Ten Thousand Days - 4 - Wings
by Valyssia
Boundless
[reviews]
Willow was obviously upset when she turned from the door. Part of her felt that she was being excluded because of her unusual circumstances. She wasn't, after all, really one of them. In fact, she was an interloper saddled with the identity of a dead woman. I can't expect them to just accept me. The idea made her nervous, but she rallied to control the emotion. Suddenly aware she wasn't alone, she turned her attention to the stairs. Her partner was sitting casually on the top stair with her forearms on her knees, staring down at her hands. "How much of that did you hear?" she asked.
Buffy turned her gaze from the backs of her hands, and looked down into the stairwell at her witch. "You think they don't trust you," she said pointedly.
"No, they don't accept me. It's different," Willow replied bluntly. It took her a couple of moments to collect her thoughts. She moved up the stairs in silence, and motioned for Buffy to get up. "Come on... Let's take care of you," she offered.
"They will," Buffy said in a soft voice as she stood to follow her witch.
A calm sigh issued from her when Willow stooped to turn on the taps. She stuck her hand under the water, waiting for it to warm then flipped the lever to close the drain in the large round tub. "Take a bath, sweetie. Whatever it takes to feel better, 'kay? I'm gonna go make something to eat. Then we'll talk," she whispered as she poured some lightly scented bath salts into the tub.
When her witch had left, Buffy began to undress. Getting the restrictive clothing off her lower half had never felt better. She was over-stimulated to the point of pain. Something she'd never experienced, and hoped she never would again. After gently sweeping the Ben Wa balls from herself and placing them in the sink, she settled into the tub. The hot water felt good and she reached to turn the cold water down even more. Her body ached from being locked into one folded position for hours on the expressway. As she stretched, arching her back against the tub, a soft groan escaped her. She reached for a wash cloth and soaked it, and folded it over her eyes, breathing in the delicate vanilla fragrance. So, Andrew Wells is dead. Giles always thought he was sorta foolish. The only reason he'd kill him—only one I can think—is if he knew something. That's assuming it wasn't natural causes. Can you O.D. on bad sci-fi?
Willow returned to the bathroom carrying a large wooden tray, laden with food. She removed a warm mug of herbal tea and set it on the tiled ledge of the large tub. "I called Xander and checked in. Dawn settled down some and she's gonna spend the night here," she offered in a hushed voice.
"Thank you," Buffy replied as removed the cloth and looked up at her partner. She reached for the tea and took a sip. It was sweet with honey and had a rich spicy flavor. Ginger tea with lemon, she absently identified.
"I know you've gotta be starved," Willow remarked. She pulled a wicker bench over to the edge of the curved stepped platform the bathtub was set into, and placed the tray on it. As she took a seat on the tiled step next to Buffy, she asked, "So what's with the bathroom thing?"
"Whatcha mean?" Buffy asked, glancing up at her partner's profile.
Willow turned to meet her slayer's gaze. "Dunno... It's just been in two of them now, and to call them elaborate—woefully understated." As she spoke she husked the shell from a steamed shrimp, then pressed her index fingernail under the vein, gently peeling it away.
A delicate smile warmed her face before she answered, "Ahh... I think they're trying to keep me happy. We'll let them keep trying, but happy for me isn't about a bathroom."
Submerging the shrimp in clarified butter, Willow fed it to her lover, and watched a little of the butter dribble down her chin.
Buffy chewed the large shrimp grateful for the food, wiping the butter from her chin with the back of her hand. A soft grin played at the corners of her mouth just before she took another sip of the tea. She accepted a dark rye cracker with a piece of sharp cheese next as her witch fed her. A piece of fresh kiwi came shortly after.
Willow nibbled at the tray of food as she fed her slayer. "I'll have to thank them for shopping for us," she noted aloud as she wedged off a piece of hard salami to feed her protein-starved mate. She cleaned her fingers on a napkin, then peeled a shrimp for herself.
When her witch cracked the shell on a crab leg, Buffy looked around, wondering what the noise was. The unrest was quickly resolved with another bite of buttery food. Reclining back in the tub, she closed her eyes, quietly eating whatever was offered. She was a bit amused at the sheer variety of things her partner had selected. Between bites, she teased, "Y'know you could be at this for hours, right?"
Willow simply smiled in response and fed her slayer a slice of orange. Eventually she offered, "If 'hours' is what it takes..." When the tray was finally empty of all but debris, she asked, "More?"
Buffy flipped the lever to let some of the water drain out, and started the hot water tap before she replied, "Nah...I'm good."
Willow took the mug and tray and left the room. When she returned she set a fresh cup of tea on the ledge, and began to gently bathe her lover. "I'm sorry I pushed so hard today. It was cruel. I had no clue the ride would be—" she whispered while she ran a warm soapy cloth over her partner's back.
"I'll live," Buffy interrupted bluntly.
"That's not the point. 'Cruel' is another thing I don't wanna be. Tell me next time," Willow said patiently. She gestured for her partner to stand, and started to wash her legs. "I feel a need to bake...and you know—"
An evil smirk tugged her features as Buffy glanced down at her witch. "And I wouldn't stop you. Warm, guilty chocolate chips—always of the good," she teased.
Willow rolled her eyes. "I'm gonna take a quick shower while you finish up, then we'll talk."
