Title: BRAVE EYES
Author: psimetis
E-mail: psimetis@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
6A/6
* * *
‘SUN’
Willow did not wake up for a week.
Tara allowed her coven to do the big healing spell for Willow’s internal
injuries, and for the ones Tara feared had happened inside Willow’s head.
The problem with the big spell was that it was very painful for the one being
healed. Humans didn’t usually survive the extra trauma demanded by the
ritual. That was the main reason why she hadn’t allowed it before, after
her vampire’s torture. She couldn’t stand to have Willow suffer more.
This time they placed Willow for safety at Angel’s mansion. This time,
Angel was present to help hold Willow’s unconscious body down.
Beneath the aegis of the coven’s spell, broken bones rapidly realigned
themselves, swollen organs and tissue expelled fluid, and things gurgled and
cracked and snapped back together. Andrew couldn’t help vomiting halfway
through the incantation.
Willow never made a sound herself during the ritual. For the next few days,
Jonathan wore a rather strong cologne. He said he couldn’t quite rid himself
of the smell from that room.
They fed her lots of blood. Willow’s throat worked even without waking.
Amy was fond of suggesting that they should go catch Faith and feed her to Willow.
One night Buffy was seen watching Willow’s window from outside the mansion’s
warded garden walls. When Tara went outside to approach her, the Slayer cut
her arm before the witch could stop her. Buffy looked plaintively at Tara and
silently offered the bleeding wound.
“I don’t think she’ll like that,” Tara declined as gently
as she could.
Angel came, and took the mournful Slayer back to her Watcher.
Willow finally woke up after a week. She opened her eyes one night and said:
“Tara.”
And Tara wept in relief, laid down exhaustedly beside her vampire, and finally
let herself sleep.
* * *
Willow slowly licked the twin, tiny wounds she’d made on her witch’s
breast. Just a prick of the fangs now, always, and never as deep as she had
bitten that first night. It had hurt Tara to have been bitten that deep, she
knew. The soft, warm flesh gave just a little, beneath the insistent, deliberate
pressure of her tongue. Taste of magic, salt, sadness, and woman. The vampire
buried her face where Tara’s beloved, strong heartbeat resided. Willow
was as weak as a baby bird. Sleep, and feed, sleep and feed. She felt as silly
and as needy as those dumb, blind, featherless things in the nest, with their
hungry beaks wide open for mama. And she was also feeling as simple as a blind,
little bird must feel. Simple in her own little head.
“I think my brains are scrambled,” she stated against her witch’s
soft chest, remembering the Slayer’s unforgiving boot.
Tara kissed the top of her head, her hand stroking the vampire’s back.
“You seem to talk okay,” Tara said gently to her.
Willow turned her face to where she knew the bedside lamp would be, here, in
one of Puppy’s guest rooms. She saw nothing but pitch black.
“Who’s your sire?” Tara asked softly.
“Xander,” Willow answered from her chest.
“Who’s your grandsire?”
“Darla and Master.”
And it went on like that, for a little while, questions about the immediate
past, until Willow was semi-satisfied that she hadn’t been rendered a moron.
Her witch didn’t know anything about her time as a human, though. Willow
wondered a little about her long term memory.
* * *
“I wonder if I’m retarded now,” Willow suddenly said out of the
blue, while sitting up in bed, waiting for her witch to come back to Puppy’s
mansion. Amy looked skeptically at her. The dark haired witch was keeping the
vampire company until Tara finished with her evening classes at UC Sunnydale.
“You don’t look retarded,” Amy lightly commented. She settled
very comfortably in one of Angel’s leather chairs with a contented sigh,
then opened her trig book. She pulled out her homework assignment.
“Okay Einstein, let’s see if you still know stuff then,” Amy
suggested. She immediately had Willow work on all her trigonometry problems.
After her trig, she made Willow do her chem homework too. When Amy handed in
her homework the next day, they turned out to be the highest graded assignments
she’d had all junior year. Even as a vampire, Willow still had the geek
in her, Amy would later remark in confidence to Jenny.
* * *
“What do you remember of that night,” Jenny asked carefully, critically
assessing the newly healed vampire as Willow sat in her bed. Tara sat beside
the demon, holding her hand. The blonde witch had said that everything seemed
completely healed now; Willow’s body appeared one hundred percent recovered.
The fledgling only suffered from physical weakness, and also from personal misgivings
about her mental state. As far as Jenny could tell, Willow’s fears about
being brain damaged appeared groundless.
“Everything,” Willow replied easily.
“Can you tell me about it?”
“Yes. I was in Tara’s room, knitting,” Willow began, as Jenny
raised an eyebrow at the reference to ‘knitting’.
The vampire didn’t appear mentally deficient when it came to recalling
her violent encounter with the Slayers, Jenny thought. If anything went missing
in Willow’s head, that night could easily have. Every detail of that night
was described by Willow, right down to the blood and crunch details from Faith’s
boot. The young vampire wasn’t too clear about exactly why she was waiting
for Tara by the building entrance though.
“What brought you down to the first floor?” Jenny asked curiously.
For the first time during the conversation, Willow’s slender face took
on a sullen, guarded expression.
“Nothing,” she said flatly. “Just wanted to see my witch.”
The significance of the use of the word ‘see’, by Willow was lost
on Jenny.
“You saved that girl’s life,” Angel remarked, from where he stood,
arms pensively crossed.
Willow’s face then scowled briefly. “So?” She said coldly. “That
fledge was annoying.”
“You didn’t want to save the girl?” Jenny queried.
“That was a regrettable by-product of killing the fledge.”
“Killing the fledge because...” Angel prompted.
“Because.” Willow’s hand that clasped Tara’s suddenly rose
a little in frustration, and then hit the surface of the coverlet. “He
was...taunting. Yeah, taunting. With the ‘look at me, I’ve got food’
and ‘Mur Hur Hur’--stoopid, evil laughing. I just got sick of him.”
“So you killed him to get his food,” Angel said, trying to lure Willow
out with that improbability; Tara kept the younger vampire well fed. He knew
that a very strong, self-preservation instinct would not let Willow approach
the dorm building’s entrance on her own, much less go outside of it. That
she did so to merely kill an annoying and oblivious fellow vampire was just
not good enough reason.
“No, I killed him so I could go back and wait for Tara in peace. ‘Cept
I ended up somewhere else and couldn’t find my way back. That bitch Debbie
Cho will pay later.” Willow turned her blind eyes to Tara. “Don’t
lend her your detergent anymore. Or your fabric softener.”
Jenny and Angel exchanged a look. They briefly wondered if the other had reached
the same conclusion. Was Willow actually exhibiting some semblance of a conscience?
