Well, here it is. The LAST chapter. I’m pretty confident saying that, though I’ve said it before, and well, here I still am. Right now, though, I’m plum canon-ed out and can’t imagine re-opening this series in the near or distant future. I want to break free! I want to break free-e-e! Apologies to you Freddie Mercury fans out there. I’m feeling a little giddy.
6.2.x – Glamour (posted a week ago)
6.12.x - The Departure of Wicca’d Red (posted last September)
6.13.x – Endgame (this chapter—the LAST installment)
6.18.x – Coming Home (posted last September)
Alright, sobering up a bit, cause, you know, this is a very serious chapter, for the FINAL go. Mwuhahahaha! Get a grip, binky.
Disclaimers and preface notes for ENDGAME:
- This story is rated AO (Adults Only), i.e. NC-17 for graphic sex.
- Setting/background & summary: Set after “Dead Things,” the Warren-murders-Katrina-and-frames-Buffy episode. Willow is in the basement of the Summers house, doing laundry, feeling sorry for herself and thinking about Tara. She reminisces about their first time.
- Warnings: Crazy, creepy, weepy Willow alert. Did I mention I’ve been feeling ambivalent about her character? It really shows in this chapter. Very little humor—what there is is mostly of the dark variety.
- Thank you, Trom and Amy, for betaing. I’ve very much enjoyed and am grateful for the company and the assistance over the last few months.
Remember! I recommend reading Coming Home if you’re left in a black mood after reading this chapter. You can find Coming Home on my website. CLICK HERE.
I’ve got to break free-e-e…! Yeah…
binky
***
Fanfic based on Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Tara and Willow are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I am not making nor will I accept any money from this fiction.
Title: Endgame
Author: binky
Genre: behind the scenes
Rating: AO (Adults Only), for graphic sex
Setting/background: The Summers’ basement, shortly before Buffy’s birthday party in “Older and Far Away.” (S6E14)
Summary: Willow contemplates the consequences of her addiction.
Spoilers: up to and including "Dead Things" (S6E13)
Acknowledgements: Beta-ed by Trom and Amy. Thank you both.
Notes: Emphasis in italics. Strong emphasis/raised voice in ALLCAPS.
Feedback: This is your last chance for the foreseeable future to give it to me, so, uh, give it to me!
ENDGAME
6.13.x
Round and round and round you go. Where it stops, nobody knows.
Tiny bubbles in the wine. Makes me happy. Makes me feel fine… Could use a drink right now. Darn headaches… Head feels like it’s gonna explode. And not in a good, literal, wholesome Gentlemen-go-boom kinda way.
Extra large capacity Whirlpool washing machine, 3.2 cubic feet basket. Tide concentrated laundry detergent with bleach alternative. Safe for colors. One small capful will handle a full load of laundry. That means two capfuls for my double load in our extra large capacity Whirlpool washing machine. Maybe a little more. I forgot to pre-treat Buffy’s blouse. This demon goo won’t come out. Yuck. I hate when they just don’t go poof! This is just gonna stick to the blouse, infecting the rest of the load with its corrupting demonic mojo and quite possibly staining or even corroding the inside of the extra capacity 3.2 cubic feet basket. Perhaps all wearing the corrupted clothing would develop mystical rashes, or maybe even become possessed with said demonic energy. Why, we might be impregnated by wearing such tainted clothing. Even Xander’s got a jacket in here—don’t know why. Mister Looks-like-I-made-it has a Laundromat in the basement of his complex. Huh. He’d look funny, pregnant with some kind of demon spawn. What to do, what to do? Could magick it out, lickety split, like I used to. Send it back to the dimension of evil from whence it spawned. Yeah, they were all fine with that once upon a time. Go Willow, Wicca extraordinaire! Just come up with a spell. You’re the best at what you do! That thing you do. Whatever it is. You can do anything. As long as it saves money on professional dry cleaning… God, what hypocrites.
Too much thinking. Gotta stop that. Off to the side you go, demon-goo-shirt. Hopefully not cleaning you won’t be as fraught with danger as cleaning you seems to be. It’s all a delicate balance. The yin and yang of optimal laundering. Dawn likes all her clothes extra soft, though, so remember, 3 capfuls of fabric softener, definitely.
Round and round… tiny bubbles.
Flash o’ blue. Baby blue. Tara’s eyes. We like to sort sort sort sort sort. Whites whites, darks darks. Uh, delicate? Or a white? How the frilly heck do you go, friend? Tag’s torn out. Buffy’ll have a fit if I ruin it.