Note to self: Willow guilt still a good thing. Maybe if I pout I can get cookies too. Buffy giggled to herself, and dunked her head. She quickly washed her hair, rinsing it with the nifty, built-in spray wand. Xander guilt's good too. Once she was rinsed, she quickly dried off and put her hair up in a towel. Her robe was hanging on a hook on the back of the door. She put it on, grabbed her tea, and walked out to look over the bedroom. Opening the first door she came to, she found a half bath. You'd think that men wouldn't understand this stuff...totally weird.
The third door on the opposite side of the room next to the entrance opened into a large, walk-in closet. Shelves for my shoes? Lots more fuel for the teasing, enough to last well into the next decade. The Imelda Marcos comments alone should get them past Christmas. No clue who the chick is—never cared enough to look it up. My guess...she has lots of shoes. Smart woman.
When Buffy exited the closet, something caught her eye. In the corner of the room near Willow's side of the bed was a chest that looked a little too much like her own weapon chest except with an upholstered top. After a minor amount of deliberation, curiosity won out. She crossed the room and placed her tea on the nightstand, kneeling in front of the trunk. She was just about to open the lid when she heard her partner's voice.
"If you open that, I expect you to pick something," Willow directed firmly. She walked up behind her kneeling lover, and added, "I really don't think that's what you want." Leaving Buffy to stew, she went and retrieved a small box from her purse on the dresser.
Buffy was frozen in place, completely intrigued, but strangely apprehensive. She was still in front of the trunk when her witch returned. When Willow opened the lid, Buffy's jaw dropped. "Umm...Will?" she stammered.
An evil grin spread over Willow's face as she dropped the small box into the top tray, then lifted it out, exposing the rest of her collection of sex toys.
It took some amount of effort for Buffy to compose herself enough to speak. "Oh...'kay... So...totally afraid to ask... Much actually... But when did you buy all this?" she mumbled nervously.
"You said you wanted to know her. Be careful what you ask for," Willow commented frankly while she replaced the tray and shut the lid on the trunk. The impish smirk returned home. "I started collecting after we began playing with knives. You seemed to—umm—enjoy a little kink. Not that you'd directly ask. Anyway, sorta waited for you to bring it up," she pointed to the trunk, "Toy box...if I ask you to get something out of it—" she instructed then she made her way to the bed, taking a seat on the edge.
Buffy shook her head, and rose to her feet before she spoke. "I wouldn't have a clue what to call half that stuff so..."
Willow lounged back against her pillows. "Oh...I won't ask for anything specific. You'll have to pick."
Buffy glanced up to find her witch glaring at her, and realized she was nervously playing with her tongue piercing. Suppressing the impulse, she made her way to her side of the bed, and softly snarked, "Sounds like a warped game of Russian Roulette."
"I think you'll be surprised," Willow replied, turning over to lie on her side facing Buffy. After a moment of careful inspection to determine her partner's mood, she added, "You seemed to enjoy—on the ship—and that's in there."
A soft blush warmed her cheeks as Buffy examined the memory. She turned on her side to face her witch, and admitted, "Umm...yeah...that was sorta..." She stopped, unable to finish the thought.
Willow chuckled, and cocked an eyebrow. She slid over closer to her slayer. After a brief pause, she teased, "Thought it was my job to get all embarrassed and babbly." A soft snicker slipped out, and she turned the covers back, crawling into bed. Once she was comfortable, she remarked, "It's an experiment. We're going to figure out exactly what Buffy Summers likes. If you hate it, just say, and we'll move on."
Buffy stood up, and removed her robe and the towel, returning them to the bathroom before she spoke. "That's pretty simple. What I like is just being close to you."
Willow followed her lover around the room with her eyes. As she slipped back into bed, the witch commented in a voice thick with saccharine, "Aww... That's sweet, Buffy," her tone snapped sharp, "Not the point, and you know it. You've got this thing, sorta like me only more with the pretending." She pulled the blankets over her slayer, and wrapped her arms around her.
Settling into the curve of her witch's shoulder, Buffy reflected in a soft guilty voice, "So, what about the other thing? You know I'm sorry he's dead—same as I would be for anybody else—but Andrew and I..." she sighed, "I feel bad. I'm more worried about what it means."
"Andrew and I were never close either," Willow offered, trying to comfort her partner. After delicately clearing her throat, she said, "I'm gonna figure out whether it was a natural death or not tomorrow night. The coroner's results should be available by then. If I need to...morgue duty. I'll be able to tell if it was a magical death almost on contact. No sense in worrying until we know. If it was murder, then it raises some serious questions."
Buffy tilted her head to look up at her witch. Her voice caught in her throat as she said, "You know what I'll have to do if it was Giles, right?"
A gentle, exasperated sigh punctuated a change in her temperament, then Willow reflected, "I know what your reaction—the slayer's reaction will be. Thing is, though, Buffy...if it was murder, we need to ask why first. Could be someone's trying to lure you out. All I'm saying is we need to be careful. No flying off the handle—getting wrathy."
"Fair enough," Buffy agreed.
"I'll remind you of that, if and when you get wrathy," Willow remarked sardonically. Pausing to appreciate the soft smirk her slayer was wearing, she eventually redirected, "Back to the less icky part of the talk?"
"Sure," Buffy replied with a gentle shrug. As she felt the subtle prompts, she rolled on top of her lover.
