take your time, CaBil. I don't mind waiting for the good stuff.

Tara wants me!

Okay. Cool and casual-like. What could she want to talk about? Her classes or maybe computer related?

Maybe she just even wants to talk!

From there maybe we can get close, snuggle, smooch...

NO!

One step. One step, just get through a conversation without her flinching. Want her to trust me, to forget about…

Ergh! Rule one, avoid using (even thinking) the word forget!

I don't like this shirt at all. Something not as billowy and more flattering and just a wiggle of the nose (tee-hee) and I’ll...

Argh! She’ll be able to tell (she could always tell) and she’ll change her mind and I’ll never get another chance and magic is bad and is the source of all of my troubles and if I’m good then things will be fine and people, Tara will love me and forgive me and make things better and I should get over there before she changes her mind and she’ll never want to see me again and I will have to go back to the house and sleep alone and try not to cry because it doesn’t do me any good and it doesn’t even make me feel better anymore because all I feel is drained and I don’t want to feel like that anymore I want to feel again, feel dammit, because I can only feel with her and I...

…OMG…

Willow knew she should have noticed earlier, but Tara was behind Buffy and she was panicking and not thinking and sometimes she forgets to pay attention while nervous but she should have noticed this way earlier, before she got to the door and closed it behind her (even though everyone else was leaving) and noticed what Tara was wearing. Or just how little she was wearing.

Tara was so... damn... hot.

She had forgotten just how hot Tara was. Not forgot, not really, she knew, but hadn’t felt it for a while but Tara’s workout clothes hid none of her curves. Curves that were almost always hidden. Tara didn’t show so much of her drives…

The sly look she had on her face when Willow would go into the bedroom, signaling that Tara was undressed and that as soon as she got in range her mouth was to be seized by Tara’s lips. The self-satisfied smile Tara would have later, looking at her, her full breasts settling slightly, as they lay naked on top of the covers, both already covered with a sheen of sweat. Willow would be just resting, looking at Tara at wonder until Tara would walk her fingers over to her, and begin a ballet on Willow’s breasts, dancing across them, until Willow would be driven to forget how tired they were and just kiss, exploring each other mouths, faces, necks, sometimes wetly and sometime with soft puffs of air, trying to surprise each other where their fingers would land in their explorations, with Tara just arching ever so slightly when Willow’s fingers traced down to her lower spine, sampling the sweat that was collected there.

That was the same physically worn out but still filled with nervous energy Tara that Willow was seeing at the moment, except they weren’t panting this time with urges that would take days to satisfy.

Though Willow knew she was more that willing to try, given the slightest word.

Sorry for the delay, but the third to last paragraph wasn't working for me. Still isn't really, but I have re-written it a dozen times two weeks and I have to admit I have lost perspective on it by now. There is a clear patch storywise ahead, hopefully I can get this train back on the rails...

Tara was fussing with things on the workout table, organizing them needlessly to give her self time to prepare as Willow entered the room and needlessly closed the door behind her, since everyone was leaving or had already left.

Tara wasn't sure she should be glad for the privacy or worried about being alone. She was sure that Willow wouldn't physically harm her, but that had always been the least of Tara’s worries.

The first one would be talking about something, anything for five minutes that wouldn’t touch any hot button issues. Like virtually their entire relationship. Or give either one of them any unrealistic hopes. Especially herself.

Unrealistic hopes fulfilled were what started everything in the first place.

But the first time they were fulfilled had been so... good. Willow biting her lip as she leaned in to kiss her, Tara holding very still not wanting to scare Willow off at the last moment and still in denial that it could be really happening. The tentative yet real brush of lips had startled them both, and for a moment they almost fell to giggling out of surprise. The slow way Willow caressed her, trying to discover if she was doing it properly, as if there was a proper way, only realizing later that the slowness had an energy of it’s own.

With the realization that this was real, what they were doing was real, Willow suddenly charged forward, becoming frantic, kissing and kicking off shoes and shimming down skirts and falling down on top of the bed covers and Tara going right along. She told herself she didn’t want to scare Willow off and Tara didn’t have that much more experience than Willow anyway, but the truth was Tara wanted to feel wanted, to have someone frantic over her, to be consumed by another person’s identity. There would be no more Tara who was a burden to her family, who was doomed to become a demon, whom no one she knew really wanted. There would be just the Tara who was with Willow and nothing else.

She knew even at the time it was stupid and an emotional trap and all that and more, but still...