Unbelievable as it was, Willow’s own flimsy excuse for going outside certainly
didn’t cut it for the risk she had put herself into. And the price she
now paid.
“And you’ll not go after Buffy anymore,” Angel clarified, jumping
to another subject he and Jenny were curious about.
“‘Buffff-y’ who?” Willow pronounced cutely, with just the
touch of a sneer to her lips. She made it sound like a vulgar word.
“I’m glad you’ve decided to forget about her,” Jenny commented,
and decided to take a small gamble. “For Tara,” she added, watching
the vampire closely.
Willow opened her mouth angrily, then shut it. When she finally spoke, it was
with a feigned sense of indifference, as she soothed Tara’s hand with both
of hers.
“Did it for me,” she declared off-handedly, speaking to the room at
large, even as she faced Tara slightly. “Tara said I should do as I want.
She gave me free will.” Willow smiled then, a small, pleased, and secretive
expression, as she caressed Tara’s hand. Tara was smiling as well, a very
happy smile, and raised her hand that was covered with both of Willow’s
playful ones to kiss one of her lover’s knuckles.
Jenny refrained from smiling, but she couldn’t help the gleam in her eyes.
She was enjoying a rather smug sense of pride and admiration for Tara’s
surprising and ingenious handling of the vampire’s natural desire to kill.
It was a remarkable gamble. Giving Willow her first chance to do ‘right’
on her own didn’t guarantee that the vampire wouldn’t do ‘wrong’
in the future, but it was an intriguing start. Thankfully, a successful one.
Angel, from his place in the room, merely stared, barely refraining from scowling
as he masked feelings of unease and some awe.
* * *
“Is it true,” the large vampire asked, as he followed Tara back to
the car he had loaned her. He didn’t mind entrusting Tara with his Plymouth
when he could easily traverse a town the size of Sunnydale by foot. “You
allowed her free will?”
Tara glanced back at him in the darkness. “Yes,” she said simply.
“I wanted her to decide for herself.”
They stopped by the car, and Tara reached into the convertible to retrieve the
bag she had left behind there. Angel stood uncertainly, hands clenching and
unclenching.
“You’re her conscience,” he blurted at last. “Ye cannot
trust her like that. It will be a struggle. Everyday, it will be hard because
she’s a demon. She’ll make a decision like a demon sooner than she’ll
be able to decide like the woman you love. She will make a mistake. And
then what will you do?”
Tara stared up in the darkness as she held the cloth bag to her chest. Angel
oddly recognized the sort of bag she held--the sort that women would tote about
the household, even in his day, for their sewing and knitting things.
“We’d work it out. Or....I’d have to explain then, why I’d
have to leave her,” the young woman said quietly. “And...and she knows
that’s what I’ll do.”
“She’d kill you if you left,” Angel answered, staring bleakly
down at the girl, not realizing he was contradicting a hard won faith he had
expressed to her, not so long ago, in her dorm’s laundry room. He saw Tara
smile, the curve of her lips wry in a sad kind of way.
“No one said loving a demon was easy,” she merely said, and Angel
wondered why he was getting the impression that Tara was somehow comforting
him, when he was supposed to be trying to help her.
Finding nothing more to say, he escorted the blonde witch back to his house,
unable to shake his fears about demons without consciences.
* * *
Getting healed so fast had really taken alot out of her, Willow realized. It
could explain why she felt so off, even though mental tests seemed to prove
that her head was fine. She lay as still as a dead thing next to Tara’s
warm, soft body as her witch slept.
She’s been so exhausted, Willow observed, imagining Tara’s pretty
lashes upon her cheeks. Shouldn’t it be mid-terms now?
It hadn’t occurred to her to ask how long she had been unconscious.
Common exhaustion, Willow mused, two worn peas in this bed-pod. Mama bird always
flying back to feed baby bird. Puppy could be considered daddy bird in this
case, since he was feeding her again too. Tara’s all tired from having
to hatch me, Willow realized.
And thinner, Willow silently discerned, her hand laid with ghostlike tenderness
beneath one of her witch’s breasts, right on her breathing rib cage. She
could feel them now; one, two, three.
Her Tara used to have more on her to feel up. She tried to imagine what her
witch must look like now.
“Poor Mama Tara,” Willow said softly, offering what comfort she could.
She slid closer. The vampire will have to be brave for them both. Earlier that
day, Willow tried to leave the bed when noone was around, testing a sneaking
suspicion of hers. When she fell down, her suspicion was well-founded.
She wondered when and how to let her tired Tara eventually know about it.
* * *
“Give that to me,” Willow growled menacingly, breaking into her demon
face. Her threatening posture--while sitting in her bed--hardly affected Puppy,
who she scented was across the room with her warmed mug of blood. She was hungry,
she wanted to feed, and she had no idea why Puppy was being such an ass. Puppy
never played like this.
“Angel,” Jenny said with mild reproach from where she sat in the chair
at the opposite side of the bedroom. Actually, she knew what Angel was trying
to do. Though Willow had obviously been weak since the spell, she had also not
yet attempted to leave her bed, even after Jenny’s last visit.
“Ye been awake and hiding in yer bed for a week,” Angel chided, rolling
out his brogue mockingly. “If ye want to eat, come get it, poppet.”
“Fine,” Willow snapped. She turned to where Tara sat beside her. “I’ll
be right back,” the vampire promised with a solemnity that surprised Tara.
Then Willow moved to get out of the bed.
The moment her bare feet hit the floor, she stumbled her way valiantly across
the room like a girl drunk, barreling her way determinedly to Angel. She immediately
fell into Angel’s stunned arms and grabbed for the warm mug.
Angel easily caught the younger vampire and managed not to spill a drop as Willow’s
hands pulled on the mug greedily. While she drank, he buried his face for a
moment in her red hair, trying not to let the other women in the room see the
brief anguish of realization he could not hide. Jenny didn’t notice that
she had stood up. She looked at Tara.
Poor girl. Tara had a hand pressed to her mouth. She was staring wide eyed and
trying so hard not to cry, although the tears had already escaped her eyes.
Willow licked the inside of the emptied mug, then resolutely turned in Angel’s
arms.
She launched herself determinedly out of his grasp, stumbling her way across
the room again. Tara quickly reached out and pulled the vampire tight to her.
“It’ll be okay,” Willow reassured softly, as she soothed Tara’s
shaking back. “I’ve been practicing.”
* * *
Something rattled and then fell over, as Tara continued her hasty search through
the boxes and merchandise stored in the back room of the Magic Box. She did
not want to be distracted; she’ll pick up what fell over later.
