowly faded, and her eyes lost their focus as she allowed her thoughts to travel down that past road. Under my spell. She was under my spell. I did that. I did that to. . . my Tara. I lost her. Because of—
“Hey,” Tara half-whispered, breaking into her lover’s thoughts. With her other hand, she caught Willow’s chin, drawing the redhead back to her. “I know what you’re thinking.” She held Willow’s eyes with hers. “Don’t.” Willow swallowed hard, trying to form words. “Just don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” Willow said it. Said the words. She had to. She needed to.
“No.” Tara lifted both hands, taking Willow’s face between them. “No more sorries, my love. No more. That’s all done with. We’re not going back there again.”
Willow’s breath hitched in her chest. Who is this woman who loves me so much?
“Now,” Tara continued, “thank me again, Willow.”
Thank you. Oh, Goddess, thank you. For my Tara. For my love. Thank you. “Thank you.”
Tara felt herself falling into the emerald eyes gazing into her own. Who is this woman who loves me so much?
Willow lowered her mouth onto Tara’s, closing her eyes as she tasted its soft sweetness. Her tongue slid over Tara’s lips, parting them slightly, then traced the sleek surface of her teeth. She heard the blonde’s sharp intake of breath and pushed her tongue deeper into its recesses, seeking contact; her lover responded eagerly, meeting Willow’s in a well-known dance.
Tara dropped her hands from Willow’s face; she wrapped her arms around the slim form of her lover, pressing her palms flat against the cooled flesh of the redhead’s back, kneading it gently. Never enough. I can never get enough.
Willow moaned deep in her throat, maneuvering her arms beneath the blonde. She shifted her hips, moving her body more fully onto her lover’s. Tara made no protest as the redhead eased a leg between hers, urging the blonde to allow her a more intimate contact; the blonde responded, casually blanketing Willow’s leg with her own, holding her close. The redhead’s thigh nested against Tara’s hot, and increasingly wet, center; Willow rubbed herself rhythmically over the delicate flesh, delighting in Tara’s response as she gripped her back more tightly, almost painfully.
Tara’s nerve endings became pricks of flame, making her blood speed through her body, burning her in its wake. Willow’s kiss was driving her to the edge, but she wanted more. Needed more. How did I stay away so long? With great effort, she tore her mouth away from the redhead’s, her breath coming in quick, deep gulps. “Willow,” she said, her voice husky from her desire. “Touch me.” Willow’s heart hammered in her chest. “Please. Touch me now.”
Oh, goddess, yes. . . . Willow withdrew an arm and raised her hand to gently caress Tara’s cheek; her skin was warm and soft and the redhead smiled as the blonde leaned into her palm. She dropped a light kiss at the corner of Tara’s mouth, then began a slow, methodical, and tantalizing exploration of the blonde’s face and throat. Using the thumb of the hand still cradling Tara’s cheek, she lifted the blonde’s chin, exposing the exquisite flesh of her lover’s neck. Willow trailed searing kisses over its planes, letting her tongue taste the salty skin time and time again. She could feel Tara’s blood pound inside of her body, and Willow placed a firm, lingering kiss on the pulse-point; she smiled slightly as she felt her lover’s heart beat even faster.
Willow proceeded lower then, placing kisses along the blonde’s breastbone. She freed her other arm and pushed on the mattress to move her body down the length of Tara’s. Tara arched her back, silently urging the redhead to take possession of her more fully. Willow was more than happy to obey; she took one of Tara’s breasts in her mouth, suckling it gently. As she rubbed her tongue over the nipple, she felt it pucker and stiffen to pebble-hardness; she took it in her teeth and pulled softly, eliciting a low growl from Tara. Willow cupped the other breast in her hand, massaging the mound to equal arousal; she replaced that hand with her mouth, savoring the sounds her lover made as she devoured her body. As the redhead’s mouth and hand carried on with their own kind of enchantment, her thigh brushed back-and-forth over the blonde’s center, completely in synch, driving her lover to torment.
Tara could feel her desire mounting, burning through her body, speeding downward, settling between her legs. She was wet with need, and Willow’s deliberate attempts to make love to her, to touch her as she had requested, threatened her sanity. Oh, God, Willow, please just— She writhed beneath her lover, tightening her leg on the redhead’s, anchoring Willow’s body against her center; Tara felt her moisture spread to Willow’s thigh and it only served to inflame her passions.
Willow felt Tara’s body honing in, drawing her down to her most intimate place. Commanding her there. The redhead continued her assault on her lover’s breasts, while she moved her free hand down towards Tara’s inner thigh; raising her hips off the blonde, she spread her lover’s legs wide apart, immediately positioning her body within their velvety confines. She felt Tara’s muscles contract around her waist, squeezing her, cradling her. Willow let her fingers glide further, deeper into the folds of her lover; heat feathered across her palm, radiating the blonde’s obvious need for her.
Willow lifted her eyes, then heard Tara’s small whimper of protest at her abandonment of her breast; the redhead let her thumb graze Tara’s clitoris, and the blonde thrust her hips off the bed, towards the probing appendage. “Tara.” Willow’s voice, laden by her own hunger, sounded far away, strange to her own ears.
Tara felt lightheaded, white spots dappling her closed eyelids. Covered by a sheen of perspiration, the blonde became aware that she was trembling, shaking uncontrollably at Willow’s complete mastery of her body. Their time apart had done nothing to diminish it.
“Tara.” Willow repeated her lover’s name as she lightly pinched Tara’s engorged flesh between her finger and thumb, while her other hand mirrored the action on her erect nipple.
Oh, goddess, Willow, please. . . . Tara opened her eyes, her breath coming in short gasps.
