So the squeaky bed means we're going to get outdoor smut? I love outdoor smut. All they need now is a break in the weather.
by Scout » Fri Feb 01, 2002 5:26 pm
So the squeaky bed means we're going to get outdoor smut? I love outdoor smut. All they need now is a break in the weather.
by Dumbsaint » Fri Feb 01, 2002 5:27 pm
*slaps Xita's hands away*
My tart! Her name is Monique.
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Shiver me timberless.
by MoMack » Fri Feb 01, 2002 7:10 pm
by Mini-ALF » Fri Feb 01, 2002 7:42 pm
Michelle
by Tiggrscorpio » Fri Feb 01, 2002 8:32 pm
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She's my everything!
by tommo » Sat Feb 02, 2002 4:48 am
I realised last night that this fic is going to be a long one. I tend to ramble you see, and some people don't bother to tell me to stop it. *stares at Julia and Xita*
So, I'm sorry if this goes on a bit. But you know...I haven't written in a while and all of a sudden those months of pent up frustration are taking their toll...heh heh. Anyhoo, glad people are enjoying it so far.
Don't blame me for anything else that happens.
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"Bitter, party of one. Bitter, party of one." she muttered... ~ Four Months After by Capt. Murdock
[This message has been edited by tommo (edited February 02, 2002).]
by Bobo's Mom » Sat Feb 02, 2002 6:39 am
BM
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TARA: Willow and I always know how to find each other!
ANYA: With yoga?
by delany » Sat Feb 02, 2002 7:57 am
not that i'm saying that i don't need one of your ever so brilliantly written smutfests..
by Dumbsaint » Sat Feb 02, 2002 10:46 am
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Shiver me timberless.
by tommo » Sat Feb 02, 2002 10:50 am
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"Bitter, party of one. Bitter, party of one." she muttered... ~ Four Months After by Capt. Murdock
by Chance » Sat Feb 02, 2002 1:07 pm
I for one am duly excited to see you writing again. Your literary forays give me some hope for my own.
And as much as I do love smut, more particularly yours, I love the way you write (/ramble) as well.
Thank you. Can't wait for more of this.
M.
And it's lovely to see Giles again.
by willow420 » Sat Feb 02, 2002 1:44 pm
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A.K.A. Liz
"Did you try looking in the sofa in hell?" Willow in Dopplegangland.
http://www.geocities.com/lulu42012/will ... 2410550840
[This message has been edited by willow420 (edited February 02, 2002).]
by Quill » Sat Feb 02, 2002 4:02 pm
by tommo » Sun Feb 03, 2002 1:29 pm
Heh heh, you know, I haven't even started the proper story yet. I kind of got sidetracked by something and I'm afraid the plot meanders off somewhere else first. But I started thinking about Wales...and then my parents told me they were going there on Wednesday to check up on our holiday home there...sorry, but I got all excited. Lovely Pentraeth. Go there! The Chinese take-out place is second to none. And the beach is amazing. And it's quiet. Sigh. I miss the peace.
Anyway, thanks for the great feedback. You lot are so nice, I generally don't bother posting anywhere else. What lovely people, but then, you know, I kind of knew that.
Enjoy.
Title: Touchstone
Rating: NC17, although not all chapters are, but this covers me for those bits that couldn’t possibly be anything else. Heh.
Copyright Disclaimer: Bowing and scraping does nothing for the knees. Joss…blah blah…Mutant Enemy…etc etc…sigh…
Feedback: Sure, if you feel that way inclined. My email is: tommo27@hotmail.com
Archive: Until I get my arse in gear and sort out my own W/T website, you can have this wherever you like it. I’m only too happy if someone else wants it. Just ask first, ok? Bad manners are nobody’s friend.
Summary: This takes place in my own Buffyverse, and if you’ve read any of my other stories, then you’ll know what I mean. Basically we follow the season events, but with a few changes. In fact, who am I kidding, I make direct references to my other fic, because I’m a whore like that. And I care…not one little bit. Ha. There are also Season 6 spoilers in this if that kind of thing bothers you. Don’t take it to heart if it does; they’re not like, big honkin’ spoilers or anything.
Part 3
As night fell on their first day in Wales, Willow and Tara slept in the afternoon, unable to see the shadows that slipped down from the tops of the mountains to creep up against the whitewashed walls of the house. Giles had wandered towards the huge wooden table at the rear of the living room, casting a baleful glance down at his work, research papers and books strewn over the mottled worn surface of the table. Somehow he didn’t feel much like working anymore, he thought, preferring instead to fill the roaring silence around his head with smiling thoughts of the two women he had greeted only hours earlier.
He had checked on the girls just once, peering around the door of the bedroom and allowing a fond smile to color his features. Tara was lying on her back, one arm stretched up behind her head, her hand disappearing under the pillow. Her blonde hair lay mussed up and damp around her still features. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, hinting at a smile, whilst her other arm was crooked around the figure next to her.