“I know it’s here,” she murmured as she pushed aside boxes. “I
know it is.”
A cane. That’s all she wanted. She knew it was here, an elegant, but practical,
black walking stick some customer had inexplicably left behind in the store
and had never come back to claim, even when Michael had it on display for months.
After it was determined that it wasn’t an enchanted cane, or one that a
demon had transformed into, it had been tossed into the back room and forgotten.
She didn’t want to buy Willow one of those cheap, awful looking orthopedic
canes in the pharmacy. She just couldn’t.
“I know you’re here!” she said desperately, shoving more boxes
out of the way.
“Break anything, and you will pay for it,” a woman’s voice frankly
assured from the doorway.
“Anyanka,” Tara breathed, and stopped what she was doing. She sagged.
Anyanka frowned. Strangely, the witch looked in utter despair. The human had
not ever been like this even when she had rescued her demon in the broken condition
it had been in.
“Is Willow dead?” the vengeance demon asked suddenly.
Tara shook her head. “No, she,” the witch explained haltingly. “Got
hurt again. And this time--her inner ear--” Suddenly Tara’s face screwed
up. She sat down abruptly on a crate and burst into tears.
Anyanka had spent eleven hundred years in the presence of crying women. Alot
of women who were scorned would cry of course and as part of her job, Anyanka
knew exactly how to play her part--how to dress, what behavior to use, what
cultural mannerisms to affect, and especially work out what to say, in order
to extract a wish. Anyanka knew exactly what to do with weeping women when on
a case.
When it was merely herself standing here, however, weeping witch at hand and
with no vengeance role to play, Anyanka found herself--the almighty patron Saint
of Scorned Women--actually clueless as to what to do.
She was about to beat a hasty retreat by orbing away, when curiosity got the
better of her.
“What about her inner ear?” Anyanka asked. If Willow was now both
deaf and blind, that would be something to cry about, the demon tried to rationalize
to herself.
“It,” Tara sniffed--rather loudly, as she wiped at the last tears
running from her eyes with her sleeve. Anyanka was glad the hysterical crying
jag was coming to a quick end. She really didn’t want to offer her handkerchief,
despite how snotty Tara’s nose had just sounded. “It affects her balance.
She’s lost her ability to balance,” the witch clarified miserably.
“Ah,” Anyanka merely commented. “What were you looking for then?
Some obscure component for a special healing spell? Feeding her special blood
would work faster.”
“W-Wh-What?” Tara sniffed, looking up at the demon with wide, wet
eyed surprise.
“Special blood. Like the blood of magic users, or faerie blood, or the
blood of master vampires.”
“But we do, Angel--”
“She has to drain them,” Anyanka interrupted flatly. “Eat a couple
of them. None of these prissy bottle feedings.” The demon then brightened.
“Between Andrew and Jonathan, I believe they have enough power in their
blood to heal your vampire’s ear problem. You can feed them to her!”
Tara just stared at her blankly--with surprisingly big, blue, dewy eyes, Anyanka
noticed. The demon was disturbed that she did notice. But she really had no
time for this. She could feel a woman’s raging plea calling to her from
Argentina.
“What were you looking for?” Anyanka asked abruptly. Tara blinked.
“The lost cane,” she gave. “The one that was left behind by a
c-customer? I need it for--”
Suddenly Anyanka was holding out the missing cane to her. Tara accepted it gratefully
even as she blinked in surprise again. Demon magic was so instantaneous.
And just like that, Anyanka orbed out.
* * *
Willow managed to make it to her bedroom’s entrance without falling once.
She managed--with only tipping over into the wall twice--to make it down the
hall in about ten minutes.
She sat clumsily down, and then scooted like a two year old down each step of
the staircase.
She couldn’t go back home to Tara if she couldn’t learn how to manage
stairs again.
She had to stop midway and rest against the bannister railing. Making sure she
didn’t tip over and hit her head on the staircase was hard work.
After twenty minutes she made it to the bottom. She stood up and very slowly,
very gamely, tried to stay upright as she made her way into the living room
area.
She fell down twice. She debated crawling, but she really wanted to try walking.
She was upright when she made it to Puppy’s chair, where he sat, some kind
of ‘sad cloud’ emanating from him which actually made Willow feel
all poopy. She successfully climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around
his neck and he kissed her hard and affectionately on her forehead, cradling
her to him.
“Puppy’s all broody,” Willow said, rubbing vigorously at that
big brow he had with a small smile on her lips. During her life with the Master
she had only known Puppy as that really yummy vampire who stank of soulfulness
and also smelled deliciously of fear, misery, and despair. Spending time with
him in her witch’s dorm room, however, showed Willow Puppy’s more
common side. He was an elder vampire who thought too much, and it felt like
he thought mostly stupid ‘sorry’ thoughts.
Like the Slayer does now, Willow only briefly bothered to note, reminding herself
not to dwell on that creature.
“Wanna play with matches?” she enticed in a girlish voice, her fingers
tracing Puppy’s mouth. She wanted to feel if that made him smile. It did.
Willow yawned though, big and wide. So tiring trying to walk.
She was asleep a moment later in Angel’s arms. Angel went back to his dark
thoughts, thinking of a brittle, golden girl shell that had held a desolation
within, and now, a desolation of a different kind, one that contained the wails
of sins. He thought of her, and of the loose, fiery, untested cannon that was
her successor, and finally of his sweet darkling; his adopted childe; his crippled
Little One.
He wondered what his place and purpose were to be next, in all this mess.
* * *
Willow, when they first met, had a grace like Tara had never seen. She had this
deliberate, almost thoughtful way of flowing through her environment, radiating
sweet faced death and icy intelligence. Her beautiful, little lips would have
this pleased quirk, and she would swoop without a sound and suddenly corner
an easily frightened Tara where she least expected the vampire to be. She’d
trap Tara against a campus building’s outer wall after an evening class,
force her unexpectedly into a corner of the laundry room at night, or press
her suddenly against the railing of the stairwell when the witch came home.
“Run,” Willow would breathe, so close yet never touching her. “Run
just a little. Just a little, for me.” Her green eyes would glitter with
excitement and glee. And Tara would, fleeing as fast as she could into the unknown
dark, wondering if this would be the night Willow would finally kill her--wondered
if the vampire’s demonic needs would finally outweigh her infatuation with
Tara’s magic; wondered if simple, plain Tara would finally bore the vampire
with her poor damsel in distress skills.
When Willow would eventually catch her it was like falling before the lethal
strike of a viper; a sure hand at her throat, another pushed through her clothes
to bare her chest. Fangs would flash in the dark, extended, and knife her quickly.
And Tara would look up at the stars as she lay beneath Willow, with more than
fear making her heart pound hard.
