Chapter 15(in which I make up for what I put you guys through last chapter)
Had the week really flown by so quickly? Willow shivered as she placed her clothes in the hamper. Her parents weren't home, and even if they were, she could wander around in her own room naked if she wanted, dammit.
It was quite telling, the fact that she had trouble justifying that even to herself.
But still, Friday night. For millions worldwide, it signified the beginning of the weekend. 'And Tara-picnics!'Willow gushed. On a night like this, a typical teenager would be getting ready or already out with their friends, partying or just hanging out.
But Willow wasn't a normal teen.
Well, okay. Blame it on her relatively strict Jewish upbringing that she wasn't out partying. By the time Sheila and Ira had realized that they themselves spent most of their own time working on the Sabbath, Willow had already learned to prefer staying in on Friday nights. Plus with three Slayers, she rarely ever needed to go on actual patrols anymore.
That left more free time for otheractivities. Like say, the one she'd been doing every night since Monday?
Willow pulled the bomber jacket out from her closet, fingers trailing over the material. The dark brown leather was worn and soft, and she brought it to her face to inhale. There was the unmistakable scent of leather, a hint of warming fur, and the metallic tang that came from the zippers.
But that wasn't the scent she was savoring.
Beneath the scent of the jacket itself was heaven: juniper, eucalyptus, the ozone scent of magic, and the musk of healthy sweat.
She hissed softly as she pulled it on, cold-stiffened nipples straining further as the jacket's fur lining tickled them. 'Geez Rosen-perve! What would Tara think if she knew what you were doing with her jacket?'she scolded her teenaged hormones. And paused.
What wouldTara think? Willow scooted up her bed, back propped up against a multitude of pillows and stuffed animals. As her hand travelled lower, her eyes fluttered shut, her thoughts taking her elsewhere…
"That," the blonde Watcher said flatly. "Is definitely not what I loaned you my jacket for." Willow jumped, her eyes snapping open. She made no move to cover herself, though. A hint of the fantasy this was.
"Tara! I um.."
The older girl raised her eyebrow in an unamused manner, and Willow shut up under that gaze. She did, however, use that opportunity to ogle the other witch. A black button-up shirt that was most certainly not buttoned up. No bra underneath, and if Willow tilted her head juuust right, she could catch a glimpse of some ni-
"Willow?" Tara's voice made her tear her eyes away from the Watcher's chest, allowing Willow to take in the rest of her. Her brown belt was unbuckled and her pants were undone, the belt's weight pulling those slim-legged jeans down low on her hips. Willow licked her lips.
A glimpse of curls. No panties.
Willow dragged her eyes back up to Tara's face, and decided she liked what she saw there, too. Bangs falling over one eye, just the way she liked it. Lips quirked, the very edge of a smile and hooded eyes, gaze smoldering and sending Willow's skin tingling.
Panting, Willow withdrew her hand, leaving a glistening wet trail as she drew it up her body. It was Tara's turn to smirk, one side of her mouth quirking up in a way that made Willow want to stick her hand back down there again. Crawling up on the bed towards her, she stopped right between the redhead's legs.
"Thinking of me, were you?" Still paralyzed by the hotness before her (where'd that white Stetson come from?), Willow could only nod. "Yep," Willow didn't know why, she just looked like the type of girl who 'yep-ed'. "Definitely not what I had in mind when I loaned it to you."
Spazzy, babbling Willow who was not so spazzy and babbling in her fantasies quipped back, "Mrn, are you gonna punish me?" Her sultry façade was ruined when Tara grabbed her by the hips and she let out a squeak.
"Lucky for you," Tara whispered. "I like girls who can think out of the box."
And then she lowered her mouth and showed her exactly how much she liked them.
On her bed, head tilted to bury her nose in the jacket's collar, she groaned. A perfect fantasy, Tara's scent flooding her senses, and her hand thrust between her legs, Willow was just a few steps from bliss.
Tara honestly did not know how she hadn't slipped on the tile and cracked her head or run out of hot water, but she'd been in the shower for a half hour already. Any longer, and she'd miss her picnic with Willow.
Nevermind that it was 10 am Saturday and she wasn't due to meet her till around 12, she was allowed to have neurotic tendencies, dammit.
Tara hissed as her fingers accidentally brushed against her clit, too soon for her liking and utterly shattering her daydreams of being mercilessly teased by an utterly slutted-up version of the redhead.
Tara paused. 'Actually…' she thought as her fingers brushed her clit again, imitating a curious and hesitant touch.