“Look at me,” Willow said, her voice commanding yet kind. Tara angled her head so she could look into the forest eyes of the only woman she had ever loved. Would only love. When she knew that Tara was fully focused on her, Willow spoke. “I love you, Tara,” she said in a half-whisper; and as she said the words, she eased her fingers deep inside the other woman, marveling at the softness and heat that enveloped her.
A sob escaped from Tara as she climaxed powerfully, Willow’s touch enough to set her aflame. “Willow!” Her hips drove up tautly against the redhead’s hand, and she cried out her lover’s name as Willow remained perfectly still, buried inside her.
Willow let her lover ride out the last vestiges of her orgasm. When she was satisfied that the blonde could endure sensation once more, she began to move inside her. Languidly. Deeply. Completely. This time, Tara wanted Willow to receive as much pleasure as she had, but the redhead caught her up in the intense heat of her possession, so much so that when she felt herself cresting again, she found herself grasping at her lover’s shoulders, as if she could pull herself inside the other woman’s body and be one with her forever. Willow moved up Tara’s length as her hand continued to drive the blonde closer to her release; when she could again look into Tara’s eyes, she felt the blonde take her face in her hands, holding her steady before her cobalt gaze. Willow thrust her hand once more and Tara felt herself give way, no longer able to hold back; the redhead felt Tara’s body clench around her hand as she came, its milky wetness cascading over her skin. Tara opened her mouth, but Willow captured the blonde’s lips with her own, smothering any words she might have said. Tara simply held on to Willow, letting her body rock against the redhead’s lithe form; letting her mouth be devoured by the redhead’s lips and tongue; letting her soul be bonded to the redhead’s for all eternity.
As Tara’s body stilled, Willow broke the kiss at long last, raising her lips from the blonde’s. Their breath mingled between them, slowing with every passing second; Willow caught Tara’s gaze, and a smile touched the corners of her mouth at the sight of her love-flushed face. The redhead transferred her weight to one arm and carefully removed her fingers from her lover; she settled back against the inside of the blonde’s thighs, luxuriating in their warmth. She slid both of her arms beneath Tara once again, her palms resting flat against the blonde’s shoulder blades and laid her head on Tara’s chest, her ear resting over her lover’s heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Taraheart.
Every emotion Willow evoked in her, Tara wished she could express. But she could not speak; she felt robbed of language entirely. She contented herself by stroking Willow’s back with one hand, while winding the fingers of the other through her lover’s rust-colored locks. Never enough. I can never get enough. Willow sighed and tightened her embrace as Tara’s hands caressed her. Tara closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing in everything that was Willow.
“I love you, too, Willow.”
Those words.
They were enough.
*****
Buffy opened her eyes slowly, her gaze obstructed by the weight of Dawn’s hand laying across the bridge of her nose. The Slayer carefully took hold of her sister’s limp wrist and placed it on the mattress beside her. As she suspected, the teen didn’t move one iota, entirely oblivious to her existence. Just as gingerly, she rolled out of the bed and got to her feet; she made her way across Xander’s bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her as she exited. She entered the living room, surprised to see Xander sitting at the table reading a newspaper, donuts and coffee cluttered around him.
“Hey,” Buffy said, as she dropped down in the chair beside him.
“Buff, hey” he replied, licking some runaway jelly off his finger.
“That’s attractive,” the Slayer said, giving him a mock-disgusted look. She reached across the table and grabbed the front page of the paper; she let her eyes skim across the headlines, stopping near the bottom. She lifted the paper closer to her face, as if its nearness would alter the words there somehow.
Xander’s hand paused halfway between the table and his mouth as he watched Buffy’s expression change as she read. “What?” Buffy lifted her index finger from the page, unspoken code for ‘hold your horses.’ He lowered the pastry, not too happy with the Slayer’s silence. On The Hellmouth, that was never the harbinger of good tidings. “What is it?”
Buffy set the paper down on the table. “Three people were killed last night,” she said, the tone in her voice registering an obvious anger and loathing. With herself. As the Slayer, she was chosen to protect people from the evils of the world, and in her own eyes, she had failed; not something Buffy liked to do. Not at all.
“Buffy,” Xander started, touching her hand lightly, “you can’t be everywhere at once.”
Buffy raised her eyes to meet his. “At The Bronze.”
Silence bombarded the room.
The weight of her words filled Xander with shame and regret. She was there. They all were. And still people had died. He wrapped his fingers around hers, a show of camaraderie and understanding. “It’s still not your fault, Buffy.”
She pulled her hand from his and pushed up from the table. “Yes, it is.” She took a few steps and stopped in front of the window. “I—” the Slayer began, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. “I felt something.”
“Felt something?”
Buffy faced her friend, resting her back against the window pane. “Outside. With Will and Tara. I felt— there was something there. I don’t know what, but it was there and I didn’t—“ She lowered her eyes to the carpet. “I went back inside.”
Xander’s own eyes made the rounds of the room, finally returning to the Slayer. He stood and walked to her, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. When Buffy looked at him, he spoke, his voice firm. “Then let’s find ‘em.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. Xander pulled her into his arms, and she was surprised how good it felt to have him hug her. To have anyone hug her.
“We’ll find ‘em,” Xander said, rubbing Buffy’s back in comforting circles.
“Ahem.”
Buffy and Xander, startled by the intrusion, jumped apart from one another. Dawn stared at them from the hall archway, her hands on her hips in an exaggerated manner.
“Dawnster.” Xander stuffed his hands into his front pants pockets as Buffy crossed her arms over her chest once again.
