Above, Between, Below
Home : Stories by Author : Stories by Twisted Minstrel : Above, Between, Below - Page 1Summary: Just two girls falling in love...with some funny bits.
AUTHOR: Twisted Minstrel
EMAIL: digeratti@yahoo.com
WEBSITE: http://www.blurty.com/users/Moonrain
& http://www.geocities.com/Dijeratti/index.html
RATING: R, and watch out for the big words. I know how to use 'em.
PAIRING: Willow/Tara
SETTING: This is set during season 4, prior to New Moon Rising, just
before Superstar, but doesn't strictly follow canon...
DISCLAIMER: The characters are owned by Joss Whedon, et al. I care not. All
other material is copyright to me. Please do not do the Infringe.
NOTE: The lyrics to Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered by Rodgers and
Hart are used without permission; no infringement is intended.
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Willow Rosenberg had lost her mind.
She was certain she still had it when she woke up that morning, but by that afternoon -
"Yeah, gone. Just pfft! Poof. I'm an ambulating pile of organs. No brain whatsoever. Pay no mind. No mind to pay. That's right. Just another mindless geek coed without a...brain-thing. Yup. That's me."
She was wandering aimlessly through the corridors of Sunnydale UC, pondering her predicament (which, she knew, she shouldn't be able to do, being brainless and all), when she realized that gravity had suddenly taken hold, like a madcap maelstrom, forcing her to the ground.
Gravity had an accomplice.
"Tara!"
Flat and prostrate on the floor, Willow became immediately aware that the Tasmanian Devil-like whirlwind that had suddenly attacked her was none other than the fair-haired Wicca.
"W-Willow? Oh God, I'm s-so sorry!"
Pushing herself up with both hands, Tara gazed down at the stunned red-head with a worried expression. Her books had gone flying, yet she somehow managed to land squarely on top of Willow.
Not a bad place to be, really, all things considered...I could have landed on a smelly jock. Or a cactus. Or something...not found in the desert,usually.
Aware the red-head was staring right back, albeit with a slightly more dazed expression. Tara righted herself, stood and offered a hand to the hapless hacker.
Pulling herself up, Willow stood and twisted to and fro, stretching, ensuring nothing was out of place. Tara regarded her silently for a moment, a barely perceptible shiver of arousal making its way down along her spine, radiating along her hips, between her thighs, a warm pulsing itch right there, making her flex her leg muscles as if taken with a cramp.
"I-I didn't see you."
Willow smiled at her, sending a thunderbolt of longing straight to Tara's stomach. Afraid it might actually start rumbling, she quickly bent and started collecting her books. Willow fetched one, somewhat heavier than the others.
"Oof. Who knew art history was such a weighty subject? But I guess, well, history and all, kind of a no-brainer. History, big subject and all that...but uh, lower back pain, not really of the good, I think. I can help you carry some of this, if you'd like, you know?"
Tara held her books close to her chest, her fair locks falling forward as she nodded. Willow smiled at the demure introversion of her new friend. Kind of cute actually.
"Thanks. I, uh, was just heading back to m-my room."
"Let me walk you then. What do you say? A burden shared is...a shared burden, or...not a burden, but uh, non-burdeny, less-burdensome-thing?"
A lopsided smile peaked from behind Tara's locks.
"Um, something like that, thanks. B-but you were heading the other way."
Willow shook her head.
"Oh! Did I fail to mention I'm minus a brain today? Totally misplaced it...something to do with insane monkey logic or maybe endless iterations in fractal geometry...which is kinda the same thing. Thus, aimless wandering. Then - whoops! You."
Willow's smile was infectious and kind. Tara had never met anyone as kind as Willow Rosenberg before. Despite her somewhat eccentric behavior she was also downright sexy; which made Tara more than a little nervous.
"Um, yeah. Whoops...m-me. Well, um, this way."
Tara led them to her room, hugging her books closely and keeping her eyes anywhere but Willow. This did not go unnoticed by a certain red head - which still had a brainlessness issue to contend with. Tara was shy, but did Willow make her nervous also?
"Here we are."
Unlocking her door, Tara led the way inside and closed the door behind them.
Tara's room had more than enough colorful, quirky detail to keep Willow occupied for quite a while. Tara's artistic vibe seemed to veer off into the exotic with her India-inspired posters and knick knacks, including a jade Buddha, all round and merry, sitting on her bookcase. A small shelf contained various volumes on Wicca and witchcraft, and a number of children's books as well, like Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland and the Narnia Chronicles.
Willow placed her burden on Tara's bed while Tara placed hers on the desk. Willow's eyes were drawn to several large sketches posted on a board in one corner.
"Did you draw these?"
The sketches were charcoal studies of a pregnant, semi-naked woman, the other of a young girl, her hair falling forward, obscuring her eyes.
"Yes. Um, it's a study for a painting I'm working on. It's called, um, 'The Mother and Child Reunion."
Willow smiled appreciatively.
"Paul Simon would approve, I think. One Jew to another. Or something...I think they're beautiful. You're very talented."
"Thanks...um. I didn't know you were J-Jewish."
"Yup...all my life."
"Oh...um...would you like a drink or something?"
Me, maybe?
Willow looped her thumbs around the belt loop of her jeans.
"Well, actually, I was thinking some chocolaty mocha goodness might be in order. What do you think?"
Tara nodded, attempting to hide her disappointment at not being able to corner the hacker alone. In her room. Alone.
"Yeah, that sounds great."
Tara really wanted to listen intently to Willow's problems with higher mathematical concepts; she was really trying. The red head was so fascinating, in and of herself, but numbers and calculations and theories left her a little -
"Dry? Want another?"