Willow lay against her lover, one arm thrown across Tara’s chest, her head firmly resting on the blonde’s shoulder. Her face was drawn and emotionless, almost devoid of any life whatsoever. But as he moved backwards, out of the room, Giles saw the redhead inch even closer to the other girl, and let out a sigh of such happiness that his throat caught and he had looked away, almost embarrassed to intrude on the intimacy that flowed between them. Shutting the door behind him, he had made his way back to the table again, wondering if he could return to the Council’s business amidst the memories that Willow and Tara had brought to his home and his mind.
As he moved around the living room, switching on a couple of lamps and loading more wood onto the fire, he realized that having Willow and Tara here was already making him nostalgic. Being away from Sunnydale, he’d always been able to shut off the memories. It had been hard at first, naturally, but after a few weeks, he’d been able to barely think about the daily routine of his life there in the Magick Shop. He hadn’t forgotten though, indeed, he’d framed a picture of himself and Buffy and it had occupied pride of place in his little flat in Bath. But being so personally invested in people had been hard for him. His training as a Watcher had never mentioned the inevitable pain that it might cause. And Buffy needed to stand on her own two feet, to take responsibility for Dawn, for her life, for her future. If she had one, he had thought at the time, grimly.
But he’d come to see that as long as he was around, Buffy would always lean on him too much. She’d always defer to him or expect him to save the day with a timely check or phone call. And that wasn’t good for either of them. He remembered sitting with the telephone in his hand for a long time one evening in Bath after too much whiskey and not enough sleep. He’d even dialed Buffy’s number several times, then hung up at the last minute. Yes, the Council had never mentioned that in their training either. Sometimes he wondered how his grandmother and his father had ever coped with the burden of emotion that was heaped on their shoulders. The things they must have seen, he had seen too. The pain they must have felt, he had felt too. And it was all terribly ignored by the Council, who preferred results to recognition; protocol to personal involvement. They knew his reasons for returning to the UK, and they’d quickly bustled him off to some out of the place job just in case he might interact with their Watcher trainees at Head Office.
Returning to his chair at the table, Giles dropped onto the cushioned seat and looked down at the sheaf of papers spread over the wooden surface in front of him. His lips pressed together in a hard line. He was beginning to think that the Council had manufactured this job just to get him out of the way. Certainly, Quentin Travers had appeared almost alarmed when Giles had enquired about joining the Watchers’ training team. It appeared that Travers’ Council Board colleagues agreed. Bloody beauracracy, Giles grunted to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. They had asked him to research Celtic rituals in this area and given him no definite term of stay up here in Wales. A gritty smile slashed his lips; asked was perhaps the way the Council would have put it. He preferred the term ultimatum. It had been made clear to him, reading between the lines, that he take this job or consider himself fired. Again, he let out a brief report of mirthless laughter. But then, the Council was adept at adding insult to injury. It was their way.
He glanced down at his watch, realizing that somehow most of the afternoon had dripped away and was now stretching into early evening. His gaze slipped towards the bedroom door that led into Willow and Tara’s room, softening his eyes somewhat. It was a compliment really, that Tara wanted to bring Willow to him for rehabilitation, if that was what this was. He’d seen the shame in the redhead’s eyes, knew that of all of them, she felt that she had let him down the most. It pained him to think that, although when he thought about what could have happened, he felt an overwhelming urge to agree with her. Willow had opened the doors to potentially disastrous consequences, not only for herself, but also for the people around her.
Her addiction to the use of dark powers had almost destroyed everything she knew, including her relationship with Tara. If he looked deep enough into his memory, he could empathize in the context of his past self. But he was sure that he’d taught Willow better than that; or perhaps he simply hadn’t given her enough time, trusting that she was responsible, that she could acknowledge and understand the temptations and dangers around her. He felt some guilt about that, as though, in some way, he had contributed to her downfall. Everything that she had gone through reminded him that she was still only a child, still learning how to live. And that, he sighed deeply, was the hardest part of all.
Shaking his head, he rose from the table and made his way over to the ancient kitchen in the cottage. Tea was his answer to the meanderings of his mind. Tea with just a shot of whiskey.
***
Willow opened her eyes and a trace of panic pulled at her chest. Her head was still stuck in the dream that billowed around the edges of her memory. Her lips turning downwards, she closed her eyes tight shut again, and then opened them for a second time. Horrible dreams were becoming second nature to her these days, the resonances of their torrid and confused images often staying with her for days, turning and tumbling over in her mind’s eye. When she’d begun having them, she had been sleeping alone, before Tara came back to her. The first night she spent with the blonde, she had been so scared of dreaming that most of the night she had only been pretending to be asleep. Her eyes were closed, but her mind was active, reciting poetry, figuring out math problems, working out intricate tongue twisters…anything but go to sleep and let the darkness enter her mind once more.
It had been almost a week before Willow had allowed herself to sleep in Tara’s arms. And then when she’d woken, sweaty, chilled and frightened, the blonde had merely nodded and soothed away her fears with gentle caresses and promises of a better time. Confessing her dreaming nightmares to Tara, Willow had sobbed in her arms, needing nothing more than the familiar smell of vanilla to embrace her and assure her that she wasn’t alone in this. Tara knew, Tara understood, Tara even went so far as to tell Willow that she had gone through something similar when her mother died. It was all perfectly natural after a trauma like the one Willow had experienced.