Willow raised her thigh, gently spreading Buffy's legs. A diminutive smile curled her lips when her slayer pressed against her and groaned. "We've reviewed your case, Miss Summers, and believe that you deserve time off for good behavior," she intoned in a mock official sounding voice.
Buffy froze, and asked thoughtfully, "Will the court be pardoning itself too. If not—deal breaker." She moved to roll off her witch until she saw the gentle nod.
"If that's what you want," Willow purred. She reached up to sweep a lock of hair out of her lover's face.
***********
Giles cradled the beautiful, dark-haired woman in his arms. It had been many years since they had last met, yet she had not aged a day. He was curious to her sudden presence in his life, not to mention his bed. She had not been forthcoming, but had simply worked to seduce a weak man. He lay regretting his decision. "What brings you to me," he prompted again.
"Your many charms, Rupert Giles," Alexa purred as she pressed the watcher onto his back and straddled him. When she leaned forward to seize his wrists and wrench them over his head, her breast caressed the stubble on his face, sending a tingle down her spine.
When Alexa relented her hold, Giles was momentarily relieved, believing himself free. He attempted to move his arms, but they refused as if locked in place. There was nothing at his wrists he could sense. He fought uselessly until he felt himself press inside. Giles looked up at the face of his lover and was horrified by what he saw. Her face had transformed. Once a voluptuous young beauty, the woman who rode him was black-eyed, and gaunt. Her skin was pale, and looked more like stone than flesh. There was an unusual luminance to her that caused her to shimmer in light the shown in from the street lamps through the open window. He cursed his body, struggling to suppress the sensations.
"You did well with Andrew Wells. I am your reward," Alexa purred as she leaned over the watcher. She forced a kiss on the unwilling man before, she growled, "You don't like your gift? Surely you haven't forgotten our time together?"
Giles grunted despite himself when she thrust her pelvis against his. "I remember your betrayal," he said through heavy gasps.
"Ahh... The Summers woman, and her mongrel Angelus. You can't seriously hope to defend them? The Egregore demand loyalty above all else, Rupert Giles. I am here to see where yours lies," Alexa intoned in a hollow inhuman voice as she continued to writhe against the helpless man.
"D-did you say?" Giles gasped. His brow was thick with sweat, and his body trembled violently despite his best efforts to control the impulse.
Alexa intoned, "Fail us again and die," the hollow voice amplified, turning to a wicked laugh.
The voice seemed to echo as though many voices were taunting him. Giles quaked with fear as he succumbed to the ministrations of his inhuman lover.
***********
Still damp from her shower, Buffy lay on her side on the bed watching her witch with interest. The chest was open and she was kneeling in front of it selecting items that Buffy couldn't see because the furniture was blocking her view. "Whatcha doing, Will?" she finally asked, unable to restrain the curiosity.
"We need to talk about the practice. I'm gonna give you a chance to abandon it. You need to understand what you're doing," Willow replied frankly. She gestured for her slayer to lie on her back. Taking a seat next to her on the bed, she sorted through the contents of a small Ziploc bag. Once she finished she passed the piercing ring off to Buffy to inspect. "That's what the real deal looks like—the weight," she commented, handing the bag off as well.
Accepting the bag, Buffy set it aside to look at the ring. It had a tiny hematite bead that she thought was actually sort of pretty.
"The little barrel shaped things are the weights," Willow noted as she reached over and slid one around the shaft of the ring with her nail.
Buffy handed back the ring, and spread out in front of her lover as she issued the silent commands.
"I ordered something that should be here in the next few days," Willow said in a hushed voice while she gently threaded the ball off one end of the circular barbell. "Your word today is 'faith,' should you choose to continue." She slipped the circular barbell out, and set it aside, then snapped the captive bead out of the other ring. Sliding the weights off, she placed them on the bag, and threaded the ring through the piercing. Her slayer quivered. As she started to thread the tiny weights onto the ring, she continued in a soft voice, "You see Buffy, coming up with a punishment has been hard. Really hard. I came to the conclusion that playing to our weaknesses would hurt most." As she finished the statement, she punctuated by snapping the captive bead into place.
Buffy gasped, and her muscles tensed, causing her back to arch violently. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Once she finally managed to scan the room, her witch was again kneeling in front of the trunk.
"I think that you'd do almost anything, just to make me happy, and totally love it," Willow offered. After a moment of dead silence, she rose to her feet with a small box in her hand.
A soft knowing smile tempered Buffy's features as she looked up at her witch. She watched the redhead clear the piercing jewelry, and return to her. "I would," she admitted in a voice just above a whisper. Reaching down to take her partner's hand, she added, "I love you, Will."
"And I love you, Buffy. That's the problem. It's a terrible thing to understand that the only thing that's going to— This practice is important to me. I think it'll be good for both of us. The point of any practice is to bring about positive change—make you see things differently. But how do you punish and not scar?" Willow reflected as she reached for the box, and opened it. She set the box aside, and gently coaxed her slayer onto her hands and knees.
Her body quivered as her witch caressed her with her tongue, passing over the entire surface of her sex. A throaty gasp slipped out when her lover dipped her tongue deep inside, then immediately withdrew.
Willow purred softly, "Mmm..." and ran her fingers over the moist silky skin, licking them as she reached for the first Ben Wa ball.
When the first ball slid inside her, Buffy drew in a deep breath, releasing it as the second one followed. After a moment controlled breathing to compose herself, she replied honestly, "I'm not sure you do, Will." Her body relaxed, and she rolled onto her side to wait.