After a few minutes of play, the underwear was finally shed and they had gotten down to the serious business of exploring each other’s bodies. That first time, when Willow first slid her finger into her and began a trial and error study to determine just what made Tara react strongest, Tara didn’t want to care about anything else. She had found that someone that wanted her.

Tara still wanted that Willow. Burned for her in a passion that she had denied herself in all things but this, a passion that probably blinded her till it was too late to just how far Willow had gone astray.

What’s worse, she knew Willow was burning for her also. Tara normally tuned out auras, out of learning too much information about someone too quickly, which is why she had been fooled by the aura-less Buffy-bot. Even as she was looking intently for the merest sign of Willow gathering energies, Tara couldn’t help but see the reds pulsing and flailing about from Willow’s head and heart. Tara knew with a certainty merely by looking at Willow that she wanted to make things right, to undo everything she had done, and could feel Willow’s aura struggling, without her conscious knowledge, to reach out to Tara’s. Those same feelings and desires resonated with hers and were spreading through them both in the hope of...

“Buffy said you paid my share of the house phone bill. I owe you how much?”

This is what she was building herself up for? To be asked about a phone bill? That’s not fair!

wait

Any chance to talk to Tara is not wasted.

Can't expect everything to be fine with one talk. She ignored the inner voice that whined and suggested slyly that was not necessarily true.

And with one talk going well there is hope that there will be a second one. after the second talk, then everything would be fine.

"It wasn't much. Around ten dollars or so." Probably was closer to thirty but it didn't matter, anything to keep the conservation going. Who knows when they would talk again?

But as soon as she finished talking she knew she had made a mistake by the way Tara's face hardened. Tara had been careful about money, managing her hodge podge of grants, student loans and the small inheritance from her mother. She insisted on paying her fair share, despite knowing that Willow's education trust fund, the one that her parent's started dutifully when she was born like all financial management books suggest, was intended to pay for a private university and was more than ample for UC Sunnydale with spending money left over. Willow accepted Tara's more frugal ways, and anyway, since Tara liked to cook to save money and Willow liked eating Tara's… food, so it worked out.

Except like now.

"Are you sure?" Tara's voice was perfectly neutral. Not something one would normally take to be a bad sign, but when Tara’s voice was neutral, she was actively trying to give you a fair chance.

Good that Tara still wants to give me a fair chance. Not good, Tara feels she has to.

"I think so," hedge hedge "I just paid it, I didn't really break it down." Oh, idea! Brilliant mad idea! "You know I am not very good with the bills." True. "That's why I’d let you handle it." better you than Anya, don't want to invest my money short calling the next apocalypse. "Maybe you can show me how you broke it down.." neutral place, not datey "...in the student lounge sometime?" no time pressure, no pressure at all.

“I’m not sure when I’ll have the time.” damn it! “I’ll just give you the ten now, and we’ll work out the rest later?” yippee, later is not never!

Cool, casual “Sure, whenever is fine with you.” Hey, no babble, see, I can be mature and all and I want to kiss her and suckle the sweat from the hollow of her back because it is always so yummy and...

Mature. Which is me.

Tara turned around to root around in her bag for her wallet letting Willow appreciate Tara’s form. The biker shorts that defined her ass, the ample curves that cushioned Willow so often, that small of Tara’s back that was still slick with sweat, that was always tense after they were ‘strenuous’, and that Willow would rub and scratch and Tara then would stretch and almost purr...

She wasn’t sure when she actually did it. All Willow knew is that she was suddenly scratching the real rather than the remembered Tara’s back in the right spot. She didn’t remember choosing to do so, or even moving her hand. It was an unconscious decision, one born out of long habit, helped along by wanting to be close to Tara so much.

For a moment, it seemed like a good idea, as Tara relaxed into it.

Then it all went very, very wrong.

Tara reminded herself that Willow never really understood what money was. For the last two years of high school every day Tara thought about how she would afford college and see someplace, anyplace for a while before returning to the home she grew up in to be locked away. Every move had been planned and calculated out. Throw in the fact as Mother grew ill, Tara had to take over running the household, plan the budget around Dad's and Donnie's irregular paychecks, nurse Mother through her long illness and still keep her grades up for university admission. She would have given if Mother hadn't insisted, with a wan smile late one night, that the thought of Tara would see more than she ever would gave her strength to continue, in the hope of one day hearing Tara’s stories.

