Twilight's Fiction

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Spoilers: Takes place as the episode “New Moon Rising” ends.

Warnings: Femslash.

Summary: Tara’s POV of the good stuff at the end of the episode that Joss left out, you know, the smut! :  )

She stands in front of me, holding the candle. The fire from it and the numerous candles about the room reflects in the yellowredgoldgreen of her hair and eyes. She is like fire, and I shiver as I speak, sure that I’ll never feel her warmth again.

"I…it’s okay. You should be w…with the one you lo…love.”


Her smile is brilliant. “I am.”


It takes a moment to sink in, through the ice that has surrounded my heart since Oz walked through Mr. Giles’ door. “Y…you mean it?”


Her smile turns seductive as she leans in and blows out the candle. “Yes.”


The still dripping wax pillar is tossed aside as we reach for each other. My fingers tangle in her fiery tresses as she pulls me close, leans in for a kiss. Warm lips meet mine, her fire melting me like the candle wax. I lean into her, shape myself to fit her, so easy, we fit so well. Nipples brush and tighten, hips bump, and we are falling towards the bed, my hands already under her shirt pulling it away. She is so hot I have to feel her. 


Willow’s lips leave mine and trace slowly down my neck, into the hollow of my collarbone. My shirt is tossed aside, quickly followed by hers and red lips caress my breasts. They tense under her touch, rise to her siren’s call. I can’t get enough of her, my goddess, my Willow. Her sultry voice winds around us as we touch and taste each other. “Tara, so good, beautiful, my goddess…” She is fire, passion, spirit. Her words burn me.

I want to tell her, answer her, all these feelings thrumming through me should be put into words. A chant, a prayer to my fire goddess. But I am mute. It’s still so new, this ability to talk, to say what I want, what I feel. One year of college and one woman’s love have yet to overcome a lifetime of conditioning, of being told to be seen and not heard. Willow doesn’t deserve a stutter, she deserves a song. So I am silent, but my body talks for me. My hands trace her: face, breasts, stomach, hips. My lips and tongue worship every dip and curve.


She sits astride me, my fire goddess, and the heat between her legs burns me where we touch. Another kiss and she is turning, offering herself to me. My tongue eagerly delves into her depths and her voice is a soft sigh. “Tara…”


Then she is copying the movement and we are feasting on each other. My hands grip her buttocks tightly, spreading her so I can taste every inch. Fiery red curls tangle with my tongue and bittersweet juice floods my mouth. I feel her mouth, warm and wet against my mound and I arch into her touch, needing to feel her fire. She sets me aflame as we writhe in the candlelight, golden to her red, we twine together and our passion burns the darkness away.


Later, sated and sweaty, we lie together and watch the flicker of light and shadow play across our bodies. She hugs me close and I look up into the depths of her green eyes. “Willow, I love you.”  And it comes out perfect, clear and ringing like the tone of a bell. Perhaps I have some of her fire after all.




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