Willow disappeared into the closet. Sorting through clothing while she offered frankly, "I ordered a bondage bench. It's the last thing I wanted, but... I know you well enough to understand that I could strap you to it, and some part of you would enjoy it. You might even think you deserved it."
Umm...wow...harsh much? This is sounding bad. Buffy shifted nervously as she watched her witch emerge from the closet. But she's might be right. A soft sigh punctuated the thought.
Willow handed a blue ruffled cotton skirt and a cream colored silky halter top to her slayer. Then she went to the dresser. "Put them on, Buffy. No underwear until I take the weight off," she instructed as she put on a bra and tucked the red silk pouch next to her heart. "It may be awhile. Let me know if it hurts. I may have to take a little off. I added just a bit more to yours than I did for mine. You have a higher tolerance than I do, slayer," she instructed. After a short pause to put on a plain white gauze peasant shirt and green tartan skirt, she continued in a low voice, "If I'm on the bench, our inner demons come out to play. You're terrified of hurting, and I'm terrified of being hurt. That's our punishment. Facing our demons. You have until after breakfast to decide." When she turned around Buffy was watching her intently. She tied the halter and quietly left the room.
Buffy went to the closet and put on sandals, selecting a pair of boots she thought would go nicely with what her witch was wearing. She stopped by the dresser for socks and left the room, bouncing down the stairs. Each step was intense, but in a good way. I wanted to know. Now I do. The weight pulled a little when she cut the last two steps, jumping into the foyer. She reflexively clenched against the Be Wa balls, and let out an extended breath to keep the sensations in check as she moved. The air was already full of good smells, and she took another deep breath just to enjoy them. When she entered the kitchen, she dropped the boots at the end of the island and placed the socks above them for her witch to see. Then she took a seat at the other end, smoothing her skirt down underneath her.
Turning from the fruit she was slicing, Willow took a moment to look over her slayer. The slight blush of arousal gave her a glow that could only be described as beautiful. There was no other word. She washed her hands, and closed the distance between them, delivering a tender, loving kiss. "You look good enough to eat," she mumbled as she returned to the counter.
Watching her witch turn to the stove, and poured Worcestershire sauce over some ground meat she was cooking. "So, this is really important to you, isn't it?" Buffy prompted thoughtfully.
"Yes, I said it was. It scares me, but I've found the most profound experiences usually do. Change is scary," Willow answered as she chopped up a mushroom, and tossed it in with the tofu she was making for herself. "There's more to it. Because of how the punishment—we're gonna have to share," she flipped her tofu in the skillet with a flick of her wrist, and poured some soy sauce over. "What I mean is, in the end, we'll total the number of errors for both of us, and that's the number of days. We share our mistakes."
"That's not really fair, Will. I always do worse—" Buffy replied cutting off as her witch spoke over her.
"Fair or not...it's how it has to be," Willow said in a firm voice. After she ground some sea salt and pepper into both pans she went back to cutting up fruit. "There's one final thing you really won't like," she offered apprehensively while she poured a small amount of oyster sauce into the tofu pan.
"I already really don't like it. Make it worse," Buffy replied. Placing her elbow on the counter, she cupped her cheek in her hand, and tilted her head.
Willow swept the fruit into two bowls, and placed one in front of her slayer. "No conventional sex, only anal. And the duration of each session must be at least an hour. You can choose more, but no less," she instructed in an arid tone. She didn't look back to see the expression on her partner's face. It was completely unnecessary. Shock, she could feel it wash over her. Placing another pan on the stove to warm, she went to the refrigerator, and got out some eggs, butter, and milk.
Buffy looked utterly aghast as she protested, "I can't do that to you."
"Why? I did it to you. Last night, if memory serves," Willow stated plainly. After rinsing the cutting board, she measured out the ingredients for instant mashed potatoes and mixed them as she added, "Remember, you chose the safe option. I made it lots less safe." Standing still for a moment with her hands on the counter, she then went back to cooking, cracking eggs and whipping them with milk for an omelet. She put a pat of butter in the empty pan, and poured the mixture in.
A look of indignation sullied her features as Buffy sputtered, "Yeah...but that was different."
Willow put the bowl of mashed potato in the microwave to warm and remarked angrily, "Different? Why, because you loved the abuse?" After applying some more spices she stirred the ground beef with a spatula, and then flipped her tofu with a flick of her wrist. "Was it different because you came so hard you almost shook the bed apart? That is when I finally let you cum." After she dropped some clear rice noodles in a pot of boiling broth, she glanced back toward her slayer. "How was it different, Buffy?" she asked patiently.
Buffy fished out a piece of orange and ate it, refusing to comment. Fuck! I hate it when she does that. She pulled out a piece of kiwi, and grumbled softly to herself as she chewed. Relenting to the silence, she admitted in a whisper, "Last night was... It was the first time."
"The first time, what?" Willow asked as she absently turned the browning meat over with the spatula.
"The first time anyone ever did that to me, and it felt good. It scared the hell out of me, but it was totally hot too. You turning me onto my side and asking me to touch myself. You were so gentle. It's weird...it was loving in a really twisted sorta way," Buffy replied in a soft dreamy timbre as she examined the memory. She looked down into the bowl, and pulled out a piece of strawberry, popping it into her mouth. Once the strawberry was gone, her face darkened. Her tone was thin with strain when she added, "That's always been painful, and that's what you're asking me for—the painful."