She knew she didn't have Anya's financial skills, but she knew how to budget and just what money could buy.

It bought choices.

The fact that Willow never understood that always grated on Tara slightly. She took comfort in the fact she could now acknowledge that. Willow had always had flaws, even before her addiction revealed itself.

Still, Tara had to admit to herself, Willow was making an effort, as she rooted around in her bag for her wallet. Even if it was also an attempt on Willow's part to see her again, which was something she really didn’t know how to feel about. Still, she wasn’t feeling as tense as she was a few minutes ago, she could feel herself relaxing, leaning back. Back into Willow’s gentle rubbing of her lower back, where all of her tension always seemed pool.

Willow was touching her.

For a moment after she realized what was happening, she allowed herself to enjoy it, to allow herself to dwell on happier and simpler times when trust a common commodity, where she didn’t have to remember...

“No!”

...notagainIHATEHER...

As she lunged away from Willow’s touch, she turned and placed her back against the wall, raising her hand as she did so, checking to see if the spell on her hand had been activated, even more frantically checking the leylines to see if the spell itself had been altered, because she was so stupid, Willow could sense the spell and make her forget about it also.

That is when Tara saw how Willow reacted.

The crush on her face, the unbelief that skittered across the face as Tara had broken contact, the realization of what she had done, the focus on Tara’s upraised hand, and Willow collapse to her knees, crying, was not what Tara was expecting from a Willow that was manipulating her.

“I’msosorry…”

What?

“IjustmissyouSOmuch...”

Oh.

Willow stayed there on her knees, not looking up, suffering for her moment of weakness and Tara realized she had done this. She had reduced Willow to tears with a single word.

For a moment Tara allowed the satisfaction of that to wash through her. Finally she wasn’t the victim, of her family, of Glory or worse of all Willow. Willow now knew.

But she didn’t Willow hurting, she didn’t want anyone hurting, she just wanted everyone to be safe and happy.

...Tara wanted to be happy...

That thought was ruthlessly squashed as she went to her knees in front of Willow to try shake her out of her crying jag. Tara didn’t want this. Not really. She just wanted....

As Willow raised her head, tears running down her cheeks, a little bit of phlegm coming out of her nose, Tara heard Willow whisper her name, and she finally listened to the quiet, selfish part of her brain reminding her what always helped chase Willow’s tears away before.

Even though she knew it was a mistake, Tara kissed Willow.

Even though she knew it was a mistake, Willow kissed Tara.

At first she was surprised that Tara twisted away and raised her hand as if to strike her. Then she remembered herself, what magic had driven her to do. When that realization hit, her knees went loose and unresisting, going to her knees on the matted floor.

Willow had ruined it all, her last chance was gone, all because she wasn't willing to give Tara space, because she couldn't control herself and her desires.

For a moment despair skittered close to and nearly ignited something dark and terrifyingly deep within her before it was carried away by the torrent of her emotions.

All she could do was babble, beg for forgiveness, trying to understand why she had done it, trying to punish herself with her own precious words, knowing all the while it was useless but still hoping that maybe Tara would be angry rather than having an unbiased expression that would mean that she had written off Willow forever.

As Willow felt the runny snot collect on her upper lip, she felt rather than heard Tara kneel in front of her. She dared to look up at Tara and saw an expression she could not decipher. Maybe there was something more, deep underneath, but Willow also knew she was desperate to save anything she could. It was all too late, Tara was finally gone.

So Willow kissed her.

She knew it was bad move but there were so many reasons she could tell herself. Maybe she wanted one last taste. Or it was frantic move to keep Tara there for another few moments. A new way to punish herself. Because it was the only thing that ever gave her peace when she was feeling like this.

She could taste Tara, the herbal toothpaste she used, the sweat that was still soaked through Tara's body, the tears and snot from her own face. She wanted to hold Tara tight and make the moment last, but she let her arms hang free, afraid to touch or even open her eyes to see the look of betrayal and disgust on Tara's face.

After a moment it hadn't ended.

With another moment, Willow opened her eyes.

Tara's was looking at her, deeply and focused.

Their lips opened, still kissing, now making wet noises. Tara's tongue snuck out, tasting all of Willow’s assorted flavors, then dove in to challenge Willow's, leaving her to do something she had never done before.

She didn't do what she wanted. She didn't try to fix, improve, make helpful suggestions or take charge.

She just accepted and was grateful for what she did have in that moment.