Tara glared down at her empty cup; she didn't remember taking her first sip, much less the last.
"Oh, um, no thanks. Bladder issues."
Willow nodded in sympathy and for a heart beat or two longer than necessary, simply stared at her companion.
"W-Willow?"
"Hmm?"
"Um...maybe we should head back? It's kinda getting dark and everything?"
Willow had been oblivious to the darkening sky, but finally stood from the small table in the coffee shop and nodded.
"Right you are. Darkness is of the bad around here and we should be shoving off."
Tara disposed of her cup and walked with Willow out into the street.
As they walked, the city street lamps came on one by one and the after-work traffic had all but disappeared. Despite the peace and silence, Tara noticed Willow's agitation increasing by leaps and bounds, constantly glancing up at the ever-darkening sky or peering over her shoulder every two minutes.
"Willow? Is anything wrong? Y-you seem nervous?"
Willow did her best to be cheery, but she wasn't.
"Oh! Fine. You know, Finey McFine. Just wish I had brought a weap - um - flashlight or something. Dark, you know?"
Tara nodded, confused, as it was hardly dark enough to require the aid of a torch, but maybe Willow's eyesight was poor.
I can show her around in the dark.
"Not to mention all the vampires and everything."
Willow paused for a moment, remembering Tara was not entirely out of the mystical loop then proceeded to mentally kick herself for her brainless issues.
As they approached the University, Tara paused and pointed in the direction of her dorm.
"Well, um, I'm kind of that way, I guess. So, um, I'll see you tomorrow maybe, unless maybe, you'd like to try a spell or something?"
Willow weighed her options for a moment. Buffy's probably out patrolling by now and I with no brain would much rather be with Tara anyway, so...my conclusion is:
"I think I'd like to see you two do a spell together."
Tara and Willow both turned to the source of the strange voice. Willow winced at the young man, dressed in his Sunday best, yet clearly not a choir boy. And this wasn't Sunday. Instinctively, Willow stepped forward, blocking the vampire's access to Tara.
"Well, I'm thinking some people should mind their own business, especially dead people, because, hey - you're dead and what business do you have minding people, huh? I think not, emphatically."
The vampire stared at Willow, confused, and he hesitated - too long as it turned out. When the dust cleared, Willow saw only Buffy, stake in hand.
"Buffy!"
"Hey Will. Good tactic. If you can't lose 'em, confuse 'em. We'll call it the Rosenberg Maneuver. Is that Tara?"
The blonde peeked over Willow's shoulders and gave a small wave. Tara had not completely acclimated herself to the strangeness that is Sunnydale, nor the idea of a vampire slayer and her gang (including Willow) protecting its citizens from demons and vampires and the Goddess knew what else, usually just by showing up. But she was grateful they were around, at least.
"So - whatcha guys up to? Witchy spell stuff?"
Willow stepped away from Tara, shaking her head.
"Oh, well, not so much, just made with the sweet caffeine and back to the campus when Mr. Bumpy showed up."
"Um, Willow? I'm going to head back to my room. Um, thanks, B-Buffy."
Before she could depart, Willow grabbed lightly at her arm to stop her.
"Tara, hey, we'll walk you back there, okay? Buffy?"
"That was going to be my suggestion."
Tara nodded, her hair once again falling over her eyes, and turned back toward her room. They had just reached Tara's building when they were stopped again - this time by one Riley Finn. Tara did her best to stifle a groan at all the company that kept intruding on her time with Willow.
"Buffy! We got a vamp party down at the football field. Cheerleader cocktails. Could use some help."
Buffy turned to Willow.
"Are you guys okay?"
"Go on Buffy. Vamp party. Slayer fun. Save the pom poms. It's your sacred duty."
Buffy nodded her thanks and took off with the manly Finn...
Tara gave a small, silent cheer for the secret agent...or whatever he was...he now had a new Number One Fan.
Go Riley!
And take Buffy with you!
Once her friend had disappeared Willow followed Tara into her dorm, to her room.
"Here we are."
Tara smiled, she hoped, suggestively.
"D-do you want to come in? Um, talk or try a spell or something?"
Buffy doesn't need me tonight. Riley '007' Finn to the rescue.
She wanted to not like Riley for taking Buffy away, but she found that she couldn't. This is how it goes; you grow up, you grow apart. Simple. Like really easy pi.
"Sure, I mean, if it's alright with you. Don't want to put you off your studying or sketching or what have you."
Tara shook her head, still smiling and opened to the door for Willow to enter.
Willow sat cross-legged on the floor, watching Tara light a ring of candles around the room. The young Wicca had removed at least one layer of clothing, revealing a simple yellow blouse over a light brown skirt. She had removed her shoes as well, and the overall effect, to Willow was a petite fairy princess, mysterious and silent. She knew Tara came from a long line of witches; she wondered just how powerful her new friend really was.
Mostly, though, she just watched the lithe blonde's hypnotic movements as she went silently from candle to candle, with her face half-painted in shadows and light. Willow noted her finely sculpted cheekbones, the smooth slope of her nose, the fullness of her lips, especially her lips, which parted slightly as she blew out the tiny match she held gingerly between her fingers. Placing the match in a tiny tray, Tara turned fully toward Willow, and was momentarily alarmed by Willow's fixed stare.
"A-are you ready?"
Tara's whisper was barely audible. Willow only nodded her head, afraid to speak; afraid another babble fest would erupt and ruin the moment. She watched as Tara stepped around her, the light material of her skirt brushing against her shoulder, as Tara bent and sat opposite, crossing her legs, lotus-style.