"Punishment is about hurting," Willow reflected in a cold distant voice. The microwave chimed, she went to it, and pulled out the potatoes, fluffing them with a fork. She spooned the potato onto the egg, and poured the meat on top, tossing a handful of shredded cheese across it to melt. She plated up her own food in silence, and placed it on the counter next to Buffy. Once the cheese was melted she folded the omelet and slid it onto a plate, setting it in front of her partner. She turned off the stove and grabbed silverware and napkins. When she finished pulling the food on the counters away, she quietly sat down to eat.
Buffy took a forkful of the omelet and ate it not quite sure what to expect. "What is this?" she asked when she finished chewing.
"Sheppard's pie omelet. I hope it's good. I don't eat meat so...not testing," Willow whispered between bites of tofu.
"It's great. I'm just surprised—because of the not eating," Buffy remarked gratefully. She ate a few more bites of the omelet, and asked again in a hushed pensive tone, "So, this is really important to you, isn't it?"
"Yes," Willow reassured honestly. She began to push her food around her plate, stopping when she noticed her slayer was watching.
Buffy sighed deeply, and took another bite of omelet before she spoke. "I'll do it on one condition."
Finishing the bite of tofu she'd grudgingly taken to get Buffy to stop staring, Willow queried, "That is?"
"I get to pick exactly how I 'punish' you," Buffy replied frankly.
"I don't want you making love to me that way. I couldn't take it if you did. You know how much this terrifies me. Thing is, it's not 'cause I don't trust you. I know you'd never injure me. It's the association that scares me. I want to forget it when it's over. I don't want to think about it when you make love to me," Willow babbled nervously. When she finished she pushed her food away.
"This is crazy. Eat your food, Will. I know what you're asking. You want to be fucked by the slayer. You want me to unleash a demon on you. It's nuts. How can you say you'll forget that?" Buffy asked in a heated voice. After grumpily taking another bite of food, she pushed her witch's plate back in front of her.
"I won't forget so much as compartmentalize it. Know what I mean? Put it in a little box and separate it," Willow replied sincerely. After receiving another scathing glare, she started to slowly eat her breakfast.
"And that's why—the... You don't want me to touch the part—so you can separate it?" Buffy asked pensively. A deep sigh issued from her, and she took another bite of omelet.
"Yes, that's exactly why I want you to blindfold me, gag me, strap me to a bench, and fuck me up the ass," Willow stated bluntly. She glanced over at the hurt look on Buffy's face and it almost broke her heart. It shocked her even more when moments later a soft snort disturbed the expression, and her slayer wheezed into maniacal laughter. I think I broke her. "You okay, Buffy?" she asked gently.
It took some effort for Buffy to calm herself enough to speak. "Close your eyes, Will," she shook as another snicker broke through, "Now picture the look on Xander's face—" she coughed, and her witch started to laugh. Gasping to conclude the thought, she added, "If he'd walked in just then." A deep shuddering breath caused her to tremble as she noted, "Of all the insane conversations we've had—this one—the rest were total amateur night. Won't do it. You're gonna have to figure another way. And why the sudden obsession?" As she awaited an answer, she pulled a piece of kiwi out of the bowl and shoved it into her mouth, licking her fingers.
Willow dutifully took another bite of her noodles, sipping at the hot vegetable broth, before she replied, "Because it's painful, or it can be, and the social stigma can cause shame. At its root, though, there's something primal about it. It stimulates the base chakra causing a more visceral response. Really, though, it's another way of dominating."
"Why do you want this so much, Will?" Buffy asked, hoping for comprehension. She took another bite of the omelet suddenly wishing there were two of them.
A soft sigh passed through her lips, and Willow reflected candidly, "I can't really tell you. You won't understand until you actually do it."
Taking a moment to swallow a bite, Buffy asked pensively, "It sounds like you have. Why again?"
"I have... This is for you, Buffy. It's the hardest thing. You wouldn't think it would be. It sounds so simple," Willow admitted. Once she finished speaking, she sipped at more of the broth, and took a bite of tofu.
"Then why the again—for you, and what—you don't have any scars—what'd you do?" Buffy asked, taking the last bite of her omelet.
"Because I want us to share it. I think it'll be good for 'us'," Willow replied frankly. She took another bite of her breakfast, and her face flushed. "I wore a butt plug dipped in a lubricant that burned. It was horrible. Twenty-four hours for each mistake. Like with the cutting. As soon as I screwed up—punishment."
Brushing the confession off, Buffy pulled the last slice of fruit out of the bowl, and ate it before remarking, "I can't believe I'm asking for this. You're a truly sick woman, Willow Summers-Rosenberg. Why not that then? Both of us, and not just you."
"Because we need—I need to face those demons," Willow admitted truthfully. She sat silently, and finished her breakfast. As she cleared the plates and began to load the dishwasher, she remarked thoughtfully, "I need to move on, and you need to face yours too."
"And this—you know you're nuts—this will do that?" Buffy asked not sure if she was hearing properly.
Willow leaned with her back against the counter, and met her slayer's gaze. "It's all a matter of how you look at it, Buffy. You know that things can be seen in different ways. This is something that Ken used to do because she hated me. I want you to do it because you love me, because I begged you to. Then I want to close that page of my life and never look back."