“Don’t Dawnster me,” the teen said, walking across the small room to the kitchen table. “You ate all the jellies, didn’t you?”
*****
Willow hummed quietly as she busied herself with making a small, late afternoon lunch. After their early morning lovemaking, they had slept briefly yet fitfully, waking to, once again, greet one another in a haze of touching and tasting and loving. Hours had passed as they talked and touched and held each other, basking in the love they had been blessed with a second time. It was only when their stomachs’ rumblings announced that their love could not sustain them in everything, did Willow suggest that Tara shower or nap while she made them something to eat.
An hour later, the redhead finally succeeded in making it down stairs. She stood beside the kitchen counter, wearing only Tara’s abandoned leather coat. As she worked, Tara’s scent wafted around her, enveloped her; her body’s nerve endings tingled and she felt dizzy and wired and drunk all at the same time. Peaches. Lilac. Rain. . . Leather. Mmm. Tara. Tara. Tara. She repeated the blonde’s name again and again, a silent litany, a silent prayer, a silent acknowledgement to whatever force in the Universe had brought her Tara back.
She padded softly to the refrigerator, the hem of the coat lightly scraping the ground; she opened the door and considered their culinary options. Cheese. Turkey. Watermelon. Eggs. Butter. Bread. What’s thi— Willow lifted the lid of a small plastic container and cringed when the rancid smell of rotting something-or-other hit her. “Oh, god! Ew, ew, ew!” She crushed the lid onto the bin and covered her mouth and nose with one hand, sucking oxygen through her fingers. Her eyes glimpsed a small piece of tape on the side of the offensive Tupperware: ‘Science class. Don’t open!’ Note to self: read all labels from now on. The redhead shoved the teen’s school project back on the shelf, the motion sending another wave of stinkiness into the air around her; she pulled the collar of Tara’s coat up to her mouth as she stood and closed the door. Second note to self: introduce Dawn to Xander’s fridge. She waved her free hand in front of her face, a vain attempt to dissipate the odor from the room. Then, Peaches. Lilac. Rain. Willow turned towards the kitchen entrance to find Tara there. Watching her.
Tara had tried to shower and dress, but soon discovered that the mere thought of exerting any energy was too much, let alone actually doing any? Just not gonna happen. To that end, she found herself rolling onto her side and reaching for Willow’s pillow; she held it tightly to her, breathing deeply the scent that was distinctly her lover’s. With eyes closed, images of Willow flooded her thoughts, stirring memories of the passion they had shared just moments ago. Oh, goddess, Willow. . . . Tara felt her body flush with the memories, a slow, intoxicating sensation beginning in the pit of her stomach and burning its way down her body. Willow’s fragrance permeated her senses to an almost overwhelming degree, and with a very concerted effort, the blonde hastily thrust her lover’s pillow away from her and jumped out of their bed. She grabbed the nearest piece of clothing she could find, a white button-front, long-sleeved blouse, and pulled it over her body; clasping only the button across her breasts, she hurried from their room in search of the redhead, her need for Willow’s touch growing more urgent as the seconds passed.
At the top of the stairs, Tara paused; she bent down and picked up a dark green blouse. The blonde smiled, a dizzying image of her own fingers removing the article from Willow’s body the night before blazing through her memory. Willow. Carefully she hung it over the barrister, the silky material gliding through her fingers as she released it. Moving down the stairs, Tara came across other discarded items: boots, Wilow’s bra, panties. She lifted them all in her arms and deposited them on the bottom step in a haphazard clump. A small frown creased her forehead as her eyes surveyed the entryway. Where’s my bra? She glanced towards the living room, her eyes falling on the room’s disarray: couch cushions strewn on the floor, the coffee table tipped on its side, a pair of black pants rumpled near the chair. My pants. No bra. Her eyes darted to the front door: a black skirt lay just inside. Willowskirt. Again, quick reminiscences of her hands moving under the dark fabric, over the porcelain skin hidden there. . . . A sound from the kitchen drew her attention, and Tara shook her head lightly. No bra. She recognized her lover’s voice; she was humming. Humming the song she had sung to the redhead the night before. Willow. Tara’s heart quickened as she started towards the siren calling to her from the other room. Who needs a bra?
Her lover was just rising from the floor as Tara approached the kitchen. The blonde stopped in the entryway, transfixed by the sight of Willow wearing her black leather coat and nothing else, her red hair rumpled and carelessly tucked behind her ears. While holding the collar of Tara’s coat over her face, Willow waved the other hand in front of her, shooing away some invisible menace. Tara smiled, and the heart that hammered inside her chest, now tightened with emotion the blonde could only think of as. . . harmony. Everything was the way it was supposed to be. At last.
Willow had been so fixated on the revolting smell emitted from Dawn’s science project that she hadn’t heard Tara approach. Standing up from the fridge, she was suddenly overcome by the blonde’s fragrance, and when she turned towards the kitchen entrance, Tara was leaning against the frame, wearing nothing but a white shirt and a tiny smile. Willow let her eyes slowly roam over the blonde’s form, hungrily devouring her lover with her gaze: bed-worn blonde hair cascading around shoulders; pale, porcelain throat; swell of breasts hidden behind a single button; long, milky white legs. What stuck in her mind’s eye most, however, was the obvious fact that the shirt bottom reached to just above her thighs, and the redhead knew that any gesture or sudden movement would bare her lover’s most intimate region to her. Gulp! “Hey,” Willow said in a husky, whispery tone, half of her face still hidden behind the coat collar.
“Hi,” Tara said, casually rolling the sleeve of the shirt up her arm.