Then Willow would gather her gently up. She’d carry her home with an circling
tenderness in her slender, preternaturally strong arms that felt nothing like
the fierce intentions of before. Willow would move with a rocking, comforting
ease, lulling Tara into trusted safety, even while surrounded by the scary dark.
“Like you,” she would say, her glittering, green eyes staring into
Tara’s.
Tara, who had lived in fear of promised violence all her young life, had never
felt so inexplicably, irrationally safe.
Safe in the arms of her killer.
It had been like that, for the first three weeks they had been together.
Tara knocked upon the Watcher’s door.
She didn’t realize she still held Willow’s new cane when she walked
from the Magic Box to the address the store’s rolodex had indicated belonged
to Mr. Giles. She should have put the walking stick in the car beforehand. She
wasn’t going to let go of it and accidentally leave it behind now, however.
When the door opened, the Watcher looked at her in surprise and in quickly concealed
dismay. They had not seen each other since that horrible night in his library.
“Tara,” he greeted, obviously out of sorts. “W-Won’t you
come in,” he finally offered.
“Mr. Giles,” Tara politely replied, her fingers nervously working
the walking stick she held in her hands. “Is Faith in?”
Behind Mr. Giles, Tara spied a familiar head by the sofa, now a much darker
shade of blonde since the witch had seen it last. Buffy turned her head ever
so slightly, one huge eye looking askance at her through a straggly lock of
hair. Faith suddenly emerged from the Watcher’s ground floor kitchen. She
held an aluminum dish and was stuffing her mouth with her fork. The scent of
baked pastry and of chicken was in the air.
“Tink,” was all she chewed out, with a huge gob of food in her cheek,
as she sauntered over to the couch and threw herself into the opposing love
seat. The Slayer’s attitude suddenly reminded Tara of those derisive men
who chewed ’baccy back home and who would spit in her path when she attempted
to walk by them.
“Please, come in, Tara,” Giles offered again.
When Tara stepped in, she saw that Buffy had an identical round, take out aluminum
like Faith’s, before her on the coffee table. It contained a restaurant
baked chicken pot pie. Whereas Faith’s crust was already demolished, the
Slayer’s fork enthusiastically stabbing more holes into the pastry, Buffy’s
pie lay untouched. Her fork was beside it, as well as a tall glass of milk.
The blonde Slayer sat hunched on the couch, avoiding Tara’s gaze and hugging
herself. Her locks were limp and her arms were far too skinny. That was when
Tara noticed the thick, white bandages wrapped around her wrists.
“You,” she heard the Watcher gently prompt behind her. “You wanted
to see Faith?”
Tara returned her attention to the dark haired Slayer. Faith ignored her, and
continued to savage her meal. Tara might as well have been furniture.
“Faith,” Tara said quietly, deciding to just get to the point. Awkward
as it was. “I’ve come to tell you that I want you to keep away from
Willow.”
The Slayer snorted. She continued to pay attention to her pie. Buffy only stared
down at hers.
“Faith. I’m here to warn you. Stay away from Willow.”
“You’ve really got to work on your evil witch ‘tude, Tink,”
Faith declared, taking another big bite.
“I need you to understand,” Tara began quietly.
“Understand WHAT,” Faith suddenly shot at her, finally turning her
glaring eyes to the witch. “Understand, like you made B’ ‘understand’?
Is that what you’re threatening me with?!”
“I won’t be making anymore wishes,” Tara answered. “But
you hurt Willow for any reason--any reason, Faith, and you’ll have to deal
with me.”
The dark haired Slayer stared up into Tara’s eyes, her seated form bristling.
“Yeah? Telling me how to do my job? Trying to get your vamp ‘special
Slayer treatment’?” she menaced.
“I think she’s received enough ‘special treatment’.”
Buffy flinched. Faith winced, her aura of violence suddenly toned down. Tara
had no idea how much Faith knew of what Buffy had done to Willow. The second
Slayer was extremely loyal to her predecessor. It was possible that the younger
Slayer would rationalize alot of Buffy’s past sadistic...indulgences away.
The dark haired Slayer said nothing, her eyes staring at Buffy. Faith’s
energy was entirely closed off, giving nothing away. Therefore what she decided
to say next definitely surprised Tara.
“She kills anyone, it’s on your head,” Faith finally voiced,
her tone dismissive.
“We know that,” Tara merely acknowledged, her blue eyes solemn.
The Slayer returned to her meal in disgust, her decision made. “Now your
vamp’ll be gunning for me,” she suddenly chose to point out.
“She never thinks about you at all, actually.”
At that, Faith’s countenance resembled a lit powder keg, ready to go off.
She stared at Buffy across from her, but the blonde Slayer kept her head down.
“Your Little Fang started this, you know,” Faith ground out finally.
“No she didn’t. You know who did.”
And Buffy curled up further into herself, her eyes screwing shut.
“SHIT,” Faith ejected, hurling her fork into her half empty pie pan.
She stared helplessly at Buffy, obviously no longer wishing to shoot off her
mouth in case she inadvertently hurt the other Slayer further.
“Buffy,” Tara suddenly said in the quiet of the room. “You should
eat that.”
Buffy opened her eyes when Tara addressed her, staring down at her cooling pot
pie. She uncurled just slightly from her hunched position.
“O-Okay,” she whispered, and with a trembling, slow hand, picked up
her fork.
Faith stared, open mouthed, as she watched Buffy hesitantly break the pie’s
crust and finally put a small portion of the pastry in her mouth. She watched
Buffy chew slowly, then swallow.
Buffy’s eyes drifted like a skittish animal to the side and then back to
her pie, realizing that Tara’s gaze was still on her. She put her fork
into the pie again, came away with more of the steaming inside portion, and
put it in her mouth.
Faith picked up her own fork and resumed eating again, this time at a slower
pace.
“It’s good B’, yeah?” she asked softly, watching her sister
Slayer. Buffy only nodded. She was gamely going for a third bite, Tara still
observing her.
“You, you needn’t eat the whole thing right now, Buffy. We can save
you what you can’t finish, for later,” Giles suggested from beside
Tara, his tone full of concern and relief. He looked at the witch, and his pale
eyes behind his glasses held a hope he hadn’t felt for quite a while. “She’s
been eating so poorly,” he softly told Tara. “It’s so good to
see her finally eat, but I do hope it won’t trouble her, later, wh-when--”
“Yes,” Tara gently interrupted. She was watching Buffy methodically
break the top crust of her pie into pieces, not having taken a fourth bite.
“Just eat what you like, Buffy,” Tara suggested. “I know the
crust is best.” Faith actually smiled at that, her own eyes still on the
other Slayer. “Drink your milk,” Tara added.