Buffy blinked, trying to resolve her thoughts. On what planet that actually made sense she wasn't sure. Willow-logic—all kinda the sense that's 'not'...stacked on top of more and more of the sameness... Yet simpled up, it does make sense to mark the change. The mark: damaged, severely damaged. She's totally right about one thing. I'll do anything for her, and she's not gonna let this go. Buffy appeared puzzled as she reflected, "It kinda sounds like you're contradicting yourself, Will. So, lemme ask just so I understand. You want me to do this. You don't want to feel that I love you when I do, but you'll know that I do? Then you're going to put the whole experience in a box, and toss it off a mental cliff?"
Willow cocked an eyebrow, and countered, "Do you like the color orange, Buffy?"
"I suppose...but no not really a fan," Buffy replied patently, wondering what the hell her witch was up to this time.
"So if I bought you a hunter's orange sweater, you'd wear it?" Willow asked, appearing amused as she imagined her slayer in said sweater.
"I'd have to question your sanity. Not that uncommon these days," Buffy answered frankly.
"So you hate orange?" Willow prompted again. Looking up, she met her lover's gaze, and winked. "Or do you just hate some shades of orange?"
"Some shades, but mostly...not a fan," Buffy answered plainly. Now that we've established my non-existent love for the color orange... Point, Will? She fidgeted, trying to suppress the intolerance that was welling up.
Willow stared at the floor in front of her and sighed. "I hate every part of my life after you—the other you died, up until—you, you. There's no good there. It was all pain and punishment. What I want is one experience like it that I can call good. That's what I'm asking for," she whispered, trying to bite back the tears.
After several moments of silence, Buffy offered, "Fifteen minutes, no more, for each mistake, and only your mistakes. Three day cycles, on the fourth day we stop, and rest—just be us. The practice continues, but no punishment on that day. We start the moment one of us screws up. I don't want this to last forever. My final condition and I need my head examined for saying this... You do to me exactly what you did to yourself."
Willow sat down to put her boots on. "Fifteen minutes, and we share our failures. The three day thing is good for you. It can follow our current pattern, but for me, every other day. You can cum as many times as you want while you control me, but you'll block my orgasms. I don't want to cum on the bench," she sighed, and added, "Ever."
"Ten," Buffy interjected firmly when she thought her witch was done.
"Fifteen minutes. I need to feel the slayer," Willow repeated in an acidic tone. Her patience returned, and she moved over to stand behind her lover, laying hands on her soft shoulders. "For your part of it, you won't sleep with that thing in, and normal lubricant, no burning. You relate to pain too well. When one of us makes a mistake you'll submit to the punishment. Before bed each night I'll remove it, bathe you, and put you to bed. When you wake up the plug goes back in, and you'll wear it until the same time the error happened. If there's another slip-up during that time just add twelve waking hours for each."
Buffy swiveled in the stool to face her witch. Making eye contact, she put her arms around her waist, and reflected, "Did we just negotiate over kinky sex? I'm losing my mind. This makes that thing with Spike look like dinner with the Cleavers."
"Pretty much..." Willow replied, trying to restrain the urge to giggle.
Buffy stood, and gave her witch a tender kiss. "Alright, I'm back in," she said with a sigh.
***********
"Ahh... The city morgue. Goddess I missed this...not," Buffy whispered as she passed through the portal. The room she found herself in could've been anywhere. Someone so needs to talk to these people—all of them, across the board—about décor.
Willow immediately began snooping, trying to assess which freezer compartment Andrew was in. "What makes this worse is that we knew him," she whispered pensively.
Buffy moved with her witch as she scanned the names on the doors. Her senses reached out searching for potential trouble. She finally asked, "Remind me again why we needed to look?" not really caring what Willow said, only that she said something.
"Here it is," Willow remarked, passing her hand over the door, inches from the metal surface. A strange, prickling sensation caused the hair on her arm to stand up. Suddenly it clicked, and she exclaimed, "This is not right. Buffy, move!" She sensed a charge building in the room, and focused her power.
Buffy felt as though she'd been picked up and physically thrown. As she flew backwards through the portal, things around her seemed to fold in on themselves. Time slowed down and she watched the tops of trees distort when she sailed past them. Then, as suddenly as the ride had begun, it was over, and she found herself skipping across the driveway of the foundry. A loud noise issued from the portal. She wondered if she was imagining what sounded to her like reverberating feedback from an over-amplified loudspeaker. She finally bounced painfully to a halt roughly fifty feet up the road from the portal. The stupidest thing in the word flashed through her mind. I'm glad Will suggested I change. Then the reality of what had happened came to her. Shit! Will! She sprang to her feet, closing the distance between herself and the portal. She was just about to dive back through when movement inside caught her eye. Following her instincts, she put some distance between herself and the portal. Her body intuitively crouched, ready to strike, then Willow drifted out.
"Claudo," Willow intoned in a firm voice, and the portal collapsed in her wake. "Buffy, I need—"
It took Buffy less than a second to cover the distance. The air around her witch was so magically charged in made her skin tingle. She was momentarily startled when she saw the dark hair and eyes again. "Here, Will, I gotcha," she held her arms out, "Trust me," she said as Willow sunk to the ground and slumped onto her. She swept her partner up and ran her back into the parking garage. It took her mere moments to reach the elevator, and hammer the button. "Come on," she grumbled impatiently. She hasn't got as much control. The elevator door slid opened and she whisked them both inside, pressing the button for 'ground level'. She rushed through the lobby. There were questioning voices that went completely unnoticed and unanswered she realized when she broke through the doorway into the safety of their space.