Willow’s eyes darted to the bottom of the shirt before she could stop them, and her heart quickened a beat as she watched the white material bob up-and-down, up-and-down with every movement, never quite revealing the nest of golden curls concealed beneath. Big gulp. “That’s my shirt,” Willow said. What? She released the coat collar, her face turning beat red as it appeared from behind the material. What the hell am I saying?
Tara finished rolling the second sleeve and dropped her hand to her side. She took a few steps into the kitchen, winding slowly towards the table; once there, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on the tabletop. The position opened the neck of the shirt wider, giving the redhead more than an eyeful of her breasts, something that didn’t seem to slip her lover’s ever-observant gaze. Tara licked her lips, smiled, and rubbed her fingers along the collar of the white material. “Do you want it back?”
Willow turned her back to the fridge, facing Tara completely. She felt her whole body flush, grow warm and alert as her lover spoke to her. Do I want— “Yes.” Tara’s hand slid along the seam of the shirt, stopping above the button. She raised her eyebrows, tilting her head slightly. “Please?” Willow added, and was rewarded by a demure smile.
Tara slipped the button through the eyehole, her gaze never leaving her lover’s; the blonde let her fingers move smoothly inside and over the skin of one breast, a movement which opened the shirt several inches from top-to-bottom. Then take it, Willow. She stood up from the counter, again letting her hand travel down her body, touching the skin of her ribs, her stomach, then lower, grazing lightly over the half-uncovered golden hair she knew Willow desired to see.
Trance-like, Willow felt her feet moving over the cool linoleum tile towards Tara, her palms itchy with need. She stopped inches in front of her lover, letting her body and mind adjust to the closeness of the blonde. When she didn’t advance, Tara lifted her hands and took hold of the white material, fully prepared to remove the garment herself. Willow’s hands closing over hers, stilling them, made her pause and look into the emerald depths before her. The redhead gently shook her head, “No.” She lowered Tara’s hands from the shirt, making them drop back to her sides. “I want . . . to take it off.”
Oh, goddess, yes, Willow. Take it.
With unbelievable slowness, Willow reached up and touched her fingertips to Tara’s cheeks, letting the pads feather over the delicate skin; to her delight, the blonde closed her eyes and sighed, her lips parting slightly with the sensations the redhead caused with the merest touch. Willow inched closer as she let her fingers slide from Tara’s cheeks to her throat, softly wrapping them around to caress the downy-soft hair at the nape of her neck, while her thumbs stroked over the hollow point where it met breastbone. “You are so beautiful,” Willow said, prompting Tara to open her eyes; she saw a moment of disbelief, almost embarrassment, reflected back to her from their blue depths, and she applied the gentlest of pressure to the blonde’s throat with her thumbs.
Tara swallowed but said nothing.
Willow slid her hands from Tara’s throat, casually down and over her breastbone, finally moving them beneath the gauzy material to graze her breasts; the blonde’s nipples stood erect in an instant as the redhead’s thumbnails traced a path over them. She rounded the soft mounds swiftly, finally cupping them from below, one in each palm as her thumbs continued to rub over the ever-hardening nipples.
Tara felt her heart pound in her chest as Willow inched her body even closer. Willow.
Willow’s hands swiftly retraced their path up Tara’s body, cresting over the blonde’s shoulders; she lifted the shirt from her lover’s body with the backs of her hands, flipping the fabric off, a movement which sent the material down Tara’s arms to puddle around her feet on the floor. Her hands remained on the blonde’s shoulders, her thumbs caressing her lover’s collar bones. “Don’t you know that?” Willow asked, her voice tinged with a slight urgency for Tara to take her words to heart.
Tara stared into her lover’s eyes, and for an instant, she could see the love Willow felt for her. Real and true and tangible. “Every time,” Tara began, taking a deep breath, “every time you look at me.”
Willow smiled and moved her hands to Tara’s cheeks, cupping them. She brought her mouth to the blonde’s, pausing just before their lips touched. “Then believe it,” she said, her lips finally meeting Tara’s. Willow felt the blonde’s whole body sigh as Tara leaned into her; then, she felt her lover’s hands take hold of the leather sleeves covering her own arms. Believe it, Baby, please believe it. Believe me. Willow’s mouth moved sensuously against Tara’s, coaxing her lips apart, as she wrapped her arms around the blonde, pulling her into her hungry embrace.
Tara could do nothing to resist the aching need Willow’s kiss awakened inside her, so she gave into it, allowing her tongue to make an ardent foray into her lover’s mouth, pushing beyond teeth in pursuit of its partner. Willow, you do. . . you make me believe.
A moan lodged in the back of Willow’s throat as Tara’s tongue met hers. Goddess. . . . The redhead’s breathing became more erratic as one hand traveled south over Tara’s skin, finding purchase on the underside of one buttock; her other hand proceeded northerly, tangling in the eddy of golden hair cascading around them, drawing her lover tighter into their kiss.
Tara sensed Willow’s urgency, so she pushed her hands up between their bodies, clawing at the leather that had become an impediment to that sure end. The blonde pulled the belt apart quickly, throwing open the coat and thrusting her hands beneath the material, eager to feel her lover’s body; her fingers met with soft, heated flesh as her arms snaked around the inside of the coat and hugged Willow closer to her.
Tara’s touch was too much. Willow broke their kiss, raising her eyes to her lover’s. “Tara,” she started, her words coming in whispered gasps. “Goddess, Tara, I— I want you so much. I need you. . . .“ Her words trailed off as emotions overwhelmed her.