The redhead had pressed herself against Tara’s soft form, shaking her head. This was all her own doing. She deserved the punishment. She was a bad person, so bad things should happen to her. That was the karmic law of the world, after all. If the threefold rule had any credence in her use of witchcraft, then she was surely suffering its effects right now. But that was right, she had sobbed to the blonde in the dark, she deserved everything that was being thrown at her. And more. Not love; not comfort; not Tara.
“Willow,” Tara had taken her face between her hands and held her head so that the redhead couldn’t look anywhere but into the twin pools of blue that were reflected in the moonlight of their room. “I love you. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere. And no matter how long it takes, I want you to know that I’m ready to stay with you.”
Willow had cried then, falling into the blonde’s arms and finally drifting off to sleep as two hands smoothed themselves up and down her back, offering quiet trails of warmth and love. Her infamous resolve had taken quite a battering but she felt it stirring awake somewhere deep inside her that night, encouraged by the platitudes Tara kissed onto the top of her head.
Looking down at Tara now in the creaky bed, Willow allowed herself a small smile of affection. The guilt she carried with her was nothing compared to the fear she experienced when she thought about losing Tara again. Once was enough, she thought, her lips pressing together determinedly. No, once was more than enough, she corrected herself. She wouldn’t let it happen again; not any of it. If it meant she never thought about or practiced magick again, then so be it. Some things were more important. She let her eyes trail over the soft features of her lover; Tara was more important than anything.
“I won’t lose you again,” she sighed softly, reaching up with a fingertip to brush a strand of gold away from Tara’s cheek. The skin under her touch was pliant and velvet soft, warm with the glow that the blonde seemed to carry with her all the time. Closing her eyes at the emotion rushing up her throat, Willow blinked away the tears that lurked behind her eyes all the time. She didn’t want to cry anymore, that was for sure. She’d shed too many tears at her own expense lately, and it wasn’t good for anyone. The reserve of strength that she’d always had at her disposal ebbed slowly away from her so that she felt infinitely vulnerable. Becoming less than Super Willow was one of the hardest things she had ever done; she’d told Buffy that she wasn’t sure if Tara could ever love her. Stupid, she chided herself. Tara had confessed one night that she’d always known what kind of a background Willow came from; it was one of the things she’d always considered they had in common, like a bond.
Willow bent down and placed her lips against Tara’s cheek, eliciting a soft intake of breath from the other woman. Now it was Tara who was the strong one. And Willow was happy to take a backseat, feeling safer than she had done for months. Perhaps, ever.
“Mmm,” a low voice purred not far from the redhead’s lips, “that’s a nice way to be woken up.”
Leaning back, Willow gazed into the blue eyes that were slowly opening, accompanied by the upward curve of the pink lips she adored so much. It was enough to make the redhead blush slightly, and she glanced downwards as the warm flush spread over her neck and cheeks.
Tara blinked slowly as the last vestiges of sleep drifted away from her mind, and the chill of the room licked at her face and shoulders. Pulling a dissatisfied face, she pushed herself up onto her elbows and leant in close to Willow, breathing in the other girl’s unmistakable fragrance that she seemed to wear like an aura.
“I love waking up with you,” she murmured, a smile painting her features. “I love knowing you’re there the moment I open my eyes.”
Willow swallowed. The deep timbre of Tara’s voice was sending a tickle of pleasure up and down her spine. Raising her eyes to finally look at the blonde’s face, she shivered slightly. Even after knowing Tara for three years, and loving her for what felt like a hundred times that length, she was always aware of the intimate physical response that the blonde could inspire in her. It was immediate and deliciously overpowering, and there were times when she wanted nothing more than to feel it all the time.
“I like waking up with you too,” she responded, her voice soft. “There was a long time when I didn’t…” she trailed off, dropping her gaze.
“Hey,” Tara’s fingers hooked underneath Willow’s chin, lifting her head so that their eyes met once more. The blonde gave a lopsided smile and tilted her head onto one side, leaning more heavily on her elbow in the bed. An agonized creak came from somewhere under the headboard, making Willow give a tiny burst of a giggle from her throat. Tara shook her head slightly, her smile widening. “I always loved you, you know,” she purred, “no matter what was going on between us two, I never stopped.”
“Me either,” Willow blurted hurriedly, “I never stopped either. I mean…I just…there was a time when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever wake up with you again.” Her voice trailed off to a tiny little whisper, hanging in between them for a long second before Tara drew in breath.
“Well I was.” Tara’s fingers moved slowly over the line of Willow’s jawbone, pressing against the pale skin and lingering over the freckles that sprinkled the redhead’s cheek. Willow’s eyes widened somewhat, then narrowed, her lips pursing in doubt.