"We'll first call upon Artemis, the m-moon goddess for her blessing; then ask her to raise the candles and extinguish them."
Willow nodded; her eyes unable to look anywhere but at Tara, who held both her hands forward. Willow accepted them in hers and together they recited the small chant to summon the goddess:
"Artemis, divine daughter of the moon,
Protector of women and virgin huntress,
Accept our humble obedience and prayer.
Give us your blessing in all our endeavors."
Willow frowned slightly as Tara finished the last lines of the incantation alone.
"Willow?"
"Oh, um...virgin huntress? Does that mean she hunts virgins?"
Tara stared at her for a moment, missing her point then shook her head.
"Oh, no. She's the virgin goddess of the hunt and moon. She doesn't actually hunt them, I mean, virgins; that I know about."
"Oh. Now what?"
Both women held a collective breath, neither releasing the other's grip as the candle flames began to grow stronger, strong enough to bathe the room in bright yellow light.
"Hey...the candles are all, like extra flamey! Kinda cool."
Willow grinned at the apparent success of their chant; Tara, on the other hand, began to frown.
"Um, Willow? Look at them."
The flames had grown so bright, it began to hurt their eyes; when the candles began to move off their respective shelves, into the air over their heads, both Willow and Tara rose and moved apart to avoid the hot globules of dripping wax that began to rain over the room.
"Uh...this is not good. Was this supposed to happen? We didn't ask for this yet, did we?"
Willow looked frantically around the room for anything that might aid in extinguishing the lively waxworks quickly, without causing damage when Tara -
"Enough!"
The candles instantly froze in place, immediately extinguished themselves - and fell in a heap on the space of floor Willow and Tara had so recently vacated.
Picking drying bits of wax out of her hair, Tara looked worriedly over at Willow who was staring at the pile of candles, dumbfounded.
"Are you okay?"
"Sure. I love it when that happens. What just happened?"
Tara shook her head and approached the young hacker, reaching out to pluck a few scraps of wax from her bangs. She found it impossible to stop and kept finding imaginary things to dust away until there simply was nothing else and her hand came to rest on one pale, smooth cheek, and Willow's eyes were fixed in hers and it was so dark now, only the moonlight pouring in, illuminating their flushed faces, and Willow's skin was so warm and her hands felt burning hot and -
"Your phone's ringing."
Tara's hand dropped to her side like someone had just tied a weight to it, nearly dragging the rest of her down with it.
"Oh! S-sorry."
Fishing around for the light switch, Tara reached for her phone.
"H-hello? Buffy?"
Willow had bent to pick up the candles then stopped at the mention of Buffy's name.
"She's here, do you want to talk to - oh. Oh. Okay. I'll tell her. Okay. Bye."
Quickly putting down the phone, Tara turned to Willow, who, now that she could see in the light, was covered in candle wax, despite her ministrations.
"What's up?"
"Um, it looks like the vamp party ended a little early. She just wanted you to know she's staying at Riley's tonight, so not to worry."
Willow frowned. Another night at Riley's. Those two were worse than a pair of bunnies on crack.
Crack bunnies. That's what I'll call them. But just to myself, not to them, cause, hey, rude much? And besides, what's it to me, I'm just the best friend here, brainless and Oz-less...which may not be such a bad thing anymore, I think. No, emphatically, I think not.
"Willow?"
Tara knew by now that Willow could sometimes wind up in her own world once in a while, she did it too, but Willow made it look cute.
"Oh, hey! Sorry there. Brainless and everything, just hanging a left into the red, huh? The needles' on E.".
Definitely cute.
"Into the what? What needle?"
Willow scrunched her nose at the blonde.
"You know, like um, running on empty? Out of gas? Riding on fumes? Brain dead?"
Tara nodded sagely, something she did very well, and reached out to lift several more strips of wax off Willow's shirt.
"We really took a bath in this stuff, huh? You're totally covered in it."
Willow looked down and confirmed, she was, indeed, saturated with candle wax, then noticed the same on Tara and began to assist in the removal from her blouse.
Willow's eyes followed her hands as they swept at the tiny pieces of dry tallow, over Tara's chest, down Tara's breasts, her hardening nip - Wait! Hands! Hands in new places!
Tara almost smirked as Willow quickly stepped away and dropped to the floor, once again collecting candles.
"Well! No mess is a good mess, I guess, so, uh, better make with the lessening of the mess! Less mess is, well, you know, less messy."
Recovering much sooner than she wished from Willow Contact, Tara dusted off her blouse and collected a waste basket from under her desk. She wondered, briefly, if Willow ever suffered from lightheadedness - due to the lack of oxygen to her brain whenever she babbled. Or maybe it was just the opposite - she had so much oxygen going on that her brain simply shifted into overdrive and had a hard time coming off it - like a kid on helium. Her thoughts weren't mean-spirited in anyway, she just couldn't believe how close she had come...no pun intended.
"Thanks."
After collecting as much of the wax that they could, Willow searched around for her jacket and keys, preparing to leave. Though she didn't want to, making excuses to stay seemed a little stalkerish and she definitely didn't want to go there. Then again, she knew she had felt something very important - and not just Tara's breasts - although they were wondrously soft and firm at the same time and she'd didn't realize nipples could be so - Hold it! We are NOT discussing Tara's breasts! Be quiet!
"Willow?"
Tara cocked her head to one side, examining the startled expression on the red head's face as she emerged from her Willow Trance.