“Okay,” Buffy whispered, and reached for the glass. Tara saw the bandaged
wrist again and wondered how long ago the blonde Slayer had attempted suicide.
It could have been yesterday; Slayers were supposed to be fast healers.
“I should go,” Tara then stated, and Buffy stiffened in reaction.
“When Buffy’s finished dinner,” the witch added, and even Faith
seemed as relieved as her Watcher. Giles hurriedly took a hold of the armchair
facing the couches and pulled it out.
“Please,” he offered, hastily removing some old, musty texts from
the seat. “Please sit down. Would you like anything? Tea? I’ve a new
tin--fresh biscuits. Imported. From England.”
“Please,” Tara accepted politely. She sat down and the Watcher happily
bustled away.
“What’s the cane for, Tink?” Faith asked with a curious frown,
finally tossing out the question that had been nagging her.
“None of your business,” Tara murmured.
Buffy’s large eyes flitted to the walking stick Tara held between her hands.
She stared with hazel orbs that were wet and full of guilt and sorrow.
“I-I’m,” she whispered hesitantly. “S-sor....”
The blonde Slayer didn’t finish. She returned to staring despondently back
down at her broken, steaming crust. Tara sighed. Surely someone must have taught
Buffy the meditations for blocking Willow out. She wouldn’t be surprised
if Buffy was willfully tormenting herself with Willow’s current, physical
difficulties right now rather than sparing herself the knowledge.
“Eat your pie, Buffy,” Tara ordered, feeling suddenly very tired.
“Or I’ll eat it myself.”
* * *
Willow loved the walking stick her Tara had brought her. It was layered fiberglass.
It had a real cool, knobby steel head. It was whack worthy.
She used it to amble around Puppy’s house and especially out in the gardens
during the evenings Tara was away at school. They tried to move her downstairs
to another bedroom so that she wouldn’t have to deal with the stairs, but
she steadfastly refused. At some point, she was going to go up and down those
stairs standing upright. She wanted to be well enough to finally go home with
her witch.
While Willow roamed around Angel’s gardens and wistfully dreamt of chasing
her Tara around freely once again, the usual brewed in Sunnydale. Spike and
Dru returned, but with Dru’s childe now the crippled one, stuck in a wheelchair.
Faith had her hands full with their antics, with protecting the depressed Buffy,
and with dealing with whatever supernatural calamity deigned to rear its ugly
head at the high school. Angel finally braved offering his help to the Watcher
and his current Slayer, and the one time leader of the White Hats actually accepted.
Willow ignored Puppy’s latest stupid gig for doing good and preoccupied
herself with other things. She practiced levitation on anything within her grasp.
She even successfully levitated Puppy, which Tara found astounding, because
so far only Amy was capable of levitating a person-sized object with the ease
and control Willow had shown. The vampire also helpfully typed up her witch’s
midterm papers that were due, and brought Tara odd shaped stones, seeds, and
pretty smelling flowers from the garden.
Sometimes she hunted and ate the occasional animal she found in the garden,
but she didn’t tell Tara that. The very pretty--and fresh--blue jay feathers
she’d brought her witch that one time had not been the brightest idea.
Even with the cane, Willow still had to concentrate hard on her movements to
prevent from falling down. The others who watched her were encouraging. They
said she was doing better each day.
The third week after Willow had woken up, Tara sat in lecture halls, labs, and
classes and pondered Anyanka’s words to her, wondering how she could possibly
make them come true.
* * *
“Hey,” Oz said briefly, as Angel looked at the smaller man. The large
vampire stood in his doorway, wondering where he had first seen this young man
who’d just rung his doorbell.
“You’re one of Giles’ White Hats,” Angel finally recalled.
“Saw you at the Master’s death....how’re you doing?”
“Good,” Oz merely replied. “Can I come in?”
Once the young, stoic man was inside, they made their formal introductions to
each other. Angel could easily scent that the boy was a werewolf. And that he
had been with others of his kind.
“I heard you gave sanctuary,” Oz said.
“Yeah, but with the Slayers no longer on an indiscriminate killing spree...well
not anymore,” Angel answered, slightly sheepish.
“Oh,” Oz commented. “My bad.” He turned back to the door.
“No! Hey, wait a minute.” Angel crossed his arms pensively as the
young man turned back to him again. “What’s this for? You need it
for you and your pack?”
Oz’s sudden growl at the word ‘pack’ was a surprise to Angel.
“No,” Oz tersely replied, his red browed eyes intense. “For me
from my pack.”
As Angel digested this, a wolf’s howl was heard on his grounds. He turned
quickly to his verandah doors.
It was nightfall and his adopted childe would already be outside, gamboling
in his gardens.
“How many,” he demanded, hurrying to his weapons cabinet. He pulled
out an ax. Oz came up beside him, as if waiting for a weapon too, but Angel
eyed him suspiciously.
“Six,” Oz gave, staring up into the vampire’s dark eyes. “They
can transform at will. I still can’t. And yes, I’ll kill them now
that I have to.” He took a breath, as more, eerie howls joined the first.
“They’re man-killers,” he finally shared, his eyes cold and dead.
“They made me kill too.”
Angel immediately handed him a short sword. He knew that look in Oz’s eyes
well. He wasn’t going to let this boy choose the hell road Buffy had nearly
been lost to.
When they exited the verandah doors, six forms could be seen slowly approaching
in the gloom.
“Who’s the alpha,” Angel tersely asked.
“Her,” Oz indicated with his chin, as a small, intense eyed female
emerged to the fore. “Veruca.”
“Oz,” Veruca merely said, eyes gleaming with violence.
* * *
Willow was speaking to a rabbit.
“You’re making this too easy,” she was telling it, as it obliviously
ate the carrot piece she had left out in order to lure it into the open. She
focused her blind regard impatiently upon its rabbity hide. The rabbit didn’t
even flinch. “I want you to run now. Run, little bunny. Hop hop. Make like
the Energizer and go.” Willow waited, and sensed no movement.
“Pffft. Stoopid prey,” she said sourly.
She got a surprise shiver up and down her spine when she heard the howls from
near the mansion.
Willow grabbed her cane and took to her feet, the bunny finally getting the
hint and hopping madly away.
The vampire smiled, cold and ruthless. There was the scent of werewolf in the
air.
* * *
“Oz, leave with us, now,” Veruca ordered, staring down her
chosen mate’s own unwavering resolve.
“Not with you killers,” Oz growled.
Veruca looked smug. “You’ve killed now too.”
“I’m not one of you!!” Oz shouted.
