Blimey! Masses in Bitchy fic over night.

connie, great work. Love "Giles has minions?" and "I'll hold, you eviserate" in particular.

pmm, good stuff.

Thanks to Tep for the help here.

Title: Procrastination {Eta--Changed the title to Rubber Soul for the Improv Challenge.}

Everyone thinks it's so easy to get a soul.

It's really not. Easier to lose one, actually, and Spike would know. Took him the better part of a year to get his research down on the process.

See, there's that whole glowy ball thing. But the Romanys didn't corner the market on soul-inflicting. The Aztecs had a nice little ritual for ripping the souls from their victims and transferring that power to another person, not that it did Spike much good. And he'd chased an obscure Templar text for a month before he located it, only to discard it in disgust. Damn thing wouldn't be active for another ninety-three years, in accordance with some astrological whatsit. And while he figured he'd be around that long, he had his doubts about certain other parties.

All in all there were about a hundred separate ways a soul could be regained. And in the end, it was down to three options.

The first was the glowy ball thing. But honestly, Spike didn't really see his chances as being all that good. He didn't think either the witch or the Watcher would be too inclined to let him near the curse, and they were the only ones with access to it. So out went that idea.

Second was the slight chance of finding a bruja in the dark alleys of New York City. It was a rumor, but a strong rumor. One that had the people he talked to all edgy, even for lowlifes. But he took off in December after giving a short notice to the little evil fighters, and hunted down any reference, any clue he could find that this existed.

He was pretty successful, finding that impossible alley by his third week. He sauntered up to her, and before he could get a damned word out, she started laughing. It was harsh, high as bells, and extraordinarily irritating. He started to ask what the hell she was laughing about, but she held up her hand and drew him closer. She couldn't do a thing, she whispered grittily in his ear. Someone else had a marker for his soul, and he'd have to fight to get it back.

He was understandably pissed.

Finally, there were The Trials. With capital t's. All the available information, from the texts he pilfered from the Magic Box, was long and wordy with terrible descriptions of some ancient evil with strong magics blah de blah de buggering blah. The only real information to be gleaned from hundreds of pages of pansy ranting was that the fellow was somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere, and that most personages tended to die.

He certainly wasn't going to let a stupid thing like dying stop him.

So he beat up a few more of the general populace, did a locator spell or two, and made long-range plans for a trip to Africa. He just...didn't leave. For awhile. Had to stay to make sure he had his brand of cigarettes, or there was some new demon. Or something.

He just waited for a reason.

I like the bruja and the Aztecs. And, of course, anytime I run up against my old buddies, the Templars, it's a good day.

(sniff)

I helped a little, too. In the earlier days. I was just going through our chat logs and wondering if you'd done anything with that.

Dude, you help with everything. I'm dusting out my bunnies if you want to get on AIM.

Thanks, Con.

Getting. I was only off because the machine crashed overnight.

I like the bruja

t beaming That was my contribution.

t edit I contributed the *word*, not the character.

I love it.

As of yet untitled.

There was a soft knock at her door, and Tara looked up from her book. She called out, "Come in," swiping an errant piece of hair from her eyes.

"Hey," Willow said with a soft smile that was quickly returned.

"Hi," Tara replied. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." Willow fussed with the hem of her shirt, drawing out a thread and looping it around her fingers.

Tara came up to her, pulling her close into a hug. "Is something wrong? You seem...nervous. And I thought that was my job," she said with a small grin.

Willow smiled weakly back and cleared her throat. "Tara--Tara, I want to kiss you."

Tara's eyes widened. "O-Okay. Um."

Willow moved away and plopped into an available chair, frown creasing her face. "No, look. I mean--I like what we've been doing, you know? I like going slow. Slow is good, slow is comfortable and how we should go. But, like. I look at you sometimes, and it's as if the world is going all fuzzy, and I reach out to touch you, and you pull me into a hug and we just hold each other for awhile, which is great, but I want to press my lips to yours so hard that I can feel it *everywhere,* you know? Not small little pecks, even though I like those too. I want to feel my toes curl, like I know they would if I just--kissed you. Like I want to."

Willow had fixed her eyes at a point on the wall next to one of the bookcases, and she didn't move her sight from that spot. Tara knelt in front of her took her hands. "I like slow, too, Will. But sometimes--" she traced her fingertips along the back of Willow's left hand "--sometimes it feels like the world is tilting when you touch me, and my head is swimming so that I go blind, and I know if I don't hold onto you I'll disappear."

She stopped talking for a heart-stopping moment, and both their breaths caught as Tara moved her head in closer, bringing her lips so close to Willow's that their lips brushed when she spoke. "If you kiss me like that, I'll know I'm real."

They came together in a chaste kiss, lips pressed against each other hard and tight. Willow's tongue darted out, and after a moment Tara's mouth opened to accept it. They danced, though their bodies stood still. Tara's tongue pulled Willow's inside her mouth, just holding it there, sucking lightly. Willow's eyelashes fluttered, and when Tara pulled back just a little, she followed. Their lips didn't break contact, but Willow opened her eyes to meet Tara's. Willow's hand slid up the side of Tara's body, a light caress that sent shivers every place her fingers glanced, finally resting in a solid grip on the back of her neck. Willow pulled Tara down until they were tangled in the chair, close everywhere. They were both breathing hard, panting in time, but neither allowed their lips to lose contact.

Willow snaked her arms around Tara, holding her close and mumbling into her mouth, "God, I've wanted this forever."

Tara made slow laps at the roof of Willow's mouth before murmuring, "I've wanted this longer."

Willow nipped carefully at Tara's lower lip, making her mouth look swollen and red, well-used. She smiled into their kiss, tracing her tongue along the outside line of Tara's lips, Tara's breath mingling with her own.

They moved together, shuffling to the bed, Willow pushing Tara onto her back and dancing her fingers over the bare line of skin exposed when Tara's shirt rucked up. Willow pressed her mouth to Tara's, thrusting her tongue in and out in an erratic pattern accentuated by the lazy swish of her body against Tara's.

Tara's breath came hard, and her arms came up to cross behind Willow's head, holding it in place. Her mouth opened, and she sucked on Willow's upper lip, her tongue brushing against Willow's teeth. Willow pushed down harder, locking herself to Tara.

After a minute they wrenched themselves apart, gasping for breath and holding onto each other tightly, possessively, protectively.

"Okay," Willow said between mouthfuls of air, "that was...good."

Tara smiled prettily up at her. "Yes. It is," she said, drawing Willow back to her.

Hey SA, that's pretty hot. I like it. One question, though:

"God, I've wanted this forever."

Would Willow say something like that?