Heather may have updated before me, but I didn’t die. Nor did my story quite make it off the front page. So, go me!
Also, this is the 90th post for this thread. Ten comments and it’ll be popular. I’m just saying.
@LonelyTara So pleased to make you laugh, though I am sad to report that Willow didn’t think it was crucial or particularly fashion-y to have bras and socks matching; rather that white is the default color for both underwear and socks, and she observed that they matched. At least, in my experience white is the default color for socks and underwear . . . maybe it isn’t for everyone. *cough* Anway, since college, my friends and I have used “meta-saying” something as a way to express something while not straight out saying it, despite the fact that it is very much straight out saying it. So I’m quite attached to that idea.
I’m glad you like sexy, brainy girls who talk to inanimate objects. I’m taken, but we can still be friends.
@wimpy0729 I was really impressed with how well Willow managed to successfully manage the two aspects of her life, but I think it helped keep her mind off the scary stuff happening in her life. In this post I address a bit about Tara being dropped into the middle of it.
@Zampsa1975 Thankfully for us, Willow is able to return in the wake of Walsh’s death, as the Initiative is too busy looking for the demon to go looking for the Scoobies. (And then, you know, Buffy will find out that the Initiative isn’t after them.)
@DaddyCatALSO I’m glad the internal monologues come off as accurate Willow, and that Anya came off as accurate without cliché: that’s really important to me. Also, I too like seeing glimpses them as kids. For me, one of the key points of this is to think about how people become who they are, and that includes looking forward and looking back. Jesse’s toys are based on toys I played with in my grandmother’s basement. My grandfather got them for my mom, aunt, and uncle.
And don’t worry, I checked the basement scene. From left to right, it’s Giles (squeaky chair), empty sleeping bag (Xander is missing), sheets, TV, Willow, Anya, and Buffy (the three girls on the bed, but Buffy kind of sitting on the armrest of the couch and under a different blanket than Willow and Anya). In fact, the whole Clark Gable reference was referring to this line from the shooting script: “We sees that the room has been DIVIDED BY A BLANKET THAT HANGS ON A ROPE into a section for the boys and a section for the girls (a la' "It Happened One Night")”
Author: BeMyDeputy
Rating: PG-13 for this section (for sexiness). Up to NC-17 for later installments.
Feedback: Welcome.
Notes: The entirety of Chapter 3, including "Love, Sex, and Death" takes place during "Goodbye Iowa"
Spoilers: This is season 4. If you haven't seen season 4, what are you doing here?
Content disclaimer (this section): Violence: No. Sex: No. Angst: No.
I Don't Own This Disclaimer: The entire Buffyverse (including setting, characters, and plot) is property of it's owners, including but not limited to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No copyright infringement is intended by this work. "Goodbye Iowa" was written by Marti Noxon.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to my awesome beta reader, dlline, who was kind enough to point out where I may piss off a bunch of you. Not that I changed anything, (nor did she think I should) but it's good to know ahead of time.
Chapter 3 Part 3: Love, Sex, and Death
a.k.a. “Well, One Out of Three Ain’t Bad.”
“I love you.” The whispered words made it past Tara’s lips without her consent. Once she realized what she’d said, her hand darted out in the air to catch the offending phrase before it made off with the part of herself she’d surrendered up to Willow in that moment. It was too late, of course; though the words didn’t reach Willow’s ears, the part of her heart she’d given up was gone.
As the enormity of the past quarter hour began to sink in, Tara shut the door. She leaned against it, and slid to the floor, torn in several directions at once. “It’s time for me to face facts, Mom: I love her.” Tara shook her head. “It’s funny, really. It feels more real now that I’ve said it. Not saying it w-wouldn’t have made it not true, but it’s still more real now. Like coming out: I wasn’t
really gay until I said so, but not saying it didn’t stop me from liking girls. It doesn’t make sense how that works. Words somehow can make things even truer than they already are. That’s part of why they fascinate me, I guess.