“And you sought the...help, of that,” Veruca spat, cocking
her head at Angel. “There’re six of us, can you really take us all
on?”
Thanks for letting me know how many, bitch, Willow thought from where she hid
among the trees behind the weres. She concentrated, clutching the cane her witch
had given her and tried to discern among the scents who the head bitch might
be. Too difficult. And not enough time. Puppy had probably already sensed her
out here, and the weres would soon sniff out her presence too.
She focused with all her magical ability on the snide voice of that talking
bitch. Willow didn’t pause to think about how she’d never tried something
like this before.
Veruca suddenly shot up into the air.
“WHAT--” she shrieked, but it was the distraction needed. Angel leapt
into the remaining, startled werewolves with a roar, Oz following quickly behind.
Veruca twisted in the air, but found herself suddenly striking the ground, yards
behind where she once stood. She flipped to her feet only to feel something
hard crack resoundingly into her skull. She fell to her knees, seeing the furious
flash of red hair, a pale face, and demonic yellow eyes.
Veruca went into transformation but she was too late. Vampire fangs tore deep
into her throat and jugular. The she-wolf’s last dying regret was that
she hadn’t taken the little vamp to hell with her.
And Willow feasted--mouth, throat, insides and outsides--coated with glorious,
spurting hot blood--strong, rich, preternatural. She heard a body impact the
ground near her--a dying wolf boy--and realized Angel had tossed the boy there.
She pounced on the dying kill and sank her teeth into it too. And then Angel
tossed another to her. And another, until Willow was spinning deliriously in
circles circles circles around the bodies, howling happily to the unseen moon
and stars and sky, drunk on so much precious, stolen life.
* * *
“WILLOW!!” Tara screamed, dropping everything in her hands at the
sight of her lover covered in blood. Willow ran happily to her from the verandah
doors--ran to Tara--and then promptly collided with a chair in her path.
Tara’s heart leapt to her throat, but Willow easily tumbled over the chair
and gracefully regained her feet right before her, grabbing Tara up into her
blood soaked arms.
“I ate werewolves!” Willow cried, lifting Tara easily. Tara didn’t
know whether to be horrified or happy. In a sudden display of returned strength,
the vampire spun. “Strong now!”
She set Tara back on her feet and then promptly kissed her.
When the kiss ended, Tara discreetly tried to spit the taste of blood from her
mouth. And not puke.
“Oh!!” Willow said in horror. “Oh Tara, I’m sorry! I’ve
got blood mouth! And--bloody everything! Like that girl Carrie, in that movie
called--‘Carrie’!--Let’s get you something to wash that out.
I made you orange juice! Fresh squeezed!--I’ll go get you some!” Willow
turned, heading frantically for where she believed the kitchen was.
“Wait,” Tara said urgently, and grabbed Willow’s blood stained
face with both her hands. She stared into her lover’s green eyes, searching
for recognition. Willow only stared blindly back. She reached up to touch Tara.
“I still can’t see,” Willow said softly, comforting Tara as best
as she could with her soothing hands. She could feel the tremble of that soft
mouth and feel the throat’s swallow. She knew that when her witch next
spoke there would be no hint of sadness or disappointment in her voice.
“It...it, that’s okay,” Tara reassured quickly, a smile beneath
Willow’s fingers. She pulled Willow back into her arms again. “I’m
just so glad you can walk now. I’m so glad.”
Her few, relieved tears mingled with the blood on Willow’s face.
That night, Willow scrubbed herself and her witch rosy clean, washing away the
scent of death and replacing it with apple blossoms, peaches, and sunshine.
She crouched and easily slid her surprised Tara up--high--against the slick,
tiled walls and settled her witch’s legs around her shoulders.
“Will,” Tara’s voice trembled, a little frightened by the height.
Willow heard Tara’s wet hands clutch desperately at the streaming shower
head.
“Don’t be afraid,” Willow softly assured, blowing lovingly into
her witch’s sex. She cradled Tara’s weight easily in her firm grip
and felt resurrected; almighty. The blood of four young werewolves coursed hotly
through her veins. The fierce, new essence was not the only thing that made
her undead heart swell.
“Gonna take care of you,” Willow promised, teasing the moist folds
with her kisses. “Gonna take real good care of you,” she whispered,
and worshiped her girl’s hot, wet, goddess center with her tongue.
* * *
“Okay, we’re done,” Amy said, ending her spell, and Willow sat
patiently while the other witch cleaned up her implements and the casting circle
she had made around them.
Willow was at Amy’s house, in the witch’s sanctum, her attic. Her
former schoolmate had just performed a ‘confusion’ glamour, specifically
tailored to Willow, that would befuddle Tara’s dorm residence assistant
whenever she should lay eyes on the vampire. Before, Amy had surreptitiously
helped Tara out by casting a mind spell on the RA herself, so that whenever
she looked at Willow she would forget that the vampire did not officially belong
in Tara’s room. She then did the same to cover for Angel. When Tara, and
then Jenny, had found out, they weren’t exactly pleased. Amy had since
then worked on a Jenny-approved glamour for the young vampire instead.
“We should celebrate now that you’re better,” Amy said, as Willow
heard small drawers being pulled and things being safely placed away.
“Oh I intend to,” Willow informed with a cutely lascivious grin. “Tara
has one more exam, and then she can play,” she added gleefully.
Amy just gave the vampire a look and decided to not ask what she’d meant
by ‘play’.
“Amy,” Willow addressed suddenly, finally asking something that had
been bothering her. “Does Tara look okay?”
“Okay? How do you mean?” Amy asked casually.
“Okay like, ‘isn’t she too skinny now?’, or, ‘how come
she doesn’t laugh as much anymore?’, or, ‘why does she seem so
sad?’”
“Those do not sound like ‘okay’,” Amy answered flatly.
“Then it’s true,” Willow breathed. “Is it cos of me?”
“You really should ask Tara that,” Amy declared. She nearly said more,
then shut her mouth. Personally, she thought it was because Buffy was wandering
around looking more like a wet eyed, beaten puppy than the tormented criminal
Amy thought the Slayer deserved to be. But that was just her opinion. She really
didn’t want to mention the Slayer to Willow.
“I know it isn’t you. But you really should ask her,” Amy merely
said.
* * *
Willow couldn’t wait to go back home.
She was merrily packing bags, laying them neatly on the bed. She placed her
cane reverently beside them--the cane she had cracked that she-wolf’s skull
open with, Willow grinned to herself. She was going to use it around campus
now. Tara said the new Slayer wasn’t going to be a threat anymore, so Willow
was going to roam as she pleased, blindness be damned.