Tara touched her forehead to Willow’s, their mingled breaths becoming an intoxicant, a heady elixir threatening to drown them both. She slid her hands up the redhead’s back until they reached her shoulders. “Shh,” she soothed, reversing her hands so she could grasp the collar of the coat. “I know, Baby.” With a firm but gentle tug, Tara pulled the jacket from Willow’s shoulders, turning it inside-out on itself, stopping only when it reached the redhead’s elbows. Willow inhaled sharply as she realized Tara had effectively trapped her arms within the confines of the leather. Tara looked deeply into her lover’s eyes, holding them in her steady gaze; she extracted one arm from the jacket and raised her hand to caress the redhead’s cheek. “I know.” And with that, she pivoted their bodies gracefully, pressing Willow’s backside against the kitchen counter. Then she pushed the coat down to the countertop where her concealed hand came to rest.
The new position not only forced Willow to relinquish her hold on Tara, as her arms were forced down to her sides by the taut leather restraint, but also laid her entire body bare and open to the blonde. What is she doing to me? Oh, Goddess. . . . Willow’s breasts jutted out towards her lover as her back arched slightly over the counter top, the nipples puckering, rising to hardened nubs from rapid exposure to the cooled air and Tara’s heated attention. “Tara,” Willow said, her voice a mixture of desire and anxiety.
Tara could feel Willow’s uneasiness coming off of her in waves, the mere idea of being vulnerable or out of control displeasing to the redhead. The hand cupping her lover’s cheek moved over the smooth skin into silky copper-colored tresses; she stepped closer, letting their hips come in contact with one another. Let go, Love. “Shh,” Tara whispered again, her tone relaxed and reassuring. “It’s just me.” Her hand back-tracked, abandoning its residence in Willow’s hair to make its way back over her face, onward to her throat; her fingers danced feather-light across the pale flesh, resting briefly over the throbbing pulse before continuing down, eventually stopping over Willow’s heart. The pounding beneath her palm belied the redhead’s calm exterior, and Tara smiled inwardly. Just let it go. “I’m here,” she said, leaning forward to replace her hand with her lips; she felt Willow’s breath hitch in her chest as she trailed several more kisses up her lover’s chest to her throat, all the while her free hand working its way down her body.
Willow’s head dropped back between her shoulders as Tara laid waste to her body with her kisses and caresses. Her trepidation was quickly being replaced by mounting desire, an unquenchable hunger the blonde always produced within her. Oh, Goddess. . . Tara. . . .
Tara’s meandering hand journeyed over Willow’s stomach, feeling the muscles contract as her fingernails brushed her navel. Her lips parted, her tongue tasting the salty skin of the redhead’s throat as her hand danced over the downy thatch of curls between Willow’s legs, pressing against her upper thigh, urging her lover to spread open for her. As Willow moved her leg, Tara slid hers between; but instead of letting it rest there, she lifted her foot and planted it on the rung of the stool beside them, the redhead’s leg draped over her own. Tara’s hand slid from Willow’s thigh to her center, caressing the delicate, hot flesh hidden there. She raised her mouth from the redhead’s throat, her blue eyes searching for green. “Willow,” she said, her voice husky with her own hunger. Willow brought her head up and forward, perspiration glistening her skin. Tara pressed her body completely against her lover’s as her lips moved towards Willow’s. “I need you, too,” she confessed as her mouth claimed her lover’s at the same time her fingers moved inside.
Willow inhaled deeply as Tara joined with her at last, the blonde’s scent filling her; her leg tightened over the blonde’s, drawing her closer. The redhead’s palms itched from wanting to touch her lover, but the sensation of Tara moving inside her, kissing her, holding her, it all made movement impossible. Oh, Goddess. . . so good. . . so good. . . . Willow moaned deep in her throat as Tara’s mouth moved over every inch of hers, the blonde’s tongue finding hers in a well-known dance only they shared.
Tara moved her fingers deeper inside Willow, savoring the sleek wetness that enveloped her; as her lover began to rock against the rhythm of her hand, Tara felt herself becoming wet, Willow’s response to her touch enough to drive her to climax. She shifted her hand so her thumb brushed over Willow’s clitoris, sending a shockwave through her petite lover’s body; Tara remained motionless, simply enjoying the moment. Then she forged deeper, directing every bit of her consciousness down into Willow, into the place where she had taken possession of her.
Willow concentrated on the delicious sensation of Tara’s remarkably slow, forceful thrusts; she experienced a tormenting loss as Tara withdrew, a loss that was alleviated only when the blonde plunged into her again, filling her with everything that had been missing from her life for so many months. Almost too quickly, Willow felt the tension building in her body, the aching pull of it tightening inside her until she could no longer stand it. She broke their kiss abruptly, her breath coming in short, quick bursts. “Tara. . . Tara, please. . . oh, God.”
Tara’s own ragged breath fell hot against Willow’s skin as her tempo increased. The blonde held her lover’s gaze and the intensity of her voice. “Stay with me, Baby.” Willow opened her mouth to protest that she was ready now, but as Tara’s thumb caressed her again, the only sound to arise was a gasp. “Come with me.” The redhead’s hips arched away from the counter to meet the blonde’s hand in a final, consuming torrent, her release flooding through her body, shaking her body and soul. To her own surprise and pleasure, Tara felt her own orgasm follow, her body falling heavily against Willow’s as wave after wave coursed through her.
For several seconds, the only sound in the room was their breathing, fast and hard. But as their hearts slowed their rapid paces, the sound dissipated, and silence surrounded them. Tara was finally able to lift her head from Willow’s chest, and when she did, she was greeted with bright emeralds staring down at her. The blonde pushed forward and touched her lips softly to her lover’s. Oh, Willow. Willow shifted beneath her, and Tara pulled back from their kiss. Realizing the redhead was still bent back over the counter, now with her weight upon her, Tara started to rise, beginning to withdraw her fingers as she did. “Sweetie, I’m sorry.”