"Sorry! Tired, battle fatigue, you know...the usual. I should go and get a little breast, Ha! Rest! Yes! Rest. Lots and lots of rest. "
Tara shook her head, very slowly as she gazed at her friend, her eyes narrowed to tiny slits.
"Oh. Yeah, rest. You're probably tired, it's been a long day" In Tara's mind, this translated as: I'm boring, the spell was stupid, it didn't work and she's just trying to be nice.
"Yeah, long day."
For a long moment they simply looked back and forth at one another, just nodding their heads in some taciturn agreement.
"Well," said Willow, at last.
"Yeah, um, well." Agreed Tara, for no reason; her head still nodding in time with Willow's.
"I'll be going." Willow spoke and her head nodded, but she made no movement in the direction of the door.
"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow, m-maybe?" Tara's nod called in sick at the last minute, forcing her to hold up her own head, only a slightly askew angle.
Willow (whose nod was curious as to how this would all turn out) nodded. "Oh, yeah, absolutely, tomorrow, as in, the day after today."
"Yeah."
Determination made some head way as Tara reached for and opened the door for Willow. Willow smiled, still nodding and passed through the arch into the hallway. They smiled again at one another before Willow turned and Tara finally shut the door. Tara was just about to bolt the lock when she felt the tremors of a slight rapping from outside.
Her heart racing, Tara opened the door. Looking far more expectant than she had hoped, Willow dropped her hand back to her side and took a step closer than was absolutely necessary.
"Tara?"
Taking a step a closer than she knew to be necessary, Tara brought herself almost nose to nose with the red head, unaware that the pounding in her chest was threatening to deafen the dorm. Even Willow winced and her heart beat was no better.
"W-willow?"
"I was going to ask you -"
Now completely unaware of herself, only the green, slightly bloodshot, somewhat sleepy, yet oh-so-sexy eyes before her, Tara took another step...right onto Willow's feet, which started Willow, forcing her off balance, yet, unable to move her legs, went backward, taking Tara with her.
From her new vantage position on top of Willow, out in the hall, Tara thought she could hear all the music of the world, a rapturous, sublime melody with strings and flutes and harps and, yes, even the stars were out and sparrows soaring over their heads, and there was something her mother had told her, when she was little and it came back to her, a cherished memory:
Tara! No running in the house!
She almost laughed; she looked down at Willow and smiled.
And then she realized where the stars and sparrows had come from.
Willow was unconscious.
"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do;
I'm half crazy all for the love of you..."
The tune wound down in her head like HAL itself, winding down at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey, all its programming and self-containment diminished, perhaps by madness. She had ached for the machine, at one time; she thought she understood it, why it did the things it did; she didn't need a half-assed sequel to tell her all the missing bits. I understand probability theory; I know what chaos looks like, I have no quasi-metaphysical hang-ups. I'm happy I tell you, blambustered and confuzzled. Happy!
"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do;
I'm half crazy all for the love of you..."
Tara, unused to panic, began to pace around the red head she had dragged back into her room, still unconscious. She didn't recognize the song Willow was half-singing, half-humming, and wondered if the fall had caused some sort of brain damage. She had examined Willow carefully, no bumps or blood anywhere, and wasn't sure what warranted a call for an ambulance. The advice nurse she spoke to on the phone told her not to worry, she might have a slight concussion, and only to bring her in if she became dizzy, her eyesight was fuzzy or she started vomiting. Since no physical damage was present, it was best to just keep her down for a while, and wait until she woke. There really wasn't anymore they could do.
This is a fine end to an evening, the fair-haired witch thought. I actually get her alone for a little while, in my room no less, on my floor, all sweet and cuddly-looking and she's conked out, delirious, probably hemorrhaging internally, she'll be dead in minutes if I don't do something, call Buffy or Mr. Giles or elevate her feet or something.
I can definitely elevate her feet.
Kneeling beside Willow, still humming her sickly sweet song, out of tune, in desperate need of a mint, Tara lifted her friend's feet and shoved three well-fluffed pillows beneath them. Grabbing a blanket from her bed, she draped it over Willow's body then gently opened one eye then the other, checking for....well, she didn't know what she was checking for, but they did it in movies and it seemed like a logical step.
Mild irritation began to work its way into Tara's nervous system as the simple tune vibrated from Willow's lips, and she knew she had heard it before, but couldn't place where. She wished Willow would wake and tell her. It was driving her nuts.
She gently stroked around Willow's pointed hairline, wondering at the wild color, and paused.
Daisy? Maybe it's someone Willow knows. A girlfriend? She would have mentioned that. An ex-girlfriend? A secret crush? A lost love? Someone she saw one day in one of her brain-cramp mathematics classes? Daisy...sounds like a Southern Belle type...all doe-eyed innocence and perky nipples....
"Tara?"
Yanked from her reverie, Tara almost fell backward, and overcompensated by thrusting her torso forward, like a tight rope walker and lurched slightly, just narrowly avoiding another Willow landing.
"Willow?"
The red head was smiling at her, calm and peaceful-looking. Her eyes, however, appeared to roll in their sockets, somewhat out of sync with one another.
"Tara....I had this funny dream. We were in this big boat and it was filled with dragons and chocolate and there were penguins, too, I remember the penguins, because one of them looked like you and one of them looked like me - funny penguins, see? And there was this flood and we didn't have dry socks, and you said, 'we have to have dry socks,' so, the dragons, you know, they warmed our feet, but all the chocolate melted and we were sticky."
Oh my God. It's brain damage.
"Will...you had an accident. You f-fell and hit your head. Do you remember?"
Unable to focus on any one part of Tara's face, Willow's brow wrinkled and her eyes narrowed.