“I mean, I was sure we’d be together,” Tara continued, her fingers traveling ceaselessly over the redhead’s face, knowing every contour and line by touch, by memory. “I’ll always find you, remember?” she peered into Willow’s eyes, recalling times past and promises made. “We always knew how to find one another. And I just took comfort in that, no matter how hard it was. I just knew that we’d find one another again.” She shrugged almost carelessly, although her eyes were shining with conviction.
“I was the one who got us lost,” Willow admitted miserably, leaning into the palm that was now lying flat against her cheek, nestling into the softness of the skin. “It wasn’t you, Tara.”
“Ssssh,” Tara rubbed her thumb along the cheekbone of the woman she loved, following the flush that was spreading along the path of her digit. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she repeated the phrase that was fast becoming a mantra for them both.
Willow nodded. Yes, Tara was here. Tara was always here. She realized in those weeks she’d spent without the blonde that she always carried Tara with her in some way. She was always there, at the back of everything. And she clung to the fact that she always would be. Doing things, even everyday things, had no resonance without Tara. Nothing made sense without her. Perhaps she had grown complacent that it would always be that way, until it wasn’t anymore.
Leaning forward, Tara pressed her lips lightly against those of the redhead. Physical contact between them had grown slowly once they had been reunited. It wasn’t that either of them didn’t want to; in fact, their need for one another had been heightened by their separation. But they both knew that some things took time, and sex, it seemed, was one of those things. Tara closed her eyes and pushed against Willow’s mouth more insistently, feeling a shiver of desire shudder its way up through the redhead and dance on her own lips. They’d been intimate, of course they had, but some of the passion had faded, becoming secondary to their renewal of vows to one another and the strengthening of their love. Tara had exhibited such patience with Willow that the redhead sometimes berated herself for not being more sexual, for not wanting Tara more. And then, at other times, she was thankful for the control of the blonde.
This, however, was one of those times when Tara failed to exhibit the control she might have done in earlier weeks. Her fingers pushed themselves up into the shock of red hair that tumbled around fingertips and seductively caressed the soft pads of skin there. Tara’s grip tightened, pulling Willow down to her, pressing her more decisively onto her lips. As she did so, she felt the redhead sigh from the base of her throat and open her lips, allowing the tip of a tentative tongue to sneak out and trace a burning line over Tara’s lower lip. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Willow edged closer on the bed, putting her hand lightly against Tara’s waist underneath the covers. It felt as though the blonde was on fire, so warm and inviting was the softness of her body underneath the t-shirt she had sleepily thrown on some hours before.
Tara leant back, her lips reddened by desire, her eyes darkened by need. “God Will,” she sighed, her voice a mere whisper to the redhead, “do you know how much I want you?”
Ducking her eyes, Willow focused on the pulse that was beating wildly in Tara’s throat; the milk-white skin giving off a scent that was purely Tara. Reaching out with the tip of her tongue, she licked at her lips, finding them unutterably dry. Her hand inched up Tara’s abdomen, towards where her breasts swelled out underneath the thin material of the t-shirt.
“I want you too,” she answered, almost absent-mindedly, concentrating instead on the path her hand was taking. A tiny smile formed at the corners of her mouth as Tara closed her eyes and let out a groan that spoke more of longing than passion. Pulling Willow’s head to her own again, Tara kissed her lover with greater force, crushing her rosy lips against the mouth of the redhead, hardly able to stop her hips from beginning a slow, dangerous rocking back and forth.
“Willow…” she moaned, thrusting forward with her pelvis towards the other girl. Willow allowed herself a bigger smile, her hand cupping the underside of Tara’s breast, whilst her thumb raked over the nipple that was already stiff under her touch. She’d missed this. God, she’d missed it so much.
“Tara…my Tara…” Willow whispered, her lips moving against the blonde’s neck as she finally claimed that dancing pulse point with her mouth. Her hand moved more insistently over Tara’s breast, the other girl breathing hard against her shoulder, her fingers squeezing the back of Willow’s neck with encouraging and almost threatening strength.
Although they had barely touched, their desire hung heavy in the room around them, painting them with colors of fire and passion. Re-emerging from the depths to where it had been banished, their need for a physical release seemed so much more important than anything else right now. More important than knowing Giles was only a door away; more important than the guilt Willow carried on her shoulders; more important than breathing, than living. Breaking through all of their self-made restraints, it billowed through their minds, blowing all sense and reason from the constructs they had both rigidly built for themselves.
I guess this isn’t exactly taking it slow, Tara thought ruefully to herself, and then lost all sense of logic as Willow’s tongue flickered just underneath her ear, settling itself in the tiny hollow that seemed to contain every nerve ending in her body. She knew, in some detached way, that sooner or later this had to happen, and that perhaps they should stop, discuss this like they did everything, even consider putting this off until a better time arose. A time perhaps, when they weren’t staying in the quietest house in Britain with their paternal figure awake and probably standing outside the door –
“Stop it,” Willow muttered, her lips brushing achingly over Tara’s neck, her voice buzzing in the blonde’s ear.
Tara frowned, her back arching instinctively at Willow’s touch, pushing her neck even closer to the redhead’s mouth. “Stop…huh?”