“I’ve known this was coming for a while, and I’ve been fighting it. Isn’t it supposed to be a happy thing, falling in love? Something I shouldn’t have to fight? Shouldn’t
want to fight? I know she cares about me . . . she came by just now special so I wouldn’t worry. I don’t doubt she cares. But care and interest and love are worlds apart, and I can’t know if Willow can cross the intervening oceans. The past day hasn’t done anything to bring us together in that regard. She’s moved from care to admitted interested and I’ve moved from interest to admitted love.” Anxious, Tara stood and began to pace about her room. “This is going to be even more uncomfortable. I could tell her I was interested, but her straightness meant that letting her know that wasn’t pressuring her. We could joke and banter. Sure, it was slowly making me crazy, but it wasn’t going to scare her away. I can’t tell her I love her.”
Tara sat on the edge of her bed and cradled her head in her hands. “I wish you were here. I really need advice. I don’t know what to do. I want her. So much. That’ll scare her away all by its lonesome. But the weird thing? I don’t know if she can love me, but honestly . . . I’d sleep with her either way. Is that wrong?” The feel of Willow’s hand over her heart, hesitantly poised above her breasts, was scorched into her skin, and Tara ran a hand across it. She sighed. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you about this, but . . . I want her. No, that’s not quite right. I
need her. That in itself is disorienting, as I’ve never done that before; still, I’m pretty certain that she’s what I need. But it’s more than that. It isn’t just about loving her. Is that bad?” Tara fell back on her bed. “Why didn’t we talk about this, Mom? How am I supposed to feel? How do I tell her? Do I just say ‘hey, I really w-want to sleep with you’? That’ll go over well.” In a small voice, Tara added “Is it wrong that it’s more about her death than my love? She’s going to die, Mom, and I want to . . . before . . . .”
Tara’s childhood spent on a farm was rich in the reality of death. The circle of life wasn’t Disneyfied by songs and beautifully drawn landscapes. Rather, early life experiences crystallized it: plants ground into the earth and fertilizing the next year’s crop; maggots feeding on the carcasses of rabbits; kittens born unmoving, never to open their eyes. By the time Tara could read
Charlotte's Web, Fern and Wilbur’s naïveté about death shocked her. But childhood’s end came for Tara in the death of her mother: the fundamental understanding that humans, even the ones she loves, can’t escape the maw of death.
Tara had found college a blissful microcosm, where death wasn’t a part of everyday life. She hadn’t forgotten it, but it wasn’t an unwanted houseguest, either. Until Willow. Once she’d met Willow, reality broke back into Willow’s world. Though Willow had told her last night that she had a deadly hobby, Tara hadn’t expected to face the consequences so soon. Tara thought she would lose herself, if not her life, before the Scooby lifestyle killed Willow. But today Willow had spoken of her “fear of death,” and certainly seemed more concerned about the situation than she had when she spoke about past incidents. But the cruel reality was that even if Willow made it through this fight, and the next, she would eventually lose.
Willow fought the good fight: she put her life between the world and apocalypse, the sort of person who would stand between democracy and tanks. It made a sick sort of sense: Tara had wondered why such a brilliant woman who obviously belonged at Cambridge or MIT matriculated at UC Sunnydale. She’d clearly stayed to help Buffy; but unlike Buffy, Willow had a choice. Willow chose to fight, chose to put her life on the line. It made Tara love her.
And so, Tara circled back to her first quandary. Too preoccupied to go to dinner, she spent the night caught in a pensive spiral of love, sex, and death. She shared some of her thoughts with her mother, and left some unspoken. Each concern fueled the other two, and so they followed her to sleep.
*****
Thankfully, a night’s rest soaked up Tara’s concerns, and morning found her giddy, the way a young girl newly in love ought to be. Though she attended her classes, her thoughts regularly returned to Willow. Once she was done with her courses for the day, she ran back home, hopeful to find either Willow or another message from her waiting. A blinking light from the answering machine greeted her, and Tara returned it with a smile.
“Hey Tara, it’s me. I have some time to drop by tonight, and was hoping you were available. Plus, I need some help with a project, and I think it’s up your alley. See you tonight!”
Tara picked up the phone to return Willow’s phone call when she heard a knock.
Willow. She set the phone down and quickly crossed the distance to the door and opened it. Tara felt her mood go even further through the roof when she spotted a smiling Willow on the other side of the door.