When the door was shut, Buffy pounded up the stairs and deposited Willow onto the bed in their room. The only light in the room was what leaked under the door from a small night light in the landing. She considered changing this for a brief instant, but worry took hold instead. "Will, I need you. Come back," she begged, taking her partner's hands. I've got no clue what to do. How to handle this. Willow always just did. She bled the energy off somehow. Instinct took over again, and she began to settle. Finding her center, she grounded herself, letting all the unrest slip away. An inky blackness surrounded her as soft full lips closed against hers in a hungry kiss. She yielded parting hers when the demanding tongue insisted the kiss deepen.
Willow peeled the leather jacket from her lover's body, casting it aside. Her hands moved back, and she ripped at the tank-top keeping her from touching her lover's soft skin.
Not breaking the needy kiss, Buffy sensed the longing, and tore the clothing off their bodies, casting it carelessly aside. Lips caressed, tongues danced and swirled. She involuntarily followed the natural responses. Laying her lover gently back onto the bed, her hands traced the surface of the milky, freckled skin with complete abandon.
Willow pressed her thigh into the moist silky flesh of her lover's sex. As her mate writhed again her, she slowly traced lines down her back, leaving delicate welts in her wake.
A soft growl passed her lips when Buffy broke the kiss. She trailed a path of kisses down the delicate flesh of her lover's neck while her hand sought the warm folds of her sex. She pressed inside gently sweeping the Ben Wa balls away with a swirling motion. Once the obstruction was cleared, and dropped over the side of the bed, her hand returned.
Willow's body trembled in protest as the slayer plunged her hand inside, and took up a firm, hastened cadence. When her lover latched hungrily to the tender flesh of her neck, her body arched and quivered. Fighting for control, she lowered her thigh and forced her right hand between them. She caressed the warm, silky folds of her partner's sex for only an instant before clearing the obstructions, and pressing her hand inside.
Buffy let loose the supple skin; her voice was low and throaty as she groaned. Moving against her witch in a harsh, savage pace, she trembled and shook as the hand slid inside her. She seized the soft flesh of her lover's throat again as she increased the rhythm of their mating.
Willow dug the nails of her free hand into the soft skin of her slayer's ass. She demanded control in one harsh focused motion. The sharp blow to sensitive flesh when she crushed her slayer into her caused her to cry out. Her body succumbed to the assault. Wrapped in a torrent of pleasure, she felt her lover reflexively seize and channel the energy. As she drifted through her first climax, she manipulated the energies of her partner's body, pushing her over the edge. Her voice hung in her throat as she demanded, "That's right, baby, cum for me." The sound was raspy and foreign to her ears, but she was far too caught up to care.
Her pelvis shuddered and jerked, grinding her witch's hand deep inside. Buffy felt the waves wash over as her vision clouded and flashed. The slayer inside said 'make her yours'; she reflexively bit down into the delicate flesh of her lover's neck. A snarl rumbled from deep inside her. The second cascade of passion washed over her, setting every nerve end on fire. Her back arched, and her head jerked, tearing at her hold on her mate's neck. Warm sticky fluid covered her lips as she drew away to lick them. The taste was sweet, but vaguely metallic. She seized her neck again as the third wave crashed down, more violently than the first two. Only dimly aware of her mate's thrashing underneath her, she press and ground against the hand, trying to merge their two bodies into one form. Quiet finally came and she slumped onto her lover. Then the darkness washed over her, and Buffy yielded to it.
Willow rolled over, gently pushing the limp form of her slayer onto her back. She very carefully released her hand from inside the trembling body. When they had uncoupled, she nestled herself into the curve of Buffy's shoulder. It was strange: she could swear her slayer was purring as she lay there. People can't purr. She chastised herself for her overactive imagination and relaxed against the warm, moist form. She drew very still and listened. Purring. Huh... Listening to the soft, contented sounds, she drifted lazily off to sleep.
***********
The R1 grunted throatily as Buffy downshifted into the approaching corner. She looked at the caution sign as it flew past and time slowed down. Thirty-five miles an hour. Chancing a quick glance at the speedometer, seventy-five, perfect, and you know what they say about perfection... The white line rushed by under her right foot as she gently counter-steered deep into the corner. The motorcycle angled over, gracefully dipping into the turn. As it did, an elegant pantomime occurred: her body lithely shifted to the left in the saddle of the motorcycle as it leaned. She watched the double yellow line approach. The back of her right knee nestled onto the saddle, hanging like a hook, and her left knee stretched out seeking pavement. She eased the throttle open when she reached the double yellow line midway through the apex of the turn. The back end of the motorcycle broke free, and she sensed the gentle drift, counter-steering slightly more to compensate. A touch more throttle and both tires were sliding. Perfect. Machine and rider drifted back out to the solid white line at the edge of the road.
As the road straightened, she eased the steering back to center and slid back onto the saddle, applying the throttle with a heavy hand. The front of the motorcycle rose off the pavement, hanging suspended. When she shifted up into the next gear, it drifted lazily back down. The next corner approached, a sweeping right this time. She fluidly maneuvered the motorcycle to the center of the road, setting her line. The process repeated and a smile warmed her face as she glanced down to see gravel at the roadside rushing rapidly under her right knee. She pulled the appendage in slightly, not wanting to dig her knee into the rough surface. That'd suck. No doubt about it. She glided just barely over the double yellow line as she exited the turn. The painted surface caused the drift to exaggerate just enough that it set her a little off course, but she reclaimed her path once the motorcycle straightened out of the turn.