"I remember wanting to kiss you goodnight. Does that count?"
Willow's smile returned, stealing Tara's breath. Clearly, Willow was still circling the airport, but the landing gear was down and all the passengers seemed to be happy.
"Are you comfortable? Does your head hurt?"
Willow shook her head slowly, from side to side, her eyes now fixed on Tara's, her smile unwavering. With a free hand, she patted at the empty space of floor on her right side, indicating she wanted Tara to join her there.
"Sleepy pumpkin? We'll have some snuggle time before class, okay?"
Willow's eyes had closed, taking all of Tara's sensibilities with them. Willow couldn't know what she was saying; she's delirious. She's not herself. She's disorientated.
Why then, do I not care?
Clambering over Willow's inert form, she curled up on the red head's right side, lifting the blanket to now cover them both. She was startled by Willow's arm snaking around her, pulling her in, hugging her close. She leaned forward, gently, placing her head near Willow's, close enough to feel her breath against her forehead. Close enough to feel Willow's lips, warm and soft, brush against her temple for the briefest of eternities...she wrapped an arm across Willow's chest, her right hand hooking onto the hacker's shoulder, anchored solid.
She wanted to close her eyes, not watching the steady rise and fall of her arm with each breath Willow took; she wanted to sleep, and dream of Willow and their big boat, with their penguins and dragons, bound for some Never Land uncharted, save within the labyrinthine confines of Willow's brain, somewhere between the two of them, a blue-purple sea of endless conversations and cuddles, and endless kisses in the moonlight.
She called me pumpkin.
She adjusted herself, pressing as closely to Willow as she could, cautiously, not willing to wake her; her eyes closed as she raised one leg over Willow's thigh, a movement that placed her center right against the red head's hip. She froze; her underwear was suddenly too tight, too confining. Her pelvic muscle flexed involuntarily at the contact and she regretted her decision to lie so closely to her. She tried to once again maneuver herself away from Willow when the red head suddenly turned in her sleep, to face Tara. Willow pulled the blonde closer, bringing them hip to hip, with Tara's leg still thrown high over her thigh.
Now finding herself ground against Willow's stomach, Tara attempted to adjust herself again, raising her leg off Willow - only to be cut short by Willow's knee, which moved forward between her legs and lodged itself firmly against Tara's rapidly heating core. Whichever way she went, she was still stuck and frustration was setting in.
The ache that started just below her navel and fell south, flooding through her fleshy nether caverns, was like a sneaky itch that she couldn't scratch. She wanted desperately to relieve herself of it: a hand, a tongue, a loofah...she didn't want Willow to wake in the morning with crazy woman in her arms. In fact, she didn't want Willow to wake at all at this point - what would she say? What would she think?
She called me pumpkin.
She held her breath, calling upon every element to make her calm, content; to help her sleep. Her eyes closed again and she willed herself to relax. She willed herself to ignore the almost imperceptible undulations of her hips, of the warm sap that was pooling between her thighs, of the soft, crimson lips that were so close to her own, or that Willow's arm had dropped from her waist - no, that hadn't happened. Willow's hand, hot and curious, slipping under the band of her skirt, the tips of her fingers brushing lightly against the silky down of her -
Is Willow awake?
Her eyes shot open; her nipples had become tattle tales, pointing at the culprit of her distress: She did it!
Willow's eyes were closed, her face blank. Yet her hand was most definitely not closed, but open and reaching further down, invoking lust and agitation, like some single-minded magician, intent on drawing the rabbit out, hat or no.
Is she awake?
She was torn; to submit to Willow's unconscious caresses seemed wrong; to stop them, however, might wake Willow and where would that lead? Would Willow, horrified, bolt from her room and never return? She might not, maybe, but at the same time - perhaps she didn't want Willow touching her. Shouldn't she stop this in either case? Risk the embarrassment?
Willow's fingers were stroking lazy circles along her lips, just grazing her, teasing her, sending smooth, thrilling tremors along her nervous system, straight to her brain.
Do I have to decide this now?
She had fallen asleep. She didn't remember doing this and if she had been aware of it, she probably wouldn't have done it. Her eyes remained closed as she listened for the morning birdsong and the sound of the other students waking and preparing for class. This was her favorite moment of the morning, filled with expectation and hope; pale flecks of sunlight spotting her room, warming the air, making her feel all snuggly and cozy and sticky and horny and...
That is NOT my hand.
Screwing her eyes shut she prayed to whatever gods or goddesses there were to make the strange hand go away, to never have existed, to disappear, to not be there, vamoose! Skedaddle! Be gone! You have no power here!!
But it didn't work. The hand remained, firmly embedded between her thighs, within the confines of her underwear, warm, damp and unyielding.
She briefly considered just reaching down and yanking the hand away, unceremoniously, but that might wake the owner, who was still, thankfully, sound asleep...or unconscious.
Worry returned in the form of a deeply-felt fear: what if Willow fell into a coma during the night? Is that why she's -
Waking? Oh God...she's not going to wake up?!
A single heavy lid lifted to reveal a blurry patch of green; a lazy smile followed.
"G'morn..."
Tara watched, expressionless, tense and with growing horror as Willow's eyes grew wide, and her smile faded, replaced by a quizzical stare, curiosity and -
Panic.
She felt trapped. Strapped on her side, a strong thigh holding her fast and her hand...her hand....Oh my God...where is my hand???
It was the realization that her hand was lodged firmly, tightly and oh so snugly within the confines of Tara's...um....Tara.
It lasted less than a full heart beat...the calm, before the storm.