“Howdy.” Willow beamed at her; the contrast to yesterday afternoon was stark.
I’m starting to think that her showing up in the same mood as when she left is when I should be shocked.
“I just got your message a minute ago. I was in class. But I was about to call you.” As Willow passed her on the way into the room, Tara felt the urge to grab her and hold her: to transfer some of her excitement over being in love to Willow. But in the brief time their friendship had been physical, Willow had always initiated contact, so Tara waited, thrilled to see Willow so soon.
The room filled with Willow’s energy as she entered it, a large smile still on her face. “I had so much fun the other night, those spells.”
“Yeah, that was nice.” As always, Tara followed Willow down an obtuse verbal path; she didn’t know where they were going or why, but was just happy to be with Willow.
Willow turned to face Tara, a slight frown having replaced her smile. “I hope you don't think that I just come over for the spells and everything.” Her smile returned as she continued. “I mean, I really like just talking and hanging out with you and stuff.”
“I know that.”
She’s so cute. “But you wanna do a spell.”
That’s where we’re going.
With a guilty look, Willow agreed. “Yeah.” Tara giggled as Willow went on. “But only because it’s really important. There’s this . . . .”
She doesn’t realize I’d do anything for her.
“No you don't have to explain. I don't mind, really.”
I shouldn’t try to distract her, I’m sure whatever she’s here for is important . . . but man, she’s being adorable. “I've been uh thinking about that last spell we did . . . all day.”
So much for good intentions.
“You have?”
Tara nodded her agreement. “Mmmhmmm.”
Yeah. “Spell.” Not the thought of you naked. Nope.
“Well this one should be really fun too.”
Oh, focused Willow. Hard to distract. “We conjure the goddess Thespia to help us locate demonic energy in the area.”
With three simple words, Tara’s heart sank. “The goddess Thespia? Are you sure we're ready for that?”
I’m not ready for that. Tara struggled to keep composed, suddenly grateful for Willow’s focus.
Willow was not deterred by Tara’s concern. “You and me? This is beneath us.”
Magically, sure. I can’t . . . but . . . she said it was really important. “Okay.”
I mean, she dated a werewolf. I can tell her. It won’t scare her away. “If you say so.”
I’ve been putting it off, and now here I have a reason I have to tell her. Now I have to tell her. It’ll be fine. Really.
“Well, it turns out that I do say so. But only because it's true.” Willow cocked her head to the side. “It's actually way simpler than some of the wards we put up in here. No reason to be concerned.”
You would notice that, wouldn't you? Need time to plan, to figure out how to tell her. “W-we should, uh, w-wait, though. It's still--”
“Light out.” Willow took a step closer, and Tara felt small hands take her own. “I know. We've got . . .” Willow glanced over her shoulder and out the window and then turned back at Tara with a grin, “. . . a good hour until sunset, and then another hour until it's properly dark enough to call on a goddess of darkness.” Willow released Tara's hands and took another step forward gently pressed into her, hands on Tara’s hips. Instantly, the tension, and will to think about . . . whatever it was she was supposed to be worried about right now, drained away from Tara. “I'm pretty much off the Scooby clock until I can do the spell.”
Tara wrapped her arms around Willow's shoulders, and softly brushed her nose against Willow's. “So you thought we could maybe talk? Hang out?”
I shouldn’t tease, I know. But turnabout is fair play.
“I was more thinking . . . stuff? If that's okay? I mean, if you wanted. Talking and hanging out is good, too.” Concerned Willow would pull away, Tara started to trace circles on the back of Willow’s neck with her thumbs.
Don’t backpedal, just say what you want.
“Ah. 'Stuff.' Is that what the kids are calling it now?” Slowly, Tara nodded with affected sage wisdom.
“Well, no.” Willow rolled her eyes.
“So, what
were you thinking?” Tara teased.
“Um, I was thinking maybe I could cash in my rain check?”
Tara smirked and slowly shook her head in innocent denial. “Rain check, rain check . . . no, doesn't ring a bell. M-maybe if you could tell me what the rain check is worth?”
This is officially way too much fun.