She felt her way into Puppy’s bedroom and ransacked it for money. She found
some small plastics that felt like credit cards. She took them. Puppy promised
to give Willow one of them anyway.
She knew Drusilla and Spike were in town, Puppy’s other progeny. She wondered
if she cared to meet them--at least Dru again--but not really. She did miss
some of the company of brethren, but Puppy was enough for her, despite the soul,
and at least he was never going to eat her Tara.
Am I just pathetic now? she thought, as she decided to steal some of
Puppy’s nice silk shirts. She could imagine Tara wearing one of them. Especially
in bed. She took down three from their hangers, hoping they were nice colors.
Am I being lame and trying to pretend to be human in this human world, like
Puppy?
She didn’t think so. Tara gave her free will...and though it was pretty
certain Willow was tamed--and she would kill anyone who actually dared to say
that outloud--she was not pretending to be anything more or less than what she
was. She killed that alpha were-bitch and Tara didn’t say it was bad or
anything.
Willow carefully packed the new silk shirts and wondered if maybe she could
join Puppy on his patrols to keep Sunnydale safe. That’s where Puppy let
his ‘demon’ out, killing things. Willow wanted to kill stuff too.
The problem was that he was doing those patrols for the bitch Slayers, Willow
scowled to herself. Puppy was such a....puppy.
She felt said big lug enter below, and sneak quietly up the stairs.
Willow continued to rearrange her things, and then when Puppy moved past her
door, she moved as quick as lightning.
“Gotcha,” she growled as she tackled the big vampire to the hall floor,
then laughed as they rolled.
“Poppet, I need a shower--” Puppy protested. He didn’t initiate
the usual roughhousing they engaged in, but surprisingly tried to hold the younger
vampire at arm’s length. Suddenly, Willow froze above him, her eyes wide
and disbelieving. Her unseeing, green surfaces flicked from disbelief, to horror,
and then to such painful hurt, Angel had to close his eyes in order to look
away.
“No....” his Little One whispered, and then she placed her nose near
his mouth, inhaling. “Noo----” she cried, rearing up, and her fist
came down, fast and furious.
“NOOO!!” she screamed.
* * *
When Tara pulled up in Angel’s Plymouth, Willow was already outside the
mansion with her packed bags, looking lost, hurt, and so very angry.
“Baby,” she said, immediately getting out of the driver’s seat.
She saw Angel in the mansion doorway, looking completely battered and just as
guilt-ridden.
“Childe,” he said, as Willow began hurling her bags into the convertible’s
backseat.
“I’m not your childe!!” she suddenly screamed in his direction.
“I’m not your anything, anymore!” Her face twisted into a heart
wrenching portrait of hurt. Willow quickly climbed into the convertible. Tara
stood on the mansion driveway, unsure what had gone on and what to do.
“You still need my blood,” Angel was saying. “Please, let me--”
“Don’t need anything from you,” Willow retorted bitterly from
where she’d finally found the front passenger seat. She folded her arms
and scrunched into the side. “’Cept your money. And your car. You
can’t have it back, we’re taking it. And keep sending Tara Willow-support
or--or I’ll have Amy curse you some more!!” she threatened, and looked
ready to start bawling.
Tara hurried back into the driver’s seat, started the car, and drove it
quickly away.
She drove for about a mile, then pulled the car over. She turned to Willow and
the vampire promptly burst into tears.
“He’s been with her!” she wailed. “Her!! How could
he?!”
Tara’s stomach plummeted. Everyone in Jenny’s coven knew the secret
specifics about Angel’s gypsy curse. Who was Angel involved with, and how
did they not notice before?
“Who--”
“The Slayer bitch!” Willow snarled, suddenly breaking into demonic
face. “The one that hurt me!!”
Tara took Willow into her arms, hugging her tight as her vampire sobbed miserably
into her shoulder. She felt her lover’s fangs even through the thickness
of her coat.
“Did,” the witch asked hesitantly. “Did they have, s-se--”
“No. He kissed her though. That’s how I know.”
Tara sighed heavily. “It does make some sense.”
“How!” Willow cried harshly, pulling away to stare blindly at Tara
with yellow eyes. “She’s the fucking Slayer!”
“They’re the same,” Tara explained, resignation in her voice.
“Especially after my wish. Both of them are plagued with guilt..and stuff.
It. They’re...They want redemption. They’re probably hoping to find
it in each other,” she added in a whisper. Willow suddenly put her hands
to Tara’s cheeks, her demon visage receding.
“Not your fault,” Willow reassured with as much conviction as she
could convey through her misery. She realized then, what was probably the real
cause of her witch’s depression since she’d woken up from her last
bout of severe injuries. It hadn’t been the injuries themselves that had
weighed her Tara down, but the idea that perhaps her wish had been the cause
of everything--and of current happenings.
“They’re poopheads. Who knows, this might’ve happened even if
you hadn’t made your wish. Puppy was never really mine anymore after she
stole him the first time.” Then Willow’s face fell, a girl’s
grief in her mouth and eyes. “He’s still a jerk, though,”
she said painfully.
“Sweetie,” Tara comforted, hugging Willow again. Her poor vampire.
She’d lost so much, and now she’d lost her surrogate sire, and to
Buffy, for that matter. This had truly been a mistake on Angel’s part.
Tara might be biased, but with a sensitive situation like this, the blonde witch
definitely felt that Angel should have put his adopted childe first.
“Baby,” she then soothed. “I have to contact Jenny right away
about something. And then we’ll do something to make you feel better, okay?”
Willow pulled back. “Killing spree?” she whispered softly, looking
hopeful.
“Um,” Tara hedged. “Noo...I was thinking, more like ice cream?
Is that okay? But first I have to call Jenny.”
Willow nodded, wiping at her face, and then reached into her coat pocket. She
pulled out a cell phone and handed it to Tara.
“It’s Puppy’s,” she merely said. “I took it.”
* * *
Tara phoned Jenny and apprised her of the new Angel situation. The teacher was
just as shocked about the news, considering his love interest was a Slayer,
of all things. And the one who had tortured and raped his adopted childe, no
less. And nearly killed him and his other childer. But Tara was in no mood to
discuss Angel’s psychological problems, she’d promise her own vampire
comfort-ice cream and she was going to see right away to that.
“What’s this about Puppy’s gypsy curse?” Willow asked with
a frown, when Tara began driving again.
Tara then explained about how Angel’s curse contained a ‘happiness’
clause: if he ever found true happiness, he would lose his soul and become merely
the demon-- Angelus--again.
“With or without the soul, he’s still a jerk,” Willow declared.
