Karl got me thinking...even though I'm breaking a promise by doing this, so it is Bad and Wrong. It's a Willow ficlet, sort of innocently 'shippy on a few levels.

“Do you want to be punished?”

Yes and no. She feared that one day he would take the lid off that contained British temperament of his, but she hoped for it, too. Not the same way she had when they researched in high school and she took occasional guilty pleasure in his chastisement of Buffy and Xander because it showed she was the only one who *understood*.

She loved Miss Calendar because she wanted to be Miss Calendar. She was *so* lucky. Nice place, nice car, great powers, and Giles. Sometimes she hated Miss Calendar.
But she’d been sixteen then, a mixed up kid, who hadn’t yet written her college essay on “My Most Life-Changing Experience” about Miss Calendar’s murder.

I was nowhere close, she thinks now. But she’d had nightmares then too, for a while. Her mother had even tried to find her a Jungian therapist for a while, dreams not really being a behaviorist’s stock in trade. But then Willow just told her mother she didn’t require a lot of sleep, which Mom thought would look really good on her college applications, and everything was fine where Dr. Sheila was concerned.

(Sometimes, Willow made Tara laugh by doing imitations of her mother on one of her rampages, and she’d call her Dr. Sheila. Tara was shocked at first, but it was worth it because Tara had a wonderful laugh. Like jingle bells in one of those specials she watched at Xander’s house. Sometimes when she thinks of never hearing that again, she thinks she did the right...No, if she thinks that, she’ll never sleep again. )

Giles looks at her so warmly she wants to die.

Right here, in this beautiful countryside.But Giles has faced enough death. Living is the least she can do.

Oh, now that's lovely. Bless. And excellent inclusion of Mrs Rosenberg, Bad Mother Extraordinaire.

I'm glad you liked it, Fay.

Oh, Erika. It's wonderful. I'm proud to have been the grain of sand to that particular pearl.

I'm glad you liked it...I guess I'm still Willowish.

Damn, that piece had me just nodding like bobblehead, saying yup-yup-yup.

erika, I want to take that fic home with me and love it and squeeze it and hug it and call it George. Beautifully done.

Thanks. Although I totally made my "No Fic" pledge the "No New Taxes" of 2004. I'm just hopelessly fic-fixated.Dr. Rosenburg could probably find a group for me, too.(She's probably a really great therapist, is probably the weird part of it.)

So I've been experimenting with dialogue-only fic, even though it feels very much like cheating, because it's so fun and quick to write. And I've been working my way through various cliches in assorted fandom. Here we have Werewolf Sex:

Return to Oz

"Huh"

"Huh? This only merits a 'huh'? I know you're king of the laconic people, but I've got to say I really think this is the kind of occasion where a person might want to crack open a can of polysyllables. Or at least some excitable punctuation, you know? Because 'huh' doesn't really do this one justice, if you ask me."

"Xander."

"That's my name. These are my arms, these are my legs, this is the Xander belly and this is my good friend – and now yours – Xander Junior. You getting the picture yet? Thinking about maybe joining me here in the world of Freaking Out?"

"Nah."

"..."

"..."

"Nah? Just – nah? That's all you've got? Not 'what?' or 'how?' or 'why?' Just 'nah'?"

"Yep."

"..."

"Well, 'what' is 'sex', 'how' is 'in several positions, although with a bit of difficulty because of the height thing' and 'why' is 'because we wanted to.' That about cover it?"

"I – you – I – huh."

"Yep."

"..."

"..."

"So – you're okay with this? 'Cause I was thinking that the alcohol maybe blurred your thinking. Or a spell. Or – you know. Something. What with the me-not-being-a-girl, and the you-not-being-a-girl, and the sex-having. And our previously unbesmirched heterosexuality. I was kind of expecting – some surprise."

"Wasn't drinking."

"What?"

"Well, drinking, yes. But not drinking. Not alcohol drinking. Don't touch the stuff these days."

"Oh. So – oh. It was just me with the drinking, then?"

"Yep."

"I see. Right. Right. Was it by any chance – was it just me with the previously unbesmirched heterosexuality?"

"Also yep."

"Huh. Well. So you got me drunk and had your wicked way with me, then, you lothario?"

"Not so much. I seem to remember you were already quite – merry – when you arrived at my door."

"Merry."

"It means happy."

"I know that! Merry, joyful, blithe, ebullient, these words I know."

"Gay."

"..."

"..."

"So – I can't convince you that it was out of fear you'd wolf out, what with it being close to the Full Moon, and I'd heard that werewolves never attack their mates?"

"Nah. Wolfing out not so much a problem now, with the impressive self control. Also, not Full Moon for another four days."

"There is that."

"..."

"I'm not – well. Gay. Hmm. I wasn't. I never – hmm. Does thinking about it count?"

"Were you naked when you were thinking?"

"There may have been nakedness."

"Yep. Counts."

"Damn."

"You having a moment of regret, then?"

"No! I – huh. No, actually. Well. Because it was really – I mean. Not that I want to swear off girls, now, because they're all curvy and they smell nice and there's the prettiness and, and – but – huh. But I dig you, man. And it was – it was really good."

"Cool."

"Yeah."

"So, you up for another go?"

"I – well. Oh. Guess that would be a resounding 'yes' from Xander Junior there."

"Certainly feels that way."

"You okay with this?"

"You need some convincing?"

"Maybe a little."

"I can do that."

FAY! Now THAT is how to wake up - nice little werewolf action.

Fay, have I truely expressed how much I adore your spicy brains - cause I do. I am ready to start a new cult based on your fic alone.