Looking back, years later, Willow would remember this moment as the single-greatest panic she ever experienced in her life - greater than any Big Bad she ever faced, even more frightening than her bat mitzvah, and she didn't run screaming from that. In retrospect, she wished she had handled the whole thing better.
At the time, however, she wasn't sure just what 'better' was.
She did, after all, wake up with her hand, mysteriously planted in another girl's crotch...
...Something that in all her 19 years had never happened once before.
What would you do?
Willow did the only thing her brain would allow her to do at the time.
"I-I-I-I..." With all the agitation of a monkey on steroids, Willow made one vain, strained and almost violent attempt after another to remove her hand from its current confines...with increasing levels of un-success heretofore unknown to the young hacker.
"Sorry! Sorry! Really! I just don't know...how this...happened..."
She'd escaped the close clutches of vampires, demons, even her mother once, but this particular predicament was proving beyond her.
For her part, Tara had become frozen in space and time. From the moment Willow opened her eyes, wide with terror, she had lost all sense of self and sensation. She wondered if her spirit was leaving her body, she felt so light and delicate and empty...even as Willow's hand wriggled helplessly between her thighs, trapped, begging for escape.
She didn't know if she should help; how could she move? Something had to be preventing her...she watched, from a distance, as Willow struggled, finally, at last, free, her hand, red, swollen, flopping in the air like a fish out of water....
...and Willow, poor Willow, drawing herself up, apologizing profusely, staggering to her feet, babbling incoherently, almost tripping over herself, wide-eyed, gaping, then...gone.
She disappeared in a whirl of confusion that continued to hover over Tara's head long after the door clicked shut, long after she could hear the mad scuffling of the hacker's shoes echoing down the hall...
That, Tara, is likely to be the end of that.
Her head fell back against the floor with a tiny thud and she closed her eyes and drew her legs up to her chest, now so achingly empty...wishing, not for the first time in her life, that she hadn't been born.
"And now good morrow to our waking souls
Which watch not one another out of fear,
For love all love of other sights controls
And makes one little room an everywhere."
- John Donne from The Good Morrow
"The power of chance is widely underestimated. Our concept of randomness is shaped by quantum theory and thermodynamics, two theories in which chance is essential at the microscopic level, while at the macroscopic level it is insignificant. In the case of natural objects, the importance of chance tends to remain constant at all scales. Irregularity becomes hard to contain when randomness is let in."
Even at her most distracted, Willow Rosenberg took better notes in her classes than anyone. She had been especially distracted today, fidgeting constantly through the lecture on Uses of Nonconstrained Chance, a topic that felt a little too personal all day.
She wandered from one class room to the next all afternoon, still in the clothes she wore from the night before, and feeling altogether unkempt and in need of a wash. She couldn't stop flexing the digits on her right hand, still slightly red from the unusual space they occupied the night before - and much of that morning. Sitting in class, one ear on the lecture, she scribbled aimlessly, catching fragments of what was being said, her head occasionally nodding forward, not from exhaustion, but from a newfound compulsion. She could smell Tara on her hand; a strangely sweet and salty musk, still pungent, assailing her senses like opium. Her mind drifted all day in the fragrance, like a kite caught in the wind, unpredictable where it would land.
An irregular unpredictable...let loose by a seemingly random choice; or was it a choice? She didn't know if she was taking a chance or not, but Tara was not to blame, she was sure of that. She needed to apologize; Tara had become so important, so significant in so short a period of time, for reasons she still didn't understand.
Was Tara the unpredictable part? Or was she?
"While we recognize that the notion of chance evokes all kinds of quasi-metaphysical anxieties, we really shouldn't worry about them...."
Once the last lecture had ended, she decided she shouldn't put it off until her own anxieties had calmed somewhat. She had no intention of discussing the situation with Buffy; what would she say? Uh, Buffy, I think I might be kinda gay...No, it wouldn't do. She had no idea what the depth of her feelings might be. She'd never thought about them before. But Tara was more important at this point, she decided. She had made some kind of unconscious assault on her, invaded her most personal of spaces, then completely humiliated both of them, no doubt hurting Tara immensely in the process.
She had arrived at Tara's door without even taking note of her brief journey, and stood quietly, staring at the doorknob.
She wanted to knock, and she raised her hand several times to do so. She would hesitate the moment another student walked by, as if not wanting to be seen, or appear to desire entrance. Shame was nothing new to Rosenberg, she was raised to appreciate shame in all its glory, her mother was great practitioner, but this was something else entirely. She felt small.
"Hey, I think she's still at the studio. You might want to check there."
Willow barely heard the young woman as she unlocked her door, right next to Tara's.
"I'm sorry, what?"
The woman was very tall and very thin, with a frazzled head of curly blonde hair, dressed in a pair of baggy denim overalls with streaks of paint down the front. Willow thought she looked like one of the actors from a production of Godspell she had seen as a kid.
"I'm sorry?"
The woman pointed at Tara's door.
"She's still at the student art studio. You can go down and check. She was still there when I left."
Willow nodded and thanked the young woman, waiting until she had disappeared within her own room before setting off to find Tara.
The studio was sparsely lit from ancient lamps that hung high overhead, embedded in the dome ceiling. The art department held numerous rooms, a large lecture hall and smaller labs for the photography students. The student studio was large and airy, with student work framed along its circular walls. Several moveable screens split the geometry of the room, and it was behind one such screen that she found the only other occupant of the room.
Tara, dressed in a simple t-shirt and a baggy pair of cargo pants both covered in splotches of paint, was focusing intently on her work. A large canvas set on a wooden stand was her object of attention: a larger version of her "Mother and Child Reunion" sketch, incomplete.