Willow would, wouldn't she? Sweet, young, virgin Willow. She would touch Tara's clit on accident. At least, at first. Then her scientist's brain would take over, repeating the motion experimentally and taking note of Tara's reactions. She'd turn those wide, wide, beautiful greens to her and they'd lock eyes. Her thin lips would quirk up in that kittenish smile, the one that would look so hotwith the way her shower slicked bangs hung over her eyes.
'She probably babbles during sex, too.'
She tried that out, and decided it had no place in her current fantasy. The previous yes, but the real Willow didn't seem like much of a dirty talker.
Not that it mattered. If she was willing, Tara'd teach her that, too.
"Am I doing this right? I mean I must be, since you're so wet, but lemme know if I do mess up. Oh no, that didn't sound too smug, did it? I just meant th-ooohhkay, that's nice…"
Fantasizing about a more realistic Willow was much more fun than fantasizing about the leather-and-lace version she had running around in her head earlier.
She'd save that one for later. In the meantime, Tara figured she could spare another 20 minutes or so.
Downstairs (and not the sexy 'downstairs'. Geographical, a floor below type downstairs)
"Yo! Anybody home?" Faith poked her head though the door and stepped inside when no one answered. She checked the kitchen, and greeted Artie, who seemed busy at work near the sink. "Hey, kiddo! T home?"
The younger Slayer turned to stare at her grumpily, still at work. "Showering still, I think. You can chill here til she's done, though."
"Right," Faith nodded, and headed back towards the front door. "You guys should really lock this thing." She put down her duffle bag and stepped back into the kitchen. "Seriously. That ain't safe."
"Most of the things that wanna kill us need an invitation," the girl shrugged. "And I think Tara beefed up the security spells."
"Well that makes sense, I guess." Faith put down a box. "Um, what're you doing?"
Art pivoted her body to reveal green leaves on a cutting board. "Being punished."
"…by chopping up oregano?" She dropped her backpack onto the table and strode over, suddenly curious.
"Basil, actually. And I'm not chopping them, I'm separating the leaves from the stem-y parts."
"Gonna totally sound like G-man here kiddo, but bear with me. Dare I ask why?"
The little one shrugged. "Turns out that desks are for homework and not for piling laundry on."
"Never stopped me." A beat. "Wait, and she's punishing for that by making you do kitchen work?"
It was then that Artie ducked her head sheepishly. "No, ah. See, then Isaid that bathroom mirrors were for brushing teeth, not for practicing lines to use on Willow."
The older Slayer snorted. "You deserve that, then. You don't make fun of a girl trying to get her game on. Unless it's B'. Then you bully the shit outta her."
"But she was doing karate chops and talking to herself!"
Faith laughed. An actual laugh. Not the throaty kind that she was almost famous for, not the fake one she did with guys at the Bronze, and legit belly laugh that had her shoulders shaking. "That's part of psyching yourself up. You'll be doing that lots, I bet. Before a date, before a fight. Like I said, don't mess with a girl ready to get her mac on. You deserve bigger punishment than that," she teased.
"Ugh, noooo! The leaves are all wet and they're making my fingers all wrinkly. Plus, the smell is hurting my nose!"
"I'm standing right here and my nose is fine."
The little brunette actually looked smug for a moment. "Tara says that the Council says that my sense of smell is better than any Slayer they've seen before."
Faith blinked. "No joke? Well I'm fastest. Yours is a useless skill."
She sniffed pitifully. "Yeah. I can't smell anything but basil right now. At all."
There was a groan and a thump from upstairs that made both Slayers look up in alarm. On her next inhale, Faith caught it. A bit faint due to distance and water dilution, but unmistakable nonetheless.
Well, to her at least. She glanced at Art, who in turn was looking upward with a worried expression, all the while snuffling and wiping her basil-victimized nose with her upper arm.
"Ah shucks! I can't smell anything like this. What'd you think that was?"
Faith looked up, and then back down to the child. "That," she said. "Is the sound of your over-sheltering Watcher being a genius. And this," she heaved both her bags over her shoulders and picked up her box. "Is me going to go get settled."
She exited the kitchen, leaving Artie to stand by the sink, still confused and unable to make sense of any scent. With another snuff, she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and wiggled it with irritation as a bit of wet leaf stuck to it. The young Slayer stood there for another two minutes, staring cross eyed at her nose as she tried to wiggle the offending piece of vegetation free. Then, a thought occurred.
"Wait," she said to no one in particular. "Did she just move in with us?"