Willow squeezed her leg tighter around the blonde and managed to touch her fingertips to the sides of her lover’s body. “No.” Tara paused. “Don’t go.”
Tara remained still, her eyes leveled on Willow’s. “This can’t feel very comfortable for you.”
Hmm. . . . Quick flashes of the passion they had just shared entered Willow’s mind. Real flashes of where Tara’s hand still remained came next. Comfortable? No, not entirely a thumbs up, but how it feels? How Tara feels. . . ? “I love the feel of you. On me. Inside me.”
Tara smiled but shifted some of her weight onto the hand that still rested on the countertop. “That’s not what I meant, Love.”
“The truth nonetheless.”
Silence again rose up between them as they basked in the completeness they felt in one another’s arms.
Harmony. The word, again, came to Tara’s thoughts. It was what Willow made her feel. About herself. About them together. Without Willow, she was lost, her whole word in discord. Holding the redhead in her arms, smelling the remnants of their lovemaking in the air, tasting her lover still on her lips. . . . Harmony. Willow’s body suddenly trembled beneath her, shaking Tara from her thoughts. “Sweetie? Are you cold?”
“No,” Willow said, as her body quivered again.
“Willow?”
“I’m okay.”
Tara carefully lifted her body off of the redhead’s, withdrawing her fingers from her lover with care. Willow made no protest, so Tara lowered her leg from the stool as well; she moved her free hand inside the coat, touching the redhead’s hip. “You’re shaking.”
Willow shook her head, seemingly at a loss for words. Tara tilted her head, waiting for some—for any response. “I— I think. . . I’m just happy,” she finally managed, swallowing hard.
Oh, Baby, me, too. Tara inched back so she could look directly into her lover’s eyes. “I’m happy, too.” When Willow’s body trembled again, Tara stepped back, extracting her arms from the coat, then pulling it back up and over the redhead’s body in one go.
Willow pushed up from the counter and wrapped her arms quickly around Tara, not wanting her to get too far away. She leaned forward and placed a light kiss on the blonde’s mouth, feeling the softness of her lover’s lips curve into a tiny smile.
Without warning, a loud rumble erupted between them, causing Tara to break their kiss. She smiled as Willow blushed. “I guess you’re hungry, too?”
Willow felt crimson heat rising to her cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Why sorry, Sweetie?” Tara rocked the redhead gently in her arms. “When did you eat last?”
The redhead wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, giving the blonde her best lothario smile. “Well, . . . .”
“Food, Willow! I meant food.” Tara squeezed the redhead. “You, young lady, are very naughty.”
Moi? Willow pushed out her lower lip in a melodramatic pout. “Am not. I’m very seldom naughty.”
Tara laughed, quickly kissing Willow on the nose. “Who told you that?”
“No one. It’s. . . well, it’s just true, that’s all.”
“I know better.”
“Hey now!”
Tara laughed again, the sound bringing a smile to the redhead’s lips. As Willow’s stomach rumbled a second time, Tara released her, and took a step back. “We need to feed you,” she announced.
Willow’s eyes took in the sight of naked-Tara, resplendent in the afterglow of the passion they had just experienced together, and she felt a new crimson heat assault her body, this one heading south. Fast. She licked her lips and swallowed, then inhaled deeply. “That sounds good.”
Tara squinted her eyes, practically reading her lover’s thoughts. The Wiccan’s blue eyes shifted quickly around the kitchen, then back to Willow. “We’ll go out.”
“That sounds good, too,” Willow said as she moved towards Tara, a smile tingeing the corners of her mouth.
“Vixen.”
*****
Buffy, Dawn and Xander walked through the now-deserted parking lot of The Bronze. Each was dressed casually, in standard-issue Scooby gear: jeans, tee-shirts, running shoes; likewise, each carried standard-issue crosses and stakes. When Dawn had mentioned that it was daylight, that the likelihood of them encountering any vamps was pretty minimal, Buffy simply replied “better safe than dead.”
“Maybe we should split up?” Dawn asked, kicking a rock in her path.
Buffy looked at her, then Xander. “No, no, I think we should stay together. At least till we see—well, until we see.”
The threesome continued across the hot asphalt, eyes scouring the area left-to-right.
“So,” Xander began, wiping sweat from his forehead, “the badness. Where exactly was it?”
Buffy motioned with her chin towards the alley at the far end of the parking lot. “Down there. I think.”
“You think?” the teen beside her asked.
“Yeah, I think,” the Slayer returned. “Look, it was dark, but it was there.”
Xander touched her shoulder gently. “It’s okay, Buff.”
They moved towards the alley in a close-knit group, slowing their steps as they drew nearer. Buffy pulled Mr. Pointy from the inside of her belt near her back, raising it shoulder-high. Xander and Dawn took similar poses, only several steps behind the Slayer. As the entrance came into view, Buffy saw bright yellow tape warning civilians ‘Police Crime Scene. Do Not Cross.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Xander and Dawn, making sure they were close behind; the Slayer bent low and walked under the tape, standing up just on the other side. Xander and Dawn followed suit.
They paused, their bodies hyper-alert.
“Stay here,” Buffy ordered, looking at Dawn.
“Why?” the teen asked, posting her hands on her hips. “I’ve seen stuff like this before.”
“Because. And I don’t care,” the Slayer said, taking her sister by the arm and maneuvering her up against the wall near a dumpster. “Stay.” Buffy touched Xander’s arm and the two walked further into the alley.