Okay, I have finished editing what I had before, and now I plunge into the hard part. I stopped here before, I think, because I chickened out. I wanted to model the change in the balance of power in their relationship, reflecting it in how they made love to each other. I was not comfortable about depicting it.

So the rest of this is probably be written slowly, aiming for maybe another entry every week. My guess, is that we are about 2/3, maybe a little less, of the way through this, though I still have yet to find a good name for it...

Quick question:

Does anyone have a copy of erikaj's Buffy/Homicide crossover "Defender of the Faith" or askye's Buffy fic called "Dream Forever"?

...so I've just mainlined Black Books, and am firmly of the opinion that there should be Black Books/Good Omens crossovers.

So I wrote one. (It's slash. gasp.)

New Leaves

As he lurches into consciousness, Bernard has the strangest feeling that there's something he almost knows, something he can just about remember. Something very important. Something about a war... secret agents....no, something to do with wings, or... there was this cool-looking bloke who dressed in black, obviously fancied himself, and there was this flickering thing he did with his tongue that was really quite distracting and...

He farts, rolls over, and plunges back into sleep.

* * *

“Oooh, magic!”

Bernard rolls his eyes, and pours himself another mug of disgusting Liebfraumilch. “Shut up,” he says kindly.

“No, but look! Magic!” Manny brandishes the book at him, beaming like a kid who's just found a bright, shiny new penny. The dust jacket is missing, but flecks of gold leaf still linger in the curves of a star on the front cover.

“Oooh,” says Bernard flatly, returning his attention to his lunch. “I think my pants just exploded with joy. Woohoo. Whoop whoop. Huzzah.”

“Come on, Bernard,” says Manny in that stupid imploring-puppy tone that makes Bernard want to staple his nose to the table. “We could learn some tricks! Like, like the one with the three pieces of rope!”

“Is that the one where I tie your hands together with one bit of rope, and gag you with another bit of rope, and then hang you from the light fitting by your throat with the third one, until you gasp out your final, festering breath and free the world of your odious presence for all time?”

“...no.”

“Pity.”

“But it could be fun! Abracadabra! Izzy Wizzy Let's Get Busy!”

“I am not Sooty, you pitiful troglodyte. And you're not Nicholas Nickleby.”

“David Copperfield,” says Fran helpfully.

“What?”

She stays sprawled on the sofa, her unshod toes flexing on the arm-rest and a delicious curl of blue smoke spiralling up towards the filthy ceiling. “David Copperfield. He's the magician. Nicholas Nickleby is just a character in a Dickens novel.”

“Yes, thank you, I know that, thank you very much, Fran. I do run a bookshop. I'm not some ignorant pleb. That's exactly what I was saying. Manny is not a character in a Dickens novel. Are you?”

“Er, no,” agrees Manny, sounding a little lost.

“See! Manny agrees with me! God, why do I have to drink this shite?” he adds hastily, before Fran can expand on this David Copperfield nonsense. “Why don't we have any decent wine? This is like bottled Nazi urine, for Christ's sake! Why don't we have a nice, I don't know, a nice Merlot, or a Shiraz? Some New Zealand Cabernet Sauvignon? Is that too much to ask? Is that really too much to ask? I'm sure we had some good wine. Didn't I buy some? From Oddbins? I'm sure I bought some. Expensive. Four pounds, nearly! Not this crap. Liebfraumilch – what does that even mean? Lovely lady milk? That's disgusting, that is. Fucking Germans, making wine out of women's milk. Sick bastards. Where's my nice Oddbins wine, for discerning people? What did you do with it, you wine-rustling fuckers?”

“You drank it all,” says Fran calmly.

“I did not!”

“You did, you know,” says Manny, and Bernard throws a copy of War and Peace at him, but the sneaky little bugger dodges out of the way without even looking up. Bernard heaves a mighty, much-put-upon sigh.

“And anyway, I'm just saying – I could learn some party tricks, or something,” ventures Manny, a little half-heartedly. He carries on leafing through the book. “It could be fun!”

“It could be crap, is what it could be,” Bernard says. “All that pick a card, where's the penny bollocks? Cut the lady in half? You'd have to be the lady, though. Manita. Manessa. Mannywannywinkerbell.”

“Why can't I be the lady?” asks Fran.

“Manny's got longer hair and bigger boobs. He'd have to be the lady. Manny's a lady! Manny's a lady! Manny's a great big girly wirly girl-shaped person, with girl parts! From now on (continued...)