With a frustrated-sounding sigh, Willow dropped Tara’s hips and roughly grabbed the back of her head and gave her a full-moon kiss. Minutes later, she pulled back. “Remember now?”
“Hmm, I don't remember giving any rain checks for kissing. You don't really need them.” In an attempt to solidify her point, Tara gently kissed Willow.
“Uh, there was some discussion of moving from first to second? Base, that is.”
“Baseball analogies? What are, you twelve?”
I wonder . . . if I keep needling her, will she just go for it, or will she acquiesce and just say what she wants?
“You're . . . really not going to let this go, are you?”
Willow exasperated is so adorable. Then again, Willow is so adorable.
“Nope!” Tara cheerfully replied.
“Fine.” Willow rested her forehead against Tara's, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “Tara, there is nothing more in the world that I want right now than to make you feel good. Yesterday you indicated not only that you're interested in me touching your breasts, but also that you'd be willing to give me a guided tour of how to do so correctly. If you're still interested in teaching, I'm very interested in learning.” The blush that had started once Willow began to speak had spread and darkened notably by the time she finished. Tara watched Willow's eyes open slowly. Willow continued, though she sounded mildly annoyed, “There? Is that what you wan--”
Tara eagerly crushed her mouth into Willow’s. “Yes, it was.” Slowly, Tara stepped away and caught Willow’s hands in her own as she backed up. She pulled Willow with her as she moved toward the bed. “But standing hardly seems optimal, don’t you think?” After she considered it for a moment, Tara let herself collapse onto the bed. When, rather than joining her, Willow simply stood and stared, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, Tara raised a hand toward her.
After a moment, Willow joined Tara on the bed, and began to run a hand down her side. “So long as it doesn’t forfeit my quality instruction time . . . what that was all about?”
“Aside from it being ridiculously hot?” Willow’s blush returned, and Tara turned on her side to press into her. “Words have power. Think about magic: you don’t think that it’s an accident that so many spells have verbal components, do you? Words matter. Why do you think I asked you not to worry about labels? Even if you don’t want it, labels set up expectations. They’re powerful that way. But non-abstract words, like ‘kissing’ . . . ‘caressing’ . . . ‘squeezing’ . . .” Tara demonstrated each verb after she invoked it, “. . . not using the word when you’re sure that you mean it feels almost like denying it.” Tara snuggled closer in an attempt to make sure Willow didn’t take her statement as an accusation.
“No denial here. I’m just shy about saying that kind of stuff. I always have been. Even with . . . always.” With a wide grin, Willow rolled on top. “Mark me tremendously happy. Let’s not forget that.” She lowered her head to whisper in Tara’s ear. “This is where I want to be. And if telling you how desperately I want to touch you turns you on, gosh darn it, I will learn to blush my way through it.”
Tara pulled Willow down closer into her. “It does. Very much so.”
“This operant conditioning plan of yours to get me to use words is totally going to work.”
Wait, what? “That’s, uh, good. I guess. So, what’s operant conditioning, and how am I doing it?” Tara asked as she turned her head to face Willow.
“Operant conditioning is when you influence the occurrence of a behavior by modifying the surrounding environment. It’s, uh, what you’re doing with your hands.”
Tara thought for a moment about where her hands had landed. “There’s a fancy term for having my hands on your butt?”
“No, no.” Willow giggled. “I’ll show you. Hmm . . . what words did you use? Kissing. Caressing. Squeezing. See? You’re doing it again.”
Still not understanding, Tara blinked at Willow. “Doing w-what, exactly?”
“You can’t tell you’re doing that? That’s so cool!”
Oh gods, she’s excited and bouncy and lying on top of me and wow do I want her. Focus! “Uh, doing what?”
“Oh, see, when I say something you want to hear, you squeeze your hands. Since I like that, you’re basically teaching me to say words you like, and helping me get over my shyness. It’s the same principle as giving a dog a treat when she does a trick.”
Tara laughed. “You’re adorable, you know that?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You have trouble saying you want to feel me up, but you can name the science term for my unknowingly teaching you to get over that trouble.” Willow looked away, smile faded; Tara leaned forward to kiss her. “It’s adorable. I like that about you.”
Willow met Tara’s eyes, but her smile was still absent. “Really?”