“So, we’re looking for. . . ?” Xander asked, when they had moved far enough away from Dawn’s hearing range. “I mean, I know we’re looking for clues, right? But clues of the recently-killed kind or the here’s-a-hint-to-our-mysterious-new-evil-wigging-out-the-Slayer kind?” Buffy swung her eyes to his. “I’m up for both, don’t get me wrong. It’s just, being prepared beforehand? Helps me not scream like a girl when we actually find something, um, not-prepared for.”
Buffy smiled reassuringly at her goofy, good-hearted friend. “Then prepare for both. Seems like one always leads to the other anyway.”
“Right. Good.”
Buffy stopped. A few in front of them was a clear, white-taped outline of one of the deceased. “Wait here.”
“Right. Good.”
The Slayer approached carefully, her well-trained eyes observing every inch in front and beside the outline. The first thing she noticed was the head and arms; or, more accurately, the lack of said body parts. The second thing, no blood. Her brow furrowed as she worked the possibilities in her head: decapitation and dismemberment and no blood? As the Slayer, she’d seen a lot of killing; as the Slayer, she’d done a lot, but one constant remained. Blood. Whether red or blue or green, there was always blood. Finding none here didn’t make sense, it, as Willow was apt to say, ‘just didn’t compute.’ “Xander,” she called over her shoulder.
Xander walked to her and let his gaze fall to the ground. Fully prepared to ‘scream like a girl,’ he found himself a little disconcerted at what he was looking at. “Um, . . .” he started, pointing his stake at the outline. “That’s. . . ”
“Headless. Armless. Bloodless,” the Slayer said, summing up.
“I was thinking nasty. Or gross. Or gnyehh-uuh.”
Buffy nodded her agreement to her friend’s sentiments. Then, she looked past him, towards the opposite wall about fifteen feet away. She tugged on his sleeve and pointed to the last two victim’s outlines across the alley against the other wall. Both were identical to the first: no heads and no arms. “I’m going with gnyehh-uuh,” Buffy said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Vamps?”
Buffy hesitated. “I don’t think so.” She looked at Dawn, who still stood with her back to the wall, although the teen kicked her heel against it in a display of annoyance. “I mean vamps— not so big on the whole D & D thing.”
“Dungeons and Dragons?” Xander asked, a horrified expression crossing his face at the mere thought.
Despite the dire circumstances, Buffy laughed. “Now there’s a best-case scenario,” she said, trying to compose herself. “Decapitation and Dismemberment,” she clarified, smiling again when Xander made an ‘Eww! face.’
“What is it?”
Dawn’s voice right behind them made them both jump. Buffy spun quickly to face her sister. “Dawn! I said wait!” the Slayer practically yelled. Buffy moved forward and reached for her arm, but the teen sidestepped her grasp.
“Uh, Dawn I wouldn’t—“ Xander started, just a second too late.
“Eww,” she uttered as she halted abruptly beside the outline. Glancing across the alley, she scrunched up her face, “Oh, double-Eww!”
“Happy?” Buffy asked, her tone both sarcastic and maternal. “Glad you didn’t listen?” Buffy took hold of her arm a started to herd her sister out of the alley, Xander in tow.
“Ouch! That hurts!” the teen wailed, prying at the Slayer’s fingers.
They reached the entrance of the alley, ducking under the yellow tape one right after the other, before Buffy spoke. “It coulda hurt a lot more if something had been in that alley waiting for us.”
“God, Buffy!” Dawn yelled, finally succeeding in removing the Slayer’s vise on her arm. “First you won’t let me stay at Xander’s. Then, no Janice’s. Then I have to come with you but you don’t let me help. Give me a break!”
“Hey, Dawnster, hold on, Buffy’s just looking out—“
“I know, I know, I know. Buffy’s just trying to look out for me,” the teen shouted at him, then turned to face her sister again.
Buffy stood quiet, letting Dawn vent, her mouth in a tight line.
“But, God, Buffy, please, listen to me. I can help you.” The teen took a breath. “I can. If you let me.” Buffy’s mouth relaxed, as did her posture; she recognized her sister’s need to be a part of her Slayer-life, she just wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. “Besides, like I said, it’s not like I’ve never seen stuff like this bef—“ the teen began, then stopped abruptly as her eyes caught sight of something across the parking lot.
“Like this beef?” Xander echoed. “That’s twisted, Dawnster, even for me.”
No one laughed.
Buffy frowned at the expression on Dawn’s face, then found herself following the teen’s gaze. She felt herself turning, as if in slow-motion, her own eyes scanning the parking lot. At first, she didn’t see anything. Then, Dawn’s index finger entered her peripheral vision, pointing up. The Slayer raised her face, eyes heading skyward.
And she saw it.
The billboard on The Bronze’s roof, normally advertising the latest band or food or drink, proclaimed something altogether new. And frightening.
Three of the missing limbs were affixed to the base, palms facing up, spread out over its length. In each hand sat a severed head. The remaining three limbs hung from the top of the board, pointing down.
“Jesus. Fucking. Christ.” Xander covered his mouth, half-sick, half-disbelieving.
The billboard itself was awash in red.
Blood.
In bold scrawl, the Slayer read the bloody words painted there.
‘ She has come home.’
Buffy swallowed, knowing one thing for certain.
The message was meant for her.
*****
“Don’t open your eyes.”
Willow’s voice whispered the words to her.
Then. . . .
Click, click, click, click.
Her boot-clad footsteps clattered loudly over the cement sidewalk on downtown Main Street. She tried to listen for other sounds of the night— people, cars, sirens, dogs, anything— but she heard nothing.
Just. . . .
Click, click, click, click.
She turned to her left, and Willow was there, walking beside her. As she knew she would be. Facing forward again, she walked on silently. When she reached the corner, she stopped.