A tiny laugh caught in her throat when she cracked the throttle open again. The first sign something was desperately wrong came in the form of a fracture splitting the windscreen of the R1. She didn't fully register it. It made no sense so her mind refused to process it. Then all hell broke loose. She saw the thin silver strand just as it flashed under her helmet. Suddenly something caught her hard in the chest, whipping her back in the saddle. She clung desperately to the handlebars as the unseen force tried to rip her from the motorcycle. The pain in her chest slipped up to her throat as the silver stand of wire slid up her body. It hooked underneath her helmet, and when it jerked tight, she felt her throat collapse. Then the strand snapped, releasing her. It was all over though. The motorcycle she'd been desperately clinging to flipped back over onto her. She struck the pavement, and the bike landed on top of her. One of the handlebars dug deep into the right side of her chest. She felt her ribs crack and collapse under the massive force. Then it hit her. I'm going to die. This is really twisted. All that shit. I lived through all that, and I die here. She struggled to suck a breath in, but couldn't. Her mind reeled, then she mercifully blacked out.
***********
Her body glistened with sweat as Buffy jerked awake. She struggled to breathe, gasping in air. Then her eyes snapped open. She wasn't sure where she was and for a brief instant she expected to feel the roughness of tarmac under her skin. Instead, the bedding was wet and heavy. It clung to her back when she rose, pushing her witch gently aside. There's no pain. She felt herself over, and the realization came that it was all just a nightmare. It had been so vivid, she had trouble grasping the concept. She had actually felt her throat collapse, the bones snap, the crushing weight, the loss on consciousness. As she hung her head, staring at the floor, her witch woke up.
"What's wrong, Buffy?" Willow asked in a soft groggy voice, trying to focus her eyes in the darkness.
"I'm gonna take a bath, Will," Buffy replied dully. Putting one foot in front of the other was suddenly difficult, and she staggered a little with the first few steps. When her bearings returned, she set off around the bed to the bathroom. A quick stop in the half-bath made her feel marginally better. Then she moved into the bathroom, lighting a couple of candles instead of turning on the harsh overhead fixture. She stooped to fill the tub and her witch joined her.
Willow was shocked to see smudges of blood on her lover's face. Convinced she was injured; she immediately seized her and began to look her over. "What happened?" she demanded still too sleepy to understand. There were no cuts or scrapes she could find. "Where'd the blood come from?"
Buffy met her witch's gaze as soon as she released her. Her eyes traveled down her soft pale form, resting on her neck. She reached out without a word, and touched the small jagged wound.
As she winced, Willow caught up. "Oh..." she gasped. Without another thought, she climbed into the tub, and motioned for her slayer to join her. She rinsed the blood off her neck, and tested the area. "It's not so bad, Buffy. Don't worry," she whispered soothingly. A soft sigh passed her lips. She took a washcloth, wetting it, and carefully cleaning the blood from her lover's face. Then she took her hand. They sat in silence while she focused to heal.
Once the tub was full, Buffy reached to turn the taps off. She looked at the scar on her witch's neck, and tried to remember what happened. She'd obviously done it sometime that night. The not remembering disturbed her greatly. After a long pause, she finally offered, "I died, Will."
"What? How?" Willow asked incoherently as she snapped out of the trance.
"I died in my sleep. Someone...I dunno...something..." Buffy fumbled, "They garroted me on the bike. I felt the wire snap across my neck. Then I crashed. Last thing I remember is the bike landing on me."
Willow wasn't surprised by the revelation that the slayer had had a bad dream. It was nothing new and she knew she didn't need to say anything. The dreams were always heeded. So instead of speaking useless words of caution, she leaned back into her slayer's arms, and began to reflect in a soft, pensive voice, "There was someone at the morgue, Buffy. I never saw her. I could feel her. I've never felt anything like it before. She was human, but not," she sighed, "The closest thing: you—you feel a little like she did. I reacted, and ran. I'm not even really sure what I did. Just that I was scared," she concluded in a soft anxious voice, her body tensed as she spoke.
"So again, they want me dead. Nothing new," Buffy grumbled. Her hand traveled to her witch's temple, and she started to stroke her hair.
"Do you remember earlier?" Willow finally asked, breaking the silence of the room.
"Nada," Buffy replied frankly. The idea again made her nervous.
Her brow furrowed as Willow confirmed, "I didn't think you did. Don't worry, sweetie. You didn't hurt me. Actually pretty much the opposite. Sorta a shame you don't. It was...umm...intense."
"So, I was a good slayer?" Buffy queried in a soft, guilty tone. Despite the reassurance, something about the act still set her on edge.
"Very good. You did a wonderful job of caring for your witch," Willow confirmed. A supple smile warmed her features as she relived the memory. She purrs. Bet she doesn't know.
A/N: Ever sit alone in the dark? Sadly, that's how I feel about my fiction. Alone in the dark sucks especially when what you're doing is meant to entertain. The result, pretty simply, is that you feel as though you are failing to accomplish the goal. Failure is not something I take well, or lightly. Failure causes me to rethink where I'm going and how I'm spending my time. - Val