From what little Willow knew of art, she could recognize Tara's style as being vaguely reminiscent of John Singer Sargeant, whose portraits she had admired very much in high school. But the painting itself would not keep her interest; it was Tara, so involved and unaware of anything outside the sphere of her activity. In her left hand, she held a messy palette, dripping with color. Her right arm, crooked high like a pale branch, reaching upward to some unknown point in space, waved in front of the painting, a small brush flashing in her fingers, just barely grazing the canvas.
Willow couldn't help but examine her, the curve of her, how her balance would shift from one leg to the other as she moved before her work; the swiftness of her arm as it would dart out to add another layer of color. Her strokes alternated between sharp, staccato stabs to long, smooth arcs of liquid motion. When she would stretch, her shirt would lift so slightly, exposing just scant inches of bare skin. Her long, blonde locks, dancing around her shoulders, grazing her neck, sharp, like soft angles of near-solid sunlight.
Had she ever been entranced by anyone before? She couldn't remember. She took a few tentative steps toward the young painter. Tara was beautiful in thought and movement; Willow was certain Grace had to be a genetic trait in her family.
It certainly doesn't run in mine, she thought to herself, before she hit the floor, face first.
"Willow?!"
Tara had spun around the moment she heard the jangling cacophonic thud, a shock that nearly had her palette flying right out of her hands.
The young hacker stumbled slightly as she lifted herself painfully off the floor, pausing only to check for any bruises before raising her head to eye level with a curious Tara.
"Tara! Hi! Um...just a little clumsy, huh? Sorry about that, no harm I think, though."
Tara made no move in the direction of the other student, but held her ground, and her brush, firmly.
"W-what are you doing here?"
Willow's nerves made a curlicue as they missed the left turn to Albuquerque; her eyes were dilated and nearly fixed and a painful rigidity had set up shop along her spine.
"Oh! Right, me here, for a reason, that's me. Um, well, you know, I just wanted to, you know, apologize about this morning, I mean, it wasn't very nice of me to go gallivanting off like a robber baron thief-type person, but I was kind of, well, sort of a little, maybe, not so much freaked or anything, I was just a tad unprepared and um, not really myself, you know? What with the head banging and um, sleep-walking or whatever that was, I certainly didn't mean to, you know, do anything, or try anything or try to do anything, I wasn't aware of, anyway, doing anything, I mean. Did that sound convincing?"
Tara was momentarily concerned her brow might never un-furrow; she had not moved an inch since Willow began speaking and she remained still, just in case.
"Um, o-okay? I mean, you don't have to apologize, Willow, I mean, it was just a f-fluke or something. It happens."
Willow did not look convinced.
"Really? Oh. Um, well, I just didn't want you thinking that I was like, um, um -"
"Interested in me?"
Tara's expression melted a little, her eyes had taken on a sad aspect Willow found hard to resist. Stupid!
"Oh! Well, yes, I mean, I am interested in you, friend, you, you, my friend, my interesting friend, very interesting friend...who I like very much. I like all about you, all the Tara bits, which are very nice...not just the girl bits, although they're very nice, too, but that's not the why, because you know, I liked Oz, a lot and he was boy, but it wasn't the boy part that I liked specifically, it was the Oz part, and now I like the Tara part. Did that make sense?"
Tara had never before been taken by anyone who could ramble as well or at such length as Willow Rosenberg. A smile crooked from one corner of her mouth, and she set down her palette and brush, moving slowly in Willow's direction and stopping just short.
"That's okay, Willow. R-really. I like the Willow part, too. But I've got girl parts and your girl parts are nice, too, but especially the whole Willow part is n-nice. I like all of you, all the bits and parts and pieces."
Willow found her smile, involuntarily, unable to look anywhere but Tara's face, so open and sincere before her.
"Y-you said you wanted to kiss me goodnight."
"Oh! Did I? I did, I do, I mean, did I?"
"That would require some of our girl bits, I think."
"Oh! Right! Yes, well, I didn't say that I don't like your girl bits, I like them very much! You have amazing girl bits, I mean they're not bits, they're significantly more than bits, of course, big bits, um, not massively big bits, but nicely proportioned bits, but, you know, I mean, I don't mind your bits. Your girl bits, that is."
Taking a breath deeper than she intended, for she wasn't quite sure what she was doing, Tara stepped closer to the red head.
"That's good. Really. Would you like to?"
The hacker's program was hanging; she couldn't re-boot the system; she just had to wait. Tara was so close.
"Um, like to do what?"
"Kiss my bits goodnight."
For Willow, the world had suddenly contracted into that tiny space that only the two of them now occupied.
"Oh, right! Of course, that's what I said, is it? I wanted to do that, right? Yes, and again, it's night time, so that's okay, because it's okay and fine with me. The kissing thing is -"
She wasn't allowed to finish her sentence; Tara swiftly closed the distance between them, taking Willow's face between her hands, her lips seizing Willow's, wet and warm, with wild, random, unpredictable kisses that left them both utterly breathless.
"Do you think you could invent something that would help us escape?" Klaus asked, looking around the room.
-Lemony Snicket, The Bad Beginning
In the shadow of an unfinished work, The Kiss that Would Not End continued.
Neither participant had ever abandoned themselves so completely, to anything. Each so individual, so unique in their gifts, their thoughts and actions, so different in their approach to the same things, now insensate, bound to the other, melting, molding themselves anew, joined by the most tenuous yet unrelenting of attachments...