‘Don’t Walk. Don’t Walk. Don’t Walk. Don’t Walk.’
As she waited for the signal to change, she watched as automobiles and bikes and people began to materialize from thin air all around her. At first ethereal and diaphanous, they gradually came more into focus, becoming solid. And as they did, she watched them all, unnoticed, as they moved about as they normally did; going their own ways, doing their own things.
Perfectly normal.
‘Don’t Walk. Don’t Walk. Don’t Walk. Don’t Walk.’
She turned again to Willow. The redhead, in a hazy slo-mo, faced her, her face completely devoid of emotion.
Then. . . .
Blood.
First, it ran from Willow’s nose, slowly flowing down her face, between her lips and over her chin, finally dripping onto her blouse. A deep cut formed over one eye and across a cheek, splitting wide to show the whitish color of subcutaneous tissue. Black and blue and green bruises shaped themselves to the other eye, as well as on the delicate white skin of her throat in fingerprint formation. She lowered her gaze, seeing the redhead’s blouse torn and wet and dirty, her chest and stomach battered and clawed. Onward her eyes traveled, taking in Willow’s lower body, clad only in panties, her legs dirty, knees bleeding, thighs covered in abrasions and welts.
She quickly retraced her path to Willow’s face, to ask her what had happened, if she was okay, but when her eyes reached the other woman’s, she found the redhead looking past her, over her shoulder. She turned.
And she saw it.
The Hellmouth.
Main Street was ablaze. Cars. Buildings. People.
The Magic Shop. Under siege. Burning. Anya and Dawn, terrified and screaming for help, fighting off their attackers, fighting for their lives.
A new store under construction. Being torn down plank by plank. Xander and several other workers bound and gagged, being beaten with fists and pipes and wood, by several well-dressed men.
A black limousine. Moving so slowly through the fire and chaos, completely untouched by the screaming and the blood and the destruction. As it passed her, the tinted rear window lowered, revealing a young, handsome Japanese man and a young blonde-haired, green-eyed woman. They turned, meeting her eyes, smiling into them. Suddenly, the man’s face morphed before her eyes, changing from a human being to some hideous nightmare creature, Hellraiser meets The Evil Dead by way of The Thing. And then he changed back, human again before her, the same smile on his lips.
She stumbled backwards, away from the car, and turned to grab Willow to run away.
But, as she spun around, she discovered that the redhead was gone.
She found herself standing before a broad plate-glass window, cast partially in shadow. She moved towards it, seeing her feet appear in the reflection at the window’s base. She moved closer, her legs appearing, followed by her thighs, then hips. Closer still she walked: waist, stomach, chest, shoulders, till finally. . . .
Buffy.
She took the final step, as her reflection did, pulling up just inches from the clear barrier.
She stared into her reflection’s eyes. Black. Empty. Cold.
She stared at her reflection’s face. An evil, creep-filled grin touched the corners of her mouth.
“Remember, I tried to warn you.”
Willow’s voice whispered the words to her.
Then. . . .
Her reflection morphed, and she was staring at a young, beautiful black woman with long, dark hair and jet black eyes. The evil, creep-filled grin grew into a full, twisted smile as she. . .
. . . punched through the glass, fracturing it into thousands of diamond-sized pieces, her hands reaching out, reaching, reaching, reaching. . . .
Tara’s scream split the night, shattering the serenity of the Summer’s house and Willow’s bedroom where they slept. She bolted upright in their bed, screaming again and again, throwing Willow’s sleeping form off of her.
Fuck! Willow jerked awake, her heart hammering in her chest and her stomach curling as her lover screamed. “God! Tara! What! What! What is it?!” She reached a hand out for her lover, but the blonde pushed herself away, tumbling from the bed with a thump. Willow dashed her hands over her sleep-filled eyes, then flicked on the bedside lamp. What the Hell . . . ? “Tara?” the redhead asked, not seeing her beside the bed. Willow sat up quickly, oblivious to her nudity, her only thoughts on Tara. “Oh, Goddess. . . .” she whispered, as her eyes finally found her.
Tara sat in the far corner of their room, wedged between the armoire and Willow’s desk, her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her eyes were hidden, her face tucked down so her forehead touched her knees. She rocked back-and-forth in quick, short bursts.
“Tara,” Willow half-shouted, as she crawled over the bed and hit the floor in seconds. She crossed the room in three strides, squatting down as she got within a yard of her lover. “Tara? Baby?” She stretched her hand out, but Tara flinched away from her touch, mumbling under her breath. Willow scooted closer. “Tara. Shh, it’s okay. It was a dream, Baby, you were dreaming.” The redhead’s hand ventured out again, and when Tara didn’t respond, Willow gently dropped it onto the blonde’s knee; she softly stroked her lover’s hair with the other, inching herself closer and closer. “It’s okay, Baby,” she whispered again, her voice tender and comforting. “I’m here. Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay.”
Tara lifted her face to Willow’s, her blue eyes wide with terror and wet with tears. “Don’t open your eyes, don’t open your eyes, don’t open your eyes. . . .” The blonde’s mantra continued as she lowered her head back to her knees again.
Oh, Baby. Willow felt sick. And helpless. She pushed herself up against Tara, as close as she could, and wrapped her arms around the blonde, resting her cheek on top of golden silk. She rubbed her hands up and down Tara’s back in comforting patterns. “Shh. Shh. Shh.”
“Don’t open your eyes, don’t open your eyes, don’t open your eyes. . . .”
TBC
"Frell that!"
just to show you that i'm waiting patiently ...erm..crying silently...
at: 7/4/02 9:08:47 pm