At the ice cream parlor, they encountered someone who must have learned of the
new Angel/Buffy connection as well. It could only explain why a thundercloud
named Faith was sitting before a huge plate of ice cream, fixings, fruit, and
candy known as the ‘Break-up Boat’.
“Shit,” she said, when she saw Tara and Willow walk in, pink, plastic
spoon still pristine in her Slayer hand.
“Um,” Tara answered. Before she could do anything, Willow did her
uncanny schtick where she managed to approach someone while looking like she
knew exactly where she was going. She sauntered over to Faith’s table and
stuck her finger deliberately into the Slayer’s top tier of ice cream,
stabbing the crowning strawberry she could easily scent. Willow put the fruit
in her mouth and pulled her finger slowly out with a pop.
“Look who’s depressed,” the vampire sneered, as she chewed on
her prize.
“Look who lost her Daddy,” Faith sneered back, easily realizing that
the Buffy/Angel situation hurt in both directions.
“He’s not my Daddy,” Willow suddenly snarled, the hurt
flashing in her face before she could mask it. Faith smiled her first real smile
of the night, realizing that the vamp was in as much pain as she was by the
betrayals.
She watched the vampire fish out one of the maraschino cherries decorating the
second tier of the Slayer’s ice cream monstrosity, and sullenly put it
in her pouting mouth. She sucked it from its stem.
“Get your own fucking ice cream,” Faith growled, although the glint
in her eye seemed to indicate that she was enjoying the vamp’s little cherry
play.
“Baby,” Willow heard Tara caution somewhere behind her. “Why
don’t you come over here.”
For the first time, Willow decided to ignore her witch. With half closed eyes,
Willow managed to find another cherry in Faith’s ice cream pile and put
that one deliberately in her mouth. She gave a show of sucking it too, much
to the Slayer’s reluctant amusement.
“He’s not my Daddy,” Willow repeated. “But he’s still
mine. Noone touches him but me,” she warned the Slayer.
“Like dusting Angel’s ass is going to get me back in Buffy’s
pants,” Faith snorted cynically, and she finally stabbed her pink spoon
into her ice cream. Willow smiled a cold, little smile, and found another maraschino
cherry.
“She’s certainly not worth this much moping,” she observed
lightly, dropping the cherry into her mouth and then pulling slowly on the stem.
She sucked at the little fruit, pursing her lips cutely.
“Better fucking go back to your Mommy, Little Fang,” Faith suddenly
menaced, no longer amused by the vamp’s taunting displays. Mocking her
pain was not to be tolerated, Tink’s threats be damned.
“Will,” Tara now said warningly behind Willow.
Willow twirled the stem in her mouth, but stepped back. She kept slowly stepping
back until she felt herself pressed against the front of her witch. Then there
was a sudden smack! And she realized from the sting on her ass that Tara had
sternly spanked her behind!
“Taking you home, young lady,” she heard Tara say, disapproval in
her voice as she placed a firm arm around the vampire’s shoulders.
“But,” Willow weakly protested, pulling the cherry stem from her mouth.
“My ice cream!” She felt Tara’s fingers relieve her of her stem.
Then a paper bag was placed in her hand.
“You don’t get any until you get home,” Tara admonished. “And
even then, you’ll have to earn it now.” Willow heard the Slayer guffaw
loudly from where she sat, having obviously overheard everything her witch had
said.
Willow put on a surly pout as she was ushered from the ice cream shop, clutching
her bagged pint of strawberry ice cream. Getting punished for goading the other
Slayer will have been worth it. Well, almost worth it. She hoped it didn’t
deny her any Tara-lovin’ her first time back home.
Back in the beloved dorm room she had missed for so long, Willow was surrounded
once again by the familiar scents and textures of her witch’s place. She
couldn’t quite take the time to celebrate all of it though, being distracted
by her shivering (in anticipation) self being stripped of clothes and then tied--a
surprising new kink introduced into their relationship!--to the headboard of
the bed.
“Me---ice cream?” she gasped, as Tara punished her breasts with her
mouth and possessive, strong hands. She cried out, loving how rough Tara was
with her nipples, making them swollen and sore with her hard sucking.
“Not yet,” Tara said firmly, scooting down to place nips and bites
all along the vampire’s torso. When she reached Willow’s ready sex
she nipped her there too. The redhead yipped.
“Show Tara how much you want your ice cream,” she felt her witch growl
hotly into her center, and for the next ten minutes--twenty minutes--five hours--Willow
was incoherent, writhing, and thrashing beneath a very thorough Tara-tongue
lashing.
“Ah ah ah.....” Willow managed to whimper, as she came down from yet
another mini-bomb, orgasmic explosion. She felt her witch finally withdraw from
between her legs and hazily heard something like a belt clinking.
“I...I--Ice cream?” she asked weakly.
“Not yet,” her witch said simply. Willow felt her warm Tara mount
her again. “Have to give you your ‘welcome home’ present first...if
you want it, that is,” she heard Tara add in a whisper, and the vampire
felt something hard--long and hard--rub against her inner thigh.
Willow’s pelvis jerked.
“Oh yes!! Please, yes, I want it!” Willow cried, her legs opening
eagerly.
“You, you tell me if anything hurts, okay?” Tara encouraged, her hands--(both
hands!!)--running soothingly up Willow’s thighs as the dildo pressed against
her. “I know you like rough, but I’m not interested in giving that
to you, for our first time. And, I know you haven’t been--since Xander--a-and--”
“Please,” Willow said softly. “Want you. Want you to do me. Always
wanted it, ‘cept I was all messed up. Now you can make it all right,”
she encouraged gently, using her heels to gently prod Tara to her, inviting
her in.
Tara obliged right away, easily sliding Willow’s present into her tight
core.
The first time around was slow and nice, and very attentive, just to make sure
things were finally all right inside Willow, and for Tara to learn her way around.
The second time around they boinked wetly like lovers.
The third time around Tara really gave it to Willow like a Tara-jack hammer.
“Oh T-T-T-T-T-T--” Willow stuttered, her blind eyes rolling back,
and when the Tara-cannon went boom inside her, nailing her practically through
the headboard and through the wall, Willow mega-ploded like a little Willow-bomb.
Tara had several incredible T-bombs herself, and couldn’t quite quit the
jackhammering for awhile, much to Willow’s post-supercum delight. Finally,
the witch pulled out and found her vampire collapsed into a very pretty, little,
sticky, Willow heap of climaxed goodness. Tara untied Willow’s limp arms
and slipped sweatily into bed.
“Ice cream?” she suggested into Willow’s beatific face.
“m.....uh...” Willow managed to say.
Tara laid down exhaustedly with a satisfied grin.
“Welcome home, baby,” she whispered, and joined Willow in dreamland.
* * *