Aw, Buffy can do her own damn laundry.
Deep breaths.
“…Approximately one ounce of detergent per kilogram of laundry in ten litres of water…” What the—? You have got to be kidding me. Where the heck did he buy frickin’ metric Tide? Probably had it shipped from Canada, just on principle. Unbelievable. He took off, skedaddled back to the mother country, and left nothing but metric household sundries in the Summers garage where it eventually will disseminate and infiltrate our very American existence. Accomplish what good, proven, centuries-old imperialism and colonialism couldn’t. Well, two can play that game, mister. Your British-slash-Canadian laundry detergent works just as well in our big honkin’ American extra large capacity Whirlpool washing machine. And see? I’m a big enough American jerk to just go ahead and assimilate it without conscience! Like a red, white, and blue Borg! Or, uh, something like that.
In ya go, kiddies! You too, unmatched red argyle sock. Maybe the Powers That Be will be kind to you and the mysterious occasional otherworldly portal at the bottom of the tub will suck you in and reunite you with your long-lost mate. Maybe one of us can be happy again.
Yes, ma’am. I remember. “Don’t overload, the cleaning is really done by the water not the detergent. No amount of extra detergent will help if you overload. Here, let me show you.” You pretty much ended up doing it yourself. Let me try, baby? Just show me and then I’ll do it. You cooked breakfast already this morning. You shouldn’t be doing all the housework yourself.
“Um, sweetie, maybe you haven’t noticed but I’m kind of the homemaker in this family.”
Oh God I wanted to take you right there against the Whirlpool. Pull your sweatpants and boxers down and let you sit on top of it during the spin cycle and eat you out right there, with your thighs shaking and your hips thrust toward me and you coming all over my lips and tongue.
Hm. Too big for Buffy. Maybe Dawnie? Not mine—oh.
Not mine. She must have left it, or…
I stole it. Remember now. It was lying in the chair next to the bed. It was soft and I was cold and it smelled like her. She had left for her morning class and I was still in bed. Made love that night. Woke up, she was gone and it had gotten cold. She’d put a blanket around me, though. But no warm Tara. I stole it, wore it all day. She left for good a… week later? On Tuesday. Her art history class is Monday morning, 8:00AM. She left on Tuesday, so a little over a week later.
Can’t remember seeing her wear it that week. Maybe Dawn found it after. Always borrowing stuff, that one. Can’t find half my shoes these days. Little shoe monster… Or, uh, big shoe monster. Or little shoe big monster. I’ll be happy when the growth spurt finds its way to her feet. Gotta have a talk with her about that… Huh. It kinda smells like Dawnie now.
Ugh. This is just… pathetic.
Just toss it in. Say goodbye for good. There. Close the lid. Wash it clean. Give it to Buffy. She’ll give it back. No scenes. No shouting. No hurt feelings. No feelings at all.
Liar.
Do you still think of me, Tara? Will you give me another chance? Will you wait for me? Can you do that for me? I’m trying so hard, but sometimes I don’t even know what for. Before, I didn’t have anything but school. And Xander, yeah, and Buffy, but it seems like I lost them both some time ago. Or it feels that way. We hardly talk anymore. Xander’s always with Anya, talking about their wedding, and Buffy… God. I can’t even look at her anymore. Not after… But I wouldn’t even care. I still had magic… and you. I’m giving up the magic, but I still don’t have you. I don’t want to be alone again, Tara.
Are you still mine, or am I now all jealous stalker-girl now, ‘cause you’re not, but I still think of you all the time anyway? I wonder what you’re doing, if you’re in class or the library or maybe painting or listening to the radio while you clean up after dinner like you used to do when you were here with me. Do you sleep alone at night, or do you have someone else now?
She won’t love you like I did. Do. I still do, Tara. Does she treat you right? Better than I did? It wouldn’t be hard, I know. But no one can love you more. I tried my best. I really did. Wasn’t it good enough? Can I call you now? Hear your voice? Sometimes I want to call you just to get your answering machine. I want to do that right now. But maybe you’re home, and you told me not to call. I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore. I’d do anything to make it right, Tara. Anything so you won’t have that disappointed look in your eyes, anything…
Anything? Oh God… Didn’t I try that already?
I can see you wearing it. I remember. You wore it the third time we met. To lend me one of your magic books… One of the codecs of God knows what Babylonian mystic that I’d never heard of but sounded good to read ‘cause it meant you’d have to meet me again to lend it to me. Maybe our hands would touch when we exchanged the book, and I’d feel that spark I felt whenever we touched. And then we could just naturally hang out before your afternoon class. You stuttered when you said my name. W’s were always the hardest for you. Ironic, huh? I gave you a hard time from the start. You had trouble just saying my name.
“W-Willow… sweetie…”
Is this alright, Tara? Am I doing this right?
“W-Willow, honey…”
Lover. Call me lover, Tara, please.
“Lover…”
Was this the one? There were no lights, ‘cause we’d taken out the power to break Oz out. And you were sitting alone, waiting, in the dark.
I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry I put you through that. Made you wait. You didn’t deserve that, thinking you weren’t loved. ‘Cause you were. Are. And he ran you down, earlier, hunted you. And you still came to find me? To help him, even after…
It wasn’t that one… It was the other one, my zip-up sweatshirt. You borrowed it from me, when I came to visit you after you saw Oz in my room that morning. It’s how he figured us out. Me, all over you. How ironic is that? That he knew before I did? Or not ironic. Typical. I was so clueless, not knowing before my ex-boyfriend did. And making you wait, too. Alone in the dark.
I said I’d make it up to you, starting that night. But it was hard to see anything. The extra-flamey candle only gave so much light. And I didn’t know what I was doing, but you could probably tell that already. I ran my hands from the top of each flap, down, down, to the middle of your chest, the anticipation building with every inch my hands moved. You were breathing so hard, you brushed against my fingertips every half-second because I didn’t pull my hands away. I remember I thought it was rude of me to keep my hands there after I’d undone the zipper but I really just needed to feel you, even if it was through your bra. I had to draw out the moment just before I’d see you completely revealed and open and knowable to me. Big knowledge woman. Your body is full of secrets. And you know me, super-nerd Willow. I just need to know everything.
“W-Willow?”
Yes, Tara?
“Um, are you alright?”
I slipped my hands under the sweater to your shoulders and ran my hands down your arms. Your skin is so soft and warm. While you pulled the sleeves down, my hands moved from your upper arms to your front, cupping you from the front. Holding position. So you could take off the sweater. I’m fine, Tara. Finey McFine. That’d be me. All fine with the lesbian…
Kissing. Lesbian kissing? Uh, just kissing. Tara-kissing. Starting with familiar ground is good. Oh, yeah. I’m fine with that. Real fine. Very fine. Your lips are so soft, Tara, your breath wet and warm on my lips. Thank you for this. For waiting.
I’ll let go so you can take off your t-shirt, okay? And I’ll do the same.
“O-Okay.”
Gyah! As soon as my undershirt is off, the air is cool against my hot skin. We step back into our embrace to stave off the chill. Now this is something new. The awkward first-time bra un-hooking ritual, times two. Uh, I think Oz was better at it than me. But he had other girls before me. Uh, sorry. That didn’t sting, did it? More kissing. This must be what tying a tie on someone else’s neck must feel like for a guy. Uh, except it’s really not. Completely different point to that… C’mon, snappy plastic loop thingy!
I’m getting impatient. Why can’t I be smooth at this? Isn’t this something I should be good at? I’ve been doing it on myself, like, forever. Or at least a few years. God, when did I become this complete freak, this breast-obsessed… guy-type person? My mouth is watering. I’m actually drooling, trying to get to her boobies… C’mon! C’mon! And…
Oh, wow. Yay for cold air.
I’d dreamed about your breasts so much, so often. Maybe because my breasts are so much smaller than yours. I hope you’re not too disappointed with mine. You’re not? Really?
But I like your hips, too. Let me? Tara? Please? I want to do that…
I love your wide hips and big, soft boobies… You have so much nice, soft padding, in all the right places. Your body was made to be a mother, not like mine. Sometimes I feel—felt… I felt guilty, thinking that’s not something we can have together. You’d be a wonderful mother, I know it. Don’t know how I’d be. When we fell in love, I started to think about that, even though I never used to with Oz. Weird, huh? Kinda got that backwards. But who am I kidding? I couldn’t even take care of your cat. Anya better not expect me to babysit if she and Xander start a family. She can pay Dawn to do it. Mistress Payback, yes, she can be a bitch. Give Dawnie a taste of her own medicine…
Ugh. What is this? What am I?
I’m tired of trying to make everything up to Dawnie. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing I do is good enough… And I can’t stand being around Xander anymore. I don’t know when he became Mr. Responsible. It makes me sick. Like he did so much more than I did, with so much less. I don’t know what’s worse, his pity or that I-knew-it-all-along smirk of Anya’s. Thank God it’s almost over. Maybe they’ll move out of town after they get married. I don’t know if I’d mind so much.
God, bitter much?
“Willow… What are you doing?”
I’m having a talk with you.
“Um, baby, whatever you’re saying to me down there, I can’t hear from way up here.”
Well, actually I’m just listening in this conversation.
“Oh Goddess…” Rubbing my ear against you. Freak. “O-Okay.” Later, you’d lick my ear, just like I’d wanted.
Do you wanna freak with me?
Great. Perfect. Now I’m gonna have that fucking song in my head all day.
Bzzzzzzzzzt.
Oh, fabric softener!
Three capfuls for Dawnie. I should just go get my textbook and re-read that stupid Chem chapter already. It’ll take my mind off her.
“Remember, wait for the tub to fill with a little water first, don’t dump it directly on the clothes. It’ll spot.”
Dumped.
Oh GOD, Tara. How could you do this to me? How could you leave me like this? Just when I needed you most, you leave? The first time I make a mistake, it’s “I don’t think this is going to work” and you’re out the door? What happened to always? Didn’t it mean anything to you? Were you leading me on? How fair is that? How fair are you? Do you know what you’ve done to me? Do you know what I’m going through?
Leave then! Better I know now, than when I really need you, that I can’t rely on you. You’re just like the rest of them, always asking for everything, then leaving after you get it… Godammit. Leave me, then, you… you… Oh God.
Your hips are so wide. I slipped your pants off by undoing the button first, pulling down the zipper, and slowly working the fabric off them. In the almost dark, with the extra-flamey candle, I can just about make out the triangular patch of hair down there. Oh God, Tara, I can smell you. Do you taste the same way? Is this really happening? Am I really doing this?
Her arms around my shoulders, my hands all over her body. So much skin. Almost automatically, my hands find their way to her breasts. I cup them, and they’re heavy in my hands. So different from my own when I feel mine, when I touch myself, thinking of Tara, before tonight. Before that night. Before, when I thought about Xander, cupping my own breasts never occurred to me. But this feels right. It feels right, it feels good, holding your breasts, feeling their softness and their weight, squeezing, tracing your nipples. They tighten at my fingertips.
What am I?
Nerd. Brainiac. Jew. Pagan. Witch. Freak. Addict. Dyke. Queer. Honey. Sweetie. Baby. Lover. Yours.
“A-Are you alright, W-Willow?”
I’m fine. Finey Mc… Uh, I’m scared.
“It’s okay if y-you don’t want this, W-Willow… W-we can just keep going the way we are…”
Don’t you want to—?
“Oh yes! Um… I mean, I do, if you want to. If you don’t, it doesn’t matter…”
What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? I mean, holding hands and kissing and the… the feeling, the touching, that’s nice and all… I mean, it’s great, but don’t you want someone who can be, uh, sexual with you? I don’t want to hold you back from someone who’ll…
“But I don’t w-want anyone else, W-Willow.”
Am I all or nothing?
“Y-Yes.”
Which is it? All? Or nothing?
I’m nervous, Tara. I mean, I’ve never… I’ve had crushes, but never anything like this… and I’ve wondered. A whole lot. And there were dreams, before? You know? And I get excited. And… and I want. I want so bad. But I’m scared. If it’s not as good as… or what if I can’t… Maybe I’ve thought about it too much and I don’t really know what I should be expecting. I mean, we kiss, which is so good. Your lips are so sweet and soft. And when it’s not your lips, your skin… I had no idea I liked the taste of skin so much. I mean, yours is so soft and I can taste you under your vanilla soap. And… And I… but what if…
“W-Willow…”
I-I’ve been doing some research? ‘Cause, you know, it’s what I do. I’m Research Gal. So I went online to read a little about it?
“Um, okay…”
And I found this tip.
“A-A tip?”
For, you know, uh, how to… proceed with this, uh, process?
“Okay…”
And basically, it’s something called mirroring. Because we’re, uh, both females? So, theoretically, it should work out between us. Hypothetically, that is. ‘Cause, you know, I’m all big with the theory. Gotta check out the theory before practical application, ‘cause, uh, all kinds of badness can happen by just pushing random buttons…
“Uh, how does it…?”
Well, we do everything together, y’know? I mean, I’ll just do whatever you’re doing to me back to you—assuming of course, it’s alright that you, uh, lead? Since, uh, you’ve been doing this longer? Not that I’m saying you’re some big experienced slut or anything! But… but you’ve… uh…
“W-Willow, it’s a-alright. W-We can try it that w-way? A-Anything y-you w-want, okay?”
That way, we can, uh, figure out what we like to do? And it’ll be a way to let the other person know what we want. ‘Cause, you know, sometimes it’s hard to say what you want. Though for some reason, I can’t seem to shut up sometimes, like now… So eventually, when we figure it out, we can start, uh, improvising more? What do you think?
“I-It sounds fine, W-Willow…”
Uh, maybe, I should, uh, get with the disrobing, ‘cause, hello, there you are, all in your nakedness, and here I am, still in my jeans. I mean, how rude. Of me, that is. So, uh…
Tara’s lips! Oh. Tara’s lips. Soft. They’re pressed, slightly parted, against mine. I guess I need to shut up now.
“W-Well, actually, you did for me…”
Hands! Now hands!
Okay. You can help. Please. Thank God at least one of us knows what she’s doing. My jeans and underwear complete the small pile of discarded clothes.
We’re still kissing and groping like horny teenagers which, okay, we are, as I back her up, steering for the both of us toward her bed. But you know, the word horny just doesn’t do this—this thing, this wanting and aching and absolute needing between us justice. She’s letting me lead again. I’m nervous, but very excited. Her touches are making me more so. I can hear us both breathing hard and little noises are coming from our throats. Oh God, it’s so much sexier than a cheesy porno soundtrack like the one Oz and I rented that one time, on a whim. But maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about that just now. Does it make me a bad lesbian, that my first love was a man? Or is it just the last love that counts? Dammit! Why do I have to be thinking all the time? Pay attention, dummy! Remember this. It’s important. First times only happen once! Uh, obviously…
She’s sinking to the bed, and I lower myself down on top of her. Something takes over inside me, some natural instinct, and I’m breaking from our kiss to dip my head toward her heaving chest. My tongue is out of my mouth, licking her nipple and before I’m even aware of it, I’m sucking at her beautiful breast. Yup, it’s official. I’m a breast gal.
“Sweetie? I-I can’t do that at the same time…”
Huh? There’s a little pop! when I let her nipple go.
“Um, it’s just that you said, w-we’d do everything together?”
Oh. Yeah, that was the plan, wasn’t it? Sorry. I guess I got carried away. At least we can laugh about it. Maybe we should take turns instead? I sit up a little, but my hands are still running all over her chest and sides.
“I-I don’t know if I can keep still w-while you do that.”
I hesitate, thinking it means she doesn’t like me touching her that way. But she actually meant she wants to touch me, too, and she’s not willing to wait. I’d blush with pleasure, if all the excess blood in my body hadn’t already gone south. She pulls me close again, so our breasts mash together. Her nipples are poking into mine, erect and hard. Wow. She’s got strength. I like. Very much. Her hands roam from my neck down my front and sides to my hips. Her breath is hot on my cheek. We kiss. Just lips at first, then my tongue finds its way past her lips to taste her teeth.
We manage to maneuver onto our sides without stopping the smoochies. Kissing and touching like this, I can only breathe through my nose. Oooooh God… I can smell her. Or is that me? I haven’t had sex in so long—not counting all the masturbating I did after Oz left, first thinking of him, then later, of her. I’m really, really wet, so much that I think I might even be dripping. Plus I’m so hot down there, so maybe it’s me. But it could be her. I want to know. My hand moves between us, to between her thighs…
As I’m about to touch her pussy, she kind of pulls away from me, breaking our kiss. But she stays close, her forehead pressed to mine, and we just lean into each other, starting to sweat and breathe hotly into each other’s mouths. I look at her, questioning, even though it’s too dark to see her clearly. She’s trembling.
“I-I’m sorry, W-Willow. I’m just… It’s just that I-I’m… w-wet. And I…”
Is that all? But that’s okay, Tara. That’s better than okay. That’s good. Goody good good, in fact. Wet is what we want… uh, good thing I said that and not you, huh? You know, with your stutter, and all the w’s? Sorry. Inappropriate quipping seems to be one of my natural spaz defense mechanisms against nervousness. But you’ve probably noticed. Uh, here. I’ll show you, okay? Feel me. I take her hand from my waist and guide her between my legs. Her fingertips just brush against my wet lips and my clit and my pussy begins throbbing, wanting to be touched more. I moan and my eyes close.
For the first few seconds, my hand covers hers showing her what I like but then I let her go to hold her hip. Her hand stays, expertly caressing me like she’s been doing it forever. Or at least since I was ten. She moans, as if she’s touching herself. But actually, it’s me. My hand found its way between her legs and this time, she didn’t pull away. She’s wet, too. Very wet. Like me. Our hands are gentle, we use our fingertips lightly, exploring first, then our touches become heavier, more massaging. Her hair is just a little less coarse than mine as I scratch across her mons, then go lower, tracing her slit, sliding easily in all the moisture. All the while, my clit screams every time she touches it as her fingers flutter around my inner lips. There’s so much wetness and it’s so easy to slip my middle finger into her pussy, just to the first knuckle. Little smacking noises join the sounds of our panting and small moans. I circle her clit with my thumb with increasing pressure while I’m entering her, ‘cause I know that’s how I keep aroused and excited when I’m being penetrated shallowly, like what she’s doing now, before my g-spot is found. I hope our fingers are long enough.
Is-Is this alright, Tara? Does it feel okay?
She just nods quickly, her lips pursed together. In the dim light, her expression is illegible. She’s either on the verge of coming, or in incredible pain. The last thought fills me with panic and I slow down.
Tara, breathe through your mouth, baby. It’s okay. Tell me if you don’t like how this feels. Let me know, okay? We can try something else, if you don’t like it.
“I-I like it, W-Willow. I-It feels good, having you inside me? I-It feels really good.”
Good. I like what you’re doing, too, okay? A whole lot.
“O-Okay.” There’s a moment of silence before she says, “I love you, Willow.”
It’s almost enough to push me over the edge prematurely, but I hang on. I want to get there with her. The effort to quell myself keeps me quiet for a second, but I know there’s no anxiety in her at the pause ‘cause we’re in synch by now, and she knows why it takes me an extra second to say back, I love you too, Tara.
The words stop as we concentrate on the pleasuring. She’s panting in short breaths. Mine are longer. I force myself to go slow. Something tells me she hasn’t been penetrated deeply before, so I take my time, using just one finger for a while, until she gets more comfortable. But Oz was of course bigger than Tara’s slim finger, so I need a little more. Tara, baby, can you use two fingers? It feels so good, what you’re doing, but you can press a little harder, too, upwards, maybe, toward you… Oh God, there it is. She found it.
More kissing, more touching. I can’t get enough. We’re gasping for air, but beyond the immediate moment of our hungry touches, something else, some missing piece of a puzzle I didn’t even know I was trying to solve, just falls in place with a small click inside me. It’s not in my brain where I usually try to keep everything, the important stuff and the not-so-much. It’s more in my gut, and between my legs. Before I’m even aware of what I’m doing, I’m leaving her, but just so I can bring my fingers to my mouth and lick her wetness from my fingertips. I’ve tasted myself before. When I thought about her, before, thinking this might happen, that we might become lovers. I wanted to know I could handle it. I mean, I was curious before, when Oz did it to me that one time, but I didn’t have the incentive like I did for this, to make sure… So I tasted myself, to see if I could do it, that it wouldn’t be a turn off and I wouldn’t react badly and hurt her feelings. But I know it’s different, when it’s someone else. Another girl—another woman.
It is—different, I mean, than how I tasted. I go back to her for more.
She actually tastes a little sweet, faintly like the raw honey I tried during our fourth grade field trip to a local apiary.
She’d stopped touching me, had stopped all movement, to watch me sucking her juices from my fingers. My eyes had adjusted better to the dark. I could see her swallow, hard. I’ve cleaned off my fingers so my lips are free to press against hers again. I wonder if she can taste herself on my lips, taste what I would do because I love her. Not that it’s a chore or anything. In fact, I’m feeling kind of greedy. For once I won’t miss out. And I won’t share. I go back to see if I can get a third helping, hoping she’s had a chance to lubricate again.
When she sees that, she hesitates just a fraction of a second before her hand moves back down between my legs. She parts me, enters me, her fingers rub my smooth walls. Then she leaves me, and brings her hand slowly to her mouth. Her lips part, but I don’t want it to be an obligation. It’s no longer a game. You don’t have to, Tara. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to, just because I…
She looks me straight in the eye, to make sure I understand that she knows that, and takes her wet fingers into her mouth.
My heart swells. I can’t help it. I moan.
She leans backward as I go forward. Another piece of the puzzle falls into place with an inaudible click inside me, another mystery solved. I push her legs apart and settle myself between them. Her hands circle my waist at first, to keep me close. I’m not going anywhere, Tara. I plant my arms on either side of her chest, pinning her down with my own spread legs. When I start thrusting my hips against her in the classic way, her hands move to my ass and squeeze and pull to let me know how fast she wants me to go. I try my best.
I ride her at first. I know it’s this rather than any other way because the kinky hairs on her mound scratch at my sensitized clit while hers is kissed between my cum-soaked inner lips. Our moans become loud. And my arms start to tremble with the effort of keeping my weight off her.
I make a small adjustment, lengthen the vertical stroke, and feel her hard clit against mine, my cum slipping down into her, to mix with hers. It’s an odd kind of frenching that only two women can do. There’s something about that thought that makes me strangely happy. That there’s part of me, something, that can only be for her. That I saved something for her—something I couldn’t mess up and not save for her.
Her hands leave my backside and go to my small breasts hanging between us. She pinches my nipples and rubs my skin, damp with sweat. The friction and the heat and all the wetness… The feelings are so intense, I’m almost outside my body with love and lust. T-T-Tara…
With the gentlest of pressures on my shoulder blades, she urges me down. My arms are shaking so badly, but I don’t want to let go and violently collapse and hurt her. Our hips are still thrusting in synch. Bending one elbow at a time, I manage to safely lower myself down on top of her. We’re both covered in sweat above the waist and cum below. We start kissing as I come. Or she’s kissing, now at my chin and cheeks and jaw. She had to let my mouth go because I’m panting and gasping and moaning and I need air, my womb contracting and squeezing as I’m coming so hard, as I’m coming all over her…
OhgodohgodohgodTaraTaraTara…
She’s holding me close, kissing at my closed eyes and cheeks and my open mouth. She’s whispering my name, stroking my sweaty hair. “Willow, Willow, honey, sweetie, baby, lover, love you, love you…”
Her hips stopped moving as she comforts me, her arms around me, forgetting herself. But that won’t do. My body hasn’t stopped shuddering. I’m exhausted, like everything liquid’s been poured out of me, like my very soul seeped out from between my legs and was left glistening on Tara’s sex and thighs. But I’m a woman on a mission. I’ve been without real purpose much of my life, but that’s all changed. In the span of twenty minutes, my life has changed, and now I know where I belong. Lie back, baby?
My only regret is that I have to leave the comfort of her arms. But that’s okay. Her legs will do just fine. Her fingers are still running through my hair, pushing damp strands from my face as I descend, and I begin. I start at the top of her mound, using the width of my tongue through her wet curls, cleaning my spendings from her as she patiently lies still. I make my way downward, avoiding her clit as much as possible. It’s still hard, it hasn’t calmed. It’s peeking out from its hood, demanding attention, But I give it just a light kiss, my promise to pay it mind shortly, and move on instead to stiffen my tongue to run down the soft folds of her left side, to the nadir of her sex, back up in a similar manner up the right. I spread her pussy lips with my tongue, then plunge inside to harvest her honey.
“W-Will? Stop a second, please?”
I have to exit her to answer. What is it, baby? Doesn’t it feel good? She might need me to talk again so rather than putting my tongue back into her pussy, my lips latch around her clit and I suck on the pulsing nub instead.
“O-Oh Goddess… It feels w-wonderful. I’m so happy. But I w-want… I want you up here, my first time? Is that okay?”
Her first time? Really? Pride. I’m her first! Joy. She wanted me to be her first! Relief. She doesn’t have anyone to compare me to! I can suck as much as I have to! Not that I’m trying to… uh, suck. I mean be bad at this. I want to be very, very good at this. Very good, for her.
“W-Willow, please. Come up here? I-I don’t think I can hold o-on much more… Y-You’ve got me so close… Please, Willow?”
My baby never needs to beg. I’m coming, Tara. She sits up and moves backward to lie back against the headboard of her bed. I climb up her body, placing my hand between her legs, massaging her. With the other hand I adjust the pillow at her back. We kiss some more but then she breaks our kiss as her face scrunches up. Her eyes close, but I want to see them. She closes her thighs so tightly that I can’t move my hand. I won’t leave you, Tara. Open up, spread your legs for me, baby. You’ll still feel it. I promise. She does, and I do my best to keep my word, make her feel everything. My other hand goes behind her neck to keep her close to me. She’s panting, very, very close. I’ve brought her to the edge. I tell her, I love you, Tara. I’ll tell her every day.
“L-Love y-you, Willow…”
She comes, hard, her shoulders shaking starting waves of shudders through her whole body that I can feel in my fingers still held in place by the strength of her sex. She keeps me for over a minute, still trembling, then lets me go so that I can hold her. I ease us both back down to the bed, sweaty and exhausted and deliriously happy and pull the blanket at the foot of her bed up over us. I’m the happiest I’ve ever, ever been. I’ve found my calling! And I know, now. It’s your last love that counts. Within ten minutes of just holding each other, we’re asleep.
I’m crying. My face is wet with tears. I’ve been standing here, crying for God knows how long. The wash is done, don’t know since when. It could’ve been ten minutes, it could’ve been two.
I blew it. I’ve lost everything.
The phone rings. No one’s here but me. I’m feeling too exhausted to get it and decide whoever it is can leave a message if it’s that important. Probably just a bill collector, or a charity. The door at the top of the staircase is open. I can hear Buffy’s message, then the beep.
“H-Hello? Is anyone there?”
Clothes fly through the air as I literally throw the laundry basket, half-filled with t-shirts from the last load, to the side. I almost trip on the last step, scrambling to get to the phone from the basement, before she hangs up. Hello?
“H-Hello? Willow?”
Tara? Oh God. It’s Tara. How have you been holding up, sweetheart? I miss you, baby. Have you missed me, too? It’s so good to hear your voice. I miss you so much, half the time I feel dead inside. The other half I wish I were. H-Hi. I was just thinking about you. How have you been?
“Fine. I’m fine, Willow.”
Fine. The universal word for ‘no comment, is anyone else there?’ Well, this sucks. But keep her on the line. I wanna listen to her voice a little while. Make small talk… But what do I say? Uh, nobody is home right now, Tara. Dawnie hasn’t come home yet and Buffy’s working. Oh, great, genius! That was brilliant! Remind her that neither of the two people she called to talk to are available—
“Um, actually I was calling for you… Is that alright?”
For me? Huh? What’s this? Huh?
“Willow?”
I-I’m sorry, Tara. Did you say you were calling for me? Maybe she forgot something. Like her sweater, maybe?
“I, um, just wanted to see how you were doing, Willow.”
Really? I’m fine, Tara. WTF? Fine? Didn’t you just say fine was the universal word for ‘no comment, go away please?’ Fix this, stupid! Tell her! I, uh, still have some bad times, but I-I think I’m getting better.
“Good. That’s really good, Willow. I’m happy to hear that—”
I miss you, Tara.
Silence.
Blew it. Too much, too soon. Why the frilly heck do I—?
“I’ve missed you too, Willow.”
You have?
“Um, I don’t know if you think it’s too soon, but, um, did you want to maybe go for coffee? I want to catch up with you, a little. That is, if you’re free? Before Buffy’s party Saturday? Maybe Thursday, third period, before your lab?”
Oh God. Is this happening? S-sure. The, uh, Espresso Pump okay?
“Y-Yeah. That’d be great.”
My chest hurts. I love you, Tara. I’m sorry, baby. Sorry I messed up. So sorry I hurt you. So sorry I… I violated you. It won’t happen again. It won’t ever happen again. I want you to come home. Will you please come home?
“Will? You still there?”
I’m still here! I’ll always be here, for you.
“Well, um, I guess I should let you go.”
NO!
“It was… really good hearing your voice, Willow. I’ll see you Thursday.”
Don’t hang up yet.
“Bye.”
Bye, Tara. But you’re already gone. My chest hurts. Ow. My heart’s racing. Why? Is this a—? Am I dying? Is this a heart attack? I can’t die yet. I have to live until Thursday. I have to see Tara. She wants to see me. She wants to talk and catch up. She called me. She wants to see me. I can listen to her voice again. I can look into her eyes. I can tell her how sorry I am. I can’t be… I can’t be…
It’s my heart. It’s only my heart, breaking and bursting again. How many times can it do that? But I did it this time. I was the cheater. I was the one who didn’t trust her. Who didn’t have faith…
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Feel… See… The fibers knitting back, stronger. It’s stronger. Whatever doesn’t kill you… It’s only getting stronger. I can be strong, Tara. I can be better. I’ll be better…
I’m seeing her Thursday! Yay! I’ll see her Thursday! Thursday, love. I’ll see you then. And you’ll see, too. I can be better. I will be better—for me, and maybe one day, for you.
***
END
But hey, I know miles and even Fahrenheit too 
of course. A couple of other people have also commented on my change of nick, which was done in a moment of ... I don't know why, I wanted a change. Though time will tell whether it's for the better. But call me anything you want, including "hey you!"