Artist and scientist, true alchemists, turned elemental, the most basic of materials, mere lip flesh, wet, heated tongues that spoke a thousand languages, eager to teach the other what it knew; communicating secrets, spying, seeking out, entrusting.
This was a way out and they both knew it; their eyes, brimming pools of blue and green, shimmering, dilated, read the message, decoded and understood. The mission was relentless, overpowering; what their bodies could not sustain, their hearts held up to the sun like a priceless find: This is ours...mine.
She was holding them up, somehow, for Willow had slipped in her arms; her hands held their purchase in the red head's cheeks, their lips having long since paid the bill. Willow's arms, like an expedition through the wilderness, found their way at last; bold now, her hands roaming through the fields of Tara, her fingers cautiously exploring every hill and valley, narrowing expanses, seeking something without a name, wild, enchanted...
And preferably naked.
"Wait. Wait."
They were tangled now, on the floor, limbs askew, breath for breath, pulses pounding in their skulls like hammers; Tara raised herself away from the melee, her hair falling forward; sweat shining on her cheeks. Willow was flushed, too, speechless and staring. Fine wisps of blonde hair fluttered over her face like butterflies. She shivered at the loss of contact, the room suddenly cold without her Tara-skin, her new self, who was astride her now, legs splayed on either side of her hips, smiling down at her, laughing.
Willow's heart contracted, painfully.
Why is she laughing at me?
"What?"
Tara was giggling now, a girlish giggle; she covered her face in her hands, her shirt raising slightly, exposing the babyish pink of her stomach; Willow had never found the human navel to be terribly interesting or attractive. She smiled. Everything had changed, so suddenly.
"What's funny?"
Tara stifled herself, shaking her head and nodded at the girl beneath her.
"I hope that's not your favorite shirt."
Willow glanced down at herself; the once-white shirt was now smeared with the colorful paint from Tara's clothes. This was not a concern; she smiled back at the blonde painter; a stamp of ownership had been given. She wasn't about to complain.
"Oh! It's kind of abstract, I think."
"I can have it cleaned for you."
Willow shook her head.
"No! I mean, no, I like it, and who knows, you might be famous one day and I'll have this shirt I can show off, you know...something from your early period. Might be worth something. Never know."
Tara grinned, shaking her head.
"Will you tell them how I did it?"
Willow struggled to right herself, wrapping her hands around Tara's waist so that they now sat, face to face.
"Can I kiss you again?"
The question was asked so simply, with child-like earnest; green eyes wondering and hoping.
"Y-you don't have to ask me, Willow."
Knowing full well she had just been given carte blanche to do as she would, Willow held back. Her lips barely grazed Tara's before pulling away, leaving a wanting wake of desire. She gazed soberly at the blonde in her lap, a look of serious intent creasing her brow.
"I want to know everything about you, where you're from, what your favorite color is, I want to know the name of your first pet, who was your favorite teacher at school, what was your favorite subject...I want to know about your family, when did you start painting, everything. I'm serious."
Tara could not stop smiling. Willow really doesn't need much air - her kisses proved that. She didn't really know how to answer; she wasn't great with words, with explaining things. She believed Willow completely, that she wanted to know everything, but there was so much and words just wouldn't do. Everything she wanted to tell Willow was right in her hands, looking her right in the face, unwavering with a patient certainty, waiting.
"I don't know what to say. You don't ask for much, do you?"
Inwardly, Willow began scolding herself: I'm pushing things, I'm moving too fast, I just had my hand in her pants this morning and now I'm mapping out the rest of our lives...she must think I'm some numpty-headed pemsnit-something...oh God! I've forgotten how to speak English!
Seeing the dejected fall of her companion's face, Tara stood, and offered a hand to her.
"I'm not good with the explaining, Willow. Let me show you something."
Tara led Willow over to her still-drying canvas. She pointed at the maternal figure.
"That's my mother. I told you she taught me magic. My f-father didn't approve of it, so we did everything in secret. She had beautiful hands. I loved it when she would brush my hair; she was so gentle and patient. It was important, see, because my hair would get so tangled and I'd cry sometimes."
Willow nodded, sympathetic to a universal predicament, but her mother had been very different. She was glad Tara's mother was so kind and loving.
"Is that you?"
Tara nodded.
"Do you get to see her very often?"
Tara's smile faded. She continued to stare at the picture, the colors running together in her mind, and another version, already complete.
"Everyday, when I come here. In my mind"
"You don't see her, at home or anything? Do you still talk?"
Another smile, different from all the others, crept into Tara's eyes. There was happiness in it, but a great sadness, too. Willow sensed it, sensed the answer coming, desperately not wanting to intrude, but unable to look away.
"My mother died two years ago. She had been sick for a long time. But I talk to her all the time. She's always with me. Sometimes I can feel her. Like now."
"What do you mean?"
Tara raised a hand to Willow's face, her fingers gently tracing over her forehead, her nose and cheeks, the outline of her lips.
"She likes you."
Willow's eyes cast downward, yet she didn't want the touch to end.
"I'm sorry."
"It's alright. I want you to know everything too. And I want to know everything about you."
Willow took a hesitant step toward the other girl, to this new found land where she wanted to live and explore - a world away from Sunnydale, from California, from hellish landscapes disguised as mystical convergences with demon populations and endless danger. She could be inventive, and Tara was an artist; they could build some fantastical contraption that would carry them away, just the two of them, alone. She could build this, somehow, she would.
"Can we start now?"
The sun had set; they were alone and the night stretched out before them like a road never traveled.
Tara nodded, her eyes closing, slowly, as once again their lips renewed their endless acquaintance.
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