“Stop thinking; I can hear you thinking,” Willow murmured, a teasing tone coloring her voice.
Tara flushed red. Sometimes she forgot that it wasn’t just a physical proximity they shared. Especially these days. Ever since Willow had sworn off dark magicks, it seemed that the purity she invited into her own heart and mind also opened up the channels of communication with Tara. Sometimes, they were literally able to read one another’s thoughts.
“I just…” she began, but Willow placed a warning finger on her full lips and snickered gently against her shoulder.
“I know,” she said decisively. Leaning back, she pursed her lips and shook her head slightly, the red strands tumbling around her temples and falling back straight against her head again. “I know exactly what you mean,” she added, almost sadly. “I just can’t help it though, being near you, you know,” she winked suggestively at Tara, eliciting a faint smile from the blonde. Then the redhead shrugged and moved back slightly, away from the trembling and expectant body of the blonde. Disappointment hung between them.
“I guess though, with Giles like, just out there,” Willow nodded towards their bedroom door. She didn’t need to say anymore. And although she desperately wanted to, she knew that she didn’t really need to apologize. But she decided to anyway. Typical Willow, she chided herself as she mumbled a ‘sorry’ to Tara and moved back to her own side of the bed which, she noticed was cold. She put an apology in there just in case; she might need it one day and then she’d have a reserve store of sorries to call upon. Rolling her eyes, she sighed and flopped back onto the rather lumpy pillow, folding her arms across her chest. There were times when the whole Jewish guilt thing really burned. Like right now, for instance.
“I wonder if Mr. Giles ever goes out,” Tara turned to the centre of the bed, lying on her side and resting her head on her hand. Brushing back some strands of blonde with her other hand, she finally brought it to lay on Willow’s stomach, idly rubbing her fingertips up and down over the flannel pajamas the redhead had insisted on bringing. The softness of the material reminded her of Willow, especially seeing as the pj’s added to the whole ‘cute’ effect that the redhead created, whether she knew it or not.
Willow let out a snort of laughter, “Maybe we could send him on a wild goose chase and get some alone time.”
“Right, because that’s neither planned nor expecting anything,” Tara answered wryly. Her eyes met Willow’s and the two smiled at one another.
“Look,” Willow sighed, her smile dropping slowly, “I know we said we’d put some time aside for…” she almost blushed, “…you know. But that’s just so…” she bit at her lower lip, trying to find a word that wasn’t offensive. It was pretty hard.
“Mechanical?” Tara suggested. Willow nodded, closing her eyes in agreement. The blonde shrugged. “Lots of couples have like, one day a week where they get intimate.”
“One day a week?” Willow echoed, her eyes widening in alarm. “Just one?”
Tara laughed, despite herself. “Or two, or three, whatever. I mean, I’ve heard that it works for some lesbian couples.”
“Sure,” Willow stuck out her bottom lip and tightened her arms over her chest grumpily. “Wednesday and Friday, sex nights. Tuesday and Thursday, laundry. Boring lesbian couples, maybe. Bleh, it’s so not me.”
“Me either,” Tara leant down and dropped a kiss onto Willow’s forehead. “But I don’t know how long I can keep away from you before I have to jump on you and ravish you. And if that happens to be when Giles is in the room…” she narrowed her eyes and grinned playfully, “then I really can’t be held responsible for the consequences.”
“Tara Maclay!” Willow pretended to be shocked, although there was a huge grin on her face. “You bad girl!”
“Sure,” Tara nodded, “because I’m like, the stereotypical bad girl type. Right. Uh huh. Move over Faith, here comes Tara.”
“Well I wouldn’t mind,” Willow said slyly, then caught herself and added, “The Tara bit, not the Faith bit.” After a look of playful reprove from Tara, both girls began tittering and moving towards one another again.
The rattling of the door handle made them spring apart as if they’d been burned. Scrambling back to her own side of the bed, nice and warm Tara noted thankfully, she caught a glimpse of a disembodied tray entering the room before it was followed by Giles, an apologetic grin plastered on his face.
“Tea?” he enquired, trying to avoid actually looking at them as he moved towards the bed. “I made some toast as well; I thought your appetites might be roused by some sleep.”
He didn’t quite understand the knowing smile that each girl gave one another, nor did he make any sense of the snigger that Willow couldn’t help letting out as she reached for her steaming mug of tea. Tara flushed bright red and laughed softly under her breath as he retreated towards the door, on the excuse that he’d rustle up some dinner. Once more, as he made his way from their room across to the kitchen, he heard peals of laughter coming from the two young women. A smile broadened his mouth. He didn’t mind that, not one bit. And the darkness around him fled from the sound a little bit more.
***
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"Bitter, party of one. Bitter, party of one." she muttered... ~ Four Months After by Capt. Murdock
by Kalita » Sun Feb 03, 2002 2:27 pm
Keep it coming, Ruth, it's balm for the soul...
by Charlie » Sun Feb 03, 2002 4:25 pm
Loving this xx
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"Je dois partir maintenant parce que ma grandmere est flambé..."
- Eddie 'covered in beeeees!' Izzard
by Pixie » Sun Feb 03, 2002 5:47 pm
by juri-sempai » Sun Feb 03, 2002 6:14 pm
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Reincarnation: the futile attempt to get the milk back into the can
"Big day. I got places to be, big day. Need a brain."
by CaptMurdock » Sun Feb 03, 2002 8:42 pm
Oi!
As for Giles, well, he should know, two young lovers in his house, occasionally there's going to be some...happy exercise...
*sigh*
This is wonderful.
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"Good God, that's a lot of shake!"
by Scout » Mon Feb 04, 2002 2:53 am
Ruth, you threw me for a second. I thought we were going straight for the smut, but then it fell apart at the last second. You're such a tease! Loved the installment. Looking forward to more.
by tommo » Mon Feb 04, 2002 4:14 am
And er...Gertrude? I like you.
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"Bitter, party of one. Bitter, party of one." she muttered... ~ Four Months After by Capt. Murdock
[This message has been edited by tommo (edited February 04, 2002).]
by Pixie » Mon Feb 04, 2002 8:37 am
by tommo » Mon Feb 04, 2002 3:56 pm
Anyway, much to write about and so little time. I was going to write some sex, but I kind of went off the boil at a crucial moment, so I suppose it will have to wait until I have some um...inspiration. Heh. God, this story's descending into smut.
Ahem.
Anyway, just to warn you, there are some tense moments ahead. Just moments so far. But today the rain was lashing down and it was blowing a friggin' gale, and I just had a wicked idea...mwahaha...
As always, enjoy...
Title: Touchstone
Rating: NC17, although not all chapters are, but this covers me for those bits that couldn’t possibly be anything else. Heh.
Copyright Disclaimer: Bowing and scraping does nothing for the knees. Joss…blah blah…Mutant Enemy…etc etc…sigh…
Feedback: Sure, if you feel that way inclined. My email is: tommo27@hotmail.com
Archive: Until I get my arse in gear and sort out my own W/T website, you can have this wherever you like it. I’m only too happy if someone else wants it. Just ask first, ok? Bad manners are nobody’s friend.
Summary: This takes place in my own Buffyverse, and if you’ve read any of my other stories, then you’ll know what I mean. Basically we follow the season events, but with a few changes. In fact, who am I kidding, I make direct references to my other fic, because I’m a whore like that. And I care…not one little bit. Ha. There are also Season 6 spoilers in this if that kind of thing bothers you. Don’t take it to heart if it does; they’re not like, big honkin’ spoilers or anything.
Part 4
“Giles, you’d make someone a lovely wife,” Willow said through a mouthful of peppered steak. They sat on the battered sofa, with their dinner on their knees. After a hot shower, although Willow remarked somewhat pithily that a cold one would have been more suitable, the two girls had entered the living room to the aroma of something delicious. Not long after that, Giles had ushered them in front of the fire and brought through the meal he had rather enjoyed preparing in the old kitchen to the side of the cottage. He liked having guests; he liked having company. Cooking for oneself was so dull, he admitted. And the wide-eyed hungry looks of the two girls as he handed them their food was thanks enough for his efforts.
From his armchair near the front window of the cottage, Giles glanced over at Willow and smirked. Her teasing was a good sign, he thought to himself. In fact, if he allowed himself the recollection, he realized that he’d rather missed it. Her tentative efforts to regain some of her former personality were rather endearing, he had decided, considering that she had almost lost herself; her essential self.
“Yes, well,” he shrugged, pushing a piece of steak around his plate, chasing it with broccoli, “being a bachelor does have its upside I suppose. Cooking being one of them.”
Willow paused with a forkful of broccoli halfway to her mouth and looked at Giles, her brows crinkling in apparent confusion. “Huh? You think?” She shook her head and looked down at her plate, resting her fork back onto the plate. “Well I’m sorry Giles, but you obviously never ate at Xander’s in his bachelor days. Ugh,” she shuddered at the memory, picking up her fork again. “Nasty.”
“It’s great food,” Tara grinned over at him, allowing herself a giggle at Willow’s condemnation of Xander’s single life. She too, had been pleased at the way Willow was tucking into the dinner in front of her. For a while, she had been horribly alarmed at the way the redhead refused food, becoming painfully thin. She’d made it one of her little private missions to get Willow to eat much more. Watching her girlfriend eat with gusto brought a smile to her face; especially seeing as she no longer needed to stand over her and force her to finish her meal. Those had been dark days, she grimaced inwardly, hoping against hope that she’d seen the last of them.
Dropping her knife and fork onto the plate with a clatter of metal against china, Willow let out a huge sigh of pleasure and leant back on the sofa, her wet hair prickling against the back of her neck. The fire was still burning merrily, casting a glow of much needed warmth through the cottage. Reflections of the yellow flames cast a flickering light over Willow’s face and she closed her eyes, feeling the heat reach out towards her. For the first time in too long, she felt at peace.
“Dessert?” Giles asked, standing up with his plate in his hand. Willow opened her eyes and cast him a look of horror, shaking her head and patting at her stomach, which she was sure was distended and unnaturally full right now. Tara grinned at her girlfriend, then got to her feet, collecting Willow’s plate and moving towards Giles.
“I think we’re both fine just right now,” she answered, taking his plate and adding it to hers and Willow’s. “Why don’t you let me do the dishes?”
Giles began to protest, but from the look on Tara’s face, he knew it was possibly best not to argue. Willow might have her own resolve face, but Tara’s was a little more intimidating. But then, he told himself, from what he’d heard, Tara had had more reason to use her resolve face as of late than Willow had. Shrugging in acceptance, he sat back down as Tara made her way into the kitchen. A tiny grimace crossed his features as he settled back into the chair, crossing one jean clad leg over the other and folding his arms over his heavy woolen sweater. That kitchen wasn’t fit for humans. But then, he reminded himself, smiling fondly, these two weren’t ordinary humans and, judging from some of the things they had seen in Sunnydale during their time there, he supposed an antiquated kitchen was hardly likely to strike the fear of God into either of them.
“What’s so funny?” Willow leant forward, drawing her feet up underneath her body as she made herself more comfortable on the sofa. Her form sunk into the stodgy cushions and she tucked her knees up, leaning on the arm of the couch. After her shower she’d changed into sweatpants and a sloppy sweater that she was glad she’d brought with her, despite Buffy’s protests to the contrary. Her eyes flicking towards the darkness outside the window, she realized that she was probably going to spend most of the holiday in trousers and warm clothing, if today was anything to go by.
“Hmm?” Giles raised his eyebrows and looked towards her, as though breaking from some involving reverie.
“You had this secret little smile on your face.” Willow waved her hand around in front of her eyes for emphasis. “It was totally a Giles ‘I know something you don’t know’ kind of thing.”
The ex-Watcher smiled more evenly and shook his head, pushing at his glasses. He’d missed Willow’s observation, the way that she took notice of everything, whether she mentioned it or not. There had been times over the last year where she hadn’t seemed able to see past the end of her nose; subsequently her present examination of him brought some joy to his heart, at least. It was like she was waking from a long sleep and everything that characterized the old Willow he; no, that they all loved, was falling back into place.
“I was just thinking about times past,” he answered, watching carefully as some confusion and guilt flickered through her eyes, reflecting the yellow burgeoning flame from the fire.
“Oh,” she said, almost sadly. Her gaze dropped to her hands, joined on her knees in front of her, fingers reaching for one another and twisting agitatedly around themselves. “You know, about that…I mean, about what’s happened. I uh, well,” she took a deep breath, briefly squeezing her lips into a hard line; “it’s over now. It’s done.” Looking at his impassive face, she felt the tiny shred of fear that constantly lingered inside her head bite at her thoughts. “I’m done, I mean,” she added.
Giles nodded sagely. “I know. I can tell.”
“I’m sorry.” Her fingers wandered up into the damp strands of hair that lay reaching towards her shoulders and she twisted them round her fingers absent-mindedly. “I never meant to hurt anyone. I was so stupid,” she sighed.
“Willow,” Giles leant forward in the chair and rested his arms on his knees, planting his feet firmly on the floor in front of him. “We all do stupid things when we’re young,” he sighed, recalling his own immaturity. “Don’t you think I regret my brush with the dark forces around us every single day? I hate that I caused so much pain to the ones I love – “ he corrected himself, “loved, I mean.”
The redhead met his eyes briefly and blinked understanding into his gaze. “Jenny,” she said quietly, remembering the time when Miss Calendar had been possessed by the demonic presence of a spirit Giles himself had conjured during his misspent youth.
The ex-Watcher nodded curtly. “And even though you can’t ever take back what’s done, you simply cannot punish yourself every single moment of every single day for the mistakes that you’ve made.” He leant back in his chair, crossing his legs once more, shaking his head. “There are always going to be sorrows in everyone’s life and sometimes it’s all we can do to keep them at bay, but you have your whole life still ahead of you. I know without a doubt that this has been valuable for you, if nothing else.”
“What do you mean?” the redhead frowned across at him.
“You’ve realized the truth of what is important to you,” his gaze drifted towards the kitchen, where the sounds of running water and clinking pots were echoing back into the living room. “Who is important to you.”
“I didn’t think she’d want me…I didn’t think anyone would want me the way I was,” Willow admitted in a small voice. “I wasn’t sure if I’d still be useful to anyone, the Scoobies, Buffy, and especially Tara. Magick was so much a part of who we were Giles,” she swallowed, Tara’s bright sunny face dancing in front of her eyes momentarily. “It was the reason we were together in the first place.”
Giles gave a harrumph of mirthless laughter and removed his glasses, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps in the first place it was, yes,” he agreed. “But don’t you see that you and she are much more than that? Honestly Willow, the girl loves you unconditionally,” he said, his tone almost one of reprove. “It doesn’t matter to her whether you’re a master of the black arts or not. In fact,” he replaced his glasses and gave a small smile of encouragement, “I rather think she prefers that you’re not.”
Willow tilted her head onto one side and shrugged, allowing herself a grin of recognition. She knew he was right, of course she did. And she trusted in everything he said. Giles more than anyone knew what it was like to have loved and lost; the mere thought of losing Tara scared her far more than she wanted to admit. But it was like Giles already knew that. He knew the risks they faced everyday, and that was what made his appreciation of their love even more precious.
“It’s who you are that she loves, not what you can do,” he added in a softer tone. “Some humans have an enormous capacity for forgiveness and love; I believe that Tara is one of those people,” he shrugged, stating his opinion as though it were fact. “What matters now is where you go from here, not looking back on the road you’ve already traveled. Focusing on your past mistakes won’t help the journey ahead.”
“Well it’s all over with anyway,” she said decisively, nodding towards him, some of the old Willow resolve returning to her tone. “This is me, Willow Rosenberg, ex-Witch. I can live with that, I think,” she said, her lips twisting into a hapless smile.
“Me too,” a voice brought two pairs of eyes darting across the room towards its owner. Tara stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel and looking proudly across at her girlfriend. Willow accepted the compliment shyly and quickly looked down at her lap again. Tara finished drying her hands and slung the towel over her shoulder. “Willow’s doing really well Mr. Giles,” she added hastily, nodding towards the British man in the armchair. “But I knew bringing her here would help.”
“I hope you’re right, Tara,” Giles rose from his chair and moved to put some more logs onto the fire. “A change is as good as a rest, or so they say. I can’t promise anything too exciting I’m afraid. But I have missed you both though,” he said, once his back was turned and they couldn’t see the emotion rippling across his face. “I’ve missed everyone,” he added.
“And we’ve all missed you,” Willow said, as Tara discarded the towel and came to sit by her, reaching for her hand and gently caressing her fingers. “It’s not the same without you in the shop, that’s for sure.”
“Ah yes,” Giles rose, glad of a change of subject, and turned to face the two young women that were more daughters to him than mere friends and colleagues. “How is Anya coping?” The look that crossed over Willow’s face said it all, and he cocked his head onto one side. “Really, that well,” he muttered to himself.
“You know,” Willow began, her face hardening somewhat, “she’s got some nerve – “
“Which helps her manage the shop just fine,” Tara finished, squeezing Willow’s fingers hard. The redhead shot her a look of pure venom, but didn’t say anything more. Willow’s lack of love for the ex-demon was well categorized, and she was sure that Mr. Giles didn’t need to know all about the many squabbles the two had had. Although, she suppressed a wry smile, some of them had been rather amusing at times when viewed from the sidelines. In fact, her smile threatened to break out full force on her lips and give her away, she and Buffy had discussed at some length the advantages of having popcorn in the Magic Box for those times when they could sit back and watch Willow and Anya go…
“Tea?” Giles’ voice broke into their thoughts. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and shrugged somewhat apologetically. “I generally find that tea fills in a nasty silence perfectly,” he explained, a teasing smile finding its way towards Willow on the couch.
“Sure,” Willow nodded enthusiastically, “and then I can tell you all about the time a customer came in and Anya ended up chasing them down the street just because she didn’t think they’d spent enough money for her to be seeing a profit at the end of the week.”
Giles made a quick exit to the kitchen, rolling his eyes heavenward. “I can’t wait,” he murmured to himself.
***
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"Bitter, party of one. Bitter, party of one." she muttered... ~ Four Months After by Capt. Murdock
by AutumnT » Mon Feb 04, 2002 5:01 pm
Autumn
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I'm just taking stuff and not paying for it. In what twisted dictionary is that stealing?
[This message has been edited by AutumnT (edited February 04, 2002).]
by Kalita » Mon Feb 04, 2002 6:44 pm
I love nice, slowly-building stories like this. Just keep it up at a regular pace, and absolutely no complaints from this corner...
by Crotchety Old Gertrude » Mon Feb 04, 2002 9:01 pm
You young whippersnapper, you. Bring on the SMUT already!
by juri-sempai » Tue Feb 05, 2002 12:16 am
*sips her tea*
*whispers* Don't let the people badger you... smut comes when it comes. Heh.
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Reincarnation: the futile attempt to get the milk back into the can
"I'm a blood-sucking fiend! Look at my outfit!"
by tommo » Tue Feb 05, 2002 3:43 am
I might have to have a hot milk to calm meself down now...
Giles has the answers to everything doesn't he. I love that about him. Plus hey, peppered steak, what a man...sigh...
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"Bitter, party of one. Bitter, party of one." she muttered... ~ Four Months After by Capt. Murdock
by Pixie » Tue Feb 05, 2002 8:31 am
quote:
Originally posted by tommo:
I'm toying with the idea of just not posting the smut chapter at all. I mean, it's not integral to the plot...it needn't be in there at all really...seeing as that's all you're reading this bloody fic for anyway. Humph.
No, no! Story good! Story with plot and character development even better!!!
quote:Return to Novogate Backup Pens
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