“Willow, I’m attracted to all of you: the magic, your amazing brain . . . .” Tara kissed Willow’s forehead.
“Okay, okay, you’re embarrassing me.” Her grin back, Willow rolled her eyes, but Tara doubted she was unhappy with the compliments.
“Your dead-sexy body . . . .” Tara ran her hands appreciatively up and down Willow’s sides.
“Stop that. You’re trying to distract me.” Willow rolled them onto their sides, and put her hand back on Tara’s heart. “I’m on a mission here, missy.” With an evil grin, she added, “See, your heart’s pounding just thinking about it.”
Like it has been since you walked in the room, silly. Willow’s face shifted from playful to pleading as she placed Tara’s hand atop her own once again. “Show me.”
Tara nodded, but her hand remained in place. “First, two things. First, I’ve been nursing this crush on you for a while now, so if you just let me drive I’m worried this’ll go a bit faster than you’d like. You can say stop whenever, but is there, I dunno, a line you know you don’t want me to cross?”
Willow’s face fell slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been worrying about that. I was thinking pants should probably stay on for now? If that’s okay?”
Tara just stared.
Willow continued, “Sorry, this just feels pretty new for me, even though it isn’t.” Shoulders collapsed, she pulled her hand back and continued in a small voice, “I’m sorry you’re disappointed.”
“No no no.” Tara tried to reassure Willow with a long kiss. “I, uh, didn’t even consider them
not staying on as a possibility. This feels pretty new for me, too. As it is.”
“Oh yeah.” When Tara replaced her hand, Willow asked, “So, what was thing two? Thing two. Heh, like in
The Cat in the Hat.”
“Great, now I’m always going to associate
The Cat in the Hat with sex.”
Oh god--I just said ‘sex’ to Willow. She tensed slightly, worried she was being presumptuous.
“Hey, this is my sexy time, not Dr. Seuss’s.” Willow sounded defensive, and Tara relaxed. “Just because I brought it up . . . .” Tara laughed. “So, thing, er, the second thing?”
“If I go too slow, feel free to go faster.” When Willow nodded, Tara gripped her hand firmly and locked her eyes on Willow’s face, whose eyes were locked on their hands. “So: boobs. I have them.” Tara began to run their hands around her right breast, starting at the top and moving out, gently tracing the border. “They’re not too complicated. Out here on the border between them and the rest of my chest they’re the least sensitive. Go further in, and sensitivity goes up.” Once they’d finished the circle, Tara took Willow’s index finger moved it to the edge of the shoulder strap of her bra. She ran it as softly as she could along the top seam of her bra. “The low end of sensitivity is about here.” After Tara took a steadying breath, she centered Willow’s palm on her nipple. In unison, they gasped.
Willow’s eyes darted up to meet Tara’s, a wide grin on her face. “So, is it cold in here, or are you just happy to see me?”
Tara returned the smile as she pushed down on her hand and forward with her chest, which efficiently sandwiched Willow’s hand. “Which do you think?”
With an audible gulp, Willow said, “I’m guessing that second one.”
“Very astute, Ms. Rosenberg. Now, where was I? Oh yeah. You can squeeze about this . . .” Tara squeezed Willow’s hand “. . . hard and still fall into the realm of ‘good’ rather than ‘ow.’” Tara let up the pressure, but continued to clutch Willow’s hand to her breast.
I have a huge vocabulary, tens of thousands of words in English plus thousands in other languages , and I can’t think of any that do justice to how her hand feels. ‘Exciting,’ ‘erotic,’ ‘stimulating,’ ‘overwhelming’ . . . they don’t really capture this. ‘I think I’m going to melt from want’ comes closer. “That’s pretty m-much it. Any questions?”
“Two.” Willow gently took Tara’s nipple between her index finger and thumb, and Tara inhaled sharply. “First, do the rules change here?”
Words. Forming words. How do I form words? “Uh, y-yeah. Extremes are good, both really light and r-really hard. Assume you can’t squeeze too hard. I’ll tell you if that changes.”
Willow ran her hand down along Tara’s side to her hip, and pulled them close. Into Tara’s ear she whispered, “Do they change if